#before promptly returning to shallower waters | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meg-moira · 3 years

Text

A short story based on this writing prompt.

Follow my Patreon for more writing!

The woman sloshed from the water, waves frothing about her knees as if the cold ocean was straining to keep her. Once on land, her soft toes sunk into wet sand as her legs wobbled with disuse. Lush black hair hung over her shoulders and back in sodden, twisting ringlets, and she crossed her arms against the cold as she stumbled toward a rocky outcropping in the distance. Goosebumps rose along dark skin as her eyes, black as the sea-depths, searched the beach for movement.

Save for the scuttling of a gray crab, all was still.

Naia was the name she had chosen, and when she emerged from the rocks, Naia wore a thick shawl, cotton breeches, and boots which made her toes feel warm but terribly constricted. Standing on the sand, she brushed her fingers along the fabric, hands tracing down the sides of her legs. With an eager, if not somewhat ungainly skip, she set out toward the white bluffs which stretched above the beach - and the red-roofed buildings which piled atop them.

In the city’s streets, Naia was treated to a series of friendly nods. She’d visited the city a handful of times over the past year, and it seemed that at least a few of the residents recognized her. The thought warmed her, and Naia made the rest of the journey to the tea shop with a delighted spring in her admittedly, still wobbly steps.

She was jittery with an energy which was both excited and nervous, for she had made a friend. A human friend. Her friend’s name was Saoirse, and Naia had met her after unknowingly venturing into town on a market day. Saoirse was selling bracelets made of pretty ocean polished stones, and though Naia had no money at the time, she’d stopped to admire the jewelry all the same. Touched by Naia’s admiration of her work, Saoirse slipped a bracelet over Naia’s hand, and the only payment she asked for was to meet for tea a month from that day.

And now, a month later, Naia stood at the tea shop entrance, stone bracelet cool against her wrist.

Saoirse sat at a round wooden table in a tucked-away corner, beneath a window trimmed in emerald curtains. Her pale hands were folded together atop the table, and chestnut brown hair, cropped short, curled about her ears. She had a narrow face, a strong, high bridged nose, and large dark eyes. As soon as Naia stepped into the shop, wooden floorboards creaking beneath her, those large eyes flickered up. Instantly, Saoirse was smiling, the kind which filled her face, dimpling her cheeks.

When Naia sat, it took her a moment to figure out how to fold her legs comfortably between the chair and table. Fortunately, Saoirse seemed not to notice, and when Saoirse reached across the table, squeezing Naia’s hands, Naia squeezed back. She was determined to avoid scaring her new friend away with the truth - that it was a mermaid who’d joined her for tea.

“It’s good to see you, friend,” Saoirse said, smiling brightly.

“And you,” Naia replied.

“I hope you don’t mind - I ordered tea for us both.”

“I don’t mind.”

Saoirse’s smile widened, and up close, Naia noticed that the teeth at the corners of her mouth looked surprisingly sharp. If humans hunted for fish in the sea like merfolk, Saoirse’s sharp teeth would be particularly useful, Naia thought - before forcing it out of her mind. She was meant to be making human conversation, not discussing the best methods for catching fish in one’s mouth.

Naia cleared her throat. She’d practiced this. Granted, the practice had been with a particularly talkative gannet. But practice was still practice, and Naia was determined to make a good, very human, impression.

“So,” Naia said, folding her hands in a mimicry of Saoirse’s posture. “Is selling jewelry your means of collecting coins?”

Saoirse’s chin dipped in a hurried nod. “Oh yes. I collect many beautiful coins from my jewelry sales.”

“Wow,” Naia said, a little breathlessly, as she imagined what it would be like to hold so many pretty, gleaming coins in her hands.

“What of you?” Saoirse asked.

“Oh, I-” Naia stammered. “I - um, find my coins. In the sand.” There really was no way to explain that she collected the stray coins which dropped like fallen stars to the sea floor.

“The sand,” Saoirse breathed, black eyes growing wide. “How marvelous.”

Naia grinned, pleased that her answer had been satisfactory. Breathing easier, she relaxed back into her chair.

A young man delivered their tea. He carried a teapot and two earthen mugs. As he bent over the table, nimble fingers deposited the teapot and then the two mugs before them. He had long black hair that fell over his shoulder in a long braid and eyes as bright as a kelp forest in shallow water. Dipping his head, he said, “Please enjoy,” before hurrying away.

Naia stared for a moment at the pot in silent consideration, and when she looked up, saw Saoirse doing the same. However, when Saoirse saw Naia looking, she straightened up, grabbing for the teapot. Pulling it in front of her, she plucked the lid from the top and peered down at the liquid inside. Her nostrils flared as she eyed it critically.

“Is it...okay?”

Saoirse paused before nodding. “Yes. You’ve got to check beforehand to be sure, though.”

Naia nodded as if this made perfect sense. In truth, she knew little of tea, and had yet to consume any in her visits to land.

Wordlessly, Saoirse plucked a spoon from a tray at the table and set about scooping sodden leaves into each of the mugs. Tilting her head, Naia watched the process, utterly fascinated. She had always assumed tea referred to the liquid - but clearly it was meant to describe these leaves once they were soaked in water.

When Saoirse slid her a mug, Naia grabbed a spoon of her own. Before eating however, Naia paused. She recalled a ritual she’d observed humans practicing at meals. Meeting Saoirse’s eyes, she dipped her head down and said, “I pray to you my thanks for this meal.”

Saoirse blinked, and then she was nodding. Dipping her head, she repeated Naia’s words, “I pray to you my thanks for this meal.”

And then, lifting their spoons, they scooped the wet leaves into their mouths.

The taste was...bitter. But no more bitter than a bite of an urchin not yet matured. Naia turned the leaf over in her mouth before grinding it between her teeth and swallowing.

“A delicacy,” Naia said, licking her lips.

“Yes,” Saoirse replied, poking at the other leaves in her cup.

Naia watched as she spooned another glob of leaves into her mouth. As she leaned forward over the cup, Naia noticed, for the first time, the thick pelt that wrapped around her shoulders. It was odd. The pelt was dark - almost oily in appearance, and it certainly should have been one of the first things she noticed - but until now, Naia’s eyes had slid right over it. It was pretty, she reflected, admiring the sheen.

“I like your shawl.”

When Saoirse stiffened, Naia froze, wracking her brain to determine the human social norm she had violated. Perhaps Saoirse thought she wanted it? Because that was what had happened with the bracelet, wasn’t it? But it was one thing to give away a trinket and quite another to give away the pelt which kept you warm.

“I do not want it,” Naia hurried to explain. “Your bracelet was gift enough for me.”

Saoirse’s tight expression relaxed, and she lifted a hand, running her fingers along the pelt. “It is special to me.”

“It is lovely.”

“Thank you,” the corners of Saoirse’s eyes crinkled with her smile.

When the waiter returned, he glanced a little oddly at the teapot and mugs. When he asked them if the tea was satisfactory, both women assured him it was. Before returning to the back, he turned a dark, contemplative look upon them both.

Both Naia and Saoirse watched him go.

“Perhaps I should have given him shinier coins,” Saoirse mused in a thoughtful whisper.

Naia swallowed, nodding, for that must have been what offended him. “We humans love our shiny things.”

“That we do,” Saoirse agreed, and promptly dug a gleaming coin from the pouch at her waist. Holding it triumphantly up, she set it on the table with a click. “I’m sure this will please him.”

“If it doesn’t, he’s a fool,” Naia said a little haughtily. “It’s very shiny.”

Both women gazed a little wistfully at the coin.

“So,” Saoirse said at last. “Tell me more about yourself. What do you like to do?”

Naia didn’t hesitate with this answer. It was one she had prepared. “I walk. Everywhere. All of the time. Walking. It burns my muscles most pleasantly.”

“Walking is wonderful, isn’t it?” Saoirse agreed, an excited flush crossing her pale cheeks. “Not always convenient. But it’s always an adventure.”

Naia nodded in eager agreement. She was overjoyed to have so much in common with this human.

“Perhaps we can walk after our tea,” Naia ventured. “Where the cliffs overlook the sea.”

Before Saoirse could answer, the waiter returned. His hands slammed the table, and Naia and Saoirse both jumped in their seats as the teapot and cups rattled on the shaking wood. Saoirse’s lips curled back, and her white teeth gleamed. From Naia’s mouth, there escaped a hiss.

Gone was the waiter’s easy cordiality. His fine-boned cheeks were pale, and those green eyes were sharp as the broken glass which collected beneath the shipyard waters. His elegant fingers curled around the edges of the table as he glared.

“I know,” he said, and his voice was trembling. Whether with rage or fear, Naia couldn’t be sure.

Naia’s heart was a rock in her chest. Mouth dry, she could only stare as her toes curled helplessly in her boots.

It was Saoirse who spoke. “Know what?” she snapped.

“You can stop hiding. I know what you are.”

Naia heaved a shuddering breath. Swallowing, she looked across the table. Saoirse, her gaze filled with inexplicable terror, stared back.

“I don’t understand why you fae hunters won’t just leave me alone.” The waiter’s voice hitched, and he sounded near to tears.

Naia’s head whipped around so fast that her neck gave a twinge. “What?”

At once, the waiter's rage fled, melting instead into an exhausted sort of grief. Green eyes welling with bright, inhuman tears, he bitterly shook his head. “I saw that you refused the tea. Not a drop of it was drunk! It’s a myth you know. I can’t bespell folk with just any food or drink.”

“Oh,” Naia said, drawing a wondering breath. “You’re meant to drink it.”

“Yes of course you drink-” the waiter’s mouth snapped closed. “Wait what?”

“What?” Saoirse exclaimed, looking at Naia.

“Wait...” Naia said looking back at Saoirse, taking in her dark eyes and the pelt around her shoulders.

“What?!” the waiter said, throwing his hands up as he looked between them.

“You’re not human,” Naia and Saoirse said in unison.

For a long moment, all three were silent.

And then Saoirse was laughing, and it was a sharp, barking sound.

Naia pressed a hand over her mouth as she looked at Saoirse. “You’re a selkie,” she said between her fingers.

“Well of course I am. And you’re merfolk,” Saoirse said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

“Yes well you’re both responsible for the couple hundred years that stress probably took from my life,” the waiter said, tossing his braid over his shoulder and crossing his arms against his chest.

“Is leaf water good?” Naia asked, looking at him doubtfully.

“Of course it is,” the waiter said with a sigh and pulled up a chair. “Here, let me pour it.”

Steam rose from the mugs, and Naia watched as it softened Saoirse’s sharp features. “I thought you were my first human friend,” Naia admitted.

Saoirse bit her lip, and Naia again glimpsed those sharp teeth. “Maybe instead I’ll be your first Selkie friend?”

Wrapping her fingers around the hot mug, Naia smiled. “I think I’d like that.”

“And we can still take that walk. I do so like moving these legs,” Saoirse said. Gaze sliding to her right, she studied the waiter. “Would you like to join us, faerie?”

“It’s Adam,” he said with a sniff. “And yes, alright.”

“I’ll give you a bracelet to make up for scaring you,” Saoirse said.

“And I will not eat you should you slip and fall into my waters,” Naia generously offered.

“...thanks.”

Naia grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Tea was good, as it turned out. And once the teapot was empty, the mermaid, selkie, and faerie left the shop to walk together.

If any should have turned their gaze toward the ocean that day, they would have observed three windswept silhouettes trailing along the pale bluffs. And should the watcher have persisted in watching, they would have seen the figures’ outlines shifting, becoming something beautiful and other when faced with the vast blue of sky and sea.

#my writing #original writing #short story #story #storytelling #fantasy #fantasy writing #fantasy story #fiction #writing prompt #mythical beings #mermay2021 #mermaid #selkie

463 notes · View notes

ashasmonsters · 3 years

Text

The Middle Prince

Male reader x Male Tiefling (Amon)

Citrus rating: Lemon

Content: Detailed wet dreams, alcohol

Words: 8k

Note: Some MLM goodness for Pride Month! This took me longer than I intended, but only because I wrote it way too long and had to break it up into parts! Expect more in this series.

The dreams started assailing you a little over a month ago. During the first week, you couldn't remember anything. You would awake in your bedchamber covered in sweat and panting as if you had just finished a sparring session. These nights, a name danced on the tip of your tongue, escaping just as you attempted to sound it out and make it real. Confused and alone you would promptly go back to sleep after flipping over your pillow. As time passed, the dreams grew both in intensity and clarity. Though still more mysterious than normal dreams, little details here and there coalesced in your waking memory: a soft touch followed by a rough one, the smell of lavender, your fingernails gliding over shallow ridges, the color of aquamarine gemstones. These dreams visited you every night without fail.

The determinations made by the court oneiromancers were limited in scope. After spending the night in the care of one such dream diviner, they found these dreams to be coming from somewhere else. The dreams were not your own, at least not fully. Beyond this, they had no more revelations. Anything more was conjecture; one stated that if magick was involved, it was either massively strong, thus able to conceal its origin, or so fleeting and ephemeral that even the oneiromancers couldn't trace it.

Your father's concern waxed but mostly waned. Perhaps if you were the eldest crown prince instead of the middle one, the answer would have been willed into existence by his command. He simply asked that the oneiromancers track your condition and report any findings to him, but no more than once each week. Though dismayed that little was being done to solve this mystery, you were used to being far from priority. Even years ago when an attempt on your life left one of your legs still and unresponsive, a leg brace allowing you to stand at public appearances was issued and the problem was declared solved. You vividly remembered the look on the assassin's face when he realized he had accidentally struck third in the line of succession rather than first. His reaction was not dissimilar from your father's when you mentioned your dreams: a mildly amused but primarily disappointed visage. The spot where the dagger had pierced your spine no longer ached but your discontent was as raw and fresh as the day the realization struck.

With the oneiromancers essentially told to only report something unquestionably threatening to your life or the family's honor, you shared very little with them. Several times you had dismissed them with little more than a hand wave. None of them ever protested. To their knowledge, no new developments within these dreams came to light. It was just another little curiosity that came with the court.

To their knowledge, anyway. In truth, there had been a quite substantial development that you withheld from them.

The night air was cool and crisp. From your bedchamber's veranda, you let the gentle sound of the garden's fountains below soothe your nerves. This had become your regular nighttime ritual; your last chance to feel relaxed and cool before waking up overheated and frantic. You enjoyed the last of it before sliding under the sheets and waiting for the dream to visit you.

This was the clearest dream to date. The scattered sensations and feelings from prior episodes came into focus: the touches came from smooth, tender hands, the smell of lavender from purple cups of herbal tea. Your fingers played over short, filed horns. That bold aquamarine color like a burning emerald belonged to a pair of eyes, their pupils narrow and catlike. The overall plot of the dream remained unknown to you. What came next, however, was new. Very new.

A pair of hands caressed your body as whatever clothing you had dissolved into the air. Your mind reeled from the realization of what was happening, yet you were relaxed all the same. Though surprised, you didn't wish for it to stop. Even as the tender hands had you at their mercy, one playfully pinching a nipple as the other reached lower in between your legs, you welcomed their touch without knowing why. You just did. It felt right. The hand between your legs started confidently stroking your shaft; making you moan. Their touch was expertly coordinated as if they knew everything about you. Not long after, the building pressure within you was too much to bear, then...

"AMON!" You cried out, the name that had eluded you all those nights finally woven from syllables into a complete utterance. You were no longer dreaming, your own hands reflexively covering your mouth in a futile attempt to take back the exclamation. In the dead of night like this, you most certainly alerted someone.

"My Prince, are you alright?" Your chief courtier, Petra, had burst through your bedchamber door. Guards with polearms at the ready had her back.

"I'm alright," you caught your breath, "it's the dream again. No cause for alarm." As usual, you bore a sheen of sweat and your heart was thundering in your ears.

"You've never called out like that before," Petra noted, not yet dropping her guard.

"I called out?" You lied, wincing as you felt something viscid and slimy on your groin under your dressing gown. Deep embarrassment came to the forefront of your mind, your face helpless to hide it. "Bring me my washbasin, please," you quickly uttered.

"At once, my Prince." Petra left the room as the guards resumed their posts. You peeled back your dressing gown to inspect the damage by moonlight. It was worse than you thought. Undoubtedly this gown would have to be thrown out. You groaned, disappointed in your own body for betraying you like this.

"Your washbasin, Prince." Petra returned and you hurriedly covered yourself up again. The moonlight was too dim, or perhaps she pretended not to see, but she was soon at your bedside without pause, brandishing a sponge and towel.

"I can do this myself," you said, taking the implements from her. She looked at you with intent to interrogate.

"Prince, if there have been changes with your dreams, you must inform the oneiromancers."

"No need," you said, eager to fully clean yourself. "You are dismissed, Petra."

Petra held her tongue. Her eyes told you she only did so because she was eager to return to bed. When she departed your bedchamber and closed the door, you finally discarded the soiled gown and did your best to cleanse yourself of your nocturnal emission. You donned a new gown and welcomed an ordinary slumber.

When morning came, so did Petra and a bevy of assistant courtiers. From the accoutrements they wielded you identified them as the "fashion corps," your nickname for the hairdressers, wardrobers, clothiers, and makeup artists whose arrival portended a formal event you were required to attend. As the squad of aesthetes communicated amongst each other, Petra drew you a bath. While the tub filled, she came to your side and took your shoulder on hers to help you hobble into the bathing chamber.

"What's the occasion, Petra?" You unfolded a privacy screen, dividing your bathing chamber in half. As you stripped and entered the balmy water, you heard Petra pull up a chair on the other side of the screen.

"The biannual alliance gala, Prince."

"The alliance gala?" You asked. Your appearance had not been required at one for quite some time. "Why me?"

"Your father has requested that the entire court attend. From what I've heard, there is quite the number of fiefdoms and baronies joining the kingdom at this one."

"Grand." You sighed and resigned yourself into the water until it met your chin. You imagined the great hall of the palace, teeming with strangers from far-off lands all speaking in such meaningless platitudes that they needed alcohol in hand to tolerate it.

"If it makes you feel any better, Prince, most of the night depends on your elder brother and your father. You have the freedom to do whatever you like once your father's opening speech is concluded," Petra said with a mild tone.

It didn't make you feel better. Your father built a kingdom that, apparently, smaller domains were scrambling to join. Your elder brother was the crown prince with hordes of suitors seeking his heart. Even your elder sister, with no direct claim to the crown, was quite sought after. Then there was you, with permission to get as drunk as you like at the gala. You seriously considered exercising that privilege.

Your ruminations were interrupted by the clatter of hammered metal and leather straps from beyond the screen.

"I've got your brace ready, Prince. Let me know when you're dry," Petra said. You reluctantly finished scrubbing and soaping yourself before heaving your body onto the lip of the bath and toweling off. Sat there, damp with dripping hair and a towel round your waist, you permitted Petra to attach the brace to you. She respectfully averted her eyes as she affixed the contraption to your immobilized leg. With it attached, you traded comfort for the ability to limp and stand unassisted.

Next came the gauntlet of clothing, hair styling, and makeup that the fashion corps employed. Even for today, which was merely a rehearsal for the true event tomorrow, they gave no mercy. They encircled you and passed you around as they worked like a knight being suited by his squires. The process was grueling. Your hair was tugged and the breeches squeezed your brace into your leg. With the freedom to choose your own clothes removed from you, there was no choice but to deal with the feeling of metal biting at your skin.

Bound in the tight, ceremonial clothing, Petra took your arm for the long walk to the great hall. It was full of palace staff and buzzing like a beehive. The ceiling, high as a cathedral's, let in beams of sunlight through its many massive windows. Tables were being arranged with the intent to give each attending guest a view of the stage: the stage where your father and elder brother would be giving their opening speeches tomorrow. The two of them were behind a podium, your brother reading a piece of parchment over your father's shoulder. Behind them towards the back of the stage was a row of ornate seats; not quite thrones but just as uncomfortable. Your elder sister met your gaze as she sat on one. She beckoned you over.

"That will be your seat for the rehearsal, Prince," Petra said.

"Rehearsal for sitting?" You quipped, walking towards your seat anyway. Resistance was futile no matter how silly this all was.

"I'll undo your hair and get you into more comfortable clothes as soon as I can, Prince," Petra said apologetically. "Bear with it. I must attend to the other staff now."

With that, Petra disappeared into the crowd of scrambling staff arranging the great hall into order. You limped to your seat, your brace clicking all the while.

"You look excellent, little brother," your sister said. She was attempting to alleviate your sour mood, but she still hadn't figured out how. Neither had you.

"I look like an idiot. And my leg is killing me," you snapped.

Your sister merely sighed and leaned back in her chair. Her hair, in a high bun, bumped the bejeweled headrest and made her curse.

"You used to love these events when you were smaller. You had perfected waving to the crowd before you learned to talk," she said.

"That was a long time ago. Things were different; I was naive, none of us had official duties, the assassination attempt hadn't happened, I wasn't bedeviled by these dreams... mother was alive." You cast your gaze downward, examining your buckled leather shoes. You heard her sigh.

"Not all change has to be bad. And to be fair, you still don't have any official duties to worry about." She placed a hand on your shoulder.

"That's a polite way of saying I'm useless." You looked up at your father and elder brother. They were discussing something about their speeches, annotating and marking the parchment before them. A small audience of pages stood in front of the stage, listening to them run through portions of their speeches. They hadn't yet paid you any heed.

"It's a blunt way of saying you're free," your sister said firmly. "Every week I'm fielding suitors from all over the world, and not one of them has proven to be anything but repulsive. I'm terrified that one day strategy and diplomacy will land me with someone like them."

Your eyes widened at her open disdain for the matters of the court.

"I'm sorry," you said, reconstructing your vision of who your sister truly was. "I had no idea you felt that way... I thought—"

"You thought I was traipsing about with handsome men from far-off lands every day?" She smirked.

"...yes." You blushed.

"Hah! I wish!" Your sister flinched at her own exclamation, then relaxed when she realized the monarch and the crown prince hadn't noticed. "But you don't have to wish for that. You're free to traipse with whomever you please."

You blushed harder. Turning away from your sister, you saw your brother and father finishing up their speech revisions. On cue, Petra emerged from the throng of staff to conclude this "rehearsal."

"Looks like Petra's coming to get you," your sister noted. "I know you'll be free to retire to your bedchambers as soon as the speeches are over, but I want you to try and enjoy yourself tomorrow night. It's what I would do if I could." She gave you one final smile before getting up from her seat.

"I will," you said, finally cracking a tiny smile in return. Petra had your arm soon after.

"Your presence is no longer required, Prince." Petra helped you up. "Shall I take you back to your chambers?"

"Yes, please," you said, giving your sister a thankful glance. She returned a similar expression as Petra whisked you away.

When you had finally returned to your chambers and changed into less constrictive clothing, you asked Petra to stay awhile to converse. Your sister's advice had forced you to re-evaluate your approach to the gala. Your priorities had shifted just as much as your notions of her personality had.

"You mentioned there were many newcomers to the kingdom? Quite a few tables were being set up in the great hall," you quizzed Petra.

"Yes, from what I've gathered, it's expected to be the largest event we've hosted all year. We're expecting guests from as far as Ankara and Nubia," she answered matter-of-factly. Perhaps she was a little proud, too.

"Are there any specific guests I should know about?" You asked with the grace of a war elephant. Courtship had crossed your mind for the first time mere minutes ago. "Anyone of high repute?"

Petra picked up on your clumsy intent immediately. She knew you too well.

"Prince, it would be quicker to list the attendees not worth approaching than those with stellar accolades. If it were me..." she drew in air through her teeth as if expecting to be reprimanded, "I would consider tomorrow's gala an excellent time to court someone."

"I'll try to take that advice to heart, Petra," you said.

"I'm pleased, Prince. Your matters are your own, but if I may speak unequivocally..."

"Speak your mind." You gave her permission. She hesitated, then sighed.

"You strike me as lonely, Prince. Ever since the Queen passed, your social life has suffered." Petra paused again, considering her words carefully. "You deserve love of that measure once more, whether from a partner or a good friend."

"Thank you," you sighed as if she had given you permission to use your heart. "I appreciate the advice, Petra."

"Of course, Prince." She glanced out the window towards the setting sun. "I recommend you retire early tonight to be invigorated tomorrow, lest the dreams strike again."

You nodded.

"They will." You avoided her eyes as you remembered what happened last time. "Have a washbasin ready. For the, erm, sweat."

"Of course, Prince," Petra said, her face remaining unmoved. You didn't bother trying to discern whether she was oblivious to last night's gown-soiling or if she merely extended you the courtesy of pretending. "I'll leave you be. Get some rest."

You watched her exit your chambers without another word, finally exhaling the breath you held. The idea of having to clean yourself up again was hardly appealing. Standing on the veranda and enjoying the cool night air was only prolonging the inevitable.

The aforementioned inevitable reared its troublesome head as soon as you surrendered to sleep. Your consciousness materialized somewhere, a location unidentifiable but still more detailed than you had ever encountered before. You glimpsed kaleidoscopic carpets, hammered brass, and vines growing freely about the place.

"Welcome back." A man's voice like sweet honey floated through the warm air.

"I missed you." The words left your mouth without you knowing them. You were merely an observer to your own actions. "Amon."

"My sweet prince." Lips on your knuckles. The smell of lavender tea. "Tea?"

"No thanks. We must keep this quick," you uttered again, breathless and surrendering to a desire that was both yours and unknown to you.

"Tut, tut. What's gotten into you, my prince? I've never seen you so impatient," the voice teased. Your head spun.

"I need my energy," you gasped, something warm and wet lapping at your member. "For tomorrow." The ministrations paused.

"Of course. Tomorrow will be very special indeed." The tongue on your shaft resumed, making you squirm. You reached out into the nothingness, your fingers grasping at frayed carpet tassels. Your other hand reached in between your legs and found a head of hair. You grasped a smooth horn that curved neatly behind an ear. It bobbed up and down at a tantalizing pace.

"Amon, I... I shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what?" Another pause in the pleasure. You caught your breath. Those eyes again, burning into yours with the hue of warm ocean waters. "Say no to me, my prince. I implore you to try."

Caught in the stare you were helpless. You quivered with need, your manhood twitching and drooling. Only a high whine left your lips.

"Thought so."

You shot up in bed, crying out and spasming. Once more you had spilled yourself into your gown, your entire body slick with sweat. As a small victory, your cries remained nondescript rather than referential to this "Amon." In the dream, you had felt a sweet warmth in your breast each time you spoke to him and even warmer when he responded. In your waking memory, this name was empty. There was no connection and no feeling of belonging. If you hadn't heard your own voice leave your mouth in the dream, you would have had no way of knowing those experiences were your own. Your dreaming memory and conscious recollection were severed, at odds with one another. What did he mean when he said tomorrow would be special? Did he know about the gala? You didn't know how much you knew.

"The washbasin, Prince," Petra uttered as she carried it into your chambers. She stowed it at your bedside. "Shall I leave you like before?"

"Yes, please... but would it trouble you to return afterward?"

"Not at all, Prince. I'll return at your word." She slipped out of the room. You took the opportunity to cleanse yourself of the evidence before permitting Petra to return.

“Petra, would it be possible to acquire a guest list for the gala?” You asked.

“Possible, yes. However, it will be quite long without any qualifiers. As I mentioned previously, this is one of the largest events of the year.”

You considered simply asking her if the name Amon was among the attendees, but Petra would likely alert the oneiromancers and in turn, your father. You doubted anything would happen at all if she did, but this was a matter you wanted to confront on your own. Like all other decisions made for you at your father’s behest, your own interests would unquestionably be cast aside if he decided to involve himself.

“I’d like to know the first names of all the male guests scheduled to attend,” you said. Petra raised an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t narrow it down much, Prince,” Petra answered. The sweet, honeyed voice from your dream remained in your mind. It was the voice of a young man, one likely of your age.

“Only the male guests around my age, then,” you specified. Petra raised her other eyebrow, making her expression one of surprise rather than skepticism.

“Ah. That kind of list. I see...” Your cheeks burned; though you didn’t know where this inquiry would take you, you also felt the conclusion Petra came to was not wholly inaccurate. “Shall I make, erm, other arrangements as well?”

“Arrangements?” you asked. It was Petra’s turn to blush.

“The standard things... extra pillows, oils, skins—”

“Yes, of course, Petra,” you cut her off, not wishing for her to extend the list of amenities any further. Searching for a suitor was a favorable charade. If nothing else, if this search for the mysterious Amon proved fruitless, then you would at least have the means, motive, and opportunity to bed somebody... if you had the audacity. The look on Petra's face said she didn't think so.

"I’ll have the list and the... goods brought in before sun-up,” Petra said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, Petra, that will suffice.”

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Morning arrived and so did Petra's promises; the chief courtier herself was nowhere to be found, but a neatly transcribed list of names and a box tied with a bow sat atop a chaise lounge when you awoke. You already knew what waited inside the box, so you went for the list. Though only containing the names of guests that fit your qualifiers, the parchment was both long and double-sided. Your eyes began to tire just as they fell across what you were looking for:

Amon II - Eparch of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia

You were puzzled. Makuria and Elodia were names you hadn't heard since you were tutored. Even your father's kingdom with its diplomats venturing far and wide rarely mentioned them. You only knew they were small kingdoms far away from this one. There was not one but two oceans between here and there, they spoke a language no tutor in the palace taught, and both titles of "Nobatian" and "Eparch" were unknown to you.

Then the fashion corps arrived. You dropped the parchment and pondered the new information as they manhandled you into the appearance they had crafted for you yesterday. Perhaps due to more practiced hands or being lost in your thoughts, the process seemed to go much faster than previously. You almost didn't believe it when they told you they were finished, but the shifted sun and your appearance in the mirror confirmed that the gala would soon begin. Your hair was fashioned into an unnatural shape, your face was dusted with powder, and your clothes were so form-fitting that you appeared sewn into them. The bulge of the leg brace through your breeches peeked out at the ankle; the leggings were so tight that your overcoat preserved more of your modesty than they did.

With Petra absent and likely scrambling to put last-minute touches on the gala, you walked to the great hall with the assistance of the fashion corps, who likewise made hasty repairs to your appearance as your gait jostled things out of place. When you arrived, the great hall was even busier than at the rehearsal. It seemed there was a member of palace staff for each seat at every table, all of them fastidiously arranging cutlery, plates, decorative vases, placemats, and myriad other things you didn't know the names for.

“Little brother!” You turned your head and spotted your elder sister within a parade of her own fashion corps regiment. She waved at you from one of the great hall’s entrances.

“Sister,” you responded with a nod, your own cavalcade parting to allow her approach.

“Have you given tonight any consideration?” She asked.

“Yes, actually...”

“You’re not going to retreat to your chambers?”

“...not immediately,” you said, noncommittal.

“I’m glad.” She smiled gently. “I’ll likely be busy most of the night, though if you’d like me to send anyone your way, let me know. Who’s on your list?”

“My list?” you sputtered. “Petra told you?”

“Petra? Goodness, no,” she chuckled. “I just figured you’d have one. It’s standard practice for these sorts of things; I’ve a list as well. So... who’s on yours?”

You lowered your head and examined your shoes.

“Well... it’s quite long.”

“How scandalous!” she gasped exaggeratedly.

“I’m just casting a wide net is all! I don’t intend to bed every single male my age!” Your cheeks burned again. You considered dropping the charade if it meant this level of humiliation.

“I expected my mild little brother to have a rebellious phase eventually, but this...” she said, ignoring your cries.

"Sister, please," you pleaded. The tone of your voice convinced her to return to normal. She extended a hand to ruffle your hair but stopped herself when your fashion corps hairstylist glared at her.

"Apologies, little brother. I had to jest a little," she smiled at you, this time without intent to tease. "They're going to start letting in the guests soon. We should take our seats."

You nodded and followed her to the stage. The fashion corps fell away from you and went to help elsewhere. You sat in your uncomfortable pseudo-throne and waited, eventually joined by your other siblings save for your eldest brother. They greeted you as they took position at your side, but there was very little to talk about. This was the first time you had seen them in a while.

Then came the guests: the table-setters had cleared out some minutes before the floodgates burst and more staff escorted groups of people to their tables. The cathedral-like great hall was full in mere moments. Sorted by table, there was a sea of people in colorful finery all conversing amongst themselves and giving you and your siblings the occasional glance. You tried to pick out Amon from the crowd but quickly realized half-remembered fragments from your dreams wouldn't be enough to pick him from a sea of hundreds. Even finding his name on the list took a considerable amount of time.

Then the hall fell silent, or something close to it. A lively conversation between hundreds of people dropped to hushed whispers. Your father and brother had entered the hall and begun their walk to the podium, silencing the crowd with nothing but their appearance. When your father reached the podium, he extended both arms palms up and the previously subdued crowd erupted into cheers. If not for the applause, he would have heard you groan. Your sister said nothing, only giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

When the speeches started you practically willed your ears shut. Perhaps you would have built a tolerance to them if you had appeared at more of these events, but you couldn't bear to listen to your father and elder brother boast of their achievements to a sea of complacent, nodding heads. It was like a reminder that within the kingdom your father built, you served your purpose by distracting that assassin some years ago and now outlived your usefulness. At this gala, you were decoration only a few ranks higher than a potted plant.

You thanked any and all higher powers when the speeches were over. Father and his crown prince had left the stage to begin their targeted commingling with VIPs, prompting you and your siblings to stand from your seats. They all dispersed before you could look to them to follow their lead. When you stumbled off the stage and distanced yourself from it by leaning against the wall as you walked, hardly any attention came your way. Thankfully, the attention you did receive was from Petra.

"Prince, are you alright? You look troubled," she said, sidling up to you.

"What do I do, Petra?" you asked, intimidated by the sheer size of the room and the attendees within it. Each table was like its own little kingdom with strangers you didn't know and faux-pas to stumble over.

"See how each table has an empty chair or two?" She pointed to the tables nearest you, one full of scaly Sāmm-abraṣ emissaries and another with human diplomats bearing the flag of Bavaria. You nodded. "All the guests are expected to stay seated while dinner is served. They won't get up to dance and drink until the meal is concluded. Right now, only people from the host kingdom— like you, me, your siblings, and other members of the court— will be walking around."

"So I just sit at whichever table and introduce myself?"

"If you even need to. The fact you're walking will show them you're hosting. They'll pay you proper respect without you saying anything at all."

"Hm," you mused. That sounded like a lot of work, especially since you weren't aiming to meander. Finding Amon would be immeasurably more difficult once the crowd was disorganized and inebriated, though, so now was your best chance.

"I've a copy of your list, Prince. Shall I help you navigate it?" Petra asked, holding up parchment.

"Yes, let's," you said. The lengthy document threatened to touch the floor. "Let's begin alphabetically."

"Alphabetically, Prince?"

"By first name."

"Of course, Prince. That means we should visit Aariyeh, Sardar of Anatolia, followed by Abdul II, Knez of Smederevo—"

"Any Eparchs on that list?" You winced at your own forwardness. The charade was wearing dangerously thin.

"...Eparchs?"

"I'm in an Eparch mood at the moment," you explained weakly. Petra looked at you as if checking for signs of illness.

"I see. There's one: Amon II of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia."

"He sounds splendid. Take me to him."

Petra, either from exasperation, deference, or both, folded up the list and took your arm without another word. She led you through the clusters of gala attendees. You could feel every one of their eyes watching you as you caught their attention. Just as the scrutiny was starting to become too much, your eyes found a target of their own. A warm shiver ran through your spine, a sensation the French would call déjà rêvé: a dream made real.

His verdigris eyes locked onto yours. They peered at you from behind short, white curls of shiny hair. His skin reminded you of the bluebells in the gardens, and his pert, curled horns were a shade darker. He flashed something between a grin and a smirk at you, revealing pearlescent teeth with canines that could be mistaken for fangs.

Amon was breathtaking and he knew it.

If your arm wasn't in Petra's grasp already, you never would have made it to the chair. She struggled a bit as she plopped you into it, your leg brace protesting with clicks and creaks. The other tieflings at the table, all varying shades of azure, stopped what they were doing to acknowledge your arrival. You gave them a weak nod while you regained your composure.

"Greetings, delegation from Lower Makuria and Elodia. I'd like to introduce you to our Middle Prince," Petra said from over your shoulder, upon which she planted a firm hand. She squeezed hard.

"I'm pleased to meet you all," you managed to get out. Your audience of tieflings nodded and muttered.

"As am I, Middle Prince." Amon set his cutlery down and rested his chin on interlaced fingers. His voice was high and carried a boyish, scheming air; you envisioned him stealing lumps of sugar from a pantry. "I didn't think my kingdom warranted such a visit. What brings you to my little exclave of Nobatia?"

"A whim."

"How quaint," he said, still smirking. His gaze shifted as he eyed his all-tiefling entourage. The intent was to communicate something, though you didn't know what.

"I am the middle prince, after all. I've few obligations. None, actually," you said.

"Hm," Amon said, looking decidedly amused. "We may have more in common than we thought." His retinue nodded along with his observation.

"Surely you are a busy man? You are Eparch of not one, but two territories."

"Do you know what the title 'Eparch' entails, Middle Prince?" Amon said, more as a targeted quip than an actual question.

"I... am not familiar, I admit," you ceded.

"An Eparch is a figurehead. Makuria and Alodia have long been ruled by invaders and rebels, respectively. I'm kept in a symbolic position to preserve what's left of Nobatian culture," Amon sighed. "In fact, I was sent here in place of the true rulers since they thought it so unlikely that you would have anything important to say to us. Anything other than absorbing us into your hegemony, of course."

You averted your gaze. He clearly was not happy with his status, and while his discontent wasn't targeted at you, it hovered about him like a cloud. He picked at the remainder of his meal while the cloud dissipated and you plucked a topic from the clearing air.

"How was your journey here? You've come a long way," you said.

"It was pleasant enough. Your trains and... horseless carriages are quite impressive," Amon said, pausing. "What's your name for them again?"

"Automobiles," you answered.

"Yes, automobiles." He rolled the word in his mouth as if tasting wine. "Though you have such a fine river and only use it for cargo. A felucca would have made my journey quite enjoyable."

"A felucca?"

"Ah, it's my turn to inform you." Amon smiled. "A felucca is a sailboat we use on the Nile. It's built for comfort, with carpets instead of hardwood decks. Some even come with a kitchen, and it's unheard of to sail without finishing a pot of tea."

"It sounds lovely," you said. "Lavender tea, I hope."

Amon raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, my favorite," he looked amused. "How did you know?"

"A whim," you answered. "The same one that brought me over to your table."

"I see." His eyes locked with yours for a lengthy pause. His retinue shifted in their seats at the uncomfortable silence. He was thinking hard about something, but the subject of his thoughts remained unknown to you. If he truly shared the dreams with you, surely you must have gotten the point across by now?

"It was lovely chatting with you, Middle Prince." He broke the silence and straightened his posture. "But I would hate to keep you when you have other guests to see."

"I really don't—"

"Nonsense, my prince," he interrupted, "go on and mingle. Perhaps, if we're lucky, our paths will cross when the festivities begin in earnest."

You couldn't believe your eyes. Did he wink at you?

"Of course..." you said, slowly realizing he was scheming. "Enjoy the gala." He locked eyes with you again.

"Oh, we will."

You had resumed hovering with Petra on the edges of the great hall. More staff had filed in to take away dirty dishes and the remains of the guests' meals. The dance floor had been opened, the musicians were in position, and staff bearing silver trays readied drinks for the merry and hors d'oeuvres for the peckish.

"How was your visit with the Eparch?" Petra asked.

"Enlightening," you answered cryptically. The need for secrecy hadn't passed, but now you were unsure of what charade to uphold. You only knew Amon was in on it as well.

"I trust that means it went well?"

"Yes, I think so." You scanned the crowd of attendees, which had now gotten up from their seats and begun to mix and intermingle. Amon disappeared like an ace into a shuffled deck. Petra flashed you an impatient expression.

"Prince, do you want me to help you get with him or not?" She said with folded arms.

"Petra!" You gasped. "You're rather forward."

"It's quite literally my job to make sure you end up with him if you wish it, Prince," she assumed a stern tone as if you refused your vegetables. "Give me a yes or no."

You stewed under her gaze. It seemed the pressure and time-sensitive nature of the gala had started to affect her as well, though for different reasons to you.

"Yes." You muttered. She didn't ask for confirmation, instead slipping away into the crowd with nothing more than a nod. Was this part of the charade, still? You had no idea what Amon even wanted, or frankly, what you wanted from tonight.

The musicians started and the small groups that had formed on the edge of the dance floor produced couplets of dancers. They were eager to begin the waltz, a somewhat contentious dance that had only recently come into popularity. You hadn't been practiced in it, instead learning of court dances like the cotillion. As you watched it take place, the dancers seemed awfully close. They were practically pressed against one another!

While you tried to discern the intricacies of this new style of dance before you, that familiar azure face peeked at you from the crowd. Amon smiled and raised his drink in your direction. It was a small gesture but you were helpless to do anything other than join him. Before you knew it, you were at his side in the sea of people and some sort of libation had been thrust into your hand.

"You know, I'm starting to grow partial to this stuff," Amon said, sipping on a duplicate of the drink you held.

"I was under the impression your faith disallowed the consumption of alcohol," you said, watching him finish the glass.

"An easy mistake to make." He handed off the glass to a roving staff member. "Modern Makurians and Alodians don't drink. Nobatians like me do. It's one of the holdovers of my dead culture."

You looked at the glass in hand; it was a clear, cold drink with a slice of lime. As you expected, the taste was bitter and unwelcoming.

"You like gin?" You asked, one taste enough to identify it.

"As I said, it's starting to grow on me," Amon chuckled. "It's not good enough to stop me from missing home, but it'll get me through the night."

"Speaking of home..." you started, looking around. You were unable to spot any other blue-skinned tieflings in the crowd. "where has your retinue gone?"

"I told them to enjoy themselves. As my courtiers, that means they're likely hovering by the exit, waiting to escort me out of here when I leave."

"They seem like a serious bunch."

"They're overprotective," Amon hissed. "As I said, my culture is long dead. They see it as dying. They think they can save it by putting me in a glass case for future generations to study."

"You've given up on Nobatia?"

"Pah! Of course I have!" He deftly procured another drink from a passing waiter. "Nothing will bring the old country back. Nobatia is a minuscule region; I can say with certainty I'm the youngest one left. When I'm old and infirm, Makuria and Alodia will reject the idea of a royal family entirely and I'll finally be allowed to be forgotten."

"That's quite a bleak outlook, Eparch," you gently chided. "Perhaps in war, things would be on a fixed course, but matters of diplomacy are more malleable."

"Perhaps," Amon said, sipping his gin. "But that's enough about me. I'd like to know more about you."

His eyes looked into yours as if he would magick the information he wanted straight out of you. No incantations were uttered, though, and you took a pragmatic sip of gin to fill the pause.

"What would you like to know?" You said.

"I'd like to know about this 'whimsy' you have," Amon probed. "To be frank, my prince, I expected to be out the door by now. Instead, I'm here, conversing with you. It doesn't make sense."

You finished your gin. This was as good a time as any to explain yourself.

"What do you know of oneiromancy?" The question left your lips and slapped Amon across the face. He chuckled.

"The school of magick so vague and unmeasurable it's not even officially recognized?"

"It seems you know the same as most," you said. "Oneiromancy is real. At least, real enough to give me the same dream night after night."

"I see..." Amon was mulling something over.

"In each one of these dreams, though my waking memory is hazy, I remember one thing they all had in common." You took a deep breath. "You."

"We should discuss this in private," Amon interjected, gently brushing your hand against his. You had been so caught up with telling Amon that you forgot you were in the middle of a crowded gala. Concern crept into the corners of his face. "Do you have a place we can go?"

You nodded and grasped his hand in earnest. The spot you took him to was one of the many balconies that overlooked the palace gardens. The sun had set fully at this point, and waltz music lazily floated out of the great hall. A few revelers who had over-indulged caught the fresh air in the hedges below. You and Amon rested on the cool marble balustrade, momentarily admiring the mingling of crickets, music, distant conversation, and the night air.

"I've been having the dreams as well. All of them involving you in some... capacity. I wasn't sure it was you at first. The dreams were so vague..." Amon kept his gaze fixed on the gardens below.

"Were the dreams... um, did you wake up... well..." you stammered. He looked at you knowingly.

"Yes, a few times," Amon answered. He didn't seem nearly as embarrassed as you. "You suspect oneiromancy is at play?"

"The court oneiromancers determined the dreams are being intentionally created. They're not a coincidence."

"Court oneiromancers?" Amon nearly spat out his drink. "My, you do have everything in this kingdom."

"Yes, we have court oneiromancers, but your surprise is beside the point." You had finally found the mysterious Amon, and you didn't want to waste any time on tangents. "Surely you're just as curious as I? Do you know anything about these dreams?" Amon drained the remainder of his gin in response.

"When I was a child..." He paused and shook his head. "When I was a child, my mother told me folk tales. The standard stuff: damsels in distress, slaying horrific beasts, that sort of thing. But she also told me tales of lovers who met in dreams. She said that was how she and father met."

"Something tells me you don't believe in that."

"When I grew too old for fairy tales, I saw it as her way of helping me keep hope that the one would be out there. With Nobatia falling and no suitors left..." he trailed off, setting his empty glass on the balustrade.

"So what if she's right?"

"That's a rather large 'if,' my prince. She was the only one that believed in that stuff... Aside from an uncle who would tell more dreamers-to-lovers tales, but only after drinking too much boukha, and always with a sarcastic tongue. They're just that: tales."

You felt Amon's cloud of discontent precipitate once more. His words were scathing, but not towards you; they spoke to a painful past and familiarity with disappointment. He saw something hopeful, happy, and promising, then cast it down in order to never feel the pain of losing it. You rarely had such clear insights about people, but with Amon it was different. It was as if you had known him for a long time and learned the language spoken by his brow, posture, and eyes. You knew what you had to do.

"Amon," you sighed, placing a hand on his, "even fairy tales originate from some truth, even if only a little. Don't be afraid to entertain the notion that your mother might be right."

You tried to look him in the eyes, but he cast his gaze down to the gardens below. His quick tongue failed him and silence ensued. His hand had reluctantly surrendered itself to your grasp, resting warm and limp.

"Look at me," You commanded with a firmer tone than expected. Reluctantly, he swiveled towards you and his aquamarine eyes found their way to yours. "Think about what you truly want. Don't be afraid to take it."

He swallowed. After a pause of a few heartbeats, his free hand grasped the back of your head, entwined his fingers in your hair, and pressed your lips to his. Your hand that held his grasped even tighter. The two of you were entwined in your own scandalous waltz. You could feel his hunger just as clearly as you felt his discontent when he parted your lips with his tongue. You reciprocated, catching fleeting impressions of his sharp teeth. He tasted like gin and figs. Short, passionate gasps and moans escaped the two of you and joined the chorus of crickets. You pulled away only to catch your breath.

"Amon," you gasped, his name sweet on your tongue. He looked at you with a bewildered expression and flushed navy cheeks. Neither of you could believe what just happened, yet surprise gave way to familiarity. Kissing Amon made your heart race but your shoulders relax. Being breathless and panting in his embrace was as recognizable to you as Petra's morning wake-up calls, or the smell of the gardens, or the feeling of your bedchamber floor on your bare feet. Déjà rêvé.

"I..." Amon sighed, "I shouldn't. I've had too much gin. I've been foolish." He released you from his arms and took several steps backward. Your jaw hung agape as he jogged inside and disappeared from view. Too shocked to try to catch him, you remained outside and alone on the balcony with only the sound of crickets and distant strings to keep you company. Just as silently and perceptively as a cat, Petra crept from the doorway a short while later.

"I saw Amon run away and came to check on you." She looked at your expression and reciprocated with a downtrodden look of her own. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. Probably not." You sighed and buried your face in your elbows until all you could see was the balustrade. You sensed Petra take a few steps towards you.

"What happened?" She asked delicately.

"We kissed, passionately. Then he said he was foolish and ran away," you mumbled into your self-embracing arms. Petra rested a hand on your shoulder.

"Some people just can't handle the fast pace and the pressure at galas like this. I'm sure it wasn't personal."

"I know..." you sighed. To Petra, your attempts at flirting simply failed to land. She didn't see the dreams. She didn't see the look in his eyes. She didn't hear the fear of hope in his voice. There were not enough hours in the night to explain to her the true extent of your sorrows.

"There's always tomorrow, Prince."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tonight is only for the Gala," Petra explained, her tender tone turning slightly optimistic, "anyone attending will be staying at least until tomorrow night for the treaty signing."

"So Amon is still here, then?" you asked, finally pulling your forehead from its resting place on your folded arms.

"He was likely running to the guest wing of the palace, where all the other dignitaries will be. If you truly wish to meet with him again, breakfast tomorrow morning would be an excellent opportunity."

You considered things for a moment. If Amon were to stay one more night, then that was one more dream to share. Tonight, you and Amon would spring awake in bed at the same time after another shared dream, but he would be only a few corridors away.

"Petra, get me an oneiromancer." You commanded.

"An oneiromancer? At this time of night? They're probably attending the gala with the rest of the court."

"Petra, this is important," you said. "I haven't exactly been forthcoming about everything in these recent days, and I'm sorry for that... but I need an oneiromancer before I sleep tonight. If you can do this for me, I promise to explain everything soon."

Petra looked at you silently, deciding whether or not to press you for details now rather than later contingent on your promise. She chose the former, nodding and silently fast-walking inside.

Alone once more on the balcony, you leaned on the balustrade and studied the stars. The moon's halo of illuminated night sky was the same color as Amon's lips. With any luck, you'd be seeing them again soon in tonight's dream.

#exophilia #monster x reader #monster x human #romance #male reader #tiefling #male tiefling x male reader #monster love #mlm #monster romance #monster fic #mlm romance

260 notes · View notes

ed-teach · 2 years

Note

Might I humbly make a request for Prompts 75 (and maybe also 131) for your next writing endeavour? Thanks, love you, bye!

75: Who are you? 131: You have a cold, you're not dying.

Drabble collection on AO3

---

When they heave him on board, he is bloated, unconscious, barely alive. Ed keeps his face under control but his mind is reeling.

He didn't think he would see Stede again. Let alone like this. Ed can't very well be angry at a half-dead person, even less when he factors in that he is still very much in love with him.

So he retreats to the captain's quarters and orders a sick bed to be made there. Once it is done, he throws them all out. Only Stede is left, lying beneath the blankets unmovingly. His breath is shallow but steady and now Ed has to figure out a way to deal with all this.

It gets worse before it gets better. Stede doesn't wake up and comes down with a fever and Ed is awake all night, cooling his forehead and making cold wraps for his calves and worrying himself sick.

Eventually, Ed passes out next to Stede and sleeps a couple of hours in broad daylight.

Someone brings something to eat. He barely manages a spoonful.

Stede wakes up unexpectedly during the second night. He is delirious with fever; his eyes are glassy and wide and his skin is flushed. It reminds Ed of their first meeting in a way he doesn't want to think too much about.

"Who are you?" Stede rasps and it takes Ed a moment to realise that the words are aimed at him.

He considers the question for a moment. He's not sure who he is, who he is to Stede and also in general. He has become haunted by identity ever since Stede left.

"I'm a friend," he says eventually.

Stede manages to drink some water before he falls asleep again.

Another day passes.

Stede's fever breaks some time on day four. When he wakes up, Ed isn't there and when he returns, Stede is sitting up, head in hands.

"Am I dying?" he sniffles pathetically.

Ed snorts. "You have a cold. You're definitely not dying. Not anymore."

"Ed!" Stede yelps, then promptly winces, presumably because of a headache.

"Yes." He reaches for a pitcher of water and a mug.

Stede accepts the drink with unsteady hands.

"What happened?"

"Don't know. You were floating up to the ship, we got you on board. I was hoping you could tell me more."

A frown twists Stede's features.

"I was looking for you."

Ed freezes.

"Why?"

"I figured out I'm in love with you."

Stede looks at him and Ed can't meet his eyes. He crosses the room in a few steps.

"You're delusional. Go back to sleep."

He only returns to the room late that night, slightly more drunk than he wants to admit. Of course Stede wakes up when he enters.

"We don't have to talk about it," he says, and Ed replies "Good."

He can't do this right now. He makes his way over to his own bed, carefully avoiding Stede while fully aware that he was tracking his every movement.

Hours later, he still lies awake. Stede wasn't delusional.

Stede meant it.

Before he can think better of it, Ed is sitting next to Stede, curling up next to him.

If Stede wakes up, he does not show it, and Ed is grateful for it and doesn't even flinch when Stede shifts and a warm hand settles on Ed's arm.

Maybe he will be alri-

"Achoo!"

"Fuck's sake!" Ed yells.

He's never going to fucking be alright like this.

#ofmd #ofmd fanfic #our flag means death #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #my writing #quip #ask #hehehe here u go

30 notes · View notes

chatonne-rousse · 3 years

Text

Be Bold, Be Kind, Be Brave

This is one akuma whose intentions are good. After all, who couldn't use an extra dose of courage to overcome fear?

A superhero whose identity will be immediately revealed in the process, for one.

When an akuma causes several secrets to come to light all at once, our heroes will need to drum up some courage to face their fears - and each other.

But what's waiting after that looks like it might be a dream come true. It'll just take a bit of bravery and a lot of heart. Piece of cake.

***

Only eight days late and several dollars short, I’m wishing @jennagrinsoverml a happy belated birthday with this gift, written just for her. ILY, my friend!

Read it on Ao3 here.

***

Ladybug has to give Courageous some credit: she's a rarity, an akuma born of selfless means. A teenager who hadn't mustered the courage to stand up for a younger student being bullied at school, she'd been so ashamed, so angry with herself, that Hawkmoth had found an easy target to ply with honeyed words and promises.

Her power isn't even a terrible one. The beam of light she shoots from her right hand simply causes the person it strikes to relive the last encounter they had when their bravery failed them, this time with courage aplenty. It's admirable, really.

Admirable, but terrifying nonethless.

(The fear of Chat Noir finding out her identity is deep and dark and often floats to the surface of her nightmares with blue eyes and white hair and a drowned, ruined world. He cannot know. The cost is too high.)

"Whatever you do," she calls to her partner, frantic and scared, "don't let her hit you! Please, Chat!"

She hears the desperation in her own voice, and the look on his face conveys that he certainly does. He nods solemnly.

"I'll do my best, My Lady."

She nods back, and off they go into the fray.

For well over an hour, they fight Courageous through parks and plazas, sidewalks and thoroughfares. All around them, the people of Paris have squared their shoulders, lifted their chins, and braved conversations big and small with people only they could see.

Ladybug has to smile as she hears a young man confidently ask for a raise and watches his eyes light up at the response.

That smile fades when she remembers once again that the last time her courage had failed her was just as they were dismissed for lunch break, when she'd tried to invite Adrien to a movie that weekend. His eyes had been so kind as he'd waited for her to gather her words properly, and somehow that had just made it harder.

Then Lila had "accidentally" tripped and knocked into her, sending her to the floor. The memory of Adrien's hand reaching out to her to help her up, those same kind, patient eyes locked on hers, makes Ladybug's cheeks heat even now. But after she was upright again, after Lila had stalked off because no one seemed to care that she "probably would need surgery now because her arthritis would flare", Nino had reminded Adrien about the gig he was DJing on Friday and Alya had led her away to show her something on her phone.

Just like that, her opportunity was gone.

And that would be fine, honestly. Marinette was used to moments of stuttering and botched declarations when it came to Adrien.

But if she's hit by Courageous, Chat Noir - plus the citizens of Paris, Hawkmoth, everyone - will hear Ladybug try to ask Adrien Agreste on a date, and that will be a disaster of epic proportions.

"Ladybug, look out!"

Chat's body slams into hers, sending them rolling on the sidewalk just as a beam of magical light zips over their heads. In a flash, Chat Noir bundles her in his arms and vaults them to the rooftop above, making sure she's steady on her feet once they land.

"Thank you, Ki-" The words die in her throat when she sees over her partner's shoulder that Courageous has followed them.

Chat turns, his baton at the ready, while Ladybug reaches for her yo-yo, but neither is quick enough to stop the akuma's beam from finally finding one of its main targets.

"I'm sorry, Bug," he murmurs as his eyes glaze over.

Using her yo-yo as a spinning shield, Ladybug drags her partner behind the nearest chimney stack just as he begins to speak.

Panic sets in as her mind screams at her over the hum of her yo-yo, the akuma's laughter, her partner's voice.

I can't just leave him!

"Father, may I come in?"

Oh no, oh no, oh no. I can't hear this!

"Yes, Nathalie said she penciled me into your schedule for noon."

Nathalie?

Ladybug's gaze snaps to her partner, yo-yo still spinning to deflect beams of light. She's surprised to find Chat Noir's head bowed in deference, though his eyes shine with a confident gleam.

"I requested this appointment to ask you again if I could attend the event with my friends tomorrow evening. I've already completed my assignments for school and the homework from my Mandarin tutor."

Mandarin tutor? What?!

"Yes, Father, I'm aware that you don't care for Nino, but..."

The panicked scream in her mind gives up any attempt at coherence; by this point, it's no more than a muddled loop of Nathalie, Mandarin, Nino, Father.

Ladybug feints to the left to avoid being hit by the akuma as a mix of terror and adrenaline floods her system. She leaps forward, leaving Chat behind the chimney in the hope that she can engage the akuma just long enough to get her partner back and finally, finally finish this off.

She knows too much already. The cat has bolted straight out of the bag and is running loose on this rooftop beneath her feet, a distraction she can't handle right now.

On hero autopilot, she hurdles one beam after another, then tucks and rolls and pops up to roundhouse kick Courageous in the chest, sending her flying.

She hears the akuma's "oof" just as Chat Noir's jubilant voice rings out from behind the chimney.

"Thank you, Father! Thank you so much!"

She can hear his grin in those simple words, the sheer joy in being given permission to leave the house. Everyone in their class knows what a tight leash Gabriel Agreste keeps on his son. It breaks her heart every time she thinks of it. In fact, she's successfully fought for his release from that marble prison on more than one occasion! So yes, she'd already known with all the clues in place, but there was truly no mistaking it now: that was Adrien talking to his father.

Because Adrien is Chat Noir.

Her heart cracks. Oh, Chaton.

Suddenly, the akuma's progress in clambering to her feet is impeded by the whoosh and subsequent metallic thunk of Chat's overhand swing with his baton.

Relief floods her heart at the return of her partner. No matter who he is, Chat Noir is her other half, and Ladybug is never quite herself without him.

"Maybe we could use a little extra luck, My Lady!" Chat winks at her over his shoulder before facing the akuma again.

"Yes! Right! You bet!"

Get it together, Marinette, she thinks. Her face heats and she scampers away to the safety of the chimney stack where Chat was hidden to call for her lucky charm.

A red and black spotted can opener drops into her hands and she looks at it in confusion. "What am I supposed to do with this?" she grumbles, looking around frantically but seeing nothing to help her decipher how to use the lucky charm.

She takes a deep breath, peeks out from behind the bricks, and promptly takes a light beam to the face.

No, no, no, no!

It feels vaguely like having a water balloon popped on her head, a chill of sensation dripping down her spine and rippling through her nerves. It's a small mercy that being hit by an akuma rarely hurts physically. Her vision swims like a mirage in the desert, the familiar courtyard at school coalescing from vapor around her.

The last thing she sees is her partner's stricken face.

The last thing she hears is the akuma cackling.

"Heylo! Who! I mean," she takes a deep breath, a rush of confidence tingling along her nerves. "Hey, Adrien!" She smiles and gives him a little wave.

His grin takes her breath away. "Hi, Marinette! How are you?"

"I'm great!"

You can do it, you can do it!, her heart sings, and miraculously, her brain listens. Her smile turns coy. She taps her lip with her index finger. Her pulse pounds a bolstering tattoo in her ears. Go for it, girl!

"But I could be better."

Adrien's smile drops a fraction. "Are you okay? Is there something I can do?"

With another deep breath, she squares her shoulders and looks him in the eyes, her very cells imbued with a courage unparalleled even when she's wearing spots. She could do anything, anything, right now, but she has her mind set on accomplishing one thing and one thing only.

"You could join me for a movie on Saturday."

"I could...?" His brows furrow, but his grin grows slowly, bright but incredulous. "Are you asking me....?" He blinks, takes two shallow breaths. "Do you mean just the two of us?"

She nods decisively. "A date."

You did it. You did it! A veritable party erupts in the back of her mind, radiant relief spreading to her fingertips. It feels so good to finally break through her anxiety and fear and ask him that simple question that felt like an impossible task just a few hours ago.

Thankfully, he doesn't keep her waiting. The answer is in his eyes, anyway. "I would love to," he breathes, cheeks pink and smile dazzling.

"Really?" Marinette squeaks, and now it's his turn to nod.

"I'll be there even if I have to sneak out." Adrien reaches for her hand and gives it a little squeeze. "We'll talk about it later today, okay?"

She nods again, her chest so full of emotion she can barely breathe. Not only did she ask him, but he said yes!

Suddenly, blue sky fills her vision and she regains awareness to the sound of a scuffle on the other side of the chimney stack. Ladybug tentatively gets to her feet, reaching for her yo-yo and setting it spinning immediately. This time there's no peeking around the corner; she bursts from behind the bricks on the offensive, ready to finish the fight.

What she finds is Courageous struggling under Chat's baton, twisted up like a pretzel and unable to move for the steel-toed boot resting across her shoulders.

"Just in time, LB!" Chat crows triumphantly. He tosses her a bracelet emblazoned with the words Be Bold, Be Kind, Be Brave that currently pulses with Hawkmoth's dark energy.

In moments, the bracelet is broken, the akuma is freed and purified, and a confused teenager sits where Courageous was restrained a moment ago.

Chat docks his baton at his back and looks at his partner with the softest eyes she's ever seen, a tiny, equally soft smile playing at his lips.

Her heart sighs. Adrien. That's Adrien, and he knows.

The lucky charm sits heavy in her palm. Abject fear makes her hope against hope that she won't remember his identity when she casts her miraculous cure, just as her heart longs to hold on to the knowledge that her precious partner is the boy of her deepest desires, and maybe, maybe they really can have it all.

With a deep breath, she throws the unused can opener into the air, watching magical ladybugs and healing light burst forth and spread throughout the city. She waits, holding her breath, but when pink light swirls around them, the only affect it has is the healing of the twinge in her ankle from when she fell mid-fight.

She looks up, and her partner's eyes say it all.

He remembers, too.

Even as fear grips her heart, radiant joy shines from his face as his grin spreads. It scrunches his eyes behind the mask and pinkens his cheeks, delight seeming to glow from his pores. Ladybug has never seen her partner so happy. That elation is a balm to her soul, and she can't help but smile right along with him.

Ladybug turns to the akuma victim and holds out her hand, offering the bracelet back to her. "I really like that inscription" she says, pointing at the now-silver bracelet as the girl fixes it back on her wrist.

She smiles shyly at the two heroes. "I wish I had the courage to do more. I wish I was brave like you."

"We get scared sometimes, too. Everyone does," Ladybug starts, before her partner nudges her shoulder with his elbow.

"Speak for yourself, Bugaboo. This cat has no fear." Chat Noir throws her an exaggerated wink, and the girl laughs. "But real talk, anyone can be a hero in their own way. Little things, big stuff...you're stronger than you think, I promise. Cat's honor."

She nods. "Thank you for, you know, saving me and everything." Glancing at the street below, she gestures toward the edge of the roof. "Would it be too much trouble to get me back down there?"

"Not at all," Ladybug replies with a smile. Calling on her own courage, she looks at her partner and takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing, she thinks. "The usual spot in five? Or less, I guess, since it...doesn't matter now," she says with a shrug that she hopes looks nonchalant.

And there's that smile that shines like the summer sun. He gives her a jaunty salute. "I'll be there with bells on," he says, tapping the bell at his throat and making it jingle.

Ladybug just shakes her head and giggles.

A few minutes later, when she lands beside Chat Noir on their familiar rooftop, her earrings are beeping a frantic rhythm, signaling mere seconds before she detransforms. Instinct has her looking around the roof, ready to dart behind anything she can use to hide.

Before she can move, Chat steps toward her and quietly asks, "Marinette?"

Her transformation dissolves in a wave of pink light, and she hears him gasp as she catches Tikki gently in her palms. Marinette takes her time retrieving a macaron from her purse to feed her kwami, deliberately moving slowly in an attempt to get herself under control before she looks up at her partner. He knows, and he's thrilled, and that's amazing, but it feels like the entire world will change when their gazes finally meet, and she's just not ready yet.

"I, um...I didn't use my cataclysm, so I can stay transformed if you'd prefer, but..." he trails off.

There's something in his voice that finally makes her look at him. Just like when he talked to his father under the akuma's control, his head is bowed slightly, but instead of confidence, this time his eyes are bright with nervous hope.

Marinette understands both the nerves and the hope, and she'll joke with her partner until the end of time about who's in charge, but it feels wrong for either Chat or Adrien to look at her with uneasy deference.

And that's what she thinks of as courage wells in her chest. Her brave, steadfast partner, the other half of their unstoppable team, the boy with terrible timing who can still make her laugh, her best friend whom she loves so fiercely, should never feel he has to approach her in fear.

"Oh, Minou," she breathes. "Of course, go ahead. I...I already know."

He nods and stands a little straighter, and with a whisper and a flash of green, Chat's magical leather is replaced with denim and cotton poplin.

Predictably, her brain is short-circuiting, hollering in panic and terror, but even as her heart pounds wildly in her chest, it whispers quietly, gently, that this is her partner. Her silly kitty. Her dearest friend. He just happens to look like Adrien Agreste at the moment.

(Okay, this is going to take some getting used to.)

Tikki flies off to join Plagg nearby, while Marinette sits down on the roof with her knees pulled to her chest. She pats the space to her right and Adrien settles in cross-legged next to her.

He's the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry, Marinette. I shouldn't have gotten hit. I shouldn't have let you get hit. I know this wasn't what you wanted, and-"

"No, no, don't apologize," she interrupts, shaking her head. "It happens. It's...not the first time." Marinette sighs and closes her eyes, suddenly feeling a lot less courageous in the face of this world-bending change now that they're in their civilian clothes and it's Adrien apologizing to her. She presses her forehead to her knees and tries to imagine the boy beside her in magical leather and cat ears. It only helps a little, but it's enough. "We, um-" she pauses, licks her lips. "We have a lot to talk about. I just don't know if I'm ready for...all of it."

Adrien is silent for an uncomfortably long moment. "Yeah. We do." She hears him take a deep breath that shakes a bit on the exhale and turns her head a fraction to peek at him. His eyes are on the distant horizon. "I...think I understand some things now."

Abruptly, he turns toward her, a little smile tilting the corners of his mouth when he his eyes meet hers. Fear tells her to look away, but she tamps it down and holds his gaze. His smile widens.

"May I ask you something, Marinette?"

She nods.

"When you came up to me at lunch today, were you...planning to ask me on a date?"

Her pulse pounds in her ears. She could give in to fear, say no and brush it off like Chat had misheard her when she was under the akuma's spell. But suddenly her heartbeat seems to drum, "be bold, be kind, be brave," over and over again, and just as the smile begins to slip from his face, she finds the nerve to nod again.

Just like on the other rooftop a few minutes ago, his face lights up like the first rays of sun after a week of rain, shining splendid even in the early afternoon light.

"Am I--" he whispers, his breath hitching though his joy never dims, "Am I the boy?"

Be bold, be kind, be brave.

She calls on her Ladybug courage and nods once more.

His breath catches again and his eyes fill with tears that he brushes away quickly.

Clarity dawns all of a sudden, sweeping her fears to the corners of her mind to be dealt with later. She understood Chat Noir being happy to know his partner's identity, his excitement in finding out his Lady was his friend, too. But this is so much more. Beside her sits Adrien, wiping tears of joy from his eyes at the knowledge that Marinette is in love with him. This might just be a dream coming true on a random rooftop on a random Thursday afternoon.

"Chaton," she breathes, stretching her legs in front of her and placing a hand on his knee.

His hand covers hers, and she meets his gaze, words caught in her throat at the intensity in his eyes.

"I have a confession to make." He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and takes a deep breath. "I think everyone in Paris knows that Chat Noir is in love with Ladybug. I...know you know." He shrugs as his smile turns a little helpless. "But no one knows that I might have a little tiny bit of a huge crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, too."

"Kid, don't lie to your girlfriend. You know very well that I knew, because I've been telling you forever!" Plagg calls from somewhere behind them. Tikki hushes him loudly.

"Okay, he's not wrong," Adrien says, huffing out a combination of a laugh and a sigh. I'm just very stupid, apparently."

"Hey, don't talk that way about my partner." Marinette bumps his shoulder with hers. "I have a teeny, tiny, huge crush on him, too, you know, and I don't appreciate your tone."

Adrien's surprised laugh rings out across the rooftop, filling her heart with so much love she can barely breathe with the force of it. She could listen to that laugh for the rest of her life. She hopes she'll have that chance.

He brushes tears from his eyes again as his laughter subsides, his grin still shining bright. "I'm so happy it's you, Marinette. Beyond happy." He turns her hand beneath his and threads his fingers through hers. "Honestly, there's no one else I would rather have as my partner."

"Me too, Minou," she murmurs, squeezing his hand lightly as incredulous joy sings through her veins.

Tikki's little voice pipes up nearby. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's almost time to go back to class."

Adrien lets go of her hand to fish for his phone and curses under his breath when he sees the time. "She's right, My Lady. Could we meet up this evening? I know we have, um...a lot of things to talk about."

Marinette nods. It feels like she's done a lot of that in the last few minutes.

When Adrien stands, he offers his hand to help her up. Just like in the courtyard at lunch, his eyes are patient and kind, but now they shine with something more. She lets him pull her to her feet, then wraps her arms around his waist in a tight hug.

His soft exhale at her ear as he melts against her makes her smile, scrunching up his white overshirt under her cheek. Her senses are filled with him, and she's surprised to realize that it's a feeling of comfort and safety instead of the usual panic.

Maybe loving Adrien and being loved in return will be easier than it seemed all this time. Her fears seem so silly when his arms are wrapped around her shoulders and his head rests on top of hers - a perfect fit.

Even the nightmarish terror of Chat Blanc is diminished. Adrien never told anyone her identity; he knew because he himself was Chat Noir, and there's no way in the world that Chat would hurt his Lady, nor would Adrien ever harm Marinette on purpose. She must have misunderstood. He must have misunderstood. He was an akuma, after all. She sighs into Adrien's shirt. She can never allow that terrible timeline to occur, but whatever happens after this, they'll face it together. Stronger. She'll make sure of it.

"Do you think my father will let me go to Nino's gig in real life?" he asks quietly.

The sad note in his voice breaks her heart. She squeezes him tighter.

"I don't know, Kitty. Do you think we'll be having a movie date on Saturday?"

He leans back abruptly, though his hands still grip her shoulders. "Of course! I'll be there if I have to sneak out!"

Marinette boops his nose, laughing when his eyes cross. "I think that's your answer for Friday night, too."

Suddenly she's in his arms again, this time lifted off the ground and spinning. She can't help but giggle.

"I knew I was in love with a genius!" he cries, jubilant. He sets her down and plants a kiss in the middle of her forehead before calling for Plagg to transform him.

When he turns his masked face back to her, it's like the world is different. She can easily see the brilliant green of Adrien's eyes in Chat's glowing sclerae. The blending of two of her favorite people into one extraordinary boy who - oh my goodness - just said he loves her gives her a shot of courage even before she suits up again.

"You missed, beau gosse."

His eyes widen comically. "I....what?"

Marinette smiles and calls for her transformation, then taps her lips with her gloved fingers. "You kissed me, but you missed."

The sly gleam in his eyes makes her breathing speed up.

"First of all, I would ask before I did that," Chat says, sticking out his thumb before raising his clawed index finger. "Second, I thought I'd save our first kiss for Saturday. Seems like a great way to end our first date, doesn't it?"

Our first date. A tingle runs down her spine. She likes the sound of that.

"I guess I can wait." Her smile turns cheeky. "But it'll be our third--"

"Ah, ah, ah," Chat cuts her off with a grin. He extends his thumb again. "First of all, I don't remember either of those."

Ladybug rolls her eyes, still smiling.

"And second," he says, his voice pitching lower and making her heart skip a beat, "it will be Marinette and Adrien's first kiss."

Oh, this boy, she thinks as her heart soars.

She bites her lip to keep from giggling. "I suppose you're right, even though we both know we're the same people."

Chat gives her a deadpan look. "Just let me have this, Bug."

She bursts into laughter and reaches for her yo-yo, delighting in watching a grin light her partner's face.

"I really am looking forward to Saturday," he says, unhooking his baton from his back. He reaches for her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "We'll talk about it later today, okay?"

She nods and watches him vault off toward home.

The wind against her face is exhilarating as she swings back to the bakery. It's amazing how one revelation seems to have changed everything. Even the zip of her yo-yo through the air sounds different to her ears now that she knows, now that he knows.

Marinette detransforms as she touches down on the terrace and sinks into her pink-striped chair while Tikki phases through the hatch into her room in search of food. A quick check of her phone tells her that she has ten minutes before she has to go back to school.

School. One more thing that's going to be different.

Before nerves can creep in, she thinks of Chat Noir and his beaming joy at learning the identity of his beloved partner. That was Adrien. She thinks of the comfort of being wrapped in Adrien's arms, his scent, his warmth. That was Chat Noir.

And when she sits down in class behind him in a few short minutes, that boy with the soft smile and shining eyes will look like Adrien, but now he's so much more.

Marinette stands up from her chair with a lighter heart than she can remember having in a long, long time. She's suddenly looking forward to the second half of the day, even more excited for Nino's event tomorrow night, and positively thrilled that she has a date with Adrien - who is Chat Noir! - on Saturday.

There's so much to experience, so many memories to be made. It feels a bit like a dream. It feels more than a bit scary. But it's going to be great.

It's just going to take a little courage.

She's got this.

#miraculous ladybug #ml fan fiction #identity reveal #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #ml fic #ml fanfic #adrienette #my writing #happy birthday jenna!#the real power move is posting this on an episode premiere day #thanks for reading it anyway

86 notes · View notes

ff7-has-taken-me-over · 2 years

Text

THIS PROMPT CONTAINS SPOILERS AND PROBABLY MANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES SO PLEASE BEWARE.

In the last ep, when Cirilla has been possessed by the evil witch (whatever the hell her name is) and everyone is running around the keep looking for her, what if Jaskier was the first one to find her instead?

For the sake of this Jask and Geralt are happily together or at least aware of their own feelings for one another but unwilling to admit to it because of classic miscommunication. Anyway!

The witch knows what Jaskier means to Geralt, knows that he’s the white wolf’s mate and the sort of pain injuring or even killing him would induce in the witcher. Knows the amount of anger and hatred that would fuel her if she were to take him away. So she stabs him once they encounter one another, wounding him grievously but not killing him just yet.

Since Jask is injured before Geralt gets there, the bard is able to hide it from him when he enters the room to find them together.

The witcher is quick to get Jask away from her (though not quick enough to avoid all casualties) and the episode plays out.

However when Cirilla teleports her, Geralt and Yen to another sphere Jask is barely holding on and collapses as soon as they disappear from sight.

Vesemir is the first to his side, knowing exactly what he means to Geralt and worried for both the bard’s health and what this could mean for his wolf.

There is nothing any of the witchers can do though, not in their keep and certainly not for a mortal. The best Vesemir is able to do is wrap the wound and hope the other three return soon.

They all sit around, waiting for the three to return and listening to the painful sounding wheezes that become more and more slowed as time ticks by.

Finally they’re back, all three of them teetering on their feet for a moment before turning to the rest of them. Geralt immediately realises something is wrong, the shallow breathing and slowed heartbeat of a dying mortal hauntingly familiar to him.

His eyes zero in on Jask, who is sitting propped against Vesemir’s shoulder and a wall and offers him a blood filled smile when they lock eyes with one another.

Dread and fear zip through Geralt and almost brings him to his knees, if it were not for the burning need to get closer to Jaskier, his human.

Obviously he starts panicking and just doesn’t know what to do. He very nearly starts to cry until Yennefer comes over, shoving him out of the way and promptly placing her hands over Jaskier’s wound.

The bard doesn’t offer anything more than a token protest, too tired and injured to put up much fuss. Yennefer is mumbling incantations under her breath, trying to hide her own desperation as the man slowly dies.

Luckily they’ve made it just in time and Yen is able to heal him up fine, though he’s still pretty tired and a little loopy from the blood loss. Everyone is relieved, some of them for more than one reason, and pretty much just piles onto the bard.

Jask obviously takes the time to personally thank Yennefer, though he’s still his usual self there’s more gratitude in his eyes than usual.

When he goes to hug her she pushes him away and of course Jaskier has to tease and say, “What? If you go in for a spontaneous hug it’s friendly but if I do it I’m the scum of the sphere trying to dirty your precious robes?”

“You’re covered in blood Jaskier.”

“And you were covered in sewer water but I still hugged you back! Now come here so I can hug you.”

Yen laughs and accepts it while Geralt stands off to the side and gapes at them. He never thought he’d see the day where the two actually got along with one another, much less be within two feet of one another and not throw thinly veiled threats.

But yeah, Geralt knows he’s fucked now because once the two seperate they immediately turn toward him and start throwing thinly veiled insult at him. Which is in no way fair but Cirilla is smiling and so are the other Witcher’s, despite all the death and blood that surrounds them, so he doesn’t think it’s completely bad.

#the witcher #the witcher season 2 #Geralt #Yennefer #Cirilla #Jaskier #Coën #vesemir #lambert #Geralt x jaskier #maybe Geralt x jaskier x Yennefer #injured jaskier #Geralt panics #Yennefer holds the brain cell #hurt jaskier #fic prompt #prompt

34 notes · View notes

psycheshorror · 3 years

Text

“Shut Up” Pt. 2

pairing: MCU!Brock Rumlow x reader

summary: Rule #1 of hookup culture: Don’t catch feelings. More plot than smut. Smut still included, of course.

authors note: Well this took me a hot minute but I wanted to continue our dear reader’s story. Reader and Brock have some self-work to do.

part one

The next morning you wake up to a relentless alarm on your phone and an empty bed.

Disappointment washed through your stomach and you tried to stifle it down with a sip of water, wincing when your hips adjusted against your body weight. If you felt sore now, you knew the bruises on your body would tell quite a story.

Flicking the alarm off on your phone, you squinted at the text message left by an unknown number two hours ago.

Meet later tonight?

You knew you were playing with fire the way the disappointment was instead replaced with utter joy at the fact that he wanted to see you again. You shouldn’t. Brock Rumlow wasn’t the kind of man that would treat you right; sure, in bed he gave you everything and more, but the absence of him left a chill in the sheets that was frankly, quite terrifying considering he had only spent the night once.

Brock Rumlow filled your body with molten lava and the next morning took it all away and replaced it with ash. And no doubt would he continue giving and taking more than you could handle.

Against your better judgement, you sent your response.

Yes.

The next three nights you spent with Rumlow, you could feel yourself breaking the one unspoken rule.

You were catching feelings, hard.

You couldn’t help it - the man was so damn beautiful. From the way he tossed his head back and whined when you were licking his cock to when he glared at you and growled when you dared to wiggle out of his grip mid-spank. He was intoxicating.

You found yourself with a black hole in your heart the morning after each “meeting”. He was a drug that came with a dangerous high and an even more lethal withdrawal.

This bed will never feel the same, you thought, fingers weaving through the spot where he should be.

Should be? you winced.

That wasn’t a good sign.

It wasn’t like Brock would ever start a discussion about feelings, considering the most you ever spoke to each other was during sex. His low, gravelly whispers of “Good girl,” as you came around his cock or the degrading name-calling that he knew you loved was as far as you two got.

It’s not like you would know how to bring it up even if he did stay the morning after. “Hey so uh, I know my vag and your dick have been well acquainted, but I was wondering if your brain would like to get to know my brain and go on a date?”

Yeah, no.

Taking the sheets off your bed and trying desperately not to huff the ghost of his scent, your phone pinged with a message. Brock’s name lit up your screen better than any Christmas lights on a tree could.

Won’t be around for a while. Mission overseas in progress.

You let out an breath of relief that you didn’t known you were holding. Space could be good. Maybe by the time he got back you’d come to your senses.

No need to ruin a good thing by asking for more.

Good luck. You typed out, hitting send and stuffing the sheets that smelled like him into the washing machine. The voice in the back of your head scolded you for replying, engaging. There was no need for that.

Clicking the “start” button, you stared into the machine, watching the dirty sheets spin through the water. As the rinse cycle began, you found yourself hoping that the memory of Rumlow’s eyes glittering with lust and praise would be washed away with it. Maybe with a little break, he could stop haunting you.

Your phone pinged again.

Don’t forget about me.

Your heart fluttered annoyingly.

Oh, fuck. This was gonna be harder than you thought.

🥀

Rumlow had never been a man that was easily distracted from a target, but during this mission, his mind couldn’t help but to wander.

Shallow breaths, the way your eyes bore holes in his when he made you orgasm, the curve of your satisfied smile afterwards.

Barely being able to register Rogers’ words in his ear as he shout out orders, Rumlow missed a shot at his target and it almost cost him his arm.

“Distracted?” Rogers grunts, knocking the gun out of the target’s grip with ease.

Rumlow finds himself knocking the target down onto his knees, securing his wrists tighter than necessary, growling at the man’s resistance.

“I’ve got some things on my mind,” he confirmed, twisting a sheepish smile on his face. Pulling the man to his feet and shoving him towards the rest of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team, he applauded himself for appearing friendly with the Captain, even with the pang of annoyance sitting heavy in his stomach. Any day now. He couldn’t risk raising any red flags.

Rogers let out a good-natured chuckle and patted his shoulder. He fought not to shrug the man’s hand off. Damn woman. He gets laid a few times and all of a sudden Rumlow feels like he’s in high school again.

“Hope it’s good things,” Rogers gave him a knowing smirk before catching up with the rest of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team.

Rumlow scoffed under his breath.

Good things don’t happen to people like him.

🥀

After two weeks of silence, you finally cracked and opened the mission file that Rumlow was assigned on. You couldn’t get over your pride to text him yourself - not wanting to come off needy, or demanding, so you did the totally-not-psycho thing and went behind his back.

It seemed like the file was taking years to download. Every second that passed, you found yourself wanting to close the window and just forget about it. You could get laid without his help. You weren’t the type to snoop around and wait for a man. Your finger twitched to click on the “exit window” tab but the file loaded before you could backpedal.

You frowned.

That was odd.

The mission file stated that he made his return 4 days ago - scrolling down, you found that his mission report was turned in 27 hours ago. Your colleague, Cal, must have been the one to process it during your day off.

You felt a familiar icy grip on your heart. Rejection. You could take a hint. Shit happens. It’s not like you two had an agreement. Or anything, for that matter. It was just good sex.

Closing the window, you tried your best to undo the furrow in your brow as Steve Rogers walked in with two steaming cups of coffee and a report tucked underneath his arm.

“Hey there, doll.” He smiled, lighting up the room. Setting your coffee down beside you, he handed you his mission report.

“Hi Steve,” you shyly glanced at the coffee, the scent hitting your senses and you couldn’t stop the smile spreading on your face.

“I’m sorry this report is so tardy,” he said, big hand rubbing the back of his head. You couldn’t help your eyes from wandering, first gazing at his golden locks that were the opposite of Brock’s dark tresses, and then Steve’s crystal blue eyes that presented a fondness that you weren’t sure Brock’s hazel ones could ever hold.

A pang of sadness struck your heart once again. Jesus, you were whipped.

“Is everything okay?” Steve asked, eyebrows knitting with concern.

“Oh - jeez, sorry Steve,” you laughed, realizing that you got so lost thinking about Rumlow that you had never replied.

“I’ve got some things on my mind.”

Steve had the strangest expression then - a flash of knowing - and he smiled with a certain kind of apologetic softness that you were confused by.

“I see,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy your coffee, doll.”

And with that, he turned and made his way out. You deflated. Steve never made a hasty exit with you - normally he’d stay and chat and you both would forget that he was Captain fucking America and instead just a good dude hanging out with a friend. What on earth have you done?

“I hope it’s only good things,” Steve said, before turning the knob on your door. He looked back then, giving you another apologetic, boyish smile, and then promptly walked out and closed the door behind him. Fuck. He knew something.

Oh lord. Bang the hot commander of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team, lose the golden boy. The universe could be cruel. Then again, what did you expect?

And now you weren’t even sure if you were actively banging the man. You sighed, feeling foolish. A few nights of mind-blowing sex has made you weak. Glancing at the coffee, you took a sip, knowing damn well you didn’t deserve it.

Undeserving or not, the coffee was delicious. Damn you, Steve.

It would be another week before you saw Rumlow again. You tried to find another man - even successfully nabbed one at the bar near your apartment, but the sex was as disappointing as you feared it would be. You craved the submissive state that Rumlow could so easily throttle you in. Staring at your empty bed, you couldn’t help but to think that you were right about one thing: it would never feel the same.

You huffed, throwing yourself on your bed. Time for the next best thing.

Reaching under your bed, you found the handle to a hidden drawer. Upon opening it, you were greeted with one of your favorite sex toys - a hot pink Rabbit vibrator.

Alright, you thought. Nobody better to get the job done than you.

Slipping your pants and shirt off, you shuffled the pillows and settled into a comfortable position. Clicking the “on” button, you couldn’t stifle the giddy smile on your face as your core stirred with excitement.

Rubbing the shaft of the toy against your clit gently, you sighed and threw your head back, imagining Rumlow’s thick fingers sliding up and against your slit instead.

Adding more pressure, your toes curled and you let out a mewl of pleasure, remembering what it was like for his stubble to tickle your pussy whenever he went down on you.

You hated how fast you got wet at just the memory of your midnight rendezvous with him, when the man you met last night could barely arouse you.

Clicking the next setting, the vibrations became more powerful. Any second now and you’d be able to slide the toy in and chase an orgasm.

You whimpered, sliding your panties to the side and gingerly lining the head of the toy to the opening of your cunt.

“Well what do we have here?”

You yelped, instantly dropping the toy. Your eyes could hardly believe what you were seeing.

There Rumlow was, in full tactical gear, arms crossed with blown pupils and that signature shit-eating grin.

You swallowed. Your pussy quivered.

“I saw that,” he said, slowly walking over to the bed. He leaned down, placing both hands beside your ankles. You fought the urge to cover up.

“Why don’t you continue for me, honey?”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Picking up the toy, you inserted it with ease and moaned lowly, shutting your eyes and throwing your head back again.

You could hear Brock purr and it made your toes curl into the mattress.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

Your head snapped back up slowly, shyly, and when your eyes met his you felt small.

Fragile. Horny as fuck.

“You’re so wet, honey,” he grabbed one of your ankles and yanked you closer to the edge of the bed. The same hand found it’s way to the back of your head, forcing your forehead to rest against his as his hazel eyes bore into yours. His other hand began pumping the toy slowly into your core.

You moaned and shifted, uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze.

“Were you thinking of me?”

You felt your heart tighten. Caught red-handed.

You nodded.

“Poor little slut,” he cooed. “Can’t get enough of my cock,” he then unzipped his pants and set his fully erect member loose. Turning the toy off and throwing it to a corner of the room, you jumped when it made a concerning clatter against the floor.

“I’m gonna make sure you don’t need shit like that no more,” Brock said in a low, gravelly voice that made your resolve melt. You shook the feeling of being ghosted off and finally spoke.

“Then do it,” you challenged. He smirked devilishly and thrust into you, not giving you any time to adjust.

With that slight twinge of pain paired with the heavenly feeling of being filled, you swore you could cum right then and there.

Rumlow’s pace was relentless, needy, desperate. He forced you to look into his eyes as he drilled into you, large rough hand gripping the back of your neck while the other held your hip in place to stop you from writhing. You found your hands cupping the sides of his face, trying to hold on, enjoying the tickle of his dark hair brushing across the tips of your fingers with every hard thrust.

You’ve never wanted to kiss someone more in your life.

In all these times you’ve had sex with Rumlow, not once did either of you initiate a kiss. Whether that be another unspoken rule to avoid feelings, or the more painful thought of he simply didn’t want to kiss you, you’d never know.

He must have caught your longing glance at his lips because he growled and suddenly his mouth was on yours, stifling your heavy moans. Teeth clashing, it was as messy and rough as the sex but exhilarating all the same. His tongue slid in your mouth and he tastes like fire and smoke.

Brock Rumlow was seeping into you and consuming everything you had while he fucked you. You gasped for breath when he broke the kiss, only to capture your mouth with his again as he thrusted in harder. Hips becoming sloppy, you could tell he was close.

A large hand slipped down in between your legs and a rough thumb began rubbing tight circles around your clit. You cried. It was too much - the kisses, the sound of skin slapping skin, his breath hitting your face and filling your nostrils with his scent.

All you could touch, smell, taste, hear - all of it was Rumlow.

The coil inside you snapped, hard, and you nearly screamed when Rumlow finished with you, cock throbbing hard inside of you as his hot seed filled your cunt. The warmth of his throbbing member and his hot cum made your body feel like a temple - the pleasure he granted you made it feel worshipped.

You struggled to catch your breath as Rumlow claimed your mouth again, this time with a rough bite to the bottom lip. You whimpered.

He pulled out and for the first time, he didn’t lay himself down next to you. He promptly got dressed.

Your crashing disappointment battling the euphoria of the sex was enough to distract you from the fact that he wasn’t dressed in his standard S.H.I.E.L.D. gear. Or, for that matter, the fact that he wasn’t scheduled to go out into the field for the next three days.

You watched him leave with faux acceptance and calmness and choked down the frustrated tears that threatened to spill out. Jesus.

You were so fucked.

Pulling the sheets and comforter over yourself and positioning your back to the door, you didn’t see Rumlow’s last glance. Longing, desperation and a dash of self-hatred made the perfect cocktail in his eyes.

Maybe good things did happen to Rumlow.

But that didn’t mean he deserved them. He turned the door knob and made his silent exit out.

The last thing you remember is a singular tear spilling out and frustration drilling a hole in your chest.

That night you dreamed of Rumlow staying, and softly kissing you while his large hands caressed every inch of your body. Nose bumping yours, there was that fondness that you had seen earlier in Steve’s eyes that was now in Rumlow’s, but it looked different.

It looked haunted. Sad, even.

The next morning when you rose from your dream, willing yourself to ignore the tear stains on your pillow, you made a pact with yourself to end things the next time he came around.

#frank grillo #rumlow #brock rumlow #brock rumlow / reader #brock rumlow fanfiction #brock rumlow x reader #brock rumlow imagine #fanfic #idiots fallin for each other #smut

206 notes · View notes

chaos-and-echidnas · 3 years

Text

Always on that treasure hunting grind

A sonic the hedgehog fanfiction. Read on my ao3 here (the only sonic fic on there rn, but more to come!)

Team Sonic is vacationing at the beach, Rouge tags along for kicks. She should have known Knuckles would find something rock-related, even on vacation...

(aka Knuckles shows Rouge what geodes are. Just generally a sweet moment.)

Rouge had never been a particularly social bat- well, that's not true. But she had never been particularly social with this crowd.

Shadow and Omega were much more her speed in terms of friendship (if that's what it could be called). There were no expectations or commitments, just an understanding and trust to have each others backs.

Team Sonic, on the other hand, were all about the 'power of friendship' 'let's do this together' 'three heads are better than one' type of friendship. Real co-dependent stuff.

Rouge grinned as she spotted the three familiar dots of colour in the distance, sticking out dramatically against the tan tones of the rocky beach. She had been a little surprised when she had caught wind of their little beach trip- Sonic's aversion to water, Tails' preference for a more mechanical setting and Knuckles' general dislike of being away from his island meant that traditional vacations such as this were often off the table.

Even so, here they were. Soaring closer to the ground revealed the details of the scene, and she swerved harshly off course with the force of her laughter as she caught sight of Sonic's floaties and rubber ring.

The hedgehog was floating in the shallows, tense and looking downright distraught at his predicament. Tails could be seen gently coaxing him, she could make out the foxes paws making repeated flapping motions, likely encouraging him to move around in the water.

Extremely amused, the bat touched down and began to treck toward the pair, sighing happily as she was finally able to soak in the warmth of the summer sun. There was only one thing missing.

Holding a hand to shade her eyes, Rouge scanned the shore for her favourite Gem, smirking as she caught sight of the red echidna, wandering the beach a little ways from the others, eyes scanning the ground. She started toward him, curious.

"Lose something?"

Jolting and almost faceplanting in the process, Knuckles whipped around to face the voice that had appeared inches by his face. Pressing a hand to his chest, he huffed. "Unnecessary."

"Ehh, you're too cute to resist~"

Rouge smiles, tossing a wink his way. She took a moment to examine the younger, smirking. He'd filled out a lot just recently, he'd been horribly thin when they'd first met, but after spending some more time on the surface, with people who'd make sure he ate, he'd put on enough to build some real muscle definition. Rouge was very pleased about this, her eyes lingering on his abs for a few select moments as her eyes moved back up to meet his. He'd tied his quills back into a ponytail, out of his face. He was pretty, in a boy kind of way.

"For real, though. Not interested in the kiddy pool swimming lessons over there?"

Her smile grows as Knuckles struggles to hold back an amused grin. The echidna looks over to his friends, and his eyes noticeably soften.

"It was funny for the first twenty minutes," he looks back at her, fully grinning now. "It's just sad at this point. He won't even kick, he just kind of-" he stiffens suddenly, putting on a startled expression in an impression of Sonic that has Rouge cackling, joining in with his own gruff laughter a moment later.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Rouge straightens from where she'd doubled over. "Fair enough, I suppose," She nods, placing a hand on her hip and tilting her head slightly. "But for real, what are you up to over here?"

Knuckles pauses, before apparently recollecting his thoughts. "Right, yeah- I was looking for geodes."

Rouge blinks. "looking for what?"

He looks up from where he'd continued scanning the ground. "Geodes, yknow. Rocks."

'of course you are,' Rouge thinks to herself, a small amused smile playing on her face. She gestures to the wide expanse of beach surrounding them, every square inch covered in rocks and stones of all shapes and sizes. "Yes, because that's what we're missing here."

She grins to herself triumphantly when the echidna lets out an amused huff.

"They're different rocks," he argues, before promptly kneeling to pick up one of the millions of stones surrounding them. He holds it out to her downright proudly, and she has to smile.

The rock is rounder than average, a pale, dusty yellow colour littered with small textured holes. She raises an eyebrow. "And this is different because...?"

The echidna grins- actually grins, and Roige decides right there and then that vacations are good for this boy.

Knuckles leads her to the stone steps that surround the beach, and sits down. After a moment, he expectantly pats the space beside him, before turning his attention back to his rock. 'As always, some stone is getting more of his attention,' Rouge shakes her head good naturedly, before sitting down beside the echidna expectantly.

Knuckles looks over the rock once more, before shuffling over slightly, beginning to tap the rock gently on the stairs in the space between them. Rouge watches, unamused. "I see we've returned to caveman levels of entertainment," she jokes, about to question his methods before-

Crack!

She watches in awe as the rock splits neatly in two, her jaw dropping as the echidna pulls it open to reveal a hollow centre, the inner walls of the rock completely covered with protruding crystals that glistened a familiar violet colour in the sunlight. Knuckles makes a triumphant sound, offering one half to the thief.

Rouge cups it gently in her hands, turning it gently to watch the light reflect from the glistening gems. She looks back up at the guardian, amazed. He grins again, and her heart does something... Odd.

"Cool, right? We don't have limestone beaches like this on angel island anymore, so I haven't been able to hunt for these since I was a kid."

She pictures a baby echidna, wandering around a beach with his eyes glued to the ground, faced scrunched in concentration, and her heart lurches again.

"I had no idea these were a thing," she admits, turning the gem in her hands again. "it's gorgeous, like a little cave of jewels..."

"It's what I imagine your house looks like, to be honest," Knuckles stands, leaving the other half sitting on the step as he brushes sand from his legs. Rouge snorts.

"Ohh, in my dreams," She says dramatically, taking both halves into her hands and gracefully standing, admiring them. She looks back at the echidna, admiring him too, staring until he predictably blushes and squirms beneath her gaze.

"What?"

"Nothing," she smiles sweetly. "Thank you for showing me." on a whim, she leans close, pressing her lips to his cheek before pulling away just as fast, sauntering off to watch Sonic flail about. Though, she can't help but grin as she hears the flustered sputtering from behind her.

#Knuckles the echidna #Rouge the bat #Sonic the hedgehog #Sonic the hedgehog fanfiction #Knuxouge #Knouge

51 notes · View notes

tanyawritesstories · 3 years

Text

Bliss Beneath Waves | Kit Fisto x Reader

Here is the fic based off this request. Sorry it took so long, anon 🥺 I loved the idea that this inspired! You can either think of it as before the Clone Wars or if they never happened, since it's peaceful and cute. 🥰 Also, I just started reading The Cestus Deception and have been simping extra hard over Kit recently 😍😍 enjoy!!

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: fluff, one NSFW scene, fingering, cuddling, adorable themes, more fluff, Kit is such a sweetheart and I love him

•••

The planet was gorgeous at night. It’s moon was closer to it than on Coruscant and provided more light, bathing everything in a soft blue glow. The surface of the planet was mostly water with islands of every size scattered about here and there. The only noise was that of the gentle waves lapping at the shore and songbirds whistling their lullabies for all to hear. It was so peaceful, even if you were sitting by yourself on a boulder at the edge of the water, not currently joined with your partner just yet.

You closed your eyes and breathed in the fresh air. Glee Anselm was one of the favorite planets you’d ever visited and it wasn’t just because the locals were nice and the scenery was beautiful. It held a special place in your heart. You smiled thinking of all the reasons why it did.

One of those reasons was currently walking towards the rocks where you were sitting. You could faintly hear the shuffling of the sand as it sunk under his boots, your smile widened. You knew he was looking at you. You heard what sounded like clothes rustling together before small grunts as he clambered onto your rock, sitting down beside you. “Evening, my love,” he greeted. You turned your head, still smiling, and was treated to the sight of Kit, looking just as happy as you. “How did your mission go?” You asked.

“It went great,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “I didn’t expect it to go so well. The Senator even invited me to dinner afterwards, hence why I was so late. You remember meeting her, don’t you?” You nodded, resting your head on his chest. “I remember. I’m shocked you two are still good friends despite the idea that politicians and Jedi don’t mix.” He chuckled. “She and I have been friends for years, our political ideals and lifestyles don’t get in the way of that.”

You had initially been a bit jealous when you first met the Senator of Kit’s home planet. He seemed very fond of her, and her of him. Kit had sensed your emotions and explained that Senator Kadis and himself had been good friends when they were growing up. When he became a Jedi he took attachment very seriously and purposely forgot about her, but as he grew older and more comfortable with his life, his interpretations of the code had loosened and that had been when he met you. His relationship with you was stronger than anything and nothing could tear him away from you.

You both sat in silence for a few minutes until Kit noticed your attire. “Where did you get this dress?” He asked, thumbing the material. You had almost forgotten that you were wearing such a nice outfit. “I had a formal dinner meeting to attend, I came here right after,” you explained. “I don’t mean to sound dull, sweet thing, but your business dealings sound more boring than anything the Senate has to offer,” he commented. You laughed. “They are for the most part,” you agreed, “but I love investing in promising people and helping their ideas make it big.”

Kit smiled and returned his attention to your dress. It wasn’t anything too fancy. It had been a warm Coruscant summer day and you wanted something that would keep you from overheating. It was a light yellow flowy, strapless dress that came down to your knees. A white ribbon with a small bow acted as a belt around your middle, and also kept the chiffon fabric from getting out of control. “Where did you get it?” He inquired. “Just a small store I found, it was the cheapest formal looking thing I could find,” you answered. He hummed, “you look stunning in it.” You smiled, a small blush dusting your cheeks and ears. “Thank you, baby.”

Kit decided it was that time in the day to relax and promptly whisked off his shirt, leaving him in just a loose pair of knee-length, brown pants. “Would you like to join me for a swim, darling?” He asked, slipping off the boulder and into the water. “I’ll think about it,” you said. You swung your legs off the rock, letting your feet dip into the water as you watched Kit walk into deeper water and dive under. You hadn’t known much about Nautolans when you first met Kit four years ago. You remember how sheepish you felt after you got worried when he had been underwater for ten minutes without surfacing, only to have someone tell you that his species was mostly aquatic and had gills to breathe underwater.

Kit resurfaced near you and swam over, running his hands up and down your legs, coating them in a sheen of warm water. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” He wondered. “I’m fine right here, for now,” you replied. Kit planted a few kisses to your calf before smirking to himself and looking up at you with an innocent stare. “How much did you say you paid for this dress?” You looked down at him, curious as to why he was asking. “Not much, why?” Kit moved his hands farther up your legs. “Do you like it a lot?” You shrugged, “I mean it’s alright, it’s not my favorite thing I’ve ever purchased. Why are you-”

“So you wouldn’t mind if it got a little ruined, would you?” Kit asked with a devious smirk. You were confused until his grip on your legs tightened, by the time you realized what was happening, it was too late to stop it. “No, no, no, Kit!” You shouted in shock as he pulled on your legs, dragging you off the rock and into the water. He caught you in his arms before you completely submerged, laughing at the annoyed expression on your face. “What? You said it wasn’t your favorite,” he joked, his smile so big and genuine that you had a hard time finding it in you to be mad at him. At least the water was warm.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you joked along with. Your arms linked around the back of his neck bringing you closer together. Kit cupped your cheek and brought your lips to his. The kiss started slow, but it quickly escalated into heated passion and want. One of Kit’s hands wandered down to the hem of your dress, running his hand up your thigh and pushing the wet fabric up. You broke away with a small gasp. “Kit…” you breathed. “Shh, I know, we don’t have much time,” he said, “but I’ve finally got some alone time with my wife, there is no way I’m going to spend it without pleasuring you in some way..”

You whined and wrapped one of your legs around his waist, opening them just enough for Kit to rest his hand on your barely covered sex. “You’re warm down here,” he observed, sending you a lust filled glance. “Well, my husband did just promise to finger-fuck me within an inch of my life so I don’t know what you expect, you handsome devil,” you replied cheekily. Kit chuckled, the sound a low and enticing rumble. “Then finger-fuck you within an inch of your life I shall do,” he settled. In a few quick movements Kit pushed the offending fabric of your thong aside and ran two fingers firmly along your slit.

You gasped and gripped onto his shoulders, grinding down onto his long digits. Kit attached his lips to your neck and gently nibbled, he didn’t want to leave marks knowing where you both would be heading after this. He teased your entrance before sinking two fingers deep into your needy cunt. “Kit..” you moaned out, running your hands through his head tendrils softly. He groaned in response, working his way down to lick the skin of your collarbone. His fingers sped up, your slickness combined with the water meant little to no resistance for his fingers. Your breathing was shallow and you squealed when he hit your hidden pleasure point. He hummed, now nibbling on your earlobe. “You going to cum on my fingers, sweet one?” His thumb found your clit and he rubbed firm circles on it. You only nodded, not able to produce words.

His fingers were thrusting in and out at a blinding pace now, he curled his fingers up sharp and hard, sending you over the edge. You wailed as your orgasm washed over you, Kit removed his fingers when it got too much for you. He gently pulled your panties back in place and watched as you came down from bliss. You sighed happily, continuing to run your hands over and through his head tentacles, it helped you both relax. When Kit was calm he gave off a calming aura that you latched onto, bringing yourself into the same headspace. He nuzzled into your touch as one hand moved to his back and you pulled him in for a tight hug. You massaged his back, working out any tension in his muscles, the water providing an extra relaxing effect.

After a while of calming down and spending time loving in silence, you both decided it was time to get moving. You both exited the water and dried off the best you could, heading to a familiar side of town once you were both presentable. “I hope your mother won’t be angry that we’re fifteen minutes late,” you wondered aloud. You and Kit stopped at a simple, cozy looking house at the end of the road, where Kit began pushing in the code for the front door. “I’m sure she won’t mind, you know she loves the kids,” he assured.

The door opened and you both stepped inside, not seeing anyone at first. You weren’t standing for very long until you heard the thundering of footsteps coming your way, the two young boys rounded the corner, barreling towards you and Kit. “Aiden! Mika! We missed you,” Kit said, kneeling on the floor as his son ran to him at full speed. “Mommy, dada! You’re back!” They both shouted. Mika ran to you and you grabbed under his arms, lifting the youngster into your arms and balancing him on your hip. Aiden ran straight into his father’s arms and Kit scooped him up and spun him around. Kit’s mother rounded the corner shortly after with a smile on her face. “You two came back just in time, they were starting to get restless,” she said.

“Thank you again for watching them.” You said, planting a kiss to Mika’s forehead and smoothing your hands over his tiny head tentacles that were just starting to grow out. “Daddy, can we go home now, I’m getting tired,” Aiden voiced with a yawn. “Of course, little man,” Kit answered, “say goodbye to your grandmother now.” Both boys waved and said numerous goodbyes as you and Kit carried them out of the house. Your ship was parked a short distance away and by the time you reached it Mika had fallen asleep in your arms and Aiden could barely keep his eyes open. You got to the ship and set both boys down in their on-board bunks, kissing them goodnight before you and Kit joined each other in the cockpit.

You pecked a kiss to his cheek as he punched in the coordinates for Coruscant. “I love you, Kit,” you said. He smiled and planted a kiss on your cheek as well. “I love you too, darling. Now strap in, it’ll be awhile before we reach home.”

#star wars the clone wars #kit fisto #kit fisto x reader #star wars fanfiction

104 notes · View notes

mollymauk-teafleak · 3 years

Note

“I immediately regret this decision.” + ThanZag

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3 if you liked this!

----------

Thanatos had been anticipating slightly better weather. Looking back, in all honesty, that made him the fool in this situation. He’d lived here long enough to know that the weather here moved only between shades of slate grey and varying amounts of freezing rain. It had always been a running joke when they would come here for summer vacations as children, that their mother had chosen this particular stretch of coast because she despised the sun. That while geese might fly south for the winter, Mother Nyx fled north for the summer and took her babies with her.

So really, Thanatos had no one to blame but himself for the fact that he was standing on the pebbly shoreline, fighting to keep his towel wrapped around him in spite of the wind and shivering in nothing but a pair of shorts.

Well, he could blame Zagreus of course. But he should have known better than to fall for those pleading eyes.

Those eyes were currently shamelessly dialled up as his mermaid lover lounged in the shallows, beckoning to Thanatos, “It’s really not that bad!”

Than frowned at him, “So I’ll maybe only lose my extremities to frostbite rather than a whole limb?”

Zagreus laughed, not even flinching as incoming waves broke over the back of his neck, speckling his hair with drops of diamond. His tail swept lazily through the water, stirring up foam, glowing with its faint red-gold light that seemed inherent to the scales themselves.

“You’re so dramatic,” Zag chuckled, “You used to come swimming with me all the time, in worse weather than this.”

“Yes,” Than took a hesitant step closer to where the waves lost steam and fell apart against the smooth stones, “I was sixteen and an idiot.”

“And now we’re twenty six,” Zag flashed him a smile that showed his sharp canines, “So come on in.”

Thanatos had to admit, the way the setting sun flashed on the water’s surface invitingly, lighting up stripes of it in flaming orange, was making him forget how cold it would be. Zag’s tail looked like one of those stripes came to life. Fluid, effortless life that burned with its own soft ember light and trailing fins like lingering flames. He remembered how it felt wrapped around his waist all those nights when they were younger, it’s supple warmth.

Zag’s smile had grown, curled at one end into something hungry, like he could read Than’s thoughts. They’d known each other long enough that he could probably read them on his face.

He pushed off the bank along the shore with his muscular arms, slipping into the deeper darker waters. With one hand, skin bright white against the almost black sea, he beckoned.

Than exhaled and let his towel fall to the ground, kicking it back. Eyes fixed on Zagreus, he took one step into the surf.

“I immediately regret this decision,” he said after a moment’s pause, “No sex is worth this.”

“Aw come on!” Zag yelped half with incredulity and half with laughter, “You promised!”

Than grimaced. His toes had lost all feeling and it only really burned right where the water met his ankles. Zagreus had been right, it wasn’t too bad. When he’d been a younger man, he’d thrown himself off the end of the little jetty into much colder water with reckless abandon. With this being where they spent their summers, he and his brothers had quite the warped concept of acceptable swimming temperatures. Freezing became cold and cold became mild. Actual mild didn’t exist this far up the northern coast.

He had learned it was easier when there was a very willing lover in the water beckoning him in.

With a deep lungful of air, Than increased his pace, letting the water slip up his legs and foam around him until he felt the rough pebbled surface under his feet fall away. Then he just let himself pitch forward into it, bringing his arms up to make it a passable dive. As the ocean closed over his head, the world fell into total silence. There was a perfect beat, a single moment of complete noiselessness, where everything seemed to freeze in place.

Before his nerves could light up with the pain of the cold, Zag’s arms closed around him and pulled him up. Than gasped in air, hair plastered to his head and dripping salt water into his eyes. The first thing he heard was Zag’s laughter, the first thing he saw was his smile, beaming proudly.

“See?” he grinned, wrapping his tail around Than’s legs to let the inherent heat of it warm him, “I told you. Not that bad.”

“No,” Than’s teeth still chattered and his breath still came in gasps but his lover ran hot, he just pressed closer to him, “Not bad at all.”

Zag grinned, drifting them back a little until the water gentled and came up to his and Than’s shoulders. Than knew he didn’t need to do anything, just cling to Zagreus, and he would stay afloat.

“Isn’t it nice to meet in the middle, like the old days?” he hummed, gills flaring as he spun them in slow, lazy circles, “Back when we had to sneak around?”

Technically they still had to sneak around. There was a reason they only met at night, there was a reason the only human Zag had felt brave enough to approach was one who lived in an isolated seaside cottage over the summer. One who was his own age, a child and still desperate to believe fantasy stories might be real.

But Than appreciated what Zag meant, he meant the only person in the cottage now was himself, that Zag could shift his form and share Than’s bed as many nights as he was able to sneak away from his father’s castle. Than didn’t have to sneak out of the smaller room he shared with his brothers, tiptoe down the stairs avoiding every one that creaked to undress at the edge of the jetty and fall into Zag’s arms. Now they could share breakfast together, make love in every room of the lopsided little cottage, walk the shore together and kiss.

But yes, it was still very fun to meet in the middle.

Zag was kissing him now, interrupting his thoughts, open mouthed and inviting. He was so warm inside, warm enough to compensate for the cold of the ocean he swam in, warm enough to make some of Than’s biological impulses possible when the freezing water should have meant otherwise. His lungs remembered how to take deep breaths, exhaling into Zag’s mouth, hands breaching the surface to cradle his lover in return. For a long time, all they did was taste salt on each other’s lips, the only sound was the gentle rolling of the waves and their shuddering breaths.

“I supposed I’m the one getting fucked?” Zag eventually gasped out, ever the impatient one.

“Well I don’t have any lube in my pockets,” Than murmured, teasingly licking along his jawline, “And no pockets. So yes.”

Zag had no complaints, purring loudly as he shifted, exposing the part of his long body just under where his pale skin turned into blazing coppery scales. Getting to grips with Zag’s genitalia had needed a long few days of exciting and giggly exploration when they were teenagers but the last few months since they’d reunited, it had all come back to Than promptly.

Now he knew just where to stroke to tease Zag’s slit open, exposing the blushed, slick pink inside of him. He felt his lover’s tail tighten around him and heard him whimper and moan as he gave him perhaps a little more preparation than was necessary.

“Than…” Zag keened, after a particularly teasing thrust of one finger into him, “C’mon…”

“What? My fingers are cold,” Than grinned devilishly, finding his feet on the sand below them, planting himself enough that he could pull Zag towards him, starting to press into that slit.

Zag gripped his shoulders tight, his claws would leave little puncture indentations when they were done, his tail holding him close, “Please, Than. Oh gods…”

Than rocked his hips, managing to find a rhythm even while he felt like he was floating, Zag helping with his slightly scary, moreso thrilling strength, fucking himself on Than’s cock as much as Than was fucking him. Moaning rapturously, he rested his forehead on Than’s, jaw slack, wickedly sharp teeth catching on the sunset.

“That’s it,” he groaned, someone finding words when Than could only grunt and gasp, “There you are, that's where you belong, my mate, mine…”

Than groaned through tight clenched jaws, those words enough that he was suddenly, dangerously close. He tried to warn his lover, struggling to gasp it out but Zag just nodded hungrily, thrusting hard as he toppled over the edge.

Thanatos’ head fell back as his orgasm gripped him, turning his muscles to iron as it crashed over him. He would have slipped under the surface if Zag didn’t recover from his own climax quick enough to tighten his grip on him.

“I’ve got you,” Zag panted, grinning crookedly, “I’ve got you…”

“I know,” Than clung to him, his desperation for closeness having nothing to do with the temperature of the water, “My mate.”

Zag’s smile brightened with sheer delight at hearing Than use his own words, nuzzling him close as they lazily drifted back towards the shore. Though they wouldn’t emerge for some time, hesitant to leave each others arms, the place where the differences between them didn’t feel so stark, where one of them didn’t have to change to suit the other.

It really was nice to meet in the middle.

#thanzag #mermaid au #thanatos #zagreus #hades #smut

26 notes · View notes

peachtree-dish · 3 years

Text

A Te Che Sei Il Mio Grande Amore Ch. 4 Di Volta in Volta

Luglio 20, 1969

“Commander Neil Armstrong is making his way out of the spacecraft and is taking his first steps down the ladder to the moon’s surface. In mere moments he will be the first man to step foot on the moon…” The voice was narrated through the tv screen as the events of the first human moon landing played out in front of nearly the entire village. Those who did not have access to radio or television were crammed into their neighbor’s houses to either listen or watch on the small television screens. The usual Sunday atmosphere had been disrupted by the whole world waiting with bated breath as history played out in their living rooms. Luca sat between Giulia and Alberto in front of Massimo’s secondhand TV, fighting the urge to press himself against the class so as not to miss a single detail. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before because he had stayed up listening as the Apollo 11 crew had taken their last orbit around the moon before landing their naveta spaziale on the surface. Behind him, his family was sitting at the dinner table tightly pressed between Massimo and the several cats that had found some form of purchase on his broad shoulders. Luca had not thought it possible, but Massimo’s eyebrows seemed to be furrowed even deeper than usual; they were the only indication that he seemed just as anxious as everyone else.

Luca’s eyes widened as the man on the screen as the astronaut hopped onto the last ring of the ladder, his hands gripping tightly to it as if he were afraid to float away into the expanse of space. Beside him, Alberto squinted closely at the emerging astronaut and rubbed his chin.

“Their suits kinda look like that old diving suit, no?” he muttered in Luca’s ear. Guilia loudly shushed him from Luca’s other side, promptly cutting off any further commentary. Instead of vocalizing his agreement he instead gave an energetic nod to Alberto before the older boy could swat Giulia’s arm in revenge.

“I can see my footprints as I step away from the spacecraft…the surface appears to be covered in… fine, sandy particles…” For one moment, Luca pictured himself bounding across the surface of the moon, the old diving helmet pressed tightly to his shoulders, and space sand floating behind him. He could almost feel himself levitating away from the worn, wool rug of Massimo’s small kitchen, thousands of stars floating above him.

Giulia gasped, startling Luca back to reality, “He’s letting go of the spacecraft!” Sure enough, Armstrong’s grainy figure on the screen was slowly letting go of the ladder and stepping into the unknown of space. In a moment of trepidation, Luca reached wrapped his hand around Guilia’s as they waited for the next few moments to pass. He could hear Alberto inhale sharply beside him, assuming he was just as anxious as the rest of them.

“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” in one moment the entire world released its breath with a cheer.

Massimo slammed his fist down on the table with a shout of “Vittoria” ringing through the house. His outburst startled the cats into a hissing mess and Nonna Paguro slapped his arm with her cane, claiming a premature heart attack. Around them adults and children were shouting and cheering, many even taking to the streets, their cacophony mixing with the howling of dogs. Giulia hurriedly leaned over to wrap her arms around Alberto and Luca’s shoulders, relieved giggles echoing in their ears as she rushed over to embrace Massimo in earnest. Luca grinned, sparing one last glance at the screen as the rest of the astronauts filed out of the ship, before turning excitedly to Alberto. Without a moment’s hesitation, Luca embraced him, only realizing mere seconds after that his hand was still entangled with someone else’s. At his friend’s stiff posture and flushed face, Luca’s excitement died only to be replaced with confusion. He rocked back onto his heels, one hand draped awkwardly around Alberto’s neck and Alberto’s left hand resting on his hip.

“Alberto?” he breathed, forcing the older boy to peer at him as he pulled away. Alberto blinked rapidly, his hand clenching and unclenching around Luca’s and his green eyes looking desperately around the room. He licked his lips and did not fail to notice Alberto’s eyes following the movement. He opened his mouth to say something before a loud crash broke the atmosphere between them. Machiavelli’s son, Bocelli, had become spooked in the excitement and had managed to knock over Massimo’s favorite tea kettle along with a few teacups. While the kettle had merely been bumped from the impact, three cups had met a disastrous end on the floorboards.

Amidst shouts and curses from the adults, Alberto had firmly and quickly untangled himself from Luca, rushing to the pantry to remove a broom and pan for the mess. Lorenzo was trying his best to scoop the remaining cats into his arms so they wouldn’t get hurt and Daniela was simply yelling at them all to move. Massimo was cradling the kettle with his arm, gently checking for any damage while Giulia remained unseen in the mess, her eyes flitting between Luca and Alberto who still hadn’t said anything. On the carpet, Luca watched as if frozen, unsure of why he felt like crying.

The days following the moon landing and the Apollo 11 crew’s return to earth found Giulia and Alberto working overtime to fill the town’s orders. At least, that was what Luca was telling himself. Since their awkward moment on the rug, Alberto hadn’t spent as much time around Luca, instead of spending hours out fishing and hauling the day’s catch through the streets. His conversations with them would always be clipped, though not unfriendly and he always found a reason not to spend time with them. Giulia, feeling as if she were walking on eggshells, tried to ask Alberto what was going on while they delivered, but he simply brushed off her inquiries with a forced grin. In her opinion, his lies reeked more than days old trash left in the heat. Her frustration grew to an extreme one evening when Alberto bid them both a halfhearted goodnight from the dinner table, claiming he would be staying up later than usual to fill in the finance charts. Ignoring Giulia’s glare and Luca’s hurt expression, he pulled out the counting charts Massimo had been filling out the previous afternoon and began adding the day’s earnings.

“I think he really does hate me,” Luca admitted to Giulia once they passed the archway leading to the docks.

“Don’t be ridicolo, I think he’s just... acting weird?” She floundered, unable to come up with an acceptable response.

“Oh, really, Giulia?!” Luca burst, his frustration surging, “He's not the one who acted weird, I was! I messed up, and now he can’t stand to be around me. I disgust him!” He kicked at a pebble, his expression strained. Luca tried to inhale deeply to calm himself, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t allow it. He turned back to a solemn Giulia, his voice choked. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” To his mounting horror, large drops of water began to spill down his cheeks and before Giulia could even reach out to offer comfort, the teen was tearing down the cobblestones leading to the water's edge. Giulia’s calls were lost in the water as it enveloped him, his salty tears mixing with the sea. He swam for a long time, wanting to avoid his own home for as long as possible. He couldn’t stop thinking about Alberto’s hands on his hip or how it felt to look down into his eyes. Had they not been interrupted, what would have happened? And then he remembered how Alberto had looked frantic, almost afraid of what Luca was going to do. With a half-formed snarl, Luca dove towards the ocean floor. Reaching a shallow cave, he sat down and curled in on himself while his stomach heaved, and his tail thrashed.

“Stupido, stupido, stupido, stupido…” he sobbed over and over, unable to silence Bruno in his mind.

Giulia marched into the house fuming, her eyes landing on Alberto who stared at the wall in front of him, his expression blank. Wordlessly, she picked up the discarded papers on the table and smacked them across the back of his stupid, curly head.

“OW! What the-” Alberto spun around to glare at her.

“Non posso crederti,” she seethed, her hands shaking.

“I don’t have time for your hormonal dramatics, Gi,” Alberto deadpanned, moving to stand and escape from the redhead’s wrath.

“Don’t you dare,” she pushed him back into the chair, her brute strength surprising him. Small as she may be, Giulia was still Massimo’s daughter.

“How can you both keep hurting each other like this? You’re friends, no? Start acting like it!” She flailed her hands hysterically in such a way that Alberto almost wanted to laugh.

“We are friends, tutto bene,” He argued, inwardly wincing at the lie.

“Then why does Luca always look on the verge of tears after being around you? What happened, fratello? You haven’t been the same since the moon landing.” Giulia stared him down with both fists resting on her hips. She rarely referred to him as her brother, and when she did it was because she was trying to show how much she actually cared. That was the one thing Giulia and Alberto always agreed on, they hated to show feelings. Alberto could feel the anxiety he felt on that day building again inside him. He hadn’t meant to make it worse; he was going to make a joke about Luca being scared, but then he had grabbed Alberto’s hand. They touched each other easily all the time, frequent in their affection and friendly nature, but Luca had never held Alberto’s hand like that. Alberto hadn’t wanted to let go. It was just a harsh reminder that eventually he would have to let go of Luca forever. He swallowed thickly and peered at Giulia.

“I’m not going to get in the way of Luca following his dreams,” He said slowly, trying to get his friend to understand. “Luca is meant for grander things than whatever I had planned, I’m just helping him realize that.” Giulia stared at him for a moment before pinching the bridge of her nose and screwing her eyes shut.

“Oh, Dio, I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“Giulia, listen,” He began only to be interrupted by Giulia holding up her hand.

“Silenzio, Bruno. I know you don’t believe that. Luca wouldn’t have any of his dreams without you, and if he were to lose you, those dreams would fade.” Alberto shrank into his seat, not wanting to look her in the eye. With a defeated sigh, the young girl sat beside him.

“You’ve never told us about how you ended up alone, and I’m not going to ask you to tell me,” she interrupted him before he could speak. He swallowed his objection and let her continue, “but I wish you could understand that we’re not like your old family. Berto,” she reached out and held one of his hands in both of hers, “we will never abandon you, and neither will Luca. But I am afraid that if you continue to act this way, he’ll think you abandoned him.”

Alberto’s head snapped up and he gazed fiercely at Giulia, reminding her of the first time he revealed his sea monster form to her.

“I would never abandon him.”

She stared back coolly and pointed at the bracelet on his wrist, “Then prove him wrong.” With that she stood and marched upstairs, her steps sounding with finality. Alberto watched her empty seat for a few moments, his ears roaring with the pounding of his heart. Before he could reconsider his actions, the chair scraped harshly along the floorboards, and he was rushing towards the warm ocean.

“Luca!” He called desperately into the waves, not caring if any of the other sea folk were sleeping. His shouts startled a school of pandoras swimming by, and they rushed past him as fast as possible. Alberto sped towards Luca’s home, his heart thundering as he reached Luca’s window. Peering in he found Nonna Paguro sleeping on her side of the room, her snores rattling through the water. To his growing anxiety, he found Luca’s bed empty and so turned towards the island where he had often hidden. Crashing clumsily upon the rocky shore, Alberto called out to the tower, its windows and roof dark and unresponsive.

If he looked too closely at the darkened mouth of the tower, he’d see a small child, crying anxiously for his papa to come home. Pushing the dark memories away, Alberto took deep breaths in an attempt to remain calm. Feeling the anxiety in his chest close to bursting, he dove back into the darkened waters and shouted again.

“Luca! I’m sorry, please talk to me!” He swam frantically, his gaze twisting in every direction, hoping to catch a glance of blue. He swam farther out to the ocean, the fields of seaweed sloping into rocky, sand-filled terrain.

“I’m s-sorry,” He gasped, bubbles escaping his mouth and floating towards the moonlit surface. He felt his hope slipping away with them when he heard a hiccupped cry.

“Alberto?” Luca’s voice was raw from his emotional outburst, but it was still the most beautiful sound Alberto had ever heard. Twisting around with enough force to nearly snap his neck, Alberto found Luca peering out from underneath an overhanging rock bank. He felt his own sob of relief escape his throat before he swam down to his friend. The older boy floated in front of Luca, unsure of how he would react.

“Is everyone okay, you sound upset,” Luca’s eyes were red-rimmed, and they pinned Alberto to the spot with their concern. Alberto wanted to slap himself; Luca was obviously hurting yet here he was making sure Alberto and everyone else was alright. How selfish can you be, Alberto?

“No, everyone’s fine, but I’ve been an idiota, Luca. We only have days left before you go back to Genoa, and I’ve spent the past two weeks ignoring you because…” He stopped as he felt his fear resurfacing. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“But that doesn’t make se-”

“I know, that’s why I said I’m an idiota,” he chuckled drily at Luca’s confusion. “You got me off the island, but there are days I feel like I’m drowning.” He explained patiently, “There are so many new things here and I feel like I’m always behind while you’re always ahead.” He swallowed, watching as Luca still looked confused. “I feel like one day you’re going to realize that I’m slowing you down and I don’t want to get in the way of you becoming who you’re meant to be, even if that means I get left behind.”

Luca’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock, “Alberto, there is no dream worth having if you’re not in it.” Alberto stood stunned before him, his mouth had gone shockingly dry considering the saltwater in it.

“Caro,” he whispered, pulling Luca into his arms, too overwhelmed to finish speaking.

“I thought I offended you,” Luca admitted softly, his voice humming against Alberto’s collarbone, “I thought I had made you uncomfortable, when in reality I thought I grabbed Giulia’s hand, I promise.” Alberto felt his stomach drop out from him. He badly wanted to contradict Luca, tell him he had wanted more than anything to grab his hand whenever he could. But he wouldn’t, his fear wouldn’t let him.

“It’s okay, you didn’t offend me. If anything, I can’t blame you. No one can resist my good looks and charm,” He joked, laughing a bit too loudly to be considered natural. Luca snorted and pushed away from him, rolling his eyes.

“You wish, Berto,”

I really do, Alberto thought helplessly.

“Thank you for coming after me, again.” Luca laughed exasperatedly, hiding his face in his hands with a groan. “Giulia probably thinks I’m the most dramatic idiot in all of Italy.”

Alberto shrugged and glanced to the side, “Eh, you’d be surprised, she has her own moments. Must be an Italian thing.” Luca glared at him halfheartedly through his claws.

“Do you wanna head back to your house, or…” Alberto motioned his head back towards Porto Rosso. Luca smiled and motioned back to him.

“Wherever you want, I’ll follow you.”

“Well, it’s about time. I’ve only been waiting for over a year,” Alberto teased, swimming back towards the shining lights of the port town, his best friend’s laughter ringing behind him.

31 Agosto 1969

The last weeks of summer came and went with the laughter of children and a full season of fishing; having decided that winning the Porto Rosso Cup last year had been enough of an adventure, Giulia, Luca, and Alberto had instead spent time behind the scenes helping with the race alongside Signora Marsigliese. The woman had been extra grateful for the help and had run the three of them nearly ragged with preparations. With no Ercole in sight, the race had been far more enjoyable for all the town’s children, and even more so for their families.

Alberto volunteered to keep watch in the bay as the kids swam, already used to having lifeguard duties. He made sure to help anyone who got stuck or might have struggled especially hard. It made Luca’s heart especially warm to watch Alberto interact with the smaller children, encouraging them and even allowing the smallest bambina to latch onto his tail when she got too tired to swim back to shore. This year, Daniela and Lorenzo actually helped by offering water to kids as they struggled up the hill, this time without threatening to dump it on their heads.

In the end, the race was one by a brother and sister from the Ricci family who both were so exhausted they could barely keep the trophy held up between them. The end of the season also meant that Alberto would be working in his many diverse side jobs once it got too cold.

“Do you actually like working in la panetteria? Luca asked him from where he sat on the floor packing his things away.

“It’s not bad,” Alberto shrugged nonchalantly, “it was kinda stressful at first, but Signora Aurora is really nice, and I don’t make nearly as many mistakes as Ciccio.”

“I don’t think anyone could make as many mistakes as him, Ciccio’s a league unto his own,” Luca muttered absently, comparing two different books in his hands. In Alberto’s opinion, they looked the exact same.

“After the weather gets colder, I start baking in the mornings at the Pasticcini, and then Signore Ciano has me help him and Guido in their garage. I offered to help Padre D’uva at the church, but” he shrugged again with a half-smile, “babies don’t really like getting baptized by sea monsters.” Luca snorted and rolled his eyes at the image of a scaled Alberto trying to dunk a screaming child.

“I guess your smile and good charms don’t work on everybody, amico.”

Alberto flipped upside down on the bed and bit his lip suggestively and waggled his eyebrows, “Just you then?” Luca paused a moment to look at him and his gaze was almost enough to make Alberto stop. The young monster tilted his head to the side, considering Alberto’s features.

“Eh, could use some work,” He answered finally turned his head back to his bag, trying to stifle his laughter as Alberto made a face.

The sound of knuckles rapping on the doorframe causes them both to look up. Giulia leaned against the chipped white paint and smiled warmly, “Mind if I come in, ragazzi?” Alberto happily scooted to the side, ultimately remaining in his upside-down state.

“You’re not done packing?” Giulia asked incredulously. Luca only pouted from the floor.

“I can’t decide which books to take,” He ran a hand through his already stressed curls, the motion capturing Alberto’s attention even from his angle.

“You’re such a nerd, you know that right,” She ruffled his hair affectionately.

“As a nerd, it is, in fact, my job to know that, Giulietta.” The brunette stuck his tongue out defiantly before tossing the books back onto their pile. With a groan he stood and stretched his back, the muscles popping into place. Throwing himself on the bed he looked up at the ceiling and said, “I can’t believe summer’s already over, I feel like we just got back!” He flopped back down, his arm thumping Alberto’s stomach.

“Hey, attento!” Alberto swore. He swung himself back up and flopped backward, tugging Giulia along with him. Luca patted his stomach by way of apology before sighing dramatically.

“Why doesn’t school go by this fast?”

“Because then more people would enjoy it,” Giulia sighed from the other side of Alberto, who remained oddly quiet. He turned his head from one side to the other, watching how the late afternoon sun turned Giulia’s hair a violent copper and how it made Luca’s eyes seem molten. Suddenly reaching out, he tugged both close to him and said, “Vi amo, ragazzi.” Luca and Giulia shared a look of befuddlement.

“…Okay?” They replied in unison

“Learn as much as you can and then tell me everything in your letters, okay? Just like before. Except for this time, I’m going to learn new things, too. That way, we can all share what we learned next summer.” He grinned proudly at the thought.

Giulia sat up and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are you feeling okay, pazzo? Do you need a doctor or something?”

“No, I’m serious. Giulia, you remember what you asked us at the beginning of summer?” She cocked her head to the side before nodding.

“I asked what you wanted to be when we got older.”

“Esattamente! And I have no idea, but I want to find out.” He looked at both Luca and Giulia as they processed his words. Luca was the first to move, wrapping his arms tighter around Alberto’s middle and grinning into his shoulder.

“I think that’s a great idea, caro. I’m proud of you.” Giulia nodded in agreement as she settled back down.

“Even if you don’t figure it out this year, or the next, just goditi il viaggio, like my mama always says. Life is about discovery, if you can’t enjoy it, learn from it.” Alberto hummed contently in response.

“Your mom sounds smart,” he mused.

“She is,” Luca and Giulia answered together, causing the trio to burst into a fit of giggles.

Later that evening, when Massimo climbed upstairs to check on the children, he found Giulia, Alberto, and Luca curled around one another on Giulia’s bed. Alberto had both arms wrapped protectively around both his daughter and Luca while they snored away peacefully. Machiavelli waltzed between his legs before alighting himself upon the bed and curling up next to Alberto’s head. He softly chided the cat to remain quiet and leave the children to their dreams. Without waking them, he softly tucked them in with the blanket from Alberto’s bed before walking out of the room. As he closed the door, he chanced one last glance at his little family and allowed himself a small smile. He could not wait for summer to return.

#luca pixar #luberto #luca paguro #alberto scorfano #luca fanfiction #giulia is tired of this sh!t #giulia marcovaldo #massimo marcovaldo #massimo is the best father #a te che sei il mio grande amore #they share one brain cell #machiavelli #found family #queer fanfiction #queer romance #young romance #friendships #questioning sexuality

52 notes · View notes