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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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🧿🤠🐇🍲🍯: Lan Wangji does not think it’s safe to raise A-Yuan in Cloud Recesses after the Lans participated in the killing of his zhiji and the entire Burial Mounds community (or more accurately that it’s not safe while he himself is in seclusion and can’t watch over A-Yuan, at least) so he delivers A-Yuan to the one person who he knows did not stand against Wei Wuxian (and got away with it, bc this person has never stood against anything, since standing takes effort): Nie Huaisang.

Little Side Door - ao3

Nie Huaisang’s rooms in the Unclean Realm had a little side door that no one but him ever used.

They hadn’t originally. The Unclean Realm was a fortress, designed to maximize protection and defense; there was no better place for keeping things safe by locking them away. While it had its fair share of boltholes and escape routes, they were not common and universally difficult to access lest the enemy learn of them and use them to their advantage. Even the layout of their open spaces were carefully planned lest the attack come from the sky, a concern that only cultivators had, and not about how they themselves could escape – after all, weren’t they all Nie, ready to die rather than endure dishonor?

The little side door that led to Nie Huaisang’s room opened onto a small rock garden, left to grow wild with weeds rather than reveal its presence to more people. It existed only because his brother had ordered it constructed by those he trusted most, all in secret in the dark of the night. He had never explained why he had gone to such lengths to create such an unwelcome and inauspicious place, but then, he hadn’t needed to – Nie Huaisang had been there, too, when his father had descended into madness and they had been trapped in the familial quarters with no way out that did not take them through him. If his brother had been the one to brave his father’s rage directly, Nie Huaisang had been the one stuck in a small space that was only not claustrophobic because it was so painfully familiar.

Now, though his father was long dead and gone, Nie Huaisang had a little side door.

A little side door, and a little garden that almost no one knew about; in combination with the saber that his brother forced him to learn and the golden core he had so begrudgingly formed, he now had a way to reach the sky and the illusive freedom it represented – the freedom to flee and leave his home behind.

If it ever happens again – his brother had said once, the closest he had ever come to speaking of it.

He did not finish his sentence, as Nie Huaisang had thrown his plate into his face and stormed off, steaming mad and close to tears. He did not raise the subject a second time.

Nie Huaisang did not often use his little side door.

Although he enjoyed gardens, he preferred the aviary he’d constructed, or one of the myriad of well-tended gardens in the main part of the sect; even the vegetable gardens out back beside the kitchens were far more welcoming than that sparse straggle of land. He’d only ever spent time there when he was a child and in desperate need of some quiet, wanting to avoid adults with their arguments and their miseries; he’d taken some friends there because he thought it might impress them, but it hadn’t, and anyway his brother had put a stop to that soon enough.

He didn’t even think about the little side door, most days. It was just a part of the room, a small tucked away corner with nothing in it. Nothing to think about.

And then, of course, years after he’d put it out of his mind entirely, there came a terrible banging noise at that little side door, like someone was kicking at it furiously from the outside.

Nie Huaisang nearly fell over sideways in his scramble to get up, and then once again when he realized where the noise was coming from – almost no one knew about his side door and its little garden, and so no one had ever come to him through it. Who would be knocking now…?

He opened it.

Lan Wangji, white robes stained with blood and cheeks bright with fever, shoved something into his arms. “You have a child now,” he said through bitten lips. “Congratulations. He is called A-Yuan. I entrust you with his care, for my sect cannot be trusted with it.”

And then he turned and staggered away, mounting up on Bichen and flying off before Nie Huaisang could say anything – before he could even finish searching his memories and recalling that yes, in fact, Lan Wangji had been one of the friends he had shown the side door to, years and years before, and thus knew how to find it. Before he could even start processing the thousands of thoughts that had spring to life, fully formed, at all the information he’d just received: the bloody robes, the desperation, the reference to the Lan sect – the Lan sect! – being somehow untrustworthy…

He looked down at his arms.

“Congratulations,” he echoed blankly. “I have a child now.”

The child blinked up at him, and then smiled.

“Da-ge!” Nie Husiang howled, rushing into the sect leader’s study where his brother was doing work – luckily it wasn’t receiving hours and he wasn’t in the main hall, as that would have been unfortunate. “Da-ge, you have to help me! I have a child now!”

His brother stared at him, expression blank and mouth slightly agape. The brush in his hand dripping ink onto a now-wasted piece of paper.

“Huaisang,” he said after a moment. “What the fuck.”

Nie Huaisang nodded furiously.

“Where did you get – how – who – what did you do?!”

“I am currently unable to disclose any details,” Nie Huaisang said promptly even as his brother tossed aside the brush and got up, striding over with a storm brewing in his face. “All I can say is that I have to raise this child now. By which I mean, you have to help me raise this child now; I can’t raise children! I’m not mature enough to raise a child!”

“No kidding! Why would someone entrust – to you…” Nie Mingjue trailed off, looking down at the child with a frown that shifted from disbelieving irritation to concern. He pressed his hand to the child’s forehead. “Huaisang, this child has a high fever. We need to get him to the medical wing at once – is that blood?”

“Not his, I don’t think?”

“I don’t want to know,” his brother decided. “Move.”

Some time later, they were both sitting next to the bed in one of the spare rooms in the family quarters; Nie Huaisang thought it might even have been the same one that he’d used when he was very young. A-Yuan was sleeping, and Nie Mingjue was still holding his little hand in his own, having been clocked as the oversize comfort animal that he not-so-secretly was from the very first moment A-Yuan laid eyes on him.

The doctors had declared A-Yuan’s fever to be very severe, but they had applied plenty of medicine – the Lan sect might have more esoteric healing techniques, but there wasn’t anything like the Nie sect when it came to standard medicine for injuries and illnesses associated with the battlefield, and despite A-Yuan’s tender age Nie Huaisang would be willing to bet that his injuries were from a battlefield. They were confident that A-Yuan would make a full recovery, body and mind both intact, although they warned that his memory of the past might be impacted.

Nie Huaisang had thought about all that blood that wasn’t his, of Lan Wangji pale-faced and wild-eyed, and decided that a little bit of forgetting might not be so bad after all.

“Are you going to tell me anything more,” his brother said after a while. “Or should I just give up now?”

Nie Huaisang leaned over and patted his knee. “It’s good that you know your limitations.”

His brother rolled his eyes.

“I can’t believe this is my life,” he remarked.

“What part?” Nie Huaisang asked, curious. “The fact that we have a kid now, because obviously we’re keeping him? Or the fact that someone gave a kid to me?”

“Both,” his brother decided. “Definitely both.”

“His name’s A-Yuan,” Nie Huaisang said. “Apparently.”

“Well,” his brother said. “Obviously that won’t do.”

Nie Huaisang had the ability to be sneaky when he wanted to be. It wasn’t a matter of stealth, he had explained to his brother, but sneakiness– a completely different concept. Stealth suggested that he was doing something to conceal himself and required skills and talent, or else a lot of practice, and obviously Nie Huaisang was not going to go in for either of those.

Sneakiness, though…

He didn’t need people not to be able to see him in order to be sneaky. He just needed them not to care about him, or wonder where he was.

“Psst,” he said, knocking on the window to the rooms where Lan Wangji was purportedly practicing seclusion. “Psst! Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji had given him a child. They were definitely past the ‘Lan-er-gongzi’ stage.

“Lan Zhan!” he rapped at the window with his fan. “We need a courtesy name!”

There was some sounds from within the jingshi, mostly stumbling around. Nie Huaisang waited patiently, and after a few moments the window opened and Lan Wangji stared out at him. He was as pale as a ghost with lips as red as blood, and very clearly not in seclusion at all, but rather in the midst of healing whatever wounds had left him bloody – he probably shouldn’t have gotten out of bed to answer.

Oh, well. Too late for regret now.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Lan Wangji said, voice dull and eyes blank as he stared at Nie Huaisang. It was unclear if he meant in the Cloud Recesses generally, or here in particular, interrupting his ‘seclusion’.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Nie Huaisang said, scowling at him. “We need a courtesy name! A courtesy name for the child, you hear me? You know, of course, that Qinghe Nie don’t use personal names, not even for children – certainlynot for children older than their first year. It’d be a complete giveaway that he’s not organically ours if we call him something like A-Yuan.”

Lan Wangji raised a hand to pinch his nose. “Please go away.”

“Courtesy name, Lan Zhan. I mean, I may be the one who’ll be raising him, but please think carefully: do you really want meto be the one naming him?”

“…call him Sizhui.”

“Sizhui,” Nie Huaisang repeated. “With the characters…?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“Uh, no,” Nie Huaisang said. “I need a bettercourtesy name. Are you joking?”

“Nie Huaisang. Go away.”

“But –”

Lan Wangji slammed the window shut.

“…fine,” Nie Huaisang said to the closed window. “Be that way, see if I care. Not like we don’t need to build up a decent coparenting relationship or anything eventually.”

He thought he heard a choking sound from behind the door and smirked.

“Don’t you think you can baby-trap me and just walk away, Lan Zhan,” he said in his best ominous tone. “If you wanted someone to raise your kid without ever consulting you again, you should’ve dropped him off in the Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng, who’d probably be too busy being confused to even question where he came frome – but no. You came to me. I don’t make decisions in the best of times, least of all good. I have questions. A lot of questions.”

He thought about it for a moment.

“Not about how you got him or anything like that,” he said. “I’m not stupid, I can tell a secret when I see one. But, you know, other types of questions. Parenting stuff. Are you a ‘go sit and think about what you’ve done’ sort of parent? Or more traditional discipline, with copying lines and occasionally strikes when they’re naughty? Do you want him to learn the Lan sect rules along with the Nie sect principles –”

There was a muffled sound from inside the house.

It sounded angry.

“…we can talk about it later,” Nie Huaisang decided. He might’ve pushed his luck a bit too much. “Talk later!”

“You have a…what?” Lan Xichen asked, his smile a little fixed and stare a little wilder than normal.

“A nephew!” Nie Mingjue gushed. “Isn’t he wonderful?”

“Nephew.”

“He’s so well behaved, too! He plays quietly by himself most of the time, drawing and even writing a little, and Huaisang’s already teaching him how to play the dizi –”

“When you say nephew, do you mean Nie Huaisang’s child?”

“Do I have other brothers?” Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes at him. “He’s obviously not yours. Anyway, I know Meng Yao is expecting one, too, but he wouldn’t be dressed in Nie colors if it was his, would it?”

“Yes, but…are you telling me that…that Nie Huaisang…”

“It’s a battlefield child, Xichen,” Nie Mingjue said patiently. “Obviously. Someone entrusted him to Huaisang.”

“Oh,” Lan Xichen said, looking relieved. “Yes, that makes more sense…wait.”

Nie Mingjue waited.

“Someone entrusted him to Nie Huaisang?”

“I know, right?” Nie Mingjue said, and Lan Xichen didn’t notice how strained his grin had suddenly become, or how thoughtful his eyes were as he surveyed Lan Xichen as if trying to find an answer to a question. “I would’ve assumed they’d go for someone more responsible, like you. Guess you never know…”

“I guess you don’t,” Lan Xichen agreed, looking down at the child with a bemused expression. A battlefield child, entrusted to Nie Huaisang… “They must have been truly driven to desperation.”

“Perhaps,” Nie Mingjue said, and then changed the subject to little Nie Sizhui’s accomplishments, of which he could list many at great length and very great enthusiasm. By the time he was done with that, Ln Xichen was so overwhelmed that he didn’t ask a single other question.

“So I’ve got an idea on how to do this whole co-parenting thing,” Nie Huaisang said, cracking nuts to eat. He was sitting next to Lan Wangji’s bedside, and dropping the shells straight on the floor, too, staring dead-eyed at Lan Wangji as if daring him to say something – which he wouldn’t, of course. “Since with Sizhui starting classes soon it’s become much more urgent, on account of me needing you to attend meetings with his teachers and discuss his progress.”

Lan Wangji looked deeply long-suffering. He’d only invited Nie Huaisang inside because Nie Huaisang had threatened to start shouting out his business loudly on account of oh but Lan Zhan, how was I to know if you could hear me in there, I just had to raise my voice just in case because I wouldn’t want you to miss any of the extremelyimportant news –

It was all Lan Wangji’s fault for being born earlier than Nie Huaisang, Nie Huaisang thought virtuously. It was merely Nie Huaisang’s lot in life to fulfill the role of annoying younger brother to everyone.

“See, it’s the music,” Nie Huaisang continued. “You do music, right?”

Lan Wangji’s ice-cold glare suggested that he did, in fact, ‘do music’.

“So your brother has been playing this song for da-ge on a regular basis,” Nie Huaisang explained, ignoring the glare entirely. “And when he’s not available, which is most of the time nowadays, he’s been sending san-ge instead. Even though, of course, poor san-ge’s so busy back at Lanling all the time…ughh, it’s so unfair, you know! Poor san-ge has to do all the work of being the heir and gets none of the benefits, and they pile even more work on him on top of that – really, he gets no respect.”

Lan Wangji’s expression suggested he didn’t care.

“And think about the inconvenience to us!” Nie Huaisang sallied forth, undeterred. “People coming and going all the time, da-ge having to interrupt his schedule of spending quality time with me and Sizhui – and sect leader work, of course, though that’s less important – in order to march over to greet them and host them and listen to them…what a pain it is!”

Lan Wangji appeared on the verge of suggesting that Nie Huaisang consider getting to the point.

“So you should come do it instead.”

Lan Wangji’s expression cracked, suggesting that Nie Huaisang had actually managed to make an impact.

“You remember,” he said, voice low and a little hoarse from all that refusing to speak he’d been doing. Really, if Nie Huaisang wasn’t around to goad him into it, he might’ve lost the voice entirely – he didn’t even have little Sizhui around to force him to speak! “That I’m in seclusion. Right?”

“You’re horribly lonely is what you are,” Nie Huisang said briskly. “You require company. Therefore, coming to take up a semi-permanent posting in the Unclean Realm to play the Song of Clarity for my brother morning, noon, and night is clearly the finest way to solve all of our problems, and for you to see little Sizhui as often as you like.”

Lan Wangji visibly wavered. “My brother,” he said, then coughed. “My brother will never believe it.”

“That’s your problem,” Nie Huaisang said. “Find a way to sell it.”

He stood, shaking the remaining shells onto the chair.

“See you in Qinghe soon, Lan Zhan..!”

Lan Wangji was trying to kill him with his mind, Nie Huaisang thought happily as he wandered off with a whistle and a vaguely silly expression. Good – he’d been inside for too long. He needed the stimulation.

“Truly,” Nie Mingjue remarked, strolling around their gardens without any apparent notice of the small child perched on his shoulders, giggling wildly at the feeling of being tall, “I feel far better than I did before! One can scarcely compare it – night and day, really. Your Lan sect’s Song of Clarity is a marvel, even if it does take a while before it kicks in.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said, walking slowly with his hands behind his back. He was still unsteady on his feet on account of the absolutely horrific injuries he’d incurred – but if the Lan sect’s response to everything was seclusion, seclusion, seclusion, then the Nie sect’s equivalent response was exercise. These little excursions through the gardens were the result.

Thus far, they were still only doing laps around the main gardens, but Nie Huaisang had plans to eventually force Lan Wangji to go even as far as his own little side garden. He’d made it through his side door once, after all; why not a second time..?

At any rate, Nie Huaisang still wasn’t quite sure how Lan Wangji had talked Lan Xichen into allowing him to come to the Unclean Realm, but it really did make the whole co-parenting business a lot more convenient. And his brother had had so much fun making Lan Wangji stiff and awkward over all his thanks and praise for his decision to come ‘help out’ with Nie Sizhui’s raising until finally, at last, Nie Huaisang had taken pity and revealed that Nie Mingjue knew perfectly well whose battlefield child this was.

Both in terms of who had gifted him to Nie Huaisang, and who’d adopted him originally, and of course even his original surname – The little tot’s been through enough adoptions to make anyone’s head spin, his brother had said, his voice gruff as always. There’s no point in thinking back too far, is there?

Lan Wangji had been very relieved.

“Run, bobo!” Nie Sizhui cried, pointing over at a bird. “We need to get it for Sang-gege!”

Nie Mingjue snorted like a bull but obediently quickened his feet and left the rest of them behind, heading in full charge straight at the wild pheasant that was far more likely to end up on Nie Huaisang’s plate than in his aviary. It was about even odds which one Nie Sizhui meant, anyway.

“Nie Huaisang,” Lan Wangji said, his voice low, and Nie Huaisang looked at him. “The Song of Clarity does not take time to work. These effects should have happened at once.”

Nie Huaisang opened his fan, hiding his face as he frowned. “How odd,” he said. “And after san-ge put in all that hard work.”

“Perhaps he played it wrong.”

“Odd,” Nie Huaisang said again. “When san-ge gets so very little wrong…has your brother sent any word on the Xue Yang issue?”

“…he has not.”

“He’s going to need to pick a side eventually.”

“He does not want to make things difficult for his sworn brother.”

“Does he have only the one?” Nie Huaisang asked archly, and Lan Wangji averted his gaze. “It’s awkward for us if he doesn’t back us, and is a bad look besides…truly, it’s a wonder that san-ge managed to squeeze out the time to come here.”

Lan Wangji’s frown deepened. “Indeed,” he said. “One would think his father might be tempted to stop him.”

“Wouldn’t you just?” Nie Huaisang said. “Wouldn’t you just…you know, maybe when you’re feeling better, we should go visit Lanling ourselves.”

Lan Wangji glanced at him, arching an eyebrow, and Nie Huaisang smiled, fanning himself casually.

“I’m not the only one with a little side door,” he said. “Let’s go knocking and see what we find, shall we?”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #lan wangji #lan sizhui #nie mingjue #lan xichen #my fic #my fics #little side door

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221bshrlocked · 3 years

Text

masked in desperation

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word count: 6044

Warnings: Verbal Degradation. Physical Humiliation involving Din making reader wet herself. Dirty Talk. Penetrative, Non-Protective Sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong por favor). Rough then Soft Din. Don't worry, this is consensual and there is aftercare involved.

No summary because I don't even know what to call this? All you guys need to know is that this fic is based on/inspired by the following asks [x] [x] [x] [x]

A/N: Uhhh this is new for me so I'm sorry if I didn't get the dynamic involved with a humiliation kink right. Please let me know how I could correct anything should there be something off. This was supposed to be rougher...but I turned soft midway because nervous Din makes me warm. I hope you like it nonetheless though. Comments are hella appreciated. And you can add yourself to the taglist here. Enjoy and please don't @ me once you finish this fic. And I apologize that it took long, this semester was hell.

It was an act of crazed desire concealed beneath irritation and anger, irritation with you for managing to claw yourself into his heart and anger at himself for allowing you to do so freely. He couldn't deny his feelings anymore, not if he wanted to retain whatever sanity he had left around you. What started out as nothing but stress relief and a way to help with the pain left behind by Grogu leaving turned into Din wishing he could stake his claim on you every moment of every day so you wouldn't seek anyone else out. Not that he genuinely believed you would. Still...

And it wasn't like this was any different from what the two of you usually do. At least that's what he says to excuse his twisted behavior, to not dwell too much on his sick, possessive fantasies.

It was driving him mad. He wanted to mark you up, always did during those passionate nights, loved watching as you tried, and failed, to cover up his love bites and handprints from the guild members. But he also craved to feel the same way. He wanted to bear traces of you on him so people knew how much he cared for you, perhaps even recognized the hold you have on him. The only problem was, no one would ever see the angry nail scratches and bite marks you left every night on his skin because of his beskar. So this, this would do the trick, even if it was barely noticeable, even if it would be gone when he washed his beskar, even if the two of you would be the only ones who knew what happened behind closed doors.

The weird thing was, he doesn't even know how he got to this point. Well, that's not true. He can actually trace his way to this moment, but he feels ashamed to do so? Reluctant maybe. It didn't matter what he was feeling at this point. All he knew was that he needed to watch you as you humiliated yourself in front of him, and had no power to do anything about it. Perhaps it was because, deep down, he wanted to show you that he'd accept you no matter what. He wanted to prove to you that he may just be worthy of having you in his arms. He wanted to assure you that he would be committed to you until his dying breath. And this, in some way, was the solution.

Before he can reevaluate and dwell too much on his decision, he fills a cup with water and heads towards you, ignoring the Marshal's glances as he approaches you and taps on your shoulders.

"Yeah?" You turn around, and Din forces himself to stand his ground when he sees your smile growing wider as you take the water from his hand. "Oh aren't you sweet. Careful, or else they'll think you're growing soft." You tease him as you down the cup of water and hand it back to him before returning to fixing the ship. He says nothing as he walks back towards the cantina, and resumes his quiet meditation.

And that's how it goes for the next couple of hours. He brings you a cup of water every so often, murmuring something or other about how he doesn't have time to take care of you if you suffered from a heat stroke before leaving immediately. Din quietly thanks the maker for your discomfort with public refreshers, because this plan wouldn't have worked if you decided to go to the cantina or elsewhere to relieve yourself. He's locked his ship's refresher and made sure to not be anywhere in sight when you sought him out to ask about the issue with the door.

He feels himself grow harder when he notices you squirming as you work on the ship, softly palming himself through his pants when you halt your movements every couple of minutes to either cross your legs or push your hand between your thighs to attempt and alleviate some of that pain. A part of him feels horrible for putting you through this, but something tells him it will be worth it in the end. Din Djarin isn't a man of prayer, but he pleads to whatever higher power that created you that this wouldn't backfire and make you leave him.

As the twin suns slowly set beneath the sky, Din moves away from where he's been hiding and heads towards the ship, making sure he is in your line of sight as he walks up the ramp and towards his armory. He quickly takes out the durasteel cuffs from where he's set them, hiding them behind his back as he pretends to head towards the cockpit.

However, he stops when he sees you rushing past him and setting all of your tools aside. You're mumbling angrily beneath your breath when things begin to fall over, growling when you try to fix them a couple of more times, and they continue to fall.

"Motherfucking shit," Din hears you swear as you carelessly try to set the box again and it falls over. Shaking your head, you turn around and sprint past him again towards the refresher. His eyes never leave your shaking form as you push on the refresher button numerous times and nothing happens.

"Pfassk! Din, how angry would you be if I broke this fucking door right now?" You try to grab the gun on his holster but he is quicker than you, slamming his hand on your own to prevent you from taking it.

"Extremely." His answer is short and straight to the point, mostly because he can't trust himself to respond to you without giving himself away.

"God please I- I need..." You hesitate and try to remove your hand from him, only to feel his hold tighten around your wrist. He thought you'd break and confess what you needed to do due to your desperation, but you don't, holding your tongue and looking up at him quizzically when he removes your wrist and clasps one side of the cuff on them.

"Din, what- what're you doing?" You look down and watch as he clasps the cuffs on your other wrist and ensures that they aren't too tight around your wrists before he locks them. Before you can ask him again, Din drags you across the ship and into the cockpit, ignoring your annoyed murmurs as he sits down and pulls you onto his lap.

You squirm around and try to get up but Din’s hold on your waist tightens and he slides you against his beskar until you fall into his chest. He says nothing as you push away and try to maneuver yourself so your legs aren’t wide open. He chuckles lowly when he sees how much you’re struggling, finally allowing you to put some space between the two of you. You rest your back against the controls board and take a few deep breaths before you stare at him.

“Can you please let me go?” You ask patiently, and hope he sees how genuine and serious you’re being. When he sits back but keeps his hold on you, you know he isn’t going to make this easy.

“Why?”

“Because I- I need to take care of something,” you look away when you respond and Din feels his cock twitch in his pants at the sudden shyness taking over.

“How about you let me take care of you?” He takes his gloves off and throws them aside, smiling to himself when he sees you shiver as he moves his hands up and down your body. You watch him like a hawk and you feel yourself growing wet for a moment, but you realize this reaction is the last thing you want to experience in his presence right now.

“Wait Din- just...it’s not like that.” You bite your lower lip and stifle a moan when he cups your tits and softly flicks at your hardened nipples.

“No? And yet here you are melting at my touch...your body knows me mesh’la, it’s blooming for me and I’ve barely touched you. Sweet girl, don’t you want me to make you feel good? I’ve been thinking about you all day long, about kissing you until you’re breathless...and biting you until you have my mark everywhere. Don’t you want me to show you just how much I’ve missed you?” Din knows he’s not being fair but the way your eyes are glowing with lust is enough to ground him so he could carry out his plan.

“I- I do...fuck, Din- I really do. I barely think of anything else...but I really need to-” You shut your eyes and groan as soon as you feel Din’s hand descend down your chest and rest on your lower stomach. He supports your back as he slowly begins to push against your navel, watching with fascination as your face contorts from pain and pleasure the harder he pushes on your muscles. You’re not sure what’s happening for a few seconds until you manage to open your eyes and look at him. His visor prevents you from seeing what he’s thinking but none of it matters when you feel him shift underneath you before he eases up. You sigh in relief but Din repeats his actions, only this time, he’s becoming a little more aggressive with his touches.

"N-no wait please I-"

"What's the matter mesh'la? You're usually fucking me like a loth-cat in heat by now, begging for me to have my way with you...take what I want until you feel properly fucked and filled with my cum." Din leans forward, never once easing up as he begins to move you over his beskar-clad thigh. There’s not much you can do due to the cuffs and how much advantage Din has over you in terms of muscle and size so you do the only thing that’s left.

You beg.

"Please, please Din I- I just...I need to-" It takes every ounce of control not to let go of your body’s function and you realize you’re not making much sense when Din cuts you off again and asks you what you want.

"Need to what? Go on sweet girl, tell me. What do you need?" His motions become more rough as he alternates between shoving his hand against your bladder and moving your clothed heat across his thigh. Din wants nothing more than to push you to the floor and fuck you until you can’t remember anything but him, but he tries his best to keep himself in check until he gets what he wants.

"I'll do anything Din just...need the- the refresher. I'm so- so...maker, please wait-" The controls dig into your back the more you lay on them but you can’t find it in yourself to care because a different kind of pain shoots down your spine when Din brings you closer to him and hikes your shirt up. His palms are warm against your skin and you hate how good they feel because this was not how you saw the day going with him.

"You know the safeword. Say it if you want me to let you go and I will." His tone shifts and you throw all caution aside as you confess to him why you need to leave.

"Din please...I really need to pee. I- I'll come back right away but I- oh it's too much, t-too much." You think he’s going to apologize and let you go when you tell him but all your admission does is cause him to momentarily stop before he wraps his arms around you and stands up. He’s pushing you up against the wall, not caring for what you just said to him or how rough he’s being as he nudges his leg in between your thighs and resumes his antics from before.

"I know."

The curt response washes over you like ice and your eyes begin to water as soon as Din takes off his helmet and you see him smiling down at you. You don’t know that you’re shaking in his arms but he leans down and nuzzles into the crook of your neck to commit the moment to memory. He loves the effect he’s having on you and although a small part of him feels bad, he doesn’t bother or care to hold back as he brings himself flush against you, the action causing his beskar to push deeper against your navel and have his desired effect.

"Din?" He thinks your whimpers might make him cum right then and there but he takes a deep breath before he pulls away and looks down at you. He’s sure that his eyes don’t convey an ounce of guilt at the moment, the opposite actually, and it only brightens his smile as he pulls down your tank top strap far enough to give him access to the top of your breasts. Din moves closer to you and lays lazy kisses across your heated skin, all the while attempting to grab your attention so he could tell you what he wanted.

"Why do you think I kept handing you water all day ner ka'rta?"

"W-wha-?" Your sniffles pull at his heart but he knows that you’re not in any physical danger and that all you need to do is whisper your safeword and he’d let you go. When a tear drop trails down your chin and hits his forehead, Din has to pull away to take a better look at you. He hates how much he loves the way you’re looking at him right now, like he’s simultaneously a villain and a savior to your predicament.

"And who do you think locked the refresher? Sweet girl… I thought you were smarter than that." Your surprised gasp adds more to the innocence he’s seeing in you and it’s the last straw before he holds onto your waist and begins to move you across his thigh again.

"You what?"

“Go on pretty, I know how much you’re trying to hold it in. ‘m not letting you go any time soon,” Din talks down at you and if you weren’t trying to prevent yourself from embarrassing yourself in front of him, you’d think it was the sexiest tone he’s had with you yet. But it’s getting more difficult to control your bladder and even though you get the sense that he will probably win in the end, you still try to hold off as much as possible.

“Look at you trying so hard...prettiest fucking sight in the galaxy. And do you know what makes it even better? I can smell how much you want me...this tight, wet cunt is begging for my cock. You can have me sweetheart, you can have me right now if you want. But you know what you have to do.” You’re shaking in his arms and plead pathetically when he applies more pressure on your navel. You try to ask him why again but you can’t find the words and resume moaning his name as he uses you.

And that’s what he’s doing. He’s using you. Like he owns you. Like he has the right to control every muscle in your body. You’re not sure what it is that made him act like this all of a sudden and you know it ultimately doesn’t matter because like he said, he won’t be stopping any time soon. It’s just strange that he wants this. He wants you to embarrass yourself. He’s practically helping your body let loose so you could wet yourself. You try to convince yourself that nothing about this should be turning you on, but the way his eyes are hazed with lust and desperation makes you reevaluate your thoughts and you manage to look up at him as he begins to speak again.

“It’s okay mesh’la, you can let go. Let go, now! Make a mess sweetheart. Make a mess of me, I won’t fuck you till you ruin my beskar and make this ship dirty. Go on. Or do you want me to help you again?” Din isn’t sure what’s come over him but he doesn’t hold back anymore, slipping his hand underneath your pants and pushing hard on your bladder until he feels your thighs squeeze around him.

“D-din fuck...oh- my...maker I- I can’t-” You throw your head back as you fist your hands into his cowl, holding on to that last bit of self control before you’re no longer able to. As he lifts his hand and pushes again, the thread breaks and tears slowly roll down your cheeks as you frown up at Din when your bladder gives out. Din looks into your eyes one last time before his attention moves south and his jaw clenches tightly when he notices the material of your pants grow darker the more you relieve yourself.

He doesn’t bother to stop, continuing to apply pressure on your lower stomach as a day’s worth of water floods down your legs and onto his beskar. He watches with fascination as his pants grow wet as well before he hears the faint sound of droplets falling onto his ship. You follow his line of sight and whimper in embarrassment when you notice just how big of a mess you made. There’s a small puddle forming where the two of you are standing and your nervousness only grows when you see how wet Din’s pants are.

When there’s nothing left and your shaking subsides a little, Din removes his hand from you and returns it to your waist, squeezing the skin he has access to so he wouldn’t strip you and fuck you in the middle of your mess. Every time he moves his foot, he can hear the soft splashing sound of the puddle underneath him and it only makes him harder. When he finally looks at you, he’s met with the most vulnerable expression he’s ever seen on you and although he wants nothing more than to kiss you and apologize, he allows himself to go just a little further until he sees you’re no longer able to put up with him.

“D-din...you- you made me, I-”

“Oh sweet girl, I made you do nothing.” The look of shock on your face is worth the hassle and he watches as you pout your lower lip before more tears leave your gorgeous eyes.

“You’re just a filthy girl, wetting yourself in the middle of my ship and not caring how dirty you’ve become...you really couldn’t hold it in cyar’ika? Look at this, look at the mess you made of my armor. You know how valuable beskar is and yet you pissed all over it. And my ship!? Didn’t we just clean this ship pretty?” Din could feel you melting into him with every word that passes through his lips and when you look away from him, his smile falls and he quickly grabs your neck, turning it straightforward so he could look into your eyes.

“No, you don’t get to look away from me when you’ve just pissed all over yourself and me. Maybe I should change your name, call you ad’ika from now on.” He has to hold back from smiling when he sees the moment you recognize the word. He’s only ever used that word whenever he talked with Grogu and you knew exactly why he was bringing it up now. “You’re my little girl aren’t you? My filthy, pretty little ad’ika who can’t fucking control herself and marked me up like she has the right...like she owns me.” Din watches as your expression softens a bit at his last admission and he trails his gaze down your nose until he is only focusing on your lips.

You can’t help but also stare at his lips and Din uses the brief moment of distraction to unbutton your pants and slip his hand into your panties, humming in approval when he feels the wet fabric scratch deliciously at his knuckles. You gasp when you feel his fingers softly rubbing your slit and as you look into his dark brown eyes, Din slips two fingers into your wet cunt and stops.

“Fuck, you’re so wet ad’ika, so warm and wet and ready for me.” He nudges his fingers deeper into he finds the spot that makes you see stars. You know immediately what he wants to do and reach for his arms as he grows closer to you. When they begin to get in the way, Din takes hold of the cuffs and raises them high above your head until the cuffs are glued to the wall. He can’t stop from smiling down at you, all stretched out and ready to be thoroughly fucked. But he doesn’t give in just yet.

“Din it’s...you’ll get dirty. I- I don’t want you to-”

“I don’t fucking care,” he growls as he leans down and bites shoulder again, moaning against your skin when he feels your cunt clench around him. “That’s it, open up for me...let me make you feel good. I- I want you to scream my name sweetheart, scream my name as you make a mess of me. Please...I need it, need- maker...need you to drench me again.” His words twist something inside of you and you lean back as he moves his thick fingers in and out of you until you feel that familiar pressure all over again.

“Oh Din...your fingers f-feel so- so good.”

“That’s right ad’ika, only I get to touch you. Only I get to watch you come undone...only I get to wear your scent, your beautiful fucking wet scent. I- I won’t wash this armor sweet girl, not when you’ve marked it...marked me, this much. Go on, be a good girl and make a mess of me. Let me walk around with the smell of you etched on my fucking beskar.” You whimper at the filthy whispers Din breathes against you and just as you’re about to come, Din grabs your pants along with your damp panties and pushes them as far down as he could. You bite into your lower lip as he tries to push his digits deeper into you, and when you finally manage to turn and look at him, you hold your breath as you see the way he’s looking at you, into you.

“Cum for me. Now.”

The quiet order, along with the pace of his touches, breaks you and you force yourself to not shut your eyes as your pussy throbs around his fingers, a wave of euphoria washing over you so swiftly you think you’ll faint. Din momentarily turns his attention to your heat once again and he hisses when he feels you coming on his hand just as you squirt on his beskar and the floor of the ship. You’re unable to form a coherent sentence as Din refuses to slow down and your eyes water again when the hold he has on your waist becomes more painful than before.

“Maker...you’re perfect.” Din kisses your neck as he finally decides to slow down but the way he continues to rub your clit with his palm does little to calm your nerves and you don’t realize how much you’re shaking until everything quiets down and all that you can hear is the sound of Din’s heavy breathing and your own heaving and sniffling. You wince when he fully removes his hand from you and helps you out of your pants and shoes. He takes a step back and groans when he sees how spent and ruined you look as you stand on your tiptoes and try to calm down.

As you try to catch your breath, Din unlocks both cuffs and throws them aside, reaching down and grabbing your ass so he could support your weight against him. You jump on instinct and moan when you feel the cold beskar against your skin as Din grinds into your soaked heat. He doesn’t waste another moment, diving in and claiming your lips until he could feel your teeth nipping at his tongue. He makes sure he has a good grip on you before he moves to the refresher and as soon as the two of you are standing in front of it, he pushes a code into the pad and unlocks the door. You pull away for a moment to look into his eyes, the silence of your gaze knocking the breath out of him as you hide into his neck. It takes but a second for Din to realize that he shouldn’t try to push your limits any further for the night.

His touches grow softer as he carefully sets you down on the floor of the refresher. Din can see you’re shivering from the cold room and makes quick work of his clothes and armor, choosing to leave his boxer briefs on so you wouldn’t think of anything else. He leans down and taps twice on your shoulders so you could raise them above your head. As you do, you look everywhere else but him and the gesture is a little too raw for Din because as he strips you down to nothing, he’s leaning down and kissing your forehead until he feels you relax in his arms.

When he’s satisfied with your slowing heart rate, he stands up and turns on the water, making sure to stand in front of you and block you from the cold water until it turns warm. Even though he doesn’t particularly enjoy it, he turns the hot water just a little further, knowing how much you preferred it when it struck your skin.

Grabbing the bar of soap you bought from the last hunt, Din sits down and rests his back against the cold metal of the wall before pulling you towards him.

“Come to me mesh’la.” His voice is much more controlled and mellow than minutes before and you melt back into him as soon as his skin comes into contact with yours. You rest your back against his shoulder and sigh heavily when his hands begin to massage your arms. The scent of flowers hits your nostrils in seconds, making you relax even more as the soap washes away any trace of what you and Din had just done.

Din kisses your shoulder and neck as he rubs the soap on your chest and stomach, keeping his touches as appropriate as possible to distract himself from the hardening issue he was struggling with. Although he prefers you all sweaty and dirty, he makes sure to wash every inch of you, knowing that you probably needed to feel clean after...after what he’s done.

He pushes your back until you’re leaning forward far enough for him to wash your back as well. His breath hitches when he sees evidence of his touches on your skin from previous nights. Some of them have turned a light blue color while others were still purple.

Fuck. He didn’t know his grip was this harsh. He was a little guilty for bruising your skin, your lovely, beautiful, gorgeous skin. But the more he saw as he rubbed the soap over your back, the more pride he felt in his chest at the knowledge that he was the only one allowed to mark you.

“D-din…” You moan his name when he pulls you back into his chest and you feel his hands descend lower to wash your thighs. You think that he’s going to touch you where you ache for him but when he focuses on your thighs, you realize that he wasn’t going to go anywhere near your throbbing cunt.

“I’m here sweet girl, let me take care of you.” His whispers are laced with promises and affection and you’re not sure what to make of it. He’s never been this intense, this touch-starved, even this controlling. There’s something about the events of the night that tug at your heart and you wish you could ask him what has changed all of a sudden. But you don’t, instead repeating his words from earlier over and over again as he continues to wash you.

He told you, although indirectly, that you had the right to...to mark him, to own him. He begged you to drench him so everyone would know that he’s yours. That you’re his.

“Din please,” overcome with emotions, you slap the bar of soap away from him and use his surprise to your advantage, quickly turning around and holding onto his broad shoulders as you straddled his thighs.

“Ner ka'rta, we don’t have t-” Din keeps his hands to himself as he feels you rub yourself on his clothed cock. You instantly cut him off, molding your lips with his in a bruising kiss until his arms wrapped around your back. When you knew you had him, you pulled away and laid kisses across his handsome features. He was a moaning mess in no time and when you took hold of his chin and pushed it back, Din felt like he was travelling through the stars, the rough nips you were leaving across the jugular of his neck making him notice just how needy you were.

The hot water cascaded down your back as you assaulted Din’s skin and when you felt him grab your waist and begin to move you across of him, you knew he wasn’t going to deny you from what you wanted. Needed. Craved.

“I need you...now, please Din. I need to feel you inside me.”

“But-”

“Please? Oh maker, I- you said...you said you’d give me your cock if I wanted. And I do. I want you, I want your cock. I- you promised. I- I’ll do anything.” The sound of your desperate pleas sends a shiver down his spine and Din nods frantically just before you pull him out of his briefs.

“You- you’ve done enough for me cyar’ika. So so much. And I- I...oh-” Din throws his head back and shuts his eyes as soon as you lower yourself on his hard cock. He thinks he’s going to cum right then and there, but then you’re moving on top of him and squeezing him so tightly and he realizes that he needed to feel more of you. You cry out his name over and over again as he twitches against your tight walls, and when his eyes snap wide open and look at you, you can’t help but lean forward and bite into his shoulder to keep some semblance of control.

“S-sweet girl...lovely girl, tell me you’re mine.”

The short request causes you to falter in your pace but Din decides to take over again, wrapping his arms around you as he begins to move you on top of him.

“I- I’m yours Din, I’m yours. No one else can fuck me like you, n-no one can kiss me and touch me and take care of me like you...gods, you’re amazing. And you’re mine,” Din groans when he hears the last of your words and he nuzzles into the crook of your neck as you continue to whisper sweet things to him.

“You hear that Din...you’re mine. You- you belong to me, you touch only me...you, oh maker, you fuck only me. This cunt is yours baby and your cock was made for it. Made for me. You l-love only me. Right Din? P-please I’m...already so close. Tell me Din because you know...know that I love you. I love you. No one else. J-just you-”

Din is sure he might be suffocating you with how hard he’s hugging you right now but he doesn’t seem to notice because all he can hear is your declarations of love and commitment. Neither of you have ever come close to being this intimate but his earlier actions apparently unlocked something in the two of you.

You loved him. Even though he could be kinder, and was definitely too broken. You still loved him.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. P-pfassk...I love you mesh’la. Only you...always you.” Din comes with a cry when he feels your nails digging into his back and he growls as his cock throbs inside you until he’s filled you with his cum. But he doesn’t stop, instead maintaining his pace just to see you fall apart one last time. It’s all too much and not enough, and he’s already oversensitive from coming but he has only himself to blame considering how much he edged himself the entire day. When he hears your gasps turn quieter, he knows you’re close and slithers his hand between your bodies to flick your clit. You moan into his shoulder as you quickly peak one last time, the touch of his fingers reminding you of what he’s done earlier and in a matter of seconds, you’re clenching around him so hard to the point where you’re not sure if you’re experiencing pain or pleasure.

Neither of you say anything as you slowly return to yourselves. When Din moves to try and turn the water off, you accidentally dig your nails deeper into his shoulder and make him hiss.

“S-sorry.” The small apology does something to Din and he decides that he needs to do this now and not when the two of you are in his cot. Twisting his hand into your hair, Din pulls it back until you’re forced to look at him. You stare at each other for what feels like hours before you lean forward and kiss him. It’s much slower and kinder than the earlier kisses and you smile when Din unintentionally thrusts into you. He pulls away and returns your expression when he sees how genuine it is.

“I think I should be the one apologizing ad’ika.”

You know what he’s referring to and you think that perhaps he’s beginning to feel more guilt at what he’s done but you brush it aside with a joke so he knew there was nothing of concern.

“Not sure what you’re talking about Din,” you leave a quick peck on his nose as you rest your cheek on his chest and hug him tightly. He recognizes what you’re doing right away and decides to not fight you, instead maneuvering you off of him to shut the water off. You try to stand but your legs give out immediately. Forutrantly for you, Din is there to catch you and he ignores your complaints as he carries you out of the refresher and into his room. You watch as he brings two towels and proceeds to dry you off, handing you the other one to dry your hair. You giggle when he almost stubs his toe as he comes back with a set of new clothes.

Din ignores your comments when you ask him why he was handing you one of his long sleeve shirts instead of your own, quickly putting on a pair of boxers before throwing the towels back into the refresher. When he comes back, you’re already comfortable and warm in his bed, the sight of you sniffing his pillows causing him to think of a multitude of thoughts. He brushes them all aside when you make room for him and ask him to come to you.

As he slithers underneath the covers, you waste no time and move closer to him until you’re sure you’re touching every inch of his skin.

“Are you okay mesh’la?” Although you know what he’s referring to by that question, you don’t bring up the topic, instead nuzzling into his chest. The sigh of content you hear tells you that he’s not overthinking what happened too much, and it signals for you to do the same because even though you never expected the day’s events, you can’t help but admit to yourself that one thing which you know Din will bring up when the two of you have properly rested.

As strange and sudden as it was, Din’s treatment of you turned you on.

Translations:

Mesh'la - beautiful

Cyar'ika - beloved

Ad'ika - little one

Ner ka'rta - my heart or my soul

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - I love you

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Pedro Pascal (and any of his characters):

@pastel-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @freeshavocadoooo @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @purplepascal042 @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @tati-adventures @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @marsplsstop @ezrasbirdie @diogodxlot @janebby @juletheghoul @bii-aan-ckaa @nohartandsole @djjarins @lamelyssher @giselatropicana @pescopadral @blackmarketmummy @laviipopii @ew-erin @fan-of-encouragement @melody13522 @clydesducktape @planetariumx @sambucky21 @thirddeadlysin @leannawithacapitala @fangirl-316 @thou-creature-of-the-deep

Din Djarin: @a--1--1--3 @tanzthompson @mrs-ghuleh @caitlynmarty

#din djarin x reader #din djarin/reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian/reader #the mandalorian smut #pedro pascal #din djarin #the mandalorian #mando #mando x reader #mando/reader #humiliation kink #degradation kink #peeing kink #i don't even know what to call it #someone help #pedro Pascal

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struggling-with-time · 3 years

Text

Crows and Ravens [Wilbur soot x reader]

Paring: Wilbur Soot x Gender Neutral!reader

Summary: Inspired by the song Ravens by Reno Shaw. How the reader deals with the grief and cope with Wilburs death.

Warnings: Angst, grief, death.

Words: 3.1k words

A/N: thank you to @libbynotfound for being my wonderful beta for this <3 also go listen to Reno Shaw, I've been listening to his music on repeat! His Spotify

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

You stand on the porch cradling a hot cup of coffee, watching over the snowy Tundra. Enjoying the peace and calm the secluded place brings. While getting used to the cold took a while, it wasn’t long. After all, a warm fireplace is never far off.

You take a sip, as you watch the crows slowly start to gather in the treetop, indicating the return of Phil. Your dead fiancé’s father. Wilbur’s dad.

You moved up here with Technoblade after Wilbur’s death, needing some peace and quiet. While you never truly agreed with Technoblade’s ideologies, yet you longed to get away from the bustling town that only ever seemed to bring hurt to its citizens. So, you left.

Your cottage connected to the other two, now that Phil had moved up here too.

You follow him with your eyes as he breaks free of the surrounding forest. You watch as he puffs out his black wings to shake off the white snow that has fallen on them.

You give Phil a small wave as he notices you watching over the sunset.

“Good morning! You’re out of your bed today. That’s good to see!”

You nod in acknowledgement, never meeting his eyes, as you are back to being fixated on the rising sun.

You listen to the crows as they have now gathered, a constant murder that never seems to leave Phil alone. You don’t question it. You don’t mind the noise they sometimes bring, although you worry for the man who will sometimes speak to them as though they could understand him.

Phil’s door opens and closes, and you suspect he is dropping off the items from his latest adventure into the deep woods.

What surprises you is mere minutes later when it opens again, and he steps out, a cup of tea in his own hands. Clearly indicating to join you on this windless morning.

You take a step aside, and Phil stands beside you.

You can’t help, but feel as though you have to get further away from the man. It’s an itch that is always around when Phil is close to you. Despite being long ago, you still see it for yourself every time you look at the older man.

The sword sticking out of Wilbur’s stomach, as the debris is slowly settling down. Phil holding him.

You didn’t see it happen, but you saw the aftermath. The shell of the man you loved, truly being a mere shell. While he might have walked the tightrope of manic, there was always hope in your heart for the Wilbur you fell in love with coming back. But a dead Wilbur? There was no hope of bringing him back, he was truly gone.

Your gaze never wavering from the sun rising, as it bathes the white Tundra in oranges and reds.

“Phil?”

“Yeah, mate.”

“Do you think he would have liked it here?”

“No, no he wouldn’t. He always craved more, the peace would bore him.”

“I wish he could have experienced it anyway.”

The two of you settle into silence as you empty your now cold cup of coffee, the sounds of the ever-present crows filling the air. Unsaid words hanging low in the air. But thickening it enough, for neither to be able to speak more.

---

You used to love winter, one of the reasons you moved up here. But now it only seems to drag on and on. Coating everything in its white blanket of innocence. Covering the guilty people living here.

Wilbur used to enjoy the spring, he always told you it was his favourite season, as the flowers bloom and gave you a newfound beauty, in his words. You remember, the two of you spending countless hours underneath the old oak tree. Him strumming his guitar until late in the night, as you would tell him the stories you would gather from the patrons at the bar you used to work at as a teenager.

The two of you dreaming up lives you would live when you were older, a cottage on the outskirts of a town he would create. A kitchen overflowing with food and pots and pans. As you would cook for the town’s citizens, living out your own dream of selling your homemade food.

Talking about watching the sunset on a poach, children running around in the backyard. He wanted two boys and a girl, while you wanted one of each. Hoping to pass down his charm and good looks. The feeling of an ever-present happiness high in the air.

An ever-present happiness you would no longer be able to archive now.

Your dreams shattered the day that blade pierced through him. Held by his father, the man you had come to know as the most calming presence you had ever met.

It took you a while to forgive Phil for what he had done.

You watched as he and Technoblade moved on right outside of your cabin. You watched as you couldn’t get out of bed, and the two of them gained new friends and new lives. Envy and anger filling the air of your cabin, fast and suffocating you slowly whenever you’re alone.

You roll over in your bed hoping to be taken back into your dreams, hoping for them to be the good kind like the ones you used to imagine with Wilbur.

Instead, you are dragged right back into your nightmares watching him slowly descending into madness.

---

You look around your kitchen, ever bare from anything. Never really holding food anymore. Scarce of pots and pans, not wanting to be reminded of the dreams you could never achieve. Let alone reach for these days.

You walk right through, heading for your coat and boots. Suiting up before you step into the cold. But as your eyes grace over the second hook, the one that used to hold Wilburs coat. Now empty. Sends a sting through your heart.

Tommy had gotten it from you when he lived with Technoblade after his exile of L’Manberg. You had watched as he stared after it each time he had been into your house.

The house that never quite felt like a home. Not when Wilbur hadn’t been the one to hang the coat there back in the day. But yourself. Hoping that one day he would walk through the door moaning about the cold and having forgotten his coat.

But he never did.

So, you gave it to Tommy. Committing the way his face lit up at the gesture to memory. He looked truly happy for the first time since he had come out to the Tundra.

You shake the feeling of longing off yourself as you head into the cold, letting the ever-present winter clear your head. On a mission to collect wood for Technoblade. He had asked you for logs the other day, and you had promised to get him some.

Although you were suspecting it was a scheme to get you out of bed, and out of your house for a couple of hours. It wouldn’t be the first time he had done so, and you have a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.

He had been there for you back when Wilbur and Tommy had created Pogtopia. Wilbur’s second nation, another promise for freedom, that had only seemed to tear the one you loved apart, more than fix him.

The nation acting as a band-aid on a cut so deep it was merely the thought that counted.

You remember watching the stars nearly every night as the cave was cold and unwelcoming whenever Wilbur started drinking. You remember hearing him yell at Tommy, but doing nothing out of fear that he would turn his attention to you. Never before had you been so happy for being neglected by the one you loved.

Technoblade had been there some nights, right beside you, telling you stories of Wilbur before the two of you met, which wasn’t many, but it was enough to fill the air with a hope. A hope that this was but a period to pass, and the one you loved would return to you.

He never did.

You track over the snow and into the forest, following the pathway Techno and Phil have created over the time living here. Right into the clearing that is slowly growing larger as the three of you are slowly cutting the forest down. And now that Ranboo is here too, it’s only growing bigger faster. Another constant change in your life.

Another thing you can’t stop or help, as you watch it deteriorate in front of your eyes.

It takes you most of the day to chop down the wood and cut it into small enough pieces, that you can carry it back to the commune. It takes the rest of your day to carry it all back and leaving it to dry in the shed, which Techno built as one of the first things.

“Dried wood is important, you can’t survive without a fire.”

Back then the commune had been even quieter. Due to yourself having gone through the days in a daze, not talking to anyone after what had happened. It had been the only thing on your mind.

Phil’s sword. Your scream. The emptiness that followed.

Phil had been to one to coax you out of your silence, in the end. With the help of Techno, despite the latter enjoying the silence the Tundra brought.

You watch as nightfall comes, and the mobs start to emerge in the dark.

You know you should be heading inside. But you can’t help but stand on the porch watching out over the night. The stars lighting up the sky and making the darkness feel less lonesome.

You miss the sound of Techno’s door opening. Instead, envying the crows as some of them take off. Wishing to be one of them, no care in the world. Only the world to explore, and never having to feel the hurt of losing someone. Twice.

“Y/n, come on, let's get you inside.”

You nod, following him inside his cabin, smelling the potato soup in the air. Thankful for the warm fireplace that has been lit. It would take hours for your own to warm up your house since you let the fireplace burn out yesterday. You let it burn out yet again.

Neither of you mentions that you found the woodshed over half full. Neither of you mentions that it takes over a month to burn through the shed. Neither of you mentions that you are just working to make your life pass, but living.

---

When you returned home that night, your fireplace was lit. He had done it for you. Not letting you return to a cold and lonely house.

That was the night you pulled out a pan for the first time in a long while.

You stocked your kitchen cabinets with food from a nearby village, and then you rolled up your sleeves.

You work in your own kitchen tirelessly for two days and nights. Feeling your grasp on yourself slipping. But refusing to stop.

Stuck in a living daydream of the domestic life you never got. As uneaten food starts to pile up, and your eyes start to drop. You can feel yourself slipping into a slumber sitting on your kitchen floor. Tears streak down your chin, as you cry out for Wilbur once again.

Phil finds you there, the next morning, concerned for not having seen you out of your house for days. And now even more concerned as he takes in the mess you are living amidst. Half-finished dishes still on the stove, that has burned out. The dinner table filled with dirty kitchenware, and dishes he has never seen before in his life.

Phil makes a decision that morning, that refuses to watch another person he cares for wither away in front of him.

You find yourself from that day off, getting woken up by Phil, asking you to share a cup of tea with him on the porch.

Sometimes Techno joins the two of you. But never often, the man as nocturnal as Wilbur used to be.

You look over the snow once again, as you wish winter is soon to be over. But it never seems to be.

---

You take up painting after this, you aren’t perfect at it, never having done it before. But it helps you keep yourself out of your head, and you enjoy the time you spend on creating artwork.

You remember Wilbur owning a small portrait of his mom made in grey tones, back then you had been worried over the sombre feeling the grey tones gave you. A feeling of fear following the sombreness. A feeling of fear you vowed to never induce in others.

Yet, you find yourself drawn to the grey tones whenever you pick up a paintbrush, and so the sunrise gets recreated in sombre colours, the cabins, Phil and Techno. The pictures aren’t great, but they resemble what they are enough to be recognisable.

But one motive seems to come again and again, although as time moves on, Wilbur seems to fade out from your pictures. In the beginning, he seemed to be in every other one. But now he seems to slowly stop showing his face in them, just as in your dreams.

You start not seeing him everywhere you look.

Your kitchen isn’t as scary to move around in anymore, more days than not, you are having guests in the form of Phil, Techno or Ranboo eating over. You even get to meet Ranboos platonic husband Tubbo and their child.

Tommy comes over from time to another telling you of the stories back from the town that has now taken over L’Manberg.

And Phil lets you meet Ghostbur.

Oh, Ghostbur, another shell of the man you used to love. Neither an empty shell nor a dead one. But a cold smiling one.

You let him into your home. And even if you get teary-eyed every time you look at him and his cheerful attitude. Nobody mentions it.

This is the period where your cold house in the Tundra, started turning into a warm and lived-in home. Although the winter is still raging on outside your window, you are never truly cold on the inside anymore.

You still struggle with getting out of bed on the worst days, still grieving the man you had to first watch wither away in front of you, only to be killed. But you refuse to let it be the thing defining you.

You start accompanying Phil and Techno on some of the adventures, exploring places that aren’t the town you grew up in, or the SMP. You walk through your first jungle, painting a greyscale version as soon as you return home, proudly presenting it on your wall when it’s finished.

You listen to Ghostbur as he tells you about the happy memories the two of you have together. Reminiscing sitting under the old oak tree together.

You still sometimes forget he isn’t Wilbur when he knocks on your door, and you are instead presented with a handful of blue and the translucent guy. Instead of your ex-fiancé. But it gets easier, then more times he shows up.

Whenever he talks, you barely ever escape into your own head anymore. The domestic dream starts to fade, as you replace it with happy memories and people around yourself.

The fireplace never left to burn out in the night anymore.

You start getting up before Phil, greeting him on the porch with tea. You smile at the thought. You never really drink coffee anymore. Not needing the caffeine as the nightmares have stopped being the thing that greets you whenever you lie your head onto your pillow.

The sleepless nights get replaced with peaceful slumber.

While you still see Wilbur in your dreams, it’s no longer the shell of the man in Pogtopia, or the shell Phil held that fateful day.

It’s the one that proposed to you when he started a revolution. It’s the hopeful and idealistic one you remember. The one you grew up with.

While those mornings you are quieter to be around, you no longer let it take over your day. As of now, you have a life to live. Truly living and no longer just letting time pass by as you work.

---

You listen to the crows as you stand on the porch, tea in hand, and a cup waiting for Phil. Another one standing beside that one, in case Techno is to join the two of you.

You enjoy the calmness as you can see the red start to spread over the horizon painting the sky and the grey clouds. You know summer is approaching. The snow has started to melt in some places. While it still snows most days, the rain has started showing its face from time to another, and it seems today will be one of those days.

None of you say anything, as Phil comes out of his house, and Techno stalks out of his own too. You all just watch as the sky goes from red to orange and the rain starts to fall.

Winter finally seems to be over. And you let in the feeling of happiness that you thought was unreachable.

But right here, watching the sunrise between two people, who care for you, and whom you care deeply for. Happiness isn’t the domestic life you never got, but the peace you have found with never getting the life you dreamt of.

And right here, in the rain under the sunrise, is where you spot a figure on the horizon.

A figure who, the closer it walks, takes up a silhouette you could recognise any day of the week.

As the silhouette steps closer, your eyes fixate on his face. The wrinkles that now adorn it, the white streak in his hair. The charming face you once fell for.

Time seems to slow down as he makes eye contact with you, and you let go of your cup. Letting it crash onto the porch.

“Missed me, Darling?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot fanfiction #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur x y/n #wilbur soot fic #c!wilbur #ghost wilbur #ghostbur #philza #technoblade #delias own writing #gender neutral!reader

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lightns881 · 4 years

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DTeam Tumblr Demographics Survey Results (Part 1):

The Gifted Child Syndrome is Real with this One...

*Rubs hands together in preparation for some juicy data and in-depth analysis of the typical member of the DTeam Tumblr community*

Ooooooooh boy! Here we go!

I want to start of by thanking you guys for over 400 responses to the demographics survey! Y’all have no idea how much I appreciate it! We have so much to cover, so I’m going to divide up different sections of the survey into several posts to make it more digestable and do justice to each topic explored in the form! We’re going to start of with, you guessed it, personality types!

Strap yourself in because we’re about to thoroughly dissect your sub-conscious innerworkings and find out how the typical DTeam Tumblr Fan thinks! (And judging by the majority personality types, you guys will probably enjoy it)

The Delicious Data

From the 449 responses we received, this is a pie chart displaying the personality types of all respondents.

Image Description: INFP (40.5%), INTP (15.1%), INFJ (8.9%), INTJ (8.9%), ISFP (6.9%), ENFP (4.2%), ISTP (4.0%), ENTP (3.8%), ESFP (1.6%), ISFJ (1.6%), ENTJ (1.3%), ENFJ (1.3%), ISTJ (1.1%), ESTP (0.4%), ESFJ (0.2%), ESTJ (0%)

In comparison, this is a pie chart displaying the personality type percentages of the population as a whole according to the MBTI website.

Image Description: ISTP (14%), ESFJ (12%), ISTJ (12%), ISFP (9%), ESTJ (9%), ESFP (8%) ENFP (8%), ISTP (5%), INFP (4%), ESTP (4%), INTP (3%), ENTP (3%), ENFJ (2%), INTJ (2%), ENTJ (2%), INFJ (1%)

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m sensing a tiny difference here... Oh, right!

INxx’s on the Loose!

It’s funny. When I first found one of the 18+ DTeam fan servers through Tumblr, I asked everyone what their personality type was. I was pleasantly surprised when a lot of them told me they were INFPs like me!

It actually reminded me of MatPat’s (Game Theory) survey for one of his Life Is Strange theories that found the majority personality there was also INFP...

Funny enough, can you guess what the second leading personality on that survey was? The third? The fourth?

You probably guessed it right. MatPat found that out of the fans who responded, the leading majority was INFP while INTPs came in second, INFJs came in third, and INTJs came in fourth. The exact order for the personality types in DTeam Tumblr.

But why is it that some of the rarer personalities of the world are dominating DTeam Tumblr or Game Theory’s fanbase? What is it about these communities that attract the rare introverted Intuitive Perceivers (INxP) and Intuitive Judgers (INxJ) of the world like magnets?

The Gifted Kid Syndrome

To answer this question, first we have to examine our leading personalities. As we can see from the data, INFPs and INTPs make up 55.6% and INFJs and INTJs make up 17.8% of the total respondents. That’s nearly 3/4′s of the DTeam Tumblr population made up of INxx types!

Now, here’s me calling y’all out.

A lot of you probably relate to the quiet kid sitting at the back of the classroom who’s put into some type of TAG, gifted program, or some authority figure has probably called you smart and/or “gifted” at some point in your life. Academics probably came easy to you at one point, maybe they still do.

You’ve probably felt your chest swell up at the shower of compliments about your intelligence and at another... you’ve probably felt like people put you in a pedestal and overrate you so you’re stuck with this inherent fear of failure, and it causes you to completely shut down when the things that came easy to you at one point no longer do so.

It’s gifted kid syndrome hitting you like a brick to the face. And if it hasn’t yet, oh you’re in for a surprise, honey.

And I’m sure many of you have come across funny, relatable posts like this:

And you want to know why most of you relate?

Image Description: INTP, INTJ, INFP, anf INFJ’s rate the highest in a giftedness per MBTI Type chart

No. You’re not hallucinating. It’s not even a joke at this point. It feels true because it probably is true.

(Granted, the study that captured similar results to this graph is long lost to the internet, but the best source I found with it was a reddit post I will be citing in the reblog.)

Now, my next point is where we find a split.

INFPs and INTPs and their Need to Question Everything (even if it’s about one sentence [insert creator here] said that one time during a 4-hour long stream)

The strongest connection I found between the two leading personalities of DTeam Tumblr is they share Extraverted Intuiting (Ne) as their auxiliary cognitive function.

I’ll use a quote that explains Ne better than I could ever explain it in my own words:

“Extraverted intuition or Ne is very much focused on patterns and making connections from information they gather... Ne dominant users enjoy being able to explore things in a much more open manner, not wanting to feel closed off to the possibilities around them... They are also highly imaginative people, who enjoy being able to come up with unique hobbies and experiences... They are not afraid of imagining things which seem almost impossible to others... [For INFPs,] Ne is what creates this detailed and incredible thoughts process which keeps them busy for long periods of time.”

And another:

“Auxiliary Ne manifests in people constantly questioning the world around them, but unlike ENxPs, they can be more pick and choose about this. But generally, they don’t take people, things and events at face value.“

Now, think about the community you’re in right now. Think about the post you’re reading at the moment.

DTeam Tumblr is full of over-analysis posts, whether about Dream and George’s secret love for each other or about the inherent problems with Dream’s shipbait and gay jokes or theories about what’s going to happen next in the dream SMP lore and the dramatic betrayals and creator’s descend into madness and more theories about sexuality and charts depicting creator’s personalities and what they’d be likely to do in different scenarios and... ooof, I’m out of breath here. You get my point.

DTeam Tumblr is literally a group of ex-gifted or gifted introverted people who love to read or write analysis, theory, and discussion posts about sweaty Minecraft Youtubers because they’re probably too overwhelmed by real life and find joy in obsessing over “dumb” things.

That’s it. That’s literally the post. I might as well end there.

But I won’t.

Because obsessions is exactly what I want to focus on next.

The Inherent Nature of the INFP and their “Micro-Obsessions”

This is me having a one-to-one conversation with all my INFPs reading this.

Do you sometimes just set your mind on a goal--like, let’s say, writing a book--and you spend so much time obsessing over it to the point where you burn out and suddenly it never sees the light of day because you move onto your next goal or obsession because now you’re getting ready to launch your freelance website so you can start a business on [insert new hobby here]?

Or do you just suddenly find a fandom or a show or a channel you really enjoy and you spend the next few months doing nothing but engaging with it and reading fanfiction and drawing fan art or making dumb analysis posts on your main Tumblr account where suddenly you get an influx of followers from that community and now people are expecting you to just post about MCYT!?

Oh, sorry, I got a little carried away at the end there...

Anyhow, my point is, do you ever develop an obsession over something all the sudden only for it to just disappear when you find something new or just fall into the deep crevices of your mind only for it to maybe reemerge a few years later after you get a deep sense of nostalgia remembering it?

I call them micro-obsessions. And I recently found out, I��m not the only one who does this!

Here’s another quote for you:

“According to Carl Jung’s theory of cognitive functions, when an INFP makes a decision, Ne comes in second to another process known as Introverted Feeling (Fi). Fi does not use logic to make a decision. It uses how we feel about the decision according to our values. In other words, it asks, “Which choice feels right for me?”

Ne, on the other hand, craves new ideas and experiences to explore, which causes INFPs to always be on the lookout for something novel.

Unfortunately, INFPs can get stuck in a loop, going back and forth between their Ne and Fi. They search to understand their values by constantly trying new things. They ask themselves, “Does this feel right?” then throw it over their shoulder as they move on to something else.”

So, you’re probably asking right about now, Light, how the heck does any of this have anything to do with the Dream Team and MCYT!?

Well, my friend, it has EVERYTHING to do with the Dream Team and MCYT and DTeam Tumblr as a whole.

Because INxx’s are predisposed to end up in places like this--fandoms on Tumblr, channels that speculate whether Mario is evil, watching dramatic Minecraft smp wars and elections as opposed to looking at the news that depicts Murphy’s Law as 2020′s new favorite epigram.

The introvert in them causes them to prefer socializing in small communities online where they’re not forced to engage in conversations if they don’t want to or put into uncomfortable situations where they have to talk to that one friend of their friend who wants to make meaningless small chat.

Their Intuition causes them to wonder into places like Tumblr where they can engage in deep discussions about their newest obsessions, and they won’t be judged for writing a 500+ word post about why Dream’s shipbait tactics are a genius algorithm strat or simping over sweaty Minecraft boys.

DTeam Tumblr is a safe haven for INFPs and INTPs who might be placed in the “other” category or marked as weird for being interested in “childish” entertainment or being different from the general population overall, whether that’d be sexuality, point of view, age, gender, etc. A place where you can fully be yourself and not have to worry about disappointing people.

INFPs are predisposed for drowning themselves in their micro-obsessions to avoid all of the madness in the world--even if that means giggling like a little girl while reading memes about your favorite Minecraft YouTube creators.

That is a deep-dive into the mind of a typical DTeam Tumblr user. What do you think? Is it accurate at all? Is it completely off? Let me know in the comments!

And with that, I digress. I’m not sure whether I’ll be covering general demographics next week or diving into the topic of ships (could be a mix of both), but I will be posting about it eventually, so make sure to hit the follow if you got to the end of this post and enjoyed it or learned something new from it!

Friendly reminder that this survey and post is in no way supposed to be taken 100% seriously. These are just the ramblings of a math major INFP with too much time on her hands and way too big of an obsession for MCYT. My asks are always open for literally anything, whether if you want to ask me about this or any DNF related subject, my own opinions, or just criticize the whole of this post and tell me it’s complete trash! I’ll answer as long as it’s appropriate!

And, again, thank you everyone who filled out the survey. Without y’all, this post wouldn’t be possible. I really enjoyed writing it! Adios!

#dteam #dteamblr #dttblr #mcyt #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #sapnap #dreamnotfound #dnf #dream team #dream smp #dteamblr demographics survey #analysis

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ramblingkat · 3 years

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Fic: Stars

This was encouraged by the UraIchi discord server. Basic concept: Everyone is born with a tail. If you live long enough, you get more. If you find your “soul mate” you get a new color on your tail.

Here, Yoruichi noticed the new color on Kisuke’s tail. He had happily been oblivious. And has no idea who’s reiatsu matches that new color of fur on his tail.

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Urahara Kisuke, Shihoin Yoruichi, Ishida Ryuken, Kurosaki Masaki, Kurosaki Isshin, and Kurosaki Ichigo

***

“You have gold in your fur.”

Yoruichi’s voice, deep and raspy, was a familiar one, and he knew she’d been sitting behind him for a bit, so Kisuke didn’t jump. Though he did pause, a cup of tea against his lips. Then he lowered it again, turning some to look over his shoulder at his friend.

She was crouched next to his tail, eyes focused on the tip. Kisuke didn't actually look at his tail all that much, with it being out of his direct line of sight. Oh, he made sure it was brushed and neat enough, but it was just another limb. As long as it worked as he wanted, he never thought about it too much.

Now he flicked it up, bringing the tip up closer since that was where Yoruichi had been focused.

This was the only tail on display, as humans rarely lived long enough to gain a second tail, let alone a third as Kisuke had. The other two were hidden, as they had been for almost a century of hiding in the special gigai he had created. The only one on display was the same ashy blond as his hair, a sleek fox tail that had gotten him quite a few appreciative looks. And more than a few people asking for blessings.

Apparently, pale fox tails were a sign of favor. Not something he had expected when he had first come to the living world.

Shinji had laughed at him, the man’s golden lion tail lashing lazily behind him. Kisuke had asked how it felt to only have to deal with one rope instead of the multitude that the older captain usually had. That had lead to a spar, and gotten Shinji distracted.

Now, however, Kisuke saw that there were fine golden hairs growing at the end of his tail. They didn’t stand out a great deal, not yet. But they were definitely golden. A distinct change from the pale fur they grew in.

Yoruichi’s reiatsu, as muted as it was, radiated delight. Kisuke was feeling a bit stunned himself.

“But,” he protested, voice distant in his own ears, “I haven’t met anyone new. Not for long enough to have our energies to click enough to bond.”

There was a flat-out chortle from Yoruichi, and she rose up onto her back legs, resting her paws against the back of his shoulder. That let her get a better look at his tail. “You found someone to soul bond to and didn’t say anything.” She sounded highly amused and no small amount of pleased. “What have you been up to?”

Kisuke snorted. “Plotting and planning. The usual.” He flicked his tail against her face, then let it relax again. “I wonder who this is. I don’t know of anyone I’ve seen recently that has that color of reiatsu.”

He reached over and poked Yoruichi’s nose as she opened her mouth. “And don’t start on SoiFon. Right shade, very much wrong person.” He smiled faintly. “She’d murder me if we ever created some sort of spiritual bond.” Kisuke paused. “Though the way she hates me would definitely qualify. But the timing is wrong.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Yoruichi protested. Ignoring Kisuke’s amused, yet unimpressed, expression, the cat continued. “She’s just prickly about my honor.”

Kisuke snorted again, hand moving to rub his friend’s ears. “Very prickly,” he said drily. “If she could make me vanish, she would definitely do so.” He shook his head. “In any case, SoiFon’s disdain for me is not the topic here. I honestly have no idea why I would have golden fur coming in now. Everyone I interact with now are the same people I have interacted with for years. I doubt any of them have changed that much.”

“Something to figure out later,” Yoruichi agreed. “It’s not like your crimson isn’t a distinct shade.” She licked a foot, quiet for a moment. “Though now that I am here, how are things with Isshin and Masaki?”

Still absently petting her, Kisuke smiled faintly. “Going well. From everything that Ishida-san and I can tell, the baby is healthy and growing well. They are likely to have a mix of Isshin-san and Masaki-san talents.” Kisuke considered it a moment. “I believe, once the baby is born, they’ll take the hollow with them. That will be vital for their stability. They are so in balance at the moment that the loss of one aspect will likely prove lethal in the long run.” He considered that as fingers moving softly over dark fur. “Something I have impressed upon the parents to be. The hollow is sealed and will continue to be until we break it at some point, but the power it holds is present. So the baby will be…impressive.”

There was a snort from Yoruichi. “Maybe it’s the baby,” she teased, though there had not been any documented cases of soul bonding with an unborn child. “You do the impossible regularly enough. Why not do it again?”

Kisuke tweaked her ear, hand blurring as he dodged the slash of her claws. “I doubt even baby Kurosaki is developed enough to have a proper reiatsu signature yet,” he said easily. “While they have a strong presence already, it’s…malleable. Though I do hope that you’ll be in town when the time for the birth gets close.” He wrinkled his nose. “I am already noticing an uptick of smaller hollows. Masaki-san has been attracting quite a bit of attention from the wrong quarters. I think when it is time for baby Kurosaki to be born, they will lure in hollows for miles around. We’ll need to set up a protective line around them and deal with the swarm that is likely to descend on us at that level of power energy.”

A nod from Yoruichi. “Just contact me when it gets close to time. Though I don’t know if I’ll go too far.” Her tone went light and teasing. “After all, I have to find out who your mysterious suitor to be is. Only you could get a soul bond and not notice.”

That got her a sigh and a shrug. “It wasn’t like it was that big a deal,” he protested, giving his friend an over-exaggerated pout. “And I’ve been busy.”

Yoruichi perked up. “I have to talk to Tessai,” she warbled out, as close to singing as she got. Dodging Kisuke’s grab, the cat ran into the house, yowling out the name of their other friend, and Kisuke sighed.

Collecting his tea, he focused on that. No need to think about Tessai-san’s matchmaking urges now. He’d be dealing with them soon enough.

***

The stars looked amazing, and Kisuke found himself panting as he watched them decorate the night sky.

They weren’t as bright here as they were in soul society, but there was a great deal more progression in the living world, so bright it dimmed even the night sky.

Though all of his senses felt dimmed. The Kurosaki baby had come into the world, and he was grateful that Ishida had a charm that he and Masaki had put on the baby. It would allow more of the child’s reiatsu to release over the next year or so. Slow enough that they shouldn’t have a repeat of tonight.

He was exhausted, and he was sure that Yoruichi was the same whenever she was at.

The Visored had taken the outer layer of the patrol. Kisuke and Yoruichi had focused on the blocks around the roof of the hospital that the baby was being born in. And outside of all of it, Hachigen and Tessai had been working on keeping all of this under wraps. While he knew Aizen had an idea where they might be, they did not need the baby’s explosion of power to attract his eye.

He was pretty sure they had dealt with every hollow from miles around, all attracted to the initial spike of power that the baby would have screamed out with their first breath.

That was something he needed to check on well.

Pushing himself upright, Kisuke glanced around. It only took a moment to spot Yoruichi, leaning against an air conditioning unit a few roofs over. Waving to catch her attention, he waited until she nodded back, then he let himself drop over the side of the roof.

Ishida had given him a room number, and Kisuke had already scouted out where it was in the hospital. So it only took a moment to wrap a hint of reiatsu under his feet to slow and then stop his fall. He pulled a phone out and texted the man, making sure he was able to come in.

The curtains shoved apart, and Ishida was scowling at him. The man opened the window. “Get in here,” he muttered. “The sooner you make sure the boy is all right, the sooner you can leave.”

Kisuke smiled. “A boy? I am sure that Kurosaki-san is thrilled.”

“Isshin is being an idiot over it, and Masaki is pleased to have a healthy baby.”

He shifted aside, letting Kisuke step through and land lightly on the floor, geta making only a small clicking as they hit the ground. Then Ishida continued. “They named him Ichigo. I assume you dealt with any outside trouble.”

Kisuke grimaced a bit. “After this, I think we’re all going to go find out beds now that the charm you have put into place has muted his strength. The area should be hollow free for a few months.”

A sigh. “That’s good,” the white haired Quincy said. “Hopefully they’ll be gone for even longer than that.”

Kisuke considered that. “If you like, I can set up patrol when your own child is born.” It was an honest offer, as he knew that the man’s wife had taken poorly to pregnancy. She was happy to be pregnant, but every time Kisuke saw her around, she looked exhausted and drained.

Ishida tensed, then made himself relax. “We’ll discuss that later,” he said, which made Kisuke smile to himself. That wasn’t a no, and it was nice to see how devoted the man was to his wife. He was as bad as Isshin was, if quieter about it.

But he only nodded in response, quietly following as he was lead to the bed.

There was Masaki, who was watching them, though Kisuke could see she was ready to go to sleep. Beside the bed was Isshin, whose tail was wagging back and forth like mad. And beside him, placed where both he and Masaki could reach, was a tiny little being.

There was a tuft of dark hair, though he could already see strands of a paler color in it. Kisuke wondered if baby Kurosaki… Ichigo, his name was Ichigo, would have his mother’s hair?

He was wrapped firmly in a warm blanket, swaddled quite tightly. Though he managed to get a foot and a puffy little tail out of the confines already. Kisuke smiled faintly, tucking the fluffy grey tail and the foot back into the blanket. “Already a trouble maker,” he murmured to the child, and then rested his hand on Ichigo’s chest. Closing his eyes, he focused, threading his reiatsu gently to make sure everything was still balanced.

This was something he’d been doing since Isshin had come to tell him that Masaki was pregnant, in a near panic. There had been two pregnancies before this one, and neither had gotten far. The third time was the charm, and the balance of energies settled in ways to keep the boy from coming to harm.

Everything still felt good, and he opened his eyes with a smile.

“Congratulations,” he said, smiling at them. He knew they had been heartbroken the previous times, and having Ichigo here, all red-faced and scowling, had to be such a relief.

“Masaki-san?” he asked, offering her his hand. She rested her fingers against his palm, and he did his own scan of her energies.

Once he was done, he gave her hand a light squeeze and let go. “It’s as I thought. The hollow passed on to Ichigo, but the seal on it seems to be intact. Though he’s definitely strong enough to see spirits without much help.”

He smiled at the new parents. “You should have an easier time of things if you decide to give him any siblings without the hollow energies causing such distress on your own.” That was to Masaki, who looked relieved. He knew she had taken the failed pregnancies hard, but this should help her feel better about any future attempts.

Moving away from the bed, Kisuke absently sealed Benihime back into a cane, nodding at each of them. “Now that everything seems to have settled both outside and in here, I’m off. Let me know if you have any other concerns that I might be able to help calm.”

He went to perch on the sill of the window, then threw a grin back at them. “And, as always, come visit the shop and pick up a few items. I always have a wide range of stock for your purchasing pleasure.”

Ishida shoved him out the window with a snort.

Kisuke laughed as he caught himself, and took off into the night. Time to find everyone and let them know that they could do whatever. The situation was done, and it was time for a well-deserved rest.

Besides, now that Ichigo was actually born, Kisuke had potential plans to adjust.

#Bleach #fanfic #soulmate au #tails universe #Urahara Kisuke #shihoin yoruichi #ishida ryuken #Kurosaki Masaki #Kurosaki Isshin #Kurosaki Ichigo

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wallwriterstuff · 3 years

Text

The Big Bad Wolf ||Demetri Volturi x Female Reader||

Warnings: A bit angsty at first, but otherwise it’s very fluffy

Words: 5092

Taglist: @thelastemzy @kpopgirlbtssvt @a-avaunce @college-is-coming @alecvolturiswifeforever @broskibowser @volturidoll13 @raindancer2004

Summary:

Part 1: Little Red Riding Hood Part 3: What Soft Lips You Have Part 4: And They Have Lived Happily Ever After

Demetri ponders why his mate doesn’t seem to feel what he feels, tries to plan ahead, and makes an important promise to the one person he can no longer be without.

What did she dream of?

When her face scrunched like that. When her body twisted like it was trying to escape or flee or maybe curl closer? When her lips moved but no discernible noise escaped them. When she sighed contentedly.

What did she dream of?

When her fingers clenched into thick wool. When her cheek rubbed the same fabric. When vibrant eyes fluttered behind closed lids.

What did she dream of?

He still had no answer despite years of watching her – at least that was how it felt. He could vividly recreate her face in his mind, from the soft curve of her jaw that gave her face that classic oval shape the Swan Sister’s shared to the iridescence of those big Y/E/C eyes. In reality, he simple hadn’t stopped staring since she sort of collapsed into him, her exhausted body no longer capable of keeping her upright once he used the advantages fate had bestowed upon him to try and calm her from her obviously terrified state. Demetri couldn’t honestly say he blamed her, being afraid of her current situation. The moment she had stepped on the plane his mate had been subject to stares, the probing and malicious kind of looks that only those who thought they were above you could really give. Those looks gave way to open shock and clear, intense dislike when Demetri ushered her into the small booth of the Private Jet, the one reserved for the Higher Guard only.

To add to her worry, Aro had drifted over before long to discuss her change, Caius’s open dislike for her enough to make it clear only Demetri seemed to be overly bothered about whether or not she could endure the transformation. He was determined to make it so, bargaining for at least a night of sleep since the poor thing looked so drained. Her sister was pale it was true but there was something about the bags under her eyes that didn’t sit well with him. Alone, afraid, his mate looked nothing like the strong woman who had spoken out against the injustice her family were facing, and he would have devoted every last inch of himself to seeing her smile if only the timing was right. But he had scared her to, hadn’t he? His reaction to what was obviously a very upsetting scar of all things…

It was the principle of the thing! To think someone else’s venom had entered her bloodstream, that someone else had tasted the alluring wine lingering in her veins! The thought had driven him to near madness as most other things about her had that day. It had started off quite gently, as the mate pull should be he supposed. Her scent had made him pause, watching from a distance as she spied on them with no real idea of the consequences it held for either of them, breathing her in one deep inhale at a time as he tried to figure out why the scent was so alluring – then recoiling in surprise when he realised it was because it was all his favourite scents rolled into something unique and tantalising on the tongue. Curiosity had been the first major emotion, itching at his brain, and when Aro’s impatience had forced him to reveal himself to her, it had been quiet, reverent awe that came next.

Awe that he could have the privilege to gaze upon a creature so lovely, from the red tinge to her cold skin to the soft waves of hair that almost begged him to run his fingers through it. The moment he had dared meet her gaze the world calmed, like a storm had brewed and raged within him without him ever noticing until that moment. There was nothing and no one, not a sound or a directive that could have moved him for the seconds it took the mate pull to thrum in the back of his mind, slowly beginning the momentous task of realigning every instinct and every fibre of his being to her, making her the focal point of his existence. This experience was supposed to be sweet and slow, yet watching her wilt under Aro’s stare, knowing the danger she was in, had only sped it up, fate intervening to ensure he protected what was his so he didn’t lose it too soon. The moment his Master leaned forward he knew well his intentions, and Demetri couldn’t honestly recall what happened next since his body had took the lead and given his mind a backstage pass to watch the show from afar.

“You’ve been out of sorts since you met her. Is the pull that strong or is there something more at play here?” Felix asked, a low murmur that only their little booth would hear. Though they made no effort to be friendly his friends had, at the very least, kept their conversations at a more human volume so she would not be left out. Even if she did not take part in their discussions she was not excluded from them. Demetri reflexively tightened his grip, still unable to move his eyes from her for even a moment. He still felt like he was on high alert, like he was waiting for the enemy to come crashing in at any moment and take her from his grasp.

“Yes Demetri do tell, you’ve fawned over her like one might an infant.” Jane looked thoroughly amused at his discomfort and he made a mental note to pay her back for it later…when he could think straight. Every now and then, she would inhale deeply, curling tighter into the cloak he had wrapped around her before she had practically fallen into his lap, pressing tighter to his body as he held her close. He couldn’t understand it himself. Instinctually she knew, her body just…knew, surely? His scent, his presence, it had calmed her as it should. If her body knew to react to this bond, then why couldn’t her mind process it? Did she actually feel anything? Did she not have any of the confusing, intense emotion that he felt?

No…no it had to be the bite. That stupid, stupid bite. He couldn’t stop seeing it in his mind’s eye. She didn’t feel like his, that was the problem. He held her in his arms and she had come with him willingly but she wasn’t his, not till he erased that venom and replaced it with his own.

“Alec…I have a rather large favour to ask you.” He said finally, looking up at him. The boy tilted his head, silently studying the tracker before he nodded once.

“Then ask.” He invited. Even now he had to fight to keep his gaze on Alec, his eyes already itching to look back down and watch her expressions shift as she dreamed. It would be the last dream she ever had. He hoped it was a pleasant one.

“I need someone with me Alec, I cannot turn her alone…I suspect they know that, that that is my punishment for my disobedience on the battlefield earlier. I would have no one else do it anyway but…Alec if I cannot stop myself, please, I beg you stop me.” Demetri implored quietly. Alec seemed surprised at the intensity of the agony that was conveyed in his eyes. Demetri couldn’t really have explained it either, but every thread of his existence was tied so inextricably to her’s in the space of a few short hours that all he knew was that to lose her would be to lose himself. It had all happened so fast it was dizzying, but slowly the fog was clearing and his way out of this mess was clear. Turn his mate, ensure her safety throughout her newborn year, then they were both home free having proven their loyalty to one another and their coven – whether Y/N was there by a deal or by choice.

“Wouldn’t my gift be more effective at dissuading you?” Jane wondered.

“It would also be a wonderful way of ensuring I bite down and pull her throat out with my teeth.” Demetri pointed out, flinching slightly at the grotesque mental image.

“I can strip your taste. You would not want to keep feeding as it would feel pointless then.” Alec said finally. It was as close to an agreement as Demetri knew he would get and he nodded his gratitude as the jet began to descend. She stirred multiple times, his little human struggling to return to slumber each time she awoke as they moved between the landing strip and the Castle, something not even the warm embrace of his cloak could cure. She was blazing like a fire in his arms but seemed content with the temperature, dozing on his shoulder and then his bed after he left her cocooned there. Since she liked the warm, he made sure to stoke the fire before showering. He stayed under the warm water a long time, mind swirling with a number of burgeoning thoughts he couldn’t seem to shift.

His mate was right in the other room and yet she felt so far away from him. His whole life had changed drastically in the blink of an eye, and the price he was paying felt far too high. Her life was quite literally at stake, hanging in the balance where the only thing stopping the momentum from tipping too far to the wrong side was his self-control. Demetri had only ever bitten with the intent to feed, never feeling compelled to create company given he had never been a nomad and alone. Did he even have the self-control for this? The thought plagued him because that was his punishment, and he knew he had to endure for the sake of Y/N and himself. To lose her would be to condemn himself, yet with Chelsea on their side he was sure if Aro still felt he was of use he would never escape that particular torment.

By the time he had stepped out, dried and changed into something comfier than his official battle uniform, Y/N had slipped out of his cloak to curl up in front of the fire instead. With a pillow trapped between her chest and her knees, she hugged them close and stared into the flames, face half-covered by fabric and eyes red rimmed. It wasn’t difficult to smell the salt lingering on the damp fabric and understand what had happened in his absence. Oh, how his heart broke…

“I thought you were sleeping.” He said. She jumped, furiously wiping at her eyes before she somewhat relaxed again into her original position. She had tied her hair back now, long Y/H/C waves messily scraped into a bun that hadn’t managed to capture every strand. He felt another painful pinch in his chest when she refused to look at him.

“I don’t really sleep.” She mumbled. Demetri frowned slightly, inching closer to test her boundaries. She didn’t say anything, merely let him slip ever so slowly until he was sitting beside her, his knees drawn up so he could rest his forearms on them – and keep his feet away from the fire. They sat in silence for a long while, Demetri counting every painful minute in his head as they ticked by, moments with his mate draining away like sand in an hourglass he could never get back. Why was it so hard to talk to her? Every time he opened his mouth he closed it again almost immediately, not knowing if something he said might set her off or upset her more. What did she speak about to others’? So much to learn and so little time till she was lost to the thirst for a while…

“Forgive me, for the way I acted when we returned to your home. It was…selfish.” He settled on that, a safe enough topic he supposed given it was the only real experience they had shared together.

“Yeah, it was.” she couldn’t seem to bring herself to speak any louder than a mumble. Demetri grimaced a little bit, staring into the fire dejectedly.

“I spoke without thinking, reacted without really thinking either, about the pain that wound must have caused you.” He continued.

“I’ve felt worse pain.” She frowned deeply and Demetri couldn’t help but flinch.

“Such as?” he asked, though the sense of foreboding growing in his gut told him he already knew the answer, deep down. Y/N looked furious with him then, her big eyes turning on him with so much hostility he could have sworn she might have actually won if she lunged to fight him in that moment. The anger and upset that radiated from her bled into him, seeping through the cracks in his calm façade and piercing his unbeating heart. He would have given anything to remove that look from her face, that pain in her chest.

“Such as? Such as! Are you aware that you’ve just taken me away from my family, the people I love, without even letting me say goodbye? Do you even comprehend how much I don’t want to be here? That the only reason I am is because you and me are supposed to be this miraculous soulmate story incarnate when the reality is the only thing you feel for me is utter disgust?” she snapped. Demetri wasn’t certain she knew for a fact she was crying, or how much her words wounded him, but he couldn’t keep the offense off of his face. It was a mortal blow to his ego and his pride, his character as a man, yet as furious as he wanted to be with her he still couldn’t bring himself to be. She was young and hurting, deeply wounded and trying to create a chasm between them where fate wouldn’t allow it to exist in an effort to deal with that hurt.

“I do not feel disgust for you nor was it my choice to bring you here! You made a deal with Aro knowing full well the terms which you were agreeing to. You are the reason you are here Y/N, and so long as you choose to stay with me my every effort will be expended into protecting you from yourself. Foolish girl, can you not see he has us both trapped? That we are both being punished here? My own disobedience may have sped up the arrival of your fate but it is one you readily signed yourself over to.” he hissed.

He hated it. The revulsion boiled and writhed in his gut as he ground his teeth together, his mind buzzing with a thousand other angry words he forced back down his throat lest he make things worse. None of this was right. He shouldn’t be arguing with her like this. They should be happy, shouldn’t they? Happy as everyone else who was lucky enough to find their mate…shouldn’t they?

“I don’t have a choice, and neither did you,” She reminded him, “or clearly you would have chosen less damaged goods.” The air between them was polluted with their anger, their grief, and yet…her voice wavered. The sentence itself was so wrong but the tone of her voice, the way her hand moved to her throat, that pinched expression that suggested she was tortured by her own insecurities, was really what gave it away. How could he be angry at her now? With a drawn out sigh, Demetri scooted slightly closer and turned himself toward her, scrutinising her side profile.

Y/N closed her eyes, no doubt sensing his gaze and wishing it would leave her skin. He reminded himself she was fragile, that his little human would shatter easily under too forceful a touch, and drew his finger beneath her eye with such care it barely touched her skin and did little to remove the tears he wished he could wipe away. They had started all wrong, but it didn’t mean they had to continue the same way. Maybe it was inappropriate, maybe it was the wrong time, but he needed her to know it was something he could move past. He needed her to know that she wasn’t damaged goods, that she wasn’t something he regretted or felt the need to change – at least not in that way.

His fingers clasped around her wrist, afraid to grip too hard but ever so careful in the way he pulled her palm from her throat. Demetri closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to her temple as she froze up beneath him, feeling the icy tips of his fingers brush her delicate throat. Her pulse hammered beneath the pads of his fingers, blood rushing beneath her paper-thin flesh…

“Relax, trust me.” He whispered, tracing the indents of teeth in hardened flesh. He didn’t feel quite so angry about it this time, though he couldn’t say he was thrilled by it either. Demetri exhaled slowly, held his breath, and dipped his head a little lower.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, jerking her head backward. She didn’t move out of his grip though and there was the slightest hint of fear on her face. Demetri shook his head.

“I will not harm you,” he vowed, moving slowly so as to give her time to move away again, “You are not broken goods Y/N, and the way I see it I _did _choose you, though not consciously perhaps not consciously. Your very soul reached out to mine and I accepted what I knew would be best for me. You were never a choice, you were a necessity.” His bold words had left her utterly stunned and she didn’t fight him at all as he placed his lips over the marred flesh of her throat. He placed two kisses against that scar that brought them so much pain, just two, but it was enough to set them on the right path this time. Demetri pulled his head back, watching her carefully as she stared at him in utter astonishment. His head had cleared, his mind set right; he had never been as certain about anything in his life as he was about Y/N, whether the rest of the world was against them or not.

“But you said…you said your only hope was to…” she looked so confused in that moment it almost made him swoon. How adorable she was when her nose scrunched like that! He could watch the expression all day, but she needed an answer.

“What I said remains true, I have every plan to change you in the same way in the hopes I might not have to remind myself another ever dared lay a hand on you, but there will be contingencies to ensure I do not fail and you are safe. All that matters to me now is that I succeed in this endeavour.” He confessed, settling back against the sofa’s edge once more with a quiet sigh. The silence that followed was far more comfortable than the first one, something more companiable in the air between them. He was pleased she scooted a little closer to him so they could watch the flames together, their crackling no longer drowned out by the exchange of angry words. He wanted to ask her a thousand more questions, get to know her, but there would be time enough for that later on. For now he wished only to bask in this silent moment where things felt more right between them than they had since they met.

“They’re hoping you’ll kill me, aren’t they?” her quiet voice broke that silence a few hours later, as the sun was starting to set in the sky and night fell over Volterra. She was running out of time and Demetri wasn’t sure when that had begun to bother him to this extent, but the room was going to feel so empty without her heartbeat to fill the quiet.

“Yes. I believe that that is my punishment to endure for my disobedience.” He agreed, voice equally as quiet as he turned to look at her. He couldn’t remember when she had placed her head against his shoulder, but she lifted it now to meet his eyes.

“You didn’t do anything wrong though, I did, my mouth got us both in trouble.” She frowned. Demetri chuckled ruefully.

“Your mouth will get you into trouble for a while yet I believe, but my own impudence in placing myself between you and Master Aro was equally as displeasing to them. I wilfully subordinated your sentencing in front of many witnesses outside of our coven, after all.” He grimaced. He would change nothing about that moment, he had decided, not when it brought him so tangibly close to forever with his mate. It was right within his grasp now, an eternity of being fulfilled, happy, of having a purpose beyond the walls he once held so dear – he had something new to protect.

“So…they want to punish us both then…and being an out of control newborn is only going to make it worse for both of us.” She mused, though she didn’t seem in the least bit concerned. In fact, if Demetri had to guess, she was rather looking forward to the chance to raise a little hell within their walls. He was as worried and exasperated by the idea as he was amused by it.

“Indeed it just might, though I promise not to let you get too out of hand.” He nudged her lightly with his arm and she giggled, the sound absolutely melodious to his ears. He almost begged her to do it again purely so he had a better chance to commit it to memory, something to keep him company while she endured the change and reminded him of the better times to come. Finally, it felt like he had done something right…now he just had to keep that sweet smile in place.

“You promise huh? Way I see it, its a bit us vs them right now isn’t it? If they can be so unfair to you of all people…” she trailed off. Demetri felt his own smile fall slightly, his expression somewhat vacant as he pondered the accusation. In truth he did feel somewhat betrayed. Chelsea had actually threatened the Masters’ when she first brought home Afton and they wanted him killed, yet she received no punishment, so why had he? He was protecting what was rightfully his after all, someone he could never be truly happy without again. What was so wrong about it?

“Us and them…”he echoed, the thought both perturbing and…thrilling. She hummed, suddenly pushing up onto her knees beside him, eyes alight with fierce determination.

“You’re making a lot of promises but there’s nothing to say you’ll keep them so…lets make a real promise, right now.” She instructed. His eyebrows rose slightly.

“In my day and age when a man gives his word it is an ironclad contract little one, the breaking of which eroded his position in society and status as a man.” He replied slightly insulted. Her head tilted.

“Well we’re not in the Bible era anymore so…” she shot him a devilish grin as he snorted and feigned an offended expression, “It’s a real simple promise. Since we’re supposed to be the next Gomez and Morticia, and we’re clearly the only ones willing to see if that can work out, then I say we promise right now it’ll always be us against them. Hell, it’ll be us against the world if we need it to be. Whatever we do…we back each other up.” She proposed, offering her hand to him. Y/N extended her pinky but left her other fingers curled in, and Demetri wasn’t too sure what exactly was expected of him as he mulled over her words.

They felt right. Wasn’t this what the mate bond was supposed to be? Someone to always support you? Protect you? Someone to always have your back? If not his mate then who? Maybe the Masters’ who would so readily forsake his happiness weren’t the best choice of allies…

“Though I do not know what half of your speech actually meant, I can promise you this. Whatever we do, we back each other up.” He agreed, offering her his hand in the hopes she’d guide him through this next part. Demetri couldn’t honestly say he had any clue what was so different about this handshake and how it was any more significant than any other, but as she looped her pinky through his and shook his hand he couldn’t help but smile. With a firm nod and a sharp exhale, she suddenly reached down and pulled her jumper off with a flourish, revealing an expanse of pale skin and a wonderfully bright blue lace bra Demetri struggled to look away from as he choked on the air he was breathing.

“Okay so first step, you turn me.” She seemed completely unbothered by her partial nakedness, even when he struggled to stop the venom pooling in his mouth and his fingers from reaching out to drag her closer. She looked entirely confident in him and though he wanted to be flattered Demetri had his mind on very different matters in that moment.

“I – you – Alec is going to- to help.” He choked out, eyes wide and completely fixed to her chest. She visibly lost some confidence then, a beautiful, vibrant shade of red painting her cheeks as her arms came up to cross her chest with a squeak.

“O-oh. I…I th-think I need a shirt then?” she sounded almost as strained as he felt and with a quick nod he dashed to his closet to find her something appropriate. He dutifully kept his head turned away while she buttoned up one of his shirts. When she cleared her throat to let him know he could look again she was still blushing brightly, and Demetri managed a slightly strained smile.

“So er…Alec’s room is just down the hall, er…shall we?” he asked, offering her his hand.

“No need, I heard my name and decided to drop in.” Alec’s voice was smooth as ever but there was an underlying hint of mischief there that made Demetri tense, and it wasn’t until after the deed was done that he dared speak his mind.

“How much did you see, Alec?” he didn’t risk looking at him, not wanting to see the shit-eating smirk he was sure was going to be on Alec’s face. He focused instead on cleaning the blood from her skin and ensuring she was comfortably resting upon his sheets. She started to twitch a bit, a pained grunt escaping here and there as Alec’s mist retreated from them.

“What I did or didn’t see is of no consequence…though I think you’re in for an interesting life if she’s as willing to undress herself for you after the change as she was before it.” His cackling could be heard down the hall as he fled from the room before Demetri could hit him, the tracker closing his eyes and counting to ten before deciding he could let it go for now. He had much bigger things to attend to after all. He had never been one to fuss too much over little things, but suddenly the sheets on the bed were not tucked in enough, the curtains letting in too little or too much light, the air in the room too stale and then too full of scents when he opened the window. There was no such thing as perfection and yet, as she burned, Demetri strived for it.

It felt worth it though, when she finally opened her eyes. It was rather amusing to him to watch her take it all in, the thousands of different smells and the way they tasted in the air, the shimmer of her skin, the speed with which she had sat up and moved. Demetri almost envied her when she finally locked eyes with him, the minute way the vivid red irises widened and the soft gasp that escaped through parted lips telling him she too had felt that momentous pull realigning her entire being with his own – he wished he could experience it again. She approached him with such caution it was almost comical, and Demetri was the one to reach for her first. She jumped at his touch but quickly relaxed into it, letting him hold her hand and squeeze lightly.

“This feeling…”she whispered, her own voice startling her with the musical notes it now contained. Her fingertips traced soothing patterns against his palm and Demetri held back a contented sigh, too enamoured with watching her explore the new feelings and beginning to understand his position in all of this.

“Intense?” he guessed, lifting his free hand to push back some of her hair. The slightest of scars remained where he hadn’t quite managed to cover Riley’s teeth marks with his own, but the majority of it was gone, sealed over with the same venom that had stopped her heart and ensured she would hand the organ and all it contained to him. She nodded distractedly, following his hand with her head until he caved and cupped her cheek tenderly with a low chuckle. His thumb stroked her cheek lovingly, his heart bursting in his chest. She had done it, his mate had defied them all with a little help and now…now there was nothing more for them to do than enjoy eternity.

“Is it forever?” she asked innocently, looking up at him through her lashes. Demetri pulled up the hand that was holding hers, lacing his fingers through her own and leaning down to press his forehead to hers.

“Always and forever little one, it’s us against the world.” He promised. Their noses brushed as her head tilted, pushing forward and pulling back as if trying to decide if she should or not. Demetri decided for her, meeting her halfway and letting their lips meet in the first of many sweet kisses to come. He had never tasted her blood thanks to Alec, but he was sure now that if the boy had failed at his task he certainly would not have been able to stop and his mate would not have been standing before him, sweet and alive and willingly walking into his embrace. The taste of her was sublime, addictive even, and he knew he’d never tire of kissing her. Though she’d need to learn to be a little more careful with him first.

A/N: Usually I wouldn’t do this but I tried a few new things here today I’d like some feedback on please! How do you like the taglist? Should I keep it? Add anyone to it? Take anyone off it? And how do you like the idea of a gif or a picture (when I can find them) to brighten up the post a bit? All that’s left to do now is rejig my Masterlist a bit...Thanks for reading folks.

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #demetri volturi #swan sister reader #demetri volturi x female reader #volturi #felix volturi #alec volturi #part 2 #request #honestly this ending just spilled out of me #so fluffy

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 3 years

Text

27. Lies

Henry learns that giving Sammy knowledge of his past betrayals at Bendy’s hands wasn’t the best way to get him to join his party as the prophet has a mental breakdown/existential crisis that Malice kinda wishes she could un-trigger. (Set in an AU where Henry remembers the past loops and uses it to his advantage, but isn’t good at it. May or may not be tied to the FIFE AU.)

Sammy was quiet ever since it was saved, when it wasn’t zoning out or talking to the ink itself, Sammy was rambling under its breath and when Henry tried to figure out what it was saying, he realized that aside from the phrase “He lied, he always lied…” the former musician wasn’t speaking English, which while Henry didn’t mind, made it really hard for him to eavesdrop on the Prophet to figure out what was going on with it.

It was mildly concerning and the animator almost considered leaving Sammy behind in the safehouse for its own good, but the cartoon wolf using his typewriter, assured the animator that the former musician just needed some time to adjust to what it had learned from him.

Henry could agree with that, he wouldn’t know how he’d take it if he learned from a time-traveling (from its point of view) animator that his god would and already has betrayed him countless times and that he and his flock would be doomed to die at the time traveler’s hands because of that betrayal.

---

The addition of Sammy shadowing him didn’t change much of the story from Henry’s perspective; Malice’s introduction, reuniting with Buddy Boris, the first elevator ride, the room filled with corpses (Well, he saw Sammy walk ON the ink instead of using the path and he commented on it, but it didn’t really affect the story that much), Susie’s slip, Malice’s favor monologue…

In fact, Sammy seemed like he was intentionally trying to not acknowledge Malice and Henry swore that other than the occasional disgust-filled glare she made at the ink figure, the twisted angel didn’t even acknowledge Sammy’s existence, and with that mask of his (and his lack of facial features), it was hard to tell what the prophet was thinking about the situation.

“Ready to help run some errands, Sammy?” Henry asked the prophet, hoping to prompt a response.

The former music director nodded but didn’t say anything.

“My machines are hungry.” Malice called out from the speaker system. “Gather them some spare parts!”

Henry handed the Prophet the pipe as he took the wrench for himself.

“There are so few rules to our world now.” She whispered into the system. “So little truths.”

“Wherever they were I can’t find them..” Sammy muttered under his breath.

“But there’s one rule we all know and respect down here. Beware the Ink Demon. Stay out in the open too long, and he will find you.” She taunted. “For if you see him. You’d better hide. If you don’t” She chuckled. “Well, I enjoyed our date.”

Aside from a noticeable lack of searchers attacking him, the animator didn’t notice many changes from the usual script, until they returned to the elevator with the gears in hand.

“Sammy said I had talent.” Malice stated with a much more noticeable amount of venom in her tone than usual. “He was always a good liar.”

“I was... always a good… Liar…” the Prophet parroted loudly enough for the other three to hear him. “Always… a good… Liar… A-always... a... good... ...Liar...”

Henry backed away as he heard the prophet start to laugh. It started out as something that he couldn’t tell if it was crying or laughing, and then broke into full-on unrestrained crazed cackling.

“ALWAYS A GOOD LIAR! HE LIES, HE ALWAYS LIES, HE ALWAYS HAD LIED! THAT’S IT! I’VE FIGURED IT OUT! IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW! IT’S LIES! ALL OF IT IS FILTHY, DISGUSTING, LIES!”

Malice stopped the elevator before it reached her floor as she’d rather not have the mad maestro anywhere near her, especially when he was like... ...this...

Henry hesitantly approached the musician and gently tapped him on the shoulder.

“Sammy? What are you talking about?”

“I’M... I’M A LIVING PILE OF LIES! I’M NOT REALLY SAMMY! I NEVER WAS... ...I... I NEVER EVEN WAS HIM IN THE FIRST PLACE!”

The now apostate Prophet’s voice flowed with mixed emotions, soul-crushing despair and maddening euphoria being the loudest in them as the creature’s once smooth and calm voice grew more and more distorted and frantic.

“THE INK DEMON CAN’T FREE ME FROM THE INK, NOT EVEN IF HE WANTED TO, I WAS BORN FROM IT! I’M JUST A LYING INK BLOT THAT WAS STUPID ENOUGH TO BELIEVE THE LIES THAT I WAS FED, TO BELIEVE THAT I WAS SOMEONE BEFORE THE INK, SOMEONE WHO MIGHT NOT HAVE EVER EXISTED IN THE FIRST PLACE, AND EVEN WORSE, I HAD CARRIED THOSE LIES ON AND SPREAD THEM TO OTHERS LIKE A DISEASE! I HAD GIVEN THEM HOPE, FAITH, BELIEF, AND THEY WERE ALL LIES ALL ALONG!”

Boris cowered in the corner in the way he did whenever he saw the Ink Demon approach while Henry debated trying to slap sense into him. But surprisingly, “Malice” was the first to speak up.

“Sammy, no...” That soft voice tried to argue with the mad maestro, “You know that’s not true...”

“Not True?” The Prophet cackled again. “Not true? Then go ahead and grind the very universe down to it’s finest dust of all of it’s building blocks! Grind it down to it’s first ingredients used to create it and tell me which ones are hope and faith. And while your at it, why not tell me which ones are love and justice as well? They’re just lies, gentle, sweet lies we sooth ourselves with to keep from descending to the abyss...”

“Listen to yourself! That’s not right You’re not right!”

“Oh, Spare me your own falsehoods, Angel!” The Prophet spat venomously. “If you can even be capable of that. YOU. ARE. NOT. SUSIE. Just like me, you’re a figure made of nothing but cold, fetid ink and LIES. You’re not even a half-decent imitation of her! Neither of you two are!”

The venom in his tone leaked out to be replaced with some sort of bittersweet nostalgia.

“The Susie that I... The Susie that... Sammy knew was the strongest woman he had ever known, sure, she was a naive person, seeing good where it never was... Seeing good in me... but she was a compassionate and driven person who would not hesitate to stand up for what was right! A person who had even managed to make me- make him feel like he could be a good person, maybe even believe that he was a good person for a little bit... While you... I don’t even want to grace you with a description...”

The angel fell silent and the elevator started up again, the animator and wolf dreaded seeing how the two would behave when they met up face to face once more.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #Henry Stein #sammy lawrence #susie campbell #Malice Angel #fanfic #ink demonth #tw mental breakdown #tw existential crisis

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boneswriteswords · 3 years

Text

The Lost Bottoms: Paul

Listen.

I’m not sorry. Not for this or the ones I’m writing for the other boys.

NSFW warning. Soft Sub/dom shit. Pegging.

Not my best work BY A LONG SHOT but whatever. Its content.

~~~~~~

You and Paul rarely ever fought. Despite his seemingly endless energy, he was easy. Laidback. Chill. He rarely ever raised his voice in anger and he gave up on disagreements before they could go too far. The closest you had ever seen him to being snippy was when he was hungry and even then, it was never more than a snide comment.

In the first month of hanging out with him, you quickly ascertained that he didn’t like direct conflict. He had no issues with fighting on the boardwalk when Marko or David inevitably started something with a security guard or the surf nazis. He’d be the first to jump into a dogpile to fight alongside his brothers. He was one of the first, if not the first, one to descend upon unsuspecting victims when hunting. He had no problems inserting himself into situations that were not directly related or influenced by him.

But when it came to arguing with you or his brothers, he backs down. He does not like to feed and acknowledge discontent, preferring to ignore the problem until it sorts itself out. If one of his brothers raises their voice, he quiets his own. He will soothe and placate as best as he can. If all else fails, he will remove himself from the situation entirely, hauling himself bodily out of the immediate area.

As months went by and the closer you got to Paul and his brothers, you started noticing that he would look at you when tensions were high. When his brothers were yelling at him or yelling at each other, he’d shift closer to you. If he was uncertain, he’d wait for you to respond or delegate. He put your opinion and direction over his own. He’d bend ass over tits if you had a bad day.

Underneath it all, you could see something was stewing inside of him. You never commented on this behavior or the weird look he would get on his face when he thought no one was looking. His brothers didn’t either but they understood him better than you did. Vampire connection and all that.

But you should have said something.

Because every couple fights. Every couple disagrees. It’s a given. Sure some fight less than others but there will always be disagreements and arguments. You cannot spend your life with someone without clashing a couple of times.

And clash you did. Paul, for the first time since you met him, got angry, bubbled over and scalding. In turn, you got angry. Together, you collided. You didn’t let him run when he started getting quiet, trying to diffuse the situation and he didn’t let you divert the topic at hand when it made you uncomfortable. Words pin wheeled back and forth. It was a messy and unexpected and neither of you were prepared for the emotional blow by blow.

However, because of Paul’s peacemaking and relaxed nature and your inability to stay mad at him for any period of time, the argument fizzled out and open communication was had. The matter was resolved and you learned something very interesting.

Because, as it turns out, Paul is capable of creating perfectly valid arguments with a buttplug in his ass.

“No offense,” you said, tone as conversational as you could make it with this new knowledge, “but why are you like this?”

Paul grins, stretching across the bed like a lazy cat as he tosses his fishnet shirt and leather pants to the floor, the hedonist that he is. “Babeeee, don’t you wanna see my shiny new toy?”

You grimace, “Please don’t call it that.”

Paul’s grin widens as he whispers “Its an assifier. A pacifier for my ass.”

You close your eyes, brows scrunched as he cackles at his own joke.

After a solid five minutes of cackling, he calms, staring up at you with manic glee. He must see something in the line of your shoulders because he sobers up, baby blues gazing at you.

“Hey Paul?”

“Yes babe?”

“Show me what you did to yourself.”

He whimpers out a curse, already falling into his desired headspace, and rolls over on his hands and knees. He arches his back and you can see the dark base of the plug between his cheeks. You let out a shaky breath, the sight enough to send waves of heat to your core.

“Baby boy,” you coo, kneeling on the bed on one knee, hand reaching out to stroke his back. He trembles under your touch. “Baby boy, I need you to tell me what you want tonight. You gave me such a pretty gift.”

“I want the pink one.”

You cock your head, a smile twitching the edges of your mouth. The pink dildo was the biggest one in your set.

“Feeling empty?”

Paul mewls, stretching his legs out farther and pushing his ass out, “Wanna be full of you.”

You knew that the residual effects of your very first argument as a couple was heavy on him. The tenseness in his shoulders told you how much he needed you to reaffirm that you loved him. He craved your body on his, covering his own.

Paul wanted to be vulnerable and on display for you.

You loved him.

“Okay honeybabe. Okay,” you murmur, shifting to grab the necessary items from your trunk of playtime fun toys. You set them next to his head, letting him see your strap and his requested pink dildo. His eyes traveled from them to you as you stripped out of your clothes, hands reaching for him every few moments so he could feel your closeness.

The strap slides on and you click the dildo in place. The bed dips as you slide behind Paul, hands reaching out to stroke along his back as he pants. You reach over and untie the red cloth from the headboard, sticking it in Paul’s left hand, grabbing the lube he keeps under the pillow afterward. Normal Paul was loud. Subspace Paul wasn’t. The red cloth alleviated the pressure from the lack of communication.

“Check in,” you murmur, leaning over him to look him in the eyes. He was slipping fast, if the relaxed and open-mouthed expression were any indication. His eyes were cloudy, far away, and you knew he was floating. “Baby, you have to check in.”

“Yes, please, baby,” he replies dreamily, his body undulating like a snake. “Please, I wanna be good.”

“Okay honey,” you murmur, pressing kisses to the side of his face. You move his legs further apart, stroking up and down the backs of his thighs lightly as you adjust him. Snapping open the cap to the lube, you rubbed a good amount onto your fingers.

Paul shivered, little ‘ah-ah-ahs’ escaping his open mouth, and your core throbbed.

“Poor baby,” you coo, dipping your lube-wet fingers down Paul’s crack to trace the slick, stretched rim where the plug disappears, “you couldn’t wait to get something inside of you.”

Paul groans, rolling his body to shove his ass closer to your hands for more friction, “Mhmm...was empty. Missed you. Always miss you in the day. Needed to feel you.” HIs voice was a whisper, like he was sharing a secret. You rub against the skin a little harder and his body shudders.

He is beautiful, you couldn’t help but think, breath hitching as he pants into his pillow. So responsive with the slightest of touches and all for you. You lean over him, pressing little kisses along his back as you nudge at the toy, gripping the edge of it between two wet fingers.

The hand not holding onto the cloth reaches out and grips onto your free, dry hand. You watch with bated breath as Paul brings your hand up to his mouth and catches your fingers between his lips, gentle and wet. His face twists in discomfort as you ease the plug out of him, his tongue darting between your fingers like silk.

A twist of heat corkscrews up your spine at the way his hole clenches around nothing, overwhelming in its intensity. Your fingers fall from his mouth as you place the plug onto the bed and slip two of your lube-slicked fingers inside of him. You kiss against his lower back again, slipping a third finger in for the extra stretch.

Paul seems to be content letting you ease him open, coddling his body with soft touches and kisses and words as he melts under you. You thrust your fingers lightly, barely removing them from the tight heat of his body and more little ‘ah-ah-ahs’ fall out of him. You rub against his prostate every third thrust just to hear him whine. Your thighs are damp with your own slick.

“Baby, baby, baby please,” Paul whispers after several minutes, “Put it in me. I want it. Want you to fuck me.”

You waste no more time. You remove your fingers from his hole and shift up onto your knees behind him. Paul adjusts, opening his legs wide, arching his back just-so. Grabbing the lube, you slather a layer onto the pink dildo before tossing onto the bed somewhere. You rub the tip against his shiny hole before pushing in with devastating slowness.

Paul’s mouth drops open in a silent moan, head thrown back as he takes you in. His hips start rocking instantly, trying to fuck himself on your cock but you still his hips so he can’t sink all the way down. The dildo he chose was always hard to adjust to and you were not about to let him hurt himself.

“Fuck...fuck...” he whimpers, “Fucking....big, damnit. God dammnit. So big. Fuck me. Fuck me baby. I need it all.”

And you do, guiding the rest of the cock into him until you bottom out. You start off slow, easing his body open with small thrusts before adjusting to fuck him harder. His mouth hangs open, breathing heavily in between whimpers and whines as you abuse his prostate. At some point, he lifts his head back up to look at you over his shoulder - something you know to mean that he needs to shift.

Paul gets lost in subspace sometimes and he needs to be reassured that its you with him and all of it is real.

You lean over on the next thrust, your hand reaching out around his throat and guiding him up until he is sitting on your cock with his back against your chest. His weight settles onto your lap, his thighs bracketing yours and the end of the dildo that wasn’t inside Paul was pressed up against your clit in the most delicious of ways.

“Take it honey,” you grunt as one of your hands reaches up to grab his hair and yank his head back. “Fuck yourself on my cock. God, you feel so good. So fucking good.”

Paul clenches around the dildo, moving his body up and down while you meet him thrust for thrust. Your hand, the one not in his hair, trails down his chest, drawing little reverent patterns and flicking his nipples just how he likes.

His cock is twitching valiantly against his belly as you fuck him and the choked noise he makes as you grip him sends a shudder through you. His thighs are taut as he lifts himself up and down and he throws his head back, throat bared for you to kiss along when he hits his own prostate. You see a flicker of fang before his head turns to capture your mouth with his.

You allow him to lick into your mouth, swallowing his whining whispered pleas for more, for harder. You murmur what a good boy he is against his lips. How much you love him. How much you want to see him cum all over himself.

It isn’t long before you both shatter. You pull away from his mouth to whine into the skin of his neck as you soak your thighs, hand tightening in his hair as he shoots into your hand and on his stomach. His body is a flex of muscle and fire as you fuck each other through the aftershocks, both of you breaking into millions of pieces and reforming. You are positive he can feel the swell of your heartbeat with each ragged breath you let out.

You pulled out slowly, trembling. Paul whimpers as you separate from him and urge him up and off of you. You reach over to his hand and let out a sigh of relief to feel the cloth still in his hand.

Paul lays on his back, his face tilted upward, peering at you through half-lidded eyes as he comes down. You leave the bed and detach the straps from your body, tossing the contraption away before rejoining Paul on the bed, enveloping him in your arms and kissing his face as your eyes swim with haziness.

“You did so well for me,” you coo as you stroke his sweaty hair away from his face, “but you always do, don’t you? My best boy. So good for me. I’m so proud.”

Paul preened under the praise, lifting himself up just enough to flop alongside you and tuck his face in your neck. His tongue darted out to lick a bead of sweat and he sighed.

“I-i know we apologized already but I...I just didn’t want to lose you,” he whimpers, clutching you tighter, “I didn’t want you to walk away and decided that I wasn’t worth it anymore. I-I...if it were possible, I’d go out into the sunshine and meet all your family. I’d give you a house and kids and a dog if you wanted. I’d get a job and give you everything. I’m so far gone on you. I’d do whatever you said I could as long as you wanted me and I could. ”

Your heart hurts at his admission. Jagged emotions jumble together, pushing outside of their edges and fighting for dominance inside your skin from all angles.

“That - that would never happen honeybabe. I picked you. You picked me. You can tell me anything Paul,” you murmur into his hair as he nuzzles your throat, “Just don’t say it so quietly that I can’t hear. I know it wasn’t easy but I always want to hear you. This wasn’t easy. But....but this means that this hurdle is over. We are stronger now. We understand each other a little more. And when the next fight happens-” Paul whimpers at the idea - “we know how to handle it. We will get through it. I believe in us. I have so much more to say to you. Nothing is going to change that. ”

There is silence.

Paul shifts, pulling his head from its place in your neck to look you in the eyes.

“I have so much more to say to you too.”

~~~~

#the lost boys #The Lost Boys 1987 #the lost boys imagine #the lost boys paul #My writing

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ladyseara · 3 years

Text

Infinity is just the beginning (1/?)

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Rating: Mature

Tags: Nano Kojiro / Kaoru Sakurayashiki, Kaoru Sakurayashiki / Shindo Ainosuke (one-sided), Langa Hasegawa / Reki Kyan, Alpha / Beta / Omega Dynamics, Fantasy AU no one asked for, Miya Chinen is Joe’s son and I mean it, Miya Chinen is an illegitimate child, Forced marriage, Political marriage, Elf!Cherry, Demon!Joe, Elf!Adam, Carla is half-human / half-Elf.

Words: 2141

Kaoru Sakurayashiki knew his value and his place as an Omega Prince. He might have been born as a High Prince, descendant of the great Sakurayashiki House, which rules the Sun Elvish Kingdom, but at the end of the day, beside his lineage, he was still an Omega, a child who cannot ascend the throne. Of course, for his whole life he was treated with the respect and care he deserved, being prepared to become a suitable First Prince, until his brother, Langa, was born. The small Alpha has quickly taken his place in the line, but Kaoru was not angry with that. He loved his brother deeply, maybe even more than he loved his parents.

The High Prince, after his baby brother was born, got the freedom he never knew before. He was growing up, throwing himself into his studies. He was spoken to be the wisest of the family, more intelligent even than his grandfather, who was believed to be the greatest king in the history of the Elvish Kingdom. Many thought that if only he wouldn’t have been born as an Omega, he could have achieved even more. Kaoru was not only brilliant, he was brave and he was a visionary. He was not afraid of combining magic with technology, creating weapons and useful tools.

If he would had been born as at least Beta, he could have lead the army. But Kaoru was not concerned about that too.

The reason behind that was the Moon Elvish Kingdom’s Prince, Shindo Ainosuke. They met when they were both six years old. Firstly too shy to talk to each other, soon they realized they share a lot. Their parents were friends, so Kaoru and Shindo spend a lot of time together growing up. At some point, Kaoru was charmed by a young Alpha. They even shared a messy, a bit tipsy kiss in the garden, during some party. At that time Kaoru knew that one day he will marry this man. The Union between Sun Elves and Moon Elves, an alliance against the Demon Empire. Shindo, the Alpha, would lead their army to the victory on the battlefield, and he, Kaoru, would lead the rest of the country as his Consort. The mere thought of them, living such a bright future, was enough to send shivers down his spine.

One can only imagine Kaoru’s confidence, when at the day of his 19thbirthday, he was summoned by his father to his study. Omega Prince already knew the news: he will get married soon, in less than a month, in order to seal the alliance. He was more than ready to leave his title as a Sun Prince behind and become the Consort of the Moon King. Kaoru could only imagine new opportunities, lying in front of him. He was dreaming big.

“My King”, he said, greeting his father with a little bow. “You have requested my presence.”

“Yes, Kaoru. Sit down please.”

Kaoru sat in front of his father desk. He enjoyed the atmosphere of the King’s study. The room could be a little dusty, but it smelled of pine trees and lemon. One of the servants put a cup of tea in front of him and left quietly. “I think you are aware of the topic we need to rise today, Kaoru.”, his father looked a bit tired. His hair has turned white few years ago, but they used to be the same color as Langa’s.

“Yes, father.”, Kaoru said respectfully. “I know my duty as a Prince. I will marry the King.”, he said with a little smile on his lips. Of course he would marry The Moon King. Shindo was his friend, and now he will become his husband and lover…

“I am pleased to hear that, my son. I must admit that I was worried at the beginning. You were not raised like other Omegas and I was expecting you to rebel against my decision.”

“My King, I could never. The Union of two Elvish kingdoms will bring peace-”

“Kaoru, wait,” his father interrupted him. “I think you got the wrong idea, my child. You are not going to marry King Ainosuke.”

His world fell apart. Kaoru opened his mouth a bit, like a fish out of water, unable to breathe. He must be dreaming some nightmare. It could not have been real. Marrying Shindo Ainosuke was his destiny. There were friends, they would make such a good couple… It could not get worse.

“The Moon King was not interested in your hand,” his father explained. “Moreover, I think our Langa should marry Ainosuke’s younger brother. You, my child, you will marry The Demon King.”

Oh. So it could be worse.

“What-.. Father, please. Think about it again,” Kaoru said, pale and shocked.

“You have told me you know your duty, Kaoru. Your marriage will ensure the peace between us and The Demon Empire.”

Kaoru was thinking fast. He had to do something in order to stop this madness. There had to be a way for him to avoid being wedded to the barbarian Demon King. He needed to contact Shindo quickly. If The Moon King will hear about this, he would definitely change his mind and marry Kaoru, the Omega was sure about that. Ainosuke would never let Kaoru be taken away to The Demon Empire, moreover, to be married off to the brutal Alpha. He had a month, a whole month to cancel this insane plan and came up with a better one…

“Our guests will be here tomorrow, Kaoru,” his father said, as if he knew what was going through his son’s head. “Both The Demon King and The Moon King. We are going to sing a pact and then you will marry Nanjo Kojiro, The Demon King, and our Langa will be engaged to Prince Reki.”

“What?”, Kaoru could felt his lips moving on their own. “Aino.. The Moon King knew about that?”

“Of course he knew, Kaoru. It was his plan after all.”

“Master, are you alright?”

Carla’s quiet, emotionless voice brought him back to reality. Kaoru did not sleep that night. He was betrayed by the whole world. All his plans, dreams, ideas… All was destroyed in one moment. Both his family and his friend sold him to The Demon King. He was a tool, a bribe to The Demon Empire. Of course, he understood the reasons behind that. Langa, an Alpha, had to marry and Omega, so Prince Reki was a perfect candidate. And there was not a need to unite two countries with two marriages, so the spot for Kaoru’s husband was left open. Selling him off to the Demons were the best idea. Even if he dies, not matter how and when, Demons will be shackled with the pact. Moreover, if he dies after he gives birth to the Demon King’s heir, the child will link two counties even harder.

“Master? You look…”

“Terrible, I know”, Kaoru replied, looking at himself in the mirror. He was dressed in furisode, white with cherry blossoms embroidered at the bottom of the sleeves. His pink hair was carefully combed and Carla put a cherry blossom hair pin into it. She also put a little make up on his face, to cover dark circles under his eyes.

“Worried. You are worried, my Lord,” the girl said. She learned about the future of her master and decided to go to the Demon Empire with him. Kaoru saved her few years back and it was her duty to protect him. “And I am no surprised.”

Kaoru looked at her in the mirror. Carla’s skin was darker than his, she had black hair and purple eyes. She was half-human, half-elvish. Many would despise her, but Kaoru found her pretty, smart and loyal. He could not imagine his life without her anymore.

“Thank you, Carla. I think we should get going. Our… guests… will be here soon.”

“I overheard the guards, Master. The Moon King and his people are already in the Capital. The Demons were spotted near the border, they will be here in less than an hour.”

Less than an hour and he will meet his future husband. Less than a twelve hours and he will be married to The Demon King. Less than a day and he will be mated to the barbarian King. In less than two days, he will leave the Sun Elvish Kingdom ans travel up north, to The Demon Empire. He would be lucky if he dies in the meantime.

Kaoru was scared. When he was thinking about being wedded to the Shindo, he was a bit nervous, but sure that their intercourse would be gentle, sweet even. He was dreaming about The Moon King caressing his body, worshiping it before they connect with each other. Kaoru was dreaming about children, with blue or pink hair, running around and making their lives even more meaningful. Now he was scared that The Demon King will force him every night to sleep with him, force his body into his until Kaoru will give him an heir. He will simply fuck him, like a whore.

“Master, you are…”

“It’s fine, Carla. I’m ready.”, the Omega Prince said, wiping a tear from his cheek. He was an Omega Prince, who knows his duty. His life and his body do not matter, if he could buy a peaceful life for his people with it.

Kaoru stood at the top of the stairs, when Demons arrived. He was holding his head high, forcing a little smile on his lips. He will never show his fears and anxiety to those, who were around him. For them he was a definition of the perfection, and Kaoru was more than ready to uphold his reputation. He could be falling apart on the inside, but on the outside he will never show.

Of course, the first person he spotted, was The Demon King himself. Riding the biggest horse Kaoru has ever seen in his life, the Alpha was dressed all in black. He had green hair, which makes him look like a giant tree. When The Demon King came closer, Kaoru saw small horns at the top of his head, partly hidden inside of his hair. The Alpha was smiling lightly, with such confidence, that it made Kaoru annoyed.

The Omega Prince was not small, but when the Alpha dismounted the horse, Kaoru straightened up. It did not help much; he still was smaller than the Alpha and the top of his head reached slightly above the place the heart should be, if The Demon King had one.

“I shall welcome you, my guests,” Kaoru’s father took a step towards the Demons. Elves and Demons have not met since the last war. Kaoru knew his father and The Demon King must have exchanged letters, but this… This was a milestone in their history.

“King Sakurayashiki,” The Demon King smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”

When the Demon moved his hand, Kaoru was sure he is going to stab the Elvish King. But instead they simply shook their hands as a greeting. Then the Demon welcomed The Moon King the same way. He exchanged few words with the nobles, at the end finally standing before him. “I hope,” the Demon King smiled to Kaoru’s father, “That his is your precious son.”

“You got it right, Lord Nanjo. This is my older son, Kaoru. The one who is betrothed to you.”

Kaoru felt a lump in his throat. He was glad he hadn’t listened to Carla and haven’t eaten anything, because at that moment he felt nausea. What a great beginning it would be, if he throw up on his fiancee feet.

The Alpha was big. Bigger than any man Kaoru knew. His shoulder were large and Omega was sure that The Demon King could kill anybody with his bare hands. For what reason he had a sword, attached to his belt, if he clearly does not need it? Moreover, he smelled like a danger. A mixed scent of sweat and sandalwood.

“You wasn’t making this up,” the Demon King said, “When you wrote me he is beautiful.”

Kaoru felt anger, boiling inside him. Does the Demon Lord think that he is deaf? He was talking with his father about him, without actually speaking directly to the Omega! Disrespectful ogre, Kaoru thought, but bit his tongue.

“Good afternoon, my dear Prince”, the Demon King finally spoke to him. “Forgive me my surprise, but you are breathtaking.”

Kaoru used his fan to cover half of his face, forcing a small smile. You were fine breathing and talking nonce just a second ago, you brainless gorilla, he thought.

“Welcome to the Sun Elvish Kingdom, my Lord.”

I hope you will die during this trip, Kaoru added in his mind.

#matcha blossom #kaoru sakurayashiki #nanjo kojiro #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #sorry for my English

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jamiemackenziefraser · 3 years

Text

All that Was Fair

Chapter 5: You Can Never Go Home Again

Chapter Summary: Jamie and Claire deal with the fallout of her revelation.

Read on AO3

Read chp 5 below the cut:

Previous, Next

Chapter 5

“What do ye mean, ye canna go home?” Jamie asked as his own concern began to ramp up in earnest.

Claire was trembling again, her hand anxiously squeezing his and her free arm still wrapped tightly around herself. Drawn to comfort her, Jamie gathered her into a one-armed hug and pressed her against him. He could feel her distress pulsing through her like an electric current.

She rested her temple on his collarbone— deflated by the enormity of what she was saying and desperate for safe harbor— and then she finally expanded.

“I don’t know anything, Jamie, really. But if I’m right, the only way I could return to my plane of existence— to my realm and the seelie court— is to go back through the stones. But I can’t do that, Jamie, I can’t. I think it might kill me.”

During her revelation, a flurry of emotions was swirling inside Jamie so vehemently that he lost hold on the present for a second. His heart was breaking for her. The thought of being forever stranded in an unfamiliar place— away from her home and people— the terror and loss must have been debilitating. At the same time, some secret part of Jamie was rejoicing. Losing her so soon after she’d dropped into his life and changed him forever would have crushed him. But if she really couldn’t go home, that meant that she would stay with him….

Jamie could only dare to hope about the possibilities.

But as soon as that thought surfaced, he began to feel guilt twisting in his middle. She was quite obviously suffering. Her body was shaking against him, overcome by the gravity of the realization, and here he was delighting in her news.

Hooking a finger under her chin, he raised her face to look up at him and saw her eyes were glittering with tears.

“Listen to me, mo nighean donn, ye’re no’ alone. I’m right here wi’ ye, and I willna let anythin’ happen to ye. If this is true, ye can stay wi’ me for however long ye choose, and I will care for ye and see ye safe.”

Tears dripped from her face and onto his hand where it remained rested gently under her face. She nodded a little against him, lips wobbling as she tried to hold back the tide of her emotions. His heart broke for her all over again.

“Come here,” was all he could say, and then he was wrapping her fully in his arms.

She went willingly, all but collapsing onto his chest. Both of her hands clutched one of his arms and she buried her face into his shoulder. The moment their bodies made contact, she began to cry. Hitched sobs escaped her as she tried to contain the onslaught.

“It’s alright, mo Sorcha, let it out,” he murmured into her hair.

She did, and simply cried against him as the reality and weight of what was going on truly hit. And all he could do was hold her.

He didn’t like seeing her like this. Ever since she’d woken up in his arms while he was carrying her down from the stones, Claire had been so incredibly brave. She’d been taking everything miraculously in stride. Curious and inquisitive, she was bold in her explorations and delighted in the human world. Now though, she seemed thoroughly broken. More than wary, she was fearful of the unknown she’d been thrust into without any possibility of return to what she knew. It was one thing to explore, he supposed, but quite another to be condemned to a life of the unfamiliar.

In that moment, Jamie promised himself that he’d make this world safe for her so that she’d never have to feel this kind of fear again.

And if she��d let him, he’d walk beside her through it.

“We’ll sort it out,” he whispered, “no matter what. Together.”

She nodded against him, tear-soaked face pressing against his shirt. It would surely be stained and damp, but it was of no import.

He brought a hand up to her neck, cupping the tiny curve of the base of her skull, and began to knead his thumb in gentle circles there. At the same time, Gaelic started to flow instinctively from his lips, and he made shushing sounds in between the mindless reassurances. It’ll be alright. I’m here, mo nighean donn. Dinna weep. All of this and more he whispered into her hair, his lips barely brushing it as he breathed the words.

A whimper escaped her as she cried, and if his heart wasn’t already shattered into a million pieces at seeing her like this, that tiny sound would have obliterated it.

He had no idea how long he stood there— holding her as she cried for the life she had lost— but it felt like hours to him. Finally, she began to calm. Her crying subsided and breathing slowed until she went quiet against him.

Carefully, he drew back to look down at her. The bonny face was streaked with tear stains and her lips looked somehow a deeper color than usual. Her golden-eyes held grief, ringed with red, and moisture beaded on the long, dark lashes. But behind it all was an incredible strength. A determination held in those whiskey depths.

He cupped her face with both hands and began to gently smooth his thumbs over her cheeks to clear away the tear tracks.

“Ye’re sae strong. I ken ye’ll be okay no matter what happens,” he told her with complete conviction.

That brought another single tear rolling silently down her cheek. She held his gaze as it made its slow trail downward, as if pleading for him to make it all better. He wished to God that he had that power. But there was nothing he could do, save perhaps distraction.

“Here, I have another thing to show ye that I think ye might like,” he said as a thought struck him.

Letting go of her face to instead take her hand, he led her across the room to the counter where a box of tissues lay. With his free hand, he withdrew one, and then gently used it to clean her face as he explained, “we use them to dry tears and such.” As he wiped away the moisture on her cheeks, one of her hands raised to take the edge between her fingers and rub cautiously.

“It’s soft,” she commented with a tremulous laugh and a watery smile.

The way she said it— a hint of her usual delight and awe creeping into her voice despite her sorrow— made Jamie indescribably happy.

“That’s what I thought ye’d say,” he chuckled fondly.

It seemed to have been just the thing to help her, because once he’d finished drying her face, she straightened up and mustered another smile for Jamie.

“Will ye show me more things?” she asked. Her voice was still thick with emotion but she seemed eager to gather herself.

“Of course,” he said, his tone still laced with soft understanding.

Jamie’s thoughts raced as he tried to come up with the best thing to show her that would take her mind off things. The TV came first to mind, but he quickly dismissed that as being just a bit too overwhelming for this moment. They’d have to work up to that. Jamie thought about everything he knew Claire liked, and suddenly the perfect idea came into his head.

“There’s somethin’ I think ye’ll like verra much in the basement. That’s eh— the level below this.”

His house’s basement was small— just a carpeted room with a couple odd couches, his old tv, and Adso’s litter box haphazardly arranged. Jamie didn’t spend much time down there, and as a result, didn’t bother cranking up the heat enough to warm it much. Being low as it was, it was always cold.

He led Claire by the hand down the steps. She seemed a bit wary of descending but simply clutched his hand and followed. When they emerged downstairs and he flicked on the lights, her gaze swept over the room. She looked at him inquisitively, obviously wondering what exactly he was going to show her here (it was admittedly quite unimpressive, apparently even to a faerie).

Giving her a smile, half to reassure her and half in excitement for the kick she was likely to get out of what he had to show her, he strode over to the little machine that lay in between the couches, pointed it toward Claire, and pressed the “on” button.

“This is called a space heater,” he announced proudly.

It was a small, portable one, about a foot tall and with one opening so the heat all went in one direction, but it created a remarkable warmth.

The moment Claire felt the heat emanating from the machine and blowing onto her legs, her face spread into a wide smile. She eagerly leaned down, hands outstretched toward the machine in fascination. A laugh bubbled from her as she delighted in the feel of the hot air.

But Jamie noticed that she was reaching even closer, and quickly caught her wrist before her fingers could make contact with the heated grate.

“Dinna touch it, it’s too hot,” he warned, “but ye can be jes’ by it.”

She gave him a single nod, looked back at the machine, and then suddenly plopped down to the floor. Crossing her legs, she scooted as close to the heater as she could and hovered her hands in front of it, just like one would warm their hands in front of a campfire.

“It’s so warm!” she squealed, and wiggled her fingers, luxuriating in the flow of hot air.

Jamie was patting himself on the back for how well he was beginning to know her. As much delight as she was getting from the wee contraption, he was getting just as much— if not more— from seeing the carefree happiness return to her bonny face. The smile that lit up his life was turned up toward him as Claire looked for his response.

“Aye, I believe I have ye all figured out, Sassenach,” he teased, “the way to yer heart is all things soft and warm.”

She playfully narrowed her eyes, a glimmer of humor there that reassured Jamie immensely.

“I think I may still surprise you yet, my lad.”

Jamie laughed. “Och, I dinna doubt it.”

As Claire turned her attention back to enjoying the space heater, twisting and turning her body so that the warmth touched every part of it, Jamie thought about what to do next. His mind just barely started to leap to long term implications— Christ, his job! He had to work tomorrow. And she’d need clothes. And—

He had to stop himself before he went mad. What he needed to do was to focus on taking things one step at a time. At some point when Claire was well and truly occupied, maybe when she went to sleep for the night, he’d sit down and try to think through everything. But for the time being, he just wanted to continue to distract her so she didn’t fall back into that horrible despair.

When his eyes refocused on the scene in front of him, Claire looked like she would have been hugging the machine to herself if she was allowed. She was huddled as close to it as she possibly could be, absorbing every bit of warmth.

“Do ye want tae see more? I could show ye the rest of the house so ye feel a wee bit more comfortable. Ye could ask me all yer questions…”

Just as Jamie was finishing making his offer, Claire’s hand shot up, grabbed Jamie's, and tugged him down. Startled as he was, he went with her pull, and plopped down on the floor next to her.

“Just another minute...” she purred, and he could only laugh in response.

Since Claire was cuddled so close to the space heater, her body blocked any heat from actually reaching Jamie. He didn’t mind, but settled himself slightly further back so that he was behind Claire and comfortably resting back against the bottom of the couch as he waited for her to finish basking.

To his surprise, Claire scooted backward, shoving her way in between his splayed legs so she could recline against his chest. Jamie was so taken aback— as he always was when she touched him so brazenly, making his mind spin— that he simply complied when she took both of his arms and wrapped them around her. He found himself hugging her from behind as she let out a contented sigh and rested her temple against his jaw.

There wasn’t a single thought in his head about what he was doing as he instinctively turned his face just a bit to press his lips to the soft skin of her temple.

She didn’t seem to mind at all. She didn’t even react. But the second after he did it, a wave of guilt surged over him. It wasn’t his right to kiss her like that; Claire wasn’t his to kiss. Sure, she’d initiated all this contact that made his heart flutter, and sure he was absolutely falling for her, but he’d known her for only two days. Her entire world has just crumbled out from underneath her feet, and he was her only anchor. He couldn’t possibly take advantage of her with his romantic inclinations. Not to mention, she wasn’t even human. Although for some reason that argument didn’t dissuade him as much as the thought that Claire might feel obligated to return his affections in exchange for his help. He couldn’t do that to her. It wasn’t fair.

He wanted to run away from her, to withdraw himself and put some distance between them so he could finally think clearly. He wasn’t entirely sure that he’d be able to control himself when she nestled up so close to him like this. But the thought of withholding physical comfort which she so clearly desired, even needed… it was intolerable. So he stayed put.

Claire was completely unaware of the turmoil going on in Jamie’s mind, and she sighed contentedly against him. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest as it nudged his with each inhale and exhale. That feeling of closeness did nothing to help the clenching of affection in his heart.

Damn it, Fraser, pull yourself together. You can be her friend— her guide— her protector— but leave foolish notions of anything more out of it.

She tilted her head to peer up at him.

“Are you alright?” she asked, apparently seeing the expression on his face that must have been something close to heartbreak as he agonized over her.

“Jes’ fine,” he mustered a smile, “have ye had enough warmth now tae get ye through a wee walk about the house?”

She chuckled at that, and it sent vibrations through her that Jamie could feel reverberate through his own body.

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of this, but I’m ready for what else you have to show me.”

***

#All That Was Fair #update #outlander fanfiction #claire x jamie

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blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years

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Treat Your S(h)elf: I Drink Therefore I Am: A Philosopher’s Guide To Wine, by Roger Scruton (2009)

You could say that wine is probably as old as civilisation; I prefer to say that it is civilisation, and that the distinction between civilised and uncivilised countries is the distinction between the places where it is drunk and the places where it isn’t.

- Sir Roger Scruton, I Drink Therefore I Am: A Philosopher’s Guide To Wine

When I first got talked into investing in the dreams of my two cousins and their French families to continue to manage an old French vineyard I thought of Roger Scruton’s book. I already had this book on my shelf alongside his other works. Re-reading it nudged me to take a risk and go for it.

For one I have always loved wine and have drunk it from a very early age. Secondly what could be more cultured or civilising than to marry body and mind through the palate of philosophy and wine?

And finally, and perhaps more importantly, the opportunity to escape the madness of modernity - as well as make peace from war as a British combat veteran of the Afghan war by not so much as coming home but finding a new one - by getting back into nature with hard honest graft on the land that Mother Nature blesses. All of this I found especially appealing.

Of all the things we eat or drink, wine is without question the most complex. So it should not be surprising that philosophers from Plato and Socrates onwards to our contemporary times have turned their attention to wine: complex phenomena can lend themselves to philosophical speculation.

Wine is complex not just in the variety of tastes it presents – ‘wine tastes of everything apart from grapes’, I once heard a crusty old French vintner say – but in its meaning. Only the most woodenly literal-minded would deny that wine has a meaning: in its history, its role in human social life, in religious and other ceremonies. Though they drink it copiously over dinner at High Tables in their Oxbridge colleges, academic analytic philosophers do not spend as much time as they might in this kind of investigation of meaning or significance of wine – what we might call a phenomenology or a hermeneutic investigation.

Of course, there are more narrowly phenomenological questions which wine raises.

How do vintners or winemakers manipulate the underlying biochemical material to create the kinds of taste which they intend their wine to have? Does the ‘terroir’ of a wine really make a difference to taste, and if so how? What is the basis of evaluative judgements about the quality of a wine?

Arguably only those who actually make the wine and those who are life long wine connoisseurs can conceivably answer that on some experiential and technical level. But these are not the only philosophical questions in this area: the hermeneutic questions have their place too, in an understanding of the phenomena.

Sir Roger Scruton’s 224 page book is about the hermeneutics of wine rather than its psychology or phenomenology more narrowly conceived. Scruton, the late great conservative philosopher, is that rare breed who comes closer than most to bridging the gap between the grass roots and the High Table in answering such mysteries. The result is an engaging, insightful, informative and (in parts) a very funny book. It is immensely readable, more in the anecdotal style of Scruton’s England: an Elegy (2000) or On Hunting (1998), than his more heavyweight philosophical works, such as The Aesthetics of Music (1997), Sexual Desire (2004), Beauty (2009), and his writings on Wagner and high culture. He does often come across as curmudgeonly, but his (written) relations with women, music and poetry are very delicate and tender. And so it is with his love affair with wine. It is indeed a very personal book and its is warmly personable, like the man himself, and it contains so much of Scruton’s distinctive wit and intellectual personality, it ought to be of interest not just to wine enthusiasts (whom Scruton likes to call ‘winos’) and philosophers but also anyone curious enough to understand the place of wine in our world civilisation.

The first and obvious thing to say about Scruton’s book is how the title of the book is of course a play on words. It’s a playful wink to Eric Idle’s “Philosophers’ Drinking Song,” in which the Monty Python cast, lightly disguised as a group of Australian philosophers all named Bruce, list the world’s thinkers from a drinking standpoint. This includes the couplet slightly amending Descartes’s proof of his existence: “And René Descartes was a drunken fart / ‘I drink therefore I am.’”

The pun on words is Roger Scruton’s way of taking the Monty Python couplet seriously. After all Descartes was a serious man and though he was born in Touraine, the rich French wine region, did probably not drink much. He treats all this as a paradox that G.K. Chesterton might well have toyed with - that is, as a truth standing on its head to attract attention - and examines the drinking of alcohol as a way in which human beings learn more about each other, fellowship, some of the deeper realities, God, and not least themselves.

In this Scruton is a wise philosopher who teaches us how wine cultivates our moral virtue and our civilisation. He encourages us to recognise that stream of liquid descending from our pursed lips into our throat as the red or golden chord that runs from heaven to earth, and binds everything in-between into a cosmic whole. Wine both reflects and helps constitute our participation in all strata of reality, and points the way to our redemption, divine or otherwise.

In Scruton’s Prelude (a musical term, of course) where he quotes Emerson “who commends the great wino Hafiz [a Persian poet] in the following words: “Hafiz praises wines, roses, maidens, boys, birds, mornings and music, to give vent to his immense hilarity and sympathy with every form of beauty and joy.” This is echoed in Scruton’s terms that “by thinking with wine you can learn not merely to drink in thoughts, but think in draughts. Wine, drunk at the right time, in the right place and the right company, is the path to meditation, and the harbinger of peace.”

The book is divided into two parts, labelled ‘I drink’ and ‘therefore I am’ respectively. The second part of the book is more strictly philosophical - Scruton starts it with the nice conceit that ‘therefore I am’ contain the whole of philosophy, each word standing in turn for reason (therefore), consciousness (I) and being (am). But arguably wine and Scruton enthusiasts will probably get more out of the first part.

The first chapter is a nice description of his own discovery of wine as a young man. Warmly written, the chapter is devoted to his friends who made him “fall” for wine (or is it he who made them fall?) and his acquisition of a 1945 Château Lafite, “the greatest year from the greatest of clarets”. His first memories are happy ones of his mother’s home manufacture of elderberry wine in a post-war England where the French (and Spanish and Portuguese) grape had not yet “conquered the suburbs.”

“For three weeks the kitchen was filled with the yeasty scent of fermentation. Little clouds of fruit-flies hung above the jars and here and there wasps would cluster and shimmer on the spilled pools of juice.” Other Englishmen of Scruton’s generation will recognise and sigh at this description as many fathers - including my own - made his own beer and wine from motives of both fun and economy.

Thus ill-equipped, Scruton goes to university ignorant of the rich variety of wines available even then to an English wino. At Cambridge and, later, in Paris, a succession of tutors, patrons, and friends not only introduce him to a growing list of wines but also teach him how to drink them. Some of the wines he is given are complex and expensive Burgundies, others cheap French supermarket vin ordinaire.

But Scruton discovers that all have certain inherent qualities that an educated palate can discover by drinking them attentively and appreciatively. By learning their provenance and history, he enriches his knowledge of the locality that produced the wine — and he can imagine (I would like to believe this is so) that he can glimpse the character of the local people in the wine itself. He learns finally that certain wines go with certain things, not merely certain foods, but certain occasions, certain friends, certain thoughts, even certain topics of conversation. He becomes a wino.

When in his early middle years, Scruton buys a farm in southern England, he discovers to his delight an array of homemade-wine equipment, identical to that of his mother’s elderberry experiments, on the kitchen floor: “I listened to the bubbles as they danced in the valves, and studied the wasp-edged puddles on the tiles. I had come home.” Yet it is a different person who comes home. Scruton celebrates his good fortune not with elderberry wine but by opening and drinking in quiet happiness a treasured bottle of Château Lafite 1945 that had accompanied him in the long wanderings now ended. For, by this time in his life, Scruton is a confirmed Francophile in his drinking tastes.

The chapter ends on a remark concerned with the “new habit, associated with American wine critics like Robert Parker, of assigning points to each bottle” which should not only be “viewed with nothing but contempt” but also compared to “assigning points to symphonies, as though Beethoven’s 7th, Tchaikovsky’s 6th, Mozart’s 39th, Bruckner’s 8th all hovered between 90 and 95.

Perhaps his second chapter ‘A Tour de France’ is the best one. This is a very personal, but informative and interesting, guide to Scruton’s favourite French wine regions. starting in Burgundy, down to the Rhône Valley, the Pyrenees and ending in Bordeaux with T.S. Eliot’s description of a spiritual journey that applies equally to a journey through wine:

We shall not cease from exploration, And the end of all our exploring

 Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.

With much reason, Scruton does not think very highly of blind tasting: “To think that you can judge a wine from its taste and aroma alone is like thinking you can judge a Chinese poem by its sound, without knowing the language.” I let out a whoop of appreciation when I read this. In one clean swoop he casually casts aside the resultant snobbery that comes from the ritualising and self-importance of blind tasting events.

I think blind tasting whilst sincere is also an exercise in showing off. I’m not saying people don’t have a nose for wine or can tell certain elements but blind tasting is not the best way to truly appreciate the full complexity of wine. Indeed in my embryonic wine making experience (by watching my cousins and the managers on our vineyard) I would say terroir is perhaps one of the most overlooked aspects of wine making and it determines the difference between good wine and a bad one.

It’s great to read that Scruton defines himself as a terroiriste. Not the French word for a terrorist! But a believer in the French word, terroir. It is derived from the Latin word terra meaning earth or land. It’s a word coined by the French to express a wine’s sense of place. There is no English equivalent for this word. It was originally used to distinguish the wine making practices of old world wine. In other words terroir is how a particular region’s climate, soils and aspect (terrain) affect the taste of wine alongside the traditions gone into producing the wine. Some regions are said to have more ‘terroir’ than others. Johan Joseph Krug (1800–1866), the famous champagne producer, once suggested that “a good wine comes from a good grape, good vats, a good cellar and a gentleman who is able to coordinate the various ingredients.” No trace of terroir.

But I think Krug is wrong and vintners as well as the wine industry as a whole have come to the same realisation of the importance of terroir. Back in the 1980’s, many of these ‘terroir-driven’ wines were actually affected by wine faults including cork taint and wild yeast growth (brettanomyces). Vines thrive in a range of soil compositions from highly draining granite and schist based soils to limestone and clay and vines, in turn, react to these different soils in different ways. And on top of the differing soils, certain areas of the world have such unique combinations of geology and topography that interact with specific sun exposures that the resulting wines have distinct characteristics that cannot be found anywhere else.

Nowadays terroir is used to describe practically every wine region. Because much of European wine (old world) is steeped in tradition it is easier to get a sense of terroir. It’s a bit harder in a place like Napa or Sonoma (new world) because of the looser laws that govern winemaking but younger winemakers are coming around to the idea of terroir and trying to express the land. But certainly in France today vintners - as they come to increase their geological knowledge and environmental understanding and find ways to marry that to their unique artistry and craft - have realised the unique role terroir plays in the wine making process.

The next chapter looks at wine from “elsewhere:” Here Scruton looks at the Middle-East where wine was born; Greece where Bacchus, Dionysos, and more importantly, Eros used to hover; the United States; Australia, New Zealand and their misspelling of Syrah as Shiraz, the Iranian city of poets, gardens, nightingales and last but not least, wine; a few lines on South Africa, then Italy, Romania and Spain. But “travel narrows the mind, and the further you go the narrower it gets. There is only one way to visit a place with an open mind, and that is in the glass”.

Scruton had already warned the reader in the previous chapter not to read the “elsewhere” chapter: “After punishing body and soul with Australian Shiraz, Argentine Tempranillo, Romanian Cabernet Sauvignon and Greek Retsina, we crawl home like the Prodigal Son and beg forgiveness for our folly. . . [Bordeaux] is the wine that made us and for which we were made, and it often astonishes me to discover that I drink anything else.” I rather fancy he is being tongue in cheek here.

This is for the “I drink” part of the book. Its author then moves to the “therefore I am” part which often needs much deeper philosophical knowledge than perhaps than even your average educated layman might have some difficulty having if they are not versed in a basic understanding of aesthetics as philosophical discussion. But here his aim is to rescue wine from the philosophers and the so-called wine experts.

To those who have never been captivated by the complexity of wine and the way it is bound up with western civilisation, a book on the philosophy of wine might be dismissed as the typical product of conservative snobbery and elitism. But this would be a mistake. Scruton is not a snob about wine (nor, for that matter, about anything else). On the contrary, one of the strongest themes in his writing is his deep love of the everyday, of the simple pleasures of society as he imagined it once to be, where people were at one with the land and with the traditions of their culture. According to Scruton, this is something that (although it probably never existed) should be open to all, but which is being destroyed by the march of modernity. (In a nice aside, he asks: ‘Who am I to stand against the tide of history? Come to think of it, I am the only person I know who does stand against the tide of history’.)

In passing, Scruton evokes the great philosopher Avicenna who lived in Isfahan (Persia) during Islam’s Golden Age (980–1037 AD); he was a wine aficionado who recommended drinking at work defying “the Koranic injunction against wine, citing it as an example of sloppy reasoning,” that does not take into account whether it is a small or a large amount. Scruton (p. 133) also points to the fact that “in surah xvi, verse 7 of the Koran wine is unreservedly praised as one of God’s gifts. As the prophet, burdened by the trials of his Medina exile, became more tetchy, so did his attitude to wine begin to sour, as in Surah v verses 91-92. Muslims believe that the later revelations cancel the earlier, whenever there is a conflict between them. I suspect, however, that God moves in a more mysterious way.”

Scruton is very quite skeptical that the vocabulary used by so-called experts to describe wine is of much help: “If I say of a wine that it has a flowery nose, lingers on the palate, with ripe berry flavours and a hint of chocolate and roasted almonds, then what I say conveys real information, from which someone might be able to construct a sensory image of the wine’s taste. But I have described the taste in terms of other tastes, and not attempted to attach a meaning, a content, or any kind of reference to it. The description I gave does not imply that the wine evokes, means, symbolises or presents the idea of chocolate; and somebody who didn’t hit on this word as a description of the wine’s flavour would not show that he had missed the meaning of what he drank or indeed missed anything important at all. Our experience of wine is bound up with its nature as a drink [which] endows wine with a particular inwardness [and] intimacy with the body [that is not] achieved by any smell, since smell makes no contact with the body at all, but merely enchants without touching, like the beautiful girl at the other end of the party. . . Nothing else that we eat or drink comes to us with such a halo of significance, and by refusing to drink it people send an important message —the message that they do not belong on this earth.”

Again, I found myself saying amen to that.

The good part of the second part is Scruton trying to make a case for the cultural uniqueness of wine. In one sense, Scruton is right to do this: it is undeniable in many parts of western culture, wine has played a unique role in religious and social rituals, which no other drink has. But he can push his point beyond plausibility when he attempts to argue that because of the qualities of wine itself – and what it is to drink it properly – nothing else could play this role (more on this later).

The argument starts well, with a very illuminating discussion of the distinction between the various ways in which a substance can intoxicate. There are those that merely stimulate without altering the mind (like tobacco, for example). Then there are those which have mind-altering effects, but whose consumption itself brings no plea- sure (e.g. heroin). The third category contains those things which alter your mind and bring pleasure in their consumption: cannabis and forms of alcohol other than wine are his examples. Wine, Scruton argues, is in a fourth category of its own: here the alteration of the mind is internally related to the experience of consuming it.

These distinctions are very useful, and the distinction between the third and the fourth category is subtle but certainly real. It relates to the question of what non-human animals can and cannot do. Scruton makes the nice observation that an animal cannot savour wine (or any- thing else). In being able to savour or relish the taste of wine, a person no more separates out the effect of the wine from its taste than they can separate the meaning of a piece of music from its sound. Although one would not realise this from reading the thousands of words that are written daily about wine, wine would not be the drink it is if it did not intoxicate.

The last two chapters deal respectively with wine and whine, and being and bingeing. Though Scruton has something to say in favour of Puritanism, he castigates the ease with which “puritan outrage [and in particular, prohibition, but also sexual behaviour] can be displaced from one topic to another, and the equal ease with which the thing formerly disapproved of can be overnight exonerated from all taint of sin.”

He vehemently protests against “the humourless mullahs,” and the misuse of drinking, but also rejects the idea that fermented drinks are just shots of alcohol, and insists on their social functions across civilisations and time: “The burden of my arguments is that we can defend the drinking of wine, only if we see that it is a culture, and that this culture has a social, outward-going, other-regarding meaning. . . When people sit down together sipping drinks, they rehearse in their souls the original act of settlement, the act that set our species on the path of civilisation, and which endowed us with the order of neighbourhood and the rule of law.” But he has not much against drinking alone, and ends with a few words from the Chinese poet Li Po (700 BC), the same poet whom Mahler used in his Lied von der Erde (though in a very approximate translation):

A cup of wine, under the flowering trees; I drink alone, for no friend is near. 

Raising my cup I beckon the bright moon,

For he, with my shadow, will make three men.

Scruton points out in several brilliant passages, the prohibitionist, like the modern day Islamists and moral police in the West and the all too familiar binge-drinker are alike in their ignorance of the virtue of “temperance.” They can envisage no stopping place between abstention and alcoholism. Their absolutist logic, he argues, is like objecting to a first kiss on the grounds that it will one day lead to a divorce. And neither can really understand drinking for any reason other than to get drunk.

Scruton confirms the wider value of temperance in our lives: “Virtue should be cast in human form if it is to be humanly achievable. Saints, monks, and dervishes may practice total abstinence; but to believe that abstinence is the only way to virtue is to condemn the rest of mankind. Better to propose the way of moderation, and live thereby on friendly terms with your species.”

As it happens, the occasional bender may actually have therapeutic qualities in moderation (i.e., if indulged in infrequently). George Orwell, who can hardly be accused of lacking a puritanical streak, thought that people should get drunk every six months or so. The experience, he thought, shook one out of one’s regular complacency and could be compared in this to a weekend abroad. Certainly it very often produces a feeling of greater humility in those who can remember what happened. Yet getting drunk is something that most drinkers do very rarely, if at all.

Changing our mood and outlook is a very different matter. Under the influence of a moderate amount of alcohol, our inhibitions are loosened. Shy people become bold, the tongue-tied talkative, the dull lively, the unimaginative fanciful, and the isolated social. (Even “mean drunks” usually start the evening in festive and forgiving mood.)

That last loss of inhibition is the most important because it promotes the fellowship that is the basis of a decent society. Not all intoxicants perform this vital function. Cannabis and similar drugs tend, if anything, to imprison the taker within his own consciousness (however expanded it may seem to him in his dreams). Except for those who lose themselves in alcoholism (and consequently become asocial in their attempts to deceive others about their condition), however, alcohol is a profoundly social drug. At the same time, not all varieties of alcohol are equally social in their effect. This thought leads Scruton to narrow somewhat the scope of his enthusiasm. Having rejected teetotalism, he continues: “The real question, I suggest, is not whether intoxicants, but which. And - while all intoxicants disguise things - some (wine preeminently) also help us to confront them by presenting them in re-imagined and idealised forms.”

Scruton makes a fascinating and intriguing point related to our historical relationship with the vine to make wine the highest ideal form. He claims that wine derives from a crucial historical transition in our relation to the earth – when human beings settled, put down roots and stopped being mere hunter-gatherers. In a memorable phrase, Scruton claims that in this way wine celebrates ‘the earth itself, as the willing accomplice in our bid to stay put.’ But of course one could say similar things about distilled spirits and beer. Such drinks are not made in such an incredible variety as wine is, but Scruton’s point is not about variety but about the intrinsic and relational qualities of the drink itself.

In the end, one cannot help feeling that he is relying a little too much on the sheer panache of his writing to help his argument bounce along: ‘Wine is not simply a shot of alcohol, or a mixed drink. It is a transformation of the grape. The transformation of the soul under its influence is merely the continuation of another transformation that began maybe fifty years earlier when the grape was first plucked from the vine.’ Wine is a transformation of the grape, to be sure. And the mind or soul is transformed in its consumption. But these two transformations are so very different that it is hard to see what can literally be meant by the one being the continuation of the other.

In fact, Scruton’s view is not just that wine is unique as a stimulant, but that it has to be drunk in a particular way in order for the harmony of taste and intoxication to take hold. It is not hard to agree with Scruton’s argument that there are more or less civilised ways of drinking wine. And this part of his thesis is very plausible: ‘The burden of my argument is ... that we can defend the drinking of wine, only if we see that it is part of a culture, and that this culture has a social outward-going, other-regarding meaning. The new uses of wine point towards excess and addiction: they are moving away from the old way of drinking, in which wine was relished and savoured, to the form of drinking typified by Marmeladov, who clutches his bottle in a condition of need.’

However I still found all this a tad unconvincing in that he makes a case that only the savouring and relishing of wine can play a central cultural role as opposed to other spirits - think of Scotch whisky for the Scots and beer for much of Northern Europe or even tea(!) for the English. So my apologies to Roger Scruton but I remain sceptical of his argument that of all stimulants, wine is uniquely civilising, however much I want it to be true.

I think Scruton is also wrong to despise cocktails. A well-made cocktail is as complex a set of taste experiences as a good Bordeaux. A good-strength cocktail is the perfect prelude to the theatre, giving one exactly the right lift to help the play to entertain, but not suppressing one’s appetite long enough to spoil a post-theatre dinner. It can be the booster rocket that starts a convivial evening. But the cocktail has its limits. The alcoholic strength of most cocktails reduces their usefulness both as an aid to sustained fruitful conviviality and to the kind of imaginative introspection that Scruton thinks necessary for a happy life.

That aside, Scruton knows that the best (including Li Po’s poetry) should be kept for the very end. The bouquet (of the wine, but in French the word is also used for the finishing of a firework) comes with the Appendix: What to drink with what, though here the second what does not stand for food, but for philosophers. This part of the book I very nearly coughed up my wine as I found it terribly amusing to pair a suitable wine, as one would with food, to a philosopher one might be reading.

St Augustine: Drink a glass of Moroccan Cabernet Sauvignon, though “the City of God requires many sittings, and I regard it as one of the rare occasions when a drinking person might have legitimate recourse to a glass of lager [which I did in Odessa, while reading Scruton], putting the book to one side just as soon as the glass is finished” [which I did not do, since I had three glasses, each of which containing half a liter].

Francis Bacon: “Any discussion of his insights should, I think, proceed by the comparative method. I suggest opening six bottles of a single varietal—say Cabernet Franc- one from the Loire, one from California, one from Moravia, one from Hungary, and if you can find two other places where it is grown successfully you will already have given some proof of the inductive method—and then pretending to compare and contrast, taking notes in winespeak, while downing the lot.”

René Descartes: “As the thinker who came nearest, prior to the Monty Python, to stumbling on the title of [my] book, Descartes deserves a little recognition. . . He has ended up as the most overrated philosopher in history, famous for arguments that begin from nothing and go nowhere. I would suggest a deep dark Rhône wine [that] will compensate for the thinness of the Meditations.”

Baruch Spinoza: “The last time that I understood what Spinoza meant by an attribute it was with a glass of red Mercurey, Les Nauges 1999. Unfortunately, I took another glass before writing down my thoughts and have never been able to retrieve them.”

Immanuel Kant: “And when it comes to [his] Critique of the Judgment, I find myself trying out [several wines], without getting any close to Kant’s proof that the judgment is universal but subjective, or his derivation of the ‘antinomy of taste’— surely one of his most profound and troubling paradoxes, and one that must yield to the argument contained in wine if it yields to anything.”

Friedrich Nietzsche: “Although we should drink to the author of The Birth of the Tragedy, therefore, it should be with a thin, hypochondriac potion, maybe a finger of Beaujolais in a glass topped up with soda-water.”

Edmund Husserl: “I recommend three glasses of slivovitz from Husserl’s native Moravia, one to give courage, one to swallow down the jargon, and one to pour over the page.”

Jean-Paul Sartre: “Sartre’s great work of philosophy, L’être et le néant, introduces the Nothingness that haunts all that he wrote and said. . . If ever I were to read Sartre again, I would look for a 1964 Burgundy to wash the poison down. Small chance of finding one, however, so there is one great writer whom I shall never again revisit—and I thank God for it.”

Martin Heidegger: “What potion to complement the philosopher who told us that ‘nothing noths’? To raise an empty glass to one’s lips, and to feel it as it travels down—noth, noth, noth, the whole length of the tube: this surely is an experience to delight the real connoisseur.”

In conclusion I really enjoyed reading this book (again and again).

This is a wonderful book for anyone who loves wine and wants to try identify what, in all its complex connections with so much of what is valuable in civilisation, might be special about drinking it. I think he does a wonderful job in looking at the philosophical and religious questions related to wine, from the Koranic injunction against alcohol to the true nature of temperance. These questions take us far from the vineyard at times, making excursions into terroir as different as Wagnerian music dramas and the philosophical nature of smells. His arguments as well as his beautiful prose are fresh, original, teasingly provocative, but also joyous.

This book is only about 224 pages but fun to read either in one sitting or dipping in and out at pleasurable intervals.

There are pages of useful advice on what wine to buy that are also glimpses into what to look for in the wine. I think his recommendations are good ones even if he leans too heavily into French wines. As someone who co-owns a vineyard I can say with reasonable confidence that I know my French wines but also wine from South Africa but confess my ignorance of wines from the new world such as California or Chilean wines. But I see that as an opportunity to discover rather than stay in my comfort zone. Here Scruton gently prods you along to do just that.

As an aside Scruton, who never shies away from his staunchly conservative Tory beliefs, perhaps forget to mention one juicy vignette in that Karl Marx’s political and philosophical ideas were probably inspired by wine. Indeed Karl Marx’s family were the happy owners of a vineyard in Trier, a small affluent Rhineland city, on the rolling hills of the Mosel River Valley. The family sold it due to hard times. Then as now these vineyards of the Mosel Valley remain mostly small-scale, are still known for their fruity white wines, and especially their lemony Rieslings and agrotourism. It seems the politics of wine (tariffs and import taxes) played a larger role in the history of leftist thought than their quaint appearance might suggest. In the early 1840s, the economic struggles of these very vineyards inspired Marx to criticise the draconian Prussian government - and in the process, some historians argue, begin developing the theory of historical materialism for which he is best known. In fact there is a delightful book I can recommend written by Jens Baumeister called, ‘How Wine Made Karl Marx a Communist’ (2018) if anyone is interested in reading more about that.

Of course it’s always hard to know how seriously one is supposed to take Scruton in some of his more extravagant comments in the book, like many things he says in his other books: ‘you could say that wine is probably as old as civilisation; I prefer to say that it is civilisation, and that the distinction between civilised and uncivilised countries is the distinction between the places where it is drunk and the places where it isn’t.’ His desire to outrage and court controversy rises to the surface, and can result in some of the funniest moments in the book. But as with everything he writes, some of Scruton’s claims must be taken with a pinch of salt or more appropriately, with a glass of claret.

Indeed I prefer to picture his words as if he was one’s old and familiar drinking companion sitting on weather beaten leather chairs and making provocative but teasingly good natured remarks out of a desire to amuse rather than to be boorish or loutish. Indeed this book is best enjoyed with a glass of wine on hand whilst sitting on a comfy old worn out leather chair curled next to log burning fire as the light dims outside.

I would whole heartedly agree with Roger Scruton that wine is a “drink that causes you to smile at the world and the world to smile at you.” Instead of imprisoning you inside a solitary introspection, it takes you out of yourself - and your ideas with you - to mingle with others and their ideas. Wine is therefore a voyage of discovery - and rediscovery - in many senses. And for this I can happily raise my own glass and say amen to that.

But what glass of wine would I raise when reading Scruton’s own book?

Well, one bottle won’t do. So temperance is out of the window then - sorry Roger. You will need a good French Sauternes or Barsac (preferably 2014) with the nostalgic autobiography, a finely bodied Bordeaux wine (I would go with a more complex wine from Saint Emilion) with the philosophy section of the book, and a champagne (of course) to drink with the philosophical jokes towards the end of the book.

Oh go on then, finish off with a tipple of Cognac before bed time, I am sure Scruton wouldn’t begrudge anyone that pleasure.

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smutbymia · 4 years

Text

into the woods

WARNING: violence & dystopian themes, alcohol consumption, minor sexual themes -- no smut (yet?) but lots of tension

Word Count: n/a i hit the limit lol

Pairing: Yuta Nakamoto x Female Reader

PLOT: In this world, the only safe places tend to be within the various compounds that each community is confined to. Between these compound’s is rainforest where war, crime, and danger tends to lurk -- it is the only place where there is no law and no authority, which makes it the perfect place for those who do not fair well with following the rules of the few societal structures that exist. Y/n leaves the compound on a research mission -- going beyond her usual limits, in the risk of making important medical advancements for her people, and finds herself in the underbelly of the uncharted territory.

The afternoon air was crisp -- a very rare occurrence in the compound where most days were typically humid and damp. Weather like this usually meant others would be freely roaming around the grounds enjoying the outdoors without worrying about beads of sweat clinging to the sides of their foreheads or the warmth of the sun engulfing every inch of their skin.

You sat perched on the rooftop of the medical building watching as people continued with their usual tasks. Children with their hands firmly interlocked in each-others grasps spun in circles as they fell into a fit of giggles -- the warm breeze tearing through their hair. A smile spread across your face before disappearing once more as your eyes settled on a woman who pushed a cart down a narrow path between two other small structures as you noticed the slightest limp in her step.

You drew your hair into a bun before rummaging around the the satchel you had slung across your chest. Your fingers landed on the pen you kept tucked in a compartment of the sack which you pulled out and stuck directly into your mouth before diving in once more to retrieve the medical notebook you had spent years filling with information. You flipped through the pages as you landed on a particular section of the book you used to keep track of treatments you wished to further develop. After scribbling a note down about joint pain, and potential herbs and plants you wished to further research for its treatment, you closed the book once more and shoved it, along with your pen back into the satchel before zipping it shut and swinging your legs back over the ledge of the roof.

You crossed the top of the structure before descending a ladder that would take you back into the building, landing in a hallway that stretched across the third floor where approximately 7 rooms were located. Most staff of the medical centre stayed here, as the compound relied heavily on the availability of their services. It was a place you once stayed as well, before you decided to use her talents elsewhere. It was certainly rewarding to help others, but your curiosity in the field of medicine had gone beyond just working in the centre. You wanted to discover more, and you did. Now, you worked amongst a team of people tasked with the extraction of medicinal herbs and plants in the forest, whom the people of the compound referred to as scavenger medics.

It was one of the many roles that existed in this locked off town. There were shopkeepers of all sorts, members of the government who supported the Father of the Compound -- who oversaw the community as its official leader, and a military team that worked to secure the outskirts of the compound, often venturing into the unlawful lands of the forest to conduct trades with neighbouring compounds in the eastern parts of the rainforest where it was safer to conduct business. The West, however, is where many refused to venture at all. Only those who became ex-pats of the compound or those banished for the most severe crimes where released into the west side of the rainforest. And once released, they were never heard of again.

“Actually, they say if you go out far enough west you’ll find someplace better to live,” you’d hear kids whisper in school, growing up.

“No, they’ll cut your head off in the west forest!” was another legend that was commonly spread around the compound. But you knew the truth, or at least some of it. Yes, the west was dangerous, but it was also the part of the rainforest with the richest most rare resources.

Before the passing of your father, he told you all about the west forest, which he often snuck to in search of rare herbs and plants. The little cabin located in a quiet and secluded area of the West Side of the Compound (where most people avoided due to its proximity to the “bad” parts of the forest), where he raised you was positioned perfectly by the large concrete barrier that surrounded the entire community.

Only you and your father knew of the small opening he had managed to create years and years before that was concealed by thick shrubbery on the back of your family property. Because even the military could not patrol that particular corner of the wall due to the dense forestry that was directly on its other side, it served as the perfect blindspot -- and the only way you could discretely move in and out of the compound without anyone knowing, which happened to be extremely illegal.

The sound of your combat boots echoed through the quiet hallway as you made your way towards the staircase. You walked past a few open doors where other medics were tucked away in their boarding rooms, either resting, rummaging through books, or working away at their desks. As you reached the staircase you gripped the banister, preparing to descend as a familiar voice rang out to stop you.

“Y/n? Are you taking your leave of absence now?” you heard the head medic call out from his office.

You hesitated, wondering if it was best to pretend like you hadn’t heard him before deciding that it would probably be best to solidify the lie you had been preparing. You turned on your heels to stand in the doorway, leaning against its frame. Doyoung was by far the best medic in the compound and had trained directly under your father for many years. He wasn’t much older than you. Though you weren’t exactly close, you did see him often growing up. What you liked most about him was his calm demeanour and the unspoken trust you both had for each other -- even though you did stretch the truth about the nature of your research leaves.

“Yes, I’ve finished the briefing for the scavenger medics already. I’ll be off for about a week or so,” you mumbled quietly. It wasn’t until you peered around the side of the door that you noticed another medic sitting in the office as well. She was an older woman who was very caring but very nosy and had a tendency to ask way too many questions. You braced yourself as you watched her draw air into her lungs as her mouth fell open.

“A week or so? You’ll be gone that long?” she began while furrowing her brows with what appeared to be a look of concern, “And a young girl like you who lives on her own in the west end of the compound... I can stop by and --”.

You cut her off abruptly, “I’ll be fine. I don’t see visitors during my leave. It’s a part of my routine. I need to get some research done and reorganize treatment plans,” you answered cooly -- just as you had rehearsed.

“But, we have office spare rooms here. Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable if--” she began. The look on your face must have been ice cold because Doyoung cut in for you this time.

“Y/n, doesn’t like to be disturbed during her research leaves. I didn’t understand at first but her work speaks for itself. We’ll see her whenever she returns,” he said, looking up at you fondly.

You offered up a weak smile before nodding your head at him and turning to leave without another word.

You rested your hand on the banister of the staircase again, stepping down as the wood creaked beneath your feet. Just as you neared the bottom you heard Doyoung speaking to the female medic.

“She’s not unusual. She just takes after her father in every way and he was by far the smartest man I’ve ever known,” he reassured her.

You rolled your eyes. The nerve of that lady. There was no need to be mad, though. Many people thought of you that way but it was for the best because it kept them at a distance. Without that distance you wouldn’t be able to disappear for days on end without your absence being noticed.

The second floor of the medical building was very much like the third, except the rooms were larger and held beds for house patients while other rooms were used for medical checkups. The first floor, which you had finally reached was where medicinal treatments, from cats claw tea, to tuyuya vines extracted from the eastern parts of the forest -- everything needed for pain relief, detoxing, or even healing tonics like Ginseng were also packaged to be sold and prescribed to members of the compounds community.

You squeezed your way through the crowd of people who crammed into the small space as incense floated through the air, coating the lower floor with healing smells. People shopped for leisure and health purposes here, and came for their checkups. The compound was filled with people who worked to keep the community alive, and running as smoothly as possible. Those that did labour work frequented the medical pharmacy the most, and others such as midwives and cafe owners stopped by often to purchase supplies and products needed to maintain their businesses as well.

You pushed through the front door of the building, stepping right out onto the dirt road. The sky was beginning to turn a slight shade of yellow, signalling the beginning of golden hour.

“One hour until the sun sets, then...”, you thought to yourself, “I better hurry.”

You weaved through the people who strolled through the streets as the end of the work day approached as you made your way home, being sure to look up up at the sun as it moved positions, carefully keeping track of time. You took your usual shortcuts through a few back alleys while stopping to buy a few things like bread and matches and soon enough you had reached the west side of the compound. Mostly labour workers lived back here now. Most were middle aged and worked in the mines or in construction around the compound and for the most part stuck to themselves. A few had wives but once they had children opted to move to a more desirable area of the compound. You watched as the lanterns that lined the neighbourhood streets flickered on, faintly illuminating your path until you reached the end and went off road, trekking towards the bottom of a slight hill where your cabin was tucked away.

Most people may have found the area a bit frightening but you knew the true beauty of what was ahead. The sound of the creek that ran alongside the property was the tell tale sign that you had reached your destination. The sun was due to set any minute now.

You pushed open your front door, not even waiting a second to rest. You tore off piece after piece of the bread you had purchased and shoving them past your lips, savouring the warm before putting the rest in your pantry and dusting your hands off on your shorts before making your way through the small cabin to change and pack your belongings up.

A quick trip out of the compound into the west forest didn’t last more than a few hours at most but you planned to make the most of it to limit the amount of times during your leave of absence that you would have to sneak away. The second the sun would set you planned on venturing out and returning just before sunrise again since it was risky to approach the outskirts of the compound during daylight.

You changed into a pair of black pants that hugged your body and a short sleeved cropped shirt before throwing on a sweater overtop and a pair of boots that were light, yet sturdy enough to navigate the wooded areas of the forest. Next, you needed to pack the small rucksack you planned on carrying with you. You had your medical kit prepared which included vials, and baggies that you used to transport medicinal herbs and extracted liquids, as well as other smaller containers used to carry seeds and uprooted plants you retrieved from the forest as well as bandages, gauze, disinfectant, and tools such as scissors and a compass.

Finally, you entered your fathers room which had remained virtually untouched since his death. After quickly shifting the rug under his worktable and carefully lifting the floorboard, you clicked open a small wooden box where you kept a collection of weapons. You retrieved two switchblades one small and the other larger, dropping one in your sack while the other remained tucked into the leather holster you wore around your waist before slipped the baton into a holster positioned around your thigh. And the most essential item of all was the leather bound travel notebook you carried with you to document research and keep track of the items you intended to return with because your usual notebook was far too valuable to bring with you on the outside.

You stood in front of the mirror in your fathers room as you drew your hair up into a high ponytail and casted a quick glance out of the window. The sun was officially set. As you made your way through your house, slipping into the backyard and locking up, you took a brief pause by the creek as you filled a canister with fresh water before fastening it to your sack. With one final glance back at your home and at the one faint source of light from a lamp you left on to mimic your presence, you approached the shrubbery hidden at the back of your property, parting it with your hands and falling to your knees, crawling the remainder of the way to the opening in the concrete wall that you squeezed through before emerging on the other end into another set of thick bushes.

After crawling for another minute or two, you had made it out. You were careful to conceal your path once more as you rose to your feet, and broke off into a jog. You had successfully entered the west forest.

Your father told you a lot about this area. You knew where to find the things you needed, you rummaged through your rucksack to retrieve your notebook and aimlessly flipped through the pages as you wandered through the thick of the woods, using the little bit of moonlight available to illuminate its pages.

After about two hours or so you had retrieve a good amount of herbs and carefully packaged everything. You had worked through your list much faster than you originally expected and considered turning back to the compound before reaching a clearing.

You squinted your eyes as you gazed across the river and over into a deeper part of the woods. You had never reached this river before but the thickness of the woods ahead made you feel compelled to cross. You could only imagine the plants that grew beyond the water and you stood idle fighting the urge to run across full force into the unexplored land. Just as you moved to step forward into the river, you heard the splashing of footsteps along the river bank.

You stumbled backwards as you tried to retreat into the shadows to conceal yourself. Your hand travelled down to your waistband for your blade, and just as your fingers danced met the cool metal of its handle you felt someone grip your wrist. You almost let out a gasp until you felt the cool blade of a knife at your neck forcing you to hold your breath in unless you wanted it to cut the delicate skin under your chin.

You stood motionless as your body was spun around away from the river. Your captor held you firmly in position as the back of your body pressed into his front, and his back was firmly positioned against the trunk of a tall tree.

“Shh...” he said in a faint whisper directly into your ear. He was so close that you felt his lips brush against the lobe of your ear. Despite the delicate tone in his voice, his touch was strong, steady, and rough. You tried not to panic as you listened to the footsteps get closer and closer as they continued to splash down the bank of the river. You tried to shift under his grip but he held you tightly. You tried not to lose control of your breathing as you felt the anxiousness starting to build up. He must have sensed this as he shifted the blade a little further away from your skin.

“Hold still, or I’ll have to kill you,” he said, his threat sounding again, like a delicate song whispered into your ear. You calmed under his touch, not wanting to provoke him. As the sound of the footsteps became more faint, you stood together for what felt like ages before he was confident enough that whoever was after him had long since disappeared.

When you felt his grip relax, you moved your wrist in an attempt to distract him. As he tightened his grip on your right hand you used the opportunity to reach for the baton you had on your thigh, clicking the button on it and watching it extend itself out. It was enough to distract the man momentarily, as he removed the knife from your neck but wrapped himself completely around your body as he drew you with him to the ground, losing his stability as the two of you slid down a hidden embankment located a few steps away from the tree you had been up against earlier.

He held onto you firmly as the two of you rolled down the embankment before finally coming to a stop with you positioned above him. You scrambled quickly reaching for your blade as you straddled him, this time moving quicker than he was. As you pressed it to his neck the moonlight stretched across his face -- finally allowing you to get a good look at your captor.

His gaze was dark, and his long silver hair was splayed around around his head as a few strands fell over his forehead. You were taken aback by his beauty, and as you both locked eyes you could see a smirk momentarily tug at the corner of his lips as you let out a gasp. He was... fucking beautiful, you thought. In fact, he looked nothing like any other man you had seen before.

Within seconds he had reversed your position, straddling you in exchange, this time pinning your arm that held your blade above your head and roping his other hand around your neck. This time you didn’t fight back. You couldn’t. He leaned closer to your face, holding his own inches in front of yours.

“Do you want to die quickly, or should I let you suffer?” he muttered under his breath as he slowly tightened his grip around your neck, limiting your breathing. You writhed underneath him as tears pooled in your eyes.

“Or...” he began, as he used his other hand to pry your switchblade free from your grip, “should i kill you with your own blade for giving me such a hard time?”

You felt warm liquid drip onto the exposed skin of your stomach as you used the last bit of your strength as your vision went spotty to reach out and yank his shirt up, exposing his torso.

“What are you doing?” he asked, as he winced in pain.

“I-i can help,” you pleaded, your voice barely coming out in a whisper. “I can help you!” but you felt yourself slipping further and further away as your arm fell back to your side and your vision went black.

You blinked a few times before regaining consciousness one more. Your eyes scanned your surroundings as you watched as the boy from earlier sat a few feet away from you, rummaging through your rucksack.

You reached your hand up to your neck, rubbing at the sore flesh when his gaze landed back down on you.

“Welcome back,” he muttered weakly as he pulled out your notebook and began thumbing through its pages slowly.

Your eyes settled down on his shirt, noticing that the pool of blood in the fabric had grown significantly bigger.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” you complained as you lifted yourself up, wincing at the soreness you felt throughout your body. You approached him and this time neither of you moved to attack.

His face was dripping in sweat as his skin was beginning to go pale. He sat against the bank, and dropped his head back as his energy quickly depleted. You lifted his shirt over his head, leaving him half naked to assess his wound. You thought maybe he had injured himself during your fall but the slash across the side of his abdomen made it clear that his injury was caused by a sharp weapon. You used his shirt to wipe away the excess blood.

“You must have been bleeding for hours...” you muttered. He grunted in response, still with his eye closed. You reached for your bag and coated a cloth with disinfectant. He let out a loud hiss as it came in contact with his skin before you treated the wound with gauze and bandaging him up. He had passed out during the process and as you finally finished his eyes began to flutter open again. He ran his hand across his torso, feeling the bandage under his touch as his eyes met yours.

“Why’d you do that? Are you really this stupid?” he asked. You rolled your eyes as you packed up your belongings and began retrieving your blade and baton without answering his question. He watched as you slipped your weapons back into their holsters and strapped your bag cross your back once more.

Just as you were about to get up and leave he reached out to grab your wrist.

“I. almost. killed. you.” he said through gritted teeth. You yanked your hand from his grip, growing tired of him touching you as if he had full agency of your body.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks a lot,” you responded -- voice dripping in sarcasm. You shot him a cold glance as you got up and began making your way back up the bank.

“Wait, where are you going?” he called after you.

“Home,” you muttered as he immediately let out a scoff in response.

“Nobody in the West Forest has a home. And if they do, they don’t make it back there alive,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Good thing I’m not a nobody, then,” you snapped back.

This time he let out an even louder laugh wincing as he drew himself to his feet.

“Trust me, if you go back up that way you won’t make it back to your precious home alive,” he said as he looked up at the moon. “This is when they all come out to play,” he murmured under his breath.

You rolled your eyes again as you ignored his words. As you took a step forward, you heard the sound of a single gun shot in the distance. It was enough for you to freeze on the spot.

“We need to go. Now,” said the boy. He didn’t wait for you to respond before he pulled at your wrist and went off sprinting deeper into the rainforest. The air was damp, and the condensation that pooled on top of the leaves of the shrubbery you tore through together left you both covered in droplets of water.

You were out of breath and panting when you reached a clearing. The boy with the silver hair still kept a firm grip on your wrist as he craned his neck up to the sky to look at the moon. He muttered to himself under his breath as he whipped his head around in every direction. You pulled out your compass from your pocket, trying to gain some sense of direction. You were getting further and further away from home and the sun would be rising soon.

“This way,” he said as he continued to pull you further away from your compound. Eventually you reached a quiet area of the rainforest so hidden that you were surprised when you stumbled across it. Tipi like structures were scattered in the area and well hidden thanks to the way they were concealed with forestry in a camouflage like manor.

The boy pulled you into the nearest one as he fumbled around before the inside was finally illuminated by a lantern. The both of you jumped in shock as he pushed you behind his body for protection, before sighing deeply. You peered around his shoulder, at the boys who sat cross legged in front of you.

“Yuta, where the hell have you been... and who the fuck is she?” said one of them. He had black hair and big eyes. You held tightly to Yuta -- just now learning his name, out of fear. His fingers were tightly roped in yours. You both glanced down at your hands before frantically pulling apart.

“I... had to deal with something,” he said. Another boy with blonde hair who donned a slit in his eyebrow nodded his head in your direction.

“And the girl? You know you can’t bring people back here right?” he asked. They all looked at you — gazes trailing every inch of your body.

“Uh... I t-traded her,” he blurted out after failing to come up with an excuse. “I got her.. in a trade,” he finished.

Your jaw dropped as you swatted at his shoulder, and shot him an icy look.

“What I mean, is that she’s a medic. So she’s actually very useful to us,” he began, “so don’t see her as some random person I brought here because she’s... valuable, see?” he finished as he motioned to his torso.

“Why would we need need another medic?” mumbled the third boy. He was tall and strong looking. He stood out from the rest because of his laid back stance.

“H-hi, my name is,” you began, before another boy dipped into the tent behind you both. He froze the second the two of you locked eyes.

“Y/N?” the voice called out in shock as they settled on your face.

“D-doyoung?!” you screeched. Everyone in the tent fell silent and Yuta glanced slowly between the two of you.

Neither you nor Doyoung said a word to each other. His gaze remained attached to yours as his eyes conveyed what seemed like an endless combination of emotions.

He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t get the words out. Your eyes wandered over his body, shocked to see him dressed so differently. The man who worked as a medic who always donned a white uniform looked unlike himself. His hair, which was usually parted and styled to perfection was gelled back sloppily, and he was dressed head to do in dark military styled clothing. He looked like all of the other boys from the campground.

Yuta finally broke the never ending silence that had fallen across everyone in the enclosed space.

“I don’t know what’s going on but can this all wait until morning time? I’m sore and tired,” he complained as he ran his hand delicately over his bandaged torso while letting out a tiresome yawn.

He looked over at the boys seated behind you both and nodded his head in the direction of the exit as he encouraged them to leave what you now realized was his tent.

As they moved to get up, Yuta turned back to you.

“You’ll sleep here—“ he began before getting interrupted almost immediately by Doyoung.

“No. She won’t,” he blurted out sternly.

Yuta, who was still looking at you, turned towards Doyoung with his eyebrows raised before a smirk stretched across his face.

It was similar to the one you had seen earlier when you straddled him with your knife pressed to the skin of his neck. One side of his mouth titled upwards and his eyes glinted in amusement. You cursed yourself for even getting distracted by the thought as you tried to clear your head and focus on what was going on right now inside the tent.

“Is she your girlfriend or something?” he taunted as he cocked his head to one side.

Doyoung’s cheeks flushed a barely visible shade of pink as he scoffed before muttering under his breath a weak “Of course not.”

“Then what’s the problem, doc?” said Yuta — his words dripping in venom this time.

Knowing Doyoung and his usually calm demeanour, you fully expected him to surrender and abandon whatever argument the men seemed to be on the brink of. But to your surprise he did the opposite.

“She works for me. I’m responsible for her!” he spat back. The other boys who had been in the process of leaving the tent, paused as they observed the interaction.

“Yeah, well she owes me,” said Yuta calmly.

“For what exactly?” inquired Doyoung.

“For not killing her earlier when I had the chance,” he said shrugging. Yuta ran his fingers through his silver locks aimlessly as if his words were meaningless.

“Hey, I saved your life... so technically we’re even,” you whined.

“Yeah but I brought you here instead of leaving you stranded with those gunmen running around,” Yuta reminded you as he flashed you a cheeky grin.

Doyoung’s eyes went wide from shock at Yuta’s prior admission to almost killing you before he zeroed in on your neck where your skin donned a few faint finger shaped bruises.

“W-what the hell? You did that to her?” he said glaring at Yuta, “he did this to you?!” he yelled as he diverted his gaze right back to you as his eyes franticly looked back and forth between your face and your neck.

Yuta rolled his eyes. Doyoung on the other hand was extremely riled up.

“Y/n, wait outside,” Doyoung said through gritted teeth as he glared at Yuta. You opened your mouth to protest at his order — not appreciating his tone, until Yuta placed a hand on the small of your back and sighed while delicately urging you to exit the tent.

“It’s okay,” was all he said as you reluctantly exited the tent, followed by the other three boys as Doyoung watched you with what seemed like an expression of anger and pain all in one.

Once you made it out the tent you could hear the strained noises of Yuta and Doyoung arguing back and forth.

The other boys quickly surrounded you. The first one to speak was the tall, relaxed one from earlier.

“I’m Johnny,” he said. Then he gestured towards the other boy with black hair and bright eyes “this is mark, and this is Taeyong,” he finished as he gestured towards the blonde boy with the slit in his brow.

“Y/n,” was all you could mutter in response as you craned your neck to look past them towards the tent.

“Your presence seems to have caused quite a bit of drama,” said Johnny as he chuckled.

“Where are you from anyway?” asked Mark curiously.

“The same compound as Doyoung,” you said. The boys exchanged suspicious glances with achother.

“So what were you doing in the west forest?” asked Taeyong.

You went on a brief spiel, recounting the events of the night — omitting the details of how you managed to sneak out of the compound. By the end the boys were chuckling a bit as you explained how you had held Yuta at knifepoint and then managed to end up back at the tents.

“Leave it to Yuta to almost die at the hands of a pretty girl in the middle of the forest,” Mark joked. The other boys agreed that it seemed very on brand for their friend to end up in such an unpredictable situation. However, they admitted it was very unusual for him to look out for someone the way he had for you.

“Speaking of...” you began as you had finally circled back to Yuta’s tent after walking in circles as you fell into conversation with the boys. “I wonder what’s going on in there. They’ve been talking for ages. I’m exhausted,” you complained.

“You could always sleep in my tent,” teased Mark before he jumped, absolutely startled by the heavy hand that had just landed on his shoulder.

“Do you have a death wish?” Yuta asked as he squeezed at the side of marks neck. The other boys stifled a laugh as Doyoung appeared with a stern expression by their sides while Mark winced in pain.

Doyoung approached you. “We need to talk,” he said as he walked off. You trailed behind him as you heard the boys and Yuta fall into conversation behind you.

“What, do you have a crush on her or something?” squealed Mark.

“What makes you think you could handle someone like her, baby?” Yuta teased at the youngest of the group.

“I heard she almost slit your throat so I doubt you can handle her anymore than I can,” Mark scoffed. Taeyong and Johnny broke into a fit of laughter as Yuta drew Mark into a headlock and the boys began to playfully scuffle.

Doyoung had taken you down to a small river that was situated near the campgrounds before turning to you.

“I bet you have a lot of questions,” he said. Truthfully, you didn’t even know where to begin. So much had happened over the last few hours and even though seeing Doyoung was probably the most surprising of all those things, you seemed to be at a loss for words. You looked up at him before shrugging softly and kicking the tiny pebbles by your feet into the water.

“First off, are you alright?” he asked as he reached out to touch your neck. You winced as his fingers came in contact with one of the small bruises left behind by Yuta.

“I’m fine, it’s just a little sore,” you answered. “What are you even doing out here, Doyoung?” you questioned.

He didn’t even hesitate before answering. “I’m working on something. There are certain things you don’t know about the compound,” he explained.

“What things?” you questioned.

“Well... it’s really complicated. But what I can say is that there are bad things going on there with the government,” he said hesitantly. You went wide eyed as you turned to him, hoping for answers.

“I can’t explain everything right now. You just can’t tell anyone that you’ve seen me here. And you can’t come out here again. I’m guessing you left through your fathers tunnel?” he asked. You were taken aback. You thought his tunnel had been a secret.

“H-how did you know?” you asked.

“He taught me a lot, y/n. He just left before we could get our real work done. I knew you left during your leaves from work but I didn’t expect you to come this deep into the forest. He told me that you were taught to stay within specific boundaries!” Doyoung said, as he scolded you.

“I did. If I hadn’t run into Yuta then-“ you began, before Doyoung cut him off.

“Yuta isn’t someone you should be hanging around. None of these guys are. You don’t belong here. You need to stay at the compound where it’s safer for you,” he argued.

At this point it was getting annoying. All these years your relationship had remained casual and distant and now he seemed to have transformed in an instant and become far too comfortable barking orders at you.

“You just said it yourself that there are bad things going on at the compound so why does it matter?” you spat.

“Because there are killers roaming this forest. You don’t understand what it’s like out here!” he yelled.

“And you do?” you challenged.

Doyoung sighed as he squeezed the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“I’ve been out here for years, y/n. You don’t know the half of it. You need to trust me,” he pleaded.

“You can’t expect me to trust you when you aren’t telling me anything,” you replied.

“Population control,” he stated abruptly. You opened your mouth to question him but he spoke again before you could get any words out.

“Resources have been running low for years. They’re controlling the population in the compound. People are being kicked out for crimes they didn’t commit. New uncontrollable illnesses are popping up slowly. There have been talks about the father being responsible. The compound is conducting shady trades and even seem to have some criminals from the west forest involved. I’ve been working with a few trusted people to expose it all and change things but...” he blurted our quickly.

“You’re staging a coup d’état?” you gasped. Doyoung sighed again.

“It’s not that simple. This is something that has been going on long before we were old enough to understand. This is something your father worked on too. He is one of many that wanted to liberate the compound. Not just ours either. He wanted to take back the forest and live in an open society like in the old days,” Doyoung explained.

Your head spun with the new information that had suddenly been dumped on you. You couldn’t even speak. For what felt like forever, you both stood in silence.

“I have to get back to the compound. I managed to slip away from the crowd but the rest of the head medics are going to grow suspicious soon if I don’t make it back east,” said Doyoung.

“B-but what about the gunmen?” you asked.

“I’ve been escorted to a meeting point by the some military men from the compound. I’m the only person authorized to do that in order to get some harder to find medical resources. I usually wouldn’t be able to come this Far East but one of the children of the Father of the Compound have been ill with an ongoing condition since he was a child and it’s worsened so I’ve been making more frequent trips. I’m the only person who has special permission to venture off alone and its because the father really wants to keep his child’s condition private,” he began, “so I need to get back to the meeting point quickly. They’ll escort me back.”

You nodded before Doyoung spoke again.

“I spoke with Yuta. He’ll get you back to the compound sometime within the next 3 days. Please just stay on the campgrounds and out of trouble until then,” he warned.

The two of you made your way back towards the campgrounds. Doyoung slipped away back into the forest after you said your goodbyes and you walked the rest of the way back.

Everyone had seem to retreat back into their respective tents as you approached Yuta’s. You ducked through the opening before pulling it closed behind you again. The tent felt much more spacious now that there weren’t as many people stuffed inside but to your surprise, Yuta was not inside.

You made your way over towards the flat sleeping mattress that was placed in a section of the tent as you decided to wait for him to return. That was the last thing you remembered as you fought the feeling of exhaustion that had finally overcome your body as you slipped into a deep sleep in the unfamiliar space.

The next morning you woke up to warmth and the feeling of your head rising and falling ever so slightly.

“This is relaxing,” you mumbled to yourself despite being half asleep.

Your head began to shake as a soft chuckle tumbled through Yuta’s chest as he answered quietly, “is it?”. Your eyes flew open within seconds as you realized you had been draped over his body and your head was currently resting against his chest.

“Oh my god.. OH MY GOD,” you gasped as you pulled yourself off of him and drew yourself into a seated position on the mattress in an attempt to create as much distance between you and Yuta as you possibly could.

Yuta still laughed softly. Your cheeks burned with heat as you could feel them begin to flush. You couldn’t help but wonder how long you had been sleeping like that. You were so tired the night before that you barely remembered falling asleep and definitely didn’t remember hearing or feeling yuta get into bed.

“W-why would you sleep here?” you scolded.

“Well this is my tent and my bed,” he answered as he slowly lifted himself up, being mindful of the bandage on his torso. He drew a shirt over his head as you watched him get dressed. His hair was pulled into a messy ponytail and despite it being morning time, he still looked so beautiful.

“Well you should have woken me up instead of just—“ you began.

“Instead of what? Becoming your human pillow? You didn’t seem to mind when you were sleeping like a baby all night,” he teased.

You pouted at Yuta as he winked back at you before dropping to his knees back on the mattress. He leaned towards you while resting on his hands as your heart began to beat faster. The closer he got to you the bigger the smile on his face became.

You leaned back away as his body drew closer to yours and his face hovered towards you. When he was close enough to bridge the gap between the two of you, you squeezed your eyes shut and pushed your hands out against his chest to stop him from moving as you braced yourself.

A few seconds passed but nothing. You opened up your eyes again with your hands still firmly against Yuta’s chest as you met his gaze.

He held back laughter as he reached one of his hands behind you and out of sight before it emerged again in your line of vision, this time with a stainless steel water bottle in his grasp which he had been reaching for the entire time while you were in the way.

“Don’t flatter yourself, princess,” he chuckled before leaning away from you again and getting up. He made his way to the exit of the tent before slipping out.

“Wait here,” he muttered before disappearing and leaving you flustered, a bit embarrassed, and frankly still tired. You flopped back down on the mattress with a loud groan as you pulled the blankets over your head as you drifted back to sleep with thoughts of that cheeky bastard in your head.

The next time you woke up, you were alone. There was however a plate of fruit from the forest and some other greenery in a bowl waiting for you by the mattress. You didn’t hesitate for even a second before diving in. You hadn’t realized how hungry you had been.

Outside had grown gloomy again making you feel as though you were beginning to lose perception of time all together. It must have been a little while until sunset which meant you had slept through almost the entirety of the day.

You were finishing off the last bit of avocado that was left in your bowl when you heard someone call your name from outside of the tent.

You made your way outside only to find out that it was Mark who had been calling you.

“Sick! You’re finally awake!” he said excitedly. “Dude do you always sleep this much?” he giggled.

“Ugh, don’t even get me started. I don’t know how I managed to sleep for so long. I must have had a rough night,” you whined.

“Oh yeah, how did you sleep?” he asked. You blushed as the memory of this morning returned to you. The thought of being cuddled up to Yuta like that had slipped your mind yet you couldn’t help but feel the same level of embarrassment all over again now that Mark had unknowingly reminded you.

“Uh... y/n?” he called out as he waved a hand in front of your face.

“O-oh, I slept okay. I’m just still a little sore,” you murmured as you snapped out of your thoughts. You rubbed aimlessly at the bruises on your neck.

Mark tsked as he reached out to softly run his hands over your neck. “Yuta... that idiot. Why would he hurt you like this?” he said as he shook his head.

“She could have been dangerous,” said Taeyong as he walked up behind Mark to join in on the conversation.

“Yeah right. Yuta just likes to play rough,” Mark said as he dropped his hand.

“Well if it hurts that bad then we have the perfect thing to make you feel better, y/n,” said Taeyong as a small smile played on his lips.

“Guys! It’s ready!” yelled Johnny from across the tent grounds. The boys glanced at each other, smiling. Mark grabbed your wrist as he pulled you through the campgrounds past a series of empty tents until you reached a raging bonfire in its center.

“Where is everyone else?” you asked after noticing that you hadn’t seen anyone but the boys since your arrival

“Most of them are away dealing with business in the forest. A few others patrol the outer parts of the campground in shifts and alternate every few days so it’s just us for the next week,” answered Taeyong.

“Which is why tonight we are gonna celebrate the arrival of our dear y/n... and by celebrate I mean eat and get drunk because we finally have this place to ourselves,” said Johnny as he pulled out a large container filled with questionable liquid and held it over his head.

The four of you passed around more fruits and vegetables, grilling things over the bonfire along with some meat. The questionable alcoholic mixture Johnny had managed to make was actually surprisingly good and it didn’t take long for everyone to get buzzed. You cooed at the warm feeling in your stomach as you stuffed your mouth with food.

“Mmm, I’ll never get over how great fresh food tastes right out of the forest,” you squealed. The boys looked on in amusement.

“Maybe there are some perks to being out here after all,” muttered Johnny.

You all continued to drink and eat for a while as the sun set for the day. Eventually you fell into conversation with the boys whom it turns out you got along with quite well.

“Wait, where’s Yuta?” you slurred, tilting your head to the side.

As if on cue, he emerged from the shadows looking a bit dishevelled.

“Did you miss me?” he taunted as he approached the rest of the group, grabbing what was left of the plentiful amount of food you had grilled to eat. His eyes settled on the container of alcohol before letting out a deep sigh.

“No wonder I could hear you guys from the other side of the campgrounds. Why would you let these idiots get you drunk, princess?” he questioned as he shoved a piece of meat into his mouth and poured himself a cup of the mixture.

“Who me? I’m not drunk!” you slurred again. The boys giggled at the high pitched sound of your drunk voice. Taeyong, Mark and Johnny got up to retrieve more firewood while they continued chatting away. They occupied themselves with the bonfire as Yuta settled down next to you.

“You sleep like a baby and now that you’re drunk, you sound like one too,” said Yuta while forcing a slice of mango past your lips.

The juices from the fruit trickled down your chin as he fed you. To his surprise, you wrapped your lips around his fingers, suckling softly at the juices that coated his fingers.

Yuta’s mouth fell open slightly as he slowly pulled his fingers away from you. He chuckled softly as his gaze went dark.

“Play nice,” he said sternly. You rolled your eyes at his warning before shrugging.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, where have you been all day?” you said, changing the subject.

“Just handling business,” he muttered. You pouted in response. You knew very well the kind of trouble Yuta seemed to find himself in while away from the campground.

“Doyoung told me about our compound but I just realized that he didn’t tell me much about what any of it has to do with you guys,” you complained.

“Don’t whine. It’s nothing you need to worry about. I’m gonna get you back to the compound tomorrow night like he asked,” Yuta answered.

“That’s so soon...” you said as your voice dropped down to a soft murmur.

“I know it must be nice to have a bunch of guys take care of you but did you really think you were going to live here forever or something?” he scoffed.

You shot him a cold glance before getting up from next to him and muttering under your breath, “whatever.”

You ditched him and joined the other boys by the fire as you cozied up next to Mark who was just as drunk as everyone else. It was only Yuta that hadn’t caught up yet and at this point his attitude was killing your vibe.

The boys were engaged in an animated conversation about grilling meat when you joined them. They argued over who amongst the group was the best at their grilling techniques.

“You have to hold it still for a minute before flipping it on to the next side!” Johnny yelled.

“Nonono, you’re holding it too close to the fire. It has to be higher!” said Taeyong as he cringed at Johnny’s method.

“Nah watch this,” said Mark as he placed a piece of meat on the end of a metal rod and shoved it directly into the flames before pulling it out again.

“Dude, you burned it,” laughed Johnny.

“Wait! That was a mistake. It wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said as he drunkenly giggled. You took the rod from him and placed another piece of meat on the end as you expertly rotated it for a few minutes over the fire, dipping it ever so slightly into the flames. Mark watched wide eyed as you held the rod in front of your lips and blew softly on the meat to cool it down before pulling it off of the metal and holding it out for him to taste.

Mark opened his mouth as you placed the piece of meat into his mouth, letting your fingers brush softly against his lips as they lingered on his skin. Yuta froze,, watching the exchange between the two of you.

“Dang, this tastes so good,” Mark moaned as he chewed away at the meat. You smiled as you watched him savour the taste.

“We should put the fire out before the smoke becomes too obvious,” suggested Taeyong. He grabbed a few buckets while Johnny joined him.

“We’ll come with!” offered Mark as he got up and drew you to your feet. “The rivers fun at night time,” he chuckled as he pulled you towards the direction you had gone in the night before with Doyoung. The two of you stumbled along the forest in a fit of giggles as Johnny and Taeyong trailed behind you with the buckets. Yuta sat alone by the fire seething as he watched you and Mark run off into the distance.

Once you had reached the river, Mark wasted no time tugging at his shoes before splashing his way into the water and groaning at the cool feeling of the mini waves against his toes. He splashed about, drawing you in with him. Johnny and Taeyong filled up the buckets with water.

“We’re gonna head back before that fire gets out of hand,” yelled Johnny as the two boys turned away, leaving you and Mark alone.

“You’re in trouble now,” Mark teased as he reached down and flicked water up from the stream all over you -- making you squeal as it seeped through your clothing. You returned his actions by kicking at the water below you as the two of you messed about like children.

You hadn’t heard him at first but a dark figure by the edge of the river caught your eye as you froze. Mark, who had continued splashing you, stopped and followed your gaze.

“Yuta hyung, you scared the shit out of me!” he said as he sighed a sigh of relief at the sight of his friend.

Yuta stumbled slightly as he approached the two of you, words slurring ever so slightly as he called out “Mark, y/n is drunk. It’s too dangerous to play around in the river like this!”

Mark chuckled before responding, “She’s a big girl so there’s no need to coddle her.”

Yuta’s expression went cold as he walked into the water and grabbed you by the wrist. “That’s enough princess,” he warned -- clearly fed up with your antics.

You opened up your mouth to speak but Yuta cut you off as he addressed Mark.

“Fun’s over, baby. Go back and help the boys clean up. I’ll take care of her,” he said. Mark shrugged and stumbled out of the water before picking up his shoes and disappearing into the forest towards the campground.

You stood frozen in front of Yuta. “Doyoung will be very upset if he finds out what you’ve been up to,” he scolded. You huffed -- suddenly feeling like a child who has being told off by their father.

“I haven’t done anything wrong!” you insisted, still feeling warm from the amount of alcohol coursing through your body. You poked a finger into Yuta’s chest as you pouted your lips at him.

“Y-you’re just jealous,” you taunted.

“Of?” he asked.

“M-me and --” you began before you were rudely interrupted by Yuta’s deep and powerful laugh. What scared you was the fact that his laugh stopped just as fast as it started.

He drew you close to him, squeezing your chin between his fingers as he hovered closely to your face.

“Is that what you’ve been doing all night long? Trying to make me jealous?” he asked as his expression changed -- making him look very amused instead. You huffed again, shaking your way out of his grasp and making your way out of the water. It wasn’t until your feet were back on land that you realized how drunk you really were.

The ground seemed to be rocking underneath you as you struggled to keep your balance. You stumbled, nearly falling over before becoming engulfed in Yuta’s arms. You tried not to throw up the contents of your stomach as he lifted you off the ground and into his arms.

“You’re so annoying, you know that? And mean too,” you mumbled as you rested your head in the crook of his neck, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you carefully towards the campgrounds.

“You’re no angel either. Don’t think i’ve forgotten about what you did to me earlier,” he whispered into your ear. His voice sent shivers down your spine as you recalled the mango incident.

“Dang, what happened to her?” asked Taeyong as Yuta approached him and the rest of the boys as they cleaned up the final bits of the little party they had thrown.

“Looks like Johnny’s juice finally hit her,” Yuta teased. Johnny smiled proudly knowing his creation was a hit.

You finally arrived at Yuta’s tent and he carried you all the way inside before putting you down and holding you at your shoulders to ensure that you were steady enough to stand on your own.

“Shit, I’m soaked,” you mumbled to yourself as you pulled at your shirt, growing uncomfortable with the feeling of the wet fabric against your skin.

Yuta rummaged around in his tent before pulling out a dry shirt for you to put on. He passed it to you before ducking out of the tent to let you change. He waited before you poked your head out, and carried your wet clothing with you to hang outside to dry, still drunk and giggly.

Yuta watched as you hung your shirt, and pants but went wide eyed when he saw you hang up a pair of panties as well. His cheeks flushed pink as he unconsciously allowed his eyes to run over your body, noticing the way the fabric would momentarily cling to the parts of your body as you moved making it very evident that you were in fact naked underneath it.

He ducked back into the tent as he stripped down to change as well. He had just put his shorts, still shirtless, when you pushed through the opening of the tent. You clambered across the mattress and fell back with a deep sigh. Yuta lowered himself down to climb into bed next to you. “Get some rest, I’m taking you home tomorrow,” he said. “I don’t wanna leave,” you groaned as you stretched your arm across his body and rested your head on his chest like the night before. Yuta naturally let his arm circle around your body as if you slept like this together all the time. You started to drift off to sleep, feeling the rise and fall of Yuta’s chest and his fingers combing softly through your hair. You didn’t expect any of this to happen but you were grateful. The cold girl that walked through the compound and kept to herself was gaining some warmth again. She smiled more, and giggled, and felt less lonely outside of her isolated town. You couldn’t help but hear the words of the compound children echoing in your mind as you finally fell asleep -- “I heard if you go far enough west, you’ll find a better place to live.”

Let me know if you want a part 2! <3

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