#milk writes

[milkywaydrabbles]

omg can u do 11,25,40 for rindou kinktober in his rokuhara tandai unifrom!

A/N omg it's so crazy being back on here. I'm going to try to slowly clear out whatever is still in my inbox for the next few ish days. I feel a bit rusty writing this one, but for being out of the game for so long I do hope if you're still out there you enjoy it nonetheless!

Praise kink, uniform, cockbulge x Haitani Rindou

Tomorrow was going to be a big day for Rindou, you knew. A fight across different gangs, ‘battle of deities’ or something is what he kept mumbling to himself. You could see the excitement radiate off his being—he couldn’t wait to be a part of such a battle. You, on the other hand, were a mess about it. Rindou and you hadn’t been together for very long, not really—maybe about a year? And you were still adjusting to the gang life he lived. You loved him; you really did, so of course you didn’t say much about it but sometimes it was worrying, and the way he described this sounded well...scary to you. “Rin, are you sure you’ll be okay...?” You managed to get out as he changed, you wringing your hands together. “Come on, baby, don’t worry your pretty little head. It’ll be fine.” He snickered, finishing up the last button on his uniform before walking over to you and grabbing ahold of your hands. You looked up at him from the bed and stopped breathing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Rindou with his uniform on...he usually takes the time to change out before coming to see you or vice versa (something about wanting to make sure he wasn’t a mess for his baby). Your eyes scanned his clothing, seeing the detailing on the sides of the arms, the crisp embroidery of the gang name and their mantras, and noticing how the top dips just low enough to catch a small glimpse of the tattoo Rindou had on the right side of his body, only the tip of the iceberg of how tremendous of a piece it really was. You swallowed, trying to cure the dry mouth you suddenly had. 

The Haitani brother noticed how you stopped speaking, eyes no longer looking at him with concern but with lust. His brow arched, a smirk slowly taking over his features. “Cat caught your tongue, pretty?” He teased, taking one of your hands up to his chest. You shook your head, getting yourself out of the trance his uniform had put you in. “N-no, sorry, Rindou. I’ve...never seen you in your uniform..” You dared to look up at him with big doe eyes, small smile on your lips. “You look so handsome.” Your voice came out a whisper, nearly trembling. You really couldn’t take your eyes off him. Something about your man being in a uniform turning you on was not on your bingo card and yet you don’t think you could rip your eyes away from him if you wanted to. You heard him snicker, his free hand checking the time on his phone before sending a haphazard message to his brother and throwing it on the nightstand. “I had a meeting I had to get to but it looks like my pretty baby needs my attention.” Your hand that lay on his chest gripped at the fabric, tugging him down on you, begging for contact. Immediately he pushed you down onto the bed, capturing your mouth in a heated kiss that was all tongue and teeth, licking into your mouth. Rindou bit at your lower lip, hearing you whimper before diving back in to a kiss. Your hips rutted against the thigh that was in between your legs, not even a bit ashamed of how needy you were. Rindou pressed his thigh harder into your clothed cunt, releasing your mouth to trail kisses down your jaw and neck. “Fuck, baby, all riled up over my uniform?” He teased, and you felt the smile against your skin. His hands fumbled with the top few buttons before you gasped out and gripped his fingers. “W-wait...leave it on, Rin.”  You swore you saw horns grow on his head.

-

“Fuuuck, such a good girl sucking my dick.” He groaned, on his knees as you worshipped his cock like it was the answer to salvation. You were sloppy, spit bubbling on the sides of your mouth, eyes glazed over and hazy as you bobbed up and down on his length. Your thighs rubbed together, trying to get some friction for your aching cunt, hole clenching around nothing. He snickered, “Aw, you like it when I call you a good girl?” You nodded, taking more of him into your mouth. Your eyes fluttered open and closed, taking him in and all his uniformed glory. The stitched words on the front side of the uniform forming threatening idioms to all who dare get close—and instead for you, it’s making you tighten; your man so strong and high in the ranks. Rindou pet your head, moving the hair out of your face before tightening his hands on your roots and tugging you impossibly deeper on his cock. “My pretty baby doing so well for me—haa—making me feel so fucking good.” You preen, whining around him, throat gurgling as you continue to suck him off. The praise making your cunt leak down your thighs; all you wanted was to make Rindou feel good—too cockdrunk to think of anything else. “Keep going just like that, baby, fuck! Your mouth is so fucking good.” Rindou continued his slew of praises as he shifted his hands from your scalp to the sides of your face -- and began rutting into you relentlessly. He groaned, throwing his head back in ecstasy and slammed his cock into the back of your throat, balls slapping on your chin as you tried to keep up, focusing on breathing as to not choke. Your hands clawed at his clothed thighs, tears streaming down the corners of your eyes as you looked up at Rindou, taking in the sight of him in his black uniform, groaning in pure bliss as you made him feel so good. Your eyes rolled back at the sight; you couldn’t help it. Cumming around nothing, your hole gushed your juices down your legs, tightening and loosening as you came just by looking at his blissed-out face. Your whimpers and moans around his cock strung him along, hips stuttering as he got closer to his release. “Fuckfuckfuck, baby so good, swallow my cock, just like that justlikethat, fuuuuck.” Rindou pressed his pubes snug against your nose as he spurted into your throat, globs of cum trickling down into your mouth as you swallowed around him as not to waste a single drop. With a pop and a gasp from you, his dick was released from the confines of your mouth with saliva attaching your lips to his head. He looked down at you, fucked out just from sucking his dick and trembling from the aftermath of your orgasm. He couldn’t help but taunt you just a little bit. “Did my little baby cum just from sucking my dick?” His tone condescending. You shyly nodded anyways, answering him. “You look good in the uniform, Rin..” so meek. He tsked, pushing you back onto the bed and practically ripping your panties that were soaked through and tossing them to the side. “I gotta take good care of you now, precious.” 

Rindou loomed over you with authority, dragging you closer to his soaked cock still dripping cum. He slapped his head over your wet folds a few times, earning a whine from you as you wiggled towards him, trying to feel at least his tip. “Rin please~” You sobbed, as he dipped his cock head in and out of your little hole, just enough to make you clench but give you no real pleasure. “Tch” Rindou leaned enough to be able to grab at your throat and squeeze the sides of your neck. “I’ll get there, baby girl; just be good for me, mkay?” You nodded furiously, spreading your legs more to entice him. He groaned, letting himself sink into you down to the base, slowly pulling out just to slam back into you with enough force to make the bed creak. He continued to slam in and out, in and out, lost in your tight heat. Your moans and babbles egging him on. You angled yourself, trying to get him somehow deeper, unsure if it was even possible. And when Rindou looked down as you did so, he could have seen stars—his cock poking and prodding at your stomach, making it bulge out. 

“Oh fuck, babe, look at you. My big cock fucking you so good, yeah? Look at how deep it is—fucking into your stomach, baby.” Rindou was definitely losing control of himself, fingers tightening around your throat while his other hand gripped at your hip to keep you right there. Balls slapping against your ass as he pistoned deep in and out, the head of his dick pushing upwards into your stomach. “Taking me so well, sugar. ah fuck, your sweet pussy milking me.” He couldn’t stop staring at the bulge of your tummy, making him lose himself and closer to his release. You, on the other hand, were on the verge of fainting—dizzy with lust and lack of oxygen. “Rin, s’good, feels so good.” You cried, nails digging into his forearm as you were brought closer to your high. “Keep going, please, please, please—” you whined at a high pitch as you creamed around him, clenching and unclenching around his cock. You heard white noise ringing in your ears as he released your throat to bring that hand to the other side of your hip as he shot his hot load deep into your pussy, pushing all the way so the bulge stayed as he came. Slowly, Rindou cleaned you up as he kissed various parts of your body, whispering more praises and promises of making a safe return home before rushing off to meet the rest of the gang.

-

Rindou eventually made it to the tail end of the meeting, sneaking in and standing next to his brother, who scrunched up his nose in disgust. “Dude, seriously? You reek of sex.” He whispered. All Rindou could do was snicker.“Yeah. This uniform is gonna get me mad pussy.”

[rottingcheng]

In what way are YOU twinning with Shen Jiu?

passionately hate a child

betrayed by childhood loverfriend

passionately hate all men

can only sleep surrounded by beautiful kind women

everyone thinks you are evil/you are evil

cultivation will never be as strong as most of your fellow peak lords

was taught everything you know by a serial killer

it really looks like you killed liu qingge

limbless and living in pickle jar

other (write in tags)

Voting ended onJan 19

[milkteamoon]

The first and only girl Martin goes out with is openly bisexual.

He doesn't know if she counts, if he's being honest — it wasn't a crush, he knows that, and years down the line, when he thinks back to it, he can't remember them ever having a proper conversation about the whole status of their single-night relationship. He knows she had short hair, and sat in front of him in math class, and needed a date to the fall semi-formal so she'd asked if he was busy that weekend, and he'd said no, and then she'd asked if she could borrow a pen, and he'd said yes. He couldn't remember her name if he tried.

He does remember the pink and blue bracelet on her wrist that she'd worn to the event itself, and then to get ice cream after, where he'd sat on the curb of some old parking lot at the edge of town with her and her friends and her friends' boyfriends and her friends' boyfriends' friends, none of which were his friends, because Martin didn't have many of those. Except maybe the girl whose name he couldn't remember. Though he's not sure if maybe-probably-not-girlfriends count as friends too when you're in high school.

"D'you like it?" she'd asked once she'd noticed him staring, holding up her wrist and not seeming to care as ice cream dribbled down her spoon and fingers.

"It's nice," Martin had said, because he's nothing if not honest. "Did you make it?"

She'd nodded. "It's a bi flag," she'd explained. "I'm bisexual."

"Oh," Martin had said.

"You know what that is, right?" she had asked. "Like, when you like boys and girls?"

"I know," Martin had said, even if it had maybe slipped his memory until she'd brought it up. "That's cool."

And then she'd nodded, and ate her ice cream, and Martin had taken her home with as little a fanfare as he had picked her up earlier that evening. And then winter break had rolled around, and she'd been put in another class the following semester, and then life and bills had finally caught up with him and there wouldn't be another semester after that. He'd never seen her again, so he'd never got a chance to ask. Never got a chance to choke down that knot in his throat when he'd left her house that evening, unable to get the words out.

He doesn't remember her name anymore, but he does remember the jealous ache he'd felt at her certainty.

Martin's first boyfriend is definitely gay.

That's how they meet each other, really — in a gay bar, where Martin has met plenty of other men (testing the waters, he's been telling himself; no harm in a little exploration) and gone home with them, except this one asks for his number afterward, and this one calls him back, and this one actually seems to want to go out for drinks the next week, and the week after that, and before Martin knows it he's quite certain that he's dating this man. It's wonderful, whirlwind of an experience. It's exhilarating.

It's bloody terrifying.

And it's not being with a man that sets his anxiety on edge. Martin...Martin likes men. That's definitely a part of his identity that he's been able to sort out, over the years. Martin likes men, and he likes dating men, and he likes having sex with men, and he'd probably even marry a man, if he had the chance, if that's where one of these loose and languid relationships end up.

It's just—

It's just that—

It's just that Martin always seems to be the odd one out in these groups. It's just that when Martin meets up with his boyfriend's friends at the bar, when they're all laughing and sharing jokes and clinking their drinks together in some toast that Martin had missed the dedication to, they all just...get it somehow. They know who they are. They all have some special word for themselves that fits them like a tailored suit: Jacklyn is a butch lesbian, and Lee is trans, and Tom is a bear, and Jordan is gay and genderqueer and Collin is a drag performer and—

He's a few drinks in, to put it lightly, when he leans over to his definitely-boyfriend and asks him how he knew he was gay.

"How did I know?" he echoes, taking a sip from his fizzy drink. "Easy, I liked men." And then he laughs like Martin has just told a funny joke, and maybe he has and doesn't realize it, so he tries to laugh along. Tries to ignore the ache in his chest.

Martin wishes it were that simple. And when the two of them break up, Martin wishes that he ached just as badly over the relationship too.

Tim and Sasha are bi. Well, no, Tim is bi, and Sasha is—

"Pansexual," Sasha says through a mouthful of reheated spaghetti. She holds a finger up as she chews, swallows, and then adds, "Well, I mean. It's like the same genus, I guess."

"Like a leopard and a cheetah," Tim chimes in, leaning over to put an arm around her shoulders. She puts a hand against the side of his face to put some space between them, knocking his glasses askew.

"Leopards and cheetahs are different genuses," she tells him. "You're thinking of leopards and jaguars."

"Nuh uh."

"Uh huh."

"Nuh uh nuh uh—"

"Uh huh uh huh uh huh—"

And it's—

He likes Tim and Sasha. They're easy to exist around. They don't make him feel like he's not welcome at the end of the lunch table, or like he has to be anything more than simply himself in their presence. Call it bonding over the shared trauma of all being trapped down here together. Tim's jokes about Jon never letting them see the sun are starting to feel less like jokes these days, and more like statements of fact.

Then Tim leans over, seating his chin in his knuckles, and says, "So, Martin, you going to pride this year?"

And then all of those nice, floaty feelings suddenly come crashing out of solution and dropping down into the pit of his stomach. It must show on his face, because Tim's smile falls as he backpedals.

"O-or not!" he says, holding his hands up peaceably. "I mean— geez, sorry, I usually think I'm pretty good at noticing these things, but if you're not—"

"What? Oh, no no, you're fine, I'm definitely—" There's something on the tip of Martin's tongue that he can't put a word to, hasn't been able to put a word to for a long time. "...not straight. Er, I— I like...guys, at least...?"

A smile curls across Tim's face — amused, but not cruel. "Hey, that's at least one thing we've got in common," he says and holds up his fist for a bump. The spark of anxiety hasn't quite fizzled away, but it's pushed far enough down that Martin feels he can humor him.

To his equal relief and horror, Jon strolls into the room not a minute later and sticks himself firmly in the crosshairs of Tim's sights.

"Boss-man," he greets.

"Tim," Jon greets back, neutrally. He strolls over to the kitchenette, digging out a tea bag out of the cabinet.

"Are you going to pride this year?"

Martin chokes on his drink.

"No," Jon says, retrieving a tea bag and filling his mug as if Tim had simply asked him about the weather.

"C'mon," Tim purrs. He reaches over and gives Jon a tug by his belt loops. "You're just gonna sit at home all weekend and leave us to have all the fun?"

"I don't particularly find crowds 'fun,'" Jon retorts, batting away his hand. He picks up his mug. "You'll have to suffer without me."

"How will we ever go on," Tim laments.

"You'll manage," Jon says, then promptly retreats to his office.

Martin simply sits there with his mouth hanging open, only daring to speak once he hears the final click of the door pulled shut. "...Jon...?"

Tim looks over to him, eyebrow quirked. "What?"

"Jon."

"Oh." A smirk tugs at the corner of Tim's lips. "You didn't know?"

"Wh— no!" It's not even that Martin has ever really assumed that Jon is straight. It's just that, out of people in the office to be open about their sexualities, there's Tim and Sasha, and then there's Jon. It's just— it's Jon. "Did he tell you that?"

Tim shoots a look to Sasha. "Well, no," he admits, "but you know how it is, you work with someone long enough and you just sort of...get a vibe, yeah?"

Sasha nods at this assessment. "Plus the fact that he did agree to go on a date with David that one time."

"Oh god, haha! I forgot about that."

"He's gay, right?" Sasha says, looking to Tim.

"I'm pretty sure he mentioned an ex-girlfriend once," Tim notes, poking his fork into his salad. "Bi, maybe...? I'm going to go with bi."

"Could also be pan," Sasha notes.

Tim thinks on this for a moment. "Mm, no, definitely bi I think. My bi-dey senses are tingling. Sorry Sash," he concludes, earning him a light kick to the shin from Sasha at the pun. He shoves a forkful of salad in his mouth before redirecting his attention back to Martin. "So, Martin. Pride, yay or nay?"

"Uh—" Martin blinks, viscerally aware of himself once more. He's not sure how to put I've never really thought about going into so many words that doesn't make him sound incredibly lame or formerly catholic, so in the end he decides on a redirect. He clears his throat. "I'm...not sure? Haven't really decided."

"That's fine," Tim says with a half shrug. "Though we'll be there, so if you do end up going, just text us and we'll meet up, yeah?"

There's a little plant inside Martin, something green and budding, but never able to bloom — always pruned too early, or watered too late, or bitten off by the frost. But some days, he thinks about opening the curtains and letting in the sun. Some days, he thinks about letting it bloom, finally, fully—

"Yeah," Martin says softly, looking up from his open palms. "Yeah, that'd...that'd be good."

And despite himself, he smiles.

Martin is—

Martin is quite certain he has never been sweatier in his life.

It's a wonderful time. It's bright. It's beautiful. He's seen so many colors and grins and glitter on more people than he can count today. People holding hands and people kissing and people dressed in outfits he can't even begin to describe, genders he can't even begin to put names to, flags he can't even begin to guess the meaning of. His heart feels so big in his chest he could die, pushing on the bars of his rib cage with each resounding thu-thump, and it's wonderful, wonderful, wonderful—

(And so very isolating. So very lonely when he feels like he's not meant to be there, like he wasn't invited, like he's invading this space carved out in neat rows of labels that he can't even straddle properly to get in line. He doesn't— he can't—)

Martin finds a moment of shade just as he feels he's teetering on the edge of heat exhaustion. He stumbles under the awning, smearing the sweat and residual glitter out of his eyes as he leans his head back against the wall. Music hums from the street over, voices carry on the warm summer air. He really needs to find something to drink, so he can appreciate it more instead of focusing on the way his shirt clings to his skin. He really should find Tim and Sasha, before they get off into any trouble.

Someone lets out a huff next to him as they lean back against the wall, and Martin peels open an eye to look.

And then both his eyes snap open at once, double taking at the man standing next to him. He doesn't seem to notice him at first, too focused on fanning himself with some pamplet he'd snagged along the way, but then his gaze shifts sideways, and the pinched expression smooths out into one of blank bewilderment.

Jon blinks, wide eyed. "Martin."

Okay, well that at least solves the issue of whether or not Martin is supposed to be pretending not to know him or not. He clears his throat, trying to smile. "Jon...h-hi."

It's not even the fact that— okay, well, yes, seeing Jon at a queer event is pretty weird, but seeing Jon outside of work, in jeans no less, is certainly not helping the sensation that Martin might very well be hallucinating this interaction. He looks him up to his thick-lensed glasses, down to his plain sneakers that have seen better days, and even pinches himself for good measure. Jon doesn't move. Martin isn't sure that he himself would be able to move either, even if he wanted to.

Then Jon's brow furrows, and he looks around. "Are Tim and Sasha around...?"

"Oh, n-no, they went off," Martin gestures vaguely in the direction he'd last seen them, "somewhere."

"Ah."

"Mm."

"Right."

"...What...are you doing here, exactly?" Martin finally asks in some burst of unsourced courage.

Jon's winces, red-handed. Not that Martin would ever say anything to Tim or Sasha about their boss going to pride without them on his own time — it's honestly none of his business — but he also knows that if the two of them suspect something is up, they'll never let either of them live it down.

Jon sighs, shoulders drooping. "I...an old friend, she— she didn't wish to come alone this year, and apparently I'm the only other queer she knows that doesn't enjoy getting plastered off my arse at these types of events, so—" Jon shrugs lightly.

There's something about the way Jon says it, the only other queer, that leaves a funny, prickling sensation in the center of Martin's chest, and it's not just the heat giving him a rash. It's just...it's nice. It's nice the way he says it, all casual like he's just giving Martin another report to follow up.

Jon pushes the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, giving Martin a sideways glance up and down. He redirects, "You know, I would have thought you'd be more, er..."

"More...?"

"...Well, dressed up, I suppose?" He gestures to Martin's outfit — a pair of khaki shorts with pockets stuffed to the brim in emergency snacks, a green t-shirt with the local football team logo, an old pair of sneakers he really needs to replace — in a vague enough gesture to slip just under the line of insulting, but still enough to make Martin feel horribly seen. Granted, Jon isn't much better in his plain blue polo, but the fact of Jon being in jeans at all is currently eclipsing the fact that he's a tad underdressed for the event.

But—

But it's not that Martin doesn't want to. It's not that Martin doesn't want to be a part of this moment, this moment, this microcosm in the middle of London of so many people like him. It's something he's always wanted. Something he's always dreamed of, something he'd thought about all the way back in his high school bedroom when he'd had all these feelings knotted up in his chest that he couldn't put a word to, still can't put a word to, doesn't know how to put a word to even though it's right there in front of him if he could just stretch out his fingers—

"I thought about it," he admits with a shrug. Tim and Sasha were each dressed in a blinding shower of color and glitter, and he knows they'd never make him feel out of place. "It's just...there's too many—" He stops, takes a deep breath, and tries to ignore the thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. "There's too many words, I guess?"

Jon pauses his lazy fanning, looking up at him. "Too many words?" he parrots.

Martin wets his lips. "Like— like— like, everyone has a word for themselves, y'know? They have a flag, they have a group, they have— have people that they can relate to, and then you feel like you find something that almost right, but it's not perfect, and you— you—"

And you don't fit in, Martin doesn't say, because the rushing stream of words has suddenly stopped up in his throat, choking him. And you definitely aren't straight, but you aren't queer like everyone else is. You aren't queer in the right way.

Jon looks at him for a considerable moment, and suddenly Martin is all too aware of his body, his bones, his sweat, the itchy prickling of his skin—

Jon sighs as he gives him a half shrug. "So don't be anything."

The music from the street over lulls into a faint hum.

"What?" Martin says.

"So don't be anything," Jon repeats, enunciating as if he thinks that Martin misheard him. He frowns as he chooses his next words. "I'm not...it's...I..."

Martin waits quietly.

"I..." Jon says, "I guess when I was just starting to— to figure things out, I was certain I was gay. And then I went to uni and I had...a multitude of other things to address, and then for a bit I was...straight? I guess? And that was a whole thing, and then I was bi, and— well, I guess I'm technically still bi, but it's not...not exactly correct—" He frowns, looking up at him. "I guess...it just doesn't really matter to me? You don't...have to be anything."

Martin opens his mouth. He closes it. "But—" he says, tongue feeling thick in his mouth, "but—"

But then I have to be me, he doesn't say, even if the words are trying to push out past his teeth. But then the only thing I can be is me.

"...But that's scary," Martin says without meaning to, only hearing the words as they pass through his own lips. His eyes blow wide as he looks down at Jon (at his boss), and knows the simmering heat flushing down to his chest has nothing to do with the weather.

Jon stares at him for a quiet, considerate. And then he turns his head away and lets out a very undignified snort.

Martin feels his world tip onto its side.

It had to be a snort. It can only be a snort, even if Jon doesn't snort because Jon doesn't laugh, and Jon doesn't laugh because Jon doesn't smile, and Jon doesn't smile because Jon is typically too busy snapping at him over some stupid mistake he's made for the umpteenth time—

Jon looks up at him again, and he's downright grinning. Martin is quite certain he needs to be doused over the head with a bucket of ice water, or pinched hard enough to draw blood, or sent off to the hospital to get his head checked out because what the fuck. What the fuck.

"As my grandmother was so fond of reminding me, 'if it weren't scary, everyone would be doing it,'" Jon says finally, peeling off his glasses to wipe the sweat from the lenses onto his shirt. He places them back on his nose, then pushes himself up. "You should find Tim and Sasha," he says. "And I should find Georgie before I get left here. Again."

"Uh," Martin says, still trying to mentally recover from the fact that Jon smiled at him, and now everything feels like its been knocked into an alternate universe slightly to the left. His head feels weird. His chest feels weird. "Right."

"There's a—" Jon points a thumb behind himself, "a place we can cut through, if you want to—"

"Oh. Oh, yeah! Yeah, lead— lead the way."

It's not perfect, Martin thinks.

It's not perfect, but it's close. It's close when they step out of the alley back onto that crowded street, when the colors all bleed into a mess of a million different rainbows as far as the eye can see. It's close when they both get sprayed with glitter, Jon scowling and swearing as he tries to get it off himself and sending Martin laughing so hard that his sides ache. It's close even with the heat, even with the noise, even with the shouting because there's laughter in between laughter in between laughter again—

"Would you like a button?" a girl with green hair asks as she sits behind a table of every flag Martin has ever seen and then some. He takes a moment to look over each one carefully. Jon wanders up beside him, looks them through, and carefully selects a pink, purple, and blue one, to which he silently deposits in his pocket.

Martin picks up a plain rainbow one, considers it, and then pins it to the left side of his shirt.

It's not perfect, he thinks, but it's close enough.

[mommysmilk]

Strawberry

🍓Fox x Reader🍓

(warning for mention of throwing up and general wound and scar talk yall know the drill)

”Wash these for me, darling. Don’t get your bandages wet.” He hands you a container of strawberries, your favorite kind. They’re red throughout and their sweet aroma is filling the kitchen. You’re tempted to reach out and pop one of the berries in your mouth, but his voice interrupts your thoughts. ”We don’t have all day, pet. You’re wasting water.”

You quickly apologize and start rinsing the strawberries under the running water, being careful to avoid the fresh bandages. Some blood is already seeping through the gauze, the cuts too deep to fully stop the bleeding. You’ve learned to love the scars he leaves on your body, even requesting for him to not stitch all of them up.

”I didn’t go too hard on you today right? You lost a lot of blood and still seem a bit out of it, sweetie.”

You grin down at him, finding his concern cute but unneccessary. ”You’ve done worse, Foxie~. Remember the time you made me eat your chicken hearts? I honestly thought you were going to kill me.”

He grimaces in disgust, ”Please don’t remind me, I can still smell the spot you threw up on.”

”I’m glad you started to give me strawberries for our movie nights after that.” You laugh while hopping down from the kitchen counter. You get a little dizzy from the sudden movement and have to lean on the countertop for support. He’s at your side immediately, taking the container of strawberries from your hand and helping you to the living room. You sigh in relief as you crash down on the couch. As much as you love your streams together, they’re still very taxing on your body.

After choosing a cd titled ”Guillotine” he inserts it into the player. It is one of your favorite streams of his. He sits down next to you, his tail curling around you while he starts the "movie". His hand caresses the heart shaped scar on your back and you snuggle closer to him when he starts feeding you the strawberries.

[milksincere]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

ahh... nothing beats the feeling of a finished work (it's a oneshot that I took forever to complete... smh...)

gift for @ink-an0n

[alexluminosbucket]

another feesh au for dca!! yum yum With a fic that is to be coming soon "H20 Please No More Water"

[banana-fish]

Knights and Kings

linked universe fanfic

word count: 978

"Why do you hate knights so much?!"

Legend heard Warrior scream at him. It starts off as just another one of their little arguments but one thing leads to another, now the heroes are face to face with the realization of how different their lives truly are.

Unknowingly moving back on shaking knees. Legend thought over that question, 'why do you hate knights?' he could almost laugh at how many answers he could come up with. Knights? Those lowlifes were nothing but glorified hound dogs to the King. Under a spell or not, all they seem to do is make his life harder.

As his back hit the tree behind him, he let out a shaky laugh. "Knights are not but the King's mutts, following his every command." He sneered, not caring about the concern the others had for him. The smug smile he wore on his face quickly vanished, when he felt Warrior's fist on his face.

All too quickly everything happened, shouting from Four and Twilight to stop. Angry fists from Warrior even when Time pulled him off. Sky pulling Wind away trying to keep him away from the scene. Legend laid in a bloody heap on the group. Nose broken and lip split. Blood dribbled out of his mouth as he smiled at Warrior, angering the blonde even more.

Sitting away from the group, the two heroes sat facing away from each other. Time stood in front of them looking like an angry father. The disappointing looks he showed made Legend curl up in shame.

"What was that about?" He says as his lips tighten.

"I-" Warrior quickly said, trying to keep the blame off him before Time cut him off.

"I was asking Legend," turning his head to the beaten blonde, "what was that about?"

Turning away, not wanting to look at the others, "It was nothing." He mumbled.

"Nothing? That didn't look like 'nothing'." Time said not to give Legend a way out of this.

"It was nothing, okay?" Legend said, getting annoyed with the topic.

Letting out a tired sigh, Time sat down next to Legend. Before turning to Warrior and whispering something to him. Warrior shoots a glare at Legend before getting and walking to the camp.

"Now can you tell me what's going on?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Feels kind of important to me since two of my teammates got into a fist fight in the middle of dinner." Time said with a small smile.

He's right, Legend thought. It would be nice if somebody knew. Knew about his childhood, about the secret he's forced to keep from even his own family.

"I'll tell you but you have to promise me that you won't tell anyone else," Legend said before he could stop himself.

"Alright, I won't tell anyone," Time said, getting a bit nervous about what Legend might tell him.

Taking a deep breath before starting, "You know how I told you that I lived with my uncle my whole life? That was a lie. I actually had a mother that I lived with until I was 5."

"Why didn't you tell us you had a mother?" Time was surprised. Most of them didn’t know their mothers.

"She- she was not the nicest," closing his eyes and a deep breath before continuing, "it wasn't like I was the greatest child ever, but she wasn't ever home and when she was, she never seemed to care about me. There was never enough food or money in the house and when we did have money she'll waste it on drinks."

"Legend i-"

“Just wait or else I won't finish."

Time nodded his head as Legend went on with his story.

"I was never allowed out of the house, I didn't know why until one day. There wasn't any food and I was starving. I was just going to the shop real quick but then I heard someone talk. He was looking at me. Said something about my mother and the King. Then I realize," stopping for a second. Legend looked at Time and said "I realize what they were saying, my mother had a well-known affair with the King and I was his child"

Time looked at him in shock. "You're the King's son? You're one of Hyrule's Royals?"

"I'm a bastard son, I don't know how much royalty that makes me."

"Does he know about you?" Time was still trying to take in this new information. ‘Legend is that the King's son was all he could think of.’

"Yes, he does know about me but the "all powerful" King has made it clear, he wants nothing to do with me." He sneered, hands curled up in fists, "I ran away from my mother hoping father dearest would help me. That bastard threw me out before I could barely get a word out!" He spat out bitterly.

"I guess that's why you hate the King" Time sighed, the new information taking a toll on him.

"Yeah, he left me to die while all his mutts just stood there and watched," letting out a bitter laugh as the memories replayed in his head, "Well, all except one. My uncle saved me." A smile appeared on his face as he thought about his uncle. " He saved me, took me to live with him and hid me from my mother and the King."

"He sounds like a nice man." Time said. He was happy that Legend had someone in his life there for him. After everything the kid had gone through, he deserves someone as kind-hearted as his uncle.

"Don't worry I won't tell the other. Now let's go back before the others get worried."

"Thanks, it would be weird if Hyrule found out his grandmother is my sister."

"Wait what?!" Time yelled out in shock as Legend ran back to camp.

[mierinette]

chapter 01 - au

lights out solo in the blue, but now i’ve found you.

tumblr month: @adrinetteapril​

links: ao3 | ff.net chapter: previous | next

HUMANS suck.

Marinette bites back the need to scream, instead settling for a cold glare pointed at anyone who dares look at her— some even having the audacity to laugh .

This is a terrible idea.

Why did she think this was a good idea in the first place?

Her mind races back to last summer, where Alya was animatedly telling her about the wonders of the human world: how it was filled with knowledge and treasures that she could never find back home, where the people were so interesting and diverse, pointing out that she’d likely never get bored with the sheer amount of things they could do way up there.

“Come with me, Mari!” Alya had begged her. “This was literally the best summer I’ve ever had and I can’t imagine going back to college without you. I swear you won’t regret it.”

But as she stands in the middle of the quad, soaking wet from head to toe, Marinette only finds that she wants to curse her best friend’s name; to grab Alya by the shoulders and shout, “I regret it, you land mammal— how do you live like this!?! ”

She really should’ve just stayed at home.

Her dad was right, after all. Marinette doesn't belong here.

(Not with creatures like them.)

The mermaids are a proud people; ever since they had shown themselves to the humans (though the land people insisted they ‘discovered’ them— Marinette has to roll her eyes, humans could be so selfish and egotistical. ), active attempts to integrate and create peaceful unions between the two species were being implemented.

It was one step further into blurring the line between the real and the mythical— though really not all that noticed, as most mermaids didn’t care about the world on land in the first place.

Only a handful were actually interested in human life, and even fewer made an attempt to live within it.

Marinette, to her deep regret, happens to be one of them.

After a fair amount of begging and convincing, her parents had allowed her to take a kind of ‘exchange program’, where she’d be attending university with Alya on land for the next year.

It's exciting, at first.

Walking on her own two feet is a struggle ( really , how humans survived with these two weak limbs, she'll never understand), but decides that it’d be worth it if Alya had been telling the truth.

Sure, there are times Marinette misses her mermaid tail.

Though, at this moment, she really could be doing without it.

Marinette growls, looking irritatedly down at her scales, gleaming pink as they reflect in the sunlight. Her tail serves her well underwater, definitely, but it has become completely and utterly inconvenient on land: flopping uselessly as she tries to make her way to her next class.

She has no intention of transforming back to her original form, of course, but some other students thought it would be oh-so-funny to force her to do so— attacking while Alya wasn’t with her, so they knew Marinette would be stuck without being able to do anything about it.

After all, it's common knowledge that a transformed mermaid exposed to water would automatically revert back to her original form, and stay like that until they dried up— which meant one thing:

Because of a couple of immature college kids with water balloons, she’d miss her next class.

Again.

They're only too lucky that a mermaid using their powers is illegal, or they’d be in a whole new hell of trouble.

The sudden ring of Marinette’s phone distracts the mermaid from her thoughts, as she quickly retrieves it and answers the call.

“Girl, where are you?” The voice asks on the other line. “I dropped by Mme. Mendeleiev’s class and you’re not there yet? You know she’s tired of you being late all the time.”

Marinette groans, running a wet hand down her face. “Water balloons.” She only responds, flatly.

“Oh.”

From the static of the phone call, she can hear a hiccup, evidently her friend's poor attempt at trying to hide her laughter.

“It’s not funny, Alya!” Marinette cries, hissing as a few teenagers point and take out their phones to record her. “I’m stuck in the middle of the goddamn quad because of you land mammals ,” she spits. “Your species sucks.”

 “Hey, not all of us!” Alya protests back. “I’m a great land mammal.” The line suddenly goes silent, as Alya pauses if in thought. “Why don’t you just dry up? Where’s your towel?”

“Sure you are,” Marinette only drawls. “And it’s still wet; this wasn’t the first attack I got today.” She snarls, tightening her grip around her phone. “Now get over here and help me out. It’s hot and if another teenager tries to take a video of me, I’m going to end up breaking more than a few laws, and that’ll get us both in trouble.”

A gasp. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

From the other line, Marinette hears sudden scuffling and books being thrown into her bag. “Fine, fine, give me fifteen minutes. I’m on my way.”

“Hurry up,” the mermaid responds curtly, before hanging up the phone.

She sighs, putting away the gadget, and looking upward. “This is so annoying,” Marinette complains, squinting as the sun shines down on her. Muttering to herself, she grabs at her tail in an attempt to drag it to some place that was shadier, with little to no success.

Marinette glares at her lower half.

Betrayal.

Humans are the absolute worst.

She decides that the next person who even attempts to look, much less talk to her, would understand why mermaids remained as creatures to be feared.

— And as it turned out she didn’t have to wait long, a cautious tap on her shoulder sending a sudden shiver down her spine.

Who the hell is dumb enough to touch a mermaid without her consent?

“What?” Marinette finally snaps, turning (with great difficulty) to the guilty party.

Only to flounder as bright green eyes meet her icy blue ones.

“I’m sorry,” the boy says, an awkward laugh escaping him. “I just thought you might need help,” he begins, clumsily gesturing at the lower half of her body, “with… all that.”

Marinette squeaks, a high-pitched sound of disbelief, before laughing— a notch too high for it to be considered genuine. “Oh, this? ” She asks, awkwardly patting at her tail. “This is nothing! No big deal! I’m cool, I’m cool, it’s cool… because I’m a mermaid, get it, it’s always cool underwater, haha …”

An awkward pause.

She cringes.

Did she really just say that?

Marinette wants to swim into the deepest trench in the ocean and stay in there.

Until she hears laughter.

The mermaid looks up, and to her complete surprise, the boy is laughing: amusement evident in his expression.

“Yeah!” He smiles ( a toothy grin that rivals even the rarest pearls she had scavenged back at home ), then continues. “That’s really funny, Marinette.”

She pauses, looking at him in disbelief. “You know my name?”

“Of course!” He replies, that same kind look in his eyes. “You did make quite a splash when you got here,” he winks.

That's corny.

Really corny.

So why in Poseidon’s name does she find that absolutely adorable?

“And I’m also studying mythology,” the apparent student continues. “I see you around the building sometimes.”

So the very pretty human boy who reminds her of sunshine (the good kind— warm and comforting, the kind of sunlight that reminded her of home; not the heated and dry sun that‘d been constantly beating her down as soon as she started living on land) knows her name.

That's nice.

Marinette continues looking at him, dumbstruck.

As if only realizing something, he smiles, offering his hand. “I’m Adrien, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

She stutters, awkwardly taking it. 

His hands are smooth — nothing like the rough and calloused hands of the land people she’d met thus far.

“I— uh— Marinette.”

The corners of his mouth tilt upward. “Yes, I know.” He laughs.

Oh.

Right .

Why is she so nervous? This isn’t like her at all.

“So, about my offer?”

“Huh?” Marinette asks, still reeling from the sudden attention.

The mermaid isn’t used to his attitude, after all, knowing that most humans typically don’t take all that kindly to her species.

Friendliness, Marinette isn’t quite used to yet.

(Alya being the sole exception. If she arrives in the next five minutes, at least.)

The amused smile never leaves the human’s— Adrien’s face. “You’re a literal fish out of water. I don’t think you’re stuck here because you want to, right?”

She nods, the joke easily going over her head, as she remembers what happened. “Some girls thought it’d be funny to force me to transform back here.” Marinette growls. “You humans are all the same —.”

A pause, as she looked at the friendliness in his eyes.

There's no hostility, fear, or disgust in them.

It's a nice change of pace.

“Well, most of you are, anyway,” she amends, then gestures down the rest of her body. “I’m stuck like this until I dry up.”

Adrien hums, sympathetic. “That’s pretty inconvenient.”

“It is,” Marinette agrees. “But my friend’s on the way, so don’t worry— I mean ," she pauses, "not to say that you were worrying about me or anything, I’m just…”

The mermaid fumbles on her words, before resignedly just shutting up. “That is to say, I’ll be just fine.”

Adrien quirks an eyebrow, before looking around. “Really? Your friend’s nowhere to be seen, are you sure you‘ll be okay?” He pauses. “And don’t you have class with Mme. Mendeleiev right now?”

Okay, now he has to be some kind of mind-reader, right?

(Not all that farfetched, considering the co-existence of humans and mermaids in their world.)

“Wh— how do you know that?

“I’m actually her TA,” he explains. “I keep track of all her students and classes. So helping you would actually be doing my job.”

“No, it’s really alright—”

“I have some papers to give her anyways, so it’s on the way,” he points out, patting his messenger bag. Then, his lips quirk upward. “And besides, I’m pretty sure you’re in danger of being dropped from her class if you’re late again.”

She gulps.

Of course he’d know about that, wouldn’t he?

Marinette sighs, defeated. “Fine,” she began. “There should be some towels in the restrooms; it’s a little far, but if you could—”

“No time,” Adrien only states, suddenly kneeling down in front of her. “I think you only have five minutes before you’re late, and it’s a ten-minute walk to our building.”

He grins, before suddenly scooping his arms under her tail and waist, raising her up.

Marinette can’t stop the surprised squeak escape her throat, as she feels herself get lifted off the ground.

The cute boy is carrying her.

And not just any carry, but a princess carry .

“What are you doing put me down I’m gonna scream …” Marinette rushes to say, swatting helplessly at his chest.

This is so undignified for a mermaid, to have some human’s filthy hands on her —

Adrien smiles.

Marinette feels her mermaid-equivalent of a human heart skip a beat.

Then, he winks.

She's sure she's the color of her tail, now.

“Let’s go!” He only says, before running with surprising speed, so light and quick on his feet that she feels like she's flying. His hold on her didn’t falter either, carrying the mermaid with both strength and gentleness.

It's a strange feeling, being in his arms.

But as he easily runs into the building and up four flights of stairs, she decides that it's not entirely uncomfortable, maybe .

.

.

Marinette shows up in the nick of time, only a few minutes before she’d officially be considered late.

Mme. Mendeleiev looks at the two as they burst into her classroom, hands crossed against her chest. “Late again, Marinette?” She asks, evidently unamused.

The mermaid is about to protest, until Adrien decides to speak up:

“Actually, ma’am, Marinette’s just in time.”

“I take attendance at 10:15 sharp, Adrien.”

“And she got here at,” Adrien exhales, out-of-breath, as he looks at his phone, showing the lock screen. “10:14,” he states.

Mme. Mendeleiev pauses, eyes narrowing at the two, before sighing.

“Fine,” the professor sighs. “There are towels at the back. Dry yourself up then take your seat, Marinette,” she states, then pointedly looks at Adrien. “And you,” Mme. Mendeleiev stares at the floor, dripping wet from their entrance. “Go get a mop and clean up this mess…”

The sudden “woah!” from outside following a crash makes her frown.

“... before anyone gets hurt.”

Adrien has the decency to offer a sheepish smile, before immediately nodding, helping the mermaid to the back, then setting her down.

“Sorry for getting you in trouble,” Marinette mutters, apologetic, taking the towel in her hands. “And giving you extra work to do.”

He shrugs, visibly unbothered, as the kind smile remains on his face.

“You didn’t get me in trouble, I decided to do this myself.” He responds. “I couldn’t leave you alone helpless like that.”

“You’d be the first,” she points out, using the towel to wipe her hair. “I guess humans aren’t all that bad.”

“Yeah,” Adrien chimes, a bright laugh escaping him as he runs a hand down his wet hair. “Not all of us land mammals suck, I can promise you that.”

Marinette manages to look the slightest bit embarrassed. “You heard that, huh?”

He smiles. “Yup,” he responds easily, before leaning over to her ear. “But I get you. Some humans really stink up here.” He wrinkles his nose, then scrunches his nose up in a way that she can only describe as absolutely adorable. “Must be because they aren’t taking a bath 24/7.”

Marinette feels herself laugh, ready to reply, when—

“What’s taking so long?”

Mme. Mendeleiev finally barks, glaring at the two.

The two look at each other, then burst into laughter.

“Guess that means I have to go,” Adrien says lightly, then bends down, kissing her hand. “I’ll sea you around, Marinette!”

He runs out, and for the first time, Marinette feels like she's falling.

Or sinking , if she's being technical about it.