#this is quite a long one and i think i got a little muddy with what my thesis even was lmao

[lesbian-kyoru]

on suo and taichi

the period of time that suo and taichi spend playing karuta together, as well as spending a lot of their non-karuta time together, is genuinely fascinating to me. while i love so many of the relationships and dynamics in chihayafuru, suo and taichi’s is without a doubt my favorite in the series. 

they come from very different backgrounds (with regards to class, location, family, how they’re perceived socially, etc.). they are almost diametrically opposed within the karuta world, too—suo is a five-time meijin, a genius to whom karuta came naturally, whereas taichi continually struggles with being unable to catch up with chihaya, arata, and the other players around him. even with these differences, it’s the striking amount of qualities that they share, both positive and negative, that allow them to form one of the most unlikely yet deep connections in the story. 

while suo initially comes into taichi’s life in a sort of mentor/teacher role, imo calling their dynamic strictly a mentorship would be reductive. setting aside their in-text denial and/or acceptance of the nature of their relationship (truthfully, i don’t think either of them fully knows what to call it LMAO), their relationship actually subverts the typical mentor/disciple dynamic. their innate similarities, as well as their ability to see through each other’s pretenses, allow them to reach an equal ground that you wouldn’t expect. taichi is able to reciprocate the way that suo invested in him, making just as much of an impact on suo and helping him accept himself in turn.

what gets me the most about their dynamic is that taichi, a person who spends so much time trying to escape himself and disguise his shortcomings, is able to be the most real version of himself around suo. the caveat to this statement is that, yes, taichi has pretty much hit rock bottom when he starts spending time with suo… but that rock bottom version of taichi is a part of the real him, and it’s suo’s understanding and acceptance of that part of him that even allows taichi to start playing karuta again, albeit with a new and arguably disingenuous playstyle. getting rejected by chihaya sent taichi into a self-destructive freefall which starts with quitting the karuta club, torpedoing his friendship with chihaya, and throwing himself into his studies. he is absolutely Doing Bad, and he has deeper reasons for believing that he hates karuta, but i’ll get to that in a second.

while most of the emphasis initially is placed on suo becoming taichi’s new light house, suo is also not at a good place in life. he’s very aware of his retinal disease (it’s the reason he hasn’t visited his family in eight years), and he’s fallen into a very nihilistic mindset. while that mindset of letting everything go and not caring is what allows him to demolish his opponents in karuta, it’s something that he’s allowed to seep into his personal life as well. he’s terrified of not making anything meaningful of his life, about not being able to become an outstanding person or someone to be admired; his solution is to project an attitude of total apathy. if he pretends that his goals and pursuits don’t really matter, he won’t have to think about what it would mean to lose them. with his worsening eyesight and losing the ability to play karuta looming on the horizon, he avoids the future at every turn. 

textually he’s in his eighth year of college because of a german class that he can’t pass, but i’d argue that his avoidance of graduating is also by choice. college is comfortable, routine, and allows suo to stall his future in a tangible way. he also plans to retire after his fifth meijin win because he “doesn’t like karuta,” and he would’ve if arata hadn’t begged him not to. because again, it’s easier for him to not care—and there’s no better way to demonstrate not caring than to preemptively quit. his inclination was to quit while he was ahead (and before his eyesight got any worse), rather than confront the pain of potentially losing his title that he actually did value.

this is broadly speaking the set-up we’ve been given for suo and taichi before their paths cross in a meaningful way. it’s not difficult to notice that there are a ton of parallels between them, but the first one that’s acknowledged by the characters themselves is that suo and taichi both “hate karuta.” it occurs in chapter 141, when taichi follows suo after running into him at dinner. suo tells him that he thought taichi was admirable for pursuing karuta around people who were so passionate about it, even though taichi didn’t share that love. 

this is a very loaded scene to tackle, because neither taichi or suo actually hate karuta. this is explicitly revealed when taichi loses in the challenger match and during the meijin matches for suo, but that doesn’t render this entire scene a falsehood. in fact, taichi’s strong emotional reaction to suo’s words (he cries and then chases after him) conveys that suo was 100% on the mark in understanding taichi’s feelings, despite their limited interactions up to that point.

the key to understanding what taichi “hating karuta” actually means is in the same chapter. he reflects back on harada’s words about spending his entire youth on karuta. this comes after suo’s lecture on words holding power, and taichi decides that harada’s words, which had motivated him for so long, have become a “curse.” in this moment where he’s hit rock bottom, taichi believes that harada’s words trapped him into a futile pursuit of karuta. i wouldn’t go as far as to say that taichi was miserable for the two years he was in the karuta club; those times were absolutely precious to him, even if it’s hard for him to see that in his post-rejection depressive spiral. 

rather, the reason taichi ended up seeing karuta as a “cursed” was because he felt he lacked the passion that everyone else, particularly chihaya and arata, innately had for karuta. he didn’t actually lack this passion, or else literally most of his actions in the story wouldn’t have happened. but imo taichi, who is normally incredibly self-aware, has a huge blindspot: he prioritizes others’ needs and dreams ahead of his own, which he does realize, but he doesn’t recognize how that causes him to unconsciously strip his own dreams of their value. 

it’s a bit of a cyclical problem: because he doesn’t think his own goals matter, he has to push himself to prioritize them. but because it doesn’t come naturally to prioritize himself, he sells himself short and assumes that he must not want to win as badly as everyone else. especially since his two best friends have been so single-mindedly committed to karuta (and more skilled than him) since they were kids, taichi undermines his own love for karuta and then feels isolated by that self-perception.

this is where suo comes in and helps taichi make a breakthrough with some well-intentioned nihilism. there’s a lot of nuance to suo and taichi’s relationship in general, but particularly in the way that they meet. suo and taichi truly meet when they’re both in a toxic and dark place, and you could argue that they enable each other to both lean into that darkness or toxicity—and hear me out, they do, but it’s in a way that ultimately impacts them both for the better. even though they both experience a lot of joy and mutual understanding in their time spent together, it’s through being at their worst together that they’re able to move forward at all.

as much as suo is regarded as taichi’s mentor and teacher, he is far from a wise sage teaching taichi the ways of the world. for one thing, that is really overselling suo’s grasp on being a functional person—he has just as many toxic coping mechanisms as taichi, if not more. second, that is overselling how much suo taught or influenced taichi. 

coming back to their first substantial conversation in chapter 141, suo doesn’t actually tell taichi anything new. it was all beliefs that taichi already held about himself, but refused to admit about his own self-perception. he already had internalized that he didn’t love karuta like the people around him, he already was predisposed to preferring to give up and not care rather than potentially fail, he already felt different and unable to go on playing karuta the way that he was.

therefore, what actually happens in this scene is that suo immediately clocks these insecurities that taichi prefers to not think about, and he voices them. he sees taichi and the secret he’s tried to hide from his friends—that he doesn’t love karuta like they do—with startling clarity. and then suo accepts that about him. what’s more, he tells taichi that that’s okay, because he’s the same: he also doesn’t like karuta. this accomplishes a few purposes narratively.

at his absolute worst, taichi is seen for exactly who he is, the most real and undisguised version of himself (again, this is complicated by the fact that taichi and suo both loved karuta all along, but in the moment suo is exactly on the mark about how taichi views himself, regardless of what becomes of those beliefs later), and he receives acceptance. taichi spends so much of the story wishing to be someone else, anyone else, because escaping himself—becoming someone else entirely who doesn’t have his flaws—sounds easier than overcoming those obstacles. but as taichi grows, he develops a desire to strive for self-improvement and becoming the best version of himself. in chapter 108 he expresses this: he doesn’t want to be a coward anymore, but he also doesn’t want to run from the person he is. 

thus, the acceptance that taichi receives from suo is a huge step on that winding path towards accepting himself. for someone to immediately see through his carefully constructed facade down to the very core of who he is—not to mention, to be told that suo finds him admirable—is distressing and shocking to taichi. however, it also serves as a breakthrough for him. this isn’t the first time taichi has dropped his pretenses around suo, either—earlier on when he lied about being chihaya’s boyfriend, he felt compelled to come clean about it the next time he saw suo. we get the sense that for whatever reason, taichi feels like he can be an honest version of himself around suo (this is huge for a character like taichi), and that suo admires taichi’s ability to let his guard down around him.

the second purpose this scene on the staircase serves is that, after acknowledging and accepting taichi at his worst, suo tells him that they’re the same. after finding this out, taichi looks up at suo in awe; even though suo also dislikes karuta, he’s “invincible on the tatami.” up to this moment, taichi’s image of a good karuta player was someone who loved it immeasurably. he’s never been presented with a different type of player. what’s more, he’s never considered that someone like him could reach the meijin’s level. that, when all is said and done, is what held taichi back, more than any perceived lack of skill. that’s the reason he’s able to go back to karuta training with suo. their huge gap in skill doesn’t deter taichi; what matters is that they both feel no passion for karuta, and with that commonality, taichi no longer thinks it’s impossible to reach suo’s level.

the period of time where suo and taichi train together is tricky to break down because, even during taichi’s self-proclaimed villain arc which is spurred on by suo’s nihilistic tendencies, taichi experiences a lot of growth and does reach a better place—just not in the way you’d expect. he grows in a nonlinear way, almost getting way worse before he can get better. 

the visual emphasis on darkness and light in suo and taichi’s dynamic extends to the narrative as well. their relationship and how they behave around each seems self-contradictory, paradoxical in nature. through a shared “apathy,” they play karuta together for hours, for days, for weeks at a time. taichi reflects on how he assumed being by suo’s side would feel painful due to his genius, but again, the ways that they’re similar make taichi feel more at home than ever before. even if it’s only with the intention to mess with the other players, it’s in large part due to his practice with suo that taichi is able to become the eastern representative at all. in a twisted way, obfuscated by the pretense that they both don’t care about karuta, suo is the reason taichi is able to fall in love with karuta again (and later, taichi bringing suo’s family to the meijin match is a catalyst for suo to do the same). 

during one of their practice matches in chapter 150, taichi thinks to himself “now that i’ve separated myself from the team, now that i’m alone and on my own, for the first time in my life i’m actually having fun playing karuta.” this line is pretty layered, but ultimately i do think that taichi is being sincere here. the line about leaving the team is evidence of him still working through a lot of his insecurities. obviously, he loved chihaya and the karuta team a lot and is trying to stomp out the pain that situation caused him by pretending he always hated it. 

even so, taichi genuinely enjoys playing suo or else he wouldn’t be there. in fact, at this point in the story taichi has inaccurately internalized that he only pretended to love karuta in order to stay by chihaya’s side. if that was true, nothing would’ve been able to bring him back to karuta after he was rejected and quit the karuta club.

imo, suo also wouldn’t waste his time playing against taichi if he didn’t truly want to. he’s drawn to seek out taichi in part because he also hones in on their similarities. even more, suo has a reputation for making other players hate karuta, leaving him with very few people that want to play against him consistently. since taichi also “hates karuta” like him, losing against suo doesn’t deter taichi; he can’t grow to hate something that he already doesn’t care about. this ends up being incredibly freeing for taichi. 

in fact, earlier in chapter 150, hyoro thinks as he’s playing against chihaya during nationals, “come back, mashima. i’m lonely. being by the talent’s side is so painful”—but that doesn’t appear to be a feeling that taichi shares. in direct juxtaposition, the next page has taichi reflecting that he “thought being by meijin suo’s side would be more painful,” with the implication that he hasn’t found his time with suo to be painful at all. it’s clear from their playful banter, from taichi’s relaxed, open body language around suo, from the ease with which they ask each other personal questions (and then never answer them). even though taichi constantly loses against suo, he genuinely wants to be there with him. this is actually huge for a character like taichi, who will avoid losing at any cost. taichi’s uphill karuta battle against suo just doesn’t seem to phase him at all, because again, regardless of their gap in skill, their similarities and shared lack of passion have given taichi all the hope and satisfaction he needs to keep playing right now.

that’s ultimately the point i’m working toward with regards to the paradoxical nature of suo and taichi’s relationship: even though their deep bond is forged through apathy, through pretending to not care, through reveling in the worst parts of each other—they still find immense understanding in each other, and a lot of happiness and joy in playing karuta together. 

as i was writing this, i actually thought of something i’ve heard in therapy a lot: it’s unhealthy to continually lie to yourself about your own emotions. it’s a lot healthier to let yourself be honest and feel what you feel, even your most negative emotions—and that’s what i think suo gives taichi the space to do in this arc. although taichi (and eventually suo) both come around to acknowledging that they do love karuta, in his post-rejection depressive spiral it was actually very important for taichi to let himself feel his feelings, especially when it came to karuta. he had formed such a complex about his self-efficacy, hinging his worth on whether he won or lost, but imo he never really let himself acknowledge those darker feelings because the people around him loved karuta wholeheartedly. 

in the time taichi spends with suo, the unconditional acceptance that suo gives him is what frees taichi to start being a more honest version of himself. truthfully, if taichi hadn’t encountered suo and started playing with him, i doubt he would’ve started playing karuta again at all, at least not in high school. even if his villain era contained its own falsehoods and missteps, it was still an important step. this mindset was crucial for taichi to work through so that when he did come back to loving karuta and holding it dear, it wasn’t something that he forced himself to do. it was a conclusion he came to on his own, because he truly does love karuta and always has—but he was only able to reach this point because he played alongside suo. alongside someone who didn’t trigger his self-imposed inadequacies about not caring enough, or constantly make him feel that he wasn’t passionate enough. taichi ends up finding a karuta that isn’t solely harada’s, nor is it just a copy of suo’s nasty style; it’s taichi’s most authentic karuta, the honest version of himself that he always hoped to grow up to be.

writing this is making me emotional LMAO but it’s really reaffirmed to me how, as convoluted as their dynamic is, as much as suo and taichi sidestep around what they really feel and communicate in very guarded ways, the bond that they form is so unconditional. they understand each other for exactly what they are, and they push each other to be more truthful—but they also let each other exist in that bitterness, that indifference when they both need to. they hear each other in the quiet, and they live in the same shadows, and it’s that quiet understanding that lets them pull each other towards light. 

taichi felt like suo could see the darker parts of his personality, his flaws and insecurities, and still accept them. taichi could play a karuta with suo where he didn’t feel like he had to be more like the people around him. through this experience, taichi was able to admit to himself that he did love karuta after all. furthermore, because suo helped taichi reach this realization himself, taichi was able to help suo come to the same realization. 

a lot of why their relationship is so powerful, and why they’re able to impact each other so profoundly, is because taichi and suo both loved karuta so much all along, but they didn’t, but they did. even though they played karuta together under the pretense that they both didn’t like karuta, they did. that’s why that time they spend playing together, in spite of its blatant nihilism and mutual toxicity, feels like a genuinely happy and special time that they share. 

while i selfishly would’ve loved to get one last scene between them in the final chapter of the manga, there’s actually something incredibly poignant to me in the way they don’t speak. taichi never gets the chance to plainly tell suo that he in a way saved taichi, as dramatic as that sounds; suo never gets to thank taichi for bringing his family to the meijin match, for giving suo just as much as suo gave to him. i love that this final cathartic moment is left entirely unspoken, because it’s so true to them.

i also love how utterly selfless this lack of a final scene renders their relationship as a whole. suo, who never seemed to care about much of anything, invested so greatly in taichi that he was able to become a karuta player who could challenge arata; taichi, who struggled with acting selflessly and then resenting when he didn’t get anything in return, goes to nagasaki behind suo’s back because he knows suo wants to see his family. the fact that there’s no “thank you,” no direct acknowledgment of these acts (particularly in taichi’s case) is incredibly powerful to me. in chapter 150, we learn that taichi said, “he can now hear suo-san’s quiet voice loud and clear”—and to me, these selfless acts of quiet care between them, an unspoken and understated connection, truly exemplify that idea.

suo and taichi absolutely hold the time they spent playing karuta together—their convoluted mentor/disciple dynamic—as dear, regardless of how they act like it doesn’t matter. it takes a long time before they can acknowledge that karuta, and by extension the time they spend playing together, meant a lot to both of them. they went through their worst together, but they absolutely changed each other for the better.

#chihayafuru #mashima taichi #suou hisashi #chihayafuru analysis #chihayafuru spoilers #sorry if there are any errors or typos here!! i tried my best to reference the manga very closely while writing #this is quite a long one and i think i got a little muddy with what my thesis even was lmao #but i haven't written a long form essay on tumblr in so long and waaaah it felt so fun to do that again!!! #also disclaimer which everyone already knows: i do also ship suotai but tried to take off my gay glasses to write this analysis #suotai #i'll tag it anyways lmaoooooo #zoe meta #zoe.txt

[jamminvroomvroom]

die for you.

ln x driver!reader

in which you can’t stand each other, or so you say…

this took waaaay too long for me to hate it sm but she’s here! and she’s long! love this concept so much, thank you for this request. so many feels so many vibes, tell me what you think <3

loosely inspired by die for you by the weeknd

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, language, slight glimpses of she fell first, he fell harder, rivals to lovers/enemies to lovers, choking, hate sex? bar fight, mentions of blood

8.3k words (oop)

it’s rare that you miss a podium, so when you do, it tastes bitter and stings like a bitch.

the car has been on fire all season long, a thing of beauty in your calculated hands. so, the string of bad luck you’re enduring, small mistakes with big consequences, it’s quite the pill to swallow.

out of the car you jump, teeth grinding hard out of frustration. you could see the commotion ahead of you, members of the papaya team celebrating their driver. your eyes roll so hard in your head that you feel a lasting ache. you side step members of your team, dodging every single person that tries to talk to you, your comms officer knowing better than to try and engage with you. you know you’re being unreasonable, it was a p5 finish! but it isn’t a podium or a win, so quite frankly, you aren’t interested, and you certainly don’t have any energy left to hear how amazingly well he had driven.

lando fucking norris.

what was once quiet disdain had grown into fully fledged hatred and you fear you’ll be violently sick if you catch a single glimpse of him on the podium. sure, he’s talented, and sure, he’s beautiful, you suppose. that doesn’t mean you have to like him. not anymore. he lives under your skin, inescapable.

you struggle through every interview in the media pen, most of which dissect your recent fall from grace, your mouth forming a hard, unimpressed line every time they mention the orange goblin and his recent streak of podiums and good luck. you wish the journos would bring up his string of women and the probable plan b receipts that went with them. that, you would love to talk about.

you drive in silence back to your hotel, leaving the track as soon as possible, and quickly find solace in your bed for the night. the idea of seeing the inside of a club makes you nauseous after your epic downfall. as your eyes are drooping, your body going limp under the thick duvet, a knock sounds from the door.

“no.” you shout flatly, but the only response you get are giggles from the hallway. for fuck sake, you mutter, groaning as you shift out from beneath the covers and trail apprehensively towards the door.

george and alex appear before you, and you throw your head back is exasperation.

“mate, it’s 9:30.” alex laughs, taking in your fancy attire; pyjamas that you’ve had since you were 17.

“what’s your point?” you croak, glaring up at your obnoxiously tall friend.

“why aren’t you getting ready to go out?” george questions, leaning against the doorframe. he, too, was obnoxiously tall, you thought, feeling the strain in your neck as you move your glare onto him.

“if it wasn’t obvious, i’m not going.” you deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest. “i thought that was clear after i ignored all 77 of your texts.” you smile sarcastically, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

“don’t be boring! you’re an f1 driver, you’re in a cool city, you’re rich and, let’s face it,” he sasses. “you need to get laid.” alex says, like it’s the most causal thing in the world. your eyes bulge out of your head at the utterance of the last bit. george bites back laughter.

“choosing to ignore that.” you hiss. “i’m sorry but i refuse to go out and celebrate that arrogant, whiny little bitch.”

they both know exactly who you’re talking about.

you and lando have simply never seen eye to eye. your karting days were spent pushing one another off the track or into a muddy puddle if things got a bit heated out of the car. sure, olive branches were extended, and maybe adolescent feelings were secretly harboured, but he never gave you any reason to tell him that. you’d grown out of the childish violence when you graduated into formula 1, but you hadn’t been able to shake the rage he made you feel.

it didn’t matter how many dinners you attended where others had conspired and forced you to sit next to each other. it didn’t matter how many times you turned up to play padel and were met with the same lame excuses of ‘oh, did we not mention lando would be here?’ it didn’t matter how many times you’d hugged it out on the podium while adrenaline and tensions were running high.

it didn’t matter how many times he’d watched you from across a crowded room and you’d found his eyes, watched him back. it didn’t matter how many times he’d smirked at you at the start of a race weekend, made you blush. and it certainly didn’t matter what happened last time you found yourself in a club with him.

you just don’t like him. not anymore. you sleep better at night when you lie to yourself.

~ the last time

you sink shot after shot, cocktail after cocktail; the taste of fruity liquor stains your lips and burns your throat. you feel electric, sizzling with ecstasy and the heat from the flashing lights above your head.

it’s approaching 4am and you can’t recall a time in your life where you’d felt so fucking good. the high of your first win is indescribable.

you’ve lost track of the guys, alex and george have packed it in and gone back to their hotels with their girlfriends. pierre and kika are somewhere in a corner, you’re certain. you’re pretty sure you’ve even seen lewis with his entourage and a brick wall of a bodyguard trailing behind him. and at the bar, a set of eyes watch you.

lando isn’t even listening to oscar anymore, no. he is too entranced in the way your hips move to the beat, lost in the carefree lines your body makes in the crowd. he’s itching to go to you, put his hands in places that would stay between you, him, and god, but he doesn’t think a broken nose would be good for business.

everything changes when you spin around, facing his direction. then, it begins: the same thing that happens every time you end up going out in the same group. you watch one another, pretending you’re not both achingly desperate to find out how the other tastes.

but lando is feeling bold. he tells oscar he’ll see him in the morning, and then, egged on by a moscow mule and a few too many shots, he makes his way towards you. it is instinctual, magnetic, the way he is drawn to you.

hands on your hips, lips on your neck. the song changes. you recognise the weeknd’s voice. you are disappointed in yourself but it feels too good to stop.

you know what i’m thinkin', see it in your eyes
you hate that you want me, hate it when you cry
you’re scared to be lonely, 'specially in the night
i’m scared that i’ll miss you, happens every time

the lyrics sober you up. you’re in the first taxi you can see when you finally get outside.

alone.

~

as much as that memory makes you shiver, for several different reasons, you find yourself putting on some makeup and raking through your suitcase for something to wear. george and alex are waiting downstairs for you at the bar, and when you finally make your way down there, they have a martini waiting for you. they watch in impressed horror as the alcohol disappears from the glass mere seconds after it touches your lips.

“let’s get this over with.” you sigh.

-

it could have been worse, you suppose.

the club is packed, hundreds of faces blurring into nothing. you feel better knowing that there is a one in a million chance of running into lando.

you’re tucked into a booth with alex and george, carmen and lily, a few faces you can’t quite place, and charles and pierre. you’d conspired to sit on the outside, prepared to make a quick getaway at the first sign of tension.

you’d been in a state of fight or flight since your last run in, nails bitten down every time you thought about his hands on you, how good they felt on you. it scared you more than anything had in a long time, how your desire had festered.

you go to take a swig from your glass, only to find it empty, aside from a few sad ice cubes. you watch jealously as they melt into nothing, wishing they would take you with them, shoving your glass across the smooth table top when your frustration boils over.

you’re on edge, ridiculously afraid of bumping into a curly haired man. it wasn’t him you were scared of, per-say, more yourself. god knows what you’d do if you felt those warm, calloused hands pulling your hips into his again.

“you okay?” pierre calls across the table. he and charles abandon their conversation as soon as your glass goes flying towards their side of the table. you’re broken out of your trance, caught off guard like a deer in headlights.

“tired.” you reply, shrugging it off like it was nothing. it’s clear immediately that they don’t buy it.

“she’s hiding.” alex chimes in from beside you, and your elbow goes straight into his ribs. he feigns pain for a moment, cackling at your reaction.

“from who?” charles inquires. you roll your eyes, blush spreading down your neck already. you hate everything about the conversation, and yet you need to see where it goes. you’d planned your escape, and now was the opportune time to make it, but you seem to be glued to the leather of the booth.

“lando.” george smirks into his drink as a he speaks, wiggles his eyebrows.

“oh yeah, we know all about that.” pierre laughs, his head tipping back in amusement.

“what?” you spit, eyes wide with confusion.

“don’t think me and kika didn’t see you two before the summer break. that night you won? we thought you’d finally cave.” pierre explains, his grin conveying pure evil.

several “what?!”’s sound from around the table, and now all eyes are on you.

“nothing even happened.” you mumble. “he came over to me and then i left.” you look away, twisting your hair around your finger. you are sweating.

“you looked like you were minutes away from being arrested for public indecency.” pierre smirks. you almost launch yourself across the table, intent on strangling him, and then perhaps throwing yourself in front of an oncoming uber outside.

“well, well, well. i fucking knew it.” alex is giggling beside you.

“come on guys, leave the poor girl alone.” lily winks at you, but even she has a twinkle in her eye. “there’s obviously feelings there.” and just like that she betrays you. her sympathetic smile doesn’t make you forgive her.

“i think you guys just need to get it out of your system,” charles starts, pausing to take a sip of his drink. “just fuck.” he waves his hand, like it was the most causal thing in the world.

the table erupts in laughter and you decide that you are well past the end of your tether. you shake your head, declaring that you need another drink, or ten, and strut away from the table. a chorus of ‘love you’-s and ‘get some’-s sound from behind you. you reply simply by raising your middle finger and refusing to look back.

the bar is in sight, just about in your reach when your evening goes from mildly bad to aggressively worse.

“fuck sake.” you sigh.

“and good evening to you too.” lando replies. he’s blocking your path, materialising before you out of nowhere.

“get out of my way, lan.” it sounds like you’re pleading and you cringe internally.

“don’t you wanna congratulate me?” he feigns a pout and you almost swing for him.

“no, not particularly.” you say dryly. “all i want is a drink, so if you’d just…” you gesture for him to move. of course, he doesn’t.

“haven’t seen you in a while, though. thought maybe you’d missed me.” he takes a step closer; goosebumps litter your bare skin.

“you are such an entitled prick.” you spit, moving to step around him but he catches you, gripping your wrists and pulling you in. you feel heat radiating off of him, expensive cologne overwhelming you in the best possible way.

“and you, honey, are such a fucking brat. but you don’t hear me complaining, do you?” lando whispers, cool breath hitting your face, minty, laced with champagne and cockiness. you almost fold, thighs clenching so tight that he must have noticed.

“move.” you grumble through gritted teeth. you are crumbling painfully, embarrassingly fast.

“make me.” your underwear is damp, but you are fuming.

“don’t fucking test me, lando.” something in your chest sets on fire and you’re over him and his bullshit, and the way he makes you feel.

“i know you want me.” he dips his forehead down to rest gently against yours. his grip on your wrists tightens, thumbs swirling circles into the flesh, right where your pulse is.

you lean in, mere centimetres separating your lips. his eyes darken, the assumption of victory over you tugs his lips into a smirk.

“all i want is my fucking drink. come find me when you’ve managed to navigate your gigantic, stupid head out of your arse.” you catch him off guard, wriggling out of his grip. you’re shaking when you walk away, thoughts of doing things with him that would get you both fired invading your foggy brain.

you try to disappear into the crowd, finally breathe a sigh of relief when your hands meet the cool surface of the bar. you order your drink, putting it on your tab and drum your nails against the marble top. you’re lost in your own world, watching as concoctions are mixed, as shots are downed. you finally feel at ease, until your evening takes yet another turn, one that was somehow even more unfortunate than all the others.

your attention is rudely stolen by the guy stood next to you.

“can i get that for you?” the random man speaks, in a way that he must of assumed was smooth. slimy, you think. he’s gesturing to your drink, clearly having watched you add it to your bill already.

“no, thank you. it’s already paid for.” you smile politely, turning on your heel. it seems he wasn’t quite done with you. you feel a clammy hand tug on yours, a wave of sickness washes over you.

lando’s hands are bigger, warmer, softer.

“where are you rushing off to, babe?” the sweaty man asks, his tone fake in a way that makes you uneasy.

“i need to get back to my friends.” you try to pull your hand free, but he won’t budge. “can you let go-“

“i can show you a good time. always thought you were kinda hot.” you’re panicking now, looking every which way for a familiar face, a security guard, anyone.

“take your hands off of me.” you snap, still wrestling to pull yourself free.

“one night with me would pull you out of that little slump you’re in.” he leers. you visibly gag, white hot rage blurs your vision.

“okay you piece of shi-“ you snarl, interrupted by a flash of curls and tanned skin.

“she told you to let go.” lando stands in front of you protectively, rigid and furious. you’ve never been so happy to see his annoying(ly beautiful) face.

“and what are you gonna do?”

“hands. off.” lando stands up even straighter, looking bigger than you’ve ever seen him.

“okay, mate, whatever.” the stranger rolls his eyes, shoves your hand away.

lando turns to you, opening his mouth to speak when…

“keep that stuck up bitch all to yourself.”

and then, everything goes to shit.

lando whips around, fists are flying, the stranger topples to the ground, amassed to nothing in the face of the mclaren drivers rage. lando doesn’t stop there, makes sure he is sufficiently dealt with, flat on his back on the sticky floor. you don’t know what to do, calling out for lando, begging him to stop, as satisfied as you are. lando hears your shouts, pulled out of the chaos and back to you. always back to you.

“are you okay?” he has his hands on your face searching for any remaining fear or upset. a crowd has formed and you see alex and george towering above the other club goers, jaws agape.

it’s as if he dj has it out for you, and you realise that the song has changed to something moodier, slower, one that gives you whiplash.

even though we're going through it
and it makes you feel alone
just know that i would die for you
baby, i would die for you

“we need to get out of here. security are coming.” you mutter, keening into his touch.

“i have a car outside.”

“well, let’s use it then.”

-

you can’t help but stroke over his knuckles mindlessly in the car, an unlikely comfortable silence settling between you. they look raw, cracked slightly and you have an overwhelming desire to kiss them better. your head is fuzzy, and you’re unsettled with confusion, but at the same time, you feel lighter.

“why did you do that?” you murmur, disrupting the quiet that has settled over the backseat of the town car, the question burning desperately on your tongue.

lando turns his head so that he’s looking down at you, his good hand comes up to cup your jaw softly.

“no one can talk to you like that.” he’s staring so deeply into your eyes and you almost squirm at the intensity. you feel exposed, bare.

“but why did you step in before that?” you reiterate shakily. lando hums in understanding.

“i’ve known you since we were 10 years old. i know when you’re scared.” he whispers, breath dusting your cheeks. you almost lean in, then, something about his words pull you even closer towards him. you feel warmth creeping over your chest, sinking into the pit of your belly.

“we’ve arrived.” the driver calls from the front, signalling that you need to get out of the car. it was like an elastic band had snapped, and you spring away from lando, scrambling to undo your seat belt, the moment of weakness long gone.

you sneak into the lobby, on the lookout for any angry PR teams or incognito photographers that are scoping for their next pay check. the coast seems clear, so you manage to scurry discreetly into the elevator. you hit the button for the third floor.

“can you hit the button for five?” lando asks, leaning against the opposite wall.

“you’re coming to my room.” you state, offering no other explanation, even when he raises his eyebrows.

the ding of the lift has lando pushing himself off of the mirrored wall, trailing behind you into the corridor. the lights are low as he follows you to your door, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. he watches in anticipation as you rifle through your small bag for your keycard. the green light gives you the go ahead to open the door, and he awkwardly follows you inside, peering around the room.

you notice the slight apprehension in his features, eyes blown wide from alcohol and adrenaline. they seem to sparkle more than you’d seen in a while, a hazel-y blue twisting with secrets and unspoken thoughts.

“let me find my first aid kit.” you tell him. you guide him towards the foot of your bed, gesture for him to sit. “make yourself comfortable.”

“you don’t need to do this.” lando replies, sitting down anyway.

“and you didn’t need to get between me and that dickhead but here we are.”

your words elicit a low chuckle from him, and you’re glad you have your back to him while you dig through your suitcase. he can’t see your smile at the wholesome sound, and he doesn’t need to.

random pieces of clothing fall out of the bag as you rummage through it, your attention taken up completely by your mission to find the small box. you don’t notice the pile of garments littering the floor.

“wow, didn’t take you for that kinda girl.” lando teases. your cheeks flame red when you catch sight of the cherry red thong that has managed to get caught in the wheel of your suitcase.

“shut up, i’m helping you.” you grumble, balling up the lace and burying it at the bottom of the case.

“why is it ferrari coloured? something you wanna tell me? do you think charles is… foxy? or is it fred? oh, i bet it’s fred, isn’t it.” he’s laughing now, loud and boisterous, and if it wasn’t for the butterflies erupting in your belly at the sound, you would have throttled him.

“i’ll leave you to bleed out.” you tease back, pointing at the dried up blood across his knuckles.

“of course, i am in urgent need of medical attention!” he exclaims sarcastically, clutching his hand. you roll your eyes.

“you know where the door is.” you stand from the floor, carrying a little square antiseptic wipe with you.

“yeah, i do. feel like staying now, though. i’m just so comfy.”

and with that, he throws himself back on your bed, closing his eyes as he sinks into the mattress.

you stare at him for a second, noticing the way his eyelashes dust the tops of his cheeks, his tanned, thick neck peeks out from in between the undone buttons of his dress shirt. you exhale shakily, moving to sit beside him on the bed.

“give me your hand.” you instruct him, tearing the packet open and unfolding the wipe.

“romantic.” lando snarks. you shove his shoulder in response. he holds his hand out.

“whatever.” you sigh, avoiding eye contact as you run the wipe over his knuckles. you can see how they are already tinged purple, wincing at the idea that it is your fault.

“what is it?” lando asks, noticing.

you don’t respond. this proximity is odd, you can’t quite tell yet if you like it. what you do know is that you certainly don’t know how to handle him now that the alcohol is wearing off and you’re left tending to the wounds of a man that you could have sworn you didn’t like.

“so that’s how it’s gonna be? we’re going back to the silent treatment again?” lando scoffs.

“don’t know what to say.” you mutter, keeping your eyes trained on every line and indent of his knuckles.

“why do you hate me so much?”

“i don’t.”

“yes, you do.” he scoffs.

“i don’t think about you enough to hate you.” you lie. it’s cruel. he winces.

that shuts him up.

“i’m gonna go. thanks for this.” lando waves his hand and you feel a wave of guilt hit.

“no, fuck, i’m sorry.” you apologise, bowing your head. “stay.”

“i’ll stay if you tell me why you hate me.”

“i’ve never hated you, lan. haven’t always particularly liked you but i never, ever hated you.”

“okay.”

that’s all it takes for him to flop back onto the bed. some unexplainable instinct that you loathe has you crawling onto the bed beside him. you wrap your arms around your pillow, watching him watch you.

“i used to have such a big crush on you, you know.” lando says. you stare at him blankly.

“what?”

“yep. i think i was about 15. you were the first girl i ever really liked that way.” he smiles, recalling the memory. “it kinda sucked because i knew you wouldn’t even look at me twice but it’s funny thinking back to that time.”

~ 15

he watches the way her hair gets caught in the breeze as she takes off her helmet. two messy braids are shaken free, and his heart skips a beat or two, or seven, when she turns around with the biggest grin on her face.

she’s just won a race, another one, and he’d be so jealous if it wasn’t her.

he thinks she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. george and alex go over to her, congratulating her, hugging her. he wishes he could do that. he definitely can’t.

she doesn’t see him, the only times that she does are when they argue, when they push eachother off the track and scream at one another across a gravel trap. the times when she plants her pointed finger in his chest and calls him dirty, the times he gets heated and calls her something he doesn’t mean under his breath. and she always hears him. always. he watches her eyes pool with tears every single time.

he wants her, in a way he’s never wanted anyone before. he’s never felt like this, wonders how he can make it go away. she hates him. she must.

he can never have her, so why even try?

~

“i had no idea you ever felt that way.” you’re quite shocked, really. you knew that you had this intensely charged sexual tension between you now, but you had failed to realise how far back this all went.

mutually, at least.

“i’d say i’ve done a pretty good job of hiding it.” his smile changes slightly. it was now a sad smile, one that conveys disappointment in himself, and that you hated to see. it reminds you of the one you’ve gotten used to seeing on your social media feed after he’d had a shitty race.

you sigh, bracing yourself for what you are about to say.

“you’re not the only one who hid it.” you raise an eyebrow, your face says ‘guilty!’

“no?” lando’s eyes widen at your revelation.

“i think we were 13. you gave me half a cookie to apologise for pushing me off track.” you smile coyly. “it’s kinda sad but 13 year old me died inside.” you laugh.

“so, we’ve both… liked each other.” lando assesses. you nod.

“when did you stop?” you inquire, scanning his face. you take in each detail, each individual freckle, the curve of his lips. he seems closer, all of the sudden, and that’s when you realise you’ve closed the space between you. lando is within reach now, it would have been so, so incredibly easy to shift even closer still; it was like you were in his gravitational field, reeled in by pretty, pretty eyes.

“who said i stopped?”

“oh.” you breathe.

~ 13

he snaps the crumbly biscuit between his fingers, trails towards her awkwardly. he feels bad, feels a strange pang in his chest that he doesn’t recognise.

he finds her around the back of her parents car, arms crossed, eyebrows scrunched, pouting hard. he thinks she’s cute.

“why are you here?” she whines.

“this is for you. i know it doesn’t make up for the race. i didn’t mean to take you out, i swear.”

he sounds panicked, sincere. her tummy turns funny.

he’s holding out a cookie, the children’s equivalent of an olive branch.

her face softens. she accepts it. they bite into their cookies at the same time.

it’s not the worst day in the world anymore.

~

messy kisses and soft whispers lull you to sleep.

his nose bumps yours every time your lips meet, gentle and plush.

you feel delicate in his arms, treasured. his lips press gently to your hairline. he’s different, softer than you’ve seen him since you were teenagers splitting cookies.

it’s the easiest thing in the world to curl into his side, mould together until you’re part of him, and drift off.

-

the heat wakes you up.

you stir, eyes fluttering open, searching for the source of the onslaught of warmth. it clicks quickly, and you realise that you hadn’t dreamt the events of the night before.

lando is in your bed.

lando had protected you.

lando had wanted you since you were stupid kids who didn’t know any better.

he is the heater that had woken you up, and suddenly you don’t care that you’re far too hot. you curl back into his side, head rests on his chest. it rises and falls softly, his heartbeat thrums beneath your ear. you are jealous of how pretty he looks when he’s asleep, relaxed and infatuating. you lose track of time, gazing up at him.

a sharp pain in your side makes you groan. you had fallen asleep in your dress, lando in his jeans and his shirt, and now you’re paying for it, your fingers searching for the zipper that was now digging into your side. your movements draw him out of his slumber, and when you look back at him, he’s watching you, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“you okay?” lando croaks, his voice deep and sleepy. it sends shockwaves through you.

“mhm. how did you sleep?” you ask, mindlessly running your hand over his jaw like it was the most natural thing in the world. a smile breaks out across his face, eyes fluttering shut once more.

“really fucking well.” he laughs, almost in disbelief.

“yeah, me too.” you smile at him, shy.

“what’s bothering you?”

“well, a human heater woke me up and now this fucking zipper is killing me.” you joke. it’s weird that this doesn’t feel weird.

“i am pretty hot i guess.”

“yeah, yeah.” you roll your eyes and stand from the bed.

lando sits up, resting on his elbows. his eyes follow you as you walk around the room. you take a bottle of water, drinking half of it before passing it to him. his lips wrap around the bottle and you have to turn away, the ache between your legs that you’d been fighting for months rearing it’s irritating head. you clear your throat, composing yourself.

“need to get this dress off.”

lando pulls himself off of the mattress, stalking towards you. you stop in your tracks and he meets you at the foot of the bed. his hands find your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over your skin in little circles, and then kisses you deeper than he did last night.

it’s impossible not to melt into him, hands running over his chest, his shoulders, and finally finding solace tangled in his curls. if someone told you the morning before that you’d wake up in lando’s arms, you would have cackled, urged them to seek medical attention, and probably spat in their face. how things change.

“i think you should keep it on, look so pretty.” lando breathes, staring down at you. you blush hard, leaning into him.

“but i’m uncomfortable.” you grin coyly. and then, a surge of confidence has you whispering: “i’ll let you take it off if you want.”

“let me make you comfortable first.” lando murmurs, dipping his head down until it rests in the crook of your neck. “want me to get you nice and comfortable, baby?” he kisses up your neck.

you cave, finally.

it takes him all of thirty seconds to have you spread out on his face, laying himself down on the mattress and pulling you on top of him so that you’re hovering over his lips. he mouthes at your panties for a second, getting his first taste of you, and then he drags them to the side, clearing a path. his tongue laves over your cunt, groaning as soon as he gets a proper taste.

your dress fans out over your thighs, and lando has disappeared beneath the fabric. you can tell he’s there, though, by the strong hands gripping onto your thighs, the tuft of curls peeking out, and the feeling of his nose bumping your clit as he buries his face deeper and deeper between your folds.

“lando.” you cry, throwing your head back. the straps of your dress are slipping down your arms, skimming your goosebump ridden skin. he just groans into your pussy in response, pulling you impossibly closer to his mouth, backwards and forwards until you’re grinding down on his willing tongue. you reach down blindly, grabbing one of his hands where it rests on your thigh, and your other threads through his hair, gripping tight as you revel in the pleasure.

lando pulls your clit between his teeth, grazing over the bud and you’re jolting, writhing above him. you feel like you’re going to die, heat pricking all over your skin, your tummy tight from the building orgasm. he’s so eager, sliding his entire face through your slippery folds, obscene sounds falling from his lips that ricochet through your quivering body.

tears prick your eyes when you finally let go, slumping forwards from the overwhelming sensation taking over every single nerve. he lifts you off of him, laying you back on the bed as you come down from your high.

“you okay, baby?” he coos, brushing sweat dampened hair from your eyes.

his lips are stained, dark pink and shiny, a mixture of enthusiasm and your slick coating them. lando scans your watery eyes, feral at how fucked out you look all because of him, and tantalisingly licks his lips.

“need you.” you moan, reaching out for him. his shirt is wrinkled where he’d slept in it and your shaky hands find the few buttons that are actually done up. you push the material off of his shoulders, pupils blown wide at the sight of his toned chest, at the feel of smooth, golden skin. you pull him in by the shoulders, swallowing him whole as you kiss him with everything you’ve got left.

lando’s hands find your thighs once more, running his hands over them to push your dress up your hips.

“wanted this for so long.” he whispers into the kiss, pulling away so that he can take the dress off of you. he looks ravenous the more he pushes the fabric up your body.

you feel vulnerable under his intense gaze, watchful eyes taking in every movement you make. you try to pull him back in for another kiss but he resists.

“let me look at you, please?” lando asks. “there you go, baby, let’s get this off, hmm?” he sits you up so that he can get it over your head, and you lay back, bare aside from your panties that he’d left in disarray.

he sucks in a breath, raking his eyes over the curve of your lips, your collarbone, the slope of your breasts. his gaze lingers there for just a second, before continuing further over your belly, the length of your legs. you want to hide away, pull him in so that he can’t look at you like this, or just dive under the duvet and stay there until you need to catch your flight.

“god, you’re so, so fucking beautiful.” he gasps, awestruck. he sounds speechless, and you feel yourself going red again.

“come here.” you whine. “needed you for so long.”

your admission seems to kick him into action, because seconds later, he’s on top of you, fingers grazing the band of your underwear while you fiddle with the button on his jeans.

“gonna be good for me, aren’t you?” lando stares you down, tone sending a shiver down your spine. you nod, batting your eyelashes. “words, my love.”

“yes, lando.” you affirm, arching into him. that’s all he needs to know, kicking his jeans away, boxers too.

“good girl. took care of me so well last night, now ‘m gonna take such good care of you.”

your eyes skim his body, honing in on how hard he is. your hand finds his cock, tentative at first, stroking over it softly. it’s heavy in your hands, red and dripping already. he wants this just as bad as you do. you continue to jerk him off, watching the way his eyes squeeze shut and his lips part, soft pants falling out. a low hum sounds from the back of his throat, and you wet your lips, threading your free hand through his hair.

lando opens his eyes at the sensation, gently batting your hand away. he dips down even closer, resting on one of his forearms. he lines himself up and your legs wrap around him instinctively. slowly, he pushes inside of you, his breath catching in his throat.

“fucking hell.” he groans, deep and guttural, something carnal sending shockwaves through his body. “been dreaming about all the ways i’d get to fuck you.”

your eyes roll back and you go languid in his arms, feeling every inch of him slide against your slick walls.

“want you.” you rasp, clinging to him, your fingernails leaving patterns between his taut shoulder blades as you beg for it.

“you have me, baby.” and then he kisses you, messy and slow, stealing the air from your lungs. you’re dizzy when he pulls away, sitting back slightly to change the angle. you cry out, feeling him even deeper and everything is more sensitive, warm. you roll your hips, meeting his thrusts deliciously, and he chokes out a moan as you clamp around him. “yeah, that’s it. fuck yourself like that for me.” he encourages.

this is all too much, too good. you have whiplash, physically and emotionally, eyes pooling with tears as the man you’d wanted so badly that you hated him for it rocks into you. lando hits the right spot every time he pistons his hips harder, and his nimble fingers slide up your abdomen, applying light pressure to your navel that makes you writhe.

“fucking perfect for me. gorgeous.” lando slurs, entranced by the sight of where you’re joined. he can see just how wet you are and it drives him insane, barrelling into you like a man possessed, drunk on every single way that your body responds to him.

his wandering hand finds your breast, kneading it before he traces your nipple. he watches the way it hardens at his manipulation, wetting his lips. he collapses back on top of you, sucking the bud into his mouth. you’re panting, whining beneath him as his tongue swirls over your chest, switching to the other side. you jolt, a silent scream scratching your throat when he slips his hand between your thighs, working your clit with the pad of his thumb. he’s rutting against you, grinding deeper, faster, uncontrollably.

“come on, baby. you’re so close, so tight for me.” he mutters into your skin. you nod frantically, your words lost on you. he kisses over your collarbone, the base of your throat, until he finds your lips.

“so close.” you sigh.

he stops.

“tell me you’re all mine.” lando growls, his entire demeanour changing. the tone of his voice almost finishes you off but you’re suddenly enraged. you’re too close for him to stop.

“c’mon lando.” you hiss, trying to move your hips but he has you firmly in place.

“need to hear you say it.” his hand slithers over your chest, finding a new home at the base of your throat. it makes you throb, the way his thick fingers wrap around you. slowly, his grip tightens, and you see an opportunity.

you buck your hips hard, whimpering at the sensation, but your plan works and now you hover over him. he’s still buried inside you, and you can feel him pulsing as you steal control.

“for once in your life, honey, shut the fuck up.” you smirk, mischievous in victory.

slowly, you build up your rhythm. he feels bigger like this, deeper, and you almost lose yourself in the small circles you make with your hips.

“knew you’d be like this. you liked giving yourself to me but i just knew you’d need to take back control.” lando teases. his hand is back around your neck, squeezing slowly, and you grind frantically, dizzy for him. “i was right last night, wasn’t i, baby? pretending to be my good girl when really,” he pulls you down so that you’re chest to chest. “you’re just a fucking brat.”

lando holds you close as he fucks up into you, feeling the way you go limp on top of him as the pleasure washes over you like a million electric shocks. you’re crying, tears pooling on his chest, because there is nothing you can do, nothing you want to do, but take it. he’s got you right where he wants you, and you’re loving every fucking second of it.

“yeah, baby, take it how you want it.” lando commands through gritted teeth, and you move your hips in a feeble attempt to match his speed. everything is slippery, everything feels wet and flushed.

the power play, the position, the frenzy he seems to be in as he fucks you, it all has you gushing, spilling all over him. you choke out a sob, shuddering as the elastic band in your belly snaps. lando stops his thrusts, replacing them with small rolls of his hips to help you through your orgasm.

a sharp breath and a string of curses from him give you the strength to muster the last little bits of energy you have left to look up at him. you pull your head up off of his chest just in time to watch him shatter into a million little pieces.

his neck flexes as his head rolls back, sinking into the pillow, his eyes tight. swollen lips part and your name falls from between them like a prayer. you can feel him filling you up, his hands tightening their hold on your hips like he’s scared to let go, like the world will stop if he does.

the world stops anyway, because then you’re looking at each other. really looking at each other.

it only takes a second for you to be drawn in and his hands leave your hips to cup your face. his calloused hands feel your skin, stroking over rosy patches on your cheeks. it’s deathly silent all around you, apart from the breathless pants you share.

swollen lips crash hard into yours and you melt. he’s still buried so deeply inside of you, your hips digging into his, impossibly close. you’re blindly reaching for any part of him you can get your hands on, and his big hands slide down your body until they meet the small of your back. ever so carefully, he flips you onto your back, easing your spent body into the mattress.

lando collapses on top of you, mouthes at your neck for a moment, delicate kisses making your eyes flutter shut. the eye contact almost sends you into cardiac arrest as he pulls out, oh so slowly. tease.

he holds you close in the shower, fingers massaging every part of you. sex and sweat are washed away, almost lovingly. you let the water run for far too long, content in clinging to him. it’s quiet, reflective time for both of you, exactly what it needs to be. you’re both hung up on questions that need to be asked, neither one of you brave enough to take the first steps. you know one thing, and one thing only: something has changed, in a forever kind of way.

your hair is stringy, half dry, and you’re stood in your underwear. your legs are still shaky.

“your flight soon?” lando asks. he’s stood in his boxers on the other side of the room, scrunching the water out of his curls.

“yeah.” your throat feels raw.

“and you’re going back to monaco?” he’s stopped what he’s doing now, staring at you. you can see the cogs turning behind his eyes.

you nod.

“fancy a sleepover?” he grins, boyish and careless. your heart falls to your feet.

you’re giggling when he sweeps you into his arms and kisses you into the freshly made bed. the sheets are on the floor by the time you finally remember you have a flight to catch.

you’re his now, you realise. he’s too beautiful for his own damn good.

-

“baby?” you hear lando call from his bedroom. you make out the faint sound of his footsteps making their way in your direction. he appears before you can even answer him, and he’s smiling softly at the sight of you bundled up in a blanket, sprawled across his couch.

“what is it?” you ask. the next thing you know he’s on top of you, peppering kisses over every single inch of skin he can get to on your face. “hey, get off, muppet.” you whine playfully, ruffling his hair.

“do you know how much i love having you here?” he murmurs. it’s endearing as fuck and you fight a foolish, dopey grin.

“you’ve mentioned once or twice…” you’ve been here since your flight touched down a week ago. you haven’t even been home to get clothes, not that you needed them in his company.

“we might have a teeny, tiny issue.” he squints, pulling a face.

“and what’s that?” you ask, your voice measuring equal parts cautious and amused.

“so, alex called…”

“oh, shit.”

“we have to go to dinner tonight.”

“we have to?”

“he’s suspicious as fuck. you do realise they’ve been plotting for us to happen for years,” you roll your eyes as if you say duh. “and also, you’ve been in monaco for a week and haven’t seen him once. oh, and also, the last time we saw them, we were running away from a fucking crime scene.” lando smiles sarcastically, and you sigh, defeated.

before you can reply, your phone is ringing somewhere beside you. you root around in your blanket searching for it and when you find it:

“son of a bitch.” you exclaim, showing lando the caller ID. alex is one persistent motherfucker.

“hey girl.” alex singsongs down the phone before you can even say hello.

“hello to you too.” you can hear the fear in your own voice.

“dinner. tonight. although, i’m sure lando already told you.” alex teases.

“why would lando have told me? what?” you choke. lando slaps his hand over his face. your voice has gone up several octaves. not suspicious at all.

“so, you’re at home? you haven’t been at his place since last week?” the playful interrogation begins.

“why would i be with lando?” you try and feign disgust at the implication. it does not work.

“because you hate fucked after he beat up that perv? i have to say, i didn’t think he had it in him but he’s been in love with you since he was like, ten, so, you know-”

“bye alex.”’

“you’re not denying it-“

“bye alex!”

you’re flaming red when you throw the phone to the other end of the sofa. lando, as on brand as ever, is cackling into a pillow.

“he is such a fucking shit stirrer.” you bury your face in your hands, slumping back into the fuzzy cushions.

“well, he’s right about one thing.” lando trails off. suddenly he’s looking anywhere but you and you see him gulp, hard, swallowing his words, like he’s too afraid to bare his soul.

“huh?” you ask gently, sitting up to reach out for him. “what’s wrong?”

“we need to get ready for dinner. that’s what he’s right about.” lando says, standing from the sofa and walking towards his room. you’re suspicious, watching him go with furrowed eyebrows.

-

“lando, behave! you’re the one making me go to this dinner.” you squeal, batting his restless hands away.

you’ve made it as far as the elevator before he pounces on you, caging you in against the metal walls.

“but you look so good, can’t help myself.” he mutters between kisses on your neck, pressing himself even further into you.

the hand that finds it’s way between your legs, exploring beyond the hem of your skirt, is the one that makes you press the button for his floor. why have plans when you can have sex?

he gets through the door to his apartment at lighting speed and carries you all the way to his bed.

when you’re sweating and breathless a good hour later, half of the bedding on the floor with your clothes, you realise you never cancelled your plans.

lando is drawing shapes into the bare skin of your arm, kissing over your shoulder as he does so. his eyes are dropping from all of the over-exertion and you want to count each and every freckle on his face while he falls asleep. he’s cute like this, soft and yours.

and idea comes to your mind, and as if he can see the lightbulb, lando half raises an eyebrow at you. you giggle, somewhat evilly perhaps, and scramble for your phone on the beside table.

“what’re you doing?” lando groans, pouting as his outstretched arms try to find you.

“getting even.” you state.

with the phone in your clutches, you roll back over towards him, holding the camera above you both. he hears the shutter sound as you snap the picture, and peers closer to see the screen. when he sees the groupchat open, he quickly understands what you’re plotting.

“may i?” you ask for his consent.

“are you kidding? go for it. that’ll shut them up.” he laughs sleepily, muttering something about how this is the most lando thing you’ve ever done

FROM: you

TO: the groupchat

1 image attached

couldn’t make dinner. something came up xx

“alex always thinks he’s right, this’ll teach him for being such a little shit.” you flop back into bed even more satisfied than you were before.

you hear lando inhale shakily beside you.

“he is right sometimes you know.” he repeats his earlier words.

you hold your breath. his eyes say so many things that are too delicate to be spoken yet.

“like… like what he said on the phone?” your voice quivers with anticipation, fear. your heart is thunderous, hammering away like it wants to escape the clutches of its cage.

“yeah. i-“ he stops himself. you don’t need him to finish, you know which two words follow. they can follow in good time, you both know it.

“me too, lando.” you coo.

he’s beaming, eyes half shut. you watch as he falls asleep, the both of you ignoring the way your phones are vibrating so aggressively that they might buzz their way off of the night stand. you lose count of his freckles, but it doesn’t matter.

you’ll have plenty of time to figure it out.

-

let me know what you think :D

-

taglist

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#lando norris #lando norris smut #lando norris fic #lando norris angst #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris oneshot #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 fluff #f1 angst #f1 imagine #f1 oneshot #formula 1 fic #formula 1 smut #f1 fics #formula 1 fics #f1 driver x you #f1 driver x reader #lando norris fics #smut #fluff #angst #writing things #requests

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

𝐒𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲

this banner took way too fuckin long to make istg

Summary: Catching your brother, Aegon, in a most compromising position starts your journey into sexual discovery.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), incest/Targcest, kinda innocent sister!reader, religious guilt, jealous Ae boys, voyeurism (accidental and noncon), slight dubcon, thigh riding, oral (m and f!receiving), squirting, loss of virginity, threesome, spitroast (if you squint), multiple creampies, and slight breeding kink

word count | 6.4k🤙🏻

All morning, during the breaking of their fast and now in the training yard, Aemond could tell his elder brother was trying so hard to not burst at the seams, his mouth in a perpetual smirk that made him and everyone around him uncomfortable.

Aegon always did this when he had a secret to share, he couldn’t wait to tell someone, even when he wasn’t supposed to. But that was the thrill of it, Aemond supposed, not that he could ever understand his brother’s motivations. He stopped trying to figure Aegon out a long time ago, but still, he knew his brother was going to blurt out whatever nonsense he was keeping to himself sooner or later, and figured he might as well get it over with.

“Speak now or I fear you’ll go blue in the face.”

“I caught her staring at my cock this morning.”

“What?” Aemond hissed, only one sentence uttered and he’s too easily exhausted by his brother’s ramblings. “Who?” He asked, already bored of the conversation, immediately regretting his decision.

“Our dear little sister.” Now, that got his attention.

“And what, brother, was your cock doing out in the open in her presence?” He growled, his fists balling up, nails digging into his palms.

“Relax, it was an accident. She came in to wake me for the breaking of our fast and…mini Aegon always gets a bit jumpy in the morning.” Aemond wished he had both of his eyes so he could roll them both dramatically. “I was a bit hungover and forgot I didn’t have any clothes on when I got out of bed.”

“Why must you traumatize everyone in our family, even her?”

“Oh, she didn’t look quite so traumatized at all.” Aegon smirked, causing Aemond to furrow his brows.

“What do you mean?”

“She looked intrigued, brother. Our little, sweet, innocent sister. I don’t even think she’s ever even seen a cock before, with the way mother and grandsire hover about her like vultures.” And then Aegon genuinely smiled, a somewhat devious smile, but a smile nonetheless. “I’m glad it was my cock she saw first. I’m glad it wasn’t yours.” 

And that, earned Aegon a black eye, though Aemond easily got out of trouble by claiming it was a training accident.

It’s not like Aemond was jealous. You were his baby sister, so innocent and naive; he wanted to shelter you from all harm and obscenities, and now he had Aegon to worry about. Though, he did notice rage rising in his chest at the thought of Aegon giving you a taste of what adulthood could bring first. But he was also probably right in thinking you’ve never seen a man’s private area before. Why does the thought of that make Aemond’s own cock swell? Perhaps he would have to be the first man to muddy your innocence.

For you, you truly hadn’t meant to see your brother in such a situation that morning, you wished you could take it back, but you couldn’t. Now, you were burdened with the image of Aegon’s length burned into your mind and he chose to make it even worse by smirking at you all throughout breakfast.

You weren’t completely naïve as everyone seemed to think, you knew basic anatomy and how babies were made. You had not, however, seen a man’s penis in real life before. You didn’t even know to think that they could be so…large. Perhaps it was just Aegon? You couldn’t know for sure unless you actually investigated, but how unbefitting that would be of a noble lady? You already felt so sinful, the image of a naked Aegon constantly in your mind that you had to go to the Sept to pray. Of course, it didn’t do much but make you feel even more guilty.

Walking back to your chambers through the apartments after a late night snack in the kitchens after your trip to the Sept with your mother, you froze in your tracks as you heard a soft whining noise coming from your eldest brother’s chambers. Was he in pain?

Your face flushed with heat as you heard Aegon’s moan echoing in his chambers, the distant sound of slurping causing you to cringe, realizing he wasn’t in pain at all. But you were so intrigued, you couldn’t help but peek through the obvious crack in the door.

The sight was obscene, you’d never witnessed anything like it. A servant girl had her mouth on your brother’s length, bobbing her head up and down, her hand stroking what she couldn't fit, which was much. Though, Aegon didn’t seem to take lightly to that. You almost gasped when he grabbed onto the maid’s hair tightly, forcing her head down until she gagged, but she also didn’t seem to mind all that much. In fact, she was moaning and the more she moaned, you noticed, Aegon himself seemed to be in more pleasure.

You felt your heart stop as Aegon spotted you in the doorframe and made eye contact with you. Suddenly, he smirked and you realized that his chamber door might’ve been left slightly open on purpose.

Aegon kept his intense eye contact with you as he started to buck his hips into the girl’s mouth, his moans intensifying and his brows furrowed in concentration, and you couldn't look away. An unfamiliar throbbing started in between your legs, and you felt like crying, the feeling so foreign and quite scary. Then, Aegon started to speak.

“Fuck, taking my cock so well, aren’t you?” He was speaking to the maid, but all his attention was solely on you. “You gonna be a good little slut for me and let me come in your mouth?” The maid seemed to hum in a sort of affirmation, but Aegon’s gaze only shifted from your eyes to your lips, how they were slightly parted as you started to breathe heavily. “Such perfect lips, wrapped around my cock so sweetly. Fuck, would have you on your knees night and day if I could. Gods, I’m gonna come. You want it? Beg for it.”

You involuntarily let out a whine, the sweet little noise sending Aegon over the edge, letting out a strained groan as he painted the inside of the maid’s mouth with his cum. He smiled at you as he came down from his high, his eyes only seeming to darken at the sight of you still watching. But you became so embarrassed and ashamed, you fled the scene, locking yourself in your chambers and crying yourself to sleep.

Aegon couldn’t wait to tell Aemond.

And Aemond could’ve gutted Aegon right then and there the next morning as his wretched brother relayed the previous night’s events. He went too far, now you were probably scarred for life. Aemond didn’t like the thought of you marred and tainted by someone else. He wished you to stay pure forever, though he knew the idea was far-fetched in this world.

Aemond decided to check on you, perhaps apologize for their brother’s lecherous behavior. And approaching your chamber door and placing his ear to the wood, he could hear you crying faintly and his heart broke a little. He sighed, opening the door as quietly as he could not to scare you, wanting to be gentle with you while Aegon was more than a little rough.

Aemond’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of you. You were crying, but for a different reason than he originally thought.

You were in your bed, bare, with your hand between your legs. Your dainty fingers were pushing apart your soaked folds, desperately rubbing circles where you thought your clitoris was. Aemond’s cock swelled immediately, opting to stay quiet and watch you from the shadows, which he was thankful he was so good at.

You were frustrated, that much he could tell. It seemed like no matter how hard or how fast, you could never reach your peak. He felt sorry for you, truly, but he decided he could watch you forever like this. Tears rolling down your cheeks, your body writhing and twisting, trying to find the right angle but never achieving your intended goal.

Aemond could step in. He could go to you right now and help you reach your climax, over and over again. His cock twitched in his trousers at the thought of taking your maidenhead, making you come on his cock so many times you would beg him to have mercy on you. You were his little sister, your maidenhead would and should belong to him sooner or later, why not speed up the process?

Aemond almost took the step he would need to open your door all the way, but you cried out in frustration, giving up and removing your hand from yourself, groaning in pain. You curled in on yourself, hugging your pillow, hitting it a few times. You poor, poor thing, Aemond though. Maybe the thought of you being so desperate that you begged him to help you is what eventually got Aemond to walk away. But as soon as he got back to his own chambers, he made himself come to the memory of you touching yourself.

Aemond couldn’t wait to tell Aegon.

And Aegon was furious. How dare Aemond get to see you naked first? And how dare he not help you in your obvious time of need? You clearly didn’t know how to properly pleasure yourself.

Aegon wasn’t that selfish. If it was him that walked in on you, he would’ve jumped in bed with you and helped you relieve yourself…multiple times…in multiple ways. First, he’d teach you how to make yourself come, he was somewhat of an expert on the matter. Then, he’d make you come himself: on his fingers, his tongue, his cock, his thigh, his belly. Anywhere. Anywhere, Aegon thought, he’d have you use every single part of his body to make yourself release.

Aegon decided he’d be the first man to make you have a climax. He giggled as he imagined Aemond’s expression after the fact, knowing how territorial he was over you. Aegon knew his younger brother was in love with you, had been since the lot of you were children, but Aemond was also an emotionally constipated twat who’d rather lose his other eye than talk about his feelings. But enough about Aemond, who cares about Aemond? Aegon was now a man on a mission.

Aegon chose to ambush you, considering that’s what he was best at, his impulsiveness. Though, he probably could’ve chosen a better location than some secluded hallway of the Keep. Thankfully, he wasn’t a terribly picky person.

“Are you well, dear sister?” Aegon asked, jogging to catch up with you on your walk. He could tell you were thinking about that night, the way you never met his gaze and the few scarce glances you took of his clothed cock giving you away.

“Yes, thank you, brother.” You hurried out, starting to walk a bit faster, now desperate to get to your own chambers to attempt to fix the throbbing between your legs again.

“Something on your mind, darling?” Darling…huh, that was new.

“Nothing.” You stuttered, almost tripping over your skirts in an attempt to speed walk away, but Argon was there to catch you…and pin you to the wall. “Aegon! What on earth do you think you’re doing?” You gasped in surprise.

“You sure sound fragile and innocent for someone who craves their older brother’s cock.” Aegon pressed himself against you, his thigh pushing in between your legs slightly.

“I surely don’t know what you mean! Unhand me this instant!” You let out a high pitched whine as Aegon pressed his knee hard between your legs, brushing over that spot you were so desperate to find.

“Don’t act so coy, we both know how much you enjoyed watching me getting sucked off. Isn’t that right, sweet sister?”

“I…I didn’t mean-”

“Shh,” Aegon interrupted, pressing his index finger to your lips, entranced by how soft they were, “and I know you’ve been struggling recently. I just want to be a good big brother and help you out. I hate to think of you in pain.” He cooed in mock sympathy, and before you could ask what he meant, he started to grind your hips into his thigh, grinning devilishly at your strangled moan.

“A-Aegon…”

“Shut up.” He snapped, grabbing your roots at the nape of your neck, tugging harshly, making you cry out in pain. “Quiet now, or we’ll get caught…and you won’t find that release you’ve been so trying for.”

Your eyes widened. “How did you-?”

“Aemond just wanted to make sure you were okay, but instead he found you writhing about in bed like a wanton whore.” He tched disapprovingly, lifting up your skirts with his hand, pushing his thigh against your bare cunt. Aegon giggled darkly, “I can feel you soaking me through my trousers, dirty girl.”

“I’m sorry.”

Aegon smirked, surging forward to capture your lips in your first kiss, muffling your loud moan as he forced your cunt to grind on his thigh. It was forceful and sloppy, tongue and teeth clashing together; but you were shocked at yourself when you realized that you enjoyed it.

No, you thought, this was all wrong. This is exactly what your mother warned you about. If it felt good, it was a sin. You couldn’t dare disobey her, so you whined as you pushed Aegon’s mouth off yours, only for him to move down to suckle at your neck. “Brother, this is wrong.” You begged, your hips stuttering as you neared some sort of high.

“Tell me to stop.”

“S-Stop…”

Aegon grinned, and in a sing-songy voice, “That didn’t sound too terribly convincing, sweet sister.”

“Stop!” You spoke, more determined. “If my virtue is called into question, we’ll lose any potential allies we could gain through marriage!” You whisper yelled, trying to keep in your moans all the while.

Aegon giggled, as if Aemond would allow you to be married off to someone other than him. “You say that like it’s a horrid thing.” He forced your hips to continue their pace as he growled, “You’re an idiot if you think we’d let you be married off to someone other than us.”

“Aegon-!” You gasped. “Something's happening…” You spoke fearfully, your soft moans escaping you profusely.

“Good. That’s good. Come for me, darling.”

He pushed you over the edge, your body betraying you, making you feel sinfully euphoric when this was all so, so wrong. “By the Seven…” You’d have to pray day and night for a whole week in the Sept to even attempt to atone for this egregious act.

Aegon hummed, playfully disapproving. “You should pray to me, not the gods. For I am the only one who’s made you feel this way, yes?”

You nodded meekly.

“Let it stay that way.”

The next day, Aemond found it hard to be in your company knowing your dalliance with Aegon, who rushed to tell him right after it happened, jealousy and envy coursing through his veins. And rage, that you allowed such a thing to occur, though he knew his brother could be quite, er, persuasive. The memory of watching you try to gratify yourself also makes it quite…hard.

You and Aemond would often spend time in the library together, reading different books and trading them afterwards, discussing your opinions. But now what was once a relaxing and enjoyable occasion, was now filled with tension.

Aemond could tell you were nervous, the way you kept shifting in your seat, reading the same passage over and over again but never comprehending the words, not when you felt so vulnerable under his scrutinizing gaze. He knew that you knew he had watched you touch yourself pathetically, but you were terrified and wanted to avoid a discussion altogether. But not, Aemond couldn’t have that, not when you let Aegon make you come for the first time.

“Aegon told me what happened.” You almost jumped at the sound of his voice, no matter how soft his tone was, you were so on edge.

“It…It happened so suddenly, I didn’t know what was going on!” You tried to explain yourself, but you felt like you were just digging an even deeper hole for yourself. “I don’t know what happened…”

“Did you enjoy it?”

You blushed, avoiding his gaze. “I…I…”

You gasped as Aemond grabbed your jaw harshly, forcing you to look at him, his gaze piercing. “Did. You. Enjoy it?”

“Yes.” You blurted, tears coming to your eyes, your face burning with shame.

Aemond hummed, a small, almost imperceptible smirk adorning his face. “Do you want to feel that feeling again, dōna mandia?”

“W-What?” You stuttered. “I don’t even know what that feeling was.”

“Don’t worry, sweet sister. If you’d allow me to educate you?”

“Aemond…I don’t.”

“Shh,” He cooed, your eyes widening as he sank to his knees in front of you, “let me teach you…”

“I suppose…if it’s for the sake of education.” Besides, it’s not like you had the physical strength to stop your brother from pushing up your skirt, a lust filled gleam in his eye. That throbbing coming from your core started up again, and you realized it was arousal, but you didn’t know a woman could feel such things. You were only ever taught a man would…become engorged, to pass his semen into the woman, hopefully creating a little life in the process. You’ve heard that it felt pleasurable to a man, but never a woman. The woman would have to lie there while the man did all the work, putting the latter in immense pain. It didn’t sound too terribly alluring, but then that day with Aegon…

Your thoughts were interrupted when Aemond kissed your core, his breath fanning over the slick that had gathered there, a weak gasp escaping your lips. “Poor thing, so needy, aren’t you?” He spoke sympathetically, his tone not that genuine, but made you shiver nonetheless. “I’m sorry you had to struggle so, but I’m here to help you now, sweet girl.”

Parting your folds similarly to how you did the other day, he planted a sloppy openmouthed kiss to your most sensitive area, making you let out a loud gasp. You whined as he placed his thumb there, rubbing torturously slow circles over it. “This is what you were trying to find, isn’t that right? This is how you were able to feel so euphoric with our idiot brother. He was cruel to not teach you about your own body, leaving you stranded. But I must admit, I’m glad that I can teach you instead.” Your mind went hazy at his words, his thumb not stopping its ministrations, making it difficult to comprehend what he was telling you. But gods, you did not want him to stop.

“I thought-” You quickly stopped yourself, too embarrassed to speak your mind.

“Tell me.” Aemond insisted.

“I didn’t know…a woman could feel this way.”

Aemond frowned, caressing the inside of your thighs was his other unoccupied hand. “The truth is, men are afraid to give women pleasure, fearing it will give them too much power over them. But I suppose that it is sometimes true. I’m afraid you have much power over me, mandia.”

You let out a strangled moan as Aemond surged forward, running his warm tongue over your folds like a man starved, his efforts focused on your bundle of nerves, driving you so easily to your peak. You gripped onto his hair like a lifeline, trying to survive this onslaught of pleasure. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to the feeling, even less the way you were receiving it. It’s like Aemond was in the exact position Aegon’s maid was the other night, on his knees with his mouth on you, and you wondered if your eldest brother felt as weak with pleasure as you did now. But from what you could tell, Aemond was receiving pleasure from this as well, even though there was no stimulation to his length. 

Aemond’s moaning caused vibrations that threatened to encompass you completely, your walls pulsing and contracting around nothing. Then you felt prodding at your entrance, a finger deftly slipping inside you without warning, causing you to cry out. Even with just one of Aemond’s fingers, you felt so full. How in the world would you be able to fit a man’s member inside when the time comes? He curled his finger inwards, hitting a spot inside that you didn’t even know was there. “Do you feel that, little one?” He smiled as you nodded feverishly. “That is one of the many other pleasure spots in a woman’s body. Though, it can be more difficult to find, considering its location. Most of the time, a woman needs stimulation to her pearl to find release, but there are some who can come from this spot as well, if their lover is adept enough. Would you like to find out if you are one of these women?”

You couldn’t even get an answer out before Aemond started to thrust his finger in and out, adding a second when he thought you were slick enough, curling in a come hinder motion that you swore you could see stars dot your vision. More and more, he increased the pressure to your front wall, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt something build and build until you froze. “Aemond, s-stop-! It feels like I have to-”

Aemond ignored you, in fact, only seemed to increased his thrusts until you were practically wailing, a gush of wetness shooting out of your core, coating Aemond’s hand with clear fluid, your face flushing with heat as you realized what you’d done. “Gevie.” He spoke so softly, you couldn’t possibly be embarrassed anymore. You twitched and whimpered in overstimulation when Aemond licked up your puffy folds, humming as he tasted your release. “So good. Aegon didn’t make you do that, did he?” He smirked proudly, at you and himself.

“I didn’t even think that was possible…”

“Well, I’d love to make you come like that again and again, but I’m afraid it’s nearing supper time. Perhaps I could give you a proper educational lesson soon?” Still dazed and your mind hazy with pleasure, you nodded absentmindedly, causing Aemond to let out a little chuckle as he rose to his feet, adjusting his trousers with a grunt. He leaned down so that his lips were right next to your ear, “I’ll see you at the dinner table, sweet sister.”

And after a long miserable supper full of tension, for you anyway, Aemond took Aegon aside to boast in his talent.

“You made her do what?!” Aegon shrieked, thankfully not loud enough to be heard past the musicians that were still playing after the dinner. “Tell me how you did that, brother! You must!”

Aemond rolled his eye. “Perhaps you should spend more time reading and actually educating yourself rather than mess around with the chambermaids and ladies on the Street of Silk.”

Aegon scoffed dismissively. “Who has time for reading?” I would hope the future lord of the Seven Kingdoms would make the time, Aemond thought coldly. He watched Aegon in disdain as he watched you take your leave back to your chambers, bidding your mother and grandsire goodnight, a dreamy expression on his face. “I want to be the one to take her maidenhead.”

Aemond growled as he grabbed ahold of the collar of Aegon’s shirt, pushing him against the nearest wall. “You shall do no such thing.” But the elder brother only grinned playfully, making Aemond nearly explode in rage. “She’s mine. She will be wed to me someday, not you.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll see. May the best brother win.”

Aemond knew he was the better brother, and he knew he couldn't wait around for Aegon to take what is rightfully his.

As soon as the moon rose up into the sky, most of the Keep’s residents settling down for the night, Aemond quietly left his chambers through the secret passageways, stalking his way to yours. He was already half hard, imagining your look of surprise, imagining your cries of pain and pleasure as he stretched you with his cock for the first time. He mindlessly started to walk faster, desperate to finish this tedious competition.

Aemond underestimated his elder brother, and Aegon knew that. Everyone underestimated him, but rightfully so. But when it came to pleasures of the flesh, Aegon was right there, like a good studious boy. But even he was surprised he got to your chambers before Aemond did.

You never failed to take Aegon’s breath away, no matter what you were doing. Much like now, you were simply brushing the tangles out of your locks while sitting at your vanity, the moon shining through your windows giving you an ethereal glow. Unfortunately, Aegon couldn’t silently admire you for long as you much too quickly noticed him in your mirror. 

“Aegon?” You squeaked, placing your hand over your heart in surprise.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, little sister.” He tried to not take your body in, only in a thin little shift that barely left anything to the imagination, but ultimately failed.

“What are you doing here, Aegon?” You almost scowled, honestly getting exhausted at the attention your brothers were giving you as of late.

“I can’t wish my dear sister goodnight?”

“We both know those are not your true intentions.”

Aegon shrugged, a lazy smile on his face. “You caught me. I’m a villain. What shall you do to punish me, hm?”

Your face flushed at his words, the thought of having to give out a punishment made an unwanted pang of arousal resonate through your lower belly. “You should leave, mother doesn’t like me having visitors when she’s not present, she’d have a fit if she found out you were in here.”

Aegon ignored your words, in fact, they seemed to spur him on further. You tried taking a step back as he moved closer to you, but letting out a small gasp as the back of your thighs hit your vanity. “Let her find out then.” And without another word, his lips were on yours, snaking his hand around to gently tug the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck, forcefully shoved his tongue in your mouth with an obnoxious moan.

“Aegon-” You tried pulling away, “stop.” But he wouldn’t have it, using both his hands to pull you as close as possible, your chest pressing against his. His knee found a similar position between your thighs like he did the other day, making you grind your core against him.

“I heard Aemond got to taste your sweet little cunt,” He said disapprovingly, “made you come so hard you made a mess all over his hand. But I can assure you, darling, I can make you come with just my big cock. Would you like that?”

You shook your head, trying to flee as he dragged you to your bed, hearing the sound of his belt unbuckling as he ripped your shift right off you. “Aegon, please-!”

“Shh,” You cried out as he ran his fingers through your folds, grinning at how much slickness was gathered there, “you’re so wet for me. You can say you don’t want me as much as you want, but your body is telling me a different story.”

That was the problem, you did want him, but you also wanted Aemond. You couldn’t possibly have both and you didn’t want to have to choose too early. “This is a bad idea, brother, please.” Your words fell on deaf ears, Aegon replying by burying his face in your cunny, slurping up your essence and moaning at the taste.

“Fuck, better than I couldn’t imagined. Aemond’s a fool to think he can have you all to himself. This sweet pussy needs as much love as it can take.”

“Aegon!” You cried out as he suckled on your nub, your body jolting and writhing violently as he quickly began to overstimulate you. “Too much, it’s too much!” You wailed, trying to pry his mouth from your core, to no avail, until a deep growling voice echoed through your chambers.

“Now what do we have here?”

You and Aegon both went wide eyed at the sight of Aemond, his eye glazed over in a dark glare. “Brother,” Aegon smiled, “welcome. You’re just in time for the feast.” He teased, only for Aemond to tear his brother away from you, making you let out a pained whine at the loss of stimulation.

“I told you that she’s mine, you dirty bastard. Her lips, her cunt, her whole body included.”

You didn’t know what came over you, but your hand lowered until you reached the combined wetness of your slick and Aegon’s spit, the lubrication adding to the pleasure on your clit. Seeing your brothers fighting over you awoke something primal in you, and you couldn’t resist how desperate it made you. “Aemond…” You whined, bucking your hips against your fingers.

Aemond and Aegon both looked down at you, writhing and whimpering for release and suddenly, their rivalry didn’t seem to matter all that much. “I never was good at sharing, but I suppose…just this once.” Aemond whispered, lowering himself to his knees, replacing your fingers with his tongue.

Aegon grinned as he moved around to kiss you passionately, palming himself through his trousers and taking his hard cock out of its confines. You didn’t even comprehend him taking your hand and placing it on his length until you felt it, the silky skin warm and pulsing in your palm. “Stroke me, like this, sweet girl.” He guided your hand movements, letting go as you got used to the rhythm, your ministrations stuttering as Aemond’s tongue pushed you closer and closer to your peak.

Before you could reach your climax, Aemond pulled away, removing all his clothes as you begged to come, Aegon grunted as your grip tightened. “Let me show you how I made her come the other day, brother. It is truly a sight to see, and I’m feeling generous.” Aemond spoke softly, pushing you back farther up your bed, spreading your legs as far as possible.

Aegon eagerly placed himself between your legs, pushing two fingers inside of you at Aemond’s instruction. You moaned loudly as Aegon started to curl his fingers against that spongy spot at your front walls, that familiar sensation building and building. “That feel good, darling?” He teased.

“Yes!” You stuttered, whimpered as Aemond sat beside you, kneading your breasts in his hands and placing sloppy kisses at your neck as Aegon continued to bring you to your peak. “Oh, gods, Aegon-!”

“She’s close, keep fingering her until she starts to leak, then pull out and rub her clit. If you’re lucky, she’ll soak your face.” Aemond instructed, and all you could do was be at their mercy. 

Aemond held you down as you started to buck wildly against Aegon’s fingers, the lewd squelching noises coming from your cunt making your face flush with heat, feeling like your blood could be sweating through the pores of your cheeks any minute. You were babbling nonsense as you felt your peak swiftly approaching, tears dripping copiously down your cheeks, barely registering Aemond’s fingers wiping them away as he softly cooed praises into your ears. “Yes, yes, yes-!” You wailed, feeling that gush of wetness burst out of you as you came, hearing Aegon’s laugh of surprise as you shot your release all over his hand, chest, and face.

“Fuck, that was so…”

“I know.” Aemond interrupted. “Such a good girl for us, isn’t she?”

Aegon smirked. “For us, huh?”

“Don’t push it.” Aemond shoved Aegon out of the way, manhandling your body like you were a ragdoll, your intense release rendering you completely useless. But they were far from done with you yet, if their fully erect lengths told you anything. All you could do was wait until you felt Aemond’s cock prodding at your entrance, the tip much thicker than his or Aegon’s fingers.

“Be gentle…please.” You begged, your words slurring together slightly.

“Yes, brother,” Aegon spoke, “be gentle with her, because I won’t be. You know that.”

Ignoring his brother’s words, Aemond leaned down to kiss you sweetly. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll go as slow as you like.” Causing Aegon to scoff at the sentiment.

You whimpered as Aemond slowly pushed into you, the stretch so incredibly painful despite being prepped so thoughtfully beforehand. And even though Aegon acted disgusted by Aemond’s kindness, you could tell he didn’t want you in pain by the way he had your head sitting in his lap, leaning down to kiss all around your face as you tried not to cry out in pain. You and Aemond let out loud moans as he finally bottomed out, hitting the ends of you and making you feel so full.

“Seven Hells, so tight.” Aemond groaned, thrusting in and out of you as slow as he could manage. “You’re doing so well, ñuha zaldrītsos, so fuckin’ well.” The praise went straight to your core, making your walls clench around him. “Shit, don’t do that. I want this to last.”

“Gonna come so quickly already, little brother? I must say, that’s really disappointing. Don’t you want to make her come too?”

Something seemed to snap inside Aemond at his brother’s taunting words, a yelp escaping you as he flipped you over on all fours, entering you from behind, the new angle making you sob in pleasure. And Aemond wasn’t keeping a slow and steady pace this time. You practically screamed as his shaft bullied the sensitive spot along your walls, your hands finding Aegon’s to keep yourself from floating out of reality.

“Fucking her to your liking now?” Aemond spat, grunting loudly as you kept clenching around him. “She’s close again already. How’s that for disappointing?”

Aegon giggled, sitting back on his haunches. “I was only jesting, brother. But now, with this new position, she can finally wrap those pretty lips around my cock like she’s wanted to do for so long now. Isn’t that right, darling?”

You couldn’t really respond properly with Aemond hitting the end of your cervix with every deep and harsh thrust, your uncontrollable moans interrupting anything you were trying to say.

“Go easy on her. She’s not some whore from the Street of Silk. She won’t be able to take all of you.” Aemond warned.

“I’m not that much of an idiot.” But Aemond only raised his brow skeptically, watching in a threatening gaze as Aegon lowered your head down to his cock. “Want to make me feel good too, hm?” You nodded as best you could, opening your lips slightly as Aegon pushed his thumb inside. “Suck.” And you obeyed, closing your lips around his thick thumb, swirling your tongue around the digit, coating it in your drool. “Good girl, now just do the same thing to my cock, okay?”

With a surprising surge of confidence, you wrapped your lips around Aegon’s length and started to suck just as he instructed, eliciting a moan from the man. It was hard not to moan around his cock as Aemond’s kept building a release inside you, but then you remembered how it seemed that maid moaning around his cock made it more pleasurable for him, and so you decided to not hold back any of your moans.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.” Aemond moaned, speeding up his thrusts, the pace hurdling you towards your own peak. You had to pull off Aegon to breath, moaning and clenching around Aemond’s cock as the waves of euphoria washed over you, effectively milking Aemond of his own release, his spend shooting deep inside you could practically feel your womb expanding with his seed.

“My turn.” Aegon growled, leaving your side to push Aemond out of the way, giving you no time to recover as he quickly replaced Aemond’s cock with his. “Oh, Seven Hells, fuck-! You weren’t jesting about how tight she is.” He shuddered, cunt struck by just one thrust.

“I suppose we never take each other seriously.” Aemond mused, moving to sit beside you, kissing you while you pathetically tried to keep yourself upright but failing miserably as Aegon thrusted into you fast and hard, his own release nearing quicker than he would like by the volume of his moans. “And I thought I was quick to come.”

“Shut up-oh!” Aegon’s cock pulsed inside you, twitching as he was right there. “You know now how irresistible this pussy is, fuck, yeah!” You both moaned in tandem as Aegon finished inside you as well, pulling out to watch as the mixture of his and Aemond’s cum leaked out of your swollen cunt. Aemond couldn’t help but watch as well, his gaze fixated on the way the white fluid dripped down your thighs, making a puddle on your sheets. “If our seed takes, who do you think mother will marry her to?” Aegon asked absentmindedly.

“Me.” Aemond said easily, meanwhile you were struggling to even catch your breath, your body shaking as you were coming down from your high.

“What if I want you both?” You asked meekly, wincing as you tried to sit up, Aegon having to help you. It was hard to resist your puppy dog eyes, looking up at them with your leftover tears and they were goners. You had them wrapped around your pretty finger.

Aegon and Aemond shared a look, a look that said a million words all at once and nothing at all. Perhaps it was their closeness in age, or something practiced and rehearsed, but they seemed to understand each other despite their differences. “No matter what, darling, you will have us both.” You probably should’ve understood that as a threat rather than romantic reassurance.

It wasn’t but the very next day that your mother announced that you’d be married to both Aemond and Aegon, like a reverse Aegon the Conqueror with his two sister wives. Your mother was furious but had no choice in the matter, no one would have you now that you were sullied, all chances of being married for an advantage was thrown out the window along with your innocence.

Though, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, not when your beloved husbands devoted their entire lives to you ever since the wedding day.

@valeskafics tagging you cause i know you were excited lmao

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x f!reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x fem!reader #aegon ii targaryen x targaryen!reader #aegon ii targaryen smut

[youryanderedaddy]

Tw: female reader, nsfw, m!sub to m!dom, con to dub-con/non-con, slight degradation, hinted baby trapping My Ko - fi <3

When you and Gerald started hooking up, you didn't think much of it. Sure, it was fun to play around with your high - school enemy turned academic rival now that both of you were in the same old prestigious college. And you would be lying if you said that it didn't stroke your ego to have the man who used to underestimate you all your childhood pussy drunk and wrapped around your little finger. But nowadays he was just acting off - even for his nerdy oddball self.

Before he used to feel so nervous around you, cheeks growing hot at your light - hearted touch. Your rival used to let you lead - with your body, with your eyes keeping him down, groaning underneath you as you rode him to overstimulation. He always broke beautifully, crying out your name as your heat milked him dry over and over again. He was quite cute like that, moaning obscenely, happy to let you use him as a stress toy.

But slowly things started to change. As university work kept piling up and the once friendly environment turned hostile and competitive, your fuck buddy caved to the pressure. His clear green eyes muddied, turning gray - and his fist would wrap around your hair unprompted, pulling instead of caressing. His kisses got desperate, aggressive - he wasn't trying to please you, but devour you completely. Even his tongue, once so sweet and wanton, turned sharp and degrading.

"Like that, little slut?" Gerald would hiss in your ear while taking you from behind - only stopping to slap your ass when you didn't nod quickly enough. "Just like I thought." He would smirk, and it reminded you of that stupid self satisfied grin he used to do in the past when he managed to beat you at something. "I should have known you were only good for one thing." He'd keep going, egging himself on as he thrust into you roughly.

You, for one, didn't care. In a way you even liked the change in him - it was new and exciting to let him take control and ruin you for once. You just needed to take off some steam - you could play both the master and the slave, the dominant and the submissive; as long as he made you cum your brains out, you were content enough.

The thing was, this change was too sudden to be organic or born out of desire. The shift in his behavior had been too frantic, too emotional - and the trigger seemed to be you once again. You two had just started a new course together - perhaps the most important one in your career so far. You were tasked with a big project and you were making a lot of progress - so much so that your professor had tried to find you a start-up sponsor, something most students weren't granted unless they were close to graduating. Gerald didn't like that - although he didn't make it known at first.

The next time you met him, he insisted you go to his place. It was your first time stepping foot inside his den - which was, frankly, equally exciting and nerve - wrecking.

He greeted at you at the door - said his roommate won't be coming back today, so you have the whole flat to yourselves. Your rival had even cooked dinner for you along with your favourite dessert. The whole romantic atmosphere made you feel uncomfortable - you had never seen Gerald as anything more than some quick weekend fun, but your well mannered nature prevailed and you didn't say anything.

Eventually he got you laying on his small creeking bed, naked and tipsy off cheap wine. You were giggling when your lips met - his tasted like whiskey and cigarettes, although he didn't really smoke. There was something weird in the air tonight, but you were too drunk and horny to figure out what exactly.

Gerald started fucking into you with slow precision, making sure to hit your sweet spot - licking the tears off your cheeks as you cried out in pleasure.

"You feel like Heaven." He whispered, burying his head in your neck, his nose tickling your sensitive skin. "And you smell so good. So perfect for me." The man kept blabbering. His words began to sober you up - there were nothing like his initial boyish whimpers or the degrading praise he'd shower you in nowadays. This felt... genuine. Rehearsed. Somehow it made your skin crawl.

"You're too fucking pretty for your own good." He murmured to himself, bottoming out just to push himself all the way inside you - making you whine pathetically. You couldn't even think properly when he was making you feel so much. "Is that how you got that sponsorship, baby?" The man cooed at you, cupping your cheek - voice dropping dangerously. "Did you spread your legs for Mr. Smith like a nasty little whore? Hm? Is your dignity so cheap you're willing to do anything to climb the ladder now?"

He was rubbing his tip along your slit, teasing you in just the right way - but even the electric joints of pleasure weren't enough to numb the pain his words had caused you.

"What do you mean? I've never done anything like that!" You stated defensively, pushing at his chest - but he didn't bulge. "We've known each other since forever. You should know better to than to throw such baseless accusation. I'm capable - I'd never sink so low t–

He didn't wait for you to finish, driving into you with mad ferocity, eyes almost black now.

"I know. I know!" Your rival screamed as if possessed by a madman - then gripped your shoulders tightly, shaking you to your core. "But I don't need you to be capable. I don't need you to be smart or strong or ambitious." His nails were digging into your flesh, but you didn't dare complain. "I just need you to be mine."

You opened your mouth, ready to confront him - to ask him what the fuck was going on, whether this was even real, or just a cruel joke on his part. But you couldn't because in the next moment you felt his warm seed filling you up so deep it dripped down your thighs. You closed your eyes, terrified. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't be coming inside you when he knew fully well that you weren't on the pill. Fuck.

"All mine."

#yandere #yancore #yandere smut #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere male x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader

[dark-night-hero]

Pls part 3 of without me can u make it that y/n meets the god who tried to kill her before and he tells her abt what happened and guilts herbinto killing herself then xiao finds her and she tells him not to tell zhongli🥺 that would be amazing

: Hi! Sadly, I have no intentions of making part three of without me. The part two open ending was for you to think of your own ending. Still! It wouldn't hurt for a little imagine because why not, that idea is chef's kiss* Also, apologies for taking too long to answer since I was thinking of what to do.

Imagine laying on the soaked muddy road was your bloody figure. The harsh rain pouring all over your body, yet you find it calming. Strange as it may sound, you feel nothing but your heart aching in pain, and your mind has never been clear for the past few centuries that have gone by. Despite all the wounds all over your body, the countless scratches as well as a missing arm and an open wound to your stomach. All you could do was lay in there and wait for your doom.

Imagine, the feeling honestly wasn't that bad. It was pretty bad and numb. The feeling of confusion, self pity, self hatred, frustration, guilt comes crushing into you the moment all memories came back.

"You.. You're the same being all those years ago." "It's a pleasure to be remembered by the all mighty being like you. It's such a shame Morax won't be around as you meet your doom." "Hah! Just because the era of war is over doesn't mean I grew weaker as centuries passed by." "I suppose that's true. But you know, for someone who killed their own friend with their own hands, you got quite the mentality." "What?" Your (eye color) iris were shaken looking at the being right in front of you. In the first place, how come this being is still alive? Didn't you kill him? You did. Right?

"What." "I don't know what you're talking about." "Huh? But I do know what I was talking about. After all, it was all fun making you act like a puppet on a string as I made you kill your own friend- oh wait HAHAHAHAHA oh celestia. I was wondering what happened but it looks like somebody sealed your memories, darling." "Don't call me that! And I have no idea what you're talking about." "But darling, you do." As his eyes stare at you with malice, it send shiver down your spine. "Here I was wondering why you're acting all tough in front of me. Turns out Morax could never leave you alone huh?" "Leave Morax out of thi-" As you burst out in anger, he dash towards you and grabbed you by the face. "Let's bring back your memories darling. But oh, let's be careful not to alarm the dragon away, okay?"

Imagine looking back on how pathetic you are, letting your guard down as your true, the rest of your memories started coming back. But perhaps you deserve this. Dying alone, in the rain.

"I was wondering how you manage to live on knowing you killed your own friends once again. And yet it turns out Morax protected you until the very end. I was just wondering how could he leave his one and only alone but it seems like there was a contract in return. Was it to leave you alone? It's such a mistake, but what can I say? It's very favorable for me." You didn't look at him, nor were you listening to him as tears started rolling down your cheeks as memories come back and started eating you up. "Darling." With a troubled mind, he grabbed you by your chin. "If you just accept by hand way before none of this would have happened, you know?"

Imagine as it gets harder to breathe. The only being on your mind was Morax. He had done so much for you and yet you used to think he doesn't love you anymore. It was so pathetic of you to doubt him. Maybe you do deserve this. Die out in the cold in the most painful way. The worst part is that you couldn't even kill the one who did this to you. Maybe they were right when they say it should have been you who died. Of course Morax would be sad, but only for a couple of years and maybe decated but he would soon be able to forget about you.

Imagine as you lay there on the muddy ground with rain drops falling all over your body, it is so hard to breath. Even your mind was going blank. Still right now, you want to see him at the same you don't. You don't have the guts and the face to see him. Not in this state, not in the state he hated the most. Still you want to see him. You missed him so much. You want to say sorry and maybe with a little bit shameless tell him you love him still. But you knew yourself you're running out of time.

"(Fi-First name)?" Fuck. If you could run, you would right now, or if possible, you wish you could disintegrate right here and now. Speaking of which, that fucking bastard who did this to you made it slow and painful as possible. "Yak- Xiao, was it?" You heard rapid footsteps in the rain. "I- I need to call Mo-" He was panicking. "It's alright." You tried yourself to smile despite the pain all over your body. "Ho-hold on, I'm bringing you to Morax right no-" "Don't." "Bu-" "It's useless Xiao. I'm already dying, I can feel it." You knew yourself the best.

"Still! We'll never know-!" "I killed your Master with my own hands and yet you still wish to save me?" You spoke with a chuckle that was cut off with a fits of bloody coughing followed by hard gasp for breath. "It was an accident." "It doesn't change the fact that it was I who killed her." You smile painfully, you don't know if it was because of the memories or because of the pain on your body. "I know how much you treasure her as a friend. It's okay to forgive yourself (First name). It was an accident, no one expected and want that to happened." He looked like he was about to cry as he utter those words that made your eyes wide.

Imagine he said those words, though suddenly came into mind. Forgive yourself? How? The truth is that, it was just an accident. He was right, none want that to happened, so why can't you forgive yourself?

"Xiao." By the sound of his name being called. Xiao looked at your face only for his eyes to go wide as he seen you started to disintegrate. "I'm sorry, but can you please keep this a secret to Morax? Oh wait, it's Zhongli right now, right?" The name you've made for him. That small memory made you smile. "I can't! I won't!" "I knew this would happened." You said with a small smile remaining on your face.

Imagine, with everything bit of power and strength left, you lift a hand to pat him by the shoulder. "Leave me here and forget everything you saw today." You spoke with a majestic voice fitted for a God and soon as you does. He stood up and left, leaving you off on your own once again. "Now then, this is nice." As you lay down looking at the now clearing up sky.

Imagine not too long after that, you disappeared with a contented, maybe a little bit of regret with only one thought in mind. You'll do just fine without me, My love.

Imagine, at the same time. Zhongli dropped his tea cup and hurriedly look out the window with a feeling of animosity on his chest. It felt like he just lost something. Something really precious to him. Looking at the dark clouds above the harbor, it felt like a storm was coming.

"(First name)?"

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2023°

: Sorry if it was a little different from what was ask. Apologies also for taking too long to answer. Also rather than making them kll themselves, letting their guard down enough for them to get killed is what I did which I hope is fine. Anyway that's all, enjoy :)

#genshin impact #dark night hero #genshin imagines #genshin #ask #genshin impact x reader #genshin angst #genshin x y/n #genshin zhongli #genshin x reader #genshin impact xiao #genshin impact zhongli #genshin impact angst #genshin impact fanfic #zhongli angst #zhongli #zhongli x reader #xiao

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x reader [4]

description: Dove wakes up in Steven’s apartment covered in blood for the second time this week with only one thing on her mind. What the hell happened last night?

word count: 8.7k

trigger warnings: death of a baby bird (sorry little pigeon you got fridged for the plot), blood, lots of blood on her skin but it’s washed off, Marc is mean, angst ville, talks of a dead body very briefly, Marc thinks about his mother

main masterlist | series masterlist

Marc remembered being young, when he was just Marc, not Marc and Steven. Before his mother was cruel, though that part seemed tainted, as if he couldn’t quite remember a time when she wasn’t. But he remembered being a boy, before the world felt heavy, and his eyes felt tired. He remembered Randall. He missed the boy he was allowed to be when he had Randall.

The day he was no older than ten when they played in the back garden, knees muddy, trainers scuffed, sweat on their backs from the blazing July heat. School was starting soon, and he remembered him and RoRo had been trying cram in as much time together as possible before they’d go back to only seeing each other in the evening when the sun had long since set and they had homework to do.

Randall had pink on his cheeks, having quickly wiped off the sunscreen Wendy had smeared on their faces, Marc felt his own temple burning. But he didn’t care. They were on their greatest adventure yet.

Dr Grant and his faithful assistant, Rosser, were on track to discover a long since lost Aztec artefact, inscribed on it the map leading to a hoard of gold and jewels. To the everyday person the boys were jumping around their yard in search of the spool of kitchen roll Elias had drawn on that morning, and their mother’s intricate and full jewellery box they’d promised to return once they’d ‘found the treasure’.

“Look, Rosser! Another clue!” Dr Grant called out, his small arms already grabbing his brother and near dragging him to a tree hanging low enough for the two of them to climb, “We’re getting close, I can smell it!”

‘Rosser’ tended not to say much when they would play their games, but his giggle was enough to spur Marc on to continue their venture. Marc gave him a boost up for his tiny hands to grab onto the thick branch, ignoring the way the leaves brushed in his face and tickled his nose in the hopes he could spend more time with his brother. Marc followed suit, pulling himself up to stand carefully on the wooden limb, already reaching for the next one. He could still remember the way his hands scratched on the rough, dry bark; the season had been particularly hot and had taken its toll on the wildlife, stripping the wood of its moisture to the core.

“If my calculations are correct, the last clue should be at the top of this mountain!” Marc said, holding his hand out for Randall to grab onto as he pulled him up. He was sure to only go for the branches strong enough to hold the two of them, knowing his brother was afraid of heights. But Randall went along with everything he did, even scaling mountains was no chore too big for Rosser and Dr. Grant. The two of them had been about to reach for the next branch already when they both heard the tiny peeping sounds.

“Marc, what is that?” Six-year-old RoRo asked, his chest puffing in and out from exhaustion having pulled his small body now a good ten feet off the ground.

“No, Randall, it’s Dr Grant, remember?” Young Marc whined, though his ears seemed to catch onto the sound of the chirping too. The boys’ eyes widened as they got louder, Marc carefully stepping on his tip-toes to see a bundle of twigs the next branch up. Sure enough, in between a knot of sprigs and fluff lay three tiny bodies of Sparrow hatchlings.

“By jove, Rosser!” Marc’s imitation of the fake English accent was endearing, but he knew Randall loved it when he got completely into character, “The Rare Amazonian Spotted-Dove! Maybe that’s the next clue.”

It truly had been complete chance that the nest had been so close to their next escapade, but Marc was creative when it came to their games. Randall’s chubby little hands reached up to grab the nest, not completely understanding what the fuss was about, near ready to tip the delicate bundle of twigs over to see the new find.

“Let me see! We’re going to be on the news, Dr Grant!” Randall played along, his digits wrapping around the edge of the nest, causing the birds to squawk in freight.

Marc was quick to pull his brother’s hands off the roost, pulling them away from the flora, “Gentle, Rosser!” He said with a kind chide, watching his brother's excited face descend into a sad pout, “They’re still babies, RoRo. You can’t touch them,” Marc whispered, as if to hide his break in character from their invisible audience.

“Why not? I wouldn’t hurt them,” Randall asked in his sweet young voice, his eyes still pining over the nest that was too far for him to see inside even at this height.

“Because if the Mom bird sees you holding them she’ll abandon them and they’ll die,” Randall’s face was struck with fear, looking up at his brother with glassy, russet eyes, clearly not expecting that answer.

“Why?” He asked in the most horrified of tones. Marc couldn’t help the way he held onto his brother’s hand the moment he heard it, ushering him to start descaling the tree so they could finish their game and go in for dinner.

“Dad said it's their way of making sure they only look after their own babies. If you touch them, the mom and dad bird thinks you’re the new mom and they stop looking after them,” Marc explained the best he could, though even he didn’t fully understand it either, just what Elias had been able to tell him.

“But that's horrible! That’s their babies,” Randall exclaimed, his tiny legs dangling off the bottom branch until he hit the ground with an Oomph. “We’d look after them then, wouldn’t we, Marc?”

“Right you are, Rosser,” Marc perked up with his faux accent, eager to take his little brothers off the birds and the idea of anything bad happening to them, “Good voyagers always protect the vulnerable,” Marc dusted his shorts off, straightening RoRo’s backpack and picking the sprig of leaves out of his hair, “And when danger is near, Dr Grant has no fear!”

Her eyes cracked open at the sound of bread popping out of the toaster, the smell of burning meeting her nose in a tang that had her wincing.

It was then she caught onto the fact she was not in her house at all. Nor was she in a bed the same way she had been the last time she awoke with little recollection of what happened the night before. The pain in her neck was instant, a crick in her back from being sat upright, slumped over and arse numb from hardwood flooring. It was then she felt the collar around her neck, tight enough she knew she had marks where it bit into her skin.

The panic hit her like a freight train, her body jolting forward when she realised she was bound with her arms behind her back, tied to a post with a chain and cuff secured around her neck. Her breathing came out laboured, head whipping around to see who was the perpetrator that had bound her.

She was dragged back to the before. Before she’d escaped to London. Before she’d so much as turned twenty. Before. With him. The before, when she was nothing more than a girlfriend, a puppet on a string, his doll to control. The before she’d spent so long running from.

She missed who she was before. That girl was gone. Dead, like him. Maybe that's why she was so scared, how else does someone react to feeling a ghost draw near?

It wasn’t until her foot scraped loudly on the floor, an odd sort of grain crunching under her boot, that she was snapped out of her reminiscence.

Sand. There was sand on the floor. And beside her was a bed. She was secured to a wooden beam, thick and oaky, a woodsy smell ravaging the room that she would know like her own childhood home.

Steven’s apartment.

She had yet to relent squirming in her binds, her hands tugging at the thick leather, moving enough that she could tell there were another two sets of chains wrapped around her waist and legs, making them heavy to move, the clinks of the metal links meeting her ears much too loud.

The thing that made her stomach churn however, that wasn’t helped whatsoever by the smell of charred bread that overwhelmed her nose, was the smell of metal. A coppery edge that overpowered anything else the moment she took note of it.

Her clothes felt wet, clinging to her skin, the chains, the leather collar biting in her neck the more she squirmed, the whole room collapsing in on her.

She was tied up again. She was back in the house, back in the before. Her wings clipped, her strings tied. Her porcelain cracking.

Why was her top red? A dark red, a brown red, why was it wet? Why did the room smell of corpse, or was that her?

Blood. It was blood. More blood than she’d ever seen in her life. Except that night when-

“Hey! Hey!” She hadn’t realised she’d made a sound until she felt two hands grab her shoulders and she flinched, a bleat of utter terror echoing around the loft style apartment. She hadn’t realised the wood was cracking under her strength until the hands shook her slightly, their words going in one ear and out the other, “Hey, it’s okay! It’s just me-”

Her watery eyes snapped up to meet two hardened brown ones that stared at her in concern. Marc could tell the woman that looked back at him wasn’t fully there, as though she was surfacing from a dream, as if struggling to decipher a nightmare and reality.

“I know you’re confused, it’s okay-”

“Why is there blood- Marc, why is there blood- there’s so much blood, oh god,-” And he couldn’t deny it. He hadn’t wanted to change her clothes when she’d finally worn herself out, it had taken everything out of him to wrestle her to the ground after whatever that thing was inside her body last night took over. He still felt his thigh twinge at the thought of her teeth that were not at all her teeth, that had become long canines the moment she’s turned, the razor sharp kind that sunk into his flesh as Layla and Steven both gave him the signal to get her away from civilian people.

She had practically lunged at him spitting and hissing, yowling as he’d socked her in the jaw and tried knocking her out long enough to bind her. He hated himself for the way he hurt her, but one look into the abyss like eyes told him it wasn’t her. She would never want this, never want to hurt Steven.

He’d had no choice but to chain her up in Steven’s apartment until she came to her senses. He was worried she’d wreck the place, sure, but anything was better than her killing an innocent person who just so happened to cross her warpath.

“Alright, it’s alright, it’s mostly mine and yours,” He’d meant it as a piece of reassurance, but he was quick to realise it was not nearly as pleasant as he’d thought when her face dropped and her eyes widened.

“What?” She whispered, horrified, “What do you mean- what happened? Did the jackal come back? Am I dead- again?”

He watched her for any sign of realisation, that it was in fact her who had done this to them, but he only saw the fear in her wide eyes that implored him to say anything to make her feel okay again.

Marc said nothing for a moment, sighing to himself, his eyes lowering to where she gulped and pulled at the ankle collar Steven used to keep himself from sleepwalking. It had been the only thing he’d been able to use when he’d entered the apartment with her sleeping body in his arms for the second time that week, having to head to his storage locker for the rest of the chains.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and we’ll talk,”

She’d been scrubbing her hands for twenty minutes now and the damn blood refused to come from out of her nail beds. The shower had done her good, she’d used Steven’s shampoo and conditioner, and his shower gel that brought her some comfort as she felt he was with her with every breath she drew in. She smelled of him through and through. Missed him, yearned for him, wanted to hear nothing but her name from his lips, feel his arms wrap around her, hold her close.

Marc was not one for affection, she had noted. The two of them were more different than she could have imagined, the accent alone had yet to sink in, but the thing she missed most about Steven was his kind words. His gentle touches. The way he would always know how to make her feel better. Where he was soft, Marc was rough. A tough love kind of guy.

The closest they’d gotten to endearment was when he’d handed her a stack of Steven’s neatly pressed clothes for her to change into, even down to his boxers embarrassingly enough, and taken from her a sodden, blood soaked pile of her own to stick into the washer.

They both knew there was no amount of washing that would get the blood out. Marc put it in for her anyway.

It wasn’t until she was four bites into the toast he had made (burned) for her that she showed any sign of understanding as he talked her through what had happened.

Marc had purposely dodged the part where she had grabbed Steven and had been seconds from ripping his throat out, not wanting to upset her more than she already was. Things came back to her in ripples; fuzzy, distorted, vague. Like de je vu, as if she didn’t remember them until he said it, and even then it seemed almost like recalling a dream. The feeling of slashing and biting, animalistic noises coming from her throat, like she was seeing things through a stranger's eyes. That was not her.

Yet all she could think about was the fact the blood was still settled under her nail beds, no matter how hard she’d scrubbed it, no matter the fact her skin was raw around the keratin, probably bleeding again with where she had been so brutal. She struggled with picking at the site when she was nervous, her fingers were sore already from the assault.

Marc noticed how red they were, the butchered skin ugly and damaged, but said nothing. Said nothing about the blood that clung to her raw skin.

Possibly hers. But also the jackals. Marc’s- Steven’s blood from where she’d taken swipes at him.

She could tell Marc was downplaying the severity of her condition. She could tell by the way embers of guilt lingered in his eyes, concern clouding the corners of his coffee bean gaze, that he tried so desperately to hide with his natural cold stare, that it had been bad.

She could still see the way the shower water had dropped off her in waves of red, rolled over her tainted skin and had still yet to make her feel clean.

“Look, no one got hurt, we made sure of that.” Marc took another stab at reassuring her, the way her eyes glazed over as his spoke, detached from the usual spark of life they had and staring into nothing, “If anything, the way you took out those two jackals, you saved people last night,”

“That wasn’t me,” She mumbled, her gaze falling to her half eaten breakfast. She felt sick to her stomach, felt the barely chewed pieces of bread already churning and making their way back up with every breath. Every flicker of memory that came back to her, none of it making sense.

“Huh?” Marc’s voice was unnaturally soft, as he urged her to repeat herself, not quite catching her quiet words the first time.

“That thing wasn’t me- it wasn’t me that did that, it was Seth, he was in the room before- in the room where we got trapped- when Layla had left and- and Steven had been thrown through the window- and he- I don’t know what he did to me but everythings dark after he touched me- and-”

“Hey, look just breath, okay?” Marc grabbed her wrist, and she hadn’t even realised how fast she had been talking until his hand alone snapped her out of it, and she felt her eyes burning, her lungs crying out for air. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose, head snapping to look at him in the eyes for the first time all day.

Marc noted how cold her skin was. He’d noticed the way her skin looked gaunt, sunken. Sickly. As if Seth festered under her skin within the single day he’d had her.

They looked at one another for a moment, his eye brows curving upwards being the only sign that he wasn’t outright glaring at her.

“It wasn’t me,” She said again once she’d finally caught herself, voice weak and childlike, petrified.

“I know,” He says calmly, letting go of her. She looked at him again as if to check her was telling the truth, that he believed her, and seemed to comfort herself somewhat when she found he did.

As if a switch had flicked in Marc’s expression, he looked back to his own clean hands, clearing his throat and ignoring the way Steven was yelling at him from inside the body to let him talk to her. Telling him to just hug her for Gods’ sakes. Ignoring the way Steven was begging him to comfort her in any way.

“Look, I understand this thing with Seth is rough on you right now, but Harrow got the scarab while we were all trying to fix your… problem,” Marc said simply, and Dove fought the urge to not cry at the way it sounded as though he blamed her. “I’ve got an informant working on getting us a place in Cairo, chances are Layla’s already on her way over there,”

“Cairo?” Her body straightened at the idea of leaving the country unplanned.

“Yeah, Egypt,” She rolled her eyes at his dumb statement, standing to clean her still full breakfast plate.

“I know where Cairo is. I’ll have to call in sick for me and Steven for a couple days,” She said, dumping the cold toast into the bin and turning the tall brass tap on.

“Not Steven. The museum cut him off after the jackal destroyed the toilets,” Marc said, his eyes flicking to the spoon he’d used to eat his cereal, where he saw Steven frowning and pointing at him in the reflection.

“After YOU destroyed the toilets. YOU!” Steven sassed, shaking his head at the way Marc glared back.

“Shit! I can’t believe I forgot!” Suds sprayed up her arms as she spun back to look at Marc, “Steven’s fired? Is he okay? Can I talk to him?” She rushed, knowing Steven would be crushed to lose that job.

Marc sighed, running a hand through his hair tensely, “Steven’s not gonna be around for a while, alright? It’s better for everyone if I deal with Harrow, Steven’s not exactly got the hang of fighting,”

“I could do if you gave me a chance,” Steven snipped, sulking from his perspective in the metal.

“So I can’t see him? For what, a week?” She asked, a frown settling onto her features at the thought of it, “That’s not fair, I want to speak with him, ask him if he’s okay,”

“Look, princess, you’re just going to have to learn how to share, alright? Haven’t you got other friends to talk to?” Her face dropped, and he didn’t realise she’d yet to say anything until it had gone quiet in the small kitchenette.

His nut brown eyes cast up to hers, the sadness he found there slowly steeping into a bitter anger. Surely she couldn’t be so upset over not seeing Steven for a couple of days when they had much more important things to worry about.

That is until it dropped in his head what had gotten her so forlorn.

She had no one else. Just Steven. And now, just him it seemed.

A flutter of guilt washed over Marc’s chest as she put the plate on the side to drip dry and avoided his gaze. Marc couldn’t help but scoff at the fact she seemed to have only him, the same way he had no one else really, no one except Layla and even that whole mess was a dead rose that he’d been meaning to cull when he got enough courage to stop running from her.

And yet he couldn’t escape from the girl in his kitchen. Not when she made it so easy for Steven to stay, made it so easy for her to depend on him. He felt like shaking her silly and telling her to run as far away as she could, tell her he was an explosive waiting for a single wrong step to detonate and that he would take everyone out with him when he did. He wanted to tell her to stay away, leave him alone and never look back. And she knew it too. He could tell she knew he wanted her away, wanted her gone. That no matter how many brief soft glances she had caught, the slightest of kind touches, he wanted nothing more than for her to steer clear of him.

He was a rot, he was a virus and she was the forbidden fruit, young and vibrant and full of life that had already started wilting because of him. Because of his selfish mistakes, and his awful luck, and the disease that followed him long before Konshu and Harrow and any of this mess.

She was a delicate blossom, and he was nothing more than the weed that would choke her, kill her from the inside before she could realise she was in any danger. Because all of this, everything she’d been through the past two days that riddled her face with such malady was all his fault. It was all his fault, all of it.

“Look, just message me the flight details and I’ll meet you there,” She said with a huff, collecting her now red-brown stained clothes from the dryer and fighting the urge to cringe at the sight of the colour. Marc said nothing, what was there to say? He didn’t do comfort, and affection, getting her to take a deep breath was the extent of it. Wendy had taken everything soft out of him before it could bloom into knowing how to love, how to show someone you care.

So he didn’t. He let her leave in silence, staring at her with his cold gaze as she left. With not a single protest falling from his grimacing lips.

He waited until the door was shut before the plate went hurtling towards the wall, the delicate ceramic exploding on impact.

She had gotten all but ten minutes down the street before his (Steven’s) phone buzzed with an incoming call, a picture of the two of them in the museum stockroom lighting up the screen.

Marc huffed with effort, his fingers scratched from where he’d been cleaning up the porcelain chips with his bare hands, but he couldn’t deny the way his heart leapt when he saw her face, worry overcoming him. She was mad. She was angry at him, upset with how he’d spoken to her. And could he blame her? And yet she still called. That meant it was serious.

“Hello?” He accepted the call with an irate tone, just to make her sure how much of a bother to him the action was.

“Marc-c,” She hiccuped, and he could tell she was crying. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel his pulse spike from fear. “Marc, I’ve killed it, it’s dead- oh my god, its neck-”

Fuck.

“What? Where are you?” He asked, already on his feet and heading for his jacket.

“Marc, it’s little neck- fuck what have I done?” Fuck, what had she done? He knew he shouldn't have let her out of his sight, he was supposed to protect civilians not set off a hellhound into the wild with no leash on her bloodthirst.

“Send me your location- it’s gonna be alright-”

“I’m outside,” She sobbed, cutting him off with a low mewl of sadness, “Can you buzz me in?”

Great. Steven’s apartment, which was already a hotbed for Harrow’s followers, was now about to become a crime scene. What the fuck was he about to let through those doors?

This was all on his hands. He had given her over, let a monster take over her soul and use her as he pleased. Killing and maiming included.

Yet he did as she asked, because who else would she go to? The phone cut off as soon as he did, telling him she was likely in the elevator. Sure enough, two minutes later and he heard a forlorn knock at his door.

Taking a deep breath in and preparing himself for whatever it was he was about to see. Gods above what if she’d killed a kid? The thought of it made his stomach churn.

He opened the door with a stoney expression, his eyes immediately finding two bloodshot eyes looking back at him sorrowfully, a small sniff coming from her wet nose before she gave a short mewl.

“Marc, I’m a fucking monster,”

Fuck. Fuck she’d killed someone, gone feral like she’d done last night and he hadn’t been there to stop her because of his stupid pride. This was all his faul-

It was then he realised she was clutching something in her hands. Her hand cupped in front of her, as if keeping a bug from escaping, latched together tightly with something inside.

He looked from her delicate hands to her face, still sniffing and whimpering, eyes huge with fat tears.

She opened her hands, seeing his confused eyes, to show him the damage, awaiting her trial from the man she’d been so angry at she hadn’t been watching where she was walking.

There, in her hands, a frail, near skeletal frame of a pigeon hatchling. It was barely a few days old, its beak too big for its face, its skin dark and ugly, fluff where feathers eventually would be covering its leathery undercoat in patches.

Its wings, if he could even call them that, were bent at awkward angles, its tiny neck snapped in two as if it had been mauled.

“Why are you showing me a dead bird?” Marc said with a cold stare, his voice just as biting. The word ‘dead’ had sent her into another sob by the time he dragged her back into the apartment.

“I was so mad at your stupid arse that I-” She seemed to choke herself with the thought, “I wasn’t watching where I was going- and I” She hiccupped again, “Heard a crunch and-”

She presented him with the tiny victim again, watery eyes never leaving the chick that was quite clearly since passed. Marc huffed, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. He couldn’t catch a break from this girl and her tears. He wished Steven hadn’t gotten so attached to her, that he would be able to just up and leave her in the dust, wished she hadn’t been such a good friend to his alter that she had never gotten so wrapped up in all of this and he could simply tell her to grow up and that shit happens, birds die all the time, that if it was on the sidewalk it was probably already abandoned and she put it out of its misery quickly. He wished he didn’t find it so difficult to be cold to her, that a cloud of guilt didn’t hang over him for the whole thing.

Perhaps that's why he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, or perhaps it was the way Steven was glaring at him from the kitchen sink, waiting for him to tend to the girl as he would if he would just let him have the body. And seeing as that wasn’t going to happen, it was down to Marc to do so.

He felt her semi freeze at the contact, unable to miss the way her skin was cold to touch as it had been all day. “Do you want me to have it?” Marc held out the other of his olive hand’s, his bruised knuckles seemingly fitting as she carefully dropped the bird in his palm. She sniffled under his muscled arm, her hands out infront of her as if to not know what to do now he had the creature.

“Be gentle with it,” She murmured.

Its dead you fucking idiot. I don’t need to be gentle; is what Marc would have snapped, had she been anyone else. Yet the emergence of the words in his sour brain only revolted him. She knew it was dead. She knew it. He didn’t need to tell her, to see her cry harder.

She looked up at him expectantly, and he gave her a barely there nod. ‘I will’ He seemed to say without words.

Letting go of her he went to find an empty shoe box to put the corpse in, knowing he would likely flush the thing as soon as she left.

He heard her run the sink to wash her hands, scrubbing at her already raw nail beds the same way she was when she’d seen the blood. He’d already noticed the way she’d pick at herself, pulling off flesh as if the pain of it was nothing compared to what it was she was feeling inside. He didn’t have the heart to comment on that either, he knew what it was like to have the demon come from within.

“You’ll give it a grave?” She asked, wiping her wet eyes with sore fingers, one of which bleeding once more from her washing. Her eyes looked at him guiltily, imploring him to fix it, fix it Marc. Depollute this awful body of mine that seems to ravage everything it touches, even innocent baby birds, no matter how ugly they were.

He nodded wordlessly again, and she seemed to quieten down for a moment, though she fidgeted in her place as if to not know where to put herself. Marc wasn’t dumb, he knew she was probably waiting for a hug, the fawning and pining that Steven would shower her in by now. He writhed internally, knowing what she expected of him, watching her pitiful frame cowering in on itself, waiting for him to give her something.

“You should probably get going, I’ll bury it later,” He said huskily, his eyes avoiding how she bit her lip to stop herself from crying again. Get out, he was saying nicely, go bother some other depressed man with enough on his plate already. She nodded quietly, turning on her heel to head back towards the door for a second time that day. She felt stupid for coming here, she felt instantly as if he was annoyed at her for bursting back into his apartment in floods of tears, but as he’d already established - she had no one else. No one except a man who hated the sight of her and shared a body with her only friend. She felt even more stupid for expecting anything else from him. Even more angry at herself for taking up so much of his space.

Slouching in his, Steven’s, clothes, she shuffled towards the door, face burning at the way she felt his cold eyes on her back, no doubt ready to lock the door the moment she left to ensure she stopped bothering him.

Maybe it was the way she looked so broken-hearted as she left, or the way she was still sniffling, or the way Steven had gone back to glaring at him through the surface of the bathroom mirror, shaking his head in utter fury that he’d let her go alone when she was so clearly distraught.

Marc sighed, a grunt of annoyance building in his throat as he reached over the back of the sofa for the soft blanket Steven kept for their movie nights. He said her name, her real name not Steven’s sweet nickname for her, and it had her whirling on the spot at the rough edge to his tone. Moving to her with an almost frustrated scowl, he threw the blanket to her stunned figure, heading towards the kitchen cabinet.

“What are you-” She uttered, catching the blanket fluidly and stammering, frozen in her place. Quickly wrapping the blanket around herself, of course she’d noticed how cold she felt, how her body had seemed to die and wither since Seth had taken her. She wouldn’t be surprised if her skin began to rot and discolour any minute now.

“I’m only doing this to get Steven to stop heckling me, understand?” He snipped, pulling out a medical box and producing a box of blue plasters. “You have no idea how infuriating it is to have someone telling you what to do inside your head all day,”

They both froze at his poor choice of words. Of course she knew. She’d spent all morning in a state of shock that Seth had so easily taken over her every movement, puppeteered her as if she was nothing more than a Barbie, and here Marc was complaining as if her being manipulated by the God wasn’t his idea in the first place.

His jaw went slack, the look on his face the guiltiest she’d seen yet. He seemed so caught off guard by his own mouth, bobbing open and closed as if looking for the words to say sorry, a concept clearly unnatural to him.

Maybe it was the way that for the first time he didn’t seem cold and distant, he seemed human in his expression, he seemed so shocked and unlike the stoic face he usually held. It was perhaps the slip of character, and she was sure she’d never see such a face again, but the sight of it made her burst out laughing through watery eyes.

She was sleep deprived, still moneyless from when her date had stolen her purse, likely to be kicked out of her apartment any day now seeing as her rent money was gone, had nothing to eat for the foreseeable future, had an ancient Egyptian God playing house in her body and going on killing sprees, had an entire cult of child murderers looking for the two of them, and yet this was what had made her crack.

“I’m-” Marc started, only to realise she was laughing, genuinely laughing though he pinned some of it was probably just sheer mania from the stress. “Stop laughing at me,” He growled, throwing the plasters into her free hands that peaked out from under the blanket.

“Sorry-I’m sorry-” She cackled again as he huffed and turned around, busying himself inside the fridge, looking for something for her to eat, “I’m sorry- just your face-”

“Shut up or I’m going to Cairo alone,” Marc snapped, though he tried to fight the slight smile that teased at his lips hearing her biting her tongue to hide the giggles, making herself at home on the sofa.

“Steven would never let you,” She muttered, knowing full well he could hear her. His eyes flicked over to her as she started peeling back the paper and applying the plasters to her raw digits, her face concentrated and much less miserable than she had been.

She was right. Steven would never let him. Nor did he think he could leave her with Seth alone if it came to it. She’d burrowed under his skin like a stray dog that had followed him home, wanting nothing more than a companion, someone to bathe in the horridness of reality with.

Marc only hoped she didn’t get too attached when he inevitably drove her away, made her feel as disgusted with him and he was. They were on borrowed time before she was all Steven’s again. And he hated the idea that she was never his, never his friend. That she’d never lust over him. That the only time she’d ever looked at him with such affection in her eyes was when she’d thought he was Steven.

She was not his to enjoy. Which only made him feel all the more selfish for feeling so grateful she’d stayed this time.

English people were simply not made for heat. No matter the amount of sun cream, cool packs or ice lollies they consumed, they were simply not adapted to hot weather.

Egypt was mind-blowingly gorgeous, she would give it that. Marc had let her have the window seat, pretending to not know why she’d made such a fuss about where they sat, but he couldn’t deny seeing her practically vibrating in her seat, nose pressed to the glass to get a better look of the country upon crossing the border, hot air puffing up the tiny glass with her close breath.

“Look, Marc, look!” She said, not drawing her face away, simply reaching out behind her to grab his arm, “The sea, it's so blue,” And it was. The royalest shades of cobalt lapped at the beachy shore surrounded by archaic buildings that seemed revamped for modern life. The entire city was a buzz of activity, only made more enticing to watch by the vibrant colours that ran through it as well. A pier plunged out from the beachfront, its canopy providing chunks of new hues among the lapis blue water; cloth of cardinal red, canary yellow, aubergine purple covering citizens from the harsh weather. The lush greenery that covered the earth where roads and buildings had yet to trample over it was a sight to behold in itself, the grass only getting darker and thicker the closer to Cairo they got.

“That’s Alexandria,” Marc said, as she drew back from the window to look at him with wide, excited eyes, “Named-”

“Named after Alexander the Great in 331BC after he liberated them from the Persians,” She cut him off, eyes guilty when she realised through her history fogged brain that he had been about to speak. She would have apologised had he not given her a small nod, and had she not seen the tiniest of amusement in his eyes, “Sorry. You don’t work at a museum and study Ancient Languages and not get excited by this stuff,”

“Ancient Languages?” Marc asked, for once not a tone of annoyance or disgruntled coldness. Since the incident with the bird (which Marc did in fact bury, only it was in the park near his house since he didn’t have the heart to remind her he didn’t have a garden) he seemed more patient with her. Less outright mean every time they spoke or so much as looked at one another. She pinned it down to being pitiful for her big, naive heart and tendency to get upset by the smallest things like dead birds. She pinned it down to sorrow, real women didn’t cry like a child over something like that. Birds fall out of their nests all the time, she was the only one immature enough to blubber over it. “I see why he likes you so much,”

Her ears perked at that. “Steven?” She asked, in a practised innocent voice as if she wasn’t desperate for more information immediately.

Marc laughed, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle, “Yes, Steven. Who else?”

“He likes me?” She asked, secretly hoping the optimism wasn’t shining in her eyes like the sun reflecting off the waves below them. It was.

Marc caught the girlish, excitable glee in her face at the sound of his alter’s name. It was obvious how smitten she was with Steven. He had seen it even before he knew her, before he had messed up his alter’s life. Messed up hers. The two of them were skipping around the feelings they so undeniably had for one another. Even Layla had seen it the second she met her, the puppy dog look she got in her eyes when she saw Steven so happy to see her, the gentle touch his rough hands held her with, the way the two seemed to gravitate around one another as if moved by an orbit of their own, joined by atoms no one else seemed to have.

But Marc knew it wasn’t his place to interfere, knew Steven would be so angry beyond belief if he was the one to tell her how he felt. And besides, he was sure they would have time to figure it all out without him in the way when he handed the body over to Steven for good, when he could watch them be bumbling idiots once more from inside the body.

“You’re his best friend. Of course he likes you,” Marc recovered his slip up smoothly, only feeling half guilty when her face visibly dropped and her chest deflated.

“Oh, right.” She said, straightening herself back into her chair, the elation dissipating from her face. How could she have been so dumb to think otherwise?

Marc knew he should say something, knew he should try and comfort her in some way but he didn’t know how. Which was how he felt about her most of the time anyway, unable to escape even now the thought that she’d much prefer it if he were just Steven. Not Steven and Marc. Steven would have known what to say.

“You alri-”

“Where’s this friend of yours meeting us?” She cut him off for a second time, her attention back on the window, her eyes scanning over the Mediterranean sea as it blended into the land, Alexandria slowly becoming Cairo.

Marc could have laughed and yelled at the same time. The only time he’d bucked up the courage to extend a hand of friendship to her she cut him off unknowingly.

“He’s not, he’s booked us a car to use and a hotel room to share,”

Share would be an understatement. It had been two days since they had checked in, only to discover Marc’s friend had wildly gotten the wrong end of the stick when Marc had asked for a room for two. One queen sized bed, a fancy ensuite and a tiny balcony later, Marc had been pacing the room, pissed, as he hung up the phone with the hotel lobby.

“They said the double rooms are fully booked, and unless you got enough cash for two singles, we're sharing.” He huffed, throwing his phone onto the bed where she sat, eyes wide and looking up at him with an innocence that had his heart jump into his throat.

She had got to stop looking like that if he had any chance of leaving her for Steven to have entirely to himself.

She shrugged, looking behind her at the huge, luxurious bed, much bigger than the double she had at home and made with the softest Egyptian cotton sheets she’d ever felt. “I don’t mind sharing. I’ve slept at Steven’s before,”

“He took the sofa, remember? Sharing a bed is a whole other thing,” Marc dismissed, moving to grab one of the pillows and move it to the red loveseat in the corner of the room.

“You were there?” She asked, her face pulling into a shy smile as he tossed her a look over his shoulder.

“Huh?” The agitated frown was back, one that had been missing the entirety of the way there.

“You could see me, see what we were doing?” She asked again with a bashful pull at her lips. She found it odd the idea of an outsider watching in on the time she spent with Steven, as though she were entirely herself with Steven in a way she wasn’t with Marc. Yet from that spiralled another thought, she was herself with Marc in a way she wouldn’t allow in front of Steven; vulnerable, emotional, scared. She would never let Steven know any of those things, knowing how much he worried over her. She hadn’t even told him about getting robbed by her date yet, conscious of how much he would fret.

Yet she had let Marc tend to her that first time they met in the museum, when she was bleeding out onto the beautifully polished marble. She had begged him to not leave her the day she’d woken up to find herself rather dead. She had let him console her when she’d arisen tied up in his apartment. Let him wash her clothes, make her breakfast. He’d been the first person she’d called when she’d found the bird.

She felt safe with both of them in entirely different ways. Safe knowing Steven was always there to cheer her up, to dote on her over every tiny thing she did. He was always bringing her little keepsakes that had made him think of her, bringing her the cinnamon rolls she liked from the bakery on his street on the days he knew she was running late and would have gone without food. Always walking her to her train stop even though it was entirely out of his way. Making sure she was having enough breaks at work, eating her full lunch. He remembered everything she ever told him, even the time she’d mentioned the anniversary date of her dog’s passing, he'd remembered it to the very day and given her a sympathy card and a bunch of flowers. Her favourites of course, that too had only been brought up once.

She felt loved by Steven, felt safe and cared for in a way she knew was beyond friendship. Yet she could only hope and imagine what anything more than being loved like this felt like. What kissing him, touching him in a way that went beyond what they had would feel like.

And to have such a raw feeling for someone spectated on turned her stomach oddly. She thought she’d feel more intruded on than anything, but she simply felt indifferent. It was only Marc afterall.

“It’s like I’m watching a movie, kind of. It’s more like I’m watching over his shoulder but I can’t do anything to stop him unless I really try to take the body,” He explained, though the way his shoulders tensed up had her guessing he didn’t like to talk too much about it. Marc seemed the anal type to want control over his life, and to have someone take the reins in front of him sounded torturous.

“Is he here now?” She asked, her eyes lighting up at the thought of seeing him again, “Can he hear me?”

Marc fought the urge to grunt in annoyance (that was entirely annoyance, and not at all jealousy) at her eagerness to see Steven. “Not right now,” She slumped for the second time that day, “From what I understand, we can either be co-conscious which is when he can hear and talk to me or he can just go away if he wants to. Go quiet, make it so I can’t feel if he’s watching me,”

“Huh,” She said with an intrigued look, “Well, it must be nice to never be lonely, I guess,”

Marc was ready to snark something back about how Steven was possibly the biggest pain in the ass when he was spouting off nonsense inside the headspace, how he had still yet to stop fawning over the way she looked, filling Marc’s head with a mix of his own thoughts as well as Steven’s running commentary about how her every movement made her “something out of the films, you know, like one of those actresses on the big screens, like MariIyn Monroe or Elizabeth Taylor, but entirely in her own way better, you know what I mean, Marc?”

It drove him insane, and he was glad Steven had taken a stand of silence for whatever reason, and left him to at least have a few days to himself.

Of course that hadn’t stopped Marc from noticing just how softly beautiful she was, but he was glad of the silence nonetheless.

And happy to have her to himself, but that was by the by.

He stopped himself from snapping at her that the reality of having someone in your head 24/7 talking to you and nagging your every move was a thousand percent more frustrating than being lonely, but then he guessed he’d felt lonely his whole life; grown used to feeling alone. Trying to protect Steven from the awful reality of what happened to him as a child, keep him from knowing what a failure he actually was, what a curse this body was, to know someone and never being seen in return. He realised it was lonely, and lonely was draining.

And he watched her eyes soften, a sadness shining through them, not intentionally but a glimpse of her soul Marc had never seen from her, as if she truly envied having someone there for him at all times. And Marc realised maybe having Steven wasn’t the worst thing to have. He could be entirely alone with his own mind, his own thoughts. He could have been entirely alone throughout his childhood, entirely alone with Wendy and her cruel hands.

Steven was annoying most days, but Steven was needed.

“I guess,” He muttered, turning back to setting up his bed on the plush sofa that he already knew would murder his back. Sighing, and fighting back his usual moody tone, he chanced a look at her, only to find she was already staring at him. It made his stomach turn to know she watched him when he didn’t know, “You know, you’re not alone, right?”

Her face hardened, eyes flicking away from his in a way that screamed she felt caught in an inner turmoil, surprised that Marc had seemed to almost read her mind, “I never said I was alone,”

Marc rolled his eyes at her pushback, wishing she wouldn’t make it so difficult for him to be kind for once, “I know that but,” He chewed over his words, “You’re not alone, you got that?” He sounded annoyed despite the fact he’d tried to rein in his demeanour, “You have Steven, and me,” Her expression faltered at that, and he was sure to turn back to rearranging the sofa cushions before she could give him anything more to admire about her. “And, you’know, Layla’s got your back through all this too, so you know. You’re all set really,” He cleared his throat, a few beats of silence. He thought that would be the end of it, that she would simply move onto something else.

He heard her stand off the bed, not thinking much of the movement other than the soft sound of her sock-feet crossing the hotel room. He froze when he felt two arms wrap around his middle from behind him, her face burying into his spine.

“What are you-”

“Don’t ruin it,” She said, her voice muffled by his body, her hands tightening around his toned waist as if worried he would pull away, “Just let me-” She nuzzled closer into his beefy back, taking a deep breath of his scent, “Thankyou,” The woman mumbled, but he still heard it.

Two large hands came to rest over her forearms that squoze his midriff, letting the girl soak into him, lean on him, take all of him in entirely in a way he’d craved from someone for so long.

Not hugging Steven. Hugging him. His friend. His Dove, too.

Marc said nothing, a small smile pulled at his lips that felt almost foreign on his permanently bitter face.

His Dove, too.

Tag lists:

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#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector imagine #moon knight x reader #moonknight imagine #moonknight x reader #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant imagine #jake lockely fanfiction #khonshu #oscar isaac imagine #oscar isaac x reader

[moongreenlight]

WIP Wednesday except it's Thursday and I'm using this as an excuse to post something without the imaginary pressure of getting a full fic out. :D

800-ish word excerpt from my Ghoap x Reader nutcracker AU that I meant to finish around Christmas.

The orchestra has picked up about half a beat too fast and the conductor seems not to have noticed.

Too busy salivating at the legs of one of the snowflake girls a few spots to your left. His baton is getting lazy. Long, drawn out flicks and swishes like he’s casting spells instead of directing. Strange, you think. If anything they should be slowing down to match his tempo.

Maybe it’s the strings? They’re nipping into the winds and forcing the entire group forward. It throws off a girl in front of you. She’s younger by a handful of years. Doesn’t quite have the music- even at the right tempo- committed to memory. She drops her arm a full count too early. Even from behind you can hear her curse.

This seems to rouse him. He jerks his head back to center and starts flicking the tip of the baton back on beat. He’s a stern man. He’s got coal-black eyes that seem to house the staggering power to burn a hole straight through someone bone and all. You swear you can hear flesh crackling and sizzling as he casts his gaze out over the stage. It takes a moment, but he’s able to herd the group back onto a single track. Dancers and musicians alike.

Someone has either put too much or too little rosin on their shoes. It’s difficult to pinpoint, but there’s a terrible squeaking sound from somewhere on the stage that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Like nails on a chalkboard. It gets worse during the final round of turns.

And then, by some miracle, intermission. Big cloth curtains draw together. Kicking up dust and loose sparkles and large pieces of fake snow that adhere themselves to your skin. Kept snug in place by the sheen of sweat that collected under the brutal heat of the spotlights and the effort it took to dance for nearly forty minutes straight.

Imogene, the girl who’d just recently championed the superlative of biggest blunder to date, was now heavily crying into the arms of her older sister.

You relish the few moments you get to catch your breath before the mistress comes and begins to shoo you and the other girls offstage. She’s far more stern than the conductor. And unfortunately less handsome, though they share the same deep-set frown lines that cage their mouths. You catch her give a shaking Imogene a whack to the ear before you can duck backstage.

In your hurry to whip your head back around for fear of meeting the same fate, you run directly into someone’s back. You’re quick to hiss out an apology, but it’s drowned out by the sound of a man speaking terribly muddy French.

“- gorgeous. Even caught the orchestra’s attention.” (please pretend this is French I forgot to translate it and I'm too lazy rn)

The girl he’s talking to, Sophie, giggles and he sways slightly from her batting him in the chest.

“Excuse me.”

It comes out a bit more stiff than you mean it to. He doesn’t wait for Sophie to dismiss herself before turning around.

John MacTavish is one of the few men in the company, but even without such slim options, you feel he would still be a standout.

He’s not from France, though it’s not uncommon for members to have made pilgrimage to join such a prestigious group. His accent is horrible, any potential ruined by his upbringing somewhere in Scotland, though he earns himself a few points with native speakers for his enthusiasm.

He’s also granted the cushion of patience because of his undeniable good looks. He’s got great blue eyes that emote just as well as he does. Shining and laughing along with him like they’ve got personalities to match. He’s big. Tall and muscular, which -again- isn’t uncommon what with all the lifts and spins and acrobatics he does, but he packs on muscle in a way not many other male dancers have the capacity to do.

You’re sure it’s a nightmare to source costumes for him. He’s tore the back panel out of his jacket twice this season alone and you’re only about three-quarters of the way through.

He’s gorgeous and he knows it, which makes him insufferable. He’s charming and got fantastic whit, sure, but he’s perverse and a habitual letcher so it all seems to cancel out.

His great beauty makes him the popular option for most all of the company and the patrons of the opera house alike. It’s become a running joke that you’ve not really served your time unless you’ve had a go with John.

Your participation is left widely up to speculation.

“Sorry, hen.”

If he noticed your rigidity, he doesn’t bring it up. Instead he leans down and takes you by the wrists. Brings his face close to yours and plants a kiss on the right corner of your mouth.

“Jesus, John.”

You scramble away, much to his delight.

“Always forget if it’s right or left first.”

He’s snickering like he’s clever. It takes some legitimate effort to wrench your arms out of the manacles that are his hands.

“Funny.”

You say flatly as you shoulder past him, wiping at the corner of your mouth with the heel of your palm.

“I thought so.”

#moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #john soap mactavish #simon riley #ghoap #ghoap x reader #wip wednesday

[shibaraki]

LIFE IS THE TILLAGE ┊ KITA SHINSUKE

synopsis: with your mental health at an all time low, your old childhood friend welcomes you to recuperate on his humble plot of land. gradually you begin to rediscover the beauty of living — one rice paddy at a time.

tags: AFAB reader (called darling, love, sweetheart), childhood friends to lovers, reader deals with depression (NO mention or description of suicide/self harm), discussions of self worth, Japanese rice farming (probably inaccurate, but there are ducks and frogs!), food to communicate love, bed sharing, resolved romantic tension, eventual smut, no power dynamics, praise, vaginal oral sex + fingering (reader receiving), unprotected vaginal sex (pull out method), aftercare

wc: 15.4k

The covers on the train seats are threadbare, withered with age and itching uncomfortably against your skin. Your eyes wander across the empty carriage, a cacophony of steel meeting track and old wheels turning. Not many people from the city took this particular route unless they were already residents — it was a little further out into the countryside, so much so that most found it an inconvenient place to visit. As the journey progresses the colour palette evolves, the grey landscape of the city fading gently into green and golden hues, accented by the blushing evening sun. 

In that moment the horizon appears seamless and unending; with barely a blemish of cloud the sky reminds you of a fresh bruise. Your throat becomes uncomfortably dry at the simple beauty of it and you find yourself looking away to the hands in your lap, tightly wrung and trembling. Somewhere out there, across timelines and universes, there may be a version of you that never got the chance to see this. 

The thought ripples through your chest and sinks to the bottom of your stomach. Inside you there is a vast and deep cavern, the pit weathering more through every year that passes no matter how much sand you throw into it. Such a tangible absence, it was paraxdocially heavy, and you carried it everywhere you went. You’d ask yourself time and time again: how much longer until it all collapses, how much longer until the infrastructure inevitably breaks? 

There came a point in which it’s too much to bear. It became obvious this was not something you could weather alone. I want to live, you’d decided. Though that ephemeral moment of strength hadn’t lasted very long at all. 

I want to die, you think as you sink against the window, vibrations rattling through the thick glass into your temple. And then again — how much longer? 

The station comes into view, a small blip in a sea of fields. There, on the only train platform in the village, Kita Shinsuke is awaiting your arrival. A childhood friend and the buoy you lost sight of years ago, his grandmother remained incredibly tight knit with your family even after they’d moved away following your graduation. It was that very nurtured connection which led to your being here; people do talk, after all. 

“My Shinsuke is happy t’have you for as long as you need. He’s got plenty of room in that house of his”. 

He’d made quite a life for himself in the time that had passed. Rice farming wasn’t anything close to extravagant but you felt the path was completely tailored to him; it fit well around his shoulders and stopped right at the cuff. Kita had always been a stickler for routine, often accumulating small actions that ended up serving a much larger purpose — sowing seeds and tilling fields to eventually bear crops and fill empty stomachs. 

Though there is no fluffy white rice to fill your own, only shame and embarrassment. You spot him quickly through the muddied window, pale green overalls unbuttoned at the torso to be tied around his waist, hand raised and shielding his eyes from the sun to watch as the train crawls to a stop.

You quickly get to your feet, stumbling as the brakes jolt the carriage, and make your way through the automatic doors with suitcase in hand. The air is cool, a gentle caress paired well with the sun's stifling heat, and a shiver spreads along your back as Kita approaches. 

He calls for you, your name sitting right at home in his mouth, having missed the thick accent more than you realised. It reminds you of a much simpler time, where the only thing you needed to worry about was homework or tallying the points for the boys volleyball team. But even then this thing had been gnawing away at you. A thing that would always follow no matter where you went, slowly descending upon you even if you managed to outrun it for a few days. 

It would find you here, too. 

A deep inhale to collect yourself, the oxygen fills your lungs until they bloat and your shoulders straighten up, forcing a grin across your face that strains each cheek. “Kita,” you move to greet him properly and hope he doesn’t see through your puppetry, “it’s good to see you again”. 

Good is perhaps an understatement. He’d always been handsome but in your time apart he has grown, shoulders broader and arms much larger. His bangs hang over his eyes slightly, earth and amber reflecting back at you as the light bounces through them. His expression pinches minutely as he looks you over, searching for something you aren’t aware of, softening only when he meets your gaze. As he smiles at you, you find your own is a little less plastic. 

“I don’t want any a’ that formality here,” he says as he extends an open hand, wordlessly asking to take your luggage, “doesn’t matter how long it’s been. I’m still your Shin, alright?” 

His fingers brush along your palm as he grabs the handle and you release your grip, fist pressing to your chest and clenched to hold onto the warmth. “Alright,” you quietly assent, shrinking into yourself as his arm leans against the small of your back to guide you forward. 

Your facade must be weaker than intended, you think, if he feels the need to linger so closely like this. 

“I’m parked up just there,” you glance up to catch as he nods in the opposite direction, following his line of sight to an off-white truck decorated in spats of mud around the outer panels. As the distance lessens you can see a red-gold omamori hanging from the rear view mirror alongside a pale blue air freshener. 

“Hop in,” he squeezes gently at your waist once before reaching across to open the door for you, “I’ll put yer things in the back”. 

Curiosity piqued as you waited for him. You pinch the good luck charm between your thumb and forefinger, smiling at the soft scent of chamomile emanating from the hanging decorations. The truck was clearly an older model, a radio that only takes CDs in the centre console and handles on either passenger door to roll down the windows manually. But it seemed well loved, and Kita never complained about appearances as long as the job got done. 

The car rocks on its axle as he climbs into the driver's seat, sending you another soft smile as he leans over to flip down your sun visor and jostles your belt buckle. “Ready?” he asks, tending to his own seatbelt. 

You nod, swallowing the dry swell building in your throat. Somehow while being a young man that you now barely knew, he really was still your Shin, and you couldn’t comprehend how quickly he invited you back into his life. The levels of familiarity and comfort that you’d built all throughout your childhood and adolescence, it was all still there. Unchanged, waiting. 

“It’s not far from here. Ya might have to endure some bumps though,” he continues to speak over the hum of the engine and wheels turning loudly against loose gravel. The back of the seat is hot through your clothes, having spent the day absorbing the sun. 

“Yer quiet,” he comments, though not unkindly, and you grimace regardless. 

“Sorry Ki— Shin. I guess I just feel a little awkward and… guilty, for imposin’ on you like this,” you tell him. Especially because you’d been a terrible friend after graduation, so caught up in your own turmoil and rationing out the small amount of energy you had between work, that maintaining long distance relationships became draining. 

“You could never impose on me. I know it’s a slight ways’ out from where we grew up but my home is still yours an’ that hasn’t changed”. The memory of ten years old Shinsuke’s chubby little finger hooked around your own flashes through your thoughts, both sodden with rain as granny swaddled you in towels. You’d run away from home after an argument with your family, something childish and inconsequential, but so big to you at the time. 

Shinsuke had found you in your shared hideout, patted the top of your head as you cried, and then dragged you back to his house in the middle of a storm. “When yer sad ya’ can always come sleep here,” he’d promised, “granny’s house is your house too”. 

Quietly watching as Kita’s fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel, palm pressing flat to turn it with each corner, a familiar sting spreads through your sinuses and you blink away the onset of tears. “Did… Do you know why I came out here?”

“All granny said is that you aren’t ya’self right now. And I’m not one to pry”. 

You exhale with relief. “Thank you, Shin”.

He hums, low and content. The glass windows vibrate in their frames as he drives onto a dirt road, either side shaded by wild grass. “The city isn’t for everyone. Yer always welcome to stay when you need a break,” he replies. 

The surroundings change, the hill faintly sloped, and as he pulls out onto another road you find yourself surrounded by a few acres of golden rice fields. At the end of the makeshift road is a two story wooden farmhouse, made up of heavy timber and uneven beams, covered by a traditional steep thatched roof. Across the landscape into the distance, you can see the silhouette of the Chugoku mountain chain. 

“All this is yours?” 

“Inherited all three hectares of it,” he breathes, voice tinted with faux exasperation and you feel yourself smile, “it’ll be time for harvest soon enough. Most of the ears are gold and beginning to bow”. 

“I haven’t got a clue what that means but I’ll assume it’s positive,” you laugh. The truck pulls up in front of a moderately small outhouse, stalling right where the tracks end, and he pushes down the handbrake before cutting out the engine. 

“When yer feeling up to it I’ll take you around the paddies and explain,” he sinks back into his seat for a moment, head turned to meet your gaze as he grins, “maybe I’ll even put ya’ to work”. 

Something about the mirth in his eyes and the charming quirk of his mouth strums your centre of gravity, a gentle swoop through your belly. “As long as I don’t get in the way I’d love to help,” you reply. 

Once again, for a split second you feel as if you’re being seen through, like your choice of words had given something away to him. “That seems to be a theme with you,” he observes, “don’t assume yer’ a burden to me. If you get somethin’ wrong I’ll simply correct ya, no harm done”. 

“Okay,” is your quiet reply. He softens considerably, hand falling heavily atop the crown of your head to reassure you before he begins to climb out of the truck. Your eyes fall closed, remembering the weight and the sincerity in his expression before following closely behind. 

Landing unceremoniously onto the soft soil, you begin to internally curse some of the clothing you’d brought along with you. Most were chosen for comfort, not for agricultural living, as proven by the awkward grip your soles have in the dirt. But Kita doesn’t comment, only offers an arm to assist you onto firmer ground, and the simple act is enough to wash away the exaggerated embarrassment. 

You often forget that most don’t think twice about the things you do. 

He insists on carrying your luggage and so you trail behind him in awe up to the house, taken by the beauty and craftsmanship woven into the structure. “This is beautiful Shinsuke,” you hear yourself say. 

He glances back over his shoulder to you from the veranda, one that appears to encircle the entire front of the house. “I had it re-thatched a few months ago with a bamboo frame. I read that they were built like this in the Edo period to look like hands in prayer,” he smiles. 

“It suits you”.

“Is that right?”

You step into the genkan, watching as he leans down to untie every lace of his boots, fingers hooked into the heel to pull them off gently and line them up neatly on the shoe rack. You feel somewhat sheepish for the rough manner in which you kick yours off in comparison, too lazy to undo any of the knots. He slips his socked feet into his house slippers and to your surprise, offers you a pair of your own. 

They’re a pale grey and closed at the toe, just like his own, and your heel sinks pleasantly into the thick sole. “I thought they’d be preferable over open toed since we’re headin’ into the colder months,” he says. 

“And the memory foam?” 

The corners of his eyes wrinkle behind thinly veiled amusement. “You always were easy to please”. 

Heat flushes to your face at the lighthearted teasing as he leads you further into the house. As expected it's big, meant to be occupied by a family of at least three generations, and decorated quite traditionally. To the left of the entrance is a pair of sliding doors leading to a tatami room with an unused irori in the centre, which connects further to a kitchen and dining area. 

“This upstairs toilet is all yours, but ‘fraid there’s only one bath which we’ll be sharing,” he says. Kita’s bedroom is the largest room on the first floor along with an extra tatami room that leads out to the veranda, while on the second floor there are three smaller bedrooms for you to choose from. 

“The one at the back of the house might be better if yer not wantin’ the sunrise to wake ya,” he offers kindly, noticing your deliberation. You take the one at the back and he carefully sets your luggage onto the mat beneath the window. 

You breathe deeply and take in the space, embraced by the distinct scent of wet earth and rice straw. Kita watches in comfortable silence as you acclimate, the realisation that this would be home for a few weeks finally settling in. It was nothing like your old cramped apartment back in the city — the room was minimal, but so imbued with nature that you didn’t feel constricted at all. 

His footfalls are light as he crosses the threshold to slide open the closet. “The futon is in here, I aired it for the better part of yesterday so it’s ready for you to use,” he says, “it’s gettin’ late so I’ll start on dinner. If ya like I can get the firewood goin’ outside so you can take a bath in the meantime?” 

You should have expected, given the time period it was built, that this house would not have a regular bathroom. A fleeting sense of fondness flickers through you at the confirmation that Shinsuke, since the day of his birth, has lived in a manner beyond his years. He’d always held great appreciation for tradition, and you’re happy knowing that love permeated all avenues in his life. 

“A bath would be nice,” your hands wringing together against your stomach, smothering any passing anxiety about burdening him. You wanted it to be just as it was, you wanted to be the person he remembered. 

As promised, Kita had kindled the firewood at the back of the house and the water was warmed through the hot pipes, your body sitting deep in the basin as it laps at the curve of your neck. It’s a little funny finding his products lined along the shelves of a room trapped in time, the bright purple plastic of his body wash — again, chamomile — so out of place next to a todanaburo bath. 

The rippling sounds echo as you move, ringing in your ears with each pass of cloth over skin. It would be lonely if not for the occasional clattering of pots and plates bleeding through the gap in the door from the kitchen. 

You don’t soak for very long, conscious of the food going cold. The towels left folded atop the laundry basket are new, thick and soft between your fingers. His forethought makes you smile, as it always has, reminded of his earlier words. If you truly were easy to please, then you wondered why you felt burdened by your own needs. 

Dressed in your pajamas, sleeves to your wrist and pant legs loose around your ankles, you join Kita in the tatami room by the kitchen with the ends of your hair still damp. He has set out a low table, cushions either side for you to sit on, and the inori has been covered. In the time you took to bathe he has changed into a muted grey jinbei jacket and light sweatpants, 

“I was curious if you’d be usin’ that,” you motion to the square recess in the floor, voice announcing your arrival. He glances up at you, pausing as he sets out the small dishes in the centre, and hums amusedly. 

“Hasn’t been used in decades. Decided to leave it there to keep the house's character,” he says, lining your chopsticks vertically exactly an inch from your plate, “but it’s good to feel close to yer ancestors too. I imagine they would’ve shared meals here often”. 

You get to your knees, heels pressed either side of your thighs as you take your seat across from him. The sweet scent of teriyaki sauce floods your senses and you observe the meal set in front of you. Sautéed vegetables of red, gold and green are resting atop a serving of white fluffy rice, along with neatly cut blocks of tofu. 

Your eyes meet as your hands simultaneously come together in prayer, and you say thanks for the food. 

“Donburi?” you murmur appreciatively, chopsticks in hand as he motions for you to eat, Kita’s warmth lingering along the stem, “it smells amazing”. 

“I prepped the tofu a few days ago an’ would’ve hated to waste it,” using deft fingers he takes a piece between his own chopsticks and dips it into the small sauce dish, “nothin’ special but I hope it’s to your liking”.

You cushion a small cube of tofu with some rice and bring it to your lips, hand cupped beneath to catch the runaway grains. The sauce is tangy along your tongue, soft hints of ginger and umami absorbed into the lightly crisped coating. It’s good, and you tell him as much. 

There is no sense of awkwardness, no pressure to find your footing and engage in conversation. Kita had always been a quiet eater, preferring to show gratitude by savouring the food on his plate, and so the two of you eat together in familiar silence aside from the occasional passing of dishes. Somehow, everything tastes better in his company. 

As the evening winds down Kita pours you each one small cup of sake to rinse your palate. Having finished your meal first you try not to watch as he tends to the last of his food, stomach not quite full. “Did you want to go over your day to day expectations now that I’m here?” you finally ask. 

With his free hand he swipes the corner of his mouth and licks the stray sauce from his thumb, humming contemplatively. 

“I get up every mornin’ around five. I like to catch the sun as it comes up and start working early,” as if reading your thoughts he pinches a piece of tofu between his chopsticks and leans forward to put it on your now empty plate, “so if ya wake up and I’m gone don’t panic”. 

“Alright,” you murmur gratefully, lifting the golden cut cube to your mouth, “and when you’re not busy, will you show me the ropes?” 

“Course I will darlin’,” he replies. The pet name falls so naturally from his lips you almost miss it, warm beneath your skin as it registers. “I’ll even introduce you to the ducks, if that’s what ya want”. 

Unexpected, a grin curls at the corners of your mouth, excitement rousing in your chest. “Shin, you have ducks?” 

Judging by the smile in his eyes, your delight is contagious. He reaches over to take your empty plate while you’re distracted and begins to stack them atop one another. “I do,” he says, “raising ‘em alongside the crop is good for keeping pests away. And they help with fertilisin’ the seedlings too”. 

You make a small cooing noise, withholding the onslaught of endearment building in your chest that spreads restlessly to your crossed legs as your knees bounce slightly beneath the table. 

The mental image of Shinsuke handling little bundles of yellow feathers, no bigger than his palm, brings you a monumental feeling of joy. Just as your eyes would be drawn to a small stroke of white across an otherwise black canvas, you are hesitantly lured in, and it happens so easily that your thoughts can barely catch up. Maybe the misery you carried had never been your fault — maybe you’d been in the wrong place all along. You yearned for a reason why things ended up as they were and you would accept any, naïve and juvenile as they might be, because you don’t think you could handle another just because. 

Maybe this could be it. 

After you have helped clear the table the two of you retire to your respective bedrooms, no artificial streetlight outside your window nor people passing by in the night to fill the empty air, and your fleeting happiness was swallowed up once again. It’s there that you remember; hope can be addictive, and the withdrawal is twice as cruel. 

Morning comes between blinks. One moment you are memorising the marks in the ceiling and in the next you are bathed by intrusive beams of light. The sun had risen far above the mountain line, so the day would’ve already started for Shinsuke — that knowledge should be inconsequential, but you still felt heavy for having missed breakfast. 

The sky, while bright, is slightly grey. You slip into something a little warmer, tugging thick work socks up over the cuffs of your sweatpants to hug your calves. He’d told you in passing that he had spare wellie boots that should fit you because your own shoes weren’t especially suited to wandering damp fields. 

Alone with the freedom to look closer, the house is different at this hour. You notice personal touches here and there that you hadn’t seen the night before — framed family portraits, his highschool year book free of dust, polaroids of you both as children; some older trinkets that you remember, too. Things his grandmother must’ve passed down to him, as you can only recall them in her own cabinets. 

Tucked beneath a touristic magnet of the sky tree is a new post-it note addressed to you. Shinsuke’s writing had been methodical and clear for as long as you’d known him. Penmanship was important, his family having taught him that traditions must be recorded and legible for future generations. In dark ink against teal-green, he instructs you to eat the food he left for you in the fridge. 

And whether it’s today or next week, come join me when you’re ready. 

The two onigiri awaiting you are wrapped with cling film and well shaped, assumedly made with the leftover rice. Your teeth sink into them, tender as the grains fall apart on your tongue, the same kindling of happiness settling in your stomach with each swallow. He made these with you in mind, perhaps he’d even woken up before his alarm to do so. 

You savour it — both the faint saltiness and the effort — and then make your way to the genkan with the goal of finding him. As promised there are a pair of navy wellington boots lined up by your own shoes, only one size up, which doesn’t matter much with the thickness of your socks filling the space. 

The breeze is a pleasant intermingling of warm and cool, billowing through your hair and guiding the darkening clouds further into town. The path leading to the fields is mostly flattened soil, soles scuffing on the occasional piece of gravel as you go. Thankfully Shinsuke isn’t too far from the house, having already made his way across a good two acres since day break, soaked to the knee with dirt. 

Strenuous work had always looked good on him, better when surrounded by a canvas of dull gold. Charcoal tipped bangs clinging to his forehead once he wipes away the sweat, rolling his neck as he rolls his shoulders to relieve the tension, chest heaving to catch lost breath. He never complained, choosing to enjoy each brick in the journey as it was laid, and you can’t help but envy him for it. 

He shuffles through the wet mud and bends every few steps to push a gloved hand into the drainage. You don’t call for him until the distance is shorter, gaze lingering for a while longer on the pink crawling up his throat with the effort. 

“Mornin’ Shin!” 

The sound of your voice doesn’t startle him. He stands upright and pulls off a glove with one hand to shield his eyes, looking over in your direction. Once noticed, his fingers lift in a subtle wave to beckon you, then he points them over his shoulder. “Got some guys I want’cha to meet,” he shouts. 

Sure enough, a few metres behind him paddling in the shallow field, are some adult ducks. Eight that you can count, bobbing and weaving between the yield, nipping their beaks along the water's surface. Propelled by your own excitement, with a first step your boot sinks into the sopping mud, each one more exaggerated than the last as you struggle to unstick yourself. 

Shinsuke merely pulls his remaining glove off and watches as you wade towards him, the levels only a few centimetres deep but still forcing exertion. When you’re near he offers his arm, mouth twitching into a soft smirk. “Good job,” he murmurs. 

“Shut up,” you huff petulantly between breaths, peering around him to see the flock between the stems of the crop. Any exhaustion is immediately forgotten 

“They’re so cute,” eager to meet them, you don’t notice that he only has eyes for you, “do they have names?” 

“Tried at the beginning but they’re easy to confuse with one another. I mostly stick t’numbers,” in your periphery you notice him reaching into his breast pocket, pulling out a small bottle of sun protection, “they’re here to work. They aren’t pets”. 

He takes advantage of your distraction, pushing the hair from your face before smearing the suncream across the swell of your cheeks, and when your nose wrinkles in faint embarrassment he dots it onto the tip. Stammering, you ask: “why do I need to wear sun protection? It’s fall, and the sky is overcast—!”

“We could be out there for a while. Even if it isn’t summer anymore, ya gotta be careful,” he tells you. It feels almost as if he’s gently scolding a child for asking the obvious. A breeze dances through the crop and brushes pleasantly against your arms, patient while you allow him to massage the lotion in. 

“I can do that myself, y’know,” you murmur. He hums, a hand lingering at the curve of your throat before he pulls away. 

“I know. I just like takin’ care of you,” he replies. There’s no hesitance or forethought, he just says it as he does everything else — like he means it. Born from his need to do things a certain way and your younger self's sensitive disposition, he’d always had a penchant for doting on you. Even as you’d matured that habit never went away. 

Something dark twists itself into your sternum like clockwork and you attempt to smother it. Maybe he just thinks you’re incapable, it suggests. This part of you — the one that cannot accept anything with good intention as true — is the thing you hate most about yourself. 

“Sorry,” you rasp, looking to the space between your bodies and finding your rippling reflection beside muddied boots, staring right back. 

“Why?” he waits patiently, but you don’t have an adequate answer. “Have you ever known me to do something I don’t want to do? To do something without purpose?” 

You shake your head, peering up at him with squinted eyes as the clouds part, thinning to allow the sun through. The light swallows his frame, an outline of white gold as it hits his back. He’s beautiful and it’s familiar, because to you he has always been this bright. 

“Then just say thank you,” the water shifts as he begins to turn, his arm held out to help you walk through the sludge, “you aren’t a nuisance to me”. 

With his body no longer shielding the sun, warmth passes over you. His palm is soft as it kisses your own, left untouched by endless hours of hard work thanks to how religiously he moisturised his hands every day. You’re reminded again that small things do matter. 

“Thank you,” you breathe. 

Shinsuke guides you without complaint, adapting to your heavy gait while seamlessly making his way through the fields. He pauses every so often to lower himself and overturn the soil, right glove back on while the left is bare and intertwined with your fingers. 

You take the time to appreciate your surroundings. Given how he leans more toward traditional practices you’d expect smaller, irregularly shaped paddies; but these ones are larger and rectangular in shape, much more fitting for machinery. 

You pause as he regards you, “think ya can do me a favour now you’re out here?” 

The questioning tilt of your head is an acceptable response. He smiles and takes an ear of yellow rice between his fingers, the younger spikelets still coloured green, prying away a tiny kernel and handing it over to you. It’s light in your palm, and you shield it from the oncoming gust of wind for fear it’d blow away. “Test this for me. Chew it carefully between yer teeth an’ let me know what’cha think”. 

Cautious, you put it into your mouth and roll it over your tongue before catching it between your molars. You’re gentle as you squeeze it, feeling the furrow of your brow. He tilts his head as he waits, the field breathing around the two of you. It was mostly firm, but still a little soft, and you tell him as such. 

“Will you be harvesting soon?” you ask. 

“It is around that time,” he replies, “the flooding has been much smoother this year, so we can probably get to drainin’ soon”. 

A little unsure of what he meant, you still find yourself nodding despite him not being able to see it. “I always make sure the levels are stable… like t’keep it around seven to eight centimetres this close to harvest,” he continues. 

“Is that what you’re doing now?”

He releases a sound of acknowledgement, glancing up at you from where he’s crouched. “Partly. I’m also lookin’ for something,” he says, gathering a dark mass into his loose fist before getting to his feet. Curious, you lean forward to get a better look at it, and startle at the glassy pair of eyes blinking between his fingers. 

“It’s… a toad?” 

“A frog. His legs are too long to be a toad,” he kindly corrects, turning his wrist to smile at the creature, “we had a lot of tadpoles this season. Amazing, isn’t it?” 

“Risky maybe. What if they get hurt or stepped on?”. Heat flashes beneath your skin as you realise your hands are still interlinked, but you make no move to let go, instead using the other to gently stroke over the frog’s head. Faint laughter builds in your chest as it squirms. Shinsuke watches you grin with an air of fondness.

“They’re resilient an’ they try their best with what they have,” he murmurs after a quiet moment of contemplation, “it's not only that. The rice around us is sensitive to the slightest change and requires a lotta’ care. Would ya say I’m burdened because of that?”

Somehow, he has circled the conversation right back to the start, right back to the heart of it all. You level him with a withered glare, and he takes it in his stride, unperturbed as ever. Shinsuke can appear unassuming and plain, but you knew he could be skilled in forcing people to confront their own manner of thinking. 

“That’s different. This is your job,” the words catch awkwardly in your throat, and you swallow down the swell. Legs kicking where they hang below his fist, the frog slips from Shinsuke’s grasp and jumps into the paddy with a resounding plop. 

“The difference is I’m not burdened by my job, because I love doin’ it”. Light reflects through his irises, giving the amber hue a ethereal glow, and you notice just how much determination is behind them. 

“Just try to remember the things ya don’t like about yourself aren’t just exclusive to you — they’re all around us in all manner a’ ways. Even if ya do think you’re awful because of them,” he says with a squeeze of your hand.

The impending afternoon heat sits heavy on your shoulders, conscious of your palms growing clammy. You’re overwhelmed, ears of rice grains blowing against your arm, feeling the imposing weight of his stare. “I don’t— I don’t know what to—” say, or do. 

He exhales, tightens his grip on you despite the sweat, and smiles. “S’alright, no need. Just something for ya to think on”. 

You nod, listening to the distant calls of his flock of ducks. They appear to be enjoying themselves, getting their fill of bugs and pests from between the paddies. Shinsuke follows your line of sight and encourages you with a soft tug. 

“I suppose we should eat too,” he says, slowly directing you towards a narrow path leading back to the house, “let me fix up somethin’ for ya”. 

An objection sits uselessly at the back of your throat, the sinking pull in your chest returning for a brief moment. You wanted to do something for him, too. You wanted to apologise again, so instead you say: “thank you, Shin”.

You recognise the pride in his expression, and buoyant once more, your footsteps are much lighter.  

Eventually you cultivate a routine you’re content with, though you’re still terrible at waking up early you try to join him in the fields before lunch even when your mood protests. Shinsuke explains how to milk the rice, how he’ll drain the field and what’ll come after with the harvest, satisfaction bleeding through into his voice. There’s now a bone deep ache in your thighs and your arms, unused to taking on so much manual labour, but it feels good. 

The first week comes to an end and the days unfold, each turn of the earth a stark and new beginning — no longer do they blur seamlessly into one another like before. 

You’re less hesitant with each step. As the minor changes slowly accumulate, you begin to notice as the pressure releasing from your body, and Shinsuke does too. “Y’look relaxed this morning,” he’d comment with a smile, “it’s good to see ya settlin’ in”. 

Though you’re happy with the changes, you don’t get comfortable with them, always bracing for another wave of loathing. You’re under no illusions. Nothing is better, but it is easier. After all, walking on a casted leg does not mean it isn’t injured, only that it is supported enough to bear weight. 

The nights are the hardest. Silence in the country is far louder than you anticipated, and the only other thing you can hear is the voice in your own head. Tonight is a little worse. Something about the nothingness — the gaping maw behind your ribs, the way the warm air sits, the dense shadows surrounding the room — is overwhelming. 

You kick off your quilt and leave it rumpled at the end of the futon as you struggle to sleep. You knew you’d need to hang it out again in the coming weeks. Maybe Shinsuke would be content with you cleaning the house while he was out, just to show your appreciation. To hold some purpose. 

Restless, you get to your feet. The sliding door is quiet as you open it, a soft sandpaper sound, but you grimace at the creak of the floodboards when descending the steps. Through darkness your eyes adjust, finding familiar shapes and silhouettes around the house, meandering your way slowly towards the entrance. You’d always known Shinsuke to be a light sleeper, and only hoped that you hadn’t woken him. 

You release a startled gasp once you reach the genkan, left unsteady by the sudden drop as you step down into the space, and wait with bated breath for any other movement from his bedroom. Nothing. Exhale. You slip your feet into the shoes you’d first arrived in and leave the laces loosely undone, unlocking the front door with a gradual turn of the key. A click echoes into the hall.

Noise floods your senses. The pitched whirring of the cicadas is much louder out in the open, almost likened to a distorted electrical current. Under the dim moonlight you observe the canvas of land, tip toeing along the veranda and seating yourself on the edge. Having absorbed the day's heat, the wood is still warm beneath your bare thighs.

A breeze passes through the thin fabric of your shirt, skin pebbling as you cross both arms over your chest. The rice crops barely feel it, standing slightly taller than the week before. Things grow according to their environments, and no two things have the same needs, that is what you’d learnt in the short time you’d spent here. 

It's widely common knowledge, and yet it shakes the foundation of your own perspective when applied to yourself, pushing you to look inwards. A part of you felt angered by how uncomplicated it needed to be.

Would you hate someone for their struggles, for how their symptoms manifested? Would you hate someone for lashing out because of their own hurt, for protecting themselves? Would you judge and be unkind to someone for things out of their control? 

Of course not — yet you had made that assumption about the people around you, and of Shinsuke. You ran from everyone that loved you and told yourself it was for their sake, when it was really because you were scared. Arrogant as it was, you made yourself an unlovable exception. 

You have been so cruel to yourself. 

The realisation stings, radiating through your sinuses and lining your eyes with tears. You blink to will them away, a few strays spill over to dampen your cheeks, but as if in a state of inertia you cannot seem to stop. 

A wet breath catches in your throat, disrupted by the jump of your sternum, and a light flickers on in the room behind you. It’s then that you notice the sliding doors leading from Shinsuke’s bedroom to the veranda, a shadow moving behind the screen, gently tugging it open. 

“Y’okay there sweetheart?” he murmurs, the sleep still thick in his voice as he lowers himself beside you, “what’re ya doin’ out here?” 

He’s in loose pajama pants and a short sleeved shirt, the muscle of his thigh pressed comfortingly against your own as he mirrors your position. An orange glow from the lamp by his futon illuminates his expression, giving warmth to the concern there. 

You swipe the back of your hand along your nose, smile brittle and eyes sore. “Sorry I woke you Shin,” you tell him, “I was just thinking”. 

Forefinger hooked, he catches a tear that has fallen to your jawline, but doesn’t mention it. “Wanna talk about it?” he asks. 

“Just… about why I came here. About how you let me stay, despite the fact that I never offered a good explanation”. 

He hums, acknowledging that he heard you, and that he was still listening. Your hands wring together anxiously as you continue to speak. “Even so, you knew I’d been struggling, didn’t you?” 

“You’ve always been too hard on yourself,” he returns quietly, “there’s no need to explain if ya can’t find the words. You don’t need ta’ justify anything to me”. 

A knot in your sternum, inches thick and splintering with age, loosens with his gentle words. What, why, when. How much longer — explanations were all anyone had ever wanted from you. But Shinsuke held no such expectation, he respected your need for time and never pushed. 

You wanted to try. 

“It wasn’t so bad when we were younger. There was always– something, eating away at me. But it was duller,” as you speak it begins to weigh on you, and so you lean against his side for support. “Then I started to feel like I could never get anything right, and it leaked into every corner of my life. Soon enough I felt like I couldn’t even form relationships properly, that I embarrassed myself every time I spoke, and that everyone else could see it too”. 

“So I isolated myself,” you admit through shame, “but the guilt that came with it was awful. I didn’t know what to do– I still don’t”. The words, slightly warbled and cloying, cause Shinsuke to press his lips together in a regretful thin line. For a moment you think he too might’ve finally seen the worst of you, his body shifting as he gets to his knees and moves away. 

“Wait here,” he reaches to cradle the back of your head for a moment before beginning to stand, “I’ll be right back”.

As promised he returns to the veranda only a few minutes later and repositions himself at your side. Held in his careful grip is a photograph, slightly curled at the edges and well loved. In the centre is an old picture of you and Shinsuke as children, clearly candid judging by how preoccupied you both are with the sparklers in your hands. It had been taken on New Years Eve, each wearing traditional clothing that you faintly remember being far too tight. 

Swallowing the swell in your throat, you look at Shinsuke questioningly. His facial expression, always a little bit softer around you, is kind. “I don’t know if you’ll remember, but after this was taken y’had a real big cryin’ fit because you couldn’t spell yer name with the sparkler like I could,” he says. 

You laugh, but the sound is wet and nearer a sob. With his free hand, Shinsuke extends his arm and swipes away another stray tear sliding over your cheek, the touch lingering by your mouth. “While you were wailin’ like a newborn you said to me, ��it’s not fair Shin, I’m never good at anything!” looking back to the printed memory, the warmth leaves your skin and returns to his lap.

“Granny told me once that we’re all whole people, but people can’t do a whole lot on their own,” he continues to speak and you watch as he gently traces his finger over your younger self, “sure, ya wasn’t good at everything. But y’had all the things I lacked, did a lot of the things I couldn’t — how else could I have cleaned our sliding door tracks, if not for your scrawny little hands?” 

You breathe a huff of amusement and the exhale seems to deflate you, your eyes burning as you curl against his shoulder. He welcomes it and rests his head atop your own. “What’s your point, Shin?” you ask. 

Being so close to his throat you can feel the faint vibration as he talks, drawn to the comforting heat thrumming through his skin. This was still friendly and you tell yourself it could be passed off as such, despite how he nuzzles into your hair. 

“You’ve trouble fathoming yer worth because you measure it by your successes,” he says quietly, “bein’ in your own head too long like that can distort the truth. The point is that ya don’t see yourself the way I do, or how anyone else does for that matter”. 

Shinsuke leans forward minutely, lips moving against your temple as he talks, mimicking a kiss with each word. “Don’t deprive yaself of livin’ just because you don’t think you’re doing it right”.

The moon is then overcast by cloud, and you’re left only with the intimate light of his bedroom flooding out through the sliding doors. “Okay,” you murmur, “I’ll try”. 

He thanks you. It’s enough for him, it always is. All Shinsuke ever asks is that you try your best, because the outcome never more meaningful as the effort before it. 

“Then, how about joinin’ me tomorrow?” you glance over to him as he tilts his head to meet your gaze, pulse poignant in your chest at the close proximity. Though you can barely see them, you’re sure there are faint freckles dusting his cheeks, kissed by the summer months. 

You’d like to kiss him too, you realise. 

“Tomorrow?” 

He smiles. “I’m goin’ into town to drop something off at granny’s, and was planning to get some grub from Osamu on the way home”. 

“I’d love to. I’ve missed her,” you reply. Shinsuke’s grandmother had been something of a matriarch on your street, watching multiple generations pass. She’d done more for you than you could ever thank her for, with both her kindness and her unending maternal love for you. 

“Plus I haven’t had ‘Samu’s onigiri since graduation,” the memory of it was a fond one, and if you concentrate you can still taste the pickled plum, “it’d be nice to see him again”. 

“I thought so too,” he nods, taking a final cursory glance across his land before eyes fall back to you, tongue subtly wetting his lower lip. He’s all warm toned — his face, his voice, his skin. 

“D’ya think you’ll be able to get some kip now?” 

His question plucks at the magnetism strung between the two of you. Deep in your gut you feel as if your answer might create a fork in the road, a before and an after. 

“Probably not for a while,” — not yet, I want to stay with you a little longer — “you can head off, though”. 

“Not without you,” he huffs, his larger hand encircling your wrist and encouraging you to your feet, “ya need to rest. If not in yer own bed, then in mine”.

Your mind briefly blanks, and he takes advantage of the long moment between your synapses connecting, guiding you into his bedroom. The futon is big, much bigger than your own, spread wide over the tatami flooring and headed by two thick pillows. 

“In… in yours? Is that really okay?” 

He slides the door closed, shutting the latch and giving one short tug to check it’s secure, glancing over his shoulder to where you are standing listlessly. The click echoes in your chest. “It’s fine with me,” he says, “is it fine with you?” 

You observe as he places the childhood photograph back on one of the shelves with more care than necessary. It isn’t the bed sharing that concerns you, but the implication that it could mean something more. 

“Alright,” you breathe, kneeling onto the covers and kneading the plush where your hand sits. It feels expensive, and was likely one of Shinsuke’s only selfish purchases. 

Your head sinks into the pillow gently, laid on your side and turned inwards, watching him settle next to you. The lamp is still on, mellow toned light magnifying the intimacy as he faces you, only a few inches of distance between your bodies. 

You swallow the urge to apologise. “Thank you, Shin”. 

“Thank you,” he returns reverently. Confused, you hum in question and he shakes his head, hints of a fond smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve done more for me than ya realise”. 

“Like helping with the farm?” 

“Like makin’ me happy,” he says. 

You weren’t sure what it was you’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been that. Reflexively you turn into the pillow, wanting to hide your smile and the truths written all over your face. The comfortability and yearning that oscillates inside of you when around Shinsuke only seems to spread, felt in the tips of your fingers as yours stretch to brush his in passing. 

You realise that love, something your consciousness had agonised over and grieved, was always been woven into your muscle memory; as if straddling a bike for the first time since you were a child, in your descent of a steep hill, your body remembers. 

You reposition your legs beneath the sheets and try to ignore how little you’re wearing. Influenced by the tension your voice is quiet as you reply: “I’m happier here too”. 

After he stretches across you to turn off the lamp, lingering far longer than he needed to, you fall asleep surprisingly quickly. Alongside the muffled cicadas had been the whirring of a small fan in the corner of the room, filling it with white noise, and his shallow breathing lulled you into security. This was not the first time you’d spent a night with him, though you hadn’t had a sleepover in many years, and you aren’t sure this could be likened to one held between children. 

You wake briefly a few hours later to the first glares of sunlight, squinting as you peer up at Shinsuke, still in the futon but sitting upright as he rubs the sand from his eyes. He notices your movement in his periphery and smiles, settling his hand atop the crown of your head to stroke your head, as if to soothe you. “Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, “we don’t have’ta leave ‘til this afternoon, so catch up on resting”. 

In no position to object, already halfway there as his nails lightly scratch your scalp, you let yourself have a few more hours. The next time your eyes open he’s gone, his side of the bed made up – corners perfectly overlapping, not a crease in sight – and the pillow is cold. There’s disappointment, but also a sense of relief that you needn't confront your feelings just yet. 

The air seems to have cooled further into the morning, no longer irritated by how your shirt clings to your skin. As you stand you notice a clock on one of his bookcase shelves, blinking digits back at you, informing you that it is almost lunch. Your gait is stilted as the circulation rushes through your legs, still sleep-mussed as you stumble through the lower floor rooms towards the kitchen in search for a glass of water.

“What’re ya lookin’ for?”

“Fuck, Shin—!” 

You flinch at the sound of his voice, carrying through from the main tatami room leading to the kitchen where he stands quietly in the doorway, a steaming mug held between his hands. He’s already in casual clothes, a pair of dark jeans and a long-sleeved sweater that clings nicely to his arms. He lifts it to his lips, hiding a smile as he drinks, and it’s unbearably attractive. 

“I was just, uh. It was a warm night so, I was gonna drink some water and maybe try makin’ lunch before you got back, but…” your rambling trails off into silence, feeling uncharacteristically shy. 

His eyes flicker to your bare legs for a moment. “If yer willing to get ready now we’ll head out an’ see granny earlier before we stop by Onigiri Miya,” he offers. Externally there is nothing out of place, yet there is still something tangibly different that you’re tempted to reach for. 

“Okay,” you accept, shifting awkwardly between each foot, “I’ll— I’ll go get dressed then. Can you fill up a bottle of water for me?” 

He nods once in agreement, and then again to the stairs, “I’ll be waitin’”.

So you rush each step, wincing at the weight of your footfalls as you go. You hadn’t packed much in the way of making a good impression, or with the thought that you might see anyone other than Shinsuke. In hindsight it had been naive to assume he’d let you isolate yourself all over again, but you’d truly forgotten just how close-by Osamu still was. 

You get yourself ready with haste. Shinsuke stands by the genkan amusedly as he watches you flit from room to room in a cartoonish state, toothbrush in one hand and hairbrush in the other, the buttons of your shirt needing to be fixed more than once. “Alright,” you huff a deep breath, hooking a finger to fix the tongue of your shoe where it folds inwards, “let’s go!”

The journey into the residential part of town is only slightly longer than the first. You lean your head against the window as it rattles, enjoying the vibration through your temple as you observe the many people walking along the pavements. There are a few families that you recognise, even some old students that’d been three years your junior in highschool. 

You suppose not everyone felt trapped here, like they had something to run from or prove by enduring the wider world. They all looked happy. 

The vehicle begins to slow as it crawls up to the curb, a familiar house coming into view. Shinsuke’s grandmother Yumie is sitting beneath the shade in a cushioned bench, a chestnut coloured walking stick propped up beside her. Her carer must be somewhere in the house, you think. Apparently it had taken her a good few years to accept the help, often getting by with the assistance of her neighbours. 

“What is it you were bringing for her again?”

“Some of the duck eggs,” he says, taking a moment to observe her wistfully through the windscreen before moving to unbuckle his seatbelt, “she likes ‘em soft boiled”.

Yumie looks up as she hears the sound of your passenger door falling shut, eyes narrowed into a squint as she struggles to see. Shinsuke approaches her with ease, hand lifted overhead in a wave while he calls out to her, and you watch her grin at his voice. “Shin-chan,” she croons. 

He crouches in front of her and lowers his head to her knees, bowing in greeting. “It’s good to see ya in high spirits granny,” you hear him say. He smiles at her and takes her hands into his own, squeezing them affectionately before her eyes are naturally drawn to where you linger behind him. She visibly brightens.

“Hi again granny,” you move closer as she beckons you, “you’re lookin’ healthy as ever”. 

“And you’re as bonny as the first day I saw ya,” she smiles, and the pink in her cheeks pay her back some of her youth. Shinsuke glances between you, his expression a clear mirror of hers. 

“I’m gonna give the eggs to Murase while you two chat, how’s that?” he suggests, straightening his back as he stands, “we’re not stayin’ long today, so I won’t hog any of your extra time”. 

You worry your lower lip between your teeth. “Are you sure that’s—”

“Thank you darlin’,” Yumie cuts in smoothly, “I appreciate it. So away with ya”. 

Shinsuke follows her instruction dutifully, hand brushing your shoulder with intent as he passes, casting a final smile your way as if to say good luck. Yumie titters at the interaction and pats the space next to her. 

“How’ve ya been faring over on the farm?” she inquires quietly, a playful air about her as if you were children sharing secrets, “has my Shin been good to you?” 

“He’s always been good to me granny, you know that,” you murmur back, entertaining her whims, “I’ve enjoyed staying with him”. She hums, much in the same way Shinsuke does, indicating that she’s pleased. 

“Ya sound a lot happier than when we last spoke,” — the phone call, her suggestion that you pack your things and come back home, you remember well — “had me worried, pet. You’re like another grandchild to me”. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathe the words and lean to take her hand, smaller and wrinkled in your own. She has gotten a little shorter too, you can tell. “I’ve… It's been hard. But I want to be better”. 

Her grip tightens, but it’s still weak. “You always were sensitive, had a heart like a bruised apple,” she says, crows feet deepening by her eyes, “wanted so badly to be like everyone else ya couldn’t see how wonderful you were as yourself”. 

Overhead, the sun begins to dim, smothered by grey. If you concentrate you can see that they’re coasting along quite quickly, and the darker clouds are not far behind. “I always found something to be sad about,” you recall noncommittally as you glare up at the sky, “I thought I was doing everyone a favour by pulling away”. 

In your peripheral Shinsuke comes out onto the front step, waiting beneath the door frame with no intention of interrupting. Yumie clicks her tongue, “nothing wrong with being sad, darlin’. It’s alright to ask for help — all wounds deserve healing”.

“Because whole people still can’t do a whole lot on their own, right? 

“That’s right,” barely noticeable as it starts, rain droplets sparsely litter the pavement, “Shin-chan tell ya that one did he?” 

Shin-chan is starting to look anxious, you think to yourself. You grow restless in your seat, wanting to move Yumie indoors before the weather worsens. “He did,” you murmur, glancing over at the man in question and wordlessly asking for his assistance, “we should go inside, granny. It’s startin' to spit”. 

She squeezes your hand once more before reaching for her cane, and turns to you a final time, smiling as she lowers her voice. “You deserve love, too. He won’t let’cha forget that anytime soon”. 

Shinsuke appears before you have the chance to reply discreetly, unperturbed by the secrecy of the moment and extending his arm for her to use as support as she pushes her weight against her cane, “time to head in, granny. I gave Murase yer duck eggs and he’s makin’ shoyu tamago”.

She vocalises her excitement, though rasped and tinny in her throat. Yumie had been an older woman for as long as you’d known her, so much so that you and the other neighbourhood children would gather to try and guess her age. But she’d still been spry, always keeping up alongside the other parents. There is melancholy in knowing her body was beginning to slow. 

The words blur together slightly as you gradually walk toward the house, rainfall quickening into a chorus of pitter-patter, white noise overlaying their voices. The spray is thin and abundant, the kind that hurts your eyes and stings when wielded by wind. A young man, presumably Murase, meets Yumie at the door. He’s clean cut, hair buzzed neatly to his scalp and dressed in a collared polo shirt, a bow at the back of his neck where his apron is tied. He bows upon noticing you. 

Shinsuke lingers with hands at her back as Yumie is helped into the entryway, his anxiety apparent despite trying to hide it out of respect. “Make sure you have enough time to stay when y’next visit,” she titters, turning to pat him gently on the cheek. He nods, and you do the same. 

“After I’ve drained the fields an’ finished the harvest I’ll have all the time in the world for ya, granny,” he replies, eyes closing as he smiles. 

“Good. Now you take proper care of each other”. 

Shinsuke’s touch is warm against the small of your back as he curls around you, your heads ducked closely together and giggling as you rush to the car even though it shields none of the rain. By the time you’re seated in the truck the fabric of your shirt is clinging to your shoulders and droplets are whipping against the roof. The engine sputters as it starts, evolving into a smooth hum as Shin leans across the dashboard to turn the heating on, pointing the small fan in your direction to give you more of the hot air. 

“Thank you,” you breathe, skin pebbling at the sudden change in temperature, “shit, that was fast. Didn’t think it looked like rain today at all”. 

“It’ll pass quickly. See,” — he points across the skyline and you follow the line of sight, finding a clear span of blue in the distance where the darker clouds end — “we should be fine. D’ya still wanna call in at Osamu’s?” 

“Yeah I want to. Does he know we’re coming?”

“I let him know before you woke up this mornin’”. 

“Ok. It’s been a while since we last saw one another,” you say, pressure returning to your chest along with the guilt, “since I last saw… everyone, really”. 

You’re grateful that he doesn't immediately baby you; you left people behind who cared about you. There were plenty of reasons for it, no ill intent, but it still hurt. Them and you. Shinsuke had always been comforting because you knew he would always be honest, and you didn’t really want to be told it wasn’t your fault. He steers with both hands on the wheel, fingers dancing over the curve, each tap joining the cacophony of water against glass and tire against gravel. Hearing the hesitance in your voice, he says: “a sincere apology goes a long way. People are more forgivin’ than you realise”.

You nod silently, fiddling with a loose thread hung from the seam of your pants, and focus on the trails left behind by the rain running down the windscreen before they’re wiped away. “Remember when we used to bet on which droplet would reach the bottom first?” 

Laughter rumbles in his chest, putting you at ease. “I remember ya always used to cheat by changing which raindrop you were followin’,” he replies. 

“I have no recollection of that,” you mutter petulantly, lips jutting into a pout to conceal your smile. The downpour begins to clear up, followed by a potent air of petrichor, and you watch as people sheltered under doorways and bus stops flock back out onto the busier streets. 

You notice the Onigiri Miya sign in the distance, fixed above the door and displaying his logo to the public. You knew it was just his first restaurant and he wanted to expand his business, but the pride you felt at the sight was insurmountable. 

It’s moderately busy as you enter together. There’s a small line, so you join the end and use the time to survey the interior. Like Shinsuke, Osamu had always favoured things that were a little more traditional, and that was evident in his space. There’s a banner of the shop name written in japanese calligraphy, various artworks hung throughout the walls in appreciation of the local agriculture, and mahogany stained furniture that only adds to its character. 

At first there is a younger woman waiting at the cashier but you pick up on the familiar ring of his voice from the kitchen, loudly carrying through as he ducks beneath the curtain hung across the doorway and trades places with her for the time being. 

Osamu is broader than you remember him being; so clear in your mind is the image of him as a boyish second year, hair coloured grey in opposition to his brother's blonde. Now he stands tall, carrying himself with a natural air of confidence, looking as if he is right at home talking to his patrons from behind the counter. Shinsuke waits patiently beside you, shuffling further up in the line every few minutes, and you feel the prick of his stare as you observe your junior. 

Eventually it is your turn to approach, and Osamu’s eyes meet yours in a double take, his expression opening up as he grins. The tension in your muscles unravels — he is happy to see you. 

“Yo, ‘Samu,” the casual greeting falls from your lips before you can even think, still a habit even after all the years apart, “it’s good to see you again!” 

“Yer a sight for sore eyes, that’s for certain,” he folds his arms atop the counter and leans forward to regard Shinsuke as he speaks, “Kita-san mentioned ya came back, but I thought he might’a finally started hallucinating after bein' alone over there for so long”. 

Shinsuke huffs a breath of amusement, and you try not to react as he rests his hand by your hip. “Watch yourself. Stop makin’ me sound like a recluse, or I’ll stop giving you the family discount”. 

The familiarity of being with them both swaddles you, and you feel yourself falling back into old shoes, surprised as how effortlessly the shadow fits. Osamu’s head falls for a moment in exasperation, hung between his shoulders as he snorts, before he takes off his cap to run a hand through his hair. 

“It’s brown again,” you comment abruptly, and his movement stills. 

“Ah,” his eyes brightened with understanding, “I forgot that you’d already left before I dyed it back. Whaddaya think?” 

“It suits you well,” you swallow the lump of guilt forming in your throat, remembering Shinsuke’s words, “everything… all of this, it suits you ‘Samu. You should be proud, and I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch”. 

Like wax to a flame, his face softens into a knowing look. “Don’t worry about it, we’ve all got our own thing going on. Yer here now and that’s what counts so,” — as he ducks to grab something beneath the counter Shinsuke strokes his thumb against your back in soothing circles and heat flashes through your body — “all I ask is you enjoy the food I lovingly made ya”.

He settles a to-go bag on the surface top, and still warm between your palms when you pull it closer. “I’ll be sure to do that,” you return with muted happiness, then glancing up at Shinsuke, “we both will”.

There’s a stilted moment of silence that you immediately pick up on, Osamu’s gaze flickering between the two of you and measuring the lack of distance, a brow raised in obvious suspicion. “What?” you murmur defensively. 

“Nothing’!” he hooks the cap back over his hair, tucking the stray hair behind his ear as he smirks, “just glad to finally see ya together after all that pining in highschool”. 

“It’s— it’s not like that,” you stammer at the implications and attempt to move away from Shinsuke’s proximity only to be kept in place as his fingers squeeze your hip, attention drawn to him as you ask: “right, Shin?”

But Shinsuke says nothing to help, only looking at you from the corner of his eye, the slight squint an obvious giveaway that he’s trying not to appear amused. Flustered, you gently slap his chest and pull away with the food bag tight to your chest, “whatever, I’m leavin’ before this gets cold”. 

Osamu covers his mouth as he laughs, calling out to you as you back away, “oi, make sure you come back again. ‘Tsumu is gonna be so mad he missed ya otherwise”. 

“I will!” you promise. Shinsuke circles around you in your distraction to get the door while lifting a hand to bid Osamu goodbye, the breeze swelling and carrying the smell of rain into the restaurant. Thankfully he hadn’t parked too far from the entrance, and you hasten to walk ahead of him, avoiding his mirth. 

The truck rocks slightly on its axis as you throw yourself into the passenger seat. Pulling the heavy door shut, you place the bag of food between your legs and keep your thighs together to keep the heat from escaping, glaring over at Shinsuke as he buckles his seatbelt. He remains nonplussed and announces “lets get ya home”. 

You find that the drive back is always much quicker, overcome by a sense of déjà vu as you’re taken back down the flattened dirt road leading to the farm, welcomed once again by the Chugoku mountain-scape. By the outhouse you spot a few stray ducks adventuring along the path, wingspans spreading as they’re startled into flight by the oncoming vehicle. 

He comes to a stop, pushing the handbrake down with a resounding click and muttering something under his breath about the wet mud. “Let me get out first an’ check you aren’t gonna sink in them shoes,” he says. 

So you wait, watching in the rear view mirror as he walks around the back of the truck contemplatively, surveying how saturated the soil was after the rainfall. Gripping the handle of the to-go bag as he unlocks your door for you, he offers an arm to help you in getting down. “Doesn’t look too bad here but I’ll have’ta head out and look at the water levels in the paddies,” he continued. 

“You should eat first,” you insist, finally breaking your silence with a thoughtful frown as he lets you down, “maybe we could get our wellies on and eat as we walk?”. 

Shinsuke smiles down at you, black tipped bangs hung low over his eyes. He’d need a haircut soon, you think. “Really getting into the gist of livin’ here, aren’t ya?” there’s an affectionate intonation to his voice, and again you’re met with the urge to kiss him, “let’s do that then. I wonder what he whipped up for us”. 

He leads you to the house unnecessarily with the flimsy excuse of not wanting you to slip, but you don’t want to let go of him either. Whatever has been kindling over the past week — over the many years you’d spent together — seemed to finally be coming to a head. At some point you’d need to confront it. 

After wearing them down your boots no longer leave blisters, the skin of your feet finally used to the constant movement and friction that came with wading through the paddies. Minor things like that are what helps you realise just how big of a change you have made; even the muscles in your back feel stronger, your posture a little straighter, more confident in the way you navigate the land. 

Osamu’s food is just as delicious as you knew it’d be. The rice is fluffy and warm in your mouth, the fillings tangy on your tongue, paired well with the crisp late afternoon air. Before coming here you don’t think you could’ve imagined ever feeling this at home again, not just in any place but inside of yourself. 

Even though it is late into the month of fall, you feel ripened. 

Fortunately, the water in the paddies are barely disturbed and unneeding of attention. You return to the veranda with mud caked around the soles of your boots, sitting along the edge to slip out of them, banging them together over the side to get rid of the excess.  

Shinsuke does the same. “Y’can leave them by the steps. I’ll hose them down later,” he suggests, and you concede. 

“Shin?” you softly call out to him, close at his back as you enter the genkan and gathering your courage, “why didn’t you say anything back there?”

“It’s nice seeing ya a little flustered,” he admits with an easy smile, watching as the back of his shoulders lift into a shrug, “besides, it’d make me a liar”. 

He turns as he notices you have paused in the hallway. “Be clear what you mean by that,” you sound breathless, heart bloated with hope, “please”. 

Anticipation heightens as he comes back to you, steps kept cautious as if he’s wary of your reaction, stopping only a few inches away from you. His adam’s apple bobs, swallowing before he speaks. 

“I mean it’s exactly like that,” he emphasises the words, like he truly wants you to believe them, “I mean it feels as if I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you”. 

Your body slacks with the next exhale, giddiness bubbling in your throat as you laugh, swaying forward into his chest. His arms embrace you, wrapping around your back to hold you upright, and with your ear by his breast you can hear his heartbeat. It’s fast. 

“Even when I’m a mess?” you ask. He hums in affirmation, the vibration of it akin to a purr. 

“Even then”. 

You tilt your head and he meets your gaze, barely a hair between you, so close you could count each eyelash. You’re anxious to touch him but not out of fear, moreso a sense of restlessness, yet you're wary of overstepping; it feels good to see those same emotions reflected back at you. 

“Me too,” you recite his confession back to him, “for as long as I’ve known you”. All the times you’d thought the worst of yourself, he had been there, and he had loved you. 

“Can I kiss you?” his irises are slowly being swallowed by the pupil, tongue dipping to wet his lower lip. You nod with bated breath — there’s nothing you want more. 

He leans forward, lingering as your noses brush awkwardly and he laughs, turning your mouths until they fit. There’s sanctity in the way he kisses you, palms to your cheeks, cradling you as if you really are something precious. 

The first is relatively innocent. You part only to say his name, and it leads him right back to you, this time with lips agape to take you deeper. All the effort put into repressing your yearning over the years springs forward, like a band pulled taut and released. His tongue tentatively licks into your mouth, searching for any discomfort and finding none. 

Your hands lift to grope along the length of his arms to his chest, allowing yourself to touch everything he’d give you. He smiles languidly against your mouth, breathing a laugh into the kiss, and arousal pools honey-thick in your belly. It continues like this —  things like time and surroundings are held in suspension, content just to have and hold one another. 

“Shin,” you sigh happily, the name still muffled by his mouth. 

He pulls away, a soft wet sound as you separate, a hand still cupping your cheek while the other threads into your hair. “Why’d you stop?”

“We should talk about this,” he murmurs, thumb stroking the skin beneath your eye as he ignores your groan, “m’not going any further til we do”.

“Why do you have to be so reasonable?” 

“Because I want to do right by ya”. Cat-like, you turn into his tender touch at the admission. You shouldn’t have expected anything less — it was Shinsuke after all. 

“Where would we start?” you sag with assent, feeling his chest shake as he laughs. 

“How about you tell me what’cha want?” lithe fingers curl to lightly scratch your scalp. The swell of his cheeks are blatantly pink, even under the low light of the sun flooding into the hallway. With enough time to collect your thoughts you manage to count twelve freckles; seven on the left and five on the right. His question is difficult to answer, not because you didn’t have one, but because you still weren’t sure you deserved it. 

Sensing your reluctance, he ducks to kiss your temple and clarifies: “Let’s say just for tonight. Where do you want this to go?”

Thinking in terms of the present was much easier. What you wanted now… all your mind could conjure was him, him, him. You wanted to kiss him again, to see parts of him you’d only ever imagined, to see the tan lines around the thick of his thighs. Still, admitting that was the hard part. 

“I want you,” he exhales an amused huff and you try not to pout, “don’t— you know I’m not good at asking for things”. 

His voice is low, slightly rough where the words are thick in his mouth, a glimmer of hunger beneath half lidded eyes. “Sorry, darlin’. How about I tell you what I want too?” 

You murmur agreeably, the nod of your head feeble. This was such uncharted territory for the both of you, you couldn’t understand how he was being so confident about it. “Tonight I want to make you feel good, an’ then tomorrow I want to wake up to your pretty face in the mornin’. That's it”. 

It was so simple, so honest. The heat in your belly deepens. “Then take me to bed,” you say. 

The futon is somehow softer than you remember, your body rolling back atop the sheets and ruining the perfectly lined edges as Shinsuke follows you to the head of the bed, mumbling sweet nothings into your ear as he goes. He moves the pillows to cushion your head, traversing a path of kisses from your cheek to the curve of your throat, giving no resistance when you pull him back to your mouth. 

The seams gradually seep into one another until your senses are clouded. He’s all you can think about, all you can feel, his weight heavy above you as your bodies rock together in tandem. “You’re so beautiful,” he pants, gently nipping your lower lip between his teeth, “you're sure this is okay?”

“More than okay,” you moan into his mouth as his cock presses tight against your sex, the friction relieving some of the ache, “are you—?”

“Fuck,” he undulates his hips when he feels your thighs tighten. “Yeah. I wanna make you cum on my tongue, can I?”

You stutter out a plea and he moves, a little wide eyed and triumphant. “Let me know if y’need me to stop,” he says, carefully working the material of your pants down your legs and taking your underwear with them, “and make sure to tell me what ya like, right?”

He parts your knees and you throb at the feeling of his breath along your inner thighs, hooking them over his shoulders when he lowers further, hands squeezing appreciatively as he pauses to kiss every piece of you. Wanting to watch his expression, you support yourself on your elbows and see as he loosens his jaw to taste you. 

You shudder at the first roll of his tongue through your folds, relaxed and smooth, followed by a chaste kiss to your clit. He repeats the motions, testing different patterns and pressures. “Got such a sweet pussy,” he breathes, meeting your eyes as he circles your entrance, pressing himself impossibly close and fucking you with his mouth. It sounds so wet, both his spit and your arousal on his chin as he takes his time coaxing you into bliss. 

He’s purposely teasing you, observing your surface reactions and learning what you like just for the opportunity of giving you a little bit at a time. It’s unfairly good, hyper sensitive as your body coils tighter and tighter, yet never enough to crest. Your clit aches and the impatience is enough to set your embarrassment aside, so you reach to spread your folds for him. “Please Shin,” you whine. 

You feel him grin, giddiness bright in his eyes, “don’t worry, I’ll let ya cum sweetheart”. He gently sucks your clit between his lips and your chest rises with your hips as you arch into him, fists curling into the sheets at the push of a finger at your entrance. He sinks into you until you’ve taken him to the knuckle, languid as he strokes them upwards and out, his other hand tightening around your thigh once you begin to squirm. 

As you grow pliant, head tilting back into the pillow, his tongue grows tense and he massages tight circles around your clit with the tip. He finds the right rhythm and repeats it again and again until you’re teetering at the edge, waiting for the final push. His name catches in your throat, pitched and desperate, bearing down onto his wrist feverishly as you reach for it. 

“M’gonna cum,” the warning falls short as you moan, “fuck— Shin, you’re gonna make me cum”. 

He hums, the sound vibrating pleasantly against your clit. Your body seizes for a moment as your orgasm washes over you, back arched like the spine of a bow, and he doesn’t stop; tongue flickering back and forth unremittingly with fingers pumping in and out of your pussy as you pull him in. He keeps you ashore, gradually slowing his movements to guide you through each wave as it passes, until your muscles are completely pliant. 

He lowers your legs back onto the futon, hand slipping beneath your shirt and pushing it up to fold below your breasts, appreciating the length of your stomach as he makes his way to you. “Incredible… looked so beautiful… did so well for me, love,” he kisses each individual praise into your skin until he comes into view, arms braced either side of your head. 

“Still feel okay?” he kisses your lips briefly and you drag him back into another, tasting yourself on his tongue. 

“Yeah. I’m…” you exhale, laughing breathlessly into his mouth, “...you’re unfairly good at that”. 

He joins you, the exhilaration contagious. This was your childhood best friend, and your arousal was on his cheeks. “I’ve had some practice,” he admits in amusement, though there is a faint pinch in his brow when a thought visibly crosses his mind, “you have too, right?”

“I have. Just not for a while,” you reach to smooth out the crease, sending him what you hope is a comforting smile, “my libido was… nonexistent, at some points”.

He shifts on his knees between your legs, cock hard and straining in his jeans, yet his expression is nothing but understanding as he nods. “We can stop now, if ya feel like you’ve had enough,” he says. 

The statement almost makes you cry, overwhelmed not only because of the love that he bathes you in, but because something that should be common decency feels so monumental to you. “No,” you reply quietly, cradling his cheeks in both hands. You don’t think you could ever have enough of him. 

“I want you to fuck me”. 

“I don’t have any condoms,” he warns, “I wasn’t expectin’ this to happen now, so—”

“If you’re comfortable pulling out I’m fine with it,” you gingerly suggest.

While he sits back to take off his shirt you pull your own over your head, discarding it onto the floor beside the futon and crossing your arms across your chest as you wait. The musculature of his abdomen shifts as he bares himself, revealing fine curls of hair between his pecs, more leading from his navel into the waistband of his jeans. 

The groan of relief as he undoes the top button spreads straight to your pussy, thighs squeezed together to smother the feeling only to begin reflexively rubbing them in search of friction. You knew from the clothes he wore that he wasn’t as lean as he’d been in highschool, having gained not only muscle but some fat, too. It made him look broader — thicker.  

It’s hard to shut down that line of thought as it starts. You wonder if he sees you differently too; perhaps you aren’t what he’d pictured you to be, or what he wanted. But with the dulcet call of your name you meet his heated gaze, watching him palm at his cock while he drinks you in.

“Don’t hide yaself,” he moves to gently pry your arms away from your breasts, “look so beautiful laid out for me like this. Wanna see all of you”. 

And with the reverence he directs at you, your insecurities are smothered. “You too Shin,” you wrap your fingers around his cock, still tucked in his briefs, and enjoy how he bucks into the touch. “Let me see all of you, too”.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, and he nods as if he were heeding your instruction. Reaching between your bodies, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, dragging the fabric over his cock and down his thighs. 

Saliva pools beneath your tongue at the sight of him. His dick springs back, hard and subtly curved to the left, the tip blushing rouge. The base is covered with neatly trimmed hair, dark rather than silver, and his stomach jumps as you run your finger through it from his stomach to his pelvis. “Even your cock is pretty,” you comment under your breath. 

“I can hear ya,” he murmurs, crowding into your space until skin meets skin, shaping himself around you until he’s the only thing you see. You tilt up your chin wordlessly and he kisses you docile, hands trembling where they’re curled against his chest. His cock is hot against your thigh, and you roll your hips up to encourage him. 

You cinch your legs either side of his waist, feet hooked lazily at his back as you slip your arms around his neck. “Make me feel good like you promised,” you grin. 

Humming with fond amusement he repositions himself, his cock sliding smoothly through your arousal, plucking the soft gasp from your mouth as he bumps against your clit. “I’ve got ya sweetheart,” he lines the tip up and you feel yourself clench in anticipation. 

Swaddled by the weight of his body and supported by the thick plush futon beneath, he sinks into you slowly as if he’s savouring it, just as he does with every meal. Patient as always, he waits a few moments for you to adjust, littering featherlight pecks along the curve of your neck. He feels girthier than he looks, but the stretch is more gratifying than it is painful — the drag of his cock as he pulls out even moreso.

“Fuck, baby,” your hand slides into his hair, cradling the back of his head as he begins to find pace. Your breasts shake with each thrust, nipples pebbling under his touch, attention attracted to the way they bounce. He looks mystified, his jaw relaxed to take each pant as it comes, a deep groan reverberating in the back of his throat. 

You tighten around him and something in his eyes brightens wildly. Excitement, giddiness. He leans his forehead to yours, sharing your breath and swallowing your moans, pushing deeper until he finds the rhythm that has your fingers curling against his scalp. “There?” he mutters, the baritone of his voice echoing through you, “doing so well for me, love. Got no idea how good ya feel”. 

The space between your mouths fills with murmured praises, disjointed curses, the call of his name over and over. He speaks low to you; erring on a whisper, as if they’re only for you to hear, and the intimacy of it settles warm in your chest. 

“Please don’t stop. Keep— just like that,” you gasp as you feel the familiar pull through your centre, simultaneously pliant and coiled while you try to meet his pace. A hand falls heavily at your hip and he holds you still, unrelenting even when he begins to curl into himself, rasping that he’s close. 

“Let me feel you cum on my cock,” he shudders as your thighs tremble at either side of him, nipples grazing the soft hair on his chest as you keen, digging your heels harshly into the small of his back once you feel yourself slip. Pleasure floods through your senses, brows pinched in awe and momentarily weightless as the second orgasm hits you.

“That’s it darlin’. Shit,” you can barely hear him over the blood rushing in your ears, “need to pull out. Feels too— m’gonna cum”. 

“Please,” you blink away the haze as you run your hands along his shoulders and back, relishing the clear desperation in his expression. Your feet unhook, limbless as all rigidity bleeds from your body, and with a final groan he’s able to push himself away from you. 

You barely have time to miss him as he pulls out, left pulsing around emptiness as you ride out the minor aftershocks. Knelt between your legs with a hand fisted around his wet cock and his chin tucked to his sternum, Shinsuke leans over you in haste. After three rough strokes, he cums across your stomach. 

His shoulders rise and fall with exertion, blush tinted with a golden hue from the late afternoon sun. He sags forward onto his clean hand to support his weight over you, and as the clarity returns to his eyes a boyish smile works its way onto his face. He looks smitten — happy. This must be what afterglow is supposed to feel like. 

“That was…” he huffs a laugh, “...incredible”.

You brush the damp hair from his forehead tenderly, incognisant of the cum drying to your skin. Somehow, you think you want to cry again. “Better than you imagined?” you tease, exhaustion befalling you. 

Perceptive as always, he notices. “Better than I ever imagined,” he repeats in agreement, turning to kiss the inside of your wrist where your hand has slipped to cradle his cheek, “you wait here nice an’ sweet and I’ll get’cha cleaned up”. 

You don’t want him to go but you trust him to come back. And he does, swiftly moving through the house with a damp cloth while naked as the day he was born. He must’ve run it under lukewarm water, gentle as he wipes away the mess he made on you. “Feelin’ okay? Are you sore or anything?” he asks. 

“No,” just satiated, you think. Your thoughts are quiet and your limbs are heavy. 

“Yer all worn out,” once satisfied he slips the sheets out from underneath you and covers you up, cloth discarded to the side in favour of running his fingers through your hair, “get some rest, just an hour or so”. 

Already halfway there, you surrender to the inevitable, opening your eyes to glance up at him as you reach for his hand. “Stay?” you mumble. 

He rubs his thumb along the back of your knuckles. “Couldn’t get rid of me if ya tried”. 

His side of the futon is still warm when you wake, but he isn’t there, and the room is dark. You roll onto your back and wince, suddenly feeling some discomfort. Through the sliding doors you hear movement; the sounds of oil in a pan and ceramic cups being set at the table. It spurs you into consciousness and you push away the covers, glancing back to set them neatly by the corners just as he had done before, then make your way to the kitchen after getting dressed. 

You’re met by a light western style dinner, something with egg, though you aren't sure. Still sleep mussed, you kneel and settle onto your cushion with the tatami soft beneath your shins, and as he places your food down he leans to kiss your cheek. The heat lingers there and crawls to the tips of your ears. 

“How can… how can you just do that?”

You’d expected some kind of awkwardness or stumbling, as would be natural on the path from childhood friends to a romantic relationship. There were bends and forks that you no longer needed to be weary of — still, that didn’t mean you wouldn’t instinctively hesitate after all the years of ignoring them. 

But Shinsuke only smiles, warm wrinkles of amusement at your flustered question. His eyes are bright as they meet yours, slightly squinted and sincere as he speaks. 

“It’s easy,” he says, “because it’s you”.

#kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #kita x reader

[it-happened-one-fic]

Rivals - Jamil

Author Notes: This fic was almost wholly inspired by how annoyed I got with Jamil while doing those fights in the Ignihyde chapter where you don't get to select your cards and just have to deal with what the game hands you. He was awful in those. I've always sort of liked the idea of Jamil and the prefect snipping back and forth at one another, so this was sort of fun to write. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fluff/ flirtation (kinda?? I guess???)/ Reader and Jamil bicker/ Spoilers for Scarabia and Pomefiore chapters

Word count: 1807 words

You didn’t know exactly how you’d reached this point, but you were here now, and you certainly weren’t backing down.

The problem at hand was quite simple really, and it even had a name you could put to it.

Jamil. Jamil was the problem. Because at some point, the two of you had become rivals. 

Looking back, you were fairly certain it stemmed from the entire Scarabia incident during winter break. It was strange how you’d been able to forgive the other overblot victims for their crimes with only a few biting comments. But something about what Jamil had done had rubbed you the wrong way.

Oh, it was true; you completely understood his thinking and longing for recognition. And you even felt he deserved to be recognized for his many talents. 

But the fact that he, not anyone else, had been the one to drag you into that whole debacle was what really upset you. 

With all of the other overblots, it had been Crowley, your friends, or even your own feelings that had caused you to become embroiled in another dorm's drama.

But the situation with Scarabia, had been different. Jamil was the one who’d brought you to Scarabia and he was the reason you’d ended up involved.

Locked up, being worked to the bone, and eventually escaping before returning with help in the form of the Octatrio. It wasn’t an experience you would forget.

You had, to a degree, forgiven Jamil since it was true that he was dealing with years of stress and buried feelings. But you would always wonder what on earth had caused him to decide to hold you hostage when you wouldn’t have discovered his little plot if he hadn’t dragged you into the situation.

It made very little sense for such an otherwise intelligent young man to make such an obvious mistake. It was almost like he’d simply wanted you to be there for some unknown reason.

And now you’d reached this odd relationship with Jamil, filled with snide remarks and the determination to one-up each other.

If you had to put a name on your dynamic with Scarabia’s vice-housewarden, then ‘frenemies’ would be the closest thing to accuracy that you could think of. Because you didn’t hate Jamil, but you certainly did bicker with him enough for the two of you to easily be categorized as foes. 

And it went both ways. You weren’t the only one who held irritation towards the other one.

Jamil hadn’t backed down in the slightest when it came to your interactions. And at this point, the relationship had swelled out of control.

And it had all started so simply too. Shortly after winter break had ended, you’d been paired to work with Jamil in a magical application test that involved defense and attack from the pair opposite you. Namely, Ruggie and Azul.

You didn’t think you’d ever forget the smug look Jamil had cast your way, “Don’t worry. Everything will go smoothly.”

Smoothly, the assuredly attractive fool had said. Perhaps it would have gone smoothly if he and Grim had both listened a bit more to your suggestions.

A tiny part of you regretted that you’d snapped at him as you shoved your soaked hair out of your face. It wasn’t truly his fault.

 Grim had been underfoot when he’d panicked and had definitely worsened the situation, causing Jamil to stumble over the yowling feline and pitched directly over into you.

You’d both landed hard on the ground, turned muddy by Azul’s torrent of water magic, and you’d looked at the young man sprawled across your lap with a huff of not entirely fair venom, “Smoothly, huh?”

Those words had been like a nail in the coffin that had been the potentially budding friendship between you and Jamil. Since then, all of your interactions had been almost exclusively filled with biting comments and impressive levels of snarkiness.

It was true that it wasn’t an entirely irrevocable situation. After all, Jamil had protected you during Vil’s overblot, and you’d saved him from bugs countless times now without ever having made a single comment on his fear.

But it was also true that there was little to no love lost between you and the Scarabia vice-housewarden.

Which was why you were surprised when it had been Jamil who had darted so quickly with such a panicked expression across the potionology classroom solely to put up a barrier between you and a potion that had gone explosively wrong in your pot.

You’d been tugged impossibly close to the young man as he made some form of magical shield that blocked both the explosion and the gooey liquid that steamed on its surface before sliding down into a gruesome pile on the floor.

As always, Crewel reacted in record time as he caused the offensive mass to simply disappear before whirling on your fellow potion-maker, demanding to know what had happened since it apparently had to be something to do with the flow of his magic.

You stepped backwards, exhaling a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding before looking up at the young man who was watching your classmate get chewed out by your shared teacher, “Thank you.”

Your voice came out surprisingly quiet and was met with a half shrug and a noncommittal, “Don’t mention it.” The young man glanced over, giving your person a quick scan that you’d seen him give Kalim numerous times when he was checking for injuries.

“Viper,” Crewel’s voice was sharp as ever and had both your and Jamil’s attention snapping over to him.

The teacher sighed, brushing his two-toned hair back as he eyed the young man next to you, “Good work. If you hadn’t reacted quite so quickly, I fear Y/n may have suffered great injury.”

Jamil inclined his head, having stiffened slightly as soon as the classroom’s attention had fallen on him.

“If you would, walk them to the infirmary, they will still need a check-up simply for safety reasons. Inhaling the fumes could cause them to pass out so…”

There was no need for Crewel to finish since Jamil was already nodding, efficient as ever as he grabbed your hand and agreed to do as requested, “Of course.”

A single glance was thrown your way before he pulled you along after him, out the door and down the hall, with him leading the way.

His grip was tight, you noticed, as you let him tug you along in silence as what had just occurred slowly settled in your mind. Perhaps Ace was right and you were danger-prone…. But then you really felt like the exploding potion would count more as bad luck. It wasn’t like you’d cause it after all.

“If you start to feel dizzy, let me know,” Jamil’s words snapped you out of our silent reverie, causing you to look towards him with slight surprise.

His words made sense, but…. Well, Jamil was seldom quite so gentle. Especially not with you.

“I… Yeah,” You faltered slightly, not sure of what to say to him. To be honest, you wanted to thank him again, but you also didn’t want to start parroting the exact same words. 

Past that, your mind was a garbled mess of slowly fading shock and confusion as to Jamil’s actions. 

It wasn’t really that odd that Jamil had stepped in to protect you. It wasn’t like he was so horrible or that the relationship between you two had become so vitriolic that he would wish you harm. It was odd that he’d looked so desperate when he’d run across the room, though.

And you wouldn’t have even known that was the case if his cauldron hadn’t been right in your line of sight when the explosion had happened.

You felt yourself get pulled to a stop and glanced over to see the young man in question looking at you worriedly, “Y/n… Are you alright?”

You blinked, startled, before you realized that being zoned out right after having a potion whose fumes might cause you to pass out explode right in front of you probably was concerning.

“Oh, yeah… I guess I’m still just a little shocked from the potion’s explosion,” You frowned as you thought back to the potionology classroom once more, “Do you reckon my partner’s okay? Professor Crewel didn’t send him to get checked up….”

Jamil snorted at your soft words, giving your arm a tiny tug as he started leading you towards the infirmary once more, “I wouldn’t worry about him. You should worry more about yourself.”

He glanced back at you, a glint in his grey eyes, “You are the one who nearly got hurt after all, not them.”

It was a step back into his usual commentary. Snarking at you about your innate ability to get yourself into risky situations. After all was deemed well, he’d probably be scolding you just like he had right after Vil’s overblot.

He let out a sigh as you looked at where his hand was still gripping yours, pondering why he was still holding your hand since you were obviously perfectly capable of walking and still lucid.

“We’re here,” He gestured to the door that was coming up on your left side, a smooth smirk working its way onto his face. “Try not to get into any more trouble in there, hm?”

And there was the smug tone you knew. The one that reared its head only when you were around, and he wasn’t putting on his old act of subservience. Two things that coincided to an almost suspicious degree.

“Sure.” You chirped out your reply before holding up your hand that he still held clasped in his hand, “But why are you still holding my hand?”

His eyes widened at the sight of your hand in his, and you grinned in triumph. You’d been right. He’d totally forgotten he’d been holding your hand.

He dropped your hand like it was on fire before realizing how incriminating that was and leaning forward, “Can't have you getting me in trouble for not taking proper care of the patient.”

His words only made you grin more because while they would be a fine comeback from most people; they were sloppy coming from him. Which meant one glorious truth. He was flustered.

So you did what you did best and fired back, leaning closer to him so that you were a mere hair’s breadth away, “Don’t worry, I’ll tell Crewel you took wonderful care of me, Jamil.”

He made a face at you before stepping away, “Just take better care of yourself. I might not be there next time.”

He turned on his heel, walking away and leaving you standing there frowning to yourself thoughtfully. Because it was odd to have your rival be quite so concerned for your well-being. 

Wasn’t it?

#Twisted wonderland imagines #briarvalleyarchives #Jamil Viper #Jamil x reader #gender neutral reader #fluff #flirtation #spoilers for scarabia #Spoilers for pomefiore #Twisted wonderland #Rivals #rivals to lovers implied #mywritings #fanfiction #it-happened-one-fic #scarabia #Jamil viper x reader #Jamil x you #Jamil x y/n #twst #Twisted wonderland x reader #Twisted wonderland x you #Twisted wonderland x y/n #twst x reader #twst x y/n #twst x you #Disney TW #Disney #Disney fanfiction #fanfic

[eventinelysplayground]

A Mother's Touch

It's March 5 today and we know what that means, it's the 1st princes Birthday! So Happy Birthday to him and here is a story for it. I'd like to say this is a happy story but that wasn't the inspo I had so, it's one that will hit you in the feels. That said if you're currently grieving a more recent death maybe give it a skip for now. Jin remembers the last birthday that he had with his mother. WC approx 688.

The last of the snow had finally vanished leaving the ground muddy and cold. Down a worn path walked a single figure one hand shoved into his pocket and a bouquet of flowers in the other. The figure came to a halt in the corner of a mass grave before a tiny tombstone.

“Hi Mom, I brought these for you.”

Jin knelt down and placed the flowers gingerly beside the tombstone before sighing and rubbing a hand along the back of his neck.

“I know I haven't come to see you in a while but things have been a little busy lately. How about I get comfy and tell you all about it?”

Jin took off his coat and set it on the ground then took a seat on it bringing his knees up and resting his arms across them.

“Emma had the baby a few months ago, he has her eyes and my hair. Louder than his big brother and sister were though that's for sure, biggest appetite too!

Emma's doing just fine, it amazes me every time you know? She told me once she wanted to get stronger for me and boy did she ever!”

A tender smile spread across Jin's face as he talked. He talked for quite a while telling his Mom about anything that came to mind but especially about her grandchildren and daughter in law and just how happy he was.

Jin came to a lull in his update and laced his fingers together while looking up at the clear sky. After several minutes of silence he cleared his throat and resumed.

“Hey Mom? I actually had a specific reason for coming here today. See I haven't been doing so well these last few days, Emma noticed of course and we thought maybe me coming to see you would help. Now don't worry, nothing's wrong with any of us, it's just….”

Jin trailed off staring silently into the sky, his mouth feeling oddly dry.

“It was Emmett's birthday yesterday Mom, his sixth birthday. It was a great party, Emma made his cake while Yves made everything else. The kid had such a feast and he was surrounded by his family and friends. I should have been happy but, it got me thinking about the last birthday I had with you. Do you remember it Mom?”

Jin finally looked back down at the tiny gravestone, a sad fondness lighting up his eyes.

“You had already gotten sick by then. I was so worried about you I wasn't even thinking about my birthday but you remembered it for me. Even back then I could charm the ladies real well, the old lady I helped out most of the day paid me a bit extra so I got bread and cheese that night to eat. I got home and you were sitting up in bed with a big smile on your face. You praised me for all my hard work as I told you about my day over dinner.

Then when we were done eating you pulled out a handkerchief tied with a bow and handed it to me. I don't know how I looked but I must have looked pretty confused because you laughed at me, told me ‘don't just stare at it sweety open it’. There was a lollipop inside it, a big blue one. I remember I was amazed at its color. Then you drew me into the biggest hug and told me ‘Happy Birthday my sweet boy’ while smiling at me.”

Jin's voice cracked on those last words as his tears threatened to spill over.

“That night was the most I had seen you smile in a long time and it made that lollipop taste so much sweeter.”

Jin reached out and rested a big hand on top of the tiny gravestone.

“I wish you could be here with us, but since you can't I'll just keep making sure that Emma and our kids get to have the life you and I never did.”

Jin’s tears fell silently and for the briefest moment he could swear he felt his mother's gentle touch wiping them away.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince jin #ikepri jin #jin grandet #ikemen prince fanfiction #ikepri fanfic

[phoenixyfriend]

Don't Want that Scarlet Letter

Read on AO3

Written for @anakin-rarepairs-week, Day 4: Instincts

Anakin is an alpha. Anakin is poisoned. Anakin enters a rut. Anakin will very possibly die of an adrenaline-induced heart attack or fever if he does not satisfy his rut. Mace is an omega. Mace is emphatically not Anakin's mate. Mace is willing to do what is necessary to keep his fellow Jedi alive. A mated alpha does not treat a homewrecking omega kindly, but Mace can put up with that for tonight.

WARNING: So this fic has very dubious consent of the 'situationally necessary' variety. Both characters agree to it while in their right minds, due to the risk of death if they don't, but it's clear that neither of them would like for this to be happening.

Mace pulls Anakin into the empty wreckage of a house, windows long since broken in and larders emptied. They won't get much shelter from the wind, but there are still some threadbare blankets and a bed with a mattress. If they're lucky, there aren't even any pests nesting in it.

They're cut off from their men, and rescue won't be possible for days yet. Mace would risk it on his own, but Skywalker is stumbling and dazed, bleeding sluggishly from a wound in his abdomen; it is small, from a dart carrying something, and would have likely ended up quite a small hole if not for how the fabric had been yanked to one side by a passing droid during a flipping maneuver, and torn the projectile out in the most damaging way possible. Skywalker is likely concussed and almost certainly poisoned. Mace doesn't trust that the boy would make it, if left to his own devices while Mace runs for backup.

Skywalker growls low, and Mace hums a little as he starts pulling away the layers of tunic. The growl raises to a snarl, and Mace looks up. He meets Skywalker's eyes, trying not to let himself believe that this is turning into a battle of wills. Skywalker's just too unmoored to think clearly, that's all.

"I just need to access the wound," he says, clearly as he can. "I have bacta in my bag. It won't be enough, but it will help. Does that sound doable?"

Skywalker stares at him for a moment, struggling, and then his head falls back with a groan.

Mace takes it for agreement. At the very least, Skywalker doesn't protest when the muddied robes and tunic are pulled away. Mace wastes some precious water washing the wound out, and then smears it with bacta and covers it with the sealant.

Skywalker grunts. "We might've needed that, later. It was just a flesh wound."

"It was worse than it looked," Mace counters, "I suspect it would have gotten infected sooner rather than later without some kind of antiseptic applied, and bacta is what we have."

Skywalker huffs, but doesn't argue.

"I'm going to look for more blankets," Mace says. "Try not to move. See if you can meditate to neutralize whatever that poison was."

He gets an affirmative grunt out of the Knight, which is about as much as Mace could hope for right now. He heads off, scouring the small building for anything useful. There is one blanket he finds that's worth taking, heavy and thick, though too scratchy to place against the skin, and some towels that don't yet smell musty or overly stale. There is even a drawer of table linens, and he takes a few of those as well; they will make for a good barrier between them and the scratchy top blanket.

There isn't any food, but the water runs. He doesn't trust it. However, he does have a few purification tablets, so that'll still work fine. It runs clear enough after a minute or so.

By the time he makes it back to Skywalker, the young man is pretty clearly trying to meditate, but Mace has doubts as to how successfully. There's a pinch to his brow, and sweat that Mace can smell from across the room.

Frustrated, anxious alpha.

Frustrated, anxious, aroused alpha.

"Skywalker?" he asks, hoping he's wrong about the assumption he's got brewing.

"I think they dosed me with a rut-inducer," Skywalker says, jaw tight and voice tighter. He does not yet open his eyes. "If they're using it as a weapon, it's going to be a strong one, isn't it? The kind that the medics warn can be deadly?"

Probably. Mace isn't a medic, though, and he's more familiar with his own anatomy than that of an alpha. Being older than Skywalker doesn't mean much when it's a subject like this.

"Is there still time to flush the toxin?" Mace asks. "I may be able to help."

Skywalker grimaces. Finally, he opens his eyes. "It's worth a shot."

--

(Continue on AO3)

#windwalker #maceani #mace windu #anakin skywalker #star wars #omegaverse #phoenix files #dubcon #fuck or die

[boxfullaturtles]

I love 'born to suffer and love' ♡♡♡♡ do u have any headcanons abt how donnie and the family are dealing with the aftermath ?

-cracks my knuckles- aight who wants a long ass essay :)

They are not handling it very well, I can tell you that much.

Donnie's like twice his normal size so he's almost completely uncoordinated. He still has his genius but it's...muddied. He's panicking and scared and in pain and it's hard to focus. His instincts are all messed up, he's in a body that's like twice his usual size and far bulkier than before, his shell his stiffer and covered in spikes, and he's suddenly got this big long tail that he has no idea how to control. Poor kid's a wreck.

So he tends to stay in one spot, I'm thinking a sort of pile of blankets and pillows in an easily accessible room where he doesn't have to worry to much about breaking stuff or crashing into things. If he has to move, he probably shuffles on all fours for the most part, moves rather slow because his center of balance is out of whack. He can stand on two legs but it makes him super tall and he stumbles a lot, doesn't really know how to move like that. But mostly he tends not to move because his body hurts; the rapid double mutation strained his body pretty bad so he's kind of dealing with on and off aches and pains and muscle spasms and just being really uncomfy.

Additionally, the double mutation has fucked with his inner biology. The two species of turtle DNA slamming into each other aren't mixing well, which is causing the pain, and it's messed with his organs too. He's having difficulty eating processed foods and has kinda been forced to eat fresh veggies, fruits, and nearly raw meat. He is not having good mouth feels. He gets stomach cramps and nausea sometimes too. Worse still is that it did something to his ability to speak. A combination of his vocal chords being twisted, the new shape of his face, his jaw, his teeth and tongue, it's all messed him up pretty bad. He speaks more in turtle than he does in English because it's easier. If he does talk, it's very choppy, lots of stuttering and difficulty pronouncing words correctly.

But to Donnie, the worst part is that he can't access his lab. Well, he can he just...can't use it. He's too big, too clumsy and uncoordinated. He's stronger and doesn't know how to control that strength to keep himself from breaking things. He can have his genius mind all he wants, but he can't even use it. He doesn't have his usual coping mechanism, his usual escape. He's trapped.

Donnie is miserable, in pain, and super self-conscious.

And then there's poor Raph.

He's definitely still Raphael Hamato. You can take away his body and mutagen, but his soul is still in there. The problem is, his little turtle body...wasn't built to process intelligent thought. So it gets a little complicated...

He knows he's...well he's pretty sure he's...he knows his bale. He knows them, even if he can't quite process who they are or understand that he loves them, they are his family and he knows that much at least. He knows the Hard-to-Open-Shell one that is smallest who holds him a lot, and he knows the Red-Marked one that smells sad sometimes, and he knows Mouthful-of-Fur is protector-guardian-strongest, and he knows Not-Turtle-Sister who does not look the same but is still bale. He gets a little confused by Soft-Fast-Swimmer because that one also smells like Ones-Who-Bite-Strongest and that doesn't...sit right in his mind and he can't figure out why. But he knows them all and he chirps and clicks at them all the same.

And he knows the Sound-That-They-Call-Him.

He looks up when they use the Sound-That-They-Call-Him. Not because he knows what they're say, he doesn't, he can't process their language, but he knows the sound. That's his sound, that's the one his bale chose for him.

So from the family's perspective, Raph appears to recognize his name. When they call it, he looks up at them. Unfortunately, the rest of the communication is nearly impossible. Raph's turtle brain thinks and processes things differently than a human's or even a mutant turtle's. So Leo, Mikey, and Donnie and kind of understand Raph's noises, but it's very confusing and they don't often know what Raph is trying to say to them. It took them a while to figure out that Raph was referring to them by their species rather than by names. And that....kinda hurt. It sucked. He didn't even know their names.

He doesn't seem to mind being picked up, as long as it's by his family. He even seems to enjoy being carried around with them and he likes snuggling up to them for naps. He can tell how distressed everyone is and he churrs and does his best to try and offer them comfort.

He's confused by Draxum and can't seem to decide whether to try and bite him or not. To him, Draxum feels dangerous but also almost seems like bale? He's very confused and thinking is too hard so he will just bite, thank you very much.

Speaking of, Draxum is working himself to the bone trying to figure out how to safely reverse the double mutation process. It's not impossible, but he's afraid of hurting Donnie and Raph even more. But he's also desperately afraid of failing them again. Drax is pretty messed up about what happened and he fully blames himself for it and he will do whatever it takes to fix things. His biggest problem is that he doesn't have access to a lot of the tools and equipment that would make fixing this easier. Donnie's letting Draxum use his lab, but there's only so much Drax can do at the moment.

Splinter, Leo, Mikey, and April are basically left to try and take care of Raph and Donnie.

I can see them setting up a kind of kiddie pool or something with water and a beach sort of thing and a heat lamp for Raph. They probably keep it in the same room as Donnie just so they can keep an eye on the both of them at the same time.

Leo's stressed as hell, especially about the state Donnie's in. He and Mikey work together to try and find food that Donnie's okay with eating. Leo wants to try and help with the pain relief, but he's wary about actually administering anything so he mostly sticks to hot pads and ice packs. Donnie appreciates it anyway. Leo's also assisting Draxum where he can. Donnie might be the tech genius, but Leo's got biology down pretty well. Mikey is fully upset and spends a day being nearly inconsolable before he pulls himself together. He, April, and Splinter are usually the ones keeping an eye on Donnie and Raph. Mikey tries to act like nothing's changed and tries not to treat Donnie any differently than before. But he's just a kid and he still slips up and asks questions and gets curious.

Things are rough for the family. Splinter probably considers going to Big Mama for help. It's an option that's not completely off the table, even if nobody likes it.

No one's completely happy, but they're not wallowing in misery. Or at least, they're trying not to. Donnie is very prone to slipping into a bout of self-loathing and depression and just laying miserably on the floor, not trying to do anything. Mikey and April try to keep his mind busy and entertained with movies, puzzles, board games, whatever they can get their hands on.

It's really tough for everyone.

Sure hope they figure out how to fix it.

(the joke is that i still don't have a resolution lol)

#mtsatl fic

[acapelladitty]

Firefly/Killer Moth - Emergence

Summary - Freshly escaped from Arkham, Drury meets up with an old friend for a new beginning. A lovely valentines gifts for the even lovelier @gethrax who deserves it! ❤️

Even now, hours after both men had started sinking back beers like they were going out of fashion, both Garfield and Drury were maintaining enough restraint to allow for the night to continue long after they were typically passed-out in drunken stupors.

Drury, his hands locked around the neck of the cheap, shitty beer which Garfield preferred, could feel the weariness in his bones as his fingers shook with the mild effort. His escape from Arkham had been a total mess; some damned Joker explosions allowing for those who were in transit between cells to slip away with just a little violence.

The guard he had left unconscious, Mills, wasn’t too bad of a guy. He didn’t have the same power trip as most of the guards and he was a bit more lenient with the blankets when it came to the colder Winter nights. Swigging from his beer, Drury privately hoped that he hadn’t been killed in the ensuing chaos.

Free of that shithole, his first instinct had been to find Garfield and crash with him until things were more settled. A familiar go-to plan which hadn’t failed him yet as he transitioned from his months behind bars. It was never too hard to find Garfield, he was a creature of habit and often haunted the same bars and shitty apartments in the same even more shitty parts of town.

Garfield Lynns.

Firefly.

Drury’s best friend - not that either man would ever vocalise such a thing. They had been very good friends for years now, both men coming up in Gotham at the same time and quickly finding out that real monsters, ones which both tactfully avoided where necessary, shared those same streets. Friends in the game were necessary and their camaraderie was good fortune and little more.

That said, Drury was a man comfortable in his own skin and with that comfort came an acknowledgement that his opinion of Garfield had long been muddied by an unspoken attraction which had planted itself in his mind long ago and never quite withered out.

Garfield was a strong man; his body thick and gnarled like an old tree and Drury had watched that strength in action many times during their time together as Garfield lifted things with an ease that made him envious. His skin was very rarely put on display but in those odd moments where he changed between clothing or was forced into the Arkham showers same as everyone else, Drury had observed him quietly. The scarring was expansive, almost all of Garfield’s skin being an angry shade of mottled red, but beneath the surface damage lay strong muscle and a broad chest that defied any imperfections.

“What’re you thinking about?” A gruff voice interrupted Drury’s thoughts and he startled.

“What?”

“You look like you’re thinking hard.” Garfield repeated, leaning back on his chair as he adjusted the cuff of his long-sleeve t-shirt.

“Nothing.” Drudy denied quickly. “Just planning what comes next.”

“Well, me case es tu casa until you get sorted. Least I could do.”

“Thanks, Gar. I ‘preciate it.”

Reclining in his own seat, Drury took a moment to glance around the apartment. It was as bare as could be, sad in its own way as there were no personalised touches to indicate that anyone lived there. Casting his gaze over to Garfield, he paused to admire the tight navy blue t-shirt and the dark, comfy pants which wrapped around his thick thighs and calves.

“What do you have coming up?” Drury asked. “Anything planned?”

Tilting his neck until a satisfying pop echoed through the room, Garfield shrugged.

“Got Cobblepot on the horn, asking for some ‘help’ with a little project he has coming up. Says that there are some buildings in need of a kiss from the flames.”

“And he thought you were the man for the job?” Drury chuckled, sarcasm lacing his tone. “I suppose I could see it.”

Expecting a matching chuckle in response but receiving nothing, Drury cast his eyes over to Garfield but frowned as he took in the almost pained expression which graced his features.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Skin feels tight.” Garfield grumbled, rolling his shoulders in position.

“Haven’t been keeping up with it like I should.”

“What do you need?”

“I need to keep up with the cream shit the docs gave me or it gets tight and itchy as hell. Makes it hard to focus, y’know?”

Drury winced at the thought, imagining the discomfort.

“Where do you need to go to get them?” He asked. "I could pic-"

“I have ‘em, I just haven’t been keeping up with putting them on. It’s hard to reach my back without help and it’s not like I have a line of babes waiting their turn.”

“I could do it.”

The offer slips free before Drury can truly think about what he’s saying and an immediate burn alights in his face as he realises the implications of the words. His gaze slips to Garfield with an almost apologetic look as he desperately attempts to reject the phantom sensation of finally getting to run his fingers along the scarred skin.

“Sure.” Garfield says slowly, a strange look crossing his face as he indicates the top drawer of a nearby sideboard. “Just be careful not to drop it. Costs a fucking bomb.”

Drury moves quickly, his heart hammering as an almost surreal sensation sits in his chest. The pot of cream is heavily in his hand as he plucks in free of the rickety drawer and he stands before Garfield with an awkward gait, unsure what to do next.

“So, how do you want to-” Drury trails off, allowing Garfield to set the moment.

With only a slight hesitation as his eyes sweep across Drury, Garfield pulls his long-sleeved t-shirt overhead and drops it in a messy pile to the floor. He moves rapidly, shifting his body from the chair to the corner of the bed in such a way that he can perch over the edge and allow Drury to stand behind him and apply the cream.

“This’ll be fine.” Garfield says, his words low and almost slurred.

Wordlessly, Drury approaches his from behind, drinking in the sight with an almost breathless intensity. Gnarled and pocked, the reddened skin held a texture which made his fingers itch to touch it and his hand shook slightly as he opened the pot of cream. The cream itself was cool and surprisingly thin in consistency and he held a glob of it on his fingers as he carefully placed the pot down on the bed.

The room is painfully silent, as though the air itself knows that some unspoken barrier is about to be breached, and Drury takes a short inhale as he rubs the cream between his hands to warm it up before laying the flats of his palms on Garfield’s back.

The heat is the first thing which he notices. Garfield’s skin is unbelievably warm and it sparks a heat in his own body as he considers how it would feel pressed against his own. Shaking his head to dispel the thoughts, he focuses on the task at hand as he runs his hands along Garfield’s back with a methodical precision to ensure that no area is left untouched by the cream.

“Feels nice.”

Garfield’s words are quiet, so quiet that Drury could choose to ignore them if he wished.

But no.

“I’m trying to be gentle.” He replies, the words coming out in a breathless rush.

“Don’t need to be gentle,” Garfield counters, “and ‘specially not with me.”

Taking the words at face value as his mouth goes dry, his hand presses roughly into Garfield skin, following the natural curve of his shoulder blade and Drury swears he feels his heart stop as a slight groan slips free of Garfield’s lips at the sensation.

“Gar?”

As things often do, everything seemed to happen in an instant.

One moment, Drury was still behind Garfield with his hands rolling across the scarred skin and in the time it took him to blink, he found his arm gripped by Garfield’s hands as he used his strength to pull Drury around to fall into his wide lap.

“Gar?!” Drury repeated, the name coming out a little higher than he would have liked.

However, any follow-up to the question was swiftly cut off by the feeling of Garfield’s lips on his own as Garfield pressed him for a gentle, almost questioning kiss. The taste of beer was strong in their mouths and Drury adjusted his body to something more comfortable as he kissed back with a force that surprised even himself.

Vague imagination and fantasy come to fruition, there was no way in hell that Drury was going to pass on the opportunity to finally taste the man who had haunted his thoughts for so many years.

It wasn’t a filthy kiss but it certainly wasn’t chaste either. There was a familiarity to it which made Drury’s heart leap in his chest as the chapped lips of Garfield held the strength and delicious texture which he associated with the other man.

Before too long, they broke apart and Drury met Garfield’s eyes as though seeing him properly for the first time that evening as Garfield opened his mouth.

“How long-”

“Too long.” Drury cut him off, having no interest in explaining his mild pining.

Reaching off to the side as his thick thighs flexed to hold Drury in place, Garfield picked up the remnants of his beer and inclined the neck of the bottle to Drury’s flushed face.

“Like a moth to the flame.”

Sinking the last of his drink, Garfield enjoyed the sting of the beer as it trickled across the scarred skin of his lower lip, the flesh there never quite healing due to its constant movement and overuse. He then dropped the empty bottle back to the floor as his arm returned to support the weight of Drury as he struggled to keep balance on his lap.

A defeated groan filled the air as Drury rubbed at his temple with the lower heel of his hand, tactfully avoiding getting the antiseptic cream over his face.

“Christ, Gar, don’t start with that shit.”

“Why not? Makes me laugh.” Garfield chuckled back, tilting his chest forward to press the wide expanse of his scarred skin against Drury’s t-shirt as he grunted in his ear. “It’s almost romantic in a way.”

“Mmm.” A hummed response as Drury once more went in for a soft kiss, greedily chasing this sudden development with a hidden smile as the reality proved to be much better than anything he had imagined.

A moth to the flame indeed.

#firefly #killer moth #firemoth #killerfly #ship name? #drury walker #garfield lynns

[thedo0zyslider]

I Love You (I'm Not Supposed Too) - Chapter Six: Secrets Kept No More - 4k Words

Fwhip finally finds out what Jimmy wanted to say all those months ago.

A03 Link

The next few days in the Ocean Empire were pretty routine. And boring. Every day is almost the same, save for a few moments when he and Jimmy would either sneak away together, or they got too tired of each other's presence and retreated to their chambers for a few hours. Other than that, they would wake up, and head to the Cod Empire to do whatever needed done. Helping a whole group of people properly establish themselves was a lot of work, work Fwhip hadn’t signed up for. But he helped anyways, because there was nothing else to do, not really.

The work was pretty standard, all things considered. They helped people get back on their feet, did boring government stuff Fwhip always zoned out on, like he did at home, built things, helped with the farms, and sometimes they were even put on babysitting duty. Though the half dragon wasn’t very trusted in that department for a few obvious reasons. Mainly the bigotry and his usual impulsiveness, but he didn’t mind. Fwhip was never a big fan of kids anyways. And then, at the end of the day, when the little tasks were done, they headed back to the Prisma Palace for dinner and whatever the Ocean Queen wanted them to do. If she wanted anything.

The half dragon is given a guest room, one with a giant, plush bed and a lot of decor on the wall. Merfolk liked to line their homes with shell and other such trinkets, as he’d come to notice, and the guest rooms were no exception. Just like the rest of the palace, his room was also very pink and blue and white. Fwhip thinks he could go his whole life without seeing this color palette ever again, and be perfectly content.

One morning, maybe a week or so into the trip, the future Count awakens earlier than normal. He doesn’t know why, but he does know the sun is streaming through his room’s window; meaning he should get out of bed pretty soon. He has a feeling the queen doesn’t take lightly to oversleepers, even if he had helped carry loads of stone and wood and whatnot around the swamp all yesterday and probably needed the extra rest. But whatever, her house, her rules, the ginger supposed.

He dresses in his normal attire, minus the black coat. He hates taking it off, but less layers means he won’t get as sweaty. Especially since he does manual labor most of the day, or a lot of walking. Fwhip was used to extreme heat in the forge, not the humidity of a swamp in the summertime. Also, it’s just less fabric to get all muddy and gross. His poor boots though will need to be deep cleaned when he’s home, all the shoes he brought with him will. It feels like there’s water permanently in the leather nowadays, even when there’s not.

But that’s not the focus right now. The focus is getting ready and then getting breakfast. Ocean cuisine was a little….unusual for his tastes, but he did like a few of the dishes. Disturbing meals including both salmon and cod aside. Thankfully those weren’t usually served at breakfast, so he could avoid them until dinner or lunch time most days. Usually .

Fwhip steps out of his door a few minutes later, right after he finishes his morning routine…..and realizes he doesn't have a clue where the dining hall would be in this gigantic place. He ate there for dinner the previous night, but this place is so huge compared to the Manor. He has no idea how to even get back there, despite having a small tour when he arrived. Also, it would feel very awkward walking in without Jimmy.

He mumbles something to himself, grumpy from another bad night of sleep. It was hard to get any rest with waves constantly roaring all night long. His sleep deprivation, which was worse than normal, was probably making the whole trip more unpleasant than it actually was. The Ocean and its Empire were quite pretty, one had to admit, and the half dragon was sure he’d enjoy it more if it would let him sleep .

The ginger walks down to Jimmy’s room as he grumbles, the only place in the Palace he’s somewhat sure of the location of. That and his guest room. Mostly because they are in close proximity to each other, likely done on purpose, and because they’re the two most important rooms he passes every evening. He thinks he’s figured out where the library (the above water one) is though. He thinks.

He finds the Prince’s room, with less struggle than he had a few days ago. Fwhip only turned the wrong corner a few times! Yesterday he’d done that like, six or seven, so, progress! And while he’s never really…..knocked on Jimmy’s door, he knows the other is awake around this time. The cod had woken him up from a restless sleep far too often, enough that was decently familiar with the others' general sleep shedulce. Visiting him real quick would be fine , especially if he got breakfast at the end of it.

Fwhip opens the door, and he really, really should've knocked. He opens the door to a shirtless Jimmy, presumably in the middle of changing, and it takes the half dragon a good minute of shocked staring to realize that a binder is covering his chest. Jimmy whips his head around to face him, some kind of fear clearly in his gaze. The future Count kinda wants to punch himself for being so stupid.

Once he has that realization, the half dragon feels himself start to fumble out of embarrassment. “Oh, shit , sorry —I didn’t know you were-" He stumbles over his words, feeling a blush start to creep up his face. He politely keeps his gaze on the floor, his hand searching for the doorknob once again. The young prince is not having any of this, and the half dragon can’t really blame him.

“Just leave, okay!?” The cod snaps at him, and Fwhip listens to this guy for what has to be one of the first times ever. He ducks his head back out as soon as he finds the knob again, closing the door behind him with a rather loud slam. Silently, he slides down against the nearest wall, and resists the urge to scream into his own hands. That had been mortifying for him, making that big of a mistake. He can’t even imagine how Jimmy must feel right now, being seen like that. Being seen in what has to be some kind of vulnerable moment, by someone he certainly doesn’t want to be vulnerable with.

He sits there, slumped against the wall for a few minutes; hands running over his face and through his now messy hair. The future Count isn't really sure what to do after…. that . Mainly there are just a lot of things going through Fwhip's head as he sits there. He's pretty flustered, not ever intending to do that, and is sure a fierce blush is currently coating his face. Part of him knows it might be better that he leaves, because Jimmy will very understandably be scared to next confront him. The other part doesn't feel right just leaving. He feels like he needs to apologize. No, Fwhip wants to apologize. He feels bad, which certainly is a new emotion around the young cod.

The castle is still quiet, and it seems their little encounter hadn't disturbed anyone, thank god. Fwhip didn't want their screaming to accidentally out Jimmy to anyone else, for he had already heard some terms the staff used towards the prince. No servants have even begun moving towards the hall yet, and no footsteps can be heard in the distance. The Ocean Empire has rather quiet mornings, as opposed to the Grimlands rather loud and explosive ones. Which is good right now, he supposes. A quiet castle gives you more time to regain your bearings.

There is some shuffling by the door, and the doorknob starts to turn once again. Fwhip, still pretty stricken by the whole ordeal despite his best efforts, looks up in surprise. His suitor doesn't emerge instantly, taking his time to fully leave his bedroom. But when he does, the sight only makes the half dragon feel even more guilty.

Jimmy slowly shuffles out, his bedroom door being shut quietly behind him. Probably not to disturb anyone else in any nearby rooms, if there are any. He's finished changing, now wearing a green tunic. Not a skintight one like merfolk usually wore, but one that was clearly meant for a bigger person. One clearly meant to hide things, Fwhip would now notice. He suspects it isn’t the first time Jimmy has denied his species traditional attire in front of him, and probably won't be the last. The cod's face is red, his eyes puffy, and a weak frown painting his face. Fwhip feels a sinking feeling in his stomach at the thought of Jimmy crying because of him and his dumb mistake.

"Are you okay?" He asks, meeting the others' gaze tentatively. The future Count has no idea if the other is angry at him and, for once, wouldn't blame him if he was.

"I'm fine." Jimmy says, and it is clearly a lie. He's shaking, and leaning on the wall for support. Like he'll collapse and break down if he doesn't do so. It's not hard to believe that he will, either.

"You're shaking, and your eyes are red." Fwhip points out, scanning over the blonde's face. He's been crying his eyes out, that much is clear. So much so that if Lizzie were to walk by, she'd probably punch the future Count on the spot.

"Why do you care?" The cod asks, slumping down next to him. He's even surprised Jimmy wants to sit next to him after that, but he lets it happen anyway. They sit a few inches apart, not enough to touch, but not far enough to feel fully awkward. It's just enough space for the time being.

"Because I'm not stupid. I know what I just did." Fwhip says, feeling a frown stretching onto his face the longer this conversation goes on. He doesn't like the tone the other has, whatever it is. It's upsetting.

Jimmy forces a smile, and lets out a broken sounding laugh. “Well, didn’t want you to see my boobs. But you were gonna one day I guess, since the mar-”

“Don’t.” Fwhip cuts him off, running a hand over his face again. “Please don’t joke about….any of that stuff, okay? Not a good time.” It will come to concern Fwhip slightly, the kind of self hating jokes Jimmy makes about the marriage and himself. Because he'll make more in the future, and the half dragon will have to knock the habit out of him he supposes. “Also, not really our thing.”

“Sorry. Sorry. I know, bad joke. I’m just…a little upset.” The cod mumbles, hanging his head a bit. Not in shame, just lingering embarrassment. Fwhip feels a wrong sort of feeling settling in his stomach, and frowns. “And yeah…that’s not our thing.”

“I know….you’re probably upset.” He says, wholly sincere with Jimmy. Probably for like, the second time ever if he’s being honest. Because he would hate himself if he was anything but sincere under today’s circumstances. They were far too serious for his usual attitude. "Sorry about walking in without knocking or anything…I won’t do it again."

Jimmy takes a moment to respond, the back of his head hitting the wall with a dull thunking sound. "It's fine, really. You were gonna find out eventually. Probably. I just wanted it to be under…different circumstances is all."

Fwhip hums, and wraps his tail around his legs. It had been awkwardly laying on the floor before now, and it was…..strangely comforting to wrap it around himself. Even though he wasn't the one who needed comfort right now. "Sorry about that too."

"Not the worst thing in the world." Jimmy hums, watching his movement. He seems like he's zoning out a little bit, his mind wandering elsewhere. To other things and other trains of thoughts, more troubling ones probably.

"I kinda already knew. Thought I should mention that." Fwhip hums, glancing away to stare at the wall. He doesn't want to see Jimmy’s face when he responds, whatever that response may be.

"Oh?" Is all the cod responds with. He sounds…curious, and only that. Thankfully. Fwhip didn't know if the other would've been angered by that or whatever.

He glances back at Jimmy when he explains it, and is met with a look of slight curiosity. Which is fair, to Jimmy’s credit, he passes very well. Fwhip is just very good at noticing details. “When they told us about the marriage, our parents called you a princess and stuff. And the staff have been too. I just didn't want to assume anything, y'know?"

"Yeah, my mom's probably the reason for that. I didn't take them for… that type of person." The blonde nods, taking the others' explanation into consideration for a moment. The ginger would pay so much money to know what's running through his head right now.

"No, they're not like that." Fwhip confirms, briefly thinking back on his parents. Despite whatever way they might have failed him and his sister before, they had always been nothing but supportive of their children's identities. One of the few good qualities they both shared, if they shared any at all. "I could mention it to them….?"

The offer is said tentatively, but Jimmy looks so incredibly relieved at hearing it. "Please." He says, and Fwhip nods. He cannot help but wonder what hell this boy has been living through for so long, to be so relieved when even the most basic decency is shown to him.

“Sorry about how we left things, when you were forgotten at the manor. By the way.” The half dragon adds, somehow remembering to say sorry for that. Take that , memory issues. “I was just….I was starting to guess and didn’t know how to ask you.”

“It’s okay..” Jimmy says, trying to crack a smile. It's weaker than he would probably like it to be, but it's a start. Fwhip grins back, and neither of them have anything more to say. Not immediately, at least.

“You don’t…have a problem with it do you?” Jimmy nearly whispers the question into the silence. They've been sitting in quiet for a few minutes, and Fwhip had grown content to stare at the Palace's prismarine walls until one of them decided to move again.

Fwhip tilts his head to the side curiously, a little scared of what the other is about to ask. “With what?”

“With me being….with me having girl stuff. And you having to marry that. ” Jimmy spits out some of the words with such venom, that Fwhip is shocked by it. He feels a surprising wave of pity wash over him, for this boy he hates so much, and it's the first time ever he has to stop himself from hugging the young cod.

“No, I don’t. Why the hell would I?” He says, like it is the easiest thing to say. Because it is. To the blonde it's something he never expected to hear.

“Oh…” Jimmy sounds…..so genuinely surprised at his answer. “It’s just…some people would. Some people do. ”

“Those people suck.” His answer is spit out in an instance, full of more passion than he thought was possible. Those people do suck. They suck a lot .

“Yeah.” Jimmy agrees meekly, hesitantly slumping down and resting his head on the half dragon's shoulder. Fwhip lets him do so, not caring that a merfolk is touching him right now. He needs it a lot right now, he figures.

They sit in the silence for a few seconds once more, in the white and blue hallway of the Prisma Palace. Two people who should, and do, hate each other, but aren't really acting like it. They haven't had the energy to act like it for a while, Fwhip thinks, with how shit everything is. How the world constantly throws terrible things at the both of them and expects the boys to just cope . That's what it feels like, anyways.

Maybe it'll be better when they're older.

"You do know you're not the only one of us who's like that, don't you?" Fwhip mumbles, his cheek now resting against the blonde's head. He doesn't know how long they've been in the hallway, but the palace hasn't started its normal routine yet. So he guesses it can't have been too long. Maybe one of the maids or cooks will find them, and ask why in the bloody hell two royals are sitting in a dirty hallway, cuddling.

Jimmy gets a little excited, as told by his tail smacking the wall a few times before he realizes it's moving. "No…?"

"Well, Xornorth’s nonbinary, and Sausage is pretty gender nonconforming.” Fwhip says, trying to remember everyone who's come out so far. He doesn't know all their labels, if some people have any, but he tries his best to get them right. “And Shrub isn't entirely a girl."

"Oh…I didn't know that." Jimmy hums, sounding happier than he had before. The half dragon briefly wonders if, when the thirteen of them are together again, that a labels debrief would make some people feel more included.

"None of us are straight either, I don’t think." Fwhip might’ve not been up to date on all the labels, but he was pretty sure of that fact. That their whole group were all horribly not straight in some way, some more obviously than others.

Jimmy lets out an amused snort at that. "Of course." That's the right phrase for it really, of course . Of course all the royal children are queer as hell. Of course most of their parents suck too. How else would it be with their little group?

"Why're you being so nice to me over this?" The cod adds on after a moment, cautious, and has every right to be so.

Fwhip resists the urge to roll his eyes, and spits out the honest truth. He really wonders if Jimmy thought that lowly of him before, say, maybe twenty to thirty minutes ago. The half dragon wouldn’t be surprised if he did, not after everything. "I don't like you and I think you're annoying as hell, but I'm not cruel ."

"Thanks for that, I guess." Jimmy mumbles, sounding shocked and surprised again. Fwhip hears that tone, he’s heard it too many times today, and truly starts to wish the world would be kinder to this poor fishboy. Sans himself and his very justified hatred, of course.

"Don't thank me for treating you like a human being." The half dragon snorts, and fixes Jimmy with a look . He’s pretty sure the meaning of it goes right over the blonde’s head, too. The utter idiot “And we have that truce, remember? No being assholes ‘till we’re hitched?”

“Yeah…the truce. Almost forgot about that.” Jimmy mumbles, sounding a little thoughtful once again. Maybe he’s been full of thoughts this whole time, and Fwhip’s just shit at noticing. Or he’s running out of words to describe the cod, because they have never interacted like this before. He has a very limited vocabulary when it comes to describing Jimmy. Today he is running out of words he hasn’t used, and also adding new ones. “We’re not good at following it, are we?” Jimmy keeps talking, and Fwhip barely hears him, lost in his own thoughts it seems. He hated how easy that was to do.

(Adding new ones like sad , and mistreated , and stressed , and traumatized and a whole bunch of other words he has no more room for in the half dragon’s never ending whirlwind of a mind.)

“No, but I like to think we’ve gotten better.” He mumbles out a response, taking a few precious seconds to clear his head. They’ve certainly gotten better, or at least more tolerable of each other’s presence, because Fwhip isn’t pinning Jimmy into a wall and holding him hard enough to bruise anymore. They had to have gotten better, because his mental health hasn’t. Both of their have probably gotten worse over the years, actually.

“We have to be. Because they’re all buying it. Every single one of them.” Jimmy says, and it’s the most confident he’s sounded in a while, and will sound all day. He also sounds more than a little scared, and Fwhip can’t help but share the sentiment a bit.

“Good. Good.” He mumbles, and doesn’t want to admit that he feels some of the same fear. They are going along with this whole thing out of fear, it’s the whole reason why they’re even sitting here in the first place. Fear of judgment, of failure of duty, of disappointment. Of what their parents would say. Even if they don’t really talk about it, both of them know that’s what’s happening. Body language always says a lot more than both the boys wish it would.

Jimmy changes the topic back to their earlier, less daunting one. It seems a lot still weighs on his mind, which is to be expected with a situation and life like this. "I want to get…the surgery for it, but, ah.…my mum won't let me.."

"Well, maybe you can get it before the wedding….?" Fwhip threw out the suggestion lightly, and gave a small shrug of his shoulders. Before the wedding was a vague timeframe. Realistically, that could be as soon as they’re both legal adults, or within the next five years. But it was a time frame that they could aim for, and that was better than nothing. And if Jimmy's mom wouldn’t let him get that surgery, than Fwhip would be the one throwing him in front of the healers instead, shitty parents be damned.

He’d really had enough of shitty parents recently.

"Hmph, maybe…" Jimmy mumbles. He hopes the sound in the other’s voice is hope, faux or real. They need some positive emotions right now, he’s already feeling emotionally drained from the guilt and the shame and whatnot. It’s not even seven in the morning, either.

“The truce extends to that too, by the way.” Fwhip adds, nudging the others shoulder with his own. He feels a grin start to bloom on his face. One of his shit-eating ones that always makes Gem groan and Sausage mirror it.

The cod gives him a confused look, his face scrunching up with the feeling. He’s not despondent anymore, so that’s a win for Team Fwhip! Sadly the only win today, but he might get some more as the hours wear on, especially if he keeps this attitude up. “Whaddya mean?”

“That means if someone’s being a transphobe, I get to deck them in the face. Even when we're married.” Fwhip explains, his grin getting larger. He does one of his normal hand gestures as he speaks, like he does with all his other explanations. Jimmy, well accustomed to the half dragon’s quirks, pays it no mind.

“Even my mum?” Jimmy asks, and sounds a little stupid when he does.

Fwhip nods, and feels tension unknot itself and leave the cod’s body from where they’re still pressed together. “Even your mom.”

“Heh, thanks.” Jimmy giggles, eventually having to muffle the laughter with his hand after a few minutes. Aannddd that’s two wins for team Fwhip, all within a minute or so of the last one. He better savor these — and this rare companionship with Jimmy — while the moment allows and before their normal bickering starts up once again.

“Again, don’t thank me.” Fwhip shrugs again, his tail finally uncurling from around himself. He doesn’t need any comforting measures, not immediately anyways. The tense and upset mood from earlier is long gone, now replaced with something lighter, even if both the royal’s hearts are still heavy with a lot of things.

“Force of habit, being polite is.” The cod says, his own tail swishing dully against the floor. It’s good to see he’s cheered up, and not crying anymore. And also not having to think about all the terrible treatment he receives. It’s good.

“So I’ve noticed.” Fwhip snorts, watching as the other starts to stand up. Jimmy gives all his limbs a stretch, since they’re still probably stiff from the night’s rest, and then holds a hand down to the other boy. The half dragon takes it without any complaint, or grumbles under his breath about having to touch a fish. Jimmy just helps him up, and it's probably the most simple yet complex interaction they’ve ever had. To date, anyways.

The Prince then starts to move down the hallway, past his door to where Fwhip thinks the dining hall is. The dining hall and a million other passageways and rooms he can’t remember. Dumb castles and their dumb, beautiful architecture. “Let’s go get breakfast, or something.”

“And where are we going after that?” The ginger follows behind, already mentally preparing himself for another six or more hours of helping the dumb cod people out. Him and Jimmy might be cool for today, but that doesn’t mean he suddenly likes all that mud and grime the swamp carries. Jimmy hums, sounding a little cheeky, and like he has his own shit-eating grin now smeared across his face. “Well, mom never said we had to be in the Cod Empire today. I was just scheduled there for three days this week…”

“So we’re getting a free day?” Fwhip thinks everything about him visibly lights up, from his voice to his demeanor. The mere thought of a free day, of finally being able to hide in his guest room, or the castle’s library, or wherever this dumb kingdom invented stuff, was enough to make his tail wag slightly. Anything, literally anything , but the horrible swamps and gross water again was going to make him beam.

“Basically, yeah.” Jimmy confirms, turning a corner without even thinking. Fwhip envy's everyone who has the dumb Palace mapped out already, and doesn’t struggle getting around. So he basically envies everyone who lives there.

“Finally, time away from you.” The ginger huffs, gloved hands being shoved in his coat pockets. He tries to commit the winding corridors to memory again, and hopes it goes a little better this time.

“Finally.” Jimmy agrees, right as they reach the dining hall for breakfast. Either they walked really fast for some reason, or Fwhip’s memory of the place truly is horrible. He never thought it was that close to the bedrooms. But hey, they’re not serving fried salmon for breakfast again today, so as long as that keeps happening, he won’t complain about the proximity to food. Especially if a free day follows after it. He rarely ever gets free days, here or at home There’s always something, some project or dumb responsibility thing, to do. But now he’s finally getting one after what has to be months , maybe even years.

Maybe his stay in the Ocean won’t be so bad after all.

#ron.writing #jimmy solidarity #ron.fic #empires smp #fwhimmy #fwhip #tw transphobia #tw self harm #<- implied #ily (im not supossed too) #empiresfic #empires jimmy #empires fwhip #this is the shortest chapter yet i thinkk

[teanybits]

let me breathe - Ren Zotto x Reader

let me breathe | Ren Zotto x Female Reader | Things didn't work out with Yu Q Wilson :(

The weather is kind today. The heat doesn't burn the skin if you walk to that one convenience store right at the corner of the street. There are fewer cars as well, as you walk with Ren to the back of his house. A stretch of muddy river laid out in your view, and a small, rather old jetty porched by the river’s chin. He told you once he built it himself. And to be honest, even with the brown-looking river before you, the landscape of the small islands from across, adorned by warm orange dust as the sun sets, is quite a sight to behold. He is already sitting cross-legged at the edge of the jetty, a warm smile on his face as he urges you to join him.

As the two of you sat in a reticent ambience, the night started its day ahead. You dared a glance at his face and were not surprised to see his gaze already on you, heck, it forced a sigh out of you. Because even under the already dimming glacial lights reflected by the rising moon above, you could still see the warmth in his timid smile and ever-glinting eyes. Shifting your eyes to the sky you whispered into the air, 

“Do you miss them?” A rustle, he must be looking up as well, with his arms stretched backwards to support his weight. And that smile surely still adorns his face.

“Hmm, miss who?” You can hear the subtle grin in his voice, this cheeky guy. 

A scoff makes its way out of your throat as you close your eyes for a bit and face him, “You know who I meant.” You heard him chuckle lightly at this and you swore it sounded misty. A faint and delicate sound that definitely will make a home in your mind for the rest of the night. You saw him toying with the end of his raven locks, a rather pensive expression on his illuminated face. You noticed earlier, that the sides of his hair had grown, nipping his earlobes. The slightly long hair looks good on him too. Unsurprisingly. 

“You should cut your hair.” Another soft motion of a laugh as he uncrosses his legs, spreading them out on the small space instead and tilts his head slightly to face you. 

“We’re talking about my hair now?” 

“Well, you weren’t about to answer me. So why not?” 

“Ah, definitely not because you’re sidetracked and got distracted huh.” He said it in such a matter of fact that it irks you. He gets you. He always does.

“Definitely, not the case at all.” That is all you could say. And then you’re waiting. Both of you have been neighbours for like, 4 months but only got close the past 2 to 3 months. He said he’s some kind of an alien who desires the earth which, in all honesty, you had a hard time believing but if that explains the two gleaming horns in his head and his cheeky-fanged smiles, you’d have to get used to the idea of it. 

It’s great to have someone to complain to after school. Who knew school would be so much better when you have someone who shares the same sentiment, huh. Every night would be shared with stories of snarky teachers and opportunist classmates. It’s tough, but it’s fun to laugh it off with him.  

“Yeah. I mean, I did spend my whole life there but well,” he lets out a little laugh and shifts slightly, folding his legs in a criss-cross manner again, “I’m happy here. I think that’s all that matters. I miss my people, but I know they’ve moved on long ago. I’ve been travelling for quite some time now. I'm not sure if they care that much about this prince of theirs anymore.”  you nodded, and solemnity fleetingly grazed your face.

“Geez– look at you, all sad for me. I still communicate with them from time to time, don’t worry so much about me, okay?” You were still silent and you decided at that moment it was much more interesting to stare at the water under your feet. 

He hums then, seemingly mulling over something before he says, “You on the other hand though, hmm I’m not so sure about the moving on part.”

“I’m fine.” You curtly replied.

“You’re never telling me about that one guy again. I…I just–  Sometimes you look so distant I just know you were thinking of him. I may be an alien and I may not understand the conflicting feelings in your human heart, but I read that it’s good to talk it out. But if it still hurts, it’s okay.”

But it’s impossible to shut this guy out. Not with the expectant look on his face. And he shared a lot with you these past three months, his family, his people, his fun classmates and the things they enjoy together. The least you could do is be honest with him about how you feel. This was the reason why your past relationship didn’t work. Cowardly hiding your feelings, it’s like the perfect recipe for drama and you’re not going down that path again. 

Ren would be the last person to judge you and your choices, anyway. You both sat in silence again, watching as the lights from the city across trudge alongside the river in gentle motions of a dance. He’s probably waiting for you to say something. You close your eyes, a heavy sigh runs through your throat and memories of last time invaded your mind. 

“For all it’s worth, he never hurt me. I cornered him with all these inferiority complexes of mine, he just let me breathe.” And the puzzled look on the alien’s face was too cute for you to not react to it. 

“Do you really want to talk about the love of my life on a chill Valentine’s Day hangout you invited me to?” He visibly winced.

Your gaze is still on him when you smile, “Let’s talk about him for a bit then.”

— – — – — – — – — 

But I want him to stay. I want him to tell me to stay

“Wilson, I think we’re better off as friends. I don’t want to restrain you anymore.”

Averting eyes, that's what you do best at. With both your hands slightly clenched, silence fills the small table, your coffee cooling at the edge as both of you are lulled by the soft music in the cafe. The rustling of other customers is impossible to hear inside this bubble you created filled with tense hearts and gritted teeth. 

My selfish desires– or is it not? At this point, it’ll be less painful to cut my heart open and let it bleed out. Would I feel better if I did this by text? Instead of sitting in front of you, only looking, staying still, as your face crumbles.

Would it have been better for me to call and listen to the hurt that’ll lace your voice rather than see it reflected so vividly on your face? Would that have made it easier to break this off, whatever this is?

Of course, it would not.

Wilson’s voice was a mere whisper, it was hard to sit still here before him. So hard to stay and not run out of his sight, “I will treat you better, can you give me more a another chance? I was.... really busy with stuff.”

Ah, how unfair. This is painful. “I can’t. I don’t want to wait I–” Your heart brittles at the look on his face. How could I do this to him? I adore him. I deeply care for him so why am I doing this?

And it chimes in, the voice of your insecurity, the root of every single problem in your life.

Because you can’t be good for him. The distance is already killing you. He can’t care for you and you keep demanding his time. You’re annoying, a sore sight and disgustingly plain. How do you expect to have him? How do you expect him to not be bored of you?

But I want him. 

But you can’t, you just can’t. 

You took a deep breath, if you’re going to end this the least you can do is clear up the misunderstandings.

“I want to know who’s she? Why does she think she’s in a relationship with you?” He flinched and you grimaced. The frown on his brow has made its appearance. Ah, your heart keeps sinking, it's too heavy for you to hold it gently, and the grip you have on your heart tightens at the remembrance of the girl who was so infatuated with him, who was so obviously better than you.

“I don’t understand why she keeps doing that, I promise you I didn’t know.” The tremors in his voice are proof of his innocence, you can see the sincerity in his eyes. And you know. You know he has no feelings for her so why end this? 

I could just dismiss this, he said he’ll do better. So, he’ll give me some of his time?

No. He said this last time too. Was he really busy? But you were alone, you had no one by your side then. 

“Your friends were surprised I even know you.” At that, Wilson looks taken aback.

“They told me you two look great together. They said– they told me you looked happy with her. They asked if I knew you since you lived in my neighbourhood before. They asked if I remember you. What does that make me, Wilson? To them, I don’t even exist in your world. Who am I to you? A backup for when–” He took your hand into his shaking one, a rushed "No" leaving his lips.

And you can feel the burn at the back of your eyes because you felt them. The electrifying feeling that tingles your palm, the unruly dragonflies flapping around in your lungs and the tightening of your throat. Feelings that only he can ignite in you. You had to clench your eyes and curl your trembling lips because it's painful, how warm and softly he held your hand in his. 

When you dared yourself to look at him again, you cursed your life. How unfair. How unfair it is to care so deeply for someone that even when your heart is withering, just one look can nurse it back into life. But it hurts. God, it hurts knowing you’re never enough. It hurts when he's always keeping you in the dark. 

Am I an embarrassment? I--

“I just– I can’t do this anymore, I really can’t. It’s hurting me and I just– I just want to breathe.” You need to be loved. You craved it so much but he was too busy, he has a life to live, friends to have fun with. He never calls back, recently his curt replies have been digging out your lungs. You want his attention, you want his friends to know he’s yours, you want that girl to know he’s yours. Your love is just weighing him down. 

I want to be loved. And I needed you to show me I’m loved. 

It took a full moment for you to collect yourself, heart still heavy, beating so fast it feels like you might vomit it out, you slipped your hand away from his touch. His fingers flinched on the table, the hurt apparent in his beautiful blue eyes and you just want to cry.

But with still trembling lips and heart still in your throat, you gave him a smile before you say, “We love too differently. You should find someone who suits you better than me.”  

You don't like how this back and forth argument is becoming a familiarity for you two. You don't like how the issue of Wilson and that girl has been the centre of those arguments. You don't like how easily annoyed you are when he never picks up your call, and you hate how useless you feel when he never replies in time.

And you know, you may be hurt by much more trivial matters in the future. You’ll blame him for everything, You will paint him as the bad guy, You’ll drag him down with you and that’s the last thing you want to do. You want an out and you want to know it’s you who wanted this. It’s you who hurt him.

You don’t want a bad ending, don’t want to be out of love, not towards Wilson, you don’t. 

And it's selfish but it was all you could do.

He loved you and that’s enough.

— – — – — – — – — 

“So, you broke up with ‘Hero’ 'because he neglected you.” Ren’s so close to your side, that it feels warm despite him always going on and on about him being cold-blooded.

“No, I can’t say that. He was still healing from something, maybe he was cautious you know? He was just taking his time. I thought I could be strong for him but well, turns out I can’t stand it.” You saw him nod slightly. And mutters something under his breath. You’re just about to ask but he repeats it himself.

“It’s been years though. He’s so important in your life you wouldn’t even want to tell me his name. I’m envious.” You doubled over, a peal of genuine laughter left you. 

“It still left an ache I admit but it’s not like I want him to be mine anymore. It’s just that, since you know me and you only heard my side of the story, even if I say he’s good to me, you would still think he’s bad you know? And knowing you, you’d be so freaking biassed too.” He looks offended now and you can’t hide the smile that’s blooming on your face, the fireflies that had dimmed for so long started to light in your lungs and you felt breathless. In a good way, even with downturned lips and furrowed brows, Ren still looks beautiful. 

“It's not like I'll ever meet him. And I mean, he did let the girl post a photo of them together and like, what captioned it my love and then said he doesn't know about it? I call lies.”

“That’s why I’m never saying his name. I didn’t even listen to his side of the story, Ren. I was too embarrassed of myself. The distance doesn’t help either. I felt too inferior. I can’t seek comfort from him because he’s also busy with problems at home. He was good to me, trust me.” The furrow on his forehead deepens, his hand hovers over you and you dare yourself to pull it into a hold. 

"And the world is small, you never know maybe I'm the one who might end up introducing you two. You won't know if it's him or not" He frowned at that and you cant help but chuckled a little. It's so fun teasing the alien prince.

“Well, just so you know if it was me I wo–”

“Alright alien boy shush now." You can't help the grin on your face at his pout.

"He’s not you, that’s the point, Ren. Both you and I don’t know what he was going through. He’s not us, we’re not him. I have changed a lot now. I’ve grown and I'm sure he did too.” He grumbled in agreement and shifted your hands so he was the one holding yours, lacing your fingers together.

“Fine, I’m grateful Hero let you go. I’m considered a hero too from my planet– ahh am I going to be the hero but like, you know in books where I came in the sequel?” You let out a wheeze.

When it died down, Ren was quiet for a moment but his eyes are set on yours. You can't help the heat rising onto your cheeks when he looks at you so tenderly like this.  It's a strange look on his face.

“Hm, adorable.” He whispers, eyes flirting towards your tangled fingers, his thumb rubbing the side of hands gently. 

You gave his hand a tiny squeeze.

“You’re always Ren Zotto, the best alien prince to me. Don't worry about the people from my past, I'm here with you aren't I?” There’s a glint in his eyes. He gave you a loose hug with his free hand and nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck.

"Ren! That tickles."

He's rubbing your sides now before he tightens his grip. He feels very warm, it's kinda making you sleepy. "Let's get inside, you're cold"

When he lets you go, he gives you a fanged smile, cheeks tinted red and his bang a bit ruffled from the nuzzlings a few moments ago. You can feel your heart full just looking at him.

"Okay."

ー

Thank you for taking the time to read this! I was very conflicted when I decided that Wilson will be the past lover cause I adore him so much. But I also thought it'd be good to pick someone who I feel strongly to make the story flow better.

Hope you liked this, until the next read (*´◒`*)

#NijisanjiEN #NijiEN #ren zotto #yu q wilson #yu q wilson x reader #ren zotto x reader

[sephirothsplaything]

DNA| chapter 2

uhhh this was long i hope its not obvious that a got a little stuck on how to present Rhaella's personality.

anyway

TW: mentions of violence, rhaella cannot place an emotion for shit

Rhaella thought that the smell of King's Landing was unbearable.

The doors of the Red Keep stood large and heavy as they slowly opened. Princess Rhaenyra led the group as this was her former home. Rhaella trailed far behind her sisters and cousins, taking in her surroundings.

The matter of succession regarding the Driftmark throne would be decided, or rather, defended today. Rhaella found the whole thing quite pointless. Her grandsire, Coryls Velaryon had already established that Lucerys would inherit the throne. The calling of an audience was nothing more than a power play on Alicent and Ottos' part.

Otto. Hand of the King.

Master of deception, Rhaella preferred to call him. His influence was so blatant in the castle, that it's a wonder how the king manages it anymore.

“You all may explore if you wish.” Rhaenyra called out to them. Her fingers fiddled with the rings on her hands. Anxiously. Rhaella noted.

“Don't stray far,” Daemon added. “The meeting will take place momentarily.”

Opting to follow Jace and Luc, the three venture outside to the courtyards. Rhaella slightly hikes up the dark purple fabrics of her dress as she avoids muddy puddles. The clashing of swords could be heard up ahead.

“Everyone is staring at us,” Lucerys says. Unease was laced in his voice.

'Rumors travel fast here.' Rhaella observed. She thought it was plain as day that the two brothers were bastards. They lacked the white hair and looked too similar to a certain deceased knight.

“They're staring at you.” Rhaella corrected teasingly. Jace flashed her an unamused grimace. 

“It doesn't matter what they think,” Jace said. He sped up his pace, walking towards a crowd circle. Rhaella locked arms with Luc as they followed after Jace.

Pushing past crowds of people, they saw Ser Criston Cole engaging in a sword sparring match with Aemond Targaryen. 

Rhaella felt herself stop. She turned to Jace who was already laser-focused on the sparring. Aemond's long, white hair flowed like water as the dodged the opposing sword. 

He had changed. Taller,self-assured, and most notably of all, a black leather eyepatch covered his left eye.

Rhaella felt Luc grip the sleeve of her dress. Anxious, just like his mother.

“Well done, my prince.” Criston Cole congratulated. “Soon you'll be winning tourneys.” 

“ I don't give a shit about tourneys,” Aemond stated. He flipped his sword in a show-off fashion.

Rhaella rolled her eyes at that. So different yet the same.

“Nephews.” Aemond finally addresses the two boys. “ Have you come to train?”

Rhaella crossed her arms, gauging the brothers' reactions. Jace sported a stern face while Luc's brow was heavily furrowed.

Then. Aemond shifts his gaze towards her. He had an unreadable expression as he sheathed his sword. Rhaella's eyes didn't dare break from his, her fingers fiddling with each other.

They hadn't seen each other in years. Rhaella made no attempt to reach out either. And why should she? Aemond never did. Fond memories of their time together hit her in waves. 

Regaining her composure, she offered him a small smile, but Aemond did not return it. Staring at her one last time, he walks off, leaving her in the crowd.

Rhaella felt another tug on her arm, Lucerys urging her to follow him. He gave her a worried glance. She mentally scolded herself for her brief vulnerability.

“Rhaella we're already late as is,” Jace said. The three made their way to the great hall. Among the masses of people, Rhaella spotted Baela standing by their grandmother, Rhaenys. 

Rhaella couldn't help but be jealous at the closeness the two had, between the three sisters, it was said that Baela was the most like their mother. 

'Not enough of her mother and too much of her father.' The whispers of other highborn folks rang in her brain. 

Making her way through the crowd, she passed by Rhaena, brushing her arm in greeting. Rhaella settled by her father, who turned to briefly acknowledge her.

At the head of it all, stood Queen Alicent Hightower and her father Otto. Rhaella felt her numbness turn into boiling excitement. This entire farce was sure to turn entertaining and she could not wait to observe.

Rhaella found her eyes wandering, boredom already setting in. Her gaze settled on Aegon, who seemed disinterested at the whole situation. 

“Let us begin,” Alicent spoke. The crowd fell into a hush. The air was thick with tension at the issue of the Driftmark succession. Rhaella watched as Rhaenyra took command, reiterating that it was Luc's claim.

Rhaella admired her stepmother's conviction. She found it interesting how far one was willing to stretch the truth for their benefit. 

“If you wish to see the blood of a true Velaryon heir, cut me.” A voice bellowed, cutting Rhaenyra off. All attention turned towards Vaemond Velaryon. His statement was rather damming in Rhaella's opinion, she wondered how Rhaenyra would refute it.

During Rhaenyra and Vaemond's back-and-forth, Rhaella caught the eye of Aemond, who seemed rather focused on her, his expression was that of a vague hunger.

A hunger for what? Rhaella was unsure but she refused to give him the satisfaction of being fed. Her face wore a blank expression. Whatever Aemond was looking for, he wouldn't find it with her.

The exchange was not so discreet, however. Otto's attention briefly moved to Rhaella and Aemond, it seemed to him as though they were communicating without words.

The doors of the great hall opened, halting all conversations. Rhaella forced herself to rip her eyes away from Aemond and towards the point of commotion.

King Viserys' haggard form slowly makes his way to his throne. His crown was tilted on his head and half of his face was covered by a gold mask.

Rhaella felt Rhaena pull her back slightly. 

“What could he possibly be trying to do here?” Rhaena whispered to Rhaella.

The two sisters watched as their father helped his brother to his throne, placing the crown on his head.

“He's come to defend the heir to the Iron Throne,” Rhaella whispers back. 

'No amount of deception could keep blood from defending blood.' Rhaella noted. And she hoped that blood would be enough to draw all this to a close.

King Viserys sits on his throne. Rhaella relished the shell-shocked expression on Otto's face. Clearly, he did not account for this.

“Her children are bastards!” Vaemond spits out. His accusation hung in the air. King Viserys' wobbly hand drew a blade, an attempt to put an end to Vaemond's recklessness. 

A swift slash rang out in the air, causing a silent horror to fall onto the Lords in the room. Daemon had cut Vaemond down with Dark Sister, a sword previously held by Visynea Targaryen, and the object of Rhaella's desire.

“He can keep his tongue,” Daemon said, drawing the sword back into its sheath 

As the head rolled , it thudded harshly onto the cold floor.

Rhaella fought to suppress a smile, lips twitching at the abruptness of Vaemond's death, her violet eyes flitting up to her father in awe.

That's what she longed for most of all, wield the power to demand respect without being questioned. Something a man could do without thinking, whereas a woman would be shamed for it.

As an attempt to move the situation along, Rhaella's grandmother Rhaenys stepped forward to speak. 

“My husband Corlys has since confirmed that Lucerys will succeed the Driftmark throne,” Rhaenys said. 

“And,” Rhaenys added, “Princess Rhaenyra has suggested that Baela and Rhaena should be betrothed to Jacaerys and Lucerys, a proposal that I am happy to support.”

Rhaella watched Baela and Jacaerys exchange smiles. She was happy for her sisters in earnest however, she could feel something brewing within her.

Jealously? Not possible. Rhaella never retained any desire to be married to anyone. She would rather fling herself from one of the cliffs on Dragonstone.

The emotion was something akin to envy, she figured. Rhaella had since grown used to not being considered. It was the same pang she felt when Baela's dragon, Moondancer hatched. Rhaella could recall watching her sister cradle the baby dragon in her hands, its pale green scales had a shimmer to them.

Yes. Envy. Rhaella smiled anyhow, giving Rhaena's hand a squeeze of support.

“This arrangement is satisfactory, yes, but what of Lady Rhaella?” Otto asked.

At the sound of her name, Rhaella's eyes snapped to Ottos. He was prodding her, bordering provoking, of this she was sure.

To her relief, Rhaeynra spoke up, shifting the uncomfortable attention away from Rhaella.

“What of her?” Rhaenyra said. Her tone was quite guarded.

“Well, a lady of her status would no doubt benefit from a proper match” Otto ventured. 

Rhaenyra glanced at Rhaella who avoided her gaze. She hoped that the Gods would be gracious enough to allow her to disappear. 

“It sounds as though you have a proposition, my lord,” Rhaenyra said.

Rhaella saw Otto's eyes flicker to Aemond and then back to Rhaenyra.

Rhaella was a girl who thought of herself as rather astute and she rarely missed any detail. But Otto Hightower, with age and experience on his side, was rather shrewd. 

Rhaella could do nothing but watch in nausea as she was actively being used as a pawn 

“A marriage to Prince Aemond would surely be befitting, and it would bind all of us together, would it not?” He said.

Aemond and Rhaella share a brief look, confusion evident on both of their faces.

Before Rhaenyra could counter, Daemon cut in. He would not allow his youngest daughter to be thrown to vipers.

“I'd sooner send her off to be a septa than bind her any man with Hightower blood.” Daemon spat out.

Oh her dear father, ever so thoughtful with his words. Obviously, the comment caused The Queen Alicent to flinch, but no further words were spoken on this matter. 

The answer was quite clear.

Septa's are pious women of the faith of the seven. Sworn to celibacy and lived to teach. They were multiple things that Rhaella was in fact, not.

She and Aemond married. Rhaella was unsure what she felt about that. It's true she harbored some warmth for him, nostalgia from their childhood.

However, the Aemond that stood before her was a stranger. One she was hesitant to allow herself to know.

#black oc #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #baela targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #aemond x reader #black reader #daenerys targaryen #rhaena of pentos #queen rhaenyra #alicent hightower #fantasy #oc character #original character