when painting mike’s nails turns into something else (fluff)
kind of a part 2 to this but you could read it separately too!
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mike wheeler has been in your room a hundred times. probably more. he knows where the floor creaks and which drawer sticks and how the window refuses to open past a certain point.
your room has the same bones. same walls. same carpet that has seen way too many late nights and half finished homework. but things have shifted around. posters moved. books stacked differently. there are string lights tucked around the headboard, not turned on yet, but he knows exactly how they look in the dark. there is the faint smell of clean laundry and something else softer that he cannot name but instantly recognizes as you.
he stands there too long, backpack strap digging into his shoulder, brain buffering. seeing you sit on your bed, feeling something warm in his chest.
you glance up from where you’re sitting on the bed. “you’re allowed to come in, you know.”
he blinks. “i was going to.”
“you were absolutely not.”
“i was checking for traps.”
you snort. “in my bedroom?”
“you never know,” he mutters, but he steps inside anyway, letting the door click shut behind him.
he drops his bag near the wall where it has always gone. almost like a designated space for him.
you don’t hesitate around him. you never have. that is one of the things he loves about you, even if he has never said it out loud. being with you is easy. no buildup. no weird tension. you just exist next to each other and it works.
“okay,” you say, patting the bed beside you. “i found something important.”
his stomach flips. “that sentence never ends well.”
you lift a small plastic box and give it a little shake. bottles clink together.
mike groans. “we talked about this.”
“we absolutely did not,” you say. “you complained. that’s not a conversation.”
he sighs and sinks down onto the floor, leaning his back against your bed, knees bent. close enough that he can feel the mattress shift when you move. he notices that immediately. he tells himself not to. he fails instantly.
“i don’t understand how you convinced me,” he says.
you shrug. “you’re easy.”
“i am not.”
you smile at him in a way that says you both know that is a lie. “you.. kind of are.”
he watches as you open the box and start sorting through nail polish like this is serious business.
“okay,” you mumble. “red is out. green is cursed. this one is dead.”
“please do not put cursed substances on me.”
you hum thoughtfully and then hold up a bottle of dark blue. almost black.
“this one’s still good.”
something settles in his chest when he sees it. the idea of you choosing which color to use, suddenly makes the dark color feel like something much more cherished.
“blue’s fine,” he says, trying very hard to sound neutral. “normal. subtle.”
you look at him. “you think this is subtle?”
“for me,” he says.
you laugh quietly. “hands.”
this is the part where his brain stops being useful.
he hesitates for exactly one second before placing his hands in your lap. carefully. like sudden movement might ruin something. the second your fingers wrap around his wrist, warm and familiar, his thoughts scatter completely.
oh.
oh no.
wait. no. actually this is good.
probably.
“you’re tense,” you say.
“i’m always tense.”
“that explains so much.”
you dip the brush into the bottle, wiping the excess off like you have done this a thousand times. mike watches your hands, completely fascinated. he can feel your slow breathing on his fingers. seeing how focused you are, and his brain short circuits in the most unhelpful way.
you hum under your breath, off key, and he smiles before he realizes he is doing it.
this is not fair, he thinks. you have always been like this. always just there. quietly important. his brain has simply decided now is the time to panic about it.
the brush touches his nail. cool at first. then warm.
he inhales sharply before he can stop himself.
you glance up. “you okay?”
“yes,” he says way too fast. “totally normal about this.”
you raise an eyebrow. “you look like you’re bracing for impact.”
“i don’t like surprises.”
“you knew i was going to paint your nails.”
“knowing and experiencing are different.”
you laugh and go back to painting. the sound settles something in his chest. he likes being the reason you laugh. he always has.
you’re careful with him. he notices that. you do not rush or tease him by making it messy. you hold his hand steady, thumb brushing his skin every so often without thinking about it. like this is normal. like he matters.
it makes his chest warm instead of tight, which is new.
he watches the color spread over his nail. dark blue. steady. it looks good. it looks like him, somehow.
“do you hate it?” you ask.
“no,” he says immediately. then softer, “i just think it’s.. different.”
“different.. bad?”
“no. different good. just.. new.” for a brain that’s always panicking about what to say, his mouth seems to do the opposite. maybe they should meet each other.
you hum and accept that without pushing. he appreciates that more than he can explain.
“you remember when we were kids,” he says suddenly, because his brain is always looking for safer ground, “and we used to stay up talking until like four in the morning.”
“yeah.”
“about nothing.”
“and everything,” you add.
he nods. “i miss that.”
you pause for half a second and then keep painting. “we can still do that.”
the idea hits him harder than he expects.
he has spent so long assuming some things were just over. childhood. safety. being close without trying. he never really considered that maybe they just changed a little.
you finish his left hand and gently set it aside, reaching for his right. your touch is easier now, like your hands remember his.
his fingers twitch.
“mike,” you warn.
“sorry. reflex.”
“you’re terrible at this.”
“i have anxiety.”
“and control issues.”
“that too.”
you finish the second hand and sit back. he lifts them carefully, inspecting the result.
“okay,” he admits. “they actually look kind of cool.”
“told you.”
“i look like i could survive a horror movie.”
“you would still trip.”
“that was one time.”
“it was several.”
he smiles despite himself.
you tell him not to touch anything and slide down to sit beside him on the floor. your shoulder presses against his. he stiffens for half a second, then forces himself to relax.
this is fine. this is safe. this is you.
you put on a movie. something dumb and comforting that neither of you really needs to pay attention to. mike mostly watches the way your arm brushes his when you move, the way your knee bumps his thigh and stays there. every small touch feels like a question he does not know how to answer, but you do not seem to need one.
at some point, his head tips sideways and rests against your shoulder.
he freezes.
“sorry,” he whispers. “i can move.”
you barely look at him. “you don’t have to.”
so he stays.
after a minute, your head tilts too, resting lightly against his. it’s easy and sends warmth flooding through him anyway. he focuses on breathing. on not overthinking. on the fact that you are still here.
the movie ends. the room is dim now, lit only by a lamp. it is late. later than it should be.
“you tired?” you ask.
“a little.”
you grab sleeping bags, then pause, looking between the bed and the floor.
“i can take the floor.”
“no,” he says instantly. “that’s dumb. we can share. we always used to.”
you look at him for a second. his heart pounds. he tries not to look like he is waiting for something.
“okay,” you say.
it feels huge anyway.
you both climb into bed, leaving a careful amount of space at first. mike lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, very aware of your breathing, the warmth of you beside him, the fact that his nails are painted blue and you did that.
this is ridiculous. he has fought monsters. he should not be this nervous.
he turns onto his side to face you.
“i’m really bad at this,” he says quietly.
you smile. “i know.”
“i overthink. then i panic. then i say something stupid.”
“you’re doing fine.”
he laughs softly. “low bar.”
then he pauses. just stops moving. and suddenly he’s really looking at her. not just seeing her, but noticing everything. the way her hair falls into her face, the faint paint smudge on her finger, how close she is. it hits him all at once, warm and terrifying and perfect. this rush of feelings he finally decides to do something about.
his heart is pounding so loud he’s sure she can hear it. he swallows, his breath catches. he doesn’t think. he just leans in.
the kiss is awkward and gentle and very him. he freezes for a second and then kisses you back, careful and earnest. his hand hovers near your shoulder.
“is this okay?” he whispers.
you make a mix of a scoff and a laugh.“yeah.”
he relaxes then, kissing you again, slower, like he is trying to remember it. when you pull back, he cannot stop smiling.
you cup his face for a second like if you’re checking he is real, then drop your hand like it is nothing. it is absolutely not nothing.
“wow,” he says, dumb and breathless.
“yeah.”
he rests his forehead against yours, overwhelmed in the best way.
when he falls asleep next to you, nails painted blue, hand tangled in yours, mike wheeler does not feel like he is losing anything at all. he feels warm. he feels safe. and for once, that feels like enough.
'sleepwalking' motel cuddles with smalltown!frank castle au
| gif by @chelseasdagger ★
content warning: agegap!reader, virgin!reader, size kink. intimate snuggles between you and frank. i imagine he's a lot older. this is just a drabble. sit or lay back, drink some water. have some relaxed reading time for yourself . . .
| part 2
you always knew it'd hard leaving home. homemade pottery that was made when you were six. clothes, the band posters plastered all your walls, school yearbooks. it's all left behind. but you knew you'd want to escape sooner than later. and, well, the former happened, and you still can't completely believe it.
to your surprise, you're practically thriving in his motel room. you'd never stop to think that your messy bathroom counter top, cluttered with makeup, forest rides in his pickup truck, and eating breakfast at the diner across the street is just so simple. sweet. it feels like home. he's what feels like home.
"life's not easy, and you gotta face it head-on. i'm just trying to give you a dose of reality." he shifted a little against the headboard, it's just about time to turn in for bed. ceiling fan spinning, tv humming. large hand gently brushing your hair back, cupping your cheek. his touch is surprisingly tender.
"you're a smart girl; i know you can handle it."
your body twitches instinctively at the sound of his praise. face buried into his rough palm, lips parting, eyes glazing over. "....smart girl..." you mouth the words quietly but don't say it out loud. just feeling the way the words move around on your tongue. your face is inches close to his, you've never been in a bed with someone. not like this. buzzing, nerves going haywire.
it feels like something almost forbidden. one big comfy sleepover between you and an older man. you and frank. you're freshly showered, and that newly washed feeling of the motel bed sheets? it feels like heaven. to him? you feel like heaven.
"yeah... smart girl," he whispers, his voice a gruff rumble that sends shivers down your spine. his hand on your cheek drifts to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair.
your pulse under his fingertips is racing. he's acutely aware of every breath you take, the way your bleary eyes wander as you lay together in bed. he swallows hard, his self-control slipping a little more with every passing moment.
"....y'think people in that diner thought you were my daddy?" you say gently. barely, in a hushed tone. the words roll off your tongue. playfully making conversation. trying not to speak over the soft background noise of the motel. sometimes they'll be people talking outside, maybe even questionable noises. but that doesn't matter to you. knowing you'll be fine with frank.
"probably did, considering how young you look." his hand continues to stroke your hair, his gaze steady, his touch gentle. "do you care about what some nosy old folks in a diner think?"
"i try not to." you say, simply. the blanket is draped over your legs, you pull it up on top of you two. your eyes glance down, noting how sweet you look borrowing his clothing. "'s cold in here, frankie." the air conditioning must be turned up.
"yeah, the motel's drafty as hell," he replies, hand never leaving your hair, he runs his fingers through the silky locks. he shifts slightly, pressing his body to yours, hoping to offer warmth. "hey. why don't you get some shut eye, yeah? gettin' late."
he lets out a low chuckle, his tone gruff but affectionate. "you're like a damn heat-seeking missile, always trying to steal my body heat." and when you don't respond, his eyes dart down to your sleeping face, your lashes fluttering closed.
frank feels you relax against him, your body growing limp as you start to drift off to sleep. his arms tighten around you automatically, his rough hand gently rubbing your back. he should turn off the tv, get some shut eye of his own. not able to find the ability to move, he finds himself watching you rest.
Jack and your other Scream 6 cast-mates had dragged you out for a beach day. You were laying out on a towel in the sand, soaking in the sun. While the others were playing around in the ocean. You were too busy coloring in your marine animal coloring book to notice your boyfriend running up behind you.
“Babyy, I missed you,” Jack exclaimed while laying on your back since you were on your stomach. “Jack, you’re heavy and you’re cold! Get offfff!”
He giggled and kissed your head, “No, you’ve been out in the sun all day. Come get in the water with us.” He shook his wet hair like a dog that had just been in the water. You turned over off of your stomach, causing him to move and sit down beside you. You were now sitting, facing him. “I like it here, it’s calm and peaceful. And not cold.”
He playfully rolled his eyes, “Is that your only reason for not going in the water.” You pretended to think about it for a moment, “Yes.” You gave him a sarcastic smile and he pouted. “Pleaseee, just for a few minutes!” You scoffed, “A few minutes would then turn into a few hours.” He hummed and his eyes found their way to your coloring book, “What were you coloring this time?”
“Just a whale.”
“It’s pretty.”
You nodded and watched as he put the book back in its rightful place before scooting closer to you. “It’s not that cold once you get used to it.” He examined your features for a moment and put his hand on your cheek. He rubbed his thumb across and tilted your head slightly. “Have you even put on sunscreen?”
“Obviously.”
“Really? You look like a lobster.”
“Jack!” You pushed his shoulder and he laughed while kissing your head, “I’m sorry. You look beautiful.” “Am I burnt?” “No I was just messing with you,” he said softly and that’s how you knew he was being genuine. “Thank you, can I go back to coloring now?”
“Hmm,” he put his finger on his chin and tilted his head up, “Let me think for a minute.”
“Okay, Jack.” You rolled your eyes and looked around the beach as you waited. Jack took this opportunity and grabbed your waist while standing up, almost falling over in the process. He put you over his shoulder more comfortably while you yelled, “Jack! Put me down!” You hit his back a few times and he giggled, “Nope.”
You lifted your head and looked at where he was walking to and you saw him walking closer and closer to the ocean. “If you throw me in there I’m breaking up with you.” He chuckled and tapped the back of your thigh, “I’m sure you will, sweetheart.” You heard Masons voice as clear as day which signaled that Jack was in the water now, “Hey Champion, why do you have her over your shoulder like a rag doll?”
You and Jack giggled and he uncomfortably repositioned you so he was now carrying you bridal style. “No reason!” He shouted back and you heard Devyn and Jenna laugh. Everyone knew what was about to happen but you held onto his neck for dear life. “Jack, please. Spare me.”
He pretended to throw you forward as a joke causing you to yelp. He walked farther into the water trying to find somewhere that wasn’t as shallow. “You need to just relax.” You looked at the grin on his face and shook your head, “Why are you telling me to relax as you’re about to throw-” Your sentence was cut short as Jack threw you into the water and then quickly jumped in to join you.
When you came up to the surface you splashed him and he wrapped his arms around your waist and leaned in closer to your face. “I hate you,” you said quietly. You were flustered at the close proximity, even if he was your boyfriend and this was a normal thing for him to do. He suddenly kissed you and you wasted no time in wrapping your arms around his neck. He pulled away from the kiss with a smirk, “You love me.”
You look away from him trying to hide your smile and he poked your side. You giggled and pointed towards the others, “We should probably head that way.” He nodded with a smile and took your hand, walking you both through the water. Luckily the waves weren’t very rough today. Once you made your way over there you greeted and talked with them for a bit before you leaned into Jacks side.
“You tired already baby?” You nodded and pulled away from his side. You went in like you were about to hug him but instead pushed Jack into the water causing everyone to laugh, including yourself. You tried to get out of the water as fast as you could before he could catch up to you. “Y/n! Get back here!” You could hear his laugh so at least he wasn’t upset with you.
As soon as you made it back to shore you heard the splash of his footsteps close behind you. You squealed as you felt his arms pick you up again. “Jack no!” He laughed and put you down. He kissed your head and walked with you back to your towel where all your stuff was. “Are you gonna color again?” You shook your head, “You want to go back to the hotel with me? I’m tired.” You asked looking up at him.
He looked back towards the ocean to see his cast mates playing in the water and then looked back at you, “Lets go.” He offered his hand for you to take and you gladly did. “They’re gonna kill us for leaving our stuff here for them to clean up.”
[Jesus H Christ this spiraled out of me from nowhere.]
Prized Champion: A Roman Gladiator AU.
Content Warnings: Graphic violence, on screen death, implied/off-screen attempted rape, possible mildly toxic polyship dynamics.
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The Colosseum. A layered crown of sweat soaked stone caging in the raucous cheers of a riled crowd. Its rings of seats stretched to the sky as if to call upon praise from the sun and to share an ounce of its divine glory onto the spectacles the stadium has put on display. The roar of the mob spills over the top and through its grand arches, out onto the busy, merchant dappled streets below. The sounds of battle warring within could barely be heard from the outside, but from the pulvinar- oh, how the cries of playful rage drifted up to the Emperor's seat.
And today, the Emperor wasn't alone in his enjoyment. Emperor Hoshina would often enjoy the bloody festivities with his beloved wife, Mina, but today they were accompanied with an extra member hailing from one of the greater military households, Narumi Gen. Narumi was of relation to Mina as they were siblings, who as time grew longer their sightings of each other grew farther. Mina was raised to be the fairest of maidens fit for servitude to some great house, although it was close to a true surprise that she had managed to capture the eye of their current ruler. Narumi was raised a devout warrior, a lifestyle that suited him well once he rose out of the ranks of a common foot soldier.
This week was dedicated to Jupiter, and as expected it was to be a week filled with glorious games. A week Narumi was not going to miss, considering he had to be left out of several others since the start of his campaign to expand to the west. Even when they were raised in the same household, they did their best to tolerate each other, but a part of Mina did hope that their distance and his forced exposure to a more rigid way of life would have made their prolonged meeting more... amicable to say the least. But as she made repeated glances over to his overly relaxed frame and his incredibly bored expression despite the amenities available and the current circumstances, she had a feeling this week will just feel like a regression back to childhood for her. A fact to be confirmed once she heard his disinterested sigh over the laughing jeers of the stadium goers around them.
"Please tell me your husband is going to kill this one off at the end." Narumi bemoaned around a messy sounding bite of an apple.
"Narumi, please. You're not even watching the fight" Mina sighed defeatedly as she flopped around in her lectus seated back away from the edge of the balcony.
"You're not either." Her brother countered mockingly, spitting chunks of half-chewed apple in her direction.
The two of them were sitting in the Emperor's section, a walled off area dedication to royal overindulgence. From the balcony wall, the ruler and his special guests had access to the best seats in the colosseum. Right at the centerline of the stage and just over a story from the floor, it was as close to the action a royal could get. The coveted box seats even jutted out just a little further than the rest of the seats on their row, just to establish even harder just how exclusive the choice seating was. Not that it needed to be rubbed in all the harder by the expensive purple tapestries showcasing Emperor Hoshina's house crest flying on either side of the housing. Located within was a buffet of fresh fruit and desserts, numerous pitchers of wine and water, and several handmaidens waiting on their every whim.
Their Emperor stood right next to the balcony wall, having appeared to be unmoved by the events unfolding before him. He had not sat down or moved from the wall since the start of the fight some time ago, but his posture nor his expression made any change from indifference. Before him was one of the multitude of gloriously bloody fights scheduled to take place today. It was three trained gladiators of various skills and size being pitted against one rather large contender. Despite the far-flung strings of clotted blood cooling in the spots of shaded sand, the fight was taking on a rather comical approach. While it was an unfairly stacked fight, the odd man out was doing a rather fine job of not appearing to take too much damage.
Kafka Hibino, a gladiator not well known by face, but through his actions in the ring. While not one of the most heavily requested of fighters by popular choice, it was undeniable that he could fill in earlier seats with his somewhat comical way of fighting. A helmeted man who was quick to boast his evasive abilities, was rather hopeless with any sort of real weaponry. Swords fell out of hands, spears slipped as if covered in oil, even a net was quicker to catch its owner than it was to catch others. He would always end up injured in the oddest fashion, but it was the sprays of blood that added to his unique comedy. It was not known to the public as to why Kafka was always scheduled to fight at least once a day during festivals, most just chalked it up to someone higher up pitying him.
With as loud as Narumi was complaining about his presence, no one would be suspecting it was someone in the royal seats themselves who adored the man.
"He's an incompetent fool who brings no honor to the games." Narumi growled as he flung his used apple core as far as he could from his seat. Right over the balcony wall and off to the side the ring. While he couldn't see it from where he was sitting, telling by the joyous laughter he suspected the Emperor's favorite must have noticed it and somehow purposely used it to his disadvantage.
"And after all this time I had you pegged as someone who would take pleasure in someone else's misery." Mina teased flatly as he waved down a servant for their plate of dates.
"It's not really misery if we're both enjoying it, is it?" The Commander sniped back, "He may have his helmet on, but I can see clear as the ocean that sick bastard is getting a kick out of this."
"Taking pride in brightening people's day? How ill of him." Mina scrunched her nose up at him before returning her focus on her husband.
Inside the ring, the fight was reaching toward its climax. Kafka and one of the contenders he was fighting against had somehow managed to "defeat" the other two fighters in the ring, but as it happens the energy between them had changed. Now it was Kafka against this rookie fighter, a recently to be rumored prodigy skilled in dual wielding falx. He was young and stark blond, with half of the build typically seen of gladiators, and despite it all he held his own against three men nearly twice his size. The stadium goers had started to nickname him "David" despite that not being even remotely close to his real name. Kafka had lost the helmet when his "ally" had betrayed their hastened friendship in order to continue the fight and was left looking tired, hunched over, and cradling a profusely bleeding wound to his left side.
"Et tu, Reno? And here I thought we had forgiven each other?" Kafka called out as loud as he could so all of the people around could bear witness to the betrayal.
"All in the name of glory to Grand Roma. Sir." Reno cried out in return as they continued to circle each other, "And her glory demands to be awash in blood!" With a finalizing shout, Reno charged forward with an upper slash with the right hand, only to be quickly followed with a downward slash with the left
Kafka did his best to dance around the prodigy's flurry of blows, only taking on as little damage as he could just to give the appearance of raised stakes. He tumbled over to one of the "fallen" Gladiator's unused nets and swung it wide behind him, only serving to make Reno backstep out of its way. While distracted, Kafka picked up the matching trident and made a few threatening jabs back at his opponent. Reno expertly blocked several strikes from the trident with his own set of impressive moves, but he would not hold the upper hand for long. With a subtle twist of the trident, Kafka had succeeded in entangling both of Reno's swords. Reno, with his quick thinking, could only manage to rescue one of his curved swords from the ensnared mass of metal, but the other was left tossed to the side as Kafka pulled away.
Unfortunately for Kafka, the trident also flew away from his grip as he pulled away. The younger gladiator took the chance and bolted forward again and made wild swings with his last blade, causing it to dramatically catch the sun's rays and make it appear to be glowing with holy light. Kafka pretended to trip at just the right moment and scrambled towards the location of the other blade, ripping a reel of laughter from the audience. Sword in hand, Kafka traded blows with the swordsman while on his back, doing his best to buy himself time to disengage. A handful of echoing clashes later, Kafka weaseled his large frame out from under his enemy's assault.
His ungraceful escape wasn't meant to last forever, because as soon as he turned around, he felt the searing sting of a sharp blade cut across the meat of his back. While it didn't cut deep, it was certainly enough to get his attention. Kafka turned around quickly, just in time to block another blow intended for him. Their blades caught on each other, causing their scraping song to ring out to the riled masses surrounding them.
"The younger generation should know when to yield under the strength of a stronger opponent!" Kafka shouted out as he leaned his upper body weight over Reno, making the shorter man buckle under him just the slightest.
"When you find one stronger than me, feel free to send them up from hell!" Reno, defiant to the end, held on to his quickly wasting strength as long as he could, waiting until Kafka leaned so far over him it looked like he was going to crush the prodigy.
At the last second, just as it was about to look like Reno's legs were to buckle out from under him, he tilted his whole body and elbowed Kafka right into the wounded side. Kafka made the most agonized of cries and rolled away from the attack.
Back at the pulvinar, Narumi had finally had enough of sitting around and had decided to at least watch the supposed downfall of the world's worst gladiator.
"What is it about him that you like so much?" Narumi asked his brother-in-law as the fight took a long dramatic pause.
At first, it seemed like Hoshina didn't hear him, but after a weighty moment he finally answered with "He makes me laugh."
"You don't seem to be laughing now." The Commander retorted, "Shall I just assume that your laugh echoes around in that empty heart of yours until it dissipates into nothingness?"
Hoshina didn't answer in any verbal fashion and only graced his guest with a sidelong glance, the look itself speaking volumes with a subtle crook of his lips. As the fight drew to it's inevitable close, Narumi looked on as Kafka was dragged before the Emperor by his hair and took a contemplative sip of his wine.
"He's the worst gladiator I've ever seen, and yet you make him fight for you every day. If this is how you show affection, it's only in the most twisted sense of the word."
"Dearest, something tells me your brother can't see what's practically right in front of his face." Hoshina slyly commented as the stadium waited with bated breath for his official answer on the fight's conclusion.
Narumi tossed a bewildered look, shrugging and shaking his shoulders as he looked back towards his sister who hadn't left her languid pose. Mina bit back a knowing giggle as she pulled a date pit from her mouth and placed it on the table next to her.
"He hasn't been around us long, so do give him a pass on not picking up on this fact, My Love." She called out as her hand came together under her chin to frame her face.
"And that would be?" Narumi's tone dragged on with irritation, not being fond of this verbal game of hiding hints.
Mina plucked on the edges of her toga, pulling up the hem of it so its color could catch the light and draw attention to its odd choice of hue.
"He prefers all of his most prized possessions to be drenched in red." Her tongue rolled around the emphasis as to not let the point be muddled no longer.
As the crowd around the colosseum erupted into violent applause once witnessing the answer their Emperor gave to the victors, a cold thought dawned on Narumi's mind. He was not one to shy away from violence, couldn't be the type in his profession of choice, but as he turned to look back at the ring, he saw the fight with a fresh sense of understanding. Kafka, with his beads of sweat glittering like dew, shallow gashes dripping blood as red as gems, and his broad chest flexing like a labored beast. He was on his knees and held back by the other gladiator's grip on his hair. With his hands behind his head, he would have looked like a criminal caught and trapped... if it wasn't for that sick grin splitting across his face. A cheeky slip of the tongue dipped out and smeared a drop of blood that was trailing across the top of Kafka's lip, an action that spoke of defiance but didn't carry to his eyes. No, his eyes reflected the look of submission, and was met with Hoshina's look of quiet conquest. A look that appeared to be far too comfortable on the Emperor's face for Narumi's liking.
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There was a distinct change in the air a few days later after the start of the games. A dark static haze seemed to sleep into the warm grey clouds that dotted the skies above. There was nothing odd or preordained about today, nothing in the air or news that would bring about such a heavy weight about one's shoulders. Still, the royal couple couldn't shake this incoming sense of dread. What's worse is that the beginning of their day felt the same as any other. True, they had spent most of their day wondering where the hell Mina's troublesome brother had wandered off too, but they kept up their needed, unbothered appearance despite his absence.
With the start of their day staying uneventful, the sun rushed past and shone its light onto the towering walls of the colosseum once more. Hoshina stayed sitting for most of the games, directing his answers through his advisor and choosing to grind his teeth on the edge of his goblet, the only sigh he would let himself utilize to express this unnerving feeling of his. Mina on the other hand could bring herself to sit still for once. She quite liked the royal seats inside the stadium most days, a place to be entertained and stay out of the sun. The view wasn't all that appalling on the eyes either, watching two or more grown men roughhousing wildly for everyone's attention while the sand clung to their bodies glowing with a healthy sheen of sweat. But today there was only one man she wanted to see, outside of her husband that is, and he hadn't shown up in the list of fights so far and it was starting to weigh on her mind.
"Our Kafka is expected to show up in the ring today, correct?" She asked as he watched another brutal looking fight draw itself to a close.
"I sent word for an answer." Hoshina growled out between his teeth on the cup's rim, "Apparently he's forced a change in schedule."
"Odd. He doesn't usually wield his authority over stadium matters so definitively." Mina crooned with a hint of worry.
Hoshina only groaned openly in response, taking a break from chewing a hole into the cup long enough to take a sip from it. Somewhere behind them, a servant announced the arrival of Mina's brother entering their reserved seating.
"And where have you been? It's been difficult to get any idea as to where you've wandered off to." Mina spoke with dripping, but misplaced distain.
"Wow, and who poisoned your cup with malice this morning?" Narumi spoke with a deadpan tone, "I just felt like missing out on a few of the earlier games is all. Everyone knows that the more entertaining fights take place later in the evening."
"Sorry. I'm... It's just..." Mina looked somewhat genuine in her apology as she stumbled through the rest of her sentence, an expression Narumi wasn't used to seeing on her, "There's just something that feels... wrong. About today. Neither me nor Dearest can quite place a finger on it."
"Neither you nor Dearest, huh?" Narumi parroted with mild disinterest as he cheeked the tip of his tongue, "Is this before or after you've watched your Favorite Fighter beat himself senseless with his own mishandling of weapons?" He rolled his eyes. being dismissive as ever.
"That's the problem. He hasn't shown up yet." Hoshina mentioned as he finally rose from his seat to join his wife at the balcony wall.
"Damn, really? I was hoping to have missed his fight by now." Narumi grumbled as he waved down a handmaid for a glass of wine.
Almost as if speaking about him drew up his appearance, the announcer in the center of the ring called out through his megaphone out to the audience, letting them know that the next fight up was to be a particularly gory one.
"Interesting. I wasn't aware there was to be an execution on the roster for today." Hoshina muttered as he watched the announcer walk away to let the competitors have the floor.
"You don't think...?" Mina whispered into her husband's ear, causing him to face her with his stony face cracked with concern.
As the three of them watched the gladiators walk out to the center stage, they all developed different expressions in response to who was let out of their cages. Hoshina's expression looked unchanged from a distance, but his wife could clearly see some sense of pity forming in those glassy eyes of his. For who, she did not know. Mina herself was feeling particularly dreadful as she witnessed who was walking out onto the sands of the colosseum. All that morning's alarming premonitions coming to fruition once she recognized who was out there. Narumi however, was quickly becoming overjoyed.
"Oh, hey! That's my guy!" Narumi chuckled once he saw his freshly acquired gladiator making the round and riling up the packed seats in the stadium, "And is that...? No way! It's him!"
Narumi's grin split his face even wider once he saw Kafka was in the arena, "I can't believe it! Your prized gladiator is in a fight! A real fight! To the death even! Oh, I can't believe it!" He quickly shifted his view from the two below him to the two next to him, oblivious to the energy in the room, "I didn't think your husband had the guts! Finally, finally! I'm going to see some real action!"
"Remind me again, what's your prized champion's win streak?" Hoshina gritted out, opting to say that instead of anything more inflamitory.
"Oh, he doesn't have one yet." Narumi was quick to correct, "This will technically be his first, in-house fight. Oooh! And a death match at that! This ought to be fun!"
"And where did you say you picked him up at?" Mina continued her husband's interrogation, dreading what Kafka might be putting himself up against.
"Escaping some prison in some island off the coast." Narumi mentioned smugly from behind his glass of wine, "Some bounty hunters caught him and were escorting him back as I just so happens to pass by. He looks rather impressive, don't you think? He's some northern mutt of some sort, I honestly couldn't care more about it, but he certainly looks striking out in the ring, right?" His enthusiastic explanation was met with a pair of rather cold shoulders as they all looked down at the fighters centered in the ring.
Even at their distance, the lovers could tell something was off about their beloved champion. While the other man showed a clear understanding of gladiator showmanship, Kafka displayed none of his usual opening bravado. He circled a slow, wide ring around the other man, stalking him like a lion would observe his kill. He was even dressed differently than his usual garb when he fought. He wore no helmet and no armor. Nothing covering his limbs or chest like before, staying simply dressed with only his battle kilt to his name. Kafka wasn't even wearing shoes, letting the scorching sand burn his feet, letting the pain blaze through his senses and awakening something deeper within him.
Even the choice of weapons where different. While the other guy had several weapons lined up on racks placed several feet apart from him and each other, Kafka appeared to come out already armed. On his hands were a set of spiked cestus, little more than brass spikes bolted to a hardened leather plate strapped to his fists. They didn't even provide protection past his wrists. The weapons strapped to his calves was an even more odd sight. Bands upon bands of meticulously wrapped leather cord circled his lower legs, holding in place a humble farmer's sickle that had been bent backwards to have the bladed edge pointed outward.
Mina and Hoshina recognized the setup from before. Even with the space between them, they knew what those tools of death looked like from when they got to see them up close. The leather on the cestus was covered in deep gashes with several of the spikes having been dulled or broken off from overuse. They did nothing to distract from the powerful paws they covered underneath. Those simple farming tools strapped to his legs once had their days in the happy sun, cutting down stalks of wheat in the fields, but now were covered in patches of old rust and older blood. Like the spurs of a fighting rooster, they had dealt more violence than what they were meant to see. Their Sweet Gryphon, they passed between themselves but never to him. Never to him. Kafka struggled enough with receiving their affection, so they lived in fear of thinking that a simple little pet name would be the knife that cuts him away from them.
The announcer blew a horn to start the fight, a sound that made Mina jump from its almost finalizing presence. The larger, long blond haired man passed his hand lightly over the racks of weapons, eyeing each one down with silent fervor before looked back to Kafka.
"You know... with as demanding as you were earlier to have this fight, I'd have expected you to look more prepared." The foreign fighter called out loud enough to be picked up by the stadium as he picked up a weighty spear, twirling it into the air for show, "And yet you come out here... expecting your worn out scraps of leather to stave you from my fury."
Kafka spoke nothing, just continued to circle the newcomer with a silent, but roaring fury not seen in a few years. It was noticeable enough to even silence the crowd around them, the older ones within remembering what happened the last time the jester of the court fell this silent. The blond fighter gave a prideful laugh before charging Kafka head on. The Norseman whipped the spear around him, expecting contact on every blow but came up empty. Kafka stayed close as he weaved around the barrage, missing them all by hair's width. Before he broke away from the attack, Kafka made sure to land a blow right to the ribs, digging the remains of the spikes up, under, and through the bottom set of ribs. It felt like they were getting hooked out of the other's skin, but only caused a nasty scrape of flesh to be removed.
The man stumbled away, not expecting this level of pain. A hand came up to the injury and came away with a light smattering of blood. Surprised, but not shaken, the man twirled his spear once more before attempting to charge again. Kafka met him halfway through the charge and ducked behind again, landing flat blows this time as he rounded his target. The new gladiator attempted to strike without turning by flipping the spear to stab behind him. Not only did Kafka block the blow, he grabbed the offending arm, twisted it over the man's shoulder, and proceeded to leverage his weight into throwing the man over him till he was face down in the sand. It infuriated him further when Kafka didn't even take any strikes of opportunity and just walked away in silence.
As the fighter spat the blood that was pooling in his mouth from where he accidentally bit his tongue as he landed, the noticeable clatter of a sword falling onto the sand in front of him made it clear that his weapon of choice had been replaced for him. Meeting each other in the eyes, the Nord picked up the sword, but didn't charge just yet as he sensed that this fight wasn't about to go as planned. From the crowd around them, there was a smattering of jeers and rude calls for more action and blood, but for the most part the stadium was silent. Almost as if the whole world in that moment was holding its breath, not wanting anything to interrupt them seeing what could happen next. One voice from the crowd was clearly out of the loop as he seemed to scream his displeasure out more than the rest. Mina tried her best to not show that she was against watching Kafka fight, but would still find her face buried into the forearm of her husband as she tried to tune out her brother's vocal disappointment.
Inside the ring, the other fighter had picked up a Roman shield to match the sword given to him. He held both of them out to his sides, a display of overwhelming confidence to others but a silent sneer of permission towards his opponent, asking them if their choice was agreeable. Kafka still said nothing, his face as unchanging as the walls around them as he moved into a more defensive position with his fists closer to his face and his body tilted to the side. He bounced on his toes over the burning sand as he waved his fist in a "come get me" motion, eliciting a primal roar from the newcomer. He charged forward again, moving the shield in front in hopes to block any punch Kafka would throw. Instead of moving out of the way, Kafka met the shield with a shoulder check, keeping his fists in front of him as the sword came around the front to stab at him.
As Kafka felt the shield pull back towards the opponent's body, he rolled into the motion and grabbed the far edge of the shield. Holding onto it helped him turn tightly behind the man's guard and led him to land his sharply shaped elbow right as the base of the blond man's neck. Disoriented from the blow, the gladiator felt himself stumble forward and didn't get the chance to realize how open he was left as he felt another blow to his arm. This wasn't like any of Kafka's punches that he had thrown so far, this one burned in a straight line across the top of the joint where the meat of the arm met the shoulder. Kafka had thrown his leg up high and brought the blade that ran along his calf right onto the shoulder that held the shield, cutting right through the important tendons found there as the leg pulled away. The Nord managed to not drop his sword from the pain and stumbled even further away to check the wound and to not drop his eyes off of his enemy.
The knuckles on his fist pulled away red as he felt the warm blood gush from the brutal slash, running in red rivers down his arm, chest, and back. He dropped the shield, the weight it added only making the pain worse as he understood how his whole arm had been rendered completely useless.
"Something tells me, and I could be wrong here." The other fighter's joke rolled out like wagon wheels over gravel as he spat out more blood, "That I've done something to piss you off."
"The assumption could be made." Kafka answered back, talking to him for the first time since the Nord arrived to the colosseum.
His posture hadn't relaxed even with the distance between them, never pulling his fists away from his face nor unclenching his stance as a whole. Kafka had always appeared relaxed in the ring, even as blades pierced and tore at his skin he would still drop his body's guard for one reason or another. But ever since the horn had been called to start their battle, Kafka hadn't let up in any way, shape, or form. Even as they circled each other again, even when the Nord made some passing sweeps of his sword to chase away any potential advances on Kafka's part, Kafka kept his frame tighter than a drawn bow. He had the stance of a predator, stalking another predator it had deemed unworthy of becoming nothing more than prey. Not a threat to be taken lightly, but an unfortunate victim that was soon to be made an example of. A showcase of why Kafka preferred to stay as the "Funny" one.
"You know what? I think I know what this is about." The Norseman heaved as the pain from the previous blow spread to the rest of his chest, "This is about that pitcher girl I was hound'n after, huh?"
Kafka said nothing, but his fighter's frame betrayed his thoughts as all of his glimmering muscles trembled from a newer sense of tension. The other gladiator smirked dirtily as he confirmed, blood staining his teeth pink in the glare of the bright sun.
"What is she to you? A daughter? A friend?" The other man taunted with labored breathing as he rolled his one functioning shoulder, "One thing's for sure, you're sweet on her. If I had known that you wanted a taste, I would have saved you a round if you'd ask-" The man never got to finish his sentence. And after this fight, he never would start another.
Kafka had crossed the fiery expanse of sand faster than anyone could blink, which was good considering that if anyone did right then they would have missed out on the rest of the fight. The speed at which Kafka threw his punches would have made the god Mercury pale at the sight. The Norseman didn't even have time to swing his sword in those first few blows having been completely stunned by not only the speed at which Kafka closes the gap, but with the accompanying fury of strikes immediately afterwards. It almost looked like he was just standing there and taking his punishment with no attempt at retaliation. In truth, in that moment the man couldn't bring himself to even form a way in which he could through the pain now lighting his skin aflame.
The spikes of the cestus ripped open small tears that oozed more life-giving blood. Each blow knocked more wind out of the man's lungs than thought possible to contain. He felt the muscles in his chest practically becoming tenderized like thin steak as he felt his gaze being transfixed by Kafka's. If a gorgon's glare is what turns a man to stone from fear, then Kafka's was the closest to feeling the fiery gates of oppressive damnation itself bearing down on one's soul. Somehow, the other gladiator found some residual strength within himself to break away if just for a moment long enough to swing his sword in defense, but with as much rage that roared through Kafka's blood in that same moment, there wasn't anything the man could do to save himself at that point.
As the sword tried to come into play, Kafka not only deflected the blow but ripped the sword out from the other's hands all together. And for such a crime that was thinking he could be saved, his other arm was snapped backward at the elbow. In a desperate flail, the man tried to throw a kick, but was only met with the sharp and jagged pain of those rusted leg blades cutting into the meat of his supporting leg. As the graceless opponent fell to the hot sands of the arena, Kafka stood over him, taking in the fool's cowering stance. It seemed to have finally dawned on the man that he wasn't going to see the light of another day and did what only other thing a bastard in his situation could do- pray.
"I don't know what afterlife you barbarians submit too," The man wheezed as he did his best to scoot away, buying himself some time for his last words, "But where I'm from, death in battle is the most rewarded." He did his best to smile defiantly through the pain, but the pain shooting in from both of his arms caused it to be layered over the pain in his chest and threw him into a coughing fit for a brief moment.
"Something tells me it's too late to ask for a quick death. That's fine" He hissed out as he tried to sit up, "You've already done me a great honor... whether you like it or not."
Kafka only stood there and stared, his shadow casting over his quietly broiling glare and onto the fatally wounded man. He could just walk away right now and let the severity of his injuries pull the bastard into that never ending sleep. That didn't feel like nearly enough punishment for Kafka, but there was only so much time allowed in the ring to dole out retribution onto the deserving. His head only moved just enough to look his emperor in the eye. Hoshina had been watching the whole time, his eyes never straying far from the onslaught being created in his name. Well, that's what the public saw on the outside. On the inside, Hoshina knew that this battle wasn't for him, he wasn't even in consideration when Kafka made the decision to drag his unsuspecting victim out into the sick light of brutalistic justice. On the outside, they were just Ruler and Subject, King and Servant, Emperor and Gladiator. On the outside, Hoshina was supposed to be the one who made all the rules. On the inside, he knew what Kafka was asking of him in the silence between them.
The crowd, who had been cheering their lungs out with every punch making their mark with no recess, were now stunned into anticipated silence. Only the squawking birds overhead and the collective heart beats of over eighty thousand spectators rattled the anxious quiet as they waited for their Emperor to make a decision. There was only one decision to make in Hoshina's eyes- he raised his fist to the sky and pointed his thumb down. The colosseum erupted into feral screams- calling, shouting, preying for blood. The Norseman closed his eyes and went limp, awaiting for whatever form his inevitable end would take. He was taken by complete surprise anyway when he felt the expanse of Kafka's hand branch itself over his whole face.
The pressure from the victor's fingertips grew into blinding, white hot pinpricks of pain on the side's of the other man's face. As he felt himself getting lifted into the air slowly by the painful grip, his own hands scrambled for purchase on Kafka's wrists in a hopeless attempt to ease the pain now leveraged on his temples. The pressure and the pain only grew stronger as he felt himself brought to a hung position where his knees just barely dangled over the ground. While most of his face was covered, the Norseman could still see out of one eye, that same eye that met Kafka's impassioned glare filled with vitriol with his own look of inescapable fear. With just a second longer than humanly possible, Kafka then suddenly dropped to one knee and proceeded to bash the man's skull into the ground.
Over and over and over again, the soft, hot sand under them was not enough to cushion the blows being dealt by the raging gladiator. The blood from the back of the head soaked into the sand as it continued to be caved in from the force. The grip Kafka had on the head did let up and even grew stronger with the size of the blood pool growing across the ground. The strength of the grip had even managed to pop out the one eye that could escape between Kafka's wizend fingers. A horn was blown at some point to signify the end of the fight, but Kafka could hear it over the screams of his own blood rushing in his ears. A couple of other gladiators had escaped their holding n the outside of the stage and did their best to pry an enraged Kafka off of the clearly dead man. Kafka reflexively fought against their hold on him, but as he was pulled further and further away from the body his senses came back to him.
He pulled away from them for a brief moment once they thought his rage had been subsided and dove back for the body. While they thought their friend's rage had reignited, Kafka only went back to rip the popped eyeball off of the corpse and left in a much more calm manner than what would expect. Over in the pulvinar, an indignant, squeaky voice raged at the unfortunate circumstance that was his payed for prized fighter's first time in the ring ending in his rather spectacular death. Hoshina turned to his worried wife and whispered an order to her to be passed on to the servants. He stayed behind purely for his image, wanting to make it look like he didn't want to run down the colosseum stairs and check in on his own prized fighter.
While the next fight was being set up, Kafka was behind the inner walls of the colosseum, ambling his way through in a daze. It had been a while since he had exerted himself to such a degree, and a much longer time from when he had taken a life. A quiet, breathy chant echoed through his buzzing head, trying to tell him it was necessary, that he had to go, that this is what he was here to do. The stench of the animals and other men, the texture of the grainy walls roughing up his palms as he stumbled along them for support, the sense of vertigo stemming from the immediate switch-up from the oppressive heat outside dropping to the cooler temperature of the underground tunnels, all of it made for a more grounding presence than the voice of pity and apathy that rattled around in his head. The other gladiators could barely meet his shaken gaze, if they even looked his way at all. It wasn't out of disgust or fear, but the reason behind the pity and apathy that swam in his head.
Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, a ripple of pure white cloth and the sound of water sloshing against the sides of a vase. A girl that looked so deceptively young, but already carried herself with the weight of the world slowly made her way over in his direction. Her eyes were focused on the ground and her hands held on diligently to the clay pitcher in her thin arms. The toga was large enough to swallow her whole, but Kafka could remember the darkly blooming bruises crawling up her arms just fine. His voice rasped as it left his mouth, but it was loud enough to catch her attention. He waved her over to a small empty alcove so they could get out of the way of the other passer-bys in the tunnel they were in. He silently held out his hand, asking for the pitcher with no words and waited for her to hand it over on her own time. He took several large gulps and dumped the rest of the water over his head, drenching himself in an effort to clear his burning head. The girl quietly took the pitcher back and watched the rivulets of water run down his already gleaming chest, not really thinking anything other than awaiting other orders.
Kafka watched her back, trying to see if there way anything about the way she looked or carried herself that would betray what she was thinking. If there was anything troubling her mind that he could intervene in for her sake. When he saw nothing when she looked at him with blank expectation, he decided to reveal what was in his fist. A look of fear mixed with recognition flashed through her soft eyes before she steeled herself by looking into Kafka's.
"That... wasn't necessary." The girl spoke in tones barely above a whisper, "No one's supposed to care too much of a servant girl." She did her best not to look too long at the eyeball dangling from his fingers, but it was hard to ignore completely.
"I only do... what's necessary. Everyone is worth what is necessary." Kafka explained firmly, making sure she was looking him in the eye as he dropped the one in his hand into the wide slats of the metal sewer grate beneath them.
Neither of them said anything else as Kafka stepped away first, leaving the nameless servant girl to rest her shaking frame against the cool stone wall. He would have stayed around longer, but knew he would be summoned soon to the palace considering what just happened. Kafka grabbed a sheet of cloth to cover himself with as he continued up and out of the colosseum underground halls, landing onto the bustling city streets surrounding the place. The complex noises of the lively city life quickly filled the empty spaces in his head as he made his way down the road toward the place he hesitated to call a second home. He did still take his time on his wandering path there, stopping at various booths for food and cooing over fascinating trinkets or works of art. All of it to distract himself and make him feel normal for all of five minutes before it was all inevitably shattered again.
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He eventually made it to the servant's entrance of the palace. An entryway that still startled him with reminding him how familiar Kafka was with the layout and location. All the way through the palace walls, visions of another life cut into the back of his mind as he looked up on the decorative walls of such a noble house. A life filled with wheat fields and sunny days haunted his vision as he looked at the elaborate mosaic murals on the wall. The laughter of a family, a different one than the kind he hears littering the halls of the colosseum gave the illusion of their presence nearby. A lie he hadn't given into for a long, long while. Those days were so far behind him that holding onto them would leave no room in his hands to hold on to the present.
He had finally made his way into he royal bedchambers, shockingly enough without having seen anyone on the way there. Kafka knew he would be there before the noble couple would show up from their trip back from the games, but he usually saw at least one handmaiden or other on his way here. The day had given him a small miracle it seems as he was in no shape to hide. He took a rag off of a table near the doorway so he could dust off his still bare feet before he stepped on any rugs. The two of them hated when he tracked in dirt, but didn't seem to mind it when he came covered in blood- an odd hypocrisy Kafka came to accept.
The bedroom itself was as odd as the couple that inhabited it. It was a little more than a walled in porch with it fenced in on three sides, but the back was opened out onto a veranda that overlooked an olive farm on the grounds. The bed was parallel to the outside opening as if anyone from the field could look in and see who was still sleeping the day away. Off to the left was a separated room that was no more closed off than the other side of the room it bordered. From where he stood, he could see the oversized stone tub and the wafts of steam that drifted up from its hidden surface. As much as his sore muscles yearned for the hot water in the other room, he had one more thing he wanted to take care of.
Right before the long footstool before the bed on the side he was facing, Kafka knelt to the ground. He took care to reach behind him and undo some of the wraps that held the blades against his calves so they could be removed, preventing him from impaling his own ass on them. Sitting fully on his legs now, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He slowly lowered his upper half to the floor, hands under his head in a deep, respectful prayer. His mind cleared from the events of today, just long enough for him to form the words in his mind that would ring out every time he performed this little ritual of his.
It wasn't a long prayer. Short and sufficient and to the point. Kafka knew where he stood in life, he always had. It helped that it seemed that life would remind him on occasion with its various trials and tribulations specifically built to test him. To remind him that as much as he wants to run from it, his actions and the actions of others will always lead him right back here. And despite it all, he had to be grateful. Grateful that, despite the blood on his hands, he still had people around him who would love him unconditionally. Even if it felt like, under the surface of that love, it came at a price he didn't feel like paying.
With a deep breath outward, he rose his head up from the floor, eyes still close and catching himself enjoying the breeze that ran wild down the hills from outside. From behind him, Kafka felt the intrusion of another presence. They were hardly separated from each other most days, even when he wasn't around, so at this point it felt like the two of them were one person to Kafka. He tossed a glance behind him to see Mina and Hoshina standing in the doorway behind him, watching him complete his little habit in silence. Emperor and Empress, giving respect to a man that should have been more of a stranger to them. And yet... here they all were.
"You remembered to clean yourself up before tracking the remains of the road all over the rug." Emperor Hoshina spoke up first, an amused smile breaking across his face for what might be the first time that day.
"Good boy." He finished as he peeled himself off of the frame and came closer to Kafka, ruffling the shortened hair on his head like how one would treat a beloved dog.
"Hoshina, you know better than to tease him like that." Mina scolded with only mild authority.
"I can't help it!" Hoshina fired back with a light laugh, "He looks so cute when he's on his knees like this." He pulled away from Kafka and moved towards the bath in the other room, "MInd getting him ready darling? I'm going to shoo away any potential nosy nymphs that could be lingering."
The two that were left watched their shared lover walk away before looking at each other. Kafka held his wrists up to the side of him. silently pleading with his eyes for help with his cestus. Mina gave a soft smile as she strode over, her red toga wafting around her practiced movements. Settling on her knees next to him, she made slow work over releasing his hands from their battered leather cages. Once released and placed on the floor next to the blades, she brought those hands to her lips. Those same hands that took a life earlier that day and had taken several before, given a dose of care not many would give to a man like him. She then placed a rather chaste kiss on his cooled forehead and rose to her feet, offering her hand to help Kafka up from his.
She led him into the other room, just in time to find their lover already stripped bare and walking towards the curtains on the other side of the room, drawing them close for an added illusion of privacy. With the fabric being so light that the slightest summer breeze nearly blew them back open, the illusion was a thin, barely living concept than anything actually protective. The Emperor babbled on about being so brilliant to have sent off most of the servants away for the day to have an elongated period of privacy, but no one was really listening. Kafka helped Mina strip down and handed the garment off to Hoshina to be whisked away to an awaiting empty table. Before She could help him in return, Kafka had swept her off her feet, making her squeal in surprise as he lowered her into the steaming hot bath water.
He tried to get undressed by himself, but as usual Hoshina drifted in behind him and caught the large gladiator by surprise, pantsing him unexplainably quickly and snatching his battle skirt away as easily as a hawk snatched prey. Hoshina had a coy smile to match Kafka's irritated sneer as the Emperor continued to retell what his day looked like before coming to the games as Kafka just busied himself with properly scrubbing off any bits of the colosseum that still clung to his skin. By the time he finished, the royal couple were already stewing in the bath, engaged in causal, comfortable conversation while casting inconspicuous but increasingly expectant glances in Kafka's direction.
Once he finished making himself more presentable, Kafka finally joined the other two in the hot bath. Both of the royal couple held out a hand for him to hold onto as he lowered one leg into the rippling water, hissing at the sensation as it sunk beneath the surface. Slowly moving his way deeper and deeper into the tub, Kafka eventually settled into place in his spot that had been carved out from him by the other two, which is to say right in the middle of them. Once his back and ass had hit the side wall of the tub, he wasted no time in dunking himself beneath the warm water, keeping himself suspended under it for a long period of time. The other two watched him from above, keeping a silent lookout for him as he rested peacefully. Mina did have to swat her husband's hand away as he made an attempt to disturb Kafka's brief slumber.
Kafka came back up with a low groan as he pushed his sopping hair off his forehead, "So, hows that feeling of impending doom? Still hanging around at all?" He asked casually as he wrapped both of his large arms around each of their shoulders.
"Oh good, you were listening." Hoshina joked as he snuggled in deeper into the embrace, "Seems to have flown away, now that you're here."
"This has been a rough day... for all of us it seems." Mina added on as she wrapped an arm around Kafka's stomach like a weak side hug.
"Well, we're together now." Kafka sighed as he relaxed against the wall of the tub, "And that's all that matters."
They let the quiet from the outskirts of town settle into the room. It was far different from what quiet sounded like in the center of town. In the middle of town, there was still a rumble of noise that blanketed the streets like a fog. There would always be groups of people milling about, some of them hawking their wares, though probably not as loudly as the day drew to an end. The farther you got away from town, the more the noise that permeated the background of one's mind turned more into the subtle cry in insects relishing in the darkening of the sky. It could be just as loud as the city some nights as the droves of bugs came together to form the beginnings of a nightly symphony. If one listened closely, you could pinpoint the sound of a cart's wooden wheels making their way over the cobblestones far from the manor. It was an easy sort of quiet, the type that Kafka preferred over the more busy sounds of the inner city that the colosseum was located in.
But like anything else that Kafka enjoyed or found nice, he wasn't able to hold onto it for long.
"Kafka..." Mina spoke up after a while, whether from finding herself bored of the silence or from having a pressing matter on the mind. Kafka hummed back in acknowledgement but didn't raise his head to make himself seem more interested.
"You would tell us if... if it became too much for you, right?" She finally asked, raising her gaze to look at him more closely.
"What would become too much for him? His whole job is to be able to take a beating." Hoshina quickly and tiredly dismissed, also not moving himself from his near-sleeping position to look more active in the conversation.
"Oh come on, can we at least try to talk about what happened today? We don't normally let a death be introduced so early into the schedule of the games." Mina removed herself from her side of Kafka's warm embrace so she could address the both of them properly, "I get that in matters of the ring, we leave it to the ones who know that life the best, but I have to say it does scare us when you adjust it so... on the fly like that."
"Yeah, I haven't apologized for that, have I?" Kafka slowly grumbled out, hoping to subtly change the topic without much effort.
"Don't bother, from the way that bastard spoke in the ring I sure he deserved it." Hoshina matched Kafka's leisurely way of answering, the two of them looking like a pair of cherries with as warm and red their skin had gotten from the warm water.
"That's exactly why I'm bringing this up!" Mina protested by splashing the water over the two of them, forcing them to wake up and look at her. She sighed as she took Kafka's hand and leaned back in the tub, massaging each finger with delicate love.
"You're supposed to be our silly fighter with the heart of gold. It pains me to see you drop that mask of yours for one that I don't think fits you as well." She watched on with an air of melancholy as Kafka pulled his hand away, the two of them looking at the appendage with the same thoughts in mind, whether they knew or not.
"I just think that we could give you a better life. Somewhere away from the violence. We could take care of you properly, Kafka." A soft hand came up to his face, making him face her worried eyes.
"Oh, Mina." Hoshina sighed as he leaned over more so he could be closer to her while not leaving the comfort of Kafka's soft body, "Mina, Mina, MinaMinaMina... You know what his answer is, you ask this every time he takes a life."
"And every time I feel like he could be given better!" Mina countered, "Where does it say we can't have someone roaming the grounds whose soul purpose is to be there for us! A pretty face to look at and a smooth voice to whisper in our ears when the day becomes too much. God knows he's been through enough to earn it!"
"He's right Mina, and you know it." Kafka soothed as he spoke softly, nuzzling the top of her head before placing a quick kiss. He leaned back against the tub and pulled his hand back out of the water to look at it again,
"I'm not just in this life because I was sold into it. I stay because of them. For them.I stay for the friend that I've made, the people that need help, and for anyone else who can't stand up for themselves." Kafka flexed the fingers in his hand, tensing the muscles in such a way that made the bones in his knuckles crack themselves back in place.
"And to make sure that damned, broken, bastards like him know their place in the world under the colosseum." A line spoken with an amount of barely repressed rage that it even sent a chill down both of his lover's backs.
The royal couple looked at each other with a range of emotions, all of which silently stating between them that this would be a topic to cover another time. Kafka looked at the silent words between them and could only bring himself to chuckle at them.
He piled his arms around their shoulders again, one hand squeezing around Mina's neck and the other scratching at Hoshina's scalp, "Like I said, don't worry about me too much. Today will serve as a fresh warning to anyone that tries to forgets the law of the world I help upkeep down there."
It was a long, funny story as to how Kafka ended up being at the beck and romantic call of the world's most powerful couple in the current days of Roman history. A story that never left the back of his mind every time he was left alone with them. It never failed to remind him that his place in their relationship was a fluke to begin with. It wasn't as if he didn't appreciate their love for him.
— OUT WITH A BANG ! [𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜] e42! miles morales, e1610!miles morales, spider noir, and hobie brown
𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ summer is coming to an end, which means carnivals are making their final rounds before closing for good. so, what better way to round off the summer than to take your lover to one?
a/n. — this is literally just me coping with the fact summer is ending (+ i ran out of motivation for hobie guys i’m so sorry)
E42!MILES, will never be that boyfriend who spends a lot of money (whether he has it or not) on carnival games. let alone spend an hour trying to win you a stuffed animal. if he doesn't win whatever you want in the first two tries, he'll just ask the stand worker if he can buy it from them. now, as ridiculous as it may sound, given the amount of money he offers on the spot, the workers sometimes just give in. rather having free money than a stuffed animal. you hate the fact that he bribes his way of getting it. you could’ve gone to build a bear if you wanted him to buy you a stuffed animal. but you didn't want that; you brought him to the carnival for a reason. for bonding time. and playing games together was apart of that. but did you intend to tell him? no. because it’d look like you’re forcing it, so you stated that bribery wouldn’t work (until it did). and if that were to happen, because miles can't let things go, a conversation can go something like this:
“told you i’d get it, princesa,” miles brags. he’s walking alongside you, a smirk on his face as he watches you holding your stuffed bear.
you just shake your head, choosing not to say anything to him. that way, you avoid giving him any form of satisfaction. the satisfaction of anything. even kissing if it came down to it.
he nudges your arm, and you just glare at him. he put up his hands in defense, saying, "my bad.”
you sigh, “c’mon, we need to go to the ticket booth.”
miles just snorts, resting a hand on your shoulder.
other than that, he really only comes for the food. he loves funnel cakes, and he'd carry your stuff while you went from ride to ride or game to game while he ate and watched.
not that he doesn't go on rides; it just depends on how he feels. he has unhealthy urges to feel the drop of his stomach on some days, but not on others. if you ask him enough times on a day when he doesn't want to go, he'll give in, but will give you the option of him going on that or the ferris wheel. he's not doing both.
E1610!MILES, spends half of his time at the carnival focused on the goldfish you won. making sure that it’s not knocked over or pushed around too much. it's better to go home at that point. because the longer you stay, he'll just rant about the fish needing a tank and wanting to get it out of the bag.
prior to the fish, he'd been really excited to go with you to the carnival. you two definitely planned this a week in advance so that he could make sure that his time was free, so he's been thinking about it nonstop for the past week.
after he waves goodbye to his parents, your hand is instantly grabbed and you two run to the rides together (him dragging you), and the rest is history.
i say that because the next hour ends in throw up. miles goes on every ride possible, so it's not just a small amount of vomit in his throat that he can swallow. it's a lot more than that. not exactly a pleasant memory, especially given the stares he received when he had his head hanging over a trash can. but it's all good, at least you two got to relax for a minute before getting up to play carnival games. a break is always helpful.
or maybe you should’ve stayed put and relaxed a little longer. maybe you wouldn't have ended up at the fish prize game that way. miles seemed to be more interested with the fish than with you…
SPIDERNOIR, is confused — but acts collected. the. entire. time. he might not show it, but he’s confused.
for starters, this would be the first time he'd ever been to a carnival that wasn't all live music and exotic animals; after all, it isn't the 1930s. he'd be sent to modern times (your dimension), where most games are rigged and rides need a little more attention and caution than is given.
he was wary of the rides once you explained how they operated. not only because of how they looked, but also because of a few incidences you told him about (you really should've left that part out). so he tried everything to keep you from getting on one. when you walked? he'd put his hand around your shoulder so that whenever he spotted a ride, he could walk the other way, dragging you along with him. he’s just trying to keep you safe. if you love carnival rides, you'd notice his actions and end up going on a ride against his will. after all, you didn't buy those tickets for nothing. he'd hold your stuff and wait for you just by the iron bars, eyes tracking your every move. when you get off, his hand is back over your shoulder, and he decides that under any circumstances, he isn't letting go.
instead, you'd spend the rest of your time at carnival games. somewhere that peter feels he can protect you. but you don't mind, not with him playing darts against you. he'd let you win only to watch you smile and brag about it, because if he didn't, he'd win, and that's not much of a prize, now is it?
gift giving is one of his love languages, and you can guarantee he’ll get you one here. he tries to win everything you want, and even after he's won you a couple of bears, he brings you flowers from the ground as something extra to give you. yeah. i’d call it a romantic act. it's like something out of a movie.
HOBIE, is in love with the rush of riding rollercoasters. that being said, he drags you on all the rides, and it's best not to ask questions because he'll just say, "the rides ain’t even scary, they ain’t got scary ones here." or “i’ll be righ’ by ya side, love.” when it comes down to it, if you really don't want to go on one, he won't make you. however, he will go on them by himself while you watch. then, when he gets off, he'll tell you all about his thoughts and feelings during the ride. you merely roll your eyes when he suggest you should've gone.
because it's packed, a hand is on your waist the entire time you two are walking, and he’s positioned behind you. if he thinks you're walking too fast, he'll pull your belt loops to get you closer. he's does it to keep you from being lost in the crowd, but he can't stop himself from lingering his fingers over the waistband of your jeans.
Security Breach: We Couldn’t Get a Better Place to Be Trapped In
“This was not a good idea,” Sums said, as she, Anya, Sans and Priya stood in front of the pizzaplex that had opened a month ago. Since then, a number of disappearances had wrecked the city, all of them being children. Anya had suggested that they ‘do a bit of investigating for the night just this once’ and after a long discussion which resulted in Anya jumping out of the window, led them there. “Well, now that we’re here, let’s get it over with,” Sans said, looking for a way in. “Maybe they left a window open….?” Priya’s voice faded away. A security bot came out of the kitchen entrance to dump some leftover pizza. They looked at each other. While the bot’s back was turned, they quietly and quickly slipped into the building. It was huge; they were nearly dumbfounded by the size of the kitchen. Priya noticed another security bot coming towards them. “Come on!” she hissed at the others and they began walking towards the door, careful not to make much noise. Pushing open the doors, they were greeted with the majestic sight of the atrium. This time they were really awestruck by the sheer extent of the place. Therefore, they didn’t notice the security bot sneaking up on them and sounding an alarm. Shocked, they shook themselves out of their stupor and began racing towards the kitchen. A flashlight shone out of the darkness at them. A woman, presumably the security guard looked at them with disbelief and anger. “What on earth are you four doing here?! I-HEY!”
The four of them just ran for it. They ran without knowing where they were going and by the time they couldn’t see the guard anymore, they were completely lost. “Where……are………. we?” Anya asked, clutching the stitch at her side. Sans looked around and reported, “Looks like some kind of…. a daycare?” Priya looked up in amazement. “They even have a daycare?” At that moment, they heard the animatronics approaching. “I thought the animatronics were shut down for the night?!” Sums asked, panic in her voice. “Here! We have to hide here until they go away!” Anya said, pointed at the slide that lead to the daycare, and without further ado, slipped in. The three of them looked at each before going into the slide. When they reached the playground, it was lit. Anya was walking towards the counter with her flashlight in hand and was then fiddling with the fuse or something. “Anya! What the hell are you doing?!” Sans asked, horrified. Anya replied, still fiddling with the switch,” Trying-to-turn-off-the-DAMN LIGHTS!” she yelled and punched the light switch. Almost immediately, the lights turned off. But then they began flickering. “Great, now you’ve damaged it!” Sums angrily said to Anya. Anya simply shrugged and turned off her flashlight. Just then, they heard voices behind them. Terrified, the four of them ran for the numerous slides that lead to God knows where but hey at least, they would be safe right? Squeezing through tubes meant for toddlers weren’t fun, but now they were out of the direct line of whatever was there. Breathing heavily, the four of the them tried to listen what was happening. The flickering lights made it a lot more disturbing. They could hear one voice-deeper and slower- say, “I heard footsteps here! Someone is in the daycare after hours! They must be punished!” Then another voice, higher pitched and fast, say, “It was probably just the nightguards!” Again, the deeper voiced exclaimed angrily,” Why won’t you believe me?! I know that there’s someone there!” The higher pitched voice saying, ” I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but why would someone be here? It doesn’t make sense! And now the light’s going all crazy, so you have to come out too!” Priya peeked out and saw, to her horror, that it was an animatronic talking to itself. It seemed to shift according to the lights- it was the sun when the lights were on, and a very creepy moon when the lights weren’t on. All of them were frozen with fear. Anya’s foot twitched and she accidently kicked over a stack of cans. They went crashing down, echoing throughout the play area. The animatronic stopped. They heard Moon say, “Did you hear that?” quietly to Sun. Sun, petrified, replied, “I did.” As soon as Sun replied, the power went out. It was only Moon now. Sans, Sums, Priya and Anya looked at each other in fear; what would happen now?
Welcome to the DADWC! Here's a prompt for you! Dancing: Who’s dancing and why are they tapping those toes?
Hi! Thanks so much for the prompt. I packed a lot of angst into this one, so get ready @dadrunkwriting
Pairing: Thalia Trevelyan/Cullen Rutherford and Thalia Trevelyan/Blackwall (aka the Love Triangle That Never Ends, welcome to my own private shipping hell)
Word Count: 2052 (oops)
Mild content warning for references to PTSD, classism, institutional corruption. Everyone's a hot mess, also. Major spoilers for Blackwall's personal storyline.
***
Save Me A Dance
“Ow. I said left next, not right.”
Cullen grimaced, removing his heavily booted foot from Thalia’s stinging one. It was at least the twentieth time he had done so. “Sorry! Sorry. I’m just terrible at this, aren’t I?”
“That’s not true,” Thalia said, but her heart wasn’t in it. She glanced around his office, where they had been practicing, hands entwined and bodies nearly touching, for what felt like hours.
It has been hours, she realized, noticing that night had fallen outside the narrow stone windows, the already dim tower now bathed only in faint orange candlelight. She bit her lip and turned back to Cullen, studied his earnest face, the near-canine eagerness. He really was trying, but in all her years she had never endured such a clumsy dance partner. She slowly withdrew her fingers from his. “Maybe we ought to take a break. We can barely see anyhow.”
Cullen let out a sigh, scrubbing his palm down his face. “I’m going to tell Josephine I decline the invitation.”
“Cullen. Come on.” Thalia gave him a pleading look. “She’s already accepted. For both of us. The Comtesse is expecting the Inquisitor and the Commander at her fete, as a couple. Which means we’re required to—”
“Dance. Oh yes, I know.” He strode away from her, leaning against his desk. He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, as if fighting a headache. Maybe he was fighting a headache; it was difficult for her to tell, knowing how much pain he experienced that went unmentioned.
Thalia drew closer, running a list of comforting sentences through her head, but when he spoke again, she was unprepared for what he said.
“I’ve no idea what I’m doing. Templars never attended fetes. And before that, I was just a common peasant. I was sure I would grow up to herd cattle, not…” Words failed him, and he gestured helplessly in her direction instead.
“Save the world?” Thalia supplied, with a raised eyebrow.
His expression softened, to her relief. “No. I’m not sure that’s something most people would even find possible to accomplish.”
“Well,” Thalia said, drawing out the word, “we’ve been handling the world-saving, I think. All things considered. So dancing should be a piece of cake, right?”
Cullen shook his head. “You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?” Thalia frowned.
It concerned her when he spoke cryptically like this, when his voice caught in his throat and it was clear he saw things in his head he couldn’t name. She reached out to him, brushing his brow, tracing the shape of his jaw with its perpetual prickly stubble. He watched her with tender hazel eyes, stealing a kiss on her fingers as she touched the scar above his lip. She felt tingly and warm, despite the tightness in her chest.
“All this comes naturally to you,” Cullen said softly.
“‘All this?’”
He leaned back. “When did you first learn to dance?”
Thalia tried to recall. “Maker, I must have been six or seven, maybe? Father called for a dancing instructor all the way from Val Royeaux. You should have seen me, all elbows and knees, the worst of all my siblings.” She let a smile creep onto her face at the memory. “He used to rap us on the limbs with a broomstick if we didn’t maintain ‘proper posture.’”
She thought the anecdote would make him laugh, but Cullen’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “See? You were born to this. All this… frippery and— and decadence. You’re entitled to it, the fetes and the balls and the dancing instructors. I wouldn’t even be literate if not for the Chantry.”
Thalia blinked, hurt by his words. She knew it intimidated him: the trappings of nobility, how he had essentially come from nothing and now found himself in the upper echelons of power despite, in his view, doing nothing to earn it. Even trying to leave it, constantly finding himself wanting, although he’d been nothing short of a brilliant military leader — all because of his past and the scars, visible and not, that he bore from it. But to see her as an inherent part of that hierarchy, somehow complicit, somehow more deserving than him of — what? Literally anything? That made the anger flair inside her ribcage.
“Yes, well,” Thalia said breezily, “and thanks to the Chantry, I never got to dance very much, did I? You say templars never went to fetes? Mages didn’t either, if you’ll recall.”
Even in the dim light, she saw the color drain from his face. He lowered his head and averted his gaze. “I’m sorry. That was unkind of me to say. I forget sometimes, that you were once…”
Thalia sighed. “I forget too. About you, I mean.” It was difficult to reconcile sometimes, to imagine him in templar armor, as one of those who guarded her so coldly at the Ostwick Circle. Some refused to even make eye contact, for fear it would humanize their charges too much. It pained her to see Cullen doing it right now, staring so resolutely at his desk.
“Hey,” she said. “Look at me.”
He looked. Her stomach flip-flopped pleasantly. She wound her arms around his neck and leaned in close. “I do believe we’re better than the worst parts of ourselves, you know.”
A sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thank the Maker for that.”
They kissed until the pain in her chest eased. She hoped it was the same for him.
***
On the way back to her quarters, Thalia stepped off the stone steps from the battlements and saw the campfire blazing in the barn. Through the darkness, it wasn’t difficult to see the familiar silhouette sitting on a wooden stool, staring into the crackling flames. Alone, as usual.
Thalia froze, then looked around. At this hour of the evening, the courtyard was deserted. Don’t, she told herself, but like all the other times, her feet didn’t listen.
She stood behind him for several minutes, every word she could think to say to him stuck in her throat. She tried to tell herself to leave, but it never worked. We’re better than the worst parts of ourselves.
“Planning to gawk all night?” asked the man who wasn’t Blackwall.
Thalia started. She wanted to ask how he had known, having not turned his head in the slightest, but she knew by now that Grey Warden or not, he possessed many skills. She scoffed, “I’m not gawking.”
“Could have fooled me.” He raised a stein of beer to his lips. “You’re just like the rest when you do that.”
Thalia stood quietly, summoning her patience. She could tell by the hostility in his voice that she’d made a mistake in coming here. She was tired, hungry and her feet hurt, why did she have to subject herself to him as well?
“I’m not like the rest,” she said, taking a steadying breath. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
He let out a bitter chuckle. “Please.”
“Thom—”
“Do not call me that.” He turned at last, and she saw the fury in his pale eyes, reflected in the flames. It reminded her of the version of him infected with red lyrium, in the nightmare future she’d endured with Dorian. Back when it first occurred to her how much it would hurt, to lose a man as great as Warden Blackwall. “Sit and have a drink with me, or get out. I’m not interested in your pity or your excuses tonight, my lady.”
She nearly laughed. Such propriety. In an act of open defiance, she moved closer and took the seat beside him. The warmth of the fire felt good after the chill of Skyhold’s night air. He produced another stein filched from the tavern and filled it from a jug kept by his feet. Thalia took it from him, careful not to let her fingers touch his. Just the thought made her stomach clench. She took a deep drink of the sour ale, hoping he didn’t notice the tremble in her hand.
The silence stretched.
“How’s the Commander?” he asked at last.
Thalia swallowed thickly. “Fine. What’s it to you?”
“Nothing. I’m happy for you.”
“Are you?” Thalia tilted her head at him. “You don’t sound happy.”
“Don’t I? Well, I pray thee forgive me, O Greatest Inquisitor, conquerer of all Thedas.” He stood and gave her an exaggerated bow, gesturing with his stein as he did so. It was remarkably well-executed, and not a drop spilled. “I will henceforth express more appropriate emotion in thy presence, regardless of my true feelings on the matter.”
“Stop. Please.” Thalia hated seeing him like this, eaten alive by self-hatred. That was her fault, she knew, but she couldn’t let him face the noose in Val Royeaux, no matter what he’d begged her to do. “And don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t conquered all of Thedas.”
“Not yet.” A mean-spirited smirk peeked out from under his beard. “But with Commander Cullen at your side, nothing could stop you.”
That was his constant refrain, it seemed. Even before Cullen; before the awful truth; before Thalia ordered Leliana’s agents to smuggle him out of Orlais in the black of night; before he stood before her and faced judgment, calling her just as corrupt as the institutions she sought to overthrow — that was what Thom Rainier had told her, time and again. I just know you could shake this world to its foundations if you willed it. She’d once thought he spoke out of reverence. Only after everything did she recall the hint of foreboding in his voice.
“If you must know,” Thalia said haughtily, taking a sip of her ale, “nothing so nefarious is happening between myself and the Commander. In fact, I was teaching him to dance just now.”
As soon as she spoke, she knew it was a mistake. Cullen would hate having this information disclosed, especially to Blackwall. He cocked one eyebrow and slowly put aside his beer stein. “I’d have thought that would already be among his many talents.”
Thalia forced herself to shrug. “Please. He’s a busy man. When would he have had time?”
Without a word, Blackwall slid one hand behind his back and reached out with the other in the perfect gentlemanly posture. Thalia stared at him, stunned. “What?”
“Do you want this dance or not, my lady?”
“There’s no music,” Thalia protested, although she’d danced, tuneless, with Cullen for hours.
He bowed low, his intense gaze boring into hers. Thalia swallowed, put down her stein, and took his hand.
He pulled her close and held her with a firm grip, one confident hand finding her lower back. Thalia felt the air escape her lungs. She hadn’t been this close to him since the night they’d kissed. All of a sudden, the heat thrown from the fire felt stifling. He was a full head taller than her, and it was all she could do to focus on the stitching on his doublet sleeve, for fear of what might happen if she looked him in the eye.
He led the dance with deft footwork and rhythm, and she matched his step with instinctual grace. As they danced around the fire, Thalia did not dare to breathe, nor stop, even though she felt light-headed, and knew full well the barn was visible from Cullen’s office. It’s dark, she reminded herself. And we’re not doing anything wrong…
He twirled her, caught her, and dipped her low to the floor. She stared up at him for the long moment she was suspended in the air, but felt safe in his arms. He would never drop her, never betray her, no matter what anyone said. She trusted him completely. Even now.
Then it was over, and they parted, both breathing heavily from the exertion. Wisps of hair had fallen loose from Thalia’s bun, and she tucked them hastily behind her ears.
“Where on earth did you learn to do that?” she asked breathlessly.
The man who wasn’t Blackwall, the former Captain Thomas Rainier of the Orlesian army, once a Free Marcher peasant, who had played the Game and paid for it with everything he had, looked at her with a mixture of revulsion and lust. “Take one fucking guess.”
Notes: In my first play through, I never knew you could dance with your significant other at the ball in Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts – Thalia was too much of a disaster to pick between her two love interests at that point. So this is an imagining of how it would go with both of them, with alllll the emotional baggage between them.
hi! could you write a hobie x gn!reader where reader is his civilian s/o and he's taking care of then after they got caught up in some fight he was having with a villian?
CARETAKER
— Hobie Brown ★
PAIRING: HOBIE BROWN X GN!READER
A/N: this is the cutest thing ever because I stand by that hobie would be a great caretaker ☹️🫶
Hobie watched as you fell to the concrete ground with a yell. You weren’t supposed to be here and you weren’t supposed to get hurt. Hobie told you to stay inside but you were too stubborn to listen to him.
You saw him take a beating and rushed out to help him which only led to you getting hurt. Hobie finished off his fight with the villain and quickly alerted police to capture the criminal before he rushed over to you. “Y/n?,” he shook you slightly, “Please tell me you’re alright.”
After a moment of unbearable silence you coughed and nodded your head. Hobie let out a breath of relief and picked you up before swinging to your apartment. He climbed through the window with you still in his arms. It was moments like this he was grateful for his strength.
He led you both to the bathroom before putting you back in the ground. “Here, sit,” he said tapping the sink countertop. You climbed on it with a wince and watched as Hobie quickly got the first aid supplies.
He looked like a nervous wreck.
You put your head against the wall and listened to Hobie’s almost inaudible mutters from the other room about how ‘he told you to stay put’ and that ‘you’re too stubborn.’ Which you thought was slightly hypocritical coming from him but you didn’t say anything.
You could only imagine how scared he probably was. And you knew how he always wanted to keep you as far away from his job as possible.
He came back in the bathroom with the Medkit supplies and wasted no time in getting to work. He got disinfectant on a rag and lifted up your shirt. “It may sting,” he warned softly.
He watched you nod and he began to slowly wipe at the blood that was on your gash. Luckily it wasn’t too deep. You observed how his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and you listened to his low humming that took over the comfortable silence.
“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, “I just wanted to help you.” He looked up at you for a moment and shook his head as he wiped more of the blood off. “I know. T’s alright I was just worried about you is all.” You winced when he put a little too much pressure and he apologized.
You smiled to yourself at how loving and caring Hobie could be when he wanted to be. “You’re a cute nurse.” He gave you a playful scoff, “Always gotta tease me huh?” You giggled and watched how his somewhat stoic expression turned to a soft one with a gentle smile on his lips.
Hobie grabbed a large bandage and carefully put it on you. “There you go,” he patted your back, “All done.” He gave you a featherlight kiss to the bandage and then kissed your lips. You pulled away and hugged him. “Thank you, Hobs.”
“Of course, love. Just take it easy, yeah? Get some rest.”
“Ohh giving me orders now, doc?”
He shook his head as he rolled his eyes and gently lifted you up off of the counter making sure not to hurt you.
