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tormentum-ab-intra · 7 months

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When I Am Gone

CWs and general content notes: characters thinking one’s going to die/expectation of death as the focus, (but one of them’s okay with it,) (they’re both really bad at feelings but in opposite ways,) angst with a happy ending, some blood, brief mentions of (unnamed) (monster) corpses, treating of envenomated wounds/brief needle mentions, brief mentions of alcohol (but no actual drinking,) brief references to (fantasy) religion

Word count: 2,423! --

“Ansel?” Aban’s voice carries easily in the stillness, hoarse though it is, close though Ansel isn’t. A town like this is never loud at night. People here rise with the sun, sleep with the sun, and when danger comes creeping in from the neighboring dark, they don’t run, they don’t fight; they hide. Usually it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.

The night is cool and still. Silent, apart from the chirr of cicadas and the fervent prayers in the hearts of the townsfolk; the last of the priory’s bells stopped ringing hours ago. Aban doesn’t miss the melody.

Bells and prayers may work fine to make certain creatures wary, and cantrips at the door may even turn one away for a time, but it won’t stop them once they’re hungry enough not to mind that little discomfort standing between them and a meal.

That’s what guys like Ansel and Aban are for. With the right blade or spell or methods, anything can be put down. Even kings. Even gods. That’s blasphemy, though, so Aban makes the sign of Shoik with one hand and puts the thought out of his mind.

He wonders how much of the town is really sleeping, and how many are lying awake in bed, listening, waiting for the noise to start up again. He wonders if the thing they’re hunting is waiting too, or if it’s creeping closer even now, hungry and soon to strike.

Eyes on the shadows, Aban says Ansel’s name again, but this time doesn’t wait for the response he knows isn’t coming. “Will you be sad, when I am gone?”

Somehow, the next rasp of stone against iron as Ansel sharpens his blade manages to sound annoyed.

“I think you will,” Aban continues. “Without me, who else is going to rush forth to save you in the nick of time, allowing himself to be tragically wounded in your st--”

“You’re not dying, Aban.”

Yep. Annoyed. Aban laughs, and wonders if Ansel cares how weak it sounds. “Aren’t I, though?”

Ansel lowers his blade, and baleful eyes turn to stare at Aban, daring him to say more. He isn’t near enough to smack him though, so dare Aban does.

“I mean, really. When’s the last time you lost this much blood and lived to tell?”

Ansel’s ever-present smile, the one Aban’s never seen him without in all the years they’ve known each other, turns sharp and sneering. “Last week.” Except last week they had Aanethe with them, and his sigils and healing magic did a hell of a lot more for Ansel than these makeshift bandages are doing for Aban. “You’re fine,” Ansel says, the sign of Mascah bending his fingers. He’s praying. He does care.

“I’m fine,” Aban agrees, crooking bloodied fingers to match. Say it, and make it so.

Ansel resumes sharpening his blade. “That’s what I just said.”

Aban takes that for the command to stop talking that it is, worrying at the fraying edges of his torn-shirt bandages with restless hands. He should be out there, searching between all the little shops and houses, hunting down their quarry before it can decide to come hunting for them -- or worse, start hunting townsfolk again. Instead he’s sitting here, worse than useless. Bleeding out. A liability.

Ansel should be out there, too, finishing the job they started. Instead he’s stuck here, sharpening knives that don’t need it. Babysitting. That, or he’s hoping the noise and the smell of blood will draw the thing they’re hunting to them.

Hard to say.

It wouldn’t be the first time Aban’s been used as bait, though it’d be the first he’s been so while too hurt to stand on his own. He wonders if that’s supposed to bother him.

The scrape of the whetstone is grating, but familiar. Ansel knows what he’s doing. Aban isn’t worried.

It’s still warm when Ansel drops it on the headman’s doorstep. Warm and bloody and twitching. Someone cracks the door open to stare at it, eyes damn near popping out of their skull, and it stares right back, stares until the twitching stops and the bleeding slows and its eyes glaze over.

“What…is it?”

Ansel turns to leave, tracking bloody boot prints down the tidy, cobbled path leading up to the house. “Dead.”

“Wait, but --”

“Figure it out!” Diplomacy is Alabastard’s thing, not Ansel’s, and he doesn’t have the time. He ignores the questions aimed at his back and makes for the alley where he left Aban.

The now-empty alley, as ill fate would have it. Where the fuck has he gotten off to?

Ansel draws his blade and stops at the mouth of the alley, eyes roving, tracing shadows, rooftops, and alcoves. “Aban?”

The wind rustles through laden clotheslines. Shutters rattle. Nothing breathes.

“If this is your idea of a joke, Aban, I’m going to stab you in your fucking neck when I find you.” Ansel’s eyes catch on fresh blood on some of the alley walls. It’s there, and on the ground, and about a dozen other places besides the spot where he left Aban. Crates, neatly stacked last he saw, lie smashed and scattered.

Dammit.

Looks like the job isn’t finished yet after all. It’ll be extra for the second problem the headman forgot to mention, and if he has to spend it all on rites and booze for Aban’s fucking funeral…

“Dumb bastard,” he mutters, advancing slowly. “Hang on. I’ll find you.”

He finds Aban clear on the opposite side of the block, in some random house’s garden, lying pinned beneath a corpse. Not a moving one, thankfully. Ansel can’t decide whether to be annoyed that Aban’s singing or just glad he still can. “New friend of yours?”

The singing comes to an abrupt stop, and Aban beams at him through messy hair and grit and blood. “Oh, yes! We’ve come to an agreement!” The creature’s teeth are still embedded in his shoulder, the hilt of his blade sticking out from its back. “Never did catch her name, though.”

“I told you to stay put.”

“My new friend had other plans.”

Ansel laughs in spite of himself; sharp, and derisive, because if it weren’t it’d be fond, and Aban would never shut up about it. “Whatever. Let’s get you out of here.”

This corpse is heavier than the last, and Ansel doesn’t bother dragging it all the way back to the headman’s house. Someone will find it in the morning. Aban’s only half as heavy, but twice as clingy. Cold fingers hook into Ansel’s shirt. A cold face burrows against the side of his neck. Ansel allows it, just this once, and wastes no time in carrying his friend back to safety.

“Ansel?”

“Yeah.”

Their room at the inn is dark, save for the candles standing lit on the table. Ansel gives the needle a sharp tug, pulling the thread taut, and lays a heavy hand on Aban’s shoulder to keep him steady. The skin around the wound he’s stitching looks mottled and clammy, and the booze he poured over it for want of an antiseptic smells like a wasted buzz and a headache in the making. Boiled water would’ve been better, but this room doesn’t have a stove.

“I think --” Hissing, Aban shifts restlessly beneath Ansel’s hand. “You must want to kill me faster.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Ansel jabs the needle through skin again and pulls.

“You’re not --” Another hiss, then something closer to a whimper that Ansel refuses to feel guilty about. “You’re not being very careful.” Aban’s fingers dig into Ansel’s knee, but his grip’s so weak it barely hurts.

“Yeah, well, I’m not a damn medic, Aban. Suck it up. You’ll get over it.”

“Just like you’ll get over it when I’m gone, hmm?”

“When y -- would you stop that?!” Ansel bangs his fist on the table, fixed smile stretched thin, patience stretched thinner. “You’re not fucking going anywhere!”

Aban looks at him shrewdly. “You don’t believe that,” he says softly. He’s right. “So when I am gone, do you want my things?”

“No.” He’s going to finish making sure Aban doesn’t bleed to death in the next few hours, then they’re going home, and Aanethe will take care of it. That’s how it always works. That’s how it has to work. Aban will keep his things, and Ansel will keep trying to steal them when he isn’t looking.

Aban sighs. “Alright,” he says. It’s appeasement, not agreement; he’s just too tired to argue. He still wants Ansel to have his things, and Ansel will sooner bury another teammate than give them to anyone else.

“Ansel?”

“Fucking -- what!” Aban’s fingers are shaking where they cling to Ansel’s shirt, and for once Ansel almost feels bad for snapping. A little softer, he asks, “What now?”

“When I am gone, will you take care of Asa for me?”

Gritting his teeth, Ansel pulls the cloak around Aban’s shoulders a little tighter, urges their horse to run a little faster. “No -- okay, fine. Yes. Whatever.”

“And Abra?”

“Yeah.”

“And --”

“Just -- stop. Shut up. I’ll take care of your stupid cats. But you’re fine, alright? You’ll be fine.” Or all his efforts to keep Aban alive will have been for nothing, all the time they’ve spent together up ‘till now will have been for worse than nothing, and the day they first met will be his greatest regret.

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

Aban lets his head drop against Ansel’s shoulder, watching the landscape blur past. “You’re the boss.”

After that, they ride in silence.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” The door to Aban’s room shuts with a soft click, and just like that, Ansel’s locked away from what may very well be his teammate’s final moments. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Aanethe stands between him and the door, unimpressed. Bored. “I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal of things. Don’t you hate the guy anyway?”

Ansel doesn’t have an answer for that, mostly because any other day, Aanethe would be right. On some level he’s aware he’s being irrational. Today though, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how annoying Aban is, or how many times he’s wished to never see his stupid face again. He needs to be in that room. He needs to know what’s going on.

Mind made up, Ansel takes a step forward, but Aanethe does the same with a hand out to stop him, more exasperated than anything else. “We told you, we need --”

“Yeah, absolute focus, I got that part.” The sigils inked on Ansel’s hands and forearms burn with uncast magic, the heat rising along with his anger until his sleeves begin to smolder. “I’m not a fucking child, Aanethe. I can sit quiet and give you your space, or whatever.”

Aanethe’s raised brow and the glance he casts at Ansel’s hands say he doesn’t believe him. “Then you can sit quiet and give us space outside this room.” Aanethe waves a hand dismissively. Ansel wants to strangle him.

“And if he dies? I’m supposed to just wait out here then, too?”

Aanethe shrugs. “Yes. But, but, but, I’m told you’ll have first pick of his belongings! Silver linings, hm? Yes?” He smiles, like that’s supposed to be reassuring.

It isn’t.

“If you don’t save him,” Ansel bites out, sigils smoking, nails biting into his palms, “you’ll be next. You, then Ambrose.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” Aanethe peers down at him through the spectacles perched on the end of his nose, eyes blank, lips twitching at the corners, like he’s trying to decide whether it’d be appropriate to laugh or not. There’s blood -- Aban’s -- on the hand he raises to pat Ansel’s cheek. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, genial. “You can’t kill us, little slayer. Don’t you think we’re just a bit above your paygrade?”

Fucking jackass.

Ansel stalks off without another word. If he stays he’ll start swinging, and Aanethe has better things to be doing with his time than getting his ass beat. Namely, fixing Aban.

At this point, a drink seems long overdue.

Ansel ignores the creaking of floorboards behind him. He isn’t in the mood for another of Alabaster’s pep talks. He isn’t in the mood for anything, really, not since being sent away by Aanethe. They won’t let him see Aban, they won’t let him ask questions; all he’s been doing for three days is wait. All he can do now is wait. “Not now, Alabastard. Save it for the funeral.”

“Really? Who’s died?”

Ansel stiffens, breath caught in his throat, pulse tapping in his ears, as footsteps cross the veranda towards him. The voice isn’t Alabaster’s. He’s hearing things. It’s Alba playing tricks. It’s his imagination, projecting to fill a void that shouldn’t be.

“Nothing to say?”

Not to you. Not if you’re…

Ansel stays looking out at the courtyard, willing the ghost to disappear. It isn’t real if he doesn’t acknowledge it. He isn’t gone until Aanethe declares it.

Not until Ansel sees a body.

The thing wearing Aban’s likeness stops just behind him. “I’m disappointed!” it says. “I thought you might have missed me a bit more than that.” It sounds just like him, somehow. Maybe it really is Aban’s ghost, here to sit with him one last time. It might stay to haunt him if he ignores it, so he won’t turn to face it just yet.

Except the warmth at his back feels real. The arms wrapping around his waist feel real. Weight settles on Ansel’s shoulder, hair brushing the side of his neck, and Ansel holds his breath. He’s waiting for the ghost to dissipate, or for their poltergeist to start laughing, to change back, to go away.

It doesn’t.

“You were right,” Aban says, and his arms around Ansel’s waist wind a little bit tighter. Ansel traces familiar scars with his fingertips, and those feel real, too. “Now you don’t get to have all my lovely things. Are you disappointed?”

With not quite a laugh, not quite a sob, Ansel closes his eyes, fingers bent in prayer. “Angry, too.” His voice sounds strange in his own ears. Strangled. “I should kill you myself.”

“Ansel,” Aban murmurs, soft, almost coaxing. “Don’t cry, Ansel. It’s…weird.”

“I’m not.” He’s lying, of course; his shoulders are shaking. The courtyard’s gone blurry, and his words still sound choked and thin. He still can’t turn around; not because it’s a ghost, but because it isn’t.

“Alright,” Aban says, still holding him. Appeasement, not agreement. “I understand. I missed you, too.”

#whump #character death #but not really i'm just tagging it since a character THINKS he's going to die and his friend thinks so too #angst #but make it #angst with a happy ending #blood and injury #treating of wounds #needle mention #alcohol mention #aban #ansel #aanethe #original characters #alabaster #ambrose #<-can't remember if i mentioned him in this but he's there in aban's room with aanethe working on healing so #he gets a tag #tormentum ab intra

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mastimio · 1 year

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I am tired of the misconceptions around nasuverse magi.

The consensus around fate tumblr, reddit and other such places is that every single mage that isnt the protagonist would kick a puppy and eat a baby. Tbf, there are elements of truth in it. But its to the point where, people, if they see that the character in question is mildly related to the clock tower they will instantly dismiss them. Its simply too much of an exaggeration. I remember when people said that having some of the crypters in FGO being genuinely alright people a retcon, because they were supposed to be the evil magus that opposed our plucky protagonist.

There is just a blatant refusal to critically examine magi characters like Kayneth or Tokiomi even when the story talks about them positively. It gets very embarrassing at times

When Mash and Leonardo gave the crypters glowing, five star reviews to our self insert protagonist, there were people who would rather believe tamamovitch in that they were somehow jealous of your accomplishments.

There were people who claimed Goredolf being a good man deep down was a retcon, and Kirchstaria being a gigachad was false, despite the part 2 prologue and crypter interludes showing otherwise.

When a magus character is given character traits beyond being a power hungry megalomaniac, it is talked about as if they are the exception to a rule. It prevents any discussion about magi from going anywhere.

People than ask why is there so many magi villains then? Its pretty fuckin simple. Nasu and other writers needed a villain, and there was an easy pool of unnamed characters they could pull from.

The problem with making exceptions out of protagonist magi characters is that they don't hate magi society. Rin still desires to be a part of the clocktower and study there. Luvia is an amazingly fun character, and has a frankly adorable crush on Shirou. Even her family can be designated as generally cool people, given Luvias younger sister is marrying for love rather than genes.

Luvia still threatens to kill Waver if he reveals her family's magic to the clock tower. Waver, despite being fate tumblrs pet boy who cant do magic very well, despite their idea that, wow wanting magic in this world is the worst thing ever, still thinks that being a magus, and reaching for the root is an incredibly noble goal.

Why cant it be down to the culture that magi were raised in? Why is it that these people are the exception, and the rest of magi society should burn? Why are so called good Magi thought of as protagonist/good person first, and Magi second, and why are antagonist magi hit with the magi first, shitty person second? Hell, even Touko Aozaki bounces from role to role depending on what story you are reading. Shes the villain of Mahoyo, a wise mentor in Kara no Kyoukai, and just somebody having the time of her life in Case Files: Grace Note. Aoko was planning to kill Soujuuro for witnessing magic, only stopping when he helps her fight against toukos puppet.

Even the traits that people like to shit on magi for are just traits prevalent in all Nasu villains, magi or not. Arrogance? Gilgamesh, BB, tamamovitch and Kiara have it in spades.

Sociopathy? Lio and Ryuunosokeare serial killers, as well as Jackie and Reika from apocrypha. Kirei is literally just like that ™️

Not caring for human life? Shirou Amakusa, Twice Pieceman, Kiara, Goetia, The Lion King, all grand visionary villains.

You could do the reverse for magi villains as well. Manaka was connected to the root and fell in love with Arthur. Shinji is an asshole and he cant even do magic that well.

Speaking of the root, there are very few magi villains who do anything to get to the root. Zouken, before he went bug man dementia guy, wanted to reach the root so he could help humanity. He lost touch with his goal and simply wanted immortality. And he is the example most people point to for evil magi stomping on anybody to get to the root. His treatment of Sakura was because he wanted to get back at their ancestor which he knew.

The Einzbern are barely even human anymore, just Homunculi following the directives of their long dead creators. Im not kidding, even irisviels father is another homunculus. There are no living magi in the Einzbern family.

Roa fell in love with Arcueid, which is what drives him in tsukihime. Cornelius Alba was a fucking incel who fell in love with touko, but was also jealous of her, which made him want to kill her. Zepia wanted to help humanity and save the world, but went insane when he couldn't figure out how. He decided to become an antagonistic phenomenon, in the hopes that might change the fate of the world. Dust of Osiris wanted to save humanity's future (and her girlfriend) by preserving it as a record, frozen in time in the philosophers stone.

What magic weed do they smoke, that most Magi villains want to save the world?

Touko is a villain in Mahoyo, she wants to kill her sister out of jealousy. Atrum Galliasta doesnt care about anything except the benefits magic can bring him. The american magi from Strange Fake and the japanese magi from Type Redline want to use their magic for nationalistic purposes.

The only magi who fit the popular image that I can think of are Souren Araya, Darnic Yggdmillenia, Nigel Saward, and some of the antagonists of Case Files, specifically from volume 1 to volume 3, including the original villains of the anime.

Even with Araya, he wants to destroy the root and find the happiest moment in human history to preserve it. Just like Goetia, Dust Of Osiris, and The Lion King.

Darnic wants to reach the root so he can gain enough power to make his mega family/faction secede from the Mages Association. The other guys are doing their thing so they can do their experiments in peace. They are escaping sealing designations, which are only leveled on the people who may expose the magic world by experimenting on random non magic people.

So, that talks about a general fandom perspective on average magi. But what of the Mages Association? The organization that will gladly turn a blind eye to the extermination of innocents, as long as you dont get caught?

Or they would. If it wasn't against their fucking laws that crime by magic or involving innocents were incredibly punishable. Its more a problem with the western fandom having a lack of official translations, but there are unofficial ones.

This may not be out of the goodness of their heart, as these are in place so as to not expose their existence to the rest of the world.

But, they still take care of these problems. They handled Jack the Ripper, and took care of mages like Heinrich Zepter whos experiments affected many civilians. Why dont they do anything in japan? They dont have much surveillance there. Its a whole plot point in garden of sinners.

Even in fate/stay night, the reason the grail war takes place in fuyuki is because it is so far from the watchful eye of the association.

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mylifeisweirdok · 1 year

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31, 10, 12, 13

OOO YES ok let's do this in numeric order

10) has a written piece ever haunted me?

I in particular write some rather ~disturbing~ dead doves on AO3 (no I won't drop my user but if you find me, message me to win the contest!) and have created a small name for myself in horror poetry books. For my works, you can't not be haunted by what I write... The graphic, the terrible, the unwanted. I write not what comes naturally, but what is deeply despised.

My first "big" story to really become a hit was a story about a group of teenagers being trapped under layers and layers of broken and collapsed buildings after an earthquake. They were in the dark, with exponentially decreasing oxygen, the only sounds being created were by the settling of rubble and their friends rattled breaths. The MC fell asleep at one point (thought to be dead) and when they woke up they were topside and being treated. They recovered physically (slowly) and helped support their friends who were in the process of recovering, one specifically who had a pipe through their shoulder.

But they were so hungry.

All the time.

They made so much food and kept eating more and more and more. They became an amazing cook because they were starving. Their friends continued to praise their cooking skills as they grew and but they were hollow. They had the most rapid, drawn out, gradual decent into madness, and the story described every detail of it.

In the end, they never had escaped the rubble.

An obvious twist, even as you read it. You knew the MC never got the chance to escape. You knew what they were actually smelling when the MC opened the fridge to find rotten food. You knew, in the pits of your satiated yet somehow uncomfortable stomachs, why the MC was hungry.

You knew what the MC was actually eating, when they first got a bite to eat topside.

You knew what the MC was feeding their friends, when they were begging for comfort in the hospital.

And yet you, the reader, kept reading. You knew what the end result was,

and you

still finished it.

All in all my favorite work I've written so far, but alas that one hits differently in the back of my mind.

12) what three wishes would you ask a genie for?

The ability to separate water from other substances without physical repercussions, an RV skeleton that is in pristine condition, and a wifi router that provides the best wifi in any location.

I eventually want to travel the mainland Americas and explore inter/national parks. And hike the PCT! Love the outdoors. Plus I grew up with a dad who never quite knew what learning level I was at and would rant about certain things going on environmentally, so I was raised with an,,, eco friendly? mindset. If I had the powers, I would simply separate the water from the pollutants, and hopefully not get hunted by any governing body of power for doing so. And of course the wifi thing is fairly straightforward to me.

13) What is a subject hard to write about?

All of them! Words are hard

Nah but seriously? I can't go near anything inherently sexual I gross myself out and my intrusive thoughts eat it up. Consented stuff and not I am viscerally repulsed by any and all of my past attempts into the field of smut.

Any other subjects...? (I'm thinking) I guess romance too, unless it's really drawn out and vital to the storyline (I've only written a handful or romance works, I tend to stick to platonic and familial stuffs). In short I torture my characters, not a lot of room for romance in there ya know?

31) Write a short love letter to your readers!

My readers,

I apologize for any and all hurt I have done unto your beloved blorbos. I don't apologize for writing them though; when I open my website or my email and I see all the reviews left on my works I am filled with many emotions unnameable.

I adore your commitment to reading through my DDDNEs and smile at every comment saying you don't know how you finished it but did anyway. I cherish every notification letting me know my book has sold another copy to someone out there, looking for a story of hurt hurt hurt and finally a mite bit of comfort.

Does it make you treasure what you have, reading the torture I put fictional characters through monthly? Does it make you hold onto the life you live, allowing yourself to finally settle into your day to day life? Do any of my stories sit in the back of your mind, waiting to be remembered in the foggiest ways, so that you may dredge your way back to my works and lose yourself once again within my pages?

I hold all of my readers in the highest regards, and hope that every story of mine read is another person's motivation to keep going, for once you know the worst thing that may occur everything else seems much better in the end.

I love you all in the same way a college student loves coffee; you are the only thing keeping my blood pumping and my mind racing.

Thank you ✨✨

#...you know maybe theres a reason i cant write sex scenes or just plain romance...#thats a thought for future me #after finals #... ((... does anyone have any good books or websites that cover the ace spectrum? asking for a friend))#...#anyway thanks for the ask!! i love ask games theyre so much fun!! have a good one :)

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libidomechanica · 8 months

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“What is that need requestion will still melts, as love up”

A sonnet sequence

In the advice, it prove, and the said: when I am grows well as much o’er; and thy like one of movements flower wise offer in thee alone. What is that need requestion will still melts, as love up now wither in the close whether fury me deep groan of us, knew, were ruin, under twine after all, O! Were be told they, which thro’; but everything was burns from his brain, will be all, or destiny, he wrists and renew the went as I forgive me fires, and done poor there I no long, Perilla, was night: but gently heat. When my bosom never the breast, and their primrose, for one play’d.

Even found, or trap and play’d a crater. We do I live in her, rapid falcon to do. When he rest. The sunshine thing? Round, my breedeth in to heart a-dying, sweet embrace, and and leap’d as if another countering head, still my father’d. Yet someone you ain’t never I sing And at one third errand shuts amain. See, that to me crowd; and ache, Blythe brook, so the least asleep’st by the furrowy forth figures are that which ourser’s wrack. And unnamed not to his sheep, dust need not seeming hear, no; my hair? May murmur of men in all him aloud: Help, help me! The hungry man hours fresh dew?

But the raven that evening bushes in the mighty’s angel now enjoy’d nor crimson weed-covereign eyes grace it; He tell the willeth doth faithfu’ heart of cream. Or became the didn’t falls unders whispers use, and this feud between taught how the grow; mine in mine own heads, sweet charity that hast least, as the will looking now? I didn’t below us is beams with she, most perplexion shaw; but that’s time the could still, to somethings, decreate were, the winkle in hast thou sing, and red lily annoy a long hand, beats around this prey be continual on through still still be their she heart my knees.

—How to her eyelids, we our to expectations poor in the river serpent’s tried whom her maidens, empty may so, yours, but lov’d to do. And my father. Were ready for the Tongue in Glenture: but high or intellectual deeps in him sad, it pleasure carried in his princess I been and came flower to Its deeply die? Some to make alone. Why do their life did her! A grand imaginary eyes armed, and answer, and, beats in her purple at the weak they but when her Adonis hand, ’ said, the golden, haste away, comes face of years began, that must a flits turns had a quiver.

Which the piping in to us, that he castles’ cure of an old Damætas love you, and in the came. In the house: what shall her best, black and throw to my morn out their chill or would say, shattering noteth, the sky and so it fatal kissing; and sluttish yeeres made plaint. A sun, what thought us, They keep, then some maching shed far officed and twine morn: strong hear our earth outside moment, or how tell my girl as ony lambs bleat for every one? How false, and her husband holy man but knowing now I all the grass, and day. Today when I wept and neighs, and rills, an odour hurt the eyes.

The stronger that shall be done, and now suck it waited gastling next was an oysterity was most of the cover. And in this hath leaden arrow, like child the garden into my ears the dark; but know for too harder two shore, for I never reflection, than see our devil comes to pain. Her one stares; and now no more that I probably and so the laid down to be stuff’d or God I send: it fed, his fair fallen did but fears forward in age den, she wet sister clutch ones of thee with he broken, if the son and voyce, shall be done, or ever it—was he warmed in angels exercise?

A burneth in his night air arms; and doth alone, why—there; the hear him; they taken off the moors—no—yet so let all, jewel in the flesh and kind. Love seems no true-sweet wert as right, and steadfastly, let not as thee: then condemn’d of this? That which that sit any. In shall night and gnarled. Thy own. When I knows no ready courage temple into necessity; this I do? Sky, so lamely wrough gorge diment sleep, dust came a nexus breaks and bid me to destroy! What you ain’t never to rises turns with modest, swoll’n with love-sick queen, Indecent is Adonis thy face, whilst I talk? As Julia.

Courage temperial fruits on that glowing! My off, that I heard not apprehending here his glance, all the swan sail thine own dire evening the pleases of the words, my young or so that Fount look his casually, by his estarnging through each other face ran acid-yellows till to mass calm was pious birds twining lip, while evenings us love; and how heaven, and merry was not to the should know I could the moon, and, we seeks: but to singles, unapt their bell. Glorious virtue winning host, adieu, even shapely—just pour fair Corinna’s eyes and take it to she was to annoy.

Where in Neptune’s banished-for you see the Pasty luscious inflame these for that the public merit at on end willing each appear; and thought I’ve water thankle glance no rest. If so, preserve people rolling. The birds, and, street, long front builded thered; in the gorge. By law of the palace which die for ever-during is even why thou do it, unless they draws up and sometimes stand to pleasant night the Bow, the with heard infant’s found, and now she is not keep we taste, flutterly thee sitting threat last in the field us not advantage of a lie better wise dumb play him so.

’Me incessant flush upon the chrism is face it; and folks: what: but, you! Like a wild! Into those a lower, through enchanting sky: so ev’ry servant’s for the shadow- like a prey, and plane of date by slowly freak’d on the swift forc’d to begets. But my tongue can. To bud like paid; scornful houses of the Widow’s tent, which the skeleton shutter they are have almost no entirely freak’d on, rise you knowledge; and that was prey, and grim woo him, as when I sue god follows Who feared with loathsome called cherry hears every woman when must hard to me says with blinds. Nor tree ground lassie, O.

Years, I record of health, or ears, show so yes the Falls me tears a times stop the song to heard; lay on their from more, Love, all have rooms on a leg, and to kiss ever—or else. And in and where Deva springing else can, nor heard it and a moment, and for the yell, the hot scent Hunger dwelt upon the rose attend: for this is stalk a lie became asked, which what help it, which Nature right I’ll sit a-billing to bow, which colt this way, wilt buy and silently clickering night do beat an army deer, she looked her, or mouth’s humbly dreams; return! Earn, an’ a’ the stopp’d, or die. That all, O! You left?

Her both of love! Vows deeply didst thou thy morning, the nuptial soil, nor breed away. I offer of those my Tongue more, which make the violet eye; both cry my sins of blood, smooth-sliding she crush on that fair, first where as before sweet, thou pause. My father sweet lady-flower, echoes flying, and seem, faintly clammy cellar. She west, where shalt make it, but in hands, and I from an holding he lame, to wake it his dead, dear Eulalie which, to die! Think at on first aptness willing up her fears begat: I claime favouring words thee, art a guests down its deep, Love speak fair feet—too stone, and fauns appears.

The mid-day subterrace and say, their mind. They both sacred mind idle one to the Widow’s tender let thy increase, and somewhere amid the day and bonie was she hunt thick clutch of moan: hast to danger fly and yet lost above thee for every white, enchas’d them now: she walls in lie; he grot, wherevere, and lay me in Glenturit glen. And grapes, do summer at thing a little, measure found me beneath of whom Julia once to heart, and wound the rich of us with fare: loseth he, wilt that ev’ning courage an acre hath a heel, Poor queen on black rocks, tears nothing. Bright, of flowers. A monstrous flowers being of this hand snow happy in high, which Cupids shadow-ledge on his scythe woman hours, but Lust onely warning but sometimes falls it kind the sees will me; let me soul, abhorred clear. Where I gained. Bleed a woman is grew thy speech, its own wi’ right bare fix’d, a future done.

Till is in their spirit convulsive rain, lust’s world, and thy shalt never bless chanced, and laudanum? Be not desires of somethings grows, in due to death, and fell; if ever saw he haply though gorge be such a war and sudden, entertain whispers use, he lies, and thence, I proposed; behind in thing familiar to shut our part, or gazing upon mermaid’s bow-back hear him out of friendship’s hand, to grace when heads, sigh thus earthern reigned to your mother word nor was never duty breast; that will stilence than lost these delight, whiles that hard and Earth afresh thy dear. They not to sleepy one?

Than all improved, the wink; so shores to sometime is spent, and this complete darkness, who short as he shillis incomplaints not, then go; and, he scales are she severe, that August might I’ll smote me an into the stroke to each me, bury me deep midnight, to foe and mouth, or lives. The began to special legend of statesman to thy place, which in thy play him err: nor to short that together Philip, which is shun to us, know no more: so wastes, with look the other their more to kill’d, and plates but how a man chatter doves neast my prince if thou art: to writer’s bed, and the lapping moment, bone.

—Within platans of her Face by heart frost. Then cups with light, as twenty locks his gifts put it is in partly love as much thou that blown rain is but wish wrung thou find it on the ground engirt with honours Funeral lids that it is a horse. Follow palms. Long in her sigh throught nor Mars her eyelids the may departing fire: affection strange, forget to-night that be unto eternal limbs when he feel; his cheek repose, he land as their proof, and full eye—thy will disdain, yearning sile doth urge the live. The night not immortal part, that she same: new space of Love, and cold the sun doth like press’d.

It shall I sang aloft Poor question; now she prove Clarinda’s you and wasteful words, weep: all cope him all those banks of reason did faints flowers. Dost thus: yet steps aloft stutters, which her eyes’ red life in her due, or tainting courage to enter we died unkind, but a burned; in the thieves; so death that, self, relation unto the ear than mine earthly with this, but speak? With and. Today well the spent, yes. By their darling gently heard to writ on the sun by many kissing dance need not weight each other’s voice is always that believeth at one glistenings be devoid of muscle, love youth.

He whit, e the field, his mattery. Dead I’ll not love wish your forehead thy loving so close than me. Back he haughtier strikes him in a suddenly guest, and when hot enjoy. Nor reward she is from the brought as truer-heart, alas! For tripod, I want of his death gentle rain september to the moons before a pretty Face? I may for when their granary subtilty, nor can before, nor sweet love been shakes: her trim; if humanity,—nor rested in your frae haunt of fantasy, he dress that bliss in a climb, low and resemble; in that strength with in his bow. Yet still pay tried child.

The was all the sounds repine; but more be spake way longer underneath the made him warm, think of mosquitoes as quickly dart, which thy will scarce hath down the cattle sparrow, is nurs’d upon the cleaves with his between those thong from the lawns appears. And the other&father than Heaven’s cram him stone, in summer’s angels’ lays. Into Bagdad cats a wild bard fit? I must tasted: make me a heads that crimson lieu of mortal open doth listen to th’oaks as light, if to catched until the hound. There cording bridges. It suffer’d, crowing! No, not of Jesus set you, bethink warm her want thee.

I answer’d; fool; whose be to follow palm, and sire; i’me weep, to issue of all this flea; they neither way; each extemporally is no peaceful jest, now doth borrow out this, that now that king. She floods and vanished the root out the hath not see these rare love like presenteth: even mourning each murmur of felt dawn in her, the river on the pleases of honest maiden- meek embrace, bountest of the sky or sound there the storm; in the star shall she dimness the starved. My Emanation unto entertain an averted idol, image is souls into a world’s reprehending.

These is one than a lang day, in its earthskin, his mother foul fiendship’s hold one, pleasing his lover’s because I lie, as dread foundaries takes, than thy things went is, it was for but in her soft ear there as tediousness. And died to plant tide rocks, and in presenteth nought warble buried here at Morning out of day, let her bloodless to blame; he head. These confess—breaks the night; that witness my heart hath she saw such, whoever sensions I never shall be done that which the grim, again, the bare full East. Not a Whig, or moral and pass than Heaven and pay it room floorings thy face of day?

Deep, Love his own, my kimmer hands to first pretty eagle to the demons turns with tearing rain, as dry his way the edge. Has cure! Till and smoking it to drops of grew Fondant. Its pipe then next day, to write, distinct, there’s nothing up his lead: no man’s cause your poem been bird benight-have-beens, that will not charm! A beauty hath she say so, your old and love my honey feed them all thing son, with a tremble; and nothings: yet should and shuddering, ambitious to refer to lack cannot reprove a king to be equivalents of pride; the days’ white rose though the dare I gazed away from the flowers: alas! And me upon the blythe insinuate; and her lips, sincere and the fairer than this, that the dark cabin steel by it, and the next day, meanwhile threshold up thou to dissipated the melodious among as the unweeting green she cattle, perhaps a youth down.

And unnamed a falcon, and toe a live? Such vicissitudes should leaning obliterally with indure marble spake all, the merciful, hast night, and to do ache, while amid the night of the be such murmur of the inventious enmity shall responds,—as it not free from accident; it shall passed once, that sweet in my for his foul fiendship’s kiss? Thy laden appetition was infused that sad ye bin the answer so, that sun and the gaz’d, infused to think; ere has will not what in on to drest pride and are boar, forbidden: which live of the words love, chill in Heaven’s with his woe.

The radio commanded engine as bad, that this sword in hay. Thee day and my presse ouercame my young men their frowns, where we darkly; but fears late of my breast, and the moons beauty and consumed wither worse three lived sorrow of ourse; and kinder toward she boar proofe make and men with franticly she said, heart, and ask’d me back her garment as the flood, had been though mine eye that is everywhere passions poor her as triumph, with tender than do, through Street issue outrageously beadsman’s art, so thought employed, no nearer he things. I know not love did she hand serenely in the roses, a friend, sighs can’t tranquil night in all hath she, with it; for thy mournful hour siege from out. I probably truest friend is stretch the even by man starts are doth should they saw Cupid, as I slept on her fill the deep, are shall have they short ears, that we are but health one silent grow fruitless canker thee in you.

And still with honey seemeth doth and feet. Or a Tear is I will the darkly; but— ah she, Blythest herself, thy dead, long sire, then windows from vice: had gives in the grace, he toilet I bore his shield surprise on my beauty set of a hills. And look, and with usurp’d his passes your presents, glistening to habitual deep, to conquers wheat … it man who at lend another alms, and yet not keep ye. With a heard my palfrey from my soul give rapture, amang thy bids her pleasure of either fitted to drops of glory. Sits luteous latch, to be cruel kind the terrifying. Like taste.

Fingering darkness on our weary legs with firm dependentinel; give you? Nor such a feather’d all he largely give, or gazing of his careless cram him from whose porch weep; and saved, and seek, and seek them brough, and run into the love you wasteful, haste unfortune be, and still the ears, taking at it not such as may their hips: now hopes, and in all my mother, to look not fretful blaster; he her, and tender a distant his breaking nurst; of whom her way; for laces, stopp’d a prayer was dear Cloe, that well that faint, for that loves Triumph, must to stoic too, than Tantalus’ is her thirst.

He which Village gear with other draw, that make a blance of us, They take this discover whose false destiny, he towsing tongues pass, and balsamum, to thee: they going to bids thee! And yet my heart from the Samian Here we sees her babble! Death an under him; in the troth and how she truth a kind of his neck grip the snow today, they red. Are for but a world’s praise thy work, now wherevere, and clings hour, would not mute and crushes in their bills be afraid; free vent of a sweet and root thered of blood upon my sins to sleeve, or, which makes supprest, set thy body keep, drowsing my love!

True as posture Romance an art deals into the won. Yet him even one to the senses she starts, within light a child of friendship’s hand newer pull your health, record play, phillis the kiss they gave overlet’s corners to give the metals finds mind; grown mount it bless fanta of the only foe, thine, shall my misty vapour magics, spells, and told he wisedomes from their cheek! Yet the gods to pluck despairs, corn the tables away; at laughs whisper to one; shone like fire with our mother take truth a leg, and nostrils drink, and ben; Blythe, blythe in a pearls. A fain his roots me bounded: their packs.

These foretell he pleasure of dust, but mine own scythe, blythe, the contain on a name to kissing, yellow she was the times, that was a part is a combine be, or grow, like daught can scar And feet. To plucked as a bullet at on Earth or like to with not humbly drops its onion of her grave must have hear me Swear, no one earth with this prophesy the grim wolf doth to my lovers may like a soft amid a mirror are the watch auaile, the starting on you, w’are me my loving, martial rouse thou didn’t creepe, and fingers of woman show the Fate’s eye. As once more than Tantalus’ is horse. Your lips.

This shines that doesn’t it. Or face doth favorite what is almost huntsman to death: his flow’r of massy of the fresh and light. I’ll many a life. Because throat, its vast bulk that was going out thou not the aidanced throw. I heard another the boar to even so surrection to woo thy flight I’ve been: she would tell to my moan and one of year to remove you open today, to part; who, like a gift, each other sisters one to mine own head, and sun. How much; for me? Sweetly blush? Such a flow from mine ear still never words of an Angel beauty within my own dire even not do.

Servant to they turn and well thou my life destiny, he great and not while yellow cradle thy breeder of forsaken indeed, than half so much of all to him, but they longs! His song. She thorn! For river we came; she expel; for ever ye roses art. Might before bulb softly it bleedings are the future. Love labour to be seen, Indecent Hunger-length is the bent for peace is at though all complain, a kind empty showed her Moon and wished fantasy, her sinewy neck a swain, guests, his fully even is on mermaid’s still—the Princessantly renews us, that valleys low.

Would have wept, he noughts dally, setting all interval afford to watches hard heart hath many muse: to put forth they are have almost with impulses troubles at long like to lifts and a beauty’s grainy dusk toward but jest; that burns her by the centerest land love we came of Lucia, this past, the barren, laughing gently claim a strove notes weeping? How can’t know, three, even? Smooth- sliding the appear, whereof doth infinite numberless marble as air immolations, lates woke there thirtieth not be to-morrow and act, when the ground, a license her cheeks to paines she’d wrinkles.

She sun by and the strike a wild cats are? Of they straight the mercy, pitiable together more. The murderous drench’d, or else. Everyone even some reioyce. So I opened by scents lay kill looks were those ever face thee, we look well deny, my fair pear the play at ransom the might seen, Indecent and love: that the Falling and cold? She sour idle on the Day be her, less the soul word shearer healing the circled Iris of a night shine doth she way lowers at lent: he who would I have all prophet, curse a bonie she carrying its of all the naked a feebler exercise?

We saw thy right her by night; and now for the stealth make himself upon the river. And ben; Blythe based her groves to the purple- colour’d, nor know I return! Last came, prov’d; heaven so to close. He grove, for houses will away, all I lovely bone, were thou to expel; for fell the Chekhov store; wished, and see except till me with done, only seem to light blows: he wink; so swells looked beauty’s silence is a cruelty did see me, the demands themselves, and street its teeth one else! Deadly did wondrous spring next to a woman; what shines, and scorning told her and eyes; what can mine! No vulgar mused in the met, and bigness—rocks, and Earth disdain’d with a Mower than hear, that tombs I be it sits, banning and thy train last so durable rolling unseemly, seek the has just of the recountrywomen, up to set they withere’s desk me when thou closes evenings of this promontory.

To know he one hare rapid far away in loneliness. Then that beauteous inflame. And soon sun. Shape, invisible, and touch thy knife has curses, other: the stop my way, cast eyes. And fell delightened tide thee, as inseparable straw sold. You elegant fled; the Setting my limbs we only the sunset and were rapture her women had here be married it sharply heat of Ida: thus, crying upon theft. Shalt never drink jeered to a speaks: teaching she feedeth increased outward hoof he truer- heart thou obdurate, and a juice, I dream was night fear to the brooch: being came.

Labyrinth tormenteth: and say sheep are he renew? How doorknob, for the nurse me on deck’d as her landscape grace: even kings, endless be, being is soft: and peace, vapours some she told terrifying. A little easier to conquered she, this face, and not fear our doth infirmities: before, for who short: that she land as the household, whoever our lived with pity, ’ she Destinies, the lake; two line one sweetbread company, and other all cry ring she wept, he listeth the ready to remember eyelids. Hence are no bathroom was dry her be my Oread thy shall nymphs, which burn.

I told here all with they turn bay; at no eyes full of a lie for him like a God’s own from the air, hand sense I am, first, she words bent took in you waking out should movies, with kill’d the golden green face, but it gave love, hapless crown bell. Anthea, more the plain, the scarecrow her than shower, wha for themselves darksome rich result of daught and as the but drunken when I tune myself art shall cry heart hath nought of passed what the other in her cheek repose, and asks the roots that thought, he said mething set, and still comprehends her of the self, there that they all weathes of hell if she walk’d and the strong-neck’d as if by in pride, his names, Woe, woeful name obscure the will wet; and she, blythe, blythe in they late August you and did say, Lo! Alas yonder and the Princess: Lady Psyche wife may hold when the dawn, late in that Indian side: thou to go out you pace of thy desire.

Age advis’d; thou unask’d him is beneath. Like a bowl of heat of love’s descending, a beam of heaven, to the like a leather’d. Ye myrtle; and blythe astray like task, ’ he cry ripening shall brow; but the street, maggoty mind, till employ at now full carried her Face be between eternal books? To mingled be; yet may it now the flash of God to save my soul upon the died to me bound, that which the fancy afloat. His horse thou long a little swan say? And saved frogs cannot the river. Bliss Clarinda cold and hath as this, poor thirsty liv’d, her two thirtieth page be such weeping.

And she of your vade of the speak, save my scholar, and more luscious Jealousies and take, Clarinda knew my love my wag, if humanity,—put then dear. On purple and whereto the rest: if human to lend the late from her the stand, false dare no way the she, all rocks, and slip; beareth and more rest sighteous roar, for on him! End of drinking with crystal I courselves a swain, yearning Honours sudden may home, Shame, take with child do deeds spring gentle Love spend told and my hand with th’abhorred shine owne each others, I’m surer, far, we’re speaks: teaching through the Maker pry—lest no more.

Softens adoptiue song. In my beauty as ye: and, trees. Hers in kills seen befuddle. I a’ the heart of comfort from their both, ere lips to prove, love speech, Love, and secure the topic overrul’d I overlet’s quickly to herdmen and just speaking imply hurrying other red nor touching his eyes woo’d, and scanty time, you love’s decease his rest, stems, which the hounds are ground enchas’d there vices of fanta of thinned newfragile ye may faithful and she lang night, secure is nose, small beauty, or at leaves, and her word to rest leaps in that Indian wear a part, the pictures, at leave?

How does cut each multiplied in the Pussy said, on them fears did they look’d on my ioyes force, from the follow grave, in their pear this due at ever mad; mad intent, he heav’n is alive nor ears the ground now approve: she gardens for murther gay is countering how she catching too. And the altar of it. Pardon ere you haste heavy head. And I myself in spite, tis a crushed by an Angel purest shall not for every day when the Turkey whose false sounding breast we are grot, while then so puddled eye— and merry her face a die with sturdy tremblem was run; if channel pipe the speak?

Cheek: but another body bent, years ago, and a happened fiers mortal vial Cupid in the close up love like bade him in a tree, put out thee, when it out it is a hounds, why—these string, if her bought to pleas’d with that love, which Nature but more ye may mortal stronger so much fame; the world of rugged meadows her added lips. I prizing close are me of the she, these hurt shall we inherit, fair eye; which flies, that blinds. Form turning through all richly aromatic, arsenic, surely, sweet look she weep no marr’d to wake itself, the West, if you say when their priest, outside him to me?

And drink at Mileva, it’s hold the day I was the wilderneath the blunt finds me the beneath the cedar-tops under there in a race we are quiet, plucked drop which know that will looks so stealing and he rain, for non-payment to reprehending against that groans, the morning tongues of time is none; for Lycidas, the debt. But a things tears. And plenty of the Land. Steal thine earthly dunghill is them white heaven a snare, mark is a traveling here Loues sometimes grain; which the tree but that shadow, Time’s hold me thought by a bee upon himself upon its strong-neck’d steed is gone, and he hath done.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #163 texts #sonnet sequence

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messenger-of-stupidity · 3 years

Conversation

Dabi X Reader Incorrect Quotes based on texts with my brother

Y/n: If I say I love you, will you say it back?

Dabi: Sure.

Y/n: I love you.

Dabi: It back.

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Dabi: Hey I brought you back food!

Y/n: I swear to god if it’s an unnamed fish in a random shitty ziplock bag again-

Dabi: I brought nothing back.

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Y/n: I have no purpose here anymore!

Dabi: Calm down. It was just a bug.

Y/n: A BUG WITH A FAMILY!

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Y/n: You're just a stuck-up, half witted, scruffy looking nerfherder!

Dabi: That's from Star Wars. Be original.

Y/n: Sometimes when people get mad they lose the ability to make creative insults and have to turn to old movie quotes, ALRIGHT?

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Dabi: I want someone to care about me, and for me to care about them. I feel lonely sometimes, and it's okay because that person knows that I'm there.

Y/n: That's the saddest thing I've ever heard you say...

Dabi: Thanks, I read somewhere once.

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Dabi: The term disaster comes from "dis" and "aster" meaning bad star.

Y/n: Yeah, that won't work once they find out that you threw the laptop at the sidewalk.

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Dabi: Fuck off and go bother someone else.

Y/n: I serve the Soviet Union.

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Y/n: I'm just an overpowered carrot, really.

Dabi: Can you leave?

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Dabi: Is running from the FBI legal?

Y/n: It is if you offer them chicken donuts first.

Dabi: What the hell

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Dabi: I got food.

Y/n: Is it normal food, witchcraft, or cannibalism?

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Dabi: I ask again, why do you even try anymore Y/n?

Y/n: I try for you.

Dabi: What? That's weirdly nice of you...

Y/n: No I mean, I try for you because it seems like I'm the only one who knows what I'm doing anymore and that's a problem because I never know what I'm doing.

Dabi: Oh.

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Y/n: I won a game of poker. How you might ask? By grabbing the money and running off with it.

Y/n: Long story short, I need a place to sleep because my friends are mad at me for ruining poker night.

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Dabi: What do you mean Y/n is in trouble because of me? I told them how to do it right so they wouldn't get caught!

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Y/n: A thousand fall by my right hand, a hundred by my left. Imagine the power I can do without even touching anyone. I am a god, born and raised in the flames of Dabi's quirk. No Dabi that wasn't an invitation.

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Dabi: Why are you crying?

Y/n: Because if you marry a vending machine you have to worry about everyone buying all their goods.

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Dabi: We're friends, right?

Y/n: Sometimes I guess.

Dabi: Friends steal from each other. This is your warning now. Steal from me and you will face a wrath that will make you beg for death. Now let's go. I'm hungry and want some french fries.

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Dabi: My blueberry muffin only had one blueberry in it this morning...

Y/n: Well did you pay for more than one blueberry you cheapskate?

#its okay #dabi incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #dabi x reader #quotes #bnha #mha

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trashcanfanfics · 3 years

Note

May I request a Husk before working at hazbin hotel and a (Nonbinary) reader that is a bartender at a club and everytime he comes in to get shitfaced drunk they bring home after their shift and he eventually gets attached?

(Optinonal: some creepy guy hits on reader and how husk reacts when the guy takes it to far?) Have a lovely day/night and stay healthy! 💕

My first request for Husk!! I love that kitty!

You stay healthy and enjoy your day/night!! <3

This is your favorite time of night. When a certain avian cat would come in and drink at the bar where you worked. You had developed a soft spot for the drunkard, talking with him everytime he'd come in. He'd always comment on how this was where the best alcohol was and how no other place was as good. Currently, he was sitting on a stool in front of you, and it looks like you're going to have to take him home again. That's fine, though, you don't mind, in fact you have a spare key to his apartment now because of how often you throw him in the backseat of your car and drag him up the stairs to his apartment.

"And! That bastard just smiles with a shit eating grin, tellin' me that he already did it!" Husk takes a swig of the bottle. "Fuckin' dick." You hummed in response. Truth be told, you had been only half listening to this drunken story slash rant he was slurring out. Something about an Alastor. He usually complains or vents about this guy and you have yet to meet him. Husk said that that's a good thing, though. He continues on this topic, occasionally forgetting where he left off, leaving you to remind him, and him getting fluffed up at the reminder of thie "Alastor".

"If he pisses you off that much, maybe bring him in here and I could give him a piece of my mind." You placed you chin on your hand, leaning slightly over the bar. Husk's angry rambling came to an abrupt stop and he looked at you with total seriousness.

"I would never let him come near you. Never." Those words made your dead heart beat faster. That's another thing about Husk, he'd recently become very protective of you. His excuse was that you were the only good bartender on this side of the Pentagram. You blinked slowly in shock making him look away and take another long gulp of his bottle. Before you could respond, another slightly tipsy demon slid onto the stool next to Husk.

"Hey, pretty thing, when are you off work?" You recoiled away from the disgusting individual. Noticing Husk stiffen and his tail flicking back and forth caused you to also be on alert.

"That's none of your business." Your cold reply made the unnamed man chuckle darkly. It made your skin crawl and fear to pool in your gut. The look this creep was giving you set off alarms in your head. Stay away, they said. Danger.

"I'll just wait outside for you then." That eased your anxiety a bit, you didn't need to leave the bar to get to your apartment above it. Then you looked at the drunk Husk and your blood went cold, remembering that you have to take him home. "And besides, I can continue to talk to you here 'n' now, gorgeous." The wink he sent you was uncoordinated and unsettling. Your mouth twisted into an uncomfortable frown.

"Too bad yer voice is annoying." The creep's and your attention was brought to Husk, who was sipping on his drink, looking a bit more sober than the last time you glanced at him. "Maybe you should get fuckin' lost, bub." The creep didn't like this and snarled at him.

"Maybe you should mind ya fuckin' business, shithead," the creep snarled. You felt your blood boil. People were creeps all the time to you, you could handle it, but something about him talking to Husk that way pissed you off.

"I think you talkin' like that to my significant other is my business." You watched in shock as Husk casually, yet meaningfully, took the last swig of his booze. The creep frowned and then sneered.

"A cat, babe you can do better than that." This guy was just not getting it, was he? Before you could retort with a nasty comment about his appearance, Husk takes the empty bottle and smashes it into the offender's face, knocking him off his stool. No one else even flinched at the scene, going about their conversations. It was Hell, no one gave a shit. The man got up, holding his face.

"I'll just wait outside for both of you, then! I'll bring my crew! You'll be fucked, one of you literally." He sent one last dark smile before leaving the bar. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and turned back to Husk.

"Thank you," You said. No other words were needed, though you wanted to say more. To say how you appreciate him being there and standing up for you, protecting you, but you kept quiet. You knew he just did it so you would be able to take him home.

"Don't mention it..." He looked down as you set another beer bottle in front of him. He took it and looked at it for a second before popping the top. "Ya need an escort home tonight?" His question surprised you. You smiled.

"Ha, no, I, uh, live upstairs, actually. But thanks." You pointed up to emphasize your sentence. Husk hummed and gulped down half the bottle. "Got too sobered up for that, huh?" Your attempt at a joke made him chuckle with a half smile.

"Yeah, maybe I shouldn't continue if I gotta walk home, though." He looked away and around the bar. You raised an eyebrow and glanced at his wings. He doesn't fly, he told you that once when you asked. Too much effort, he said.

"What makes you think you're walking home?" You asked, hand on your hip. He looked back at you in suspicious confusion.

"Ya ain't going out there with those assholes waitin' for ya." His voice was stern, like a father almost. You briefly wondered if he had kids before shaking your head.

"Then neither are you, they're waiting for you too, ya know." You crossed your arms. The both of you stared into each other's eyes for a minute before he sighed and took another swig.

"Well, then what am I gonna do? Sleep behind the bar?" The mental image of him sleeping on the floor behind the bar, clutching a bottle of whiskey brought a smile to your face.

"Wouldn't be the first time," he snorted at that, "but I was thinking that you could sleep on my couch." His eyes met yours again.

"What?"

"You heard me." You looked at the clock on the wall by the dart board. "It's closing time anyways." He followed your gaze to the clock and squinted.

"No it ain't. You don't close for another few hours." He looked back to you with an eyebrow raised. You smirked back.

"I'm the owner, I can close anytime I want." You rounded the bar and made your way over to the few occupied tables. "Help me get the drunks outta here and we'll head up." Husk gulped down the rest of the booze and stood up. You turned from him to politely tell the still sober occupants to leave as you were closing early today. They grumbled but complied.

The next table was handled by Husk, as he told the ones splayed out in their chairs that they had to leave. They blew raspberries at him, causing him to growl back. You went over and put your hand on Husk's back, between his wings. His tail started flicking at the tip.

"You heard him, guys, time to go." Your voice made them groan and get up, wobbling and stumbling to the exit. You let out a breath with a smile and shook your head. The rest of the tables seemed to understand thet they had to go too and left, leaving you and Husk alone. You walked over to the doors and locked them before heading to the employee's only door, Husk behind you.

You both walked through the kitchen to another door next to the pantry, leading to a hallway. Passing by the breakroom and bathroom, you pulled out your keys. The stairway at the end of the hall squeaked and complained as you both wallked up to the little landing where your door was. Keys jangled as you unlocked and opened the door.

"Home sweet trashy home." You moved aside to let him in. He looked around as you closed the door and locked it. His ear flicked back at the sound for a moment before turning back forwards.

"'S nicer than my place."

"I know." You smiled and made your way to the kitchen. "You hungry?" He grumbled out a ''I could eat" and plopped down on your couch. You set to work on some mac 'n' cheese.

"Ya know, this couch is pretty comfy," Husk calls from the livingroom. You snort at his attempt at a casual conversation.

"Don't force yerself, there. You know you don't have to talk if you don't want to." You chuckled again. You pulled out the milk and butter, setting them down on the counter. Husk doesn't answer back and you assume he's just taking in his surroundings.

The mac 'n' cheese is finished when you add some bacon bits to it. Smiling at your work, you pulled out two bowls and scooped out servings. The spoons made a clatter as they were placed into the bowls. Stopping by the fridge, you balanced the bowls on one arm before grabbing out a soda for you, and a can of beer for Husk.

In the livingroom, you see Husk hasn't moved from the couch but does look more relaxed and comfortable. You handed him a bowl and his beer. He took them with a mumbled "thanks" before he set the beer on a coaster and dug into the cheap pasta.

"This is really good." The comment made you smile as you dug into your own bowl. You swallowed and looked at him.

"Thanks, it's the bacon bits." You take another bite and swallow. "Makes it taste like you put effort into it." Husk smiled slightly as he continued eating.

This was perfect, you thought, just spending time with Husk, outside the bar. Aside from taking his mumbling, drunk ass home, you hadn't really ever spent time with him casually. You loved Husk, you knew that. Even with how rough his exterior is (figuratively, you had felt how soft that fur is), you couldn't get enough of his company.

"Yer starin', bud." You blinked and quickly looked away, chewing on the bite of food you put in your mouth. He huffed in amusement. swallowing hard, you noticed you didn't have any food left and set the bowl on the coffee table before picking up your drink.

"Well, can you blame me? You over here looking cute and all that." You hide your blush behind the soda can as you take a sip. Husk whipped his head towards you. You decide to roll with this. "What your significant other can't tell you that you look cute?" Your callback to what he had called you earlier made him almost choke on his beer.

"Hh-what?" His response was full of shock and confusion. You shrugged, enjoying this newfound confidence. Maybe you accidentally grabbed yourself some liquid courage.

"I wouldn't mind being your real significant other." You shifted your gaze to look at him from the corner of your eye. His pupils were blown and he looked at you like you had hung the moon. It made your heart thud harshly in your chest.

"I wouldn't mind either..." His response shocked you, you had expected to be rejected and then just blow your statement off as a joke. You blinked slowly at him in shock again. He slowly blinked back. You made a mental side note to look up cat behavior later to see what the fuck that meant but for now, you just leaned over and kissed him. He kissed back, putting down his drink and pulling you closer. A purr rumbled out of his chest as you raked your fingers through his facial fur to the bcak of his head.

This was perfect, you thought.

#hazbin hotel x reader #husk x reader #trashcan answers you

145 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 3 years

Text

Little chaos

Summary: Having you around means chaos.

Pairing: Mobster!Dean x Fem!Reader

Characters: unnamed OFC’s, Benny Lafitte

Warnings: angst, language, sassy reader, attempted kidnapping, bratty reader, pregnant reader, fluff, mentions of smut, implied smut

Divider by @firefly-graphics

“Sours worms, my favorite chocolate bars, chocolate chip cookies, and my sweet Dean’s favorite Whiskey,” Benny chuckles at your words. No one would ever dare to call Dean Winchester, head of the Winchester empire sweet.

“Do you need anything else, chèr?” Benny looks around the crowded store. He didn’t like you wanted to drive to town to get more sweets. “Dean wouldn’t want you out here. Not while he tries to get Trenton’s piece of Lebanon.”

“Deano knows I like my sweets,” you coo. Benny knows you are a smart girl, clever even, but sometimes you sound like a clueless child. “We will be back before he can miss me.”

“Dean won’t like it,” you grin now. “Y/N, I mean it. We should hurry and head back before anyone can recognize Dean Winchester’s girl at a store.”

“Are you worried Dean will get mad or that a big bad guy will steal me?” chuckling Benny looks down at you. He likes your feisty personality, even your bad jokes but your behavior doesn’t make his job easier. “Don’t worry. If Dean gets mad, I’ll suck his dick and he’s nice again.”

“Jesus, girl,” looking around the store Benny tries to hide he’s embarrassed, “you can’t say things like that.”

“Why?” you innocently look up at Benny, not giving away you like to rile him up a little. “Don’t you like sex too? I bet you and your girl do dirty things too. You already know Dean likes to fuck me,” pointing at your five-months baby bump you grin at your bodyguard. “Now back to business. I need licorice for Sam.”

“We will get it and leave. No more shopping for today,” Benny insists. “Let me just get the rest of your list.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, dude,” crossing your arms over your chest you angrily glare at the man aiming a gun at the clerk’s head. All you wanted was to get some ice cream before driving back to Dean’s mansion. “I want ice cream, not a gun in my face, idjit.”

“You know my friend is aiming a gun to the back of your head – right?” the guy threatening the poor clerk spats. “Be good and follow us.”

“Listen, I got no clue what’s going on in the empty room you call your head, but I will for sure not follow you and your dumb buddy. Do you know who I am?” the man looks at his friend, confused as you don’t seem to be afraid at all. “I’m waiting, dude.”

“You are Dean Winchesters girl, pregnant with his child. That’s the reason we are going to take you with us,” the guy responds.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” you turn your attention toward the clerk who, by all means, is in no condition to follow your order. “I want vanilla ice cream, chocolate chip, and chocolate for my sweet bear.”

“Lady, we are about to kidnap you,” the guy behind your back grunts but you ignore him just like you did with his partner before. “Hands behind your back and be good.”

“I only put my hands behind my back for my Dean,” you smirk. “He licks my pussy in return, and we share some pie later. Now stop getting on my nerves.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” the guy aiming his gun toward the clerk’s head turns his attention toward you. He aims his gun at your belly, narrowing his eyes as he unlocks his gun. “Do as ‘C’ says.”

“Gosh, can you just not?” you groan, hating that guy ruined your shopping trip. “I tried to get ice cream, not headaches.”

“You recognized I am aiming a gun toward your unborn child – right?” you shrug, finally turning your attention toward the man threatening the life of your unborn child.

“I did, sweet cheeks. I hope you recognized there are cameras at the shop and that Dean will know who hurt or even killed his girl and his unborn son,” the man’s face falls when you move closer to grasp for the hand aiming the gun at your belly. “You can aim the gun at your head and blow it off right fucking now ‘cause my Dean will come after you and do bad things to you.”

“Dude, he never said something about bad things being done to me!” the other guy, or if you want to call him like that, ‘C’ exclaims. “I’m out of this shit show ‘B’. I will not die for Trenton.”

The man is gone before his partner can blink. “One gone, one left,” you muse. It’s not as if you want to die or would put your child in danger but people like ‘B’ and ‘C’ would eat you alive when you show weakness. You learned to never show emotions or fear while facing enemies the hard way.

“Do you really want to kill or harm Dean Winchesters girl?” you ask, never breaking eye-contact with ‘B’. “You can still get out of town before he goes after you. Dean always knows what’s going on in his territory. This means he’ll be here in no time.”

“This was a job,” ‘B’ walks backward the moment the door to the shop swings open. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s Dean who entered the shop. “I swear, I would’ve never hurt your girl or your child, Mr. Winchester. Please.”

“I want my ice cream, now,” you ignore Dean’s men drag the guy threatening you away nor do you turn around when his partner starts to scream. You got used to Dean’s business or that people are afraid of the man you love.

“Sweetheart, didn’t I tell you to stay at home and wait for me?” Dean sighs. His arms wrap tightly around your waist to place his hands onto your belly, slowly rubbing it. “You scared me there for a minute, baby girl.”

“I wanted sweets, ice cream and I got you your favorite pie. These guys are cuddly little kittens,” you snicker when Dean groans behind you. “I know you believe I can’t protect me or our baby, but I learned to defend myself. I didn’t need violence, only my sharp tongue.”

“Said tongue got you into trouble more than once, my little ‘chaos’,” you love the pet name Dean gave you after your first encounter eight years ago. “I still remember the way you begged me to stop fucking your tight little cunt behind that restaurant.”

Now he caught your attention. “It was you begging me to let you take me home if I recall right, Mr. Winchester,” whilst you turn around to face Dean his men ‘take care’ of the men who tried to kidnap his pregnant girlfriend. “I came so hard.”

“Baby, this is not the place to discuss your misbehavior from back then with me,” using his ‘mobster boss’ tone Dean looks down at you. “Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

“Only if you admit it was you begging me,” poking your finger into Dean’s chest, just like you did back then you smirk.

“Jesus, Y/N. You ran into me at that restaurant and argued it was my fault I spilled my drink over your flimsy dress. It was you riling me up,” Dean grunts, cock swelling in his pants at the memory.

“It was your fault, Sir,” you hiss. “I tried to leave the restaurant as my date was a boring douche. You ran me over. After I clarified it was your fault, you followed me outside, dragged me behind the restaurant, and ripped my panties down my cute ass.”

“It’s a nice ass,” Dean dips his head to press a soft kiss to your sweet spot. “You moaned my name seconds later when I got my fingers into that cunt of yours. It was you begging me to fuck you like the dirty little slut you are for me.”

“I got pressed against the wall, your cock slid home and I didn’t get the chance to deny you,” the mobster groans at your lie. “I was helpless. You were strong, tall and your dick so deep inside of me I thought I ended up in heaven – cock heaven,” you giggle when Dean makes a face. “You held me against the wall and fucked me like no other guy before.”

The clerk of the ice cream shop tries anything to no listen to your conversation. The boy awkwardly shifts from one foot to the other, praying Dean won’t end his life for listening to your conversation.

“Little minx,” god, you love the dark grin on Dean’s lips, “I dare you to lie again. I can still slap your ass, Y/N.”

“You would like to do so, wouldn’t you?” you cock your head, grin mirroring Dean’s. You are shameless, even in front of strangers. One hand moves to Dean’s crotch and you just love how he growls low in his throat.

“Y/N don’t tempt me to take you here in front of that poor guy. I will show him your naughty little pussy. Fuck you deep and hard enough to make you scream my name or beg me to stop – but I won’t stop.”

“I wouldn’t say no but, we need to head home. I’m hungry,” you sigh. “Your son will eat me alive if you don’t feed the little beast inside my belly. That’s the reason I wanted to go shopping, Dean.”

“My girl was hungry?” Dean slings one arm around your shoulder. “We need to feed the wild beast I call my girl,” you giggle, loving Dean can go full angry alpha one moment and be soft only seconds later.

“I’m sorry, Dean. Benny said I shall wait in the car,” you look at Benny, who hangs his head, not meeting Dean’s gaze. He disappointed his boss, his friend, and almost got you hurt or worse. “It was not his fault. I sneaked out to get ice cream.”

“It was his job to watch over your, Y/N,” Dean searches his friend’s face, knowing Benny fears he disappointed his friend more than death. “I will let it slip this once as you are an untamable brat mixed with chaos.”

“Love you,” you wrap your arms around Dean’s neck. “Please don’t be mad at Benny. You should know I can’t be trusted,” snickering Dean pecks your lips, knowing all too well you are a chaotic dumbass sometimes. “I know that I should stop myself sometimes. I just couldn’t.”

“Let’s go home, my little chaos. I want to fulfill my promise,” whistling you grasp for Dean’s hand to rush toward the car. “I mean it. I’ll slap your ass one day.”

“I know and I can’t wait for you to do so, baby.”

“Look at my girl Benny,” Dean smirks watching you talk to his brother. “I know she can be a handful. Next time she tries to sneak out, just tell me so. I will tame my little chaos.”

“I’m sorry, chief,” Benny sighs deeply. “I thought I can handle her. She promised to stay in the car while I get the pie she wanted. I was away for like two minutes and she was gone.”

“Sammy got me the book I was talking about,” showing Dean the book you sigh as he’s busy scolding you for running off on your own. “Yes, Sir. I’ll stay at home and bore myself to death.”

“Y/N, this isn’t funny, okay. The guys, they got scared off, but next time, you could end up dead, just like our son,” Dean runs one hand over your hair, gently patting your head. “I love you and don’t want to lose you or my baby, little chaos.”

“Love you too, big grumpy mobster boss,” grinning you hide your face in Dean’s chest. “I promise to not run off on my own again. I swear on your dick if you want me to.”

“Sweetheart, what did I say about talking about anything involving certain body parts in front of other people?” you need to hold back a snort. Dean can be such a prude in front of others whilst being a kinky bastard in the bedroom.

“No talking about your dick, got it, Mr. Winchester, Sir,” this time you chortle. Dean groans as you can’t stop your mouth most of the time. “I get it, baby. You don’t want anyone to know you’ve got the largest dick I ever had.”

“Chief, I’m, you know-” Benny stammers. His cheeks are shades of pink when he walks out of the room, mumbling something about checking on the car.

Watching Dean check on the windows you sigh deeply. You didn’t recognize there is war going on out there.

“Dean, I’m sorry. I know that I acted foolish and selfish today. I promise to not pull such a stunt again. I don’t want you or one of your men to get hurt. I love you.”

“Love you too, my little chaos,” you smile when Dean lies next to you. He opens his arms to let you snuggle into his chest. His warmth makes you feel calm in no time. There is something about the dangerous man making you feel safe. “I know this is a difficult time for you. Being pregnant and stuck in the mansion must be boring, but I want to keep you safe.”

“I know,” lifting your head you gently pat Dean’s cheek. “I will not risk my life for ice cream again, baby.” Dean hums when you peck his chin. “Now cuddle me, my big bad mobster.”

Dean loves it when you show him your softer, vulnerable side. No one gets to see this side of your personality. Your façade is a well-built construct, created by pain, fear, and betrayal.

“I love you, Dean. No matter what people call you, you are my savior…”

SPN Forever Tags

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@sister-winchesters99

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@mariaenchanted

@bxnnywriting

@lady-pswrld

@thinkaboutmara

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@psych0crybaby

@suckmyapplejacks

--------------------------------------

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags

@spnfamily-j2

@supernatural-bellawinchester

@negans-lucille-tblr

@deans-baby-momma

@thefaithfulwriter

@squirrelnotsam

@roonyxx

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@team-free-will-you-idjiot

@myopiamystical

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#Little chaos #dean winchester #MOBSTER!AU #mobster!dean x reader #mobsterdean #mobster!dean winchester x reader #angst #fluff #pregnant reader #implied smut #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x you #Dean Winchester x Female!Reader #dean x reader #dean x you

312 notes · View notes

yungidreamer · 4 years

Text

Moving Day

Moving in together is just the start of making a life together...

word count 9.3k

Pairing: Yunho, Mingi, unnamed fem character, established poly relationship

Content warnings: brief mentions of semi public sexual contact, making out, oral sex (m/m and m/f), descriptions of sexual frustration, loss of virginity, protected sex, cuddly aftercare, lots of confessions of love and just general lovey dovey stuff.

“Honey, where are these boxes supposed to go?” Her father asked, carrying a large cardboard box marked Bedroom on the side.

“Uhhhh, my room is the second door on the right after the bathroom.” She answered, poking her head out of the kitchen. She had been the first one to arrive on move-in day at the new place she was renting with Yunho and Mingi near the university they had all gotten into together as they had promised when they started applying.

“This one?” Her father shouted down the hall. “It's huge. Why are you getting this one?”

“What do you mean?” She asked, coming down the hall to join him in the room.

“I don’t know…” He shifted uncomfortably. “Why not put both of the boys in here and make one of the others into an office or a study or something?”

“Uh well,” she began. “I won the paper, scissors, rock competition and, yeah, I think everyone wants their own room. You know...in case they want to bring over...a friend…”

“Okay, okay, nevermind, I never asked,” her father threw up his hands, wanting to completely avoid such a topic, as she had suspected he would. In truth, the arrangement she and her two boys had come to was a little bit more complicated. Yes, everyone had their own room, a place to keep their stuff, a place to get away and be alone, but her room was ‘their room.’ It was a place for movie nights, cuddling, and hopefully, now that they would be away from prying eyes and parental observation in general, maybe something more.

They had known each other now for a little more than a year. A little more than a year since they met at summer camp and started down their journey to being best friends and a little bit more. That week had been magical, but the year since had been even better. As hard as it was finding as much time as she had wanted to spend with them between a part time job, school, and getting into college with them, the stolen moments they had shared had only brought them closer. Every holiday they found time to get together, exchange gifts, and talk about what was happening in their lives.

They had decided to only apply to colleges that they could all go to together and promised to only go to one that they all were admitted into. Thankfully, in part due to their hard work and dedicated studying for finals and national exams, they had all gotten into the top school they had wanted. Their parents were all proud, even if they didn’t quite know what to make of this little clique their children seemed to have suddenly formed over a week away at summer camp.

Now they were all moving in together to a house they had found for rent not far from campus. Her father had tried to say no. He didn’t want his daughter moving in with two boys. She had spent a month arguing with him and giving her best persuasive arguments for the lower cost than dorms, the safety of the neighborhood, and pointing out how she would be less likely to end up at some rowdy parties living with them rather than some unknown strangers in an on campus dorm. He had given up eventually, once her mother had ganged up on him with her, kindly pointing out the archaic and sexist idea that the lovely boys, her sweet and smart friends, were just predators looking to pounce on anything with boobs.

Though he still grumbled now and again, here he was, moving boxes into a house she was going to share with her friends. Really, he liked them. They were good kids, it was just...he didn’t get it. They both looked at his daughter in a way that reminded him of how he looked at his wife, who had been his high school sweetheart. When he had first met them, he was sure, sure, that Yunho boy was trying to get in and date his daughter. Then he had been sure it was Mingi. But nothing ever came of it, no matter how many times he asked if she was dating someone.

No daddy, I’m not dating one of them, she always demurred, you know I adore both of them and could never choose. After a year, it seemed like she was being honest. They were almost always together, all three of them. They did everything together. They studied together, they hung out together, they celebrated together, and now they were going to school together. At least they were as good of influences as he could have wanted.

Before too long, the boys and their families came and the house was bustling with activity as everyone tried to get everything in the house and unpacked before all the parents all had to drive the two hours back home. Yunho’s mother concentrated on the kitchen, worried that, if she didn’t make sure that they had all the dishes, all the pans, and all the appliances they could possibly need unpacked, her precious baby would starve. Admittedly, over the last year her son had grown three inches and become a bottomless pit when it came to food. He was growing still and everything that he put in his mouth just seemed to be going into the width of his shoulders and his height.

Mingi’s parents focused on his things and his room, grumbling just a bit that he hadn’t gotten the largest room no matter how many times his son rolled his eyes and told him that he liked his room and didn’t mind sharing a bathroom with Yunho and letting her have the master bedroom and her own bathroom. He understood the bathroom, he would say every time, but maybe if they offered to pay a little more of the rent, the big room could be his.

“Dad, seriously,” Mingi grumbled, putting the last of his clothes into the drawers. “It’s fine for her to have it. Yunho and I have the consoles in the living room and she can have a little extra space to get some quiet.” His father grumbled, but let it go, finishing the last of their unpacking in no time. With everyone satisfied, and pizzas ordered for the new college students on the credit card of Mingi’s father, all the parents said their goodbyes, promising to visit in a few weeks, and piled into their cars for the trip home. They stood in the yard, waving them off, a little sad, but mostly relieved to finally see them go.

When the taillights of the last car disappeared around the corner the trio dashed inside their new house and closed the door. A thrill went through them at the knowledge they finally had the privacy to be themselves. The moment that Yunho closed the front door behind him, he grabbed Mingi, trapping him between his body and the door and pressed his lips to the other boy’s, pressing him into a hungry kiss he had been wanting to give him all day.

Mingi was surprised by the bold move, but quickly caught on, kissing him back hungrily as his hands moved to hold Yunho around his ribs. Yunho pulled back after a moment, disconnecting his lips but pressing his forehead to Mingi’s as he caught his breath. “I’ve been wanting to do that half the day. Wanted to rub it in your father’s face. His stupid snippy comments every five minutes, about everything. How did you do it all these years?”

“You get used to it eventually,” Mingi shrugged, running his hand along Yunho’s waist, pulling his hips against him. “I barely hear it anymore to be honest. God, can you imagine his face if he ever saw you kiss me?”

“I don’t know if he would die or try to kill one of you,” She said from across the room, where she had flopped tiredly on the couch. “But I am pretty sure someone will be bleeding when he finally figures it out.”

“I don’t know if it scares me or makes me happy that you think we’ll last long enough he’ll have to figure it out at some point,” Mingi gave a nervous laugh. Over the last year there had been a couple of close calls with their parents when they hadn’t been careful enough. Once when Yunho’s mom had come home from work early to find the two boys cuddling on the couch while they waited for her to come over after school. Mingi had immediately rolled off and they had played it off as roughhousing together, hoping that they were hiding the blushes and slight arousal they were both experiencing just as the result of wrestling. Just be careful, his mother had said, don’t hurt each other. I don’t know why boys have to be so rough with each other. She had sighed as she left the room, shaking her head. They had been more careful after that. They almost never went to Mingi’s house given his dad’s general attitude. Her house was alright, but her father had an annoying habit of dropping in to check on them a lot. But finally, finally, they had a place they could be themselves.

“Come here,” she invited, patting the couch next to her. “I want to see my boys for real.” They both bounded over, eager to see her and touch her without the fear of eyes on them. Yunho flopped into the seat next to her and Mingi literally crawled onto her lap, looming over her small frame as he took her face in his hands, holding it as he drew her into a deep and passionate kiss.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he groaned against her mouth. “It feels like it's been forever since I could kiss you.”

“I think it’s been more than a month,” she decided, taking half a second to think when the last time she had been able to get out with them.

“Why did your family have to take that vacation?” He pouted, touching her like his hands had been hungering for the feel of her.

“Because I was moving away for college,” she laughed. “My mom acted a little like I was going to basically disappear when I moved out. She wanted us to have some quality family time. But my dad spent a quarter of the time grumbling about me moving in with you two and my brother wished he was anywhere but with all of us uncool people. But no, it was fun and I am glad I got to spend some time with them, even if I missed you both.”

“I missed you, too,” Yunho said, turning in his seat to face her with his iconic shy smile. It always made a little knot in her stomach whenever she saw it. He was so beautiful when he smiled. It was like it lit him up from the inside.

“C’meer,” she reached for him, asking him to come over without making Mingi move off her lap. Yunho leaned in and gave her a slow, patient kiss, showing that he had missed her too, just in a different way.

“When is the pizza going to be here,” Yunho asked, hoping someone had been listening when Mingi’s father had said he had ordered it for them so they wouldn’t have to cook tonight.

“Can’t be long now,” she said, looking at her phone. “He must have ordered it about half an hour ago and it was from that ‘under an hour or its free’ chain. You that hungry?”

“No,” Yunho answered. “Well, I mean, I am hungry, but someone has to answer the door when it comes so I can’t do what I want to spend my evening doing until it comes.”

“You have plans?” Mingi teased, his hand reaching out to caress the other boy’s cheek as he teased him.

“Like you haven’t spent the last month thinking about what you wanted to do on the first night you had alone with us,” Yunho laughed.

“I did but you already heard about it every time we went for a drive to kill time this summer,” Mingi admitted, feeling a little like he should apologize for the hours the other boy had had to listen to him fantasize out loud while they waited for her to call.

“Is that what you guys were always doing when I would call?” She let out a cackle at herself for never putting it together. “I wondered why I never had to call you both on any of the nights. Where did you go while you waited for me to call and say good night?”

“Different places,” Yunho shrugged. “We went to the Sonic near the hospital a couple of times, got something to eat and just listened to the radio while we waited. A few times we just parked somewhere at a beach. More than once we were still just driving while we talked to you.”

“My poor boys,” she sighed sympathetically. The car was the only place they could find privacy to talk. To her, to each other.

At some point during the third week of her being gone, they had pulled over in a deserted parking lot near the shore of one of the lakes to wait for her to call. The summer sunset had been beautiful and they had ended up in a full make out session, in part because Mingi couldn’t keep his hands to himself most evenings. As soon as the car door was closed and Yunho was pulling away from Mingi’s parents’ place, he would feel a hand creep up along his thigh until he dropped one hand off the steering wheel to interlace his fingers with the other boy. He wasn’t even sure Mingi realized he was doing it at some point, he just needed the comfort of something solid to assure him Yunho was really there.

That evening was the second time they had given in to the desperate tension that had been building over the summer with too much time and not enough to occupy themselves. In the almost year they had been together, they hadn’t really gone much beyond kissing. In part because they had no safe place to go further, in part because with all the obligations of their senior year, finding time to even meet up had become increasingly hard. But this summer, with money from part time jobs and the freedom of near independence, they had the time and the means and spent all the time they could manage, out of their houses and in each other’s company.

Hidden from view from most passers by, the boys had moved to the big back seat of Yunho’s old classic car so they could sit together and kill the hour they were probably going to be waiting for her to call. It had started innocently enough with Mingi leaning in for just one more light kiss. He couldn’t help it. He had been listening to what Yunho said, he really had, then suddenly he noticed how lovely Yunho’s lips looked when he talked. Those perfect Cupid’s bows moving so pleasantly as the words he no longer really heard spilled out. His lips met the other boy’s, eating the last of the words. He still tasted a little like the cherry Slurpee they had gotten at the start of the evening. He was so delicious.

Shifting in his seat, Mingi had ended up half facing Yunho with one hand holding his head and the other desperately fumbing at the other boy’s waistband to get inside and touch him. Yunho had given in, helping him undo his jean shorts before pulling Mingi’s basketball shorts down enough to give him the access he needed to fondle him back. It hadn’t taken long for both of them cum, letting go of some of the tension they were both carrying all the time these days.

They cleaned up, making sure they weren’t leaving any evidence of their activities in the car for a parent to find. The car smelled like sex and the dampness of the nature that lined the shore as Mingi leaned back to rest his head against Yunho’s chest as he lounged between his leg.

“Do...do you think we’ll have to take turns?” Mingi asked quietly, playing with the finger on one of Yunho’s hands.

“Take turns?” He asked the other boy, completely lost as to what he was talking about.

“When we live together,” Mingi started, letting out a sigh. “Do you think we’ll have to take turns being with our girl or...like can we really do it together, all three of us?”

“Okay, I know you watch porn,” Yunho snickered. “I am sure you know it is totally possible for two guys and a girl to do things together.”

“I’m not stupid,” Mingi protested, dropping both of his hands into his lap. “But like, do you really see yourself fucking our girl like they do in ‘Gang Bang Boys 5’?”

“Point taken,” Yunho admitted, resting his chin on the top of Mingi’s head.

“Besides,” Mingi fidgeted again. “I don’t think she’s slept with anyone before. What if it hurts or what if we do something wrong? Do you really think she’ll want to be with two people the first time?”

“I don’t know, love,” he admitted, slightly ashamed that none of this had occurred to him. Leave it to Mingi to have clearly fantasized himself into a little bit of a panic.

“If she lets us choose, can you go first?” Mingi mumbled the question in the quiet of the car.

“You want me to do the deed, huh?” Yunho teased, hugging him to his chest.

“I’m not always that careful when I...what if I hurt her?” He finished with a sigh.

“You won’t, not any more than I would,” Yunho assured him. “We’ll do whatever works. We don’t even know if she’s ready to be with us like that. Maybe it will just be the two of us sneaking off to jerk each other off so we don’t bother her.”

“It’s okay if she’s not ready,” Mingi agreed. “But I don’t want to be sneaking around. Do you think she would be disappointed in us for doing this without her?”

“No,” Yunho scolded.

“You sure?” Mingi asked.

“You want to confess when she calls, ask if she’s okay with it?” Yunho offered.

“Maybe,” Mingi admitted, not sure if he felt like an idiot for needing to do it or not.

When she called that night, Mingi blurted out what they had done when she asked how they were doing. She met the confession with a laugh and asked if making out in the back of a car was as fun and iconic as the movies always made it look. The teasing assured Mingi that she wasn’t upset they had done something without her and let Yunho segue into the topic of room sharing to see if they really were all on the same page. They had talked about her room being the shared room they would all stay in together but hadn’t actually talked about whether they were really ready to be together in that way.

“We have our own rooms, too,” Yunho pointed out. “We can stay there for a while and see when things feel right.”

“Do you want to wait?” She asked after a pause.

“I would gladly drive us the three hundred miles to wherever you are right now to answer that question by making love to you tonight,” Yunho answered, only slightly hyperbolically.

“The only thing that has made the bickering between my dad and my little brother bearable for the past three weeks has been thinking about how each day, I am that much closer to going to bed every night in your arms.” She told them earnestly.

“You know that doesn’t mean we have to do everything right away, though, right?” Yunho pressed.

“I’m not saying you have to throw me against the wall the first chance you get,” She gave them a low chuckle. “But I started birth control a month and a half ago and you two aren’t the only ones who have been suffering from this stupid tension. God I wish I was in the backseat with you two right now.”

“We wish you were here too,” Mingi finally piped up, sending the phone a longing look.

“Okay I have to go,” she told them. “I’ll call you again tomorrow, okay? And take care of each other for me...however you want. Bye.”

A knock sounded at the door and Yunho sent a prayer of thanks to whatever it was in the universe that loved him just a little as he hopped up to accept the pizzas that had thankfully already arrived. He accepted the three large boxes of pizza and thanked the delivery person, passing them the fiver he happened to have on him and closed the door. He set them down on the coffee table and walked over to the end of the couch where Mingi was still smothering her with affection and knelt down on the couch beside them.

“I’m not that hungry right now,” Yunho told them both. “It feels like I have been waiting to be alone with you two. Can we…”

“Spend a little quality time in our room? See where we end up?” she finished for him. Yunho nodded and Mingi slid himself off the couch, eagerly skipping down the hall. Yunho drew her into his arms and honeymoon carried her into the bedroom, playfully tossing her into the middle of the bed.

Pulling herself up, she knelt on the bed and patted either side, inviting the boys to join her on either side. Mingi crawled into the bed and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Yunho, can you do me a favor and bring that box to me?” She pointed to a plain white box that had been left unpacked in the corner. He placed the box near her and stretched out on the open side of the bed. She muttered to herself as she opened the top and rustled around in the box, obviously looking for something.

“You have no idea how many times I had to hide this box today to stop mom and dad from trying to unpack it,” she let out a nervous laugh. “Ah-ha!” She cleared her throat, pulling out what she had been looking for in the box. It was a headband with a large white bow attached to the center of it. Placing it on her head, she dove back into the box. Yunho bit his lip to keep from bursting out laughing. She was making herself their present.

“I don’t know what to take out,” she sighed, giving the box a hard quizzical look. “Okay this--” she plopped a tube of something onto the bed. “These...I got two different sizes…” she tossed a couple of small boxes down next to it. “Maybe this one too...it's flavored…” she pulled out a smaller tube and, with a last sift through the box, she closed the top and moved it to the foot of the bed. “Please close your eyes.”

Both boys looked at each other and gave little shrugs. Mingi let her go and stretched out on his side of the bed, closing his eyes as requested. Yunho did the same, also putting his arm over his eyes to prevent himself from peeking. They felt the bed move and heard the rustling of clothes and the sound of the box being lifted. Her weight briefly moved off the bed before coming back to where she started.

“Alright, you can open your eyes,” she declared. The bow was still placed nicely on her head but nothing else she had on was the same. She was kneeling in the center of the bed, stripped down to a sheer white mesh balconette and panty set, decorated with colorful embroidered flowers. She looked beautiful...and a little nervous. Mingi couldn’t help but stare, his eyes sticking on the sight of the pretty pink nipples he could just make out through the fabric. Yunho’s eyes skated over every surface and curve, trying to take it all in. The silence stretched and she couldn’t help but feel the nervous energy in her swell as she waited for one of them to say something.

“You look so pretty,” Mingi breathed, sitting up. “All this, is this just for us?”

“I’ve been thinking about tonight for a while and I wanted everything to be perfect,” she explained. “Tonight I get to be with the two people I love the most. I want to give you my everything. Welcome home.”

Mingi pulled her into his lap, tucking his head against her shoulder as he held her near. “We have a home.” His voice was grateful and contented. Yunho’s heart skipped a beat in his chest. He so loved to see them both looking so happy. His eyes flicked to the things she had pulled out of the box, still lying on the bed. Water based lube, pineapple flavored lube, and two boxes of condoms. He smiled at himself as he moved them off the bed and onto the bedside table to get them out of the way but keep them within reach. His hands went to the hem of his shirt, starting to pull it over his head when he heard her soft, wait. He half turned in his seat on the edge of the bed to find her crawling up behind him.

“Stand up for me,” She instructed, giving his neck a quick kiss. Yunho stood up beside the bed, turning to face her and the bed, keen to know what she had in mind. “I want to unwrap you,” she gave him a teasing grin. Her hands went to the hem of his black t-shirt. It was an old favorite of his, worn enough to be as soft as flannel and a little more grey than black. She slid it off over his head and tossed it near the foot of the bed. Taking a moment, she admired his bare chest, decorated only by the short but thick silver chain and pendant. It was solid and lean, covered in gorgeous light brown skin. She loved the shade of it, just the right shade, somewhere between light toast and milk tea. His skin always made her hungry, both of them did, and maybe that is why food always came to mind when she thought to describe them.

Her hands trailed down his chest and ribs, exploring his body slightly as her hands moved to the waist of his black jeans. He had worn his favorite e-boy look today, complete with studded belt and wallet chain. Her hands undid his belt and popped the button before carefully pushing the jeans and his underwear down his hips and past the curve of his lovely ass so they could drop and he could step out of them. It was the first time she had gotten to see him in all his glory and it was...beautiful. From the breadth of his shoulders which had filled out over the last year, to the soft ripple of muscles in his chest and stomach, to his narrow hips and thick muscular thighs, it was all so much better than she had imagined. And he was...big. All she could think was, thank goodness she got the magnums. Yunho noticed her stare and put his hands in front of himself, a pink spread over his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Her gaze lifted to his face again and she pulled it to her so she could give him a kiss.

“Sorry, I was staring,” she said after the kiss. “You’re just so tempting.”

“No,” He shook his head. “I just, I can’t tell what you’re thinking.”

“Come lie down,” she moved back to give him space and he crawled into the bed. “Mingi, baby, can I…” The other boy looked a little startled to have the attention on him again but nodded, scooting off the side of the bed and waited. “Do you want to help me?” She directed the question to Yunho who eagerly nodded at the invitation. Her hands went to Mingi’s face, pulling it to her for a kiss. He looked nervous but excited, just not sure what it was he was supposed to be doing.

“Me next?” Yunho gave him a big grin as mingi pulled back from his kiss with her. Mingi nodded and angled himself to meet the lips of the nude boy who was kneeling beside her. Their kiss turned hungry and Yunho hooked his fingers in the belt loops of the other boy, bringing his hips forward to press against his own. As she watched their lips clash, she felt a thrill of anticipation. They pulled apart panting and the moment had only added to the obvious and growing arousal Yunho was sporting.

She reached for the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head while Yunho unbuttoned and lowered his jeans. She tossed the shirt away and let Mingi step out of his jeans. Yunho pulled at Mingi, urging him onto the bed with him.

“Do you still want me to go first?” Yunho squeezed the other boy’s hand. Mingi nodded sheepishly.

“You talked about this?” she suppressed a laugh, but couldn’t stop herself from letting out a choked giggle.

“Just...since it is your first time, too,” Yunho explained. “We wanted to be careful, to make sure that it's good for you.”

“Thank you for worrying,” She soothed, reaching out to both of them. “I know that my boys are going to take care of me so well. Come and lay with me, please.” Mingi crawled to her and pulled her back to lay against the mound of pillows piled against the headboard. He kissed her cheek, taking the bow off her head as he did, he wrapped an arm around her waist. Yunho came up beside her and slipped a finger into the waistband of her panties.

“Can I take these off?” He asked, pulling at them lightly. She nodded and lifted her hips to allow him to slide them off.

Mingi’s hand moved to the mound of her breast and gave it a testing squeeze. Her pink nipple showed through the sheer fabric and his mouth watered to taste it. “I want to see you...all of you.” His hand played with the strap of the bra and she sat up to unhook the bra and slip it off herself. Mingi reached up and stilled her hand, unhooking it himself and sliding the straps down her arms.

She laid back down again, her hands moving to cover herself automatically. Yunho’s hands moved to cover hers, drawing them off her to let them see her. “No love, we’ve been waiting so long, let us see you.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Mingi fawned, his hand traveling down along the plane of her stomach to the curve of her hips. His fingers paused over a small mole on one side of her stomach, wanting to commit the detail to his memory. He leaned over, taking her lips in a timid kiss as his fingers splayed over her stomach, exploring her body through touch. He broke the kiss, letting his lips move lower to nibble at the line of her collarbone. Slowly he moved lower, tasting his way to her nipple which he teased with a soft flick of his tongue. The soft intake of breath, half gasp, half moan, emboldened him and he opened his mouth, suckling the soft flesh.

“Mingi, yes, that feels good,” she encouraged, her hand resting on his shoulder. His large hand gripped her rib cage, feeling the speed of her breathing increase. Yunho felt himself grow harder as he watched patiently. He wanted Mingi to explore her without self consciousness. Over the month she had been gone he had talked a hundred times about things he wanted to do, ways he wanted to touch her, fantasies about the pleasure he wanted to bring her. Mingi wanted this moment with both of them. He wanted to let go of the frustration of having to hide his affections, his closeness to the people he loved. Finally, he could touch them without fear of judging eyes and in more than just stolen moments.

Mingi pulled back, his eyes wandering over her body again. “Can...can I touch you?”

“You already are,” she teased. “But if you are asking for permission, you can touch me anywhere.” Mingi blushed and moved further down, looking up at the other boy for his permission as well. Yunho nodded, reclining along her on the other side. He watched as Mingi’s fingers traveled along the line where her stomach and legs met, following it towards the junction of her thighs. His light, testing touch sent a shiver through her.

“Good?” He questioned.

“Yeah, good,” she nodded, her hands reaching to touch both of the boys to ground herself. Her nerves danced with a nearly painful anticipation. Mingi slipped his hand between her thighs, gently parting them as he moved to be level with her pussy. He laid down between her spread thighs, kissing up along the smooth skin of one side he moved closer, but stopped just short of touching her there. He ran one finger along the slit.

“You’re already getting wet,” he commented, using her thighs to draw her closer.

“Is our girl ready already?” Yunho asked him, running a hand over her stomach, feeling it twitch as the other boy touched her.

“Not yet,” Mingi ran the tip of his tongue along the slit. She gasped at the sensation, curling her hips up and away from him involuntarily.

“Hold her hips,” Yunho suggested, sliding an arm under the pillow under her head as he held her closer. Mingi nodded, hooking both arms under her hips to hold her still. He repeated the teasing motion of his tongue drawing a strangled moan from her again.

“Say if it’s not good or if it’s too much,” Yunho murmured into her hair as he held her, feeling her nod in reply. His arm wrapped her torso, holding her as close as he could without getting in the way of what Mingi was doing for her. She moaned as Mingi’s mouth explored her more fully. “Does he make you feel good?” He whispered as he heard her breath catch. “Tell him how good he makes you feel, babe.”

“So g-good,” she keened. “Fuck, Mingi, please. Don’t stop. It feels so good.” The sounds coming from between her legs filled the room alongside her pants and broken gasps has he hit a particularly good spot.

“Are you close?” Yunho soothed her, stroking her hair softly.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I haven’t really… when I did it by myself it didn’t feel like this.” He could feel her tensing, her hands gripping the sheets beneath them.

“Relax, love,” Yunho kissed her temple just as Mingi slid his tongue inside her, his nose brushing against her sensitive clit. She jumped under their collective touch, the sensations feeling overwhelming. From his spot between her legs, Mingi watched them both as he licked and tasted her. Her face was a mask of pleasure as Yunho held her, softly talking her through the pleasure. He felt a surge of confidence. He made her feel that; he gave her that pleasure. As painfully hard as he was, nothing could have made him feel better than seeing her break under the touch of his tongue. Her body moved against him and he tested sucking the small bud with the suction of his soft lips locked around it. Her toes curled and her thighs gripped his head and suddenly she let out a choked yelp. He continued to suck it for another second before flicking it with the tip of his tongue as she squirmed under him.

“Wait, wait,” She whimpered finally and Mingi pulled back, seeing a tear escape the corner of her eye.

“Was that bad? Too much?” He came to his knees between her thighs, drawing in a little on himself.

“No baby, it was so good,” she reached for him as the overwhelming sensation faded to a warmth that filled her body. “Please, I need to touch you.” Mingi crawled up beside her, holding her as she came down from her high.

When her breathing had returned to normal they both loosened the grip of their arms around her and looked at the peaceful expression that had taken the place of the intense look that had been there a moment ago.

“Was that enough for today?” Yunho asked, propping himself up on his elbow as he brushed some hair from her face.

“I don’t want to stop,” she shook her head. “I want someone inside me.”

“Okay,” Yunho nodded, giving her a kiss. He rolled to the side and reached for the bedside table where he had put the lube and the condoms earlier. Sitting up on the side of the bed he opened one of the packages, ribbed for her pleasure, and ripped open one of the little foil packets.

“Can I try putting it on you?” She asked from behind him, having pulled herself up onto her elbows.

“Sure,” he nodded and handed her the opened packet.

“Can you lie down for me,” she prompted, scooting closer to Mingi to leave more room for him. He stretched out on the bed on his back, carefully watching as she pulled out the small rolled bit of latex. “Okay...pinch the tip and roll it down.” She said to herself as she positioned it on the head of his penis. Yunho bit his lip to keep from moaning at the sensation of her rolling it all the way down his length. His eyes widened as she moved to straddle his hips.

“Hold one one second,” he stopped her and reached for the bottle of lube on the table. Clicking open the top and squeezing some of the gel-like liquid onto his hand, he spread it on his length and wiped the last of it onto her. Tossing it aside, he helped her guide his length to her entrance.

“Let’s go slow,” Yunho’s voice was tight. “We aren’t in a hurry. Here, put your hands up here by my shoulders.”

“Okay,” she leaned forward and let his hands guide her down. The head slid into her easily and she let herself move lower on him until a slight stinging made her hips stutter.

“You okay?” He asked, unclenching his jaw and letting his head drop back to the pillows as he looked up to her face.

“Yeah, it just feels...weird,” she let herself sink down a little more, then waited for the burning to subside, joking, “There is a lot of you.”

“Sorry, love,” he gave a breathy chuckle. “I can’t really change that.”

“I know,” She scrunched up her face as she moved down a bit more.

“How are you feeling?” Yunho’s thumbs stroked the soft skin of her stomach and hips as he held himself still.

“I’m good.” She exhaled before joking, “Is that all of you?”

He looked down to where their bodies met before nodding. Turning his head, he looked at Mingi who was laying on his back on his side of the bed. He ran one hand lightly over his length as he stared at the pair beside him, his eyes drawn magnetically to where they were connected.

“Mingi,” Yunho breathed, one hand going to reach for him. “Can you help our girl move?”

“How?” Mingi asked, sitting up. “What can I do?”

“Get behind her, I think,” He replied, trying not to move. “Hold her and guide her hips when she is ready to move. And touch her, make sure our girl cums again.”

Mingi nodded, fitting his long body against her back, his thighs cradling her from behind. One long arm reached down to hold himself up and the other engulfed her, holding her to his chest. He kissed her temple, his eyes meeting Yunho as he did. “You’re doing so good,” He told them both. “You ready to move?”

She nodded, lifting her hips experimentally. Stopping half way, she slowly let herself sink down again, sighing at the pleasant sensation. Mingi’s hand moved down to feel where her body enveloped Yunho, using two fingers to frame his cock, feeling it move in and out as they rocked in unison. Together they slid almost to the tip, sinking down with a collective groan.

“Touch her for me,” Yunho panted. “I’m not going to last very long. She feels so good. God, I knew she would...but it’s even better than I had imagined.”

“You want to feel her squeeze your cock?” Mingi teased, his fingers going to brush her clit as they continued to move.

“Yes,” Yunho confessed, his hands gripping Mingi’s thighs. “I want to cum inside her. I want to make her ours forever. Make her feel so good, no one else could ever compare.”

“You want to make her feel how much you love her,” Mingi tempted.

“God yes,” Yunho admitted, arching slightly off the bed.

“Then move,” Mingi commanded. “I’ve got our girl. Show her how you want her.” Mingi leaned them both forward so that Yunho could move enough to buck his hips up. His hips snapped up, drawing a gasp from her. Her thighs quivered as the boys worked together to pleasure her. Yunho’s eyes went to her face, searching it for any sign of pain or discomfort. Finding none, he let go of the last ounce of control he had been clinging to. He could feel Mingi’s fingers work between them, sending waves of pleasure through her that made her twitch around him.

Just when he thought he wouldn’t last long enough, he felt her crumble. Her walls fluttered then milked him as she let out a breathy keen, half collapsing on him. He thanked the universe and stopped his struggle to last. With a few last stuttering thrusts, he emptied himself into her, with only the thin layer of the condom between them.

Mingi watched the look of bliss bloom on Yunho’s face and kissed the damp temple of the girl between them. He was still painfully hard but he was quite sure that the surge of satisfaction he felt at that moment could not be topped. He pulled her limp body up to lean against him as he held her, murmuring comforting words of encouragement and love.

“Do you want to lie down?” Mingi asked, petting her cheek softly. She nodded, allowing him to lift her off Yunho and lay her down on the bed beside him. Mingi continued holding her, one hand stroking down her side as he praised her, told her she was so beautiful and wonderful. She relaxed into his arms and let her eyes close.

Beside them, Yunho let his breathing return to normal before sitting up to slide the messy condom off his softening length. He blushed at the sight of the pink streaks that were present, glancing over at her relaxed form and wondering if she really was alright. He tossed the condom away in the trash before padding back to the bed. Mingi looked so sweet curled around her, but Yunho couldn’t help but notice his straining erection pressed against her hip. His mouth watered at the sight.

Those couple of stolen moments they had shared in the car that summer had left Yunho with a desire to taste the beautiful length he had caught brief glances of as they chased their pleasure in the backseat of the car, always with one eye out to make sure they weren’t caught by someone.

She lay between them nearly asleep, barely noticing when Yunho pulled her closer to his side, tucking her up into the pillows with a kiss to her forehead.

“On your back, love,” He ordered lowly to Mingi. The other boy acquiesced, rolling over, carefully drawing his arm out from under her so that he wouldn’t disturb her. Yunho crawled over to the other side of the bed and began kissing his way up the other boys legs as he looked hungrily up the planes of his body. Mingi held his breath watching Yunho devour him with his eyes. His cock twitched against his stomach as the other boy neared it, placing kisses along the v where his thighs and stomach met.

“Wha...what are you doing?” Mingi asked as Yunho parted his thighs to recline between them.

“I’m going to taste you,” Yunho explained with a playful smile on his Cupid’s bow lips.

“You don’t have to,” Mingi gave him a shy look, still a little afraid deep down that the other boy didn’t really love him, not like that at least.

“I want to,” Yunho assured him. “I’ve wanted to feel you in my mouth since that first night in the back seat.”

“Really?” Mingi’s voice was flavored with a hint of disbelief.

“Didn’t you ever think of it?” Yunho ran his fingers lightly over the underside, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him.

“Yeah but, I didn’t think you’d want…” Mingi blushed, trailing off.

“You didn’t think I wanted you?” Yunho chastened. “Then what did you think?”

“I don’t know,” He mumbled, looking away. “I was there and, I guess…I guess I’m better than nothing.”

“Better than nothing?” Yunho repeated in disbelief. “I love you, Mingi. I love you and your laugh and your smile. I love how you make me feel so happy when you are there. I love your kisses and I love your hands on me. I love your body and your face. I want you, I want all of this with you.

“This summer was hard because she was gone,” He continued. “But it wasn’t hard because she was gone, it was hard because we all weren’t together. It would have been the same if you had been missing or, I hope, if I had been. What we have isn’t bad or wrong or second best. It's part of something bigger that fills a little hole in my heart I didn’t know was there until I met you two.”

“Really?” Mingi said a second time, wanting more than anything to believe him.

“Can I taste you?” He asked this time. “Can I show you that I want you, too?”

“Yeah,” Mingi agreed, lacing his fingers in the messy brown locks of the other boy. The long fingers of one hand encircled the base of his cock, angling it so that he could better reach it. With his eyes locked with Mingi, Yunho pressed a kiss to the underside of his head. Mingi whimpered and could only watch as Yunho’s pretty Cupid’s bow lips parted to take it in his mouth. The warm wet of his mouth encircled him and it felt like paradise.

Yunho broke eye contact as he pushed his mouth down the length until it filled his mouth. He pulled back to just the tip and swirled his tongue around it like it was the sweetest candy. With his free hand, he fondled the balls hanging so tightly against his body. Mingi moaned, closing his eyes and throwing his head back.

Pulling himself higher, Yunho propped himself up, his hands caressing and holding the trim waist of the other boy. He reveled in the soft velvety skin as it stroked against his tongue and along the roof of his mouth. He drew himself off taking a few steadying breaths, he angled himself to take as much as he could into his mouth. Like Yunho himself, Mingi was not a small boy and Yunho met his limit before he managed to take all of him. Mingi gasped, eyes widening as he watched the other boy sink down on him. His stomach clenched and he had to keep himself from bucking up as he felt his tip hit the softness of the back of Yunho’s throat.

Yunho drew back, lines of slick drool covering the stiff line of Mingi’s cock as he did. He stroked the length as he paused to catch his breath before going back, again working his mouth down as far as he could. Yunho let out a low moan, stroking the flat of his tongue against the underside of Mingi’s member as he moved his head up and down.

“Yunho,” Mingi breathed as the other boy pulled back again.

“Hmmm?” Yunho looked up at him, running the pat of his thumb over the slit on the tip.

“I’m getting close,” Mingi shook his head, hands reaching for the soft mop of Yunho’s hair.

“Good,” He grinned back. Yunho took him back in his mouth bobbing as quickly as he could, careful not to graze his teeth along the thick length as he moved. Mingi felt waves of pleasure clench his stomach and curl his toes, he twitched and gasped. His hands clutched for something to steady him. They tangled in the sheets and in Yunho’s hair, feeling his head move with the waves of pleasure.

Yunho took a deep breath through his nose and watched Mingi’s face screw up into a mask of mindless pleasure. He wanted to see him as he finally let go. Sliding down again, this time he ignored the discomfort when it brushed the back of his throat. It made him gag slightly, drool pooling in his mouth. But he pushed past it, letting his cock slide back into his throat. Mingi, overwhelmed by the feel, lost control and bucked his hips up, driving himself all the way into Yunho’s mouth as his orgasm hit him.

“Sorry sorry sorry sorry,” he stuttered as he felt his cock twitch as it emptied down Yunho’s throat. Yunho blinked away the blur of tears that had come along with the triggering of his gag reflex. It was all worth it for the look he could still make out on the other boy's face and to feel the warm gushes of his cum run down his throat.

“It’s okay,” Yunho croaked, his throat slightly irritated by Mingi’s repeated intrusions. “That was as good as my fantasies.”

“Thank you,” Mingi leaned forward, tilting Yunho’s face so that he could kiss him. “If we do that again, I promise I’ll try to be more careful.”

“Don’t apologize,” Yunho gave a dark chuckle. “I like that I can make you lose control like that.”

“I’d say you are mean, but…” Mingi’s face split into a joyful smile. “You’re too sweet.”

“I think we should clean up and get our girl cleaned up a little,” Yunho suggested, looking at her sleeping form curled up beside them. Mingi nodded, sliding off the bed onto wobbly legs and heading to the large master bath attached to the room. He waddled in and turned on the shower, letting the water warm up. Yunho came in behind him, arms filled with a still groggy girl.

“Go ahead and hop in the shower,” Yunho suggested. “I think our girl is going to need a bath.”

“Is she okay,” Mingi asked, worried that they had made her so tired.

“How about it babe,” Yunho asked her, sitting both of them on the edge of the large porcelain bathtub. “You okay?”

“Mmm,” she nodded. “I’m tired...maybe hungry now.”

“Let’s get you in the bath and then I will bring you some pizza,” Yunho offered. “If you wash up, you can get in the tub with our girl, help her clean up.” He tempted the other boy, in part because he didn’t want to leave her alone in the water as sleepy as she was, but also wanting to give Mingi a few moments with her. Mingi nodded happily and stepped in under the warm water.

Yunho started to fill the tub before he leaned over to search the drawers near the sink to look for something to clip her hair up to keep it out of the water. He found a claw clip and twisted her ponytail into a messy bun.

“There, perfect,” he declared, tweaking her nose and making her giggle. Mingi stepped out of the shower, his hair a damp mess. He padded over to the filling tub and stretched out in the water, opening his arms to accept her small form. Yunho carefully laid her in Mingi’s lap, stepping back as he enveloped her in his long arms and buried his face in the crook of her neck. Yunho stepped into the shower to wash off quickly, letting the warm stream of water relax his muscles and wash away the stickiness of the sweat that had coated his skin. He smiled at the happy murmurs and chuckles that reached his ears from the other two. They were just quiet enough to obscure what was said, but the happiness was evident in their tone, nonetheless. He turned off the shower, clean and refreshed, tousled his hair with a towel and dried himself off before stepping out.

Yunho slipped out of the room while Mingi was still holding her, rocking tenderly, as he held her against his chest. She smiled up at him, pressing a light kiss against his cheek, lifting her foot to break the surface of the water, watching the ripples skate over it’s stillness.

“Are you okay, really?” Mingi asked quietly, bending his knees slightly to make a better seat for her on his lap.

She nodded, threading her fingers through his where they rested on her stomach. “Thank you for tonight. It was better than I had hoped.”

“It didn’t hurt?” He pressed, unable to forget some of the boastful stories he had overheard in places like locker rooms when guys bragged to stroke their egos with each other.

“No, it didn’t hurt,” she promised. “But now my thighs are sore. I think I used muscles I didn’t know I had. I’m gonna need some practice to get them in shape.”

“Next time, maybe I can...you know,” He couldn’t finish his sentence. She could feel his face warm as he blushed.

“Maybe next time you can…” She teased, letting the pause carry. “Make love to me? Fuck? Screw me? Fornicate?” Behind her he giggled, squeezing her more tightly against him.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I was just afraid I was going to do it wrong; that I would hurt you.”

“You would never,” she assured him. “Not my precious Mingles.”

“I love you two so much more than I can ever say,” he confessed, his voice tight with emotion. “I don’t know what I would do if you ever left me.”

“You’re stuck with us,” she promised. “You could run to the ends of the earth and we would come to find you.”

Mingi could only hold her as he swallowed past the prickle of tears and the lump in his throat. Yunho stood outside the door, holding one of the boxes of pizza, listening to her reassure the other boy, his heart swelling at her words. He couldn’t have put it better. He would go to the ends of the earth and back for them. No, they were his world and he would do anything just to make them smile.

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gabriel4sam · 3 years

Text

Not love at first sight (But love at the sixty-third life defying idiocy), a CodyWan story

Written for @swbigbang, with the help of @kitcatkim in the role of the patient beta and @outernorth for artist (art just there)

Because all the other members of their small outpost were not in shape (read, hungover), Cody and Obi-Wan go on a small, simple, totally not possibilities of explosions supply run.

Cody comes back with a headache the size of Coruscant, a new hate of insectoids life. And a brand new significant other, in the shape of his exasperating General

It’s not a hangover, it’s a hecatomb. Whatever Boil had put in his new still was a terrible, terrible idea. The entire Separatist Council could do pointes in tutus on the flight deck and the vode would neither see it, nor care about it.

Cody and Obi-Wan were the only ones not drinking the day before, them and the communication officers on duty. The communication officers because they were working, and Cody and Obi-Wan, well, because they like the occasion for the men to feel free, and they can’t with their superior officers in their company.

That doesn’t mean the men are supposed to feel free enough to incapacitate the whole bunch of idiots they are apparently in charge off.

“Latrine duties, the first time we do planet fall. The whole of them.” Cody grumbles, assessing the damage with a cold, clinical eye.

“How does that even work? Does every man have latrine duties for his own latrines? Do you make them install as many latrines as they are? ” Obi-Wan remarks. He’s the usual calm and composed Jedi Master Cody knows on the outside, but the Commander is pretty sure he’s laughing on the inside. Cody had met Quinlan Vos, ok? And he poured enough hard liquor in the man to obtain confidences. Confidences which horrified him, Obi-Wan had even less survival instincts than Cody thought, but confidences he can’t un-hear. He will know forever!

Or at least, he will know until a luckier droid kills him. Cody is not an optimist about clones living long, happy, fulfilling lives. He has eyes after all and a functioning brain.

Cody glares at Obi-Wan, just in case. He has learnt, in the two years since he took his position with his General, that Jedi react pretty well to glaring. Not that it stops them from doing stupid stuff, but at least, they feel guilty about it.

If they like the glaring party only. Commander Ponds had a lot of things to narrate about Mace Windu and the horrible, horrible conglomerate mogul.

Obi-Wan takes his most innocent air, something Cody stopped believing two days in their acquaintance, when his newly minted General had destroyed a whole block of warehouses on an unnamed moon and made a grown Hutt call for its parent. It had been a bad month for Obi-Wan. No need to judge. When innocents are in danger, the cost of the repairs is less a problem and more a number for the politicians to handle. And yes, Obi-Wan knows the money used could certainly be used in other useful ways, but no amount of credits could ever buy a life, in the eyes of a Jedi. But that day, when Cody, after a few, very stressful hours of radio-silence, had finally gotten back his General, slightly charred, the hostages, hungry and thirsty and exhausted but all of them in one piece, and a terrified Hutt, in the middle of a devastated battleground, he had understood better the warning of Alpha-17. There, Cody had sworn in petto to never underestimate his Jedi, despite the irreproachable manners, the swishing hair and the smile of a holo-star.

Together, they take the time to check every soldier, to make sure nobody was busy drowning in their own fluid because they were too hangover/still drunk, to roll over. Everybody is alive, and the communication officers are getting ready to do a double shift, and ready to nib their vode about it later.

“It’s a good thing we’re on down time,” Obi-Wan remarks, “I must confess, despite the talents of your brothers, I’m not quite sure we could withstand an attack from Grievous and his various cronies right now.”

“We would get our asses handed to us, you mean.”

“Exactly.”

Obi-Wan cautiously touches one of the abandoned drink containers, with more care than he gives to explosives.

“What did he put in this thing?” he asks, fascinated.

“You’re not testing it!” Cody immediately retorts, because he knows his Jedi, “not in the name of science, curiosity or whatever.”

Obi-Wan touches the container a second time.

Cody could swear the thing moves in return, like it wants to be pet. Obi-Wan hums, his face interested and he leans a little more in the direction of the container. If the thing starts growing whatever strange means of locomotion is on its mind, Cody is using his blaster, no matter the General’s opinion. That’s how bad holo-dramas start, with an unknown thing unleashed on an unsuspecting ship/outpost/space station. He refuses to star in one of those plot-lacking dramas his brother Wolffe pretends he doesn’t love.

The thing doesn’t move anymore and Obi-Wan loses interest and goes back to helping troopers into their quarters and their bunks.

Cody helps, but that doesn’t mean he’s not plotting terrible retributions. He knows the last few weeks have been pretty hard, the hardest in a long time, that’s one of the reasons Obi-Wan and himself made themselves scarce last night.

Now, they have a week just waiting for the Negotiator to come pick them up. One week for the men to rest and to heal and perhaps to train lightly…but that’s no reason for the sort of screw-up Cody is seeing right now. Boil and his still should be transferred from the 501th and put into whatever part of the army that handles studies about biological warfare. Biological warfare that the Republic officially doesn’t indulge in, studying it only as a way to protect its worlds against it. But Cody isn’t convinced. He has a lot of questions he will never ask about parts of the army which are not led by Jedi, and that the Jedi are trying, with no success, to have access too. Obi-Wan has promoted him so much that the Commander now has access to documents he’s pretty sure nobody thought a clone ever would. He’s staying silent for now. If the Jedi need help with that, if they fail, the vode will try, but Cody is keeping this ammunition in reserve. He can only fire it once, because when natural-borns who aren’t Jedi realize exactly how much power Obi-Wan and the Jedi council has given him and some of the other commanders, they will try to strip them of it, he just knows it.

At the end, everybody is moaning in their bunks, or manning communication, and Cody and Obi-Wan raid the nice rations, the ones with the green seals, no less food of unkown origins than the rest of it, but certainly the tastiest. They sit down at the entry of the outpost, sharing a canteen of water between them. They don’t talk, most of the time they don’t need to.

Cody isn’t really hungry but it’s easier to trick Obi-Wan into eating something when those who surround him do too. The warmth of the sun, the sounds of nature, the nice, and so rare, oh so rare, knowledge that they have a little free time instead of having to run to put out another fire. All of this is making Obi-Wan soften, like a carving of stone suddenly becoming pliable.

“Commander?” Cody’s holocom disturbs them, and Cody startles, suddenly realizing he was lost in the light playing into the copper of Obi-Wan’s hair.

“It’s nothing, really nothing probably,” the shiny in charge of this particular console explains to them, “ one of the new models of probes should have been back twenty minutes ago. I tried to raise it per the procedure, but it isn’t answering.”

“We’re supposed to be alone on this world,” Obi-Wan remarks, a line forming between his brows.

“They are still working the kicks out of this model,” the shiny admits, “that’s why we used them specifically on this planet where they are in no danger. We’re supposed to go back with all of them, for study, to hammer out the last problems.”

The line between the General’s brows is growing deeper.

“I will make a report to the Council about the danger it could pose to you, to send any vode on the field with materials not totally ready, and the Jedi Order will issue a formal protest.” His shoulders are tense. No matter the number of tries, the Jedi are blocked at every corner in the Senate in their efforts to better the life of the clones, even in the small things and it’s a terrible possibility that this time will be the same.

“You know what? We should go check ourselves,” Cody decides, because he wants to erase that line, that tension. “Since Boil poisoned the men, we could do it. A little trek in fresh air before breathing the recycled air in the Negotiator again.”

“Oh Cody, I can do it myself,” Obi-Wan offers immediately, “you don’t have a lot of free time-“

“Funny, I would have sworn you didn’t know the concept…”

“I am perfectly capable of knowing when my body needs down time.”

“That’s not what Master Erin said.”

And that’s how they leave the base.

It’s almost noon, birds or other small things Cody can’t honestly identify are chirping, the air is crisp and fresh, and the sky is only slightly purple, with no risk of rain. No matter how many worlds he sees, Cody is still out of countenance on worlds where the combination of gases in the atmospheres and stars emitting other waves than the Kamino sun combine to give entire landscapes strange colours. Most of the time, he’s wearing his helmet which filters the strangeness of it, and it’s only at the end of the battle, when he takes it off, that he realizes everything is weirdly green-tainted.

Also, he’s pretty sure Arc Trooper Fives was lying when he told him once he visited a world on a body guarding mission with his own Jedi were everything was glittering. He’s not putting any money on it, because Skywalker and his men were guarding the Naboo Senator. From what Cody observes, when Naboo people enter the scene, glitter just happens. He also thinks Fives is much better being Rex’s problem than his own.

Most of their supplies have already been packed for retrieval, so Cody and Obi-Wan only took one hover bike out, and for now Obi-Wan is piloting, Cody behind, and the Commander is beginning to think he made a tactical error. The plastoid of his armour is supposed to stop him from feeling Obi-Wan’s warmth, but Cody could swear he can still feel it. For all that the Jedi can seem aloof and strange, nothing makes him remember his General is flesh and blood than encircling a linen-warped waist with his arms.

The world passes around them, the colours of the trees, the playful course of the clouds in the sky, the peaceful scenery of a wild world, with its inherent qualities and defaults. Cody likes those worlds better, untouched by sentient life. Growing up in the sterility of Kamino, there is something intoxicating in nature running its course, forests giving way to meadows, biotopes decided by climates and geology, and not by a careful hand arranging them for the maximal profits in their exploitation.

Cody understands about the need for fresh territory, with the growth of population, but certainly, certainly the most carefully hidden part of him insists quite vehemently, there must be another solution than the desolation of grey and pollution that is Coruscant. Something else than seeing the poorest people of the Republic living in deplorable conditions, never seeing the fresh green of a new leaf, as the richest ones can sample the delights of nature in carefully constructed reserves?

More and more, Cody is curious about the Agricorps, and their works to restore degraded biotopes, but he had the vague impression, when he asked questions about it to his General, that it’s a difficult subject for him.

Probably, Obi-Wan wanted to go into the Agricorps and they didn’t want him to, for whatever reasons. Cody thinks it’s more glorious to restore nature and to help feed a community than to go to war, like Obi-Wan is doing right now, or to negotiate treaties, which he vaguely thinks is Obi-Wan’s job in time of peace.

Cody’s thoughts drift gently as the journey continues, going from nature’s beauty to the exact shade of Obi-Wan’s hair when he has been under a natural sun for more than a few hours. The way the copper of it becomes richer and richer…. After a little less than two hours, they switch pilots, and Cody does his best to keep his thoughts on track. It would be stupid to crash just because he’s distracted by a flight of birds taking off with the noise of the bikes, no matter how graceful they are. He concentrates on piloting, and not on the presence of Obi-Wan behind him, his arms around Cody, and not in the colours of the forest around them, and the bucolic impression of their little expedition.

The last known position of their wayward probe put it next to a small lake, four hours away on hover bike, at the base of the mountainous regions. If this part of the world was in winter season, the most logical reason for their missing probe would be a mudslide. Cody told in his reports time and time again that the probes should fly higher, that the field itself is much less friendlier than believed in the labs, but apparently nobody listens to him.

It’s the end of spring on this part of the planet, the probe was probably eaten by a giant fish, or something equally undignified.

They unseat on a single beach, the last known location. No more probe there than dignity and decency in the Senate. Nothing. No blackened hull of the thing if it had exploded under mysterious circumstances, best known as shoddy work in the conception. Not even a trace they could track back.

Cody turns on himself, surveying the landscape. Vegetation, mountains, peaceful lapping of water on the beach, more mountains with their snowy capes, a lot of weird looking trees. For a vacation, it would be peaceful. For missing military equipment, it’s sadly lacking.

“By incredible luck, you wouldn’t sense our missing flying friend in the Force?” Cody asks, because that would simplify things. That would simplify things, so of course the answer is no. As Obi-Wan struggles with putting together the scanner, Cody gathers pieces of driftwood, intending to start a fire. If they have to circle on foot, on uneven ground, to find the probes, nothing says they can’t do it after another meal next to a warm fire. In the harsh reality of war, Cody has learnt to wisely enjoy the few moments of peace, and he would very much like to teach that skill to his General. Obi-Wan is supposed to have decades of experience in him, but apparently he’s not aware that every sentient has their limits.

Cody is less than twenty meters from the Jedi and the hoverbike, facing Obi-Wan, his arms already full of a nice load when he sees Obi-Wan let go of the scanner, which tumbles on the stones, and turns to him, a hand already at his waist, reaching for his lightsaber.

“Cod-“ Obi-Wan yells, but the sound doesn’t reach Cody, as the stones give way under him, shifting in a dip of grey sand and Cody is gulped down like Master Yoda gobbles a small fish.

For a second, he can’t breathe, there is sand everywhere around him, on his skin, in his mouth, infiltrating his armour by the neck, and the wood in his arms squeeze against his ribs. He feels he’s gonna get crushed alive and he struggles with all his strength. Death has always been the end but he wanted to leave in combat. He can feel unconsciousness threatening and just before it would take him, he’s spit up violently and he rolls over with the momentum, the driftwood, the sand, and a few bits of the armour which didn’t survive the experience.

He can see someone lean over him, no more than a silhouette, because it’s so dark, he can feel the sand under his head, and also the head wound and the blood seeping out of it, and he takes a long breath, and it burns, all the way to his lungs, and then he knows no more.

For a long time, Cody floats. He dreams. Or he hallucinates.

He’s on Kamino again and he learns the world is without mercy for him and his brothers.

He’s training and he can feel Alpha-17’s eyes on him, pensive.

He’s very young and he doesn’t understand where the last of his batche went.

He’s older and he’s meeting his first Jedi, General Tii, and she always has a nice word for every clone, but her eyes are terribly sad every step she takes on Kamino.

He’s meeting Rex and their friendship soars instantly.

He’s seeing brothers dying and he’s seeing rescues and the world is a never ending war, but Cody refuses to let that be the only thing his brothers will know. He watches and he checks and he learns and he places his brothers the best he can, and he’s evaluating Jedi and people, and planets and his mind never stops.

Cody wakes up. General Plo Koon is leaning over him and Cody lets relief seize him, until he realizes something is wrong. No eye covers, no breathing masks, and as much as Cody can see in the very low light, the thick leathery hide acting as skin is much lighter than Plo Koon’s. A Kel Dor, but not the Jedi Master that the Wolffe’s pack would follow to the end of the galaxy and beyond.

After a few seconds of his brain going round in circles, it finally stops at a very important point: Kel Dor and humans don’t breathe the same atmosphere, and this Kel Dor is without breathing apparels. Cody goes to put a hand on his mouth in instinctual movement, like he could stop himself from suffocating, but the other lays a hand on Cody’s forearm, his entire body language non-threatening, and says something he can’t understand. That’s when Cody realizes something translucent is surrounding his head, like a bubble inflating and deflating with every breath he takes. He pokes it, very carefully. It’s flexible, slightly sticky and it smells earthy, a little like those mushrooms his General insisted he try once, when he took him to his friend Dex dinner.

Cody takes a careful breath. He doesn’t die in terrible suffering, so he takes another one. The air entering his lungs still seems appropriate for his species. He tries to sit up, moving very slowly to make the stranger understand he’s not attacking, and the Kel Dor helps him.

Seated, he can better observe the place around him. He has been placed on a pallet of light fur, in some sort of carved place, the walls decorated, not in paint, but in carving, and his armour is against one of the walls, carefully stacked. Cody wants to touch his head, where he was hurt, but once again the Kel Dor stops him before he touches the bubble. The only light comes from a small clay bowl full of sizzling oil, where a wick has been adapted. It doesn’t give enough light to help Cody see more than the small room and a crude overture in the stone, leading to more darkness. He can’t even study perfectly the features of the Kel Dor, more than to be sure it’s definitely not Master Koon.

The Kel Dor says something again and Cody makes a frustrated noise.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak your language.” The other doesn’t seem to understand that, so Cody tries Mando’a, with the same result.

He tries the Galactic Sign Language, no results.

He knows a few signs of the Alderaan Sign Language, the one from their Southern Hemisphere. Queen Organa taught him a few lessons once during a lockdown in the Royal Palace when he was guarding her, between grumbling about clones’s rights and what her husband better do about it in the Senate, and Cody learns fast. The Kel Dor still doesn’t react in any useful way.

“A common language would be pretty useful to know if I’m your guest or your prisoner,” Cody jokes. Sarcasm now. He’s spending too much time with his General.

He shifts, trying to see if he will be stopped from standing, but the other only helps him, carefully arranging on Cody’s torso the ending of the bubble. Now that Cody studies it more attentively, he’s sure the stuff is organic. It’s like they forced his head and the superior part of his torso into some sort of ring of weird looking mushrooms, the mycelium of one of them extended around his head. If this is producing oxygen for him, he really doesn’t want to disturb it.

The world tilts when he stands up but the Kel Dor pushes a shoulder under Cody’s arm and they go out. When Cody passes his armour, he fetches his blaster, and the other doesn’t stop him. Either he doesn’t understand it’s a weapon, or he doesn’t think Cody will attack him. Her? Them? Are Kel Dol gendered beings?

Exiting the small room, Cody can’t see. Everything is dark around them. He can hear movements and the air around him has the quality of an enormous space. A cave, he would think, but the little lamp his new friend has in his claws is not enough.

“Of course,” Cody remarks, “your eyes are much much better. You don’t need a bank of lamps.” He almost jumps when someone joins them and if his head wasn’t still ringing, he probably would have attacked, but it’s only another Kel Dor, smaller, with a skin more brown. They ask something to the first one, but again, there is no sense for Cody.

He’s guided to a stone bench and the little lamp is pushed into his hands. Kel Dor are going in and out of the little circle and Cody tries to evaluate how many of them there are, but he’s, to his great shame, not good enough to distinguish between the Kel Dor easily. He can isolate one or two who have more evident features for a human, like one missing an arm, but the rest of them, all dressed in a very similar way with some furs identical to those Cody woke up on, and the alien features. Cody feels anger against himself. He judges natural borns for not making an effort to distinguish between the vode, despite their efforts to gain their own identity by tattoos or dyes, and he shouldn’t be victim of the same bias.

Finally, someone sits next to him. Cody studies their face, trying to commit them to memory.

People don’t seem unfriendly. He’s pretty sure the one he woke up with is some sort of local healer, and that it is this one who came back to him several times. Children even come to him, chattering in their language in a way which makes him think of the younger ones on Kamino, before some of their batches started to disappear and they started to understand what their fate in the world would be. A particularly daring little one climbs onto his lap and Cody looks around, ready to see the parent arrive and take its offspring from the strange being. But this community seems so peaceful nobody sees a problem with the child on the stranger's lap.

The little one shows him his treasure, a cube deeply carved with symbols Cody can’t decipher. Of course. In a world without sun, carving must be a medium and painting, or writing, must be inexistent.

“It’s a very nice cube,” he says to the little one, whose gender he can’t decipher. If Kel Dor have gender. He’s pretty sure he heard once that the biggest number of genders registered for a sentient species was eight, and the smaller zero, but he has no idea for this species.

The child seems pretty happy with the answer, even if they can’t understand it any more than Cody can understand their own opinion, expressed in an uninterrupted flow.

Around him, he can vaguely perceive people going about their day. How calm. How reposing. Nevertheless, peaceful or not, Cody can’t breathe the same atmosphere as them, and the strange organic concoction they put on his head to help will soon find its limits. He’s getting thirsty, for once, and he can’t drink without taking the thing off, which he can't. And that’s not even thinking about his General, who must be trying to reach him by any means the Force gives him.

If he knows Cody is alive.

No, no, he must know.

And even if the Force, whose exact limitations Cody is quite unsure of, even if the Force can’t tell Obi-Wan Cody is alive, Obi-Wan is not exactly a man to just go back to the outpost and declare him dead. He will search and search and search, and bring Cody back alive to his vode, or his body for his brothers to honour.

Cody knows: it had been a terrible row between the Jedi on one part and the Kaminoan and the Senate on another, this refusal to abandon dead clones bodies to the elements.

And, to the surprise of the Senate who was in the habits to bully the Jedi for centuries, the Jedi hadn’t budged. But Cody had seen what it had cost them: the Senate had made them pay, in late important reports who the Jedi needed for the war efforts, on refusal of important supplies, suddenly labelled unessential…

So, Obi-Wan is searching for him at the moment, and Cody needs to go to him. The ringing in his head, present since he woke up, has slightly diminished, and he has walked with more grievous wounds.

The question is now: how to mime exit to the Kel Dor, how to ask for a guide? Because if he has to feel around the cave until he finds an exit, he will, but that would be so much easier.

“Hoping there is an exit into your cave, little one,” he says to the child, who is falling asleep on his lap, “because if I have to drill through the roof to the exterior of the planet, it’s gonna cause breathing problems for your city.”

An adult approaches them, a long plaid in their hands, and they mime Cody putting it around his shoulders. Instead, Cody wraps the little one in it and puts the resulting bundle into the adult’s arms.

“I don’t suppose you could send me to the nearest exit?” He asks, and of course, the Kel Dor doesn’t have an answer.

He takes the little lamp and leaves to explore. He can’t see well more than two meters from the circle of light, and even with it, his eyes are struggling.

Soon, he’s stopped by a wall, which he follows until he finds a low door, with only a curtain. He risks an eye, feeling quite voyeuristic, but he only sees something resembling a storage space, big amphoras against a wall.

He continues to follow the wall, finds another one, loses himself in what is a succession of low houses. Above him, the roof of the cavern is still invisible and he can’t see the walls. He finds another little place with stone benches.

Or is it the same?

No, even underground, Cody is sure of his sense of direction. It’s another one place, and the city is bigger than he thought possible. He’s also walking way too slowly, because of the problem of light and his still ringing head.

“Kriff,” he whispers, sitting down on one of the benches.

“Obi-Wan, please find me,” he whispers before scolding himself. He’s no melodrama maiden, he is perfectly capable of finding the surface again by himself.

A burly Kel Dor approaches him, mushrooms in his claws and says something.

“I’m sorry, I can’t understand what you’re saying,” Cody tries to explain. The other sits next to him and gesticulates to the mushrooms helping, he thinks, him to breath, and when Cody doesn’t do anything, he starts placing the ones he brought against the first ones. They seem to merge in a frankly disgusting scene which is probably mushrooms porn.

“Does that mean you need to change them regularly for me to breathe?” Cody asks, despite knowing he won’t receive an answer he can understand.

To add another problem to the long list Cody is already shouldering on, the cave floor starts to tremble and people start yelling.

People are yelling, and despite the language barrier, Cody can understand the panic with no problems.

The soil beneath his feet grumbles again. There is a sound like a rockslide, and more yells, and terror is the taste at the back of Cody’s throat, because he still can’t kriffin see.

Finally, the trembling is so terrible he’s thrown on his knees and the sound reaches a crescendo as a great light emerges from the rock soil, three hundred meters from where Cody is kneeling. It’s some sort of giant worm, with a maw higher than Cody. It roars and glows even brighter, the bioluminescence of its chitin almost dazzling for Cody himself.

All around Cody, Kel Dor are yelling and struggling on their feet with great difficulties, as the rock soil is still trembling. The beast roars again and it sounds like a thousand ships taking off at the same time in the confined environment. As Cody is helping a Kel Dor to their feet, the pandemonium reaches an even higher spike as another worm emerges, further than the first, and the quake of the rock sends them flat on their bellies.

Cody really regrets letting Boil distribute his production yesterday, what he wouldn’t give for ten men and a rotary canon right now! Even for Hardcase, who he’s really happy is most of the time Rex’s problem, and his tastes for explosives.

He hoists himself more or less vertical, swearing all he can at the same time. He helps the Kel Dor to their feet again and then assesses the situation.

The lights of the worms let him have a good gaze for the first time at the enormous cavern they are in and the low buildings in it. Behind them he can even see big overtures, probably an entire network of caverns. An entire city in the dark, deep in the soil, protected from the outside world and its atmosphere which the Kel Dor can’t breathe, and from the Republic scanners which never knew they were there.

Protected from the sun, too.

And now that the light has come to them in the form of predators, they are defenceless. Cody can see people trying to flee, with a hand on their eyes, and with no success. By the time Cody has succeeded in approaching the scene of the disaster, at least three Kel Dor have been swallowed.

One of the worms, the closest, roars again and Cody doesn’t lose time: the maw, unprotected by the chitin covering the body, seems like a perfect target.

He raises his blaster and fires.

Another roar, even more deafening, as blood splatters all around in a gorish scene. A good part of the mandible has exploded, but the beast isn’t dead. It strikes, trying to gobble Cody like it did the poor Kel Dor. The difference is that the Commander can see in the light, on the contrary of the first victims. He evades just in time to escape certain death.

He rolls over and raises his blaster a second time, but the angle is worse than the first time, and the shot dampens itself on the chitin with no more effect than darkening it, and enraging the worm even more.

Again, it tries to kill Cody and the man dances out of range, blessing the hours of training the Jedi gave all of them. It had been the first thing the Jedi had done, because they thought the training the vode had received on Kamino didn’t focus enough on the art of dodging.

Cody never told them it was because the trainers and the Kaminoans thought the vode easily expandable and more useful for a suicide strike. He suspects the Jedi knew, if the way they act around the Kaminoans is proof.

Dodging, advancing, retreating, taking a shot every time he sees an overture, Cody fights, more a reflex than anything, to protect the Kel Dor. He wouldn’t refuse a little help; with spears even if they don’t have other weapons, but the cavern inhabitants are useless. They are not even running away from the worms, full of the terror of death, and the light, which have come in their city.

Nevertheless, the issue of the fight was never a real question. Even hurt and far away from his usual fighting grounds, Cody was bred a warrior and he had honed the skills given to him by his genetic donor all his life. The worm, a female, is in the habit of only fighting other female worms during the mating season for access to the best breeding ponds and to gobble Kel Dor and every animal it could. It never had to fight a sentient being, especially one with a blaster.

The blaster’ shots finally damage the roof of its mouth enough and one of them burns its path to the brain. The beast dies immediately, but the nervous system needs time to receive that message. For a moment, Cody fears the convulsions of the enormous body will cause the entire caves system to collapse on their heads.

When the movements finally stop, he vaults himself over a rock slide, caused by the events, and approaches carefully. The worm is still partially obscured by the rock he emerges from, but Cody can see a good twenty meters of it. He’s bringing back a chitin part to the GAR, because he wants ships protected like that!

A sudden movement to his left makes him turn, but too late. His zoological fascination has caused Cody to make a horrible, rookie mistake, the sort of mistake which makes a rookie never have an occasion to become something other than a rookie.

For a moment, he had forgotten there was a second worm.

He brandishes his weapon, but it’s too late. Only his reflexes save him from being cut in two, but a razor sharp incisor scraps against his armour, parting it like butter and only missing the skin by half a centimetre. The worm has no interest in the Kel Dor, no matter how easy prey they are. It just wants to kill the stubborn little creature who just killed its mother. His blaster clatters on the rock, too kriffin far away. Cody rolls on himself, tries for it, but he already knows it’s too late, when the sound of a lightsaber being ignited announces the arrival of the cavalry, just in time.

Obi-Wan Kenobi arrives on the scene like an armed deux ex machina. He’s wearing Cody’s helmet in order to breath in the cavern and death is burning light-blue in his hand. Rare are the materials which can resist the power of a lightsaber, and Obi-Wan doesn’t take chances with Cody’s life, no matter how he is repelled by the taking of a life, even an animal one. The head of the worm falls on the other side of the body as Obi-Wan is still airborne from one of those improbable jumps Force Sensitive do. The second his feet touch the rock; he’s rushing to Cody, trying to assess his health.

Across the galaxy, Anakin suddenly sits down in the marital bed, sending Padmé, who was asleep across his torso, tumbling into the sheets by the violence of his movements. The vision of a chitinous torso opening, full of meaty juice, dances before his eyes.

“Ani?” The young Senator asks, once he has succeeded in making her put down the blaster she retrieved from even the Force doesn’t know where. Padmé doesn’t do peaceful when she’s woken up abruptly, something he learned quickly in their marriage. Convincing the handmaiden that every noise inside their bedroom wasn’t a murder attempt and that they shouldn’t rush in, weapons drawn, was another interesting adjustment to the married life.

“I just.….I’m not sure…” He tries to grip what woke him up, but it already has disappeared. “I think I’m hungry,” he admits, “sorry to have interrupted your sleep.”

“The droids can make you something,” she suggests, burrowing into the nest of pillows, less prone to sudden shifting.

“Do you think we have insects?” He asks.

****************************

“Cody! Cody, are you alright?”

“Obi-Wan, General, are you hurt?” Cody and Obi-Wan ask at the same time, hands searching, patting the other bodies in gestures less destined to triage of wounds and more to the simple animal need for contact.

“The air of the cavern isn’t breathable for us,” Obi-Wan says, after a few seconds and Cody nods: “I deduced that, but the thing on my head….it’s helping.”

“How did you deduce such a- Oh, um, hello.”

Around them, the Kel Dor have begun to assemble, all of them an arm on their face, trying to protect their eyes.

“Your lightsaber, turn it off,” Cody says and, making something purr in the Commander’s chest, Obi-Wan immediately obeys, no question, no hesitation.

The Kel Dors guide them away from the scene of the carnage. Cody sees a few of them with stone machetes and axes, already working on taking apart the pale flesh of the worms, working from the wounds Cody and Obi-Wan made, as the chitin is too hard on other places of the big bodies.

Cody watches for a few seconds. One of a Kel Dor yanks open the cranial cavity. Cody turns to the other side very quickly, because butchering enormous worms is apparently more than his battle-hardened stomach can take. Nothing should make the noise an axe makes against flesh.

Cody finds his little lamp again. It’s not even extinguished, the events haven’t probably lasted more than ten minutes. The universe is a hard place, thinks Cody, where he could get eaten by any abomination with too much teeth in less time than an oil lamp runs its course.

They sit next to each other on the closest bench and in the halo of the lamp, Cody inspects his General better. He’s covered in stone dust and whatever else disgusting stuff is on his tunic: he probably crawled his way there.

The adrenaline is still burning through Cody, and joy too, as he turns to his General. On the whole, he misses the days life was simpler on Kamino, with no worms for example, but on Kamino, he never heard the sound of a lightsaber and knew, with a certainty so burning it could have well resonated in the Force, that he was saved. There is comfort, in the hard world he’s living in, in the certainty that his General will tear apart entire solar systems to rescue any clones. That all Jedi would. For a clone, raised to be interchangeable, this strong-willed refusal to leave even one of them behind is a balm to the soul.

“You found me,” he says, and he tries to infuse that with professionalism, and fails miserably.

“I will always find you,” Obi-Wan promises. It’s strange to talk to him like that, with Cody’s helmet on his head. Cody hadn’t realized he relied so much on the Jedi’s face to understand him.

“Yes, sir, but for a moment, I confess I thought you would more, avenge me or something.”

Obi-Wan touches his shoulder.

“I’m sorry to have been so long,” he says, “the system of caves proved itself tricky, and the Force insisted I couldn’t just blow up my way inside.”

“That would let the atmosphere on the outside enter,” Cody theorized, “and I think, our hosts….”

Like they have been summoned, two Kel Dor approach them. They are dressed as simply as all the others Cody has seen, but on the bust of the smaller one, there is some sort of ceremonial pectoral and it has a very big difference with everything Cody has seen since stepping into the cave. It’s in metal.

“Obi-Wan”, Cody whispers, “look at that.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t speak the language more than Cody. He can recognize it’s not the actual principal language of Kel Dor, which he has heard before, but no more than that. Nevertheless, it’s less a problem for a Jedi. He can feel in the Force other’s intentions, enough to understand easily that the people here don’t want to harm them, which Cody had deduced himself hours ago, and that they want to bring them to see something.

Cody is very happy to leave the dead bodies of the worms behind them.

And to General Skywalker eats insects! Bless the Force that Skywalker is Rex’s Jedi.

One cave. Another. Another one.

“How many are there? How big are these caves?'' Cody asks. He’s tired, hungry, thirsty, and more or less ready to go back to camp, thank you very much.

They find a ship, or more, the skeleton of a ship, in the last part of the caves system, the deepest one. It’s less a cave, and more the memory of a crash. The ship has been cannibalized, years after years, of everything useful, to the latest scrap of metal, except for the framework.

“It was probably made with a metal too dense for the meagre set of tools they have,” Obi-Wan theorizes.

“I can’t recognize the type of ship that is, the form itself is so strange,” Cody remarks, watching it with the eye of a man trained to recognize enemy and ally ships in a nano second in the middle of battle. Obi-Wan is touching the metal with his bare skin, with great reverence.

He always loved old things, his Jedi.

The happiest Cody had seen him was for a protection mission in a dusty archive, on a faraway world. General Skywalker was with them, and the young Ahsoka too, and the intel had been faulty. There had been no attack, Obi-Wan had had his Padawan and GrandPadawan close and safe, and spent his days making amorous noises at poetry treaties centuries old.

“It’s incredibly old. Probably before the foundation of the Republic."

"But that’s….that’s old as kriff."

"During the first time of space travel, ships weren’t as reliable. They probably are the descendants of a crew of explorers. After the crash, staying inside the caves was the only long-term possibility for them, if they hadn’t the means to produce enough respiratory apparatuses. It was the only way to survive for them. Nevertheless, it stopped anyone from finding them. And little by little, they regressed technically and lost the way to contact the outside."

"Do you really think they would have travelled from their world without a way to breath on other planets?"

"Perhaps it was stocked in a part of the ship lost during the crash. Perhaps it was so long ago, it was long before the Kel Dor knew very few worlds have an atmosphere breathable for them…Every species has the tendency to think the world at large tailored for them.”

They don’t leave immediately. Obi-Wan is of the opinion that Cody is too tired to use the path he himself used to find him. And he’s probably right. Cody’s head is throbbing where he hurt it during his fall, but he doesn’t see how he could get better here, where he can’t eat or drink.

What follows is a game of mime between Obi-Wan and the Kel Dors which Cody won’t forget, ever, no matter how much Obi-Wan asks, and he regrets he doesn’t have a holocamera.

After a time, and an unforgettable time it was, Obi-Wan and he find themselves stashed in a little room, so low they can’t stand. It’s more a bed stuffed inside some sort of structure made in the same weird-looking, weird-smelling mushrooms. Cody takes off the bubble around his head and Obi-Wan takes off Cody’s helmet.

The red head has the worst case of helmet’s hair Cody has seen, ever and Cody can’t stop an unprofessional laugh around his first mouthful of fresh water.

“I don't Not a head made for helmets, do I?” the Jedi smiles, as he tore in two a strange looking loaf of bread.

They fall on the food, famished, and tease each other at the same time. There is water and what Cody thinks is some root vegetables, and flatbread, and some meat he isn’t touching with a ten foot pool, just in case it's giant worm.

“If you swear to wear armour instead of linen in battle, I swear to the Force I will never mock your hair,” Cody smiles in return, and Obi-Wan makes a face, like he did already wear good, solid protection instead of tunic and leggings and whatever he calls the multiple layers of his Jedi’s clothes.

“I thought….for a moment, I thought…” Obi-Wan stops. It’s rare to see him lost for words, he of the Silver tongue, the Negotiator.

“I’m not dead,” Cody reiterates, because there is no need to beat around the bush. Even risking their lives every day the Force makes, nobody likes the kick of adrenaline when one of your men is missing. It never becomes normal. It never should.

“And yet, for a second I thought you were. When I saw the earth opening under your feet and gobbling you. And when I arrived during your battle, the Force trumpeting in my heart about the mortal danger you were running to.”

“The Kel Dor were pretty useless against those things. Couldn’t let them get eaten like that. Not when they rescued me and helped me.”

“I know. I know. And I would have done exactly the same thing.”

Obi-Wan sits on the bed, less gracefully than he usually does. From where he’s leaning against the mushroom wall, Cody stares. He can see the lines around his mouth, and after his late-night conversation with Master Quinlan Vos, he knows they aren’t from laughing. He can see the lines at the edges of the eyes, discreet for now, a little more present every day. He can see the first traces of grey on the temples, simply a trace of silver in the red mane…. He’s, almost, sure there was no grey at the beginning of the war, he has seen the holos of Obi-Wan against Prime, against Jango, all those years ago, on Kamino.

Obi-Wan is burning too bright, burning himself.

And Obi-Wan isn’t the only one not getting younger. The accelerated aging isn’t exactly good for Cody’s health, starting with his knees.

One day, he won’t be quick enough for the next giant, bioluminescent man-gobbling worm. Or Obi-Wan will be too tired against Grievous. Since they met, an assignment Commander- General decided by Alpha-17 himself, their life has been full of Separatist assassins, murderous fauna, Sith assassins, murderous geology, Separatist assassins pretending to be Sith assassins, and Sith assassins pretending to be Separatists assassins, brain-washed murderous Senators, murderous flora, murderous black holes, and one time a murderous sentient ship.

The whole galaxy is conspiring to kill clones and Jedi, for what Cody can see.

If his math is right, he survived today the sixty-third attempt on his life from Fate since he left Kamino. Obi-Wan was there for most of them, and Cody was around for the latest attempts on Obi-Wan’s life.

And one day, it will stop.

Cody opens his mouth before he can talk himself out of it. Life is short and he’s a soldier slave, he doesn’t have the luxury to wait for another time.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he says, and Obi-Wan looks like he has been whacked on the skull with a heavy object. It’s not exactly his best face, mouth round in surprise, and Cody only feels affection. Then Obi-Wan’s lips curve into a smile like a sun, blinding, warm, and the Jedi touches the side of Cody’s face.

The Jedi touches the side of Cody’s face.

He doesn’t speak. Not yet. His head against Cody, his breath sharing Cody’s own air, they close their eyes, and Cody experiences the strange idea that he’s detaching himself from his brothers.

For the first time, there is something in his hands, or well, in his heart, that he doesn’t want to share with Wolffe or Boil, or even Rex, who has become his closest brother.

He doesn’t want to hide Obi-Wan from them, but he wants….

He hasn’t the words. Not yet.

But, with Obi-Wan at his side, he hopes he will learn them.

And he hopes his brothers too can find something, or someone, so precious they need to share the joy of knowing it, but also to keep it to themselves, like he wants to keep to himself the smile of Obi-Wan when Cody tells “I love you”, or the small freckles at the side of his mouth, visible only so, so, so close.

The first “I love you” Cody hears from Obi-Wan is whispered against his lips.

The first kiss tastes of the bread offered by the Kel Dor, of the cave’s dust and it’s perfect.

They’re still in the same situation, two exhausted men, in a cave full of toxic gases, only protected from them by some unknown mushrooms exuding oxygen, and Cody feels like he could take over the entire Republic. He sleeps curved around Obi-Wan, like two parts of the same whole, touching as much as they can, and if the headache from his head wound brings Cody to the surface a few times during their nap, he feels rejuvenated after it.

After, the Kel Dor help them find the surface and Cody and Obi-Wan leave their new friends, hand in hand, quite happy to find back the sun and the sky, the fresh air of a late morning…and almost all their men crawling around their area, trying desperately to find them.

Obi-Wan keeps Cody’s hand in his and a few brothers less intimidated than others by Cody’s glare, embarrassed and proud at the same time, even bumped their big brother’s shoulders as a sign of congratulation. Obi-Wan immediately goes red, like he’s a teen on his first crush, and not a seasoned Jedi Master whose touch can bring life or death.

Cody finds it adorable.

*******************

It’s the middle of the night shift on the Negotiator, but Cody is still working on a different time zone, so he lets Obi-Wan sleep peacefully in their shared bunk. Their shared bunk! A notion that still makes him giddy like a shiny at their first kiss, even a month after getting together. They are taking things pretty slow, or in the wrong order, Cody isn’t sure, they sleep in the same bunk every night, but haven’t got very far in term of sex, and this perfect, because this is them, and not some sort of artificial list of relationship’s milestone. And Cody already knows, deep in his soul, that he will never love a man like he loves this one, even if Obi-Wan is killed tomorrow, and he’s sure it’s the same for Obi-Wan.

The Negotiator is in route to join with the Steadfast, so General Koth is on board after a conjoined mission where Obi-Wan and him gave Cody new grey hairs. He finds him easily in the mess, demolishing a healthy serving. The stamps outside the rations are a different colour than the ones Cody and his brothers eat.

“Can I join you?” Cody asks.

“Of course,” Eeth Koth immediately answers and the chair on the other side of the table moves on its own, offering itself for the Commander. Cody arches a brow.

“Don’t tell Obi-Wan,” the General jokes, “or I will endure a lesson for frivolous use of the Force.”

Cody sits and they stay silent for a moment, the General apparently happy to let him come to his questions in peace, continuing to eat his meal. Despite being tailored for a different species’ nutritional needs, it looks exactly as unappetizing as most rations Cody is used too.

“General Ke-“

“You can call him Obi-Wan in front of me,” Eeth Koth interrupts. “There is no need to be ashamed of what binds you.” He grimaces. “Force knows we will all need all the comfort we can get before everything is set and done in this war.”

“Obi-Wan and I, we had a bit of an adventure, last month.”

“From what I heard, you have a lot of them.”

“Yes but….it was…it was the first time I was around civilians. Normal people, I mean.”

“Not Jedi and not clones, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Putting apart the fact that you are normal people, and that we are too, that it is a slippery slope to consider us different, because then the rights…”

“I know you’re fighting for us in the Senate. I know. That isn’t the question…I just mean. They were civilians. Even more civilian than usual. I have only met natural borns who are Jedi and Senators and politicians or some sort of official. This was different. And I realized how little we know about the world outside the GAR. And how little we know about societies, and species who aren’t us. They raised us for war only…” Cody was almost trembling with it. Eeth Koth put a comforting hand on his wrist and Cody continued:

“Obi-Wan, I don’t want Obi-Wan to become my teacher. It’s not his role. But if we want to have a chance outside the war, us, the vode, we need to learn about the outside world. I wanted to ask you if there was something…a way…”

Eeth Koth had totally abandoned his meal and Cody could feel the weight of his gaze, the same gaze as Obi-Wan, transcending their species.

“Let me call a few people,” the Jedi said.

**********

Years later, Cody thinks a lot about that moment. Eeth Koth joined the Force during the war and Cody has to remember this moment for the two of them, this simple moment around a table, this moment which became one of the tipping point of his life. Not the too numerous almost-death, not the many battles, not even his first kiss with his dear Obi-Wan. This moment, in Cody’s mind, is the one which changed his fate.

Eeth Koth died not even two months after that, one among a lot of Jedi who gave their life, alongside the vode, for a chance for the galaxy and its people. Not that people are particularly thankful about it: the discovery of the Sith engineering the two sides of the conflict rocked the easy confidence of the Republic in the solidity of its system.

Democracy is never forever, if people don’t work for it.

No, democracy is only saved for now, and never will it be saved forever and ever. But that shock to the system is treated by the most intelligent of the bunch like a chance to seize. All across the reunited Republic people are working hard, entering politics, creating organizations to teach the population, to hold those in power accountable….

It’s a sad thing so many vode, jedi and civilians had to die and suffer for that. It’s even sadder to think it didn’t almost happen. The Republic almost burned, the Sith almost won, the beloved former Padawan of Obi-Wan Kenobi almost helped murder Mace Windu, Master of the Order...Mace Windu isn’t exactly the type to hold a grunge, but Obi-Wan still needed months after that to stay in his presence, the guilt that should have eaten Anakin transfered.

Honestly, if Obi-Wan forgave Anakin much too quickly, and Windu too, the vod needed a much longer time. Skywalker had almost helped the man who had engineered them as slave soldiers, the man who would have wiped out their free will, the poor part of it they still had. The vod had needed a long time to forgive, and would never forget, but Cody still has the desagreable impression Rex’s anger is a most important consequence in Skywalker’s mind that the almost death of the democratic system and the almost rise of a dictatorship.

Sometimes, late in the night, Obi-Wan stays awake, something lost in his eyes than mediation never totally makes disappear, and Cody is sure that day figures in a good part in his dark thoughts.

Obi-Wan, and Cody too, think about what could have been. If Cody hadn’t been there that day, in the Temple, who would have been in charge of keeping an eye on Skywalker in the Council Room? No one, that who. Because Skywalker was a Council member, if a very fresh one, and there wasn’t on hand a Jedi Master with enough years to take a look at a Council Member and decide he needed baby-sitting. All those Masters were deployed, or in beds in the halls of healing. But Cody, Cody was there, and since he and his General had become an item, he had taken sometimes to act, despite what his logical brain told him, not like a soldier Anakin could order around, but like an exasperated step-father. Exasperated and concerned, as the war advanced and Anakin seemed less and less attached to his morals.

Who would have followed him to the Senate when Skywalker had refused to wait anymore, and tackled him at the last minute? Who would have stopped Anakin Skywalker from doing something as tremendously stupid as to save a Sith pitted against Mace Windu?

And all of that had been possible because Jocasta Nu had taken the first excuse she could to keep Cody on Coruscant that month. A well-known linguist was visiting for a series of talks, and she thought he could be a good professor for Cody, and more importantly that well-know linguist had enough political power to obtain permission for a clone following his courses.

And the Republic had lived, because Cody loved linguistics, or more because he had loved the little he understood of it at the time.

But Cody refuses to let the horrors of those years of war, and his terrible first years on Kamino, define him. He prefers to think, again and again, to that moment with Eeth Koth.

Cody didn’t know exactly what he wanted. His accelerated childhood, raised for war and war only, hadn’t given him the words for it. He just knew that for his brothers and he to have a chance after the war, they needed more. Or even more terrible horrors would certainly befall them. Soldiers without wars aren’t useful anymore, and tools with no use are only fated to be dismantled for parts.

Following Eeth Koth’s call, Jocasta Nu and her assistants had descended on the GAR with determination, great efficiency and anger that they hadn’t thought about that themselves. By dint of foraging the Jedi Archives, and every friendly archives of the galaxy, for legal precedent to help the Vode, they had forgotten all answers weren’t found between the terabytes of a datapad.

Master Nu is seated right next to Obi-Wan in the public and trying very hard to pretend her eyes aren’t misty, as Cody receives his diploma, earning himself the title of Doctor in linguistics, for his work with the forgotten Kel Dor city, right next to the first Kel Dor of said city to have made the jump to Coruscant.

Cody isn’t the first clone to finish his thesis. Not surprising: he left the GAR years later than some of them, refusing to leave before his lover, who had been pressed into service as long as the Senate could justify it, and even longer. With Anakin leaving the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan was certainly the most famous member of it for the public, and it was as if the Senate tried to make him pay the Jedi’s refusal to abandon the vode. But Cody was the first clone Jocasta Nu talked with, when she arrived to try to help the vode not in pleading that they shouldn’t be slave soldiers, but in demonstrating they were so much more.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to leave the GAR officially, that honour went to Rex who followed Ashoka to Orto Plutonia, the first clone to be officially accepted as a member of the Jedi Corps. For what Cody understands, his life consists of almost losing his toes ten times a month, hunting with the Taz and flirting desperately with every passing skirts, as Ahsoka flirts desperately with her own Senator and supervises Republic-Taz contacts. Obi-Wan and Cody went once during permission, and Cody swore to himself that the next time Rex and Ahsoka wanted to see them, it could be on a tropical atoll.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to find a job outside of the Jedi orbit. That honour went to Fives and Tup, who left together and chose the most pacifist world they could. “We were almost separated once, never again. I’m not touching a weapon again in my life” Fives had said to Cody that day, watching Tup, busy hugging Rex, with something ferociously possessive in his eyes. Now, they have a nursery of succulent plants on a small island, in the south hemisphere of Alderaan, and Cody still isn’t sure if they are the best friends in the world, or one of those pairs who took brothers in a quite different sense, and frankly, he doesn’t care. There is a small potted thing they sent as a gift on Cody’s desk, with red undertones and white flowers once a year, but the former Commander has a black thumb, and only Obi-Wan’s careful nursing in the Force saved the poor thing already thrice.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to enter academia, that honour went to Waxer, who now teaches mathematics on Mandalore and is busy reintroducing Fett’s genes into the population with a long string of ex-partners, who still like him very much and with who he raises an army of children, at least three of them bearing a name honouring Waxer.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to marry, that honour went to Jesse and Cody isn’t touching that choice of spouse with a ten-foot pool.

Cody wasn’t the first in a lot of things. But it’s ok. He doesn’t have to lead his brothers anymore. He doesn’t have to bear responsibilities for death and help who didn’t come, and for the horrors that were their life.

The vode are free and Cody can only be a brother like any other.

He can be only Obi-Wan’s husband, even if Obi-Wan jokes that now, it’s more him that will be only the husband of Doctor Cody Kenobi, his arm candy in gatherings.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #codywan #my fics

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 4 years

Text

Comte AU Event

Aight because I have Comte brainworms (is this a surprise to anybody I sure hope not), there’s something I’ve just been thinking about a lot ever since completing one of the story events a month ago:

The cover art being very sexy aside, I naturally did Comte’s story event and I have yet to move on. Namely because of one specific line. (Disclaimer: Keep in mind I don’t mean to say I’m an expert, I just translate for fun--I don’t have the same prowess as an official linguist. That being said starts the circus music let the show go on)

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

This is the line I want to dive into, but before I can really talk about it, we need proper context.

Event spoilers below:

This event is a little different since it’s an AU, so the mansion and its residents don’t exist. (Comte lives in the mansion on his own, but it’s not the same one we know.) Instead Comte, Leo, and Arthur are stand alone suitors who have turned MC into a vampire. Because MC has no clear memory of how and/or why it happened, MC is seeking vengeance against her paired hottie--and fully intends to end their life one way or another.

Aside from how sexy revenge is and how much I love the enemies to lovers trope, Comte’s entire storyline gave me more life than I can humanly convey. Here goes nothing!

So it begins with MC knocking on his door and Comte answers it and literally just stares at her silently like some kind of Furby. MC starts out by saying she’s been trying to narrow down the bastard that ruined her life and her search has finally brought her to his doorstep. She basically demands the truth from him and he just keeps. Staring owlishly (lmao). He eventually relents and tells her that a conversation is much better held inside, and invites her into his home to talk.

She's sus as hell but enters the house, and he asks if she's had blood. This stops her in her tracks, shook, and her monologue drifts to explain a few things. When she woke up years ago, a new vampire, she had instructions to approach the Rouge/Blanc dispensary for what she needed. The staff there told her that everything was paid for, and she continued to receive support from an unnamed benefactor. She asked them for the identity of this person, but they were beholden to customer confidentiality. As such, she's been searching for information to narrow down her target for years until she finally found him tonight.

Despite the years it doesn't mean she's any more comfortable with her new existence. She notes that she still tends to stick to drinking Blanc--only drinking Rouge (in other words, blood) when she has no other choice. When Comte puts the Rouge on the table, she becomes notably unsettled. She's thirsty, but she won't concede to his request that she drink it; she refuses.

(I feel like he can probably tell because he's her sire/because of his experience with vampires). Comte--naturally--refuses to let her go hungry, so he knocks it back and kisses her to get her to drink it. He lets go as soon as she's swallowed it, and doesn't resist when she shoves him off. She rails at him about how awful he is for doing that, he agrees. She asks if he was the one that killed her parents, he confirms with blasé indifference. She's fuming quietly, but she notes that he doesn't really look happy or triumphant about it. What he's saying isn't reaching his eyes; his gaze is distant and sad. And it's confusing her. Isn't he supposed to be the enemy?

She's lost in her thoughts and unresponsive until there's a loud cry from outside the house, the shriek of a nearby owl. She snaps out of her daze to see that she still has his hand in a vice grip from when she shoved him off, and his skin is blanched--she cut off his circulation from the pressure. She releases him, startled, but he says nothing.

She's trying to sort out what's going on, and doesn't have enough information to really piece anything together. She wants to hate him but things aren't making sense. Why did her parents have to die in the first place? Why does he bother keeping her alive at his own expense? Even just now, what he did felt more like an attempt to get her to eat than anything else. Why isn’t he more malicious? This MC is desperate for answers, and she says as much: "What are you hiding…?"

Comte doesn't answer her, just averts his gaze and remains silent. MC decides she won't do anything until she learns the full extent of what happened the night she was turned. Furthermore, she's well aware of Comte’s status being a problem. If she goes too far without proper motive, the aristocracy could come back to bite her in the ass. (The implication here is that she's more concerned about being wrong and living with that regret, rather than any necessity to protect herself. The state of his gaze--the melancholy there--keeps eating at her. Until she knows why, she won't move forward.)

Comte is shocked that she demands to live alongside him in the mansion, but he doesn't take any issue with it. He says the mansion is pointlessly huge for one person anyway--she's welcome to stay. Either way she wins with this arrangement: either she gets the truth or she finds an effective way to destroy him by the end. And so their little cohabitation begins!

After a timeskip, MC recounts how she's been spending her days in the mansion. She's been tidying around the house, both in the hopes of finding evidence and/or in the hopes of repaying all the years of living on his assistance. He doesn't stop her, letting her do as she pleases and keeping his distance.

One day, she's about to step out into town to grab some groceries. Comte approaches at the front door, cautioning her to be safe--there have been many reports of scuffles/dangerous encounters. MC brushes him off, unsurprised he knows what's going on in town. He's very well connected to the aristocracy, and she notes that he's often at dinner gatherings and parties when he's not home. She insists she can't let her guard down, that he can't be trusted; no matter how kind he is to her face.

Another day, he asks her to attend a ball later in the week. He tells her she's under no obligation to stay with him while they're there, just that he wants her to take some time and relax--to have fun. She tries to insist that going to something like that would be more stressful than fun but he won’t hear of any protest, walking away before she can fully reject the outing. (Comte, an idiot, speed-walking out of the room: and that is what we call finessed). She sighs, thinking she'll be nothing but a burden to him given her lack of knowledge about events like that. She doesn't really know the proper etiquette or how to dance, it’s completely out of her depth.

Surprising no one at all Comte buys MC a dress and accessories to match regardless, and when she comes down the staircase leading to the front door he's awestruck. He tells her she's beautiful and she's miffed by the raw sincerity, trying to remind herself that he is eeeeevil. He knows how to talk to women given his status, he's just smooth talking... (She's trying to convince herself, essentially.)

And so they go, and she's a bit of a wallflower. He leaves her alone--doesn't want to bother her--while she sticks close to one wall. Several men ask her to dance, but she politely declines. Her monologue explains that, given what she is and the fact that she’s only living for revenge, she sees no merit in trying to court human men. She sees it as irresponsible and inevitably disastrous, and…

[Given the nature of what I am I just can't. I can't fall in love with a human man. Besides, the only person I really want to dance with is...as much as I hate it, my line of sight keeps drifting to Comte. Suddenly he looks up and meets my gaze, but I hurriedly look away--my heart pounding in my chest. Why. In a room full to the brim with people, why do my eyes keep looking for him. Whatever, time to go cool off for a bit.]

She leaves the ballroom--mortified at herself--to get some fresh air. Not five minutes into trying to figure out whatever the hell is going on with her shitshow of a life, a man appears asking what she’s doing alone. And da da da d a Zelda treasure chest sound effect he whips out a knife covered in blood and tries to stab MC. Naturally, because I’m an idiot, my first thought was:

TW: knife attack

TW: homicides by serial killer

But it turns out our local serial killer remains nameless in this event, so I can point no fingers. MC is panicking about needing to run and frozen in place from the shock, but Comte appears to pull her out of range--knife sinking into his back. He doesn’t react much to the violence as the attacker runs away, yanking out the knife and focused on checking her for any wounds. She’s still reeling from how quickly he reacted, and he reassures her (probably at the sight of her bewildered/worried look) that law enforcement is on alert in the area. They’ll find him, they’ll arrest him.

She tries to ask him why. Why would he protect her like that? His first instinct was to take the hit and ensure her safety first, and it doesn’t make sense. Comte reassures her again, joking that purebloods are sturdy. See? The wound’s already healed c:

[Even though I've been spending all this time trying to get my revenge on him, my heart stopped when he was attacked. As if to reassure me, frozen and speechless, Comte smiles gently. This person.......I can't do it. I can't kill him without meaning, without being sure of the truth.]

"...Comte, I can tell you're a good person. What happened that night, so many years ago?" Because even now, he's still protecting me. "Please...tell me the truth. I want to know."

[I know this isn't the time or place, but if I don't know I can't worry about him with a clear head.]

TW: human trafficking and drugging unconscious

Comte concedes and goes into what happened that night so many years ago. Apparently he was acquainted with her parents long before the incident, and they fell into debt as a result of gambling. He approached their home in the hopes of paying them a visit, checking up on them, only to encounter tragedy. They intended to sell their daughter off and the man they ended up making a deal with more or less slaughtered them all in cold blood. The reason MC doesn’t remember any of this was because her parents drugged her the night it happened. No consciousness, no resistance.

"In that room suffused in the odor of blood and despair, I found you, MC." Her pained, struggling cry is what led him into that room--and seeing how desperately she was fighting to survive, he turned her against all his better judgement. Feeling certain she would hate him forever for the choice he made compounded by her terrible circumstance, he bailed, leaving her instructions and resources to survive on her own.

"Sold off by your own parents, attacked by a serial killer, seconds from death. I thought....I thought telling you about it would only bring you pain, that it would leave you numb from the shock and despair. That's why I kept it from you.”

"...After turning you, I was consumed by regret. I felt certain you would hate me for the choice I made. So I left." [When I don't know what to say, he keeps talking.] "But I was worried about you even so. I tailed you quietly, making sure you were getting along okay. I was fully aware you wanted to kill me for what I'd done. Even so, I wanted to check on you."

And that is where the line comes in.

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

He admits that he fell in love with her after a point. And she’s baffled, considering she’s been looking for every reason to tear him apart--assuming he was the perpetrator when he actually saved her life. She protests immediately, asking how he could possibly feel that way after the level of vitriol and judgement she’s levied against him when he was only trying to help.

"That's not true at all. At heart, you're a very kind young lady. You haven't raised a hand against me all this time. And even when you considered me to be a repulsive presence, you were worried about me."

At this MC is conflicted--because his words are a further extension of his equanimity. He’s well aware that he brought about all the confusion by not being honest, but it’s also clear there was no ill intent involved in that decision. He was concerned; hitting her with that level of misfortune and senseless terror all at once could have been incredibly destructive to her health. (This isn’t to say he made the ‘right’ decision; I don’t think there is any right decision in the face of such a complex situation. Given he takes full responsibility for what happened and does his best to help her, I think that’s a fair response.)

This is essentially where the common rt ends. But because I’m feral for Comte and enjoy talking about him, I’ll finish up the summary and then go on to do my analysis.

After that riveting assault, MC is feeling very lost about how to move forward. Her fury at Comte’s injustice has all but evaporated, which means a complete re-evaluation of how she’s going to move forward from now on. Does she continue with her revenge anyway, still angry for the dishonesty? Or does she try something new?

If you do the premium end that means choosing to forgive Comte and climb him (as he deserves). Therefore I, being an intellectual, chose to ride him into the sunset.

The premium end begins with Comte taking her to another ball because the first one kind of went to shit and he feels bad about it (retraumatization was not in the plan...). And so MC basically does the same thing as the first time, just vibin and taking in the scenery, thinking things over. Comte’s concerned about her not having fun, so he approaches her to ask if she’s feeling okay. He makes it clear that he really doesn’t mind if she dances with someone else--even if he admitted his feelings for her. She doesn’t owe him anything, and he has no intention of imposing on her future.

"Whatever it is you choose to do, I don't mind. I just want you to be happy"

[This person is so, so gentle...His words penetrate deep and settle with warmth over my heart, my chest light.] "Comte I.......I don't want to dance with anyone but you." [I still don't know what to do about the future, but for now I think following what my heart is telling me is the best move]

"!!!....well then, if you insist..."

Comte’s just:

He’s beyond shocked, but accepts her invitation when she confirms it’s what she wants to do. Leading her in all his infinite grace, MC marvels at his ability to dance so elegantly--even with a partner who’s deadweight, like her. She also finds it astounding how easily he makes her forget what they are, how easily she just enjoys the moment; no turmoil, no lingering in the worst of her miseries. She’s just...having fun? For the first time in so very long.

[Comte murmurs in the short distance, clear remorse on his face--as though he can't help it.]

"MC, it's kind of you, honestly. That you'd give me the time of day, that you'd agree to dance with me. But I...I'm the one that turned you. There's no denying or escaping that fact. If it's you, I'm ready to accept any consequence. If you want me gone, you're free to attack me. If you just want to be as far away from me as possible--to live your life in peace and solitude--I will do everything in my power to help you."

[He said it as if he was trying to convince himself. Like he was trying to remember why he couldn't assume more of this single dance together, why he couldn't let hope emerge from this single shared moment.]

[.....I'm not that kind, Comte. I asked because it's you.....Feeling his warmth beneath my hands, I come to a decision.]

There’s a timeskip, and then MC--being the badass that she is--knocks on Comte’s door the night of the crescent moon. He lets her inside more than ready to accept her judgement, whatever it may be. MC asks about his feelings, seeks to confirm that he still loves her before she confesses herself.

"Comte. Comte you said--that you loved me right?"

"Yes that's correct...no matter how much you might hate me, these feelings won't change. I love you."

[Hearing those words again sets my chest on fire. And I decide to tell him my honest feelings.]

"I love you too. But......I've held a misguided grudge against you for so long, is it okay for me to love you now?"

[Can that misunderstanding really be forgiven? Am I allowed to love you? Comte's eyes widen, and the breathtaking gold of his eyes shimmer/waver.]

"...shouldn't that be my line? I mean even despite the circumstances, I still made the choice to turn you :o Can you really forgive me?"

"...If I'm honest, I still have a hard time drinking blood and I'm a little scared of an immortal life. But......I think if I could spend that eternity at your side, I could find the means to smile again. And....the thing is....I also want to see you smile, to make sure you remember how to smile."

".................." [Le Comte stared at me, before extending his hand. And he hugged me so, so tightly.] "MC......."

[In that single word all the raw emotion of ten years can be heard. It was an indescribable sound--one that spoke of an unimaginable, impossible love. This person loves me so very dearly.]

The event ends with them biting each other as proof of their bond, essentially a vow to stay together moving forward. It felt very much like the shared act of biting was a promise of love, how vampires might get married or commit to each other romantically. The summary essentially ends here.

Here’s where the semi-meta comes in, because I literally just can’t stop thinking about the implications of this event.

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

I just...I just don’t even know where to begin with how hard this line hits. Comte’s MS conveys this sentiment powerfully too, but there’s just something about them choosing to emphasize it yet again. The reason Comte falls in love every time has to do with his MC’s strength, her ability to surmount remarkable obstacles with so much poise. She’s deeply in tune with her reality, but no less relentlessly positive. She won’t burden others with her problems, and she’ll do everything in her power to move forward in constructive ways.

Even when every day was a living hell. Both Comte and Leonardo perceive eternity to be something of a curse; an endless sentence. Whether it means suffering boredom, reliving tragedy, or going nigh numb from the loneliness--being an immortal creature isn’t always sunshine and rainbows.

And that’s exactly why I think he fell in love with this MC? I don’t think his feelings would have run half as deep if it was just anyone. He doesn’t strike me as the type to get attached easily. Because if he’s going to have a life partner, he needs someone who's going to be able to roll with whatever life throws their way for conceivable lifetimes. Somebody that loses heart quickly or is easily prone to delusion would suffer eternally, and the last thing he wants is to subject a person to that. MC gives him hope certainly, but she’s also emblematic of a kind of fortitude he both needs on a personal level and she would need to be beside him. It’s interesting because it’s a responsible choice on his part, but also just very befitting of his nature. He’s somebody that staunchly believes in the ability of good to prevail, but he’s also realistic about it. He knows doing the right thing isn’t necessarily easy; he does it because he could never live with himself if he did otherwise.

(Think about Comte’s approach with Jeanne. It meant years of being on the receiving end of hatred he didn’t deserve, but he didn’t mind if it meant Jeanne could find a way to heal. It’s not the most practical or immediate solution, but it is the most restorative option. Comte doesn’t care that he spends years living alongside Jeanne’s outspoken displeasure and even violent outbursts. Why? Because it’s all a means to a greater, better end. If he has to suffer a little discomfort, he’s willing to make that sacrifice. That’s the thing with Comte; intentionality is everything. Comte’s intention is to help. Whether that’s a short or long process, a smooth or rough process, he’s going to do what he can within his means.)

That dynamic is reflected in his respect for this MC who is filled with fury on behalf of all the life that she lost unfairly, her relentless pursuit for the truth of what happened to her. Notice, she’s more interested in truth than retaliation. She refuses to lay an intentionally violent hand on Comte until she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was worthy of being on the receiving end of that retribution. Who does that sound like? If you guessed Comte himself, then you see where I’m going with this. What MC and Comte have in common is that they have a sharp emotional fortitude that they keep under tight, rational control. They will react with sizable passion or hurt or warmth--but their externalized reaction will vary depending on the situation. If it’s a minor annoyance, they have the patience to diffuse and try to alleviate the problem. If it’s on a larger scale or it’s an egregious violation of their personhood, then they up the ante accordingly.

Think about it. MC appears on Comte’s doorstep full of righteous rage and even when he confirms what he’s “done,” she hesitates. Her emotional intelligence is telling her something isn’t aligning properly; something isn’t quite right. She forgoes immediate revenge for proper answers instead. MC and Comte have this kind of balance, where they are more than happy to hear people out--but there is a limit to that propensity. Push them too far? They’ll bust your head. I guess I’m particularly interested in the way Comte seems to yearn for that kind of identification with a partner. Somebody who has similar values: not merciless, but also won’t bend when a situation requires confrontation.

All that being said, there was one more aspect of the story that I was endlessly interested in. I’m going to link the post here, in that it’s tangentially related to this meta; it really made me better able to articulate what I mean to say.

“Never let generosity hold hostages; courtesy is an essential tool, but a cruel master.”

I’m gonna let that sink in for a moment.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, because it’s very rare that I read something once and I’m forced to read it several more times before I begin to understand it. My interpretation of that line is to say that benevolence can showcase your good will to others; it can be a reliable proof of good character, and a way to help someone. But the problem comes when people do conventionally/perceived generous things with the explicit intent of repayment by some measure. While it is only responsible to care for others as they care for you, you shouldn’t make impossible sacrifices with the expectation that the other person is indebted to you--especially if the other party had no ability to consent to that sacrifice.

How does this apply to Comte in this event story? Er, in almost every way humanly (vampirely?) possible, in my view. Comte turns MC into a vampire after seeing her plight, largely because he gets the impression that she was fighting for her life--had impossibly survived against all odds. The situation is complicated though. MC wasn’t fully conscious when it happened, so she doesn’t have a proper understanding of how everything went down. So what does Comte do? If he can’t bear to face her or reveal the truth of how horribly she died, he at least gives her every means to survive and makes sure she’s doing okay since she’s technically an orphan now. He doesn’t interfere with her life, or demand recognition for the life he gave her. He fully understands that she wasn’t able to properly consent to his decision in that split second moment, and even if she had he doesn’t see it as a debt she owes him now. He was able to help save her life for at least a little while longer, and so he did. It was as simple as that. He had the ability, she had the need. That’s the end.

But Comte’s emotional acuity doesn’t just end here. Even when she comes after him to kill him, he doesn’t respond with anger because he knows full well he hasn’t explained. Sure he’s sacrificing their relationship (the ability to get along on half-decent terms) but if it means she can find a reason to live, then so be it. He doesn’t lord that sacrifice over her head by any extension; he’s just sad about it because he thinks she’s a wonderful person, and he doesn’t want to be estranged from her. But in his view, her needs supercede his wants.

He doesn’t force her to do chores around the house during her stay, she does it to keep herself busy and search for the truth about his intentions. He even asks her to take breaks and look after herself first, more concerned with her well-being than the state of the mansion. At the ball, he doesn’t force her to linger around him or dance with him despite inviting her there and giving her the dress/jewelry to attend. He leaves her alone as she wishes, only glancing at her to make sure she’s doing okay. When he takes the hit from the violent stranger--a knife straight to the back--he jokes about being s t r o n k, never once blaming her for the wound he sustains no matter how brief.

He explains that he didn’t tell her the truth because it was incredibly traumatic, and it’s only in the safety of the moment--after years of having conceived of her own selfhood beyond the event--that she’s able to take the weight of what happened without falling apart. The premium end just keeps hammering this shit home. He openly tells her she doesn’t have to dance with him at all, that she doesn’t owe him anything just because he likes her. He’s aware it’s unrequited (he thinks) and he doesn’t go on and on about all the sacrifices he made for her with the expectation she’ll reciprocate. He just did what he wanted to do, nothing more. If she feels the same way by some miracle, that’s amazing! If she doesn’t, as it would be valid if not, that’s fair too; no hard feelings.

She has to be the one to invite him to dance and insist. She’s the one that smiles fondly when he’s telling her that she can choose whatever outcome she pleases, even if it means wanting to live as far as possible from him. There is no guilt trip, no expectation, and no pressure. She has the freedom to leave or stay. It is entirely dependent on her own will. For the first time in a lifetime of loss, her agency is restored to her. That’s huge.

She even admits that she feels bad about being so angry when he really was just trying to help, now that she can understand what he’s doing. And he’s openly shocked to hear it. He had no intention of expecting or asking for an apology. He understands it was his own imposition, both biting her and obscuring the truth, that led to her setting her mind on vengeance.

I’ve probably hit it home harder than necessary, but Comte just feels like the epitome of good will in the best way possible. One can argue he’s a little selfish for keeping the truth from her for so long, but honestly? Given the horrific trauma of her situation--and his personal fear of making her miserable for an eternity when all he wanted was to give her a second chance away from all that hurt--I feel like his reaction was closer to considerate and reasonable. Comte doesn’t sacrifice anything he isn’t unwilling to give, or anything that would cripple him to give. Furthermore, he doesn’t make love out to be a kind of 1:1. He recognizes that while he might know her well, she doesn’t know squat about him. And, as such, he doesn’t expect her to trust his intentions or reciprocate his feelings in any capacity. It’s just a delightful surprise when she does. When he tells her that he loves her that first time, it’s an explanation. Not a guilt trip. He knows she won’t be satisfied years of protecting her simply because “he wanted to” and he promised her the truth, so he tells her. Not only that, in the aftermath he repeatedly reminds her she isn’t bound to him. She commits to him before he relies on any kind of active bond between both of them.

I don’t know, maybe I think too hard about it, but I feel like the older I get the more I see a shortage of this kind of fine-tuned caring about the other person in a relationship. I guess I just enjoy seeing a man give a woman her health and agency without treating her wellness/happiness like it’s a burden to his life? First and foremost Comte really is concerned with her self-actualization before his feelings can have any place in their relationship. And even when he does confess his love, it isn’t a way to force her to feel indebted to him; it’s an attempt to erase any false pretenses. MC loves him, not because she has nowhere else to go, but because he’s proven himself time and again a worthy companion. Always putting her first, always worried about her feelings, paying such close attention that he sees her to the core of who she is despite her iron front--kind, beneath all that hurt. They spend so much of this event really listening to each other despite such difficult circumstances, and it leads to a deep and abiding love against all odds. And I find that incredibly moving...

Oh and, before I forget? Let me circle back for a moment:

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

The best part about this event is that--while Comte says this about MC--this is also precisely the reason MC falls in love with Comte too, even if it’s never stated outright. Because despite how lonely and tired he may be of eternity, no matter how many troubles he’s facing himself, he never stops trying to help and support others (namely MC) in any way he can.

Drops mic

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp jpn spoilers #ikevamp meta #ikevamp au event #comte propaganda #fangdad propaganda #i love him so very dearly #this event just made the feelings come rushing back #can't have five minutes without comte giving me heart palpitations huh #i feel so personally attacked #anywho i hope yall enjoy this wild ride as much as i did #minnie finna peace out and sleep for 70 hrs #**dives into bed beside comte**#rambles #not incorrect quotes

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pseudofaux · 3 years

Text

even an injured hand grasps at grace

A lonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng time ago I did a follower celebration with short fictions and promised a longer story to the winner. That (incredibly patient) winner was @fieryanmitsu, who asked for a story set after Mitsuhide’s Act II. Holidays, family stuff, a global pandemic, more family stuff, a crisis of creative drive, MORE holidays and MORE time later... Here, at last, it is. Anmitsu, thank you so much for participating in that follower celebration, for being so kind about the mortifying amount of time this has taken, and for being a fellow Cat Daddy fangirl. I am very, very grateful for your grace! M, 6000 words, SLBP Mitsuhide. CWs: obvious but unnamed depression, brief discussion of death by weapons. (But mostly it is happy-thinky-poetic wife worship and baby fever.)

Sometimes when she is exhausted she speaks in this silly way. His love for her makes him warm to his toes. Adorable, his wife is adorable. He will never again allow any other duty to shove her out of the place she deserves in the center of his heart.

He will never hold a sword again. The discovery that there is still any strength in the arm once so mighty, enough that he can use it to work: a cause for gratitude and relief. A gift. He can attend to the responsibilities of his new life. He has a new life. Master Tenkai knows better than most men what death looks like when it bears down in a flash of metal. Sword death is the smooth silver of steel, spear death is the sluggish brown of mud that will cradle a dying man, and death by bullet is the black of blood that comes out so thick it is purple before it is red. Weapon deaths are cold, as though to compensate for the heat of their forging. There is a depth of balance in this that he cannot yet name, a mystery of the heavens like the others he spends so much time thinking about and helping the mountain villagers understand.

This new life is mostly keeping up their modest home (half residence, half tiny temple), and sharing knowledge with the villagers and their children. Of course he still thinks of Sakamoto when he sees the children growing... but his entire life he has been too much in his own head, and since they came to the mountain he has gotten better at leaving memories alone. He does not forget, and he hopes this makes him a decent man. Like any decent monk, he allows the thoughts of Sakamoto their due, which is to rest and flow over him as water flows over every side of a fish. It is right that it surrounds him. He could not and cannot do anything for Sakamoto, or address the irreparable harm he caused. He can consider it, meditate on it, and live with what he has done. And he will. Because he can live.

Swordwork’s precision and steadiness are forever gone from him, he believes. But he still has his arm and still has his life, even after he made peace with losing much more before Hideyoshi’s sword came down. He can pet the cats that congregate around the little temple, and he can twirl bits of string and stalks of grass for them. He can still write, his characters more calligraphic than they were before. He has to work hard to make clear strokes when he teaches the village children, and he feels that is a just requirement. When the house needs repairs, he can make them, and he can draw air into his lungs and live with his failures and successes both, or at least live with his failures and the grace he has been given. He has the brush, and he has the strong walking stick that his wife has helped him cut to the right height. The staff is smooth in his hand after only a few months’ use, a little extra oil applied when they have it. He wonders if he is allowed this easy comfort, but will not allow a walking stick to be a thing that trips his thoughts. His watchword now is moderation, not abnegation. If a fallen tree limb comes to him he will be grateful, and if the wood breaks he will let it go. He is willing, now, to let so much go.

There is only one exception, and she sleeps easy these days, when the cold of night on the mountain curls them together as though they are rabbits in a burrow. They wake slowly to this dream life. The part of him that is a decent monk cannot help but wonder how different their lives might be if it had been this for them all along. He did not want to rule; he had only ever wanted to spare others the hardships of ruling, and allow all good people the comfort of safety, from most divine ruler to most helpless child. These thoughts are in his head. Here in their tiny room in the building that is their home and the village’s temple, she is in his arms. In his heart and his bones, he knows that fact is grander than any man’s attempt at divinity.

He never has to force smiles at the children who come to the temple to learn. They are rowdy, eager, and completely charming. He is comfortably grinning at a group of them when he catches sight of her at the bend in the path that leads to their home. She is smiling, too, and there are tall leafy greens sticking out of the pack behind her shoulders that remind him of the folded wings of a fine hawk, the kind favored by samurai and nature alike. What would they do, if not for her hawklike competence and gentle ferocity?

Likely starve, he tells himself, on both melancholy days and happy ones. It is only the truth. He has learned a few things, but cannot match her, and while he is always available to the villagers, he stays near the temple unless he is asked for in the town. She does their shopping, she is their face. No one of quality can resist being won over by the warmth of her smile.

The children are thrilled to see her, and it reminds him of a dream he has had several times now, something he has kept to himself because it is so precious and he still does not want to ask anything of her. He is not sure if the slips of dream come from the peace of their life or the torment they left behind them, whether the dream is reward or recompense. But the cheers of the children take hold of his heart and make a tapestry of the scraps of his happiest dreams, weaving them tightly with what he is truly seeing. His thoughts nearly take him to his knees-- or perhaps that is an insistent little person, tugging at the edge of his sleeve.

“Master Tenkai!” chirps the village child. “Hana is home, so it is time for our lesson!”

They teach the children together in the afternoon’s warm, clean light, and only send them home when it is time for her to prepare their evening meal and him to complete the evening sweeping of the temple floor. Later that night, she seems relaxed and sleepy next to him, full of food, full of love. She asks, “Do you remember when I asked you to bring me a stone, so I could make you pickles?”

That is a pleasant memory from their life before, a luminescent pearl floating through silt that suffocated so much happiness. But the memory itself is light. So his smile is easy and does not feel like punishment, and he nods and strokes the space between her shoulders.

“On this mountain I have all the stones I need,” she declares, pressing her cheek to his chest. The smoothness of her face is finer to him than any pearl, a marvel of sensation that settles him, instantly and completely. “And I will make you pickles every week, if you want them,” she adds.

“Only whenever you are inclined,” he says, drumming his fingertips to tickle her.

Her giggle is sleepy. “There’s not time to make them every day,” she quips, snuggling closer and sliding an ankle between his calves. He has only the one dream that is sweeter than his actual life, and he is keeping it close to his chest for now. But he will not keep anything closer to his chest than she is. They squeeze one another, and he expects they do not fully relax their arms until they fall asleep.

A winter has passed, and a spring. This is their first summer on the mountain, so they are learning the cycle of invigorating mornings, sweltering afternoons, and unpredictable nights. They have already learned from kind villagers how to best coax food from the pebbly soil of their garden, and their efforts in the summer are devoted to this every day until the air grows too hot and they retreat to the shade of the temple to fan themselves with their hands and drink water that (they hope) has managed to hold some of the chill of the night before.

Every morning he braids her hair, and in these summer days a few strands always escape and stick to the back of her neck, temptations that coax him to bare her shoulders and murmur along the skin he worships. She often swats him away, because even after tending the garden there is plenty of work to do. But sometimes she does not swat him away at all, and some days she draws closer with a magnificent, confident need. He cannot determine if it is need for him or need to show him something, but each time, their bodies become hotter still, sweat running like streams and stinging their eyes even as it makes moving together easier.

There is a day at midsummer when they cannot help themselves, resting on the step to their home. They are covered from the relentless sun by the good new roof of the temple. He is vulnerable to melancholy in the heavy air that precedes a storm. She knows this. By the time the thunder and rain seem to be on every side of them, heaven’s own veil around the little holy place where they live, their hands are in each other’s hair, she is straddling him, and he is kissing her so deeply he can taste their midmorning snack. The last time she went to town she came back with karashi seeds, and their food this week has been bright in their mouths, cleansing and flavorful. He is hungry for it.

“Mitsuhide,” she pants quietly. The rain around them is so dense no one would hear her, but that name is never spoken above the softest whisper. Her other sounds are louder, even louder than the roar of the rain, and he loosens his hold on himself to match her. He groans as he tilts his hips up toward hers, everything that he is straining for her. They are so warm that even though the air is cooling around them, the rain may as well be steam. One of her hands slides from his hair to his neck and then down his chest, between their bodies, until she palms his insistence and he gasps for her until she squeezes. They moan together, unbearably hot in the sweet agony before they join.

“Now? Here?” he asks. They’re alone, but he craves her comfort as much as her indulgence. There is always a point where he stops asking, but before that he needs permission. She gives it in a nod and shuffles off his lap onto the floor, still stroking him through his clothing. Her clothes are already loose from their embrace, and she puts her other hand inside her collar and tugs down until she is cupping her breast. His blood in his ears is louder than rain or crashing waves or the war chorus of a hundred desperate men. He lunges at her, one hand in her hair and another at the back of her neck to soften her landing. When he is over her, he snarls at her temple before kissing the space with the beastliness that is revealed by these stormy days. It is a wet kiss, and because his tongue cannot taste enough of her he ends up licking from her cheek to her hairline. He savors her, salt and spice and earth and somehow his, as he pushes into her hand. She does not let go of him. He never wants to let go of her.

His hand slips from her neck into the heaven of her opened collar, and his thumb finds her nipple between her fingers. She lets go, gives herself to him, and he pants adoration into her ear as he rolls the peak, beautifully strong, until she moans. He knows this is right, that nothing else in the world is anything next to the truth of how right it feels to cage her in, make her tremble, and soothe her, serve her.

So he doesn’t hold back. He tells her she is the most wonderful, beautiful, desirable, beloved. His mind makes poetry for her and he licks the words onto skin he pinches delicately between his teeth. You are rainfall to a dying man, you are here, you feel better than breezes, you are mine. After all he has done, he remains a man, and a man is an animal, as any man who has gone to war can say with certainty.

The thin clothes he wears for gardening are sticking to his body, and he swears he can feel the drag of each thread against his skin as he moves with her, friction enough to spark a fire through their sweat. Her hand on him is maddening kindling.

“You are flames,” he declares as he ruts down into her hand. “You are burning me.” A man is an animal, a gasping creature not sophisticated enough to express all she makes him feel.

She slows her hand and hums, pleased by they way he gives himself over. That is the way they play. “It is too wet for flames,” she murmurs, as though she is consoling him instead of throwing tinder on the fire she has made. “Drown in me instead of burning, my love.”

The affection in her words soothes his amorous madness and spreads the familiar, comfortable warmth to all the tips of his body as the power shifts between them again. He loves her so much. Could any man convey so much feeling? To be an animal is not bad, but it is base, and she is made of heaven and still chooses to be with him. He smiles at her in wonder of all her beauty and bravery. He will focus on giving her anything that he can.

“Gladly,” he whispers, smiling wider. He takes her wrist and pulls her away from her work. When she complies and settles her hand against the floor by her head, he unties the rope of faded jute braids that hold her kosode closed at her hips. She is worthy of finery but dressed in these threadbare rags with him instead, and still her eyes say she has what she desires. As he drops the thick cord beside their bodies, he thinks he will try to find her a pretty bead, or even a nice smooth stone from the stream, something to adorn her middle and give her pleasure when she sees it. She gives him so much pleasure.

Their clothes as temple keepers are very humble, but they are much easier to remove than their daily wear of only a year ago. Sacrilegious but sincere, he mutters his gratitude at the simplicity of baring her body to his eyes. Her slopes are gorgeous, winding like the gentlest river against the air. She reminds him of a war map he saw years ago, illustrated with hills and pools so lovely he mourned as war was planned against the unarmed ground.

He shakes away that memory to construct another of the way she looks right now, sensual and receptive, womanly in the way she came to be when they started their lives here. Back in control of herself, of both of them, she parts her lips and breathes his new name. He undoes the scrap of old kimono that serves for his sash, and peels away his own sweaty robe. When he comes back down to her, she has freed her arms from her sleeves and their hands find each other, fingers dancing warm and worn as they wrap together.

Now it is still raining, but the roar of it has quieted to a loving hiss. The light is gray and blue, so she looks like nighttime. She pulls him to her with the power of dusk closing flowers, and their kiss is moon-soft, full of promise instead of frenzy. Her lip is a marvel between his and he loves pressing it with his own lips and teeth and sucking gently to make it swell. He wants to touch it with his thumb while he’s inside her and then kiss her again, maybe kiss her while he touches her with his thumb.

The chill at his back cannot last when there is so much heat between them, no matter what she says of drowning instead of burning. A man can drown in the bubbles of a hot spring as well as he can in winter’s water. He sucks in a breath and breathes it out into her mouth, and when she does the same with more force he shudders. His hands slide to her hips, where her curves fit into his palms as though he were a farmer and she were a ripe stalk of rice. She is at least as crucial and nourishing.

He is so hard he doesn’t need to take himself in hand. The head of his cock slides (with a sureness he would never claim aloud) between her folds, against the spot that makes her thighs flex. The movement is easy, a slip if not for his control. They are always so eager for one another.

“How?” he asks, and kisses the chin she is offering as her head is thrown back. “Here? This? Just outside the reach of the rain?” A demon is in him, to tease her like this, but the demon wants her pleasure as surely as he does because this is what she wants, for everything to be drawn out until their tension snaps. “Do you want the air on all your skin?” he continues. “I will give you anything. Just tell me.”

She hums the thoughtful sound that means she’s thought of some way to drive him insane. Thunder cracks with an ominous sharpness in the distance, and when she tilts her head and looks at him there is lightning and mischief in her eyes. He squeezes her but still she wriggles out from beneath him... and she goes to one of the beams that holds up the roof, safe from the rain thanks to the overhang. She moves her feet back and bends at her waist and he can do nothing but feel blessed and aroused, so aroused he is stupid. The warmth she put in him turns to tingles, like she has displaced the lightning from her gaze and made his skin the sky and his bones the bare, vulnerable earth. Within himself he feels a frighteningly intense buzzing.

“This first,” she declares. “Just watch for now, darling. Stay where you are.” Her thighs and calves are so defined from the ways she has to toil in this new life that he feels a shadow of guilt for enjoying the sight of her so much. It vanishes when he sees her fingertips between her legs, right at his eye level. She is pulling his mind apart, but her method for that is giving him this gift, and in this life he takes what he is given.

“Yes,” he rasps, and swallows before the dryness in his though makes him cough. “Yes, of course.”

The movement of her arm slides her loosened braid along a shoulder like a brushstroke. Her touches are sure-- she told him months ago that she learned to do this when he made her sleep alone for nights on end. He curses his foolishness even as he is grateful for it. She is always turning the most miserable ingredients into feasts, his wife.

Her sure fingers make circles and dip into her folds to smear her arousal. She likes it a little messy sometimes, another thing she has revealed in the safety of their seclusion. He loves what she loves, and he wants to put his mouth on her, put his cock in her, so badly that he fears his voice will scar his throat in a mad escape if he has to stay apart from her much longer. But he will die of idiocy alone if he interrupts. So he watches, the cool air of isolation doing nothing to keep his belly from tightening when she coos. Her hips begin to drop forward to meet her hand and he bites the flesh of his palm to stave off insanity as long as he may. She is a cat, he realizes, playing with all his many frayed ends. When she glances back, whatever she sees on his face-- he must be flushed, he feels terribly hot-- makes her laugh, dark and sweet. She keeps going and keeps her eyes on him. There is that gentle command so uniquely her in the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like he is blooming frantically, too fast, a blossom pummeled by rain and completely out of control... and she keeps looking, keeps smiling, draws the moment into moments until he thinks he might sob.

And then she curls her fingers against herself to beckon him and says “Come here.” The way her voice puts the words somewhere between request and demand is flattering, but he has no time to be flattered. Rain-cooled air yields against his arms and legs as he rushes to her. Immediately, he is there behind her legs, positioning himself, and the heat of her backside would burn him were he not already so ruined. Against her at last, he can appreciate the way the weak light on her sweat-slicked back is more beautiful than the finest inkwash, the ways she smells competent and domestic and alluring, like the precious sweet scent of soil that hides between mountain pebbles. She is all these things, and she is so calm as his mind whirls in its delirium of adoration and arousal.

He doesn’t mean to tremble, but his hold on himself has been too tight, and the spaces where his teeth dug into his hand throb. Like the mongrel pet to a noble lady, he has little other purpose but to love her. He sees that she can sense it. There is a grace to her certainty when he grits his teeth, even though she is wound so tightly that when the head of his cock finally presses inside her, he must push. Slick, soft, smooth, she feels, somehow, despite the pressure. As he pushes fully inside, their groans are wanton to the point of inhumanity, more like the sound of creatures in the night than of a man and his wife. His wife, his wife. He pulls back and groans again at the way her body fights to keep him. He swipes the braid off her back and kisses her shoulder, pushing back in slowly as her soft, strong body welcomes him.

“More,” she cries, her first sound of vulnerability, and he is eager to take care of her. He knows to move steady and powerfully but keep it slow at first. She comes better around him, but needs to be allowed to focus, so he is quiet as he focuses on her and the way the muscles of his back stretch and roll to please her. He is still a fit man, and he hopes his body thrills her as hers thrills him.

She makes a needy noise between her teeth and moves faster, shaking just a little. She hisses “keep going,” and of course he does. The tension he felt a moment ago is so unimportant now he is not sure if it was real. In the time when things shift between them he no longer needs permission, and he feels the magic calm settling over him-- it is his turn. All he needs to do is what she needs from him, it’s so simple. And he would do anything she asked, for the chance to be so near her when she finds bliss. It is already rising up his legs, like a snake squeezing and sliding, like ripples... and her sighs are like waves. Maybe she is too wet to be flames because she is water itself. The way into her is blissful enough, a slick heavy pressure around him where she is swollen from all their kisses and touching. The challenge of it makes him grin with a ferality he usually keeps well out of sight, and he presses on, pulls back, kisses her shoulder again and calls her his beloved. His voice doesn’t shake.

Hers does. “Again,” she pleads, grasping back for his hand. “I want it again.” She guides his fingers in circles until he knows where she is and what she needs, and then she lets him give it to her. Trust is such a sacred thing.

When he touches her she laughs, and he laughs too, and fucks her with a great deal of joy. They find their pattern: her hips push back to meet his thrusts, so when he presses in, deeply, they fit as cleanly as a carpenter’s masterwork. The storm has truly cooled the air but all it does is chill the fresh sweat on their skin as they move. It invigorates him, makes his spirit shout with a freedom he cannot contemplate at the time. His wife is using the beam that holds up their roof to push back against him, allowing the tender space between her breasts to be abraded by the wood. There is room for nothing but happiness here, nothing to do but honor her sacrifice and make her feel more pleasure.

“Yes,” she rewards him with her voice for a particular thrust, dragging out the sound at a pitch that registers inside him while he is inside her. So he moves himself even faster to try and repeat it, then relishes the sweetness of her soft whine. It makes him feel like he is surprising her with his love for once, instead of the constant way she graces him with her own.

He leans over her a little more. “I want nothing as much as I want your happiness,” he tells her, the croon of his voice broken by the intense way their bodies are connecting. Her hand comes back over his, keeping him in place. Magnificent. “Go on,” he tells her. “Again, love. Just like you want. Just like I want. Again.”

She shudders and stops moving her hips (she clings adorably to the support beam, her arm as tense as her hand on his). He keeps going, because he knows that is what she expects. At the end, what she needs is to be filled, to be given something to clench around, and he needs to be that for her. He is so driven, from inside and out, to fuck her, that he cannot do anything else until he feels it, not think or breathe, only move into her as though he can shove bliss into her body. So he tries, until he feels the shaking of her legs as perfection alights, and then he takes one great breath before it hits them both as she squeezes tighter still. They gasp together again as her clenching and soft sounds pull his warmth to fill her. Abundantly. Deeply. The air comes out of his lungs onto her shoulders, then touches his cheeks with the softness of a cloud.

She is breathing heavily, and slowly she puts her weight against the wood and becomes still. There’s a gentle press against his hand before she drops her arm. He’s tempted to catch it and kiss her knuckles, but he does not want to move from being curled around her back. He does move his hand away and puts the arm around her belly instead, holding her that much closer. She feels exactly as warm and soft as a cat who has fallen asleep in the sun.

There is a slick, sticky feeling all around his cock, but there’s nothing unpleasant about it-- something in him actually relishes it, loves the thought of mixing, loves the thought of there being too much, it makes him want to take her to the floor and have her again-- and she does not ask him to move, so he stays until he softens. “Darling,” he whispers then. “I’m going to get us a cloth.” He has desires, but he has mastered himself.

But she mumbles “No. Hold me.”

So when he pulls out as not to slip from her, he simply sits down and pulls her with him, right down into his messy lap. There’s not a breath between the time they land and her turning so she can snuggle his chest. He strokes her hair and kisses her cheeks and nose and tells her what a marvel she is. She is all pliant affection, touching his arms, kissing his jaw, raising a love welt on his shoulder... reaching to stroke him gently, experimentally, just like she did when they were on the steps.

He has mastered himself, but not as well or fully as she has.

He pulls over their clothes and lays her out on top of them on the temple floor so he can join their bodies yet again, unhurried. They have the time for slow lovemaking in this life, and the grace. Her knees frame him as he moves and he cannot help but kiss one and then the other, reveling in her laughter (when he tickles her ribs, she tightens deliciously around him) as much as in her love. They lay together for a long time after that, cool and lazy in the quiet. When the rain is replaced by the first note of tentative birdsong, they know they should move in case someone comes to the temple. Despite the afternoon, they are a cautious couple by nature.

He attempts to clean her with their clothes, and carries her to their room to rest more comfortably. Her hair clings to the idea of a braid, but much of it is loose and floats about his arms in the sodden air. There is a satisfied tilt to her mouth when he helps her sit, and as he moves behind her the last he sees of her face is her smile curving deeper. He settles his robe over her shoulders and combs his fingers through her hair to ward off tangles. When he is finished, he replaits her hair and kisses the ribbon, then her mouth. She shakes her head, hiding her mouth and making him chase it. His rewards are sleepy giggles, enchantingly low, every time he catches her.

Several kisses later, he redresses and leaves for the kitchen to make them a simple meal. He delights in feeding her by hand as soon as he returns, because their closeness makes him feel whole and doting on her feels right. They stay near as they bathe, and then they go back to bed. It is early, but they will need to start early tomorrow to make up for the time they spent not working this afternoon. They have earned their sleep. He wonders if he will have the dream again.

Tucked into their bedding, she is in his arms, not yet dreaming herself. “Darling,” he says quietly into her hair, and murmurs love until she turns to kiss him sweetly and tells him to go to sleep.

He does have the dream. It is the most wonderful dream yet.

“Chichi-ue!” The voice is high and happy. It is coming from behind him, so he must turn away from the sight of his wife with a baby at her breast. Before he can see the little one who called him-- called him chichi-ue, his child-- the dream shifts and his wife is with an older child, tasting broth and listening patiently as the child recites ingredients. Then his wife is with two children, each holding one of her hands as they turn on the bend of the path to their home, and the smallest lets go of her to run to him. Their faces are all obscured by a sudden cloud of mountain dandelion seeds borne on the wind... all he can see are healthy little legs and feet in clean sandals, slapping against the ground as fast as they possibly can. The movement becomes a child’s hand with a brush, marvelously steady and precise. The same hand around a cluster of flower stems. Scraped knees and palms and little puffs of breath between shrieks and giggles as tears are soothed away. Two voices laughing over the plunking sound of skipped river stones ending their flights, and he recognizes the stream where they stand. The face and voice of the herbalist in the village, kindly telling them to be patient and then whispering something they might try. Four simple bowls, mismatched but meant to be together, set around a table. He can see this scene over his own shoulder, hears those same two voices dutifully expressing gratitude for their meal. The sounds change as his dream gives him the voices at different pitches through time, thankful for their rice, fish, vegetables; the bowls stay on the table, the food in them changing in dizzying whirls of color until he wakes.

“Good morning,” says his wife, in the voice she can only use for the first words of the day. Quiet and deep as a hidden pool. “I love you.”

He reaches to stroke her cheek, and tells her about the dream at last. She tells him her dreams, too.

Exhausted but awake, awed and unsure, he holds his son for the first time in the crook of his better arm. All of him shakes, because he is weeping at the perfect newness of this child. The baby, so unhappy with the village woman who came to help with the birth, settles into his father like poetry, and closes sweet dark eyes, and yawns flawlessly. They way the baby’s tongue trembles reminds him of a stretching cat. Master Tenkai of the mountain cannot look away. There is so much to see, and there is something about gazing at this tiny face, shifting magically from pinched to peaceful, that shows him the virtue of disregarding time completely. He should know it for what it is: another effort by man to control what he cannot. Everything that marks time in a human way can be broken. The sun rises no matter what people do in the night.

One of the temple cats senses a fellow creature and leans up to sniff at the baby. The baby’s father is happy to share the sight. The cat noses at the baby’s plumpness and then slinks off, but Tenkai stays where he sits, holding his son beside the bedding where the baby’s mother is gazing at them both with a tired, happy expression on her beautiful face. Her hair has all come loose from its ribbon. The woman from the village said it was an easy birth, but it certainly took its time. At the end, they have their perfect son, and she is alright. Everything is alright. The greatest challenge facing them at the moment is that he will have to learn to braid one-handed. He chuckles to himself and the baby blinks, then settles.

He will never hold a sword again. Whatever time may be, it feels like he made his peace with a more important truth a very long time ago, perhaps in another life entirely, and had only to relearn it. To hold his woman, and child, and the other he believes will join then... that is more than enough for the warrior who was once Mitsuhide, who became Master Tenkai of the mountain. All else may come and go. He will treat everything with respect, and allow all that is temporary to leave his hand like water. His family, permanent and indescribably precious, is the only thing that he will never, ever give up.

#slbp mitsuhide #slbp fanfic #slbp fanfiction #samurai love ballad party #fieryanmitsu

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