Title: I'd Do Anything For You
Author: Kokura
Editors: Arethea and Koryu
Summary: Wolfram would do anything, anything at all for Yuuri to even glance his way...even give up one of the few things that truly belongs to him; his pride. Angst, genderswitch, OOCness, Depressed!Wolfie, Female!Wolfie, Clueless!Yuuri, Lemons, SMEXY!Maou!Yuuri.
A/N: Geez, I'm sorry I've neglected you all for so long. In all fairness, though, both my editor and I have been swamped by work, her with school and Orchestra and myself with translations. By the way, Wolfram still thinks of himself as a boy, so he will continue being referred to in his thoughts and the narration (when in his 3rd person POV), and the innkeeper's name is Orick. Wolfram just can't be bothered to learn a lesser being's name, so he calls him all sorts of things. I know, I know, it's not very long, but I'm working on at least six stories and trying to pick up drawing again, which, by the way, I haven't done in six years. You can see why this is a problem. Oh well. Enjoy anyway.
I'd Do Anything For You
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I'd risk everything
For one kiss, everything,
Yes, I'd do anything, anything for you.
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Wolfram scowled as he strode (or tried; striding was rather hard when one had boots two sizes too large, pants loose around the crotch and tight around the hips, and his hips kept swaying when he walked, which kind of ruined the effect, although it was debatable as to whether or not anyone could actually see that through his long cloak, but it was the principle that counted, wasn't it?) away from the inn and towards the market. That Yorick guy had stared at him as he walked down the stairs, then, when he had informed the innkeeper that he would be gone for a bit, Porridge had winked at him.
It had been rather disturbing.
Read: Traumatizing to the point that Wolfram was considering gouging out his eyes in hopes that the horrid image would be erased.
He hadn't, in the end, but only because he already felt disfigured enough with his stupid new body parts without gaping eye-sockets.
He had a feeling that in no way did he want to know what exactly Orange was thinking.
But now to the present. He had to find better-fitting clothing. His current apparel was ridiculously ill-fitting, as it was either too tight or too loose all over his present body and was thus quite indecent. He had been in his new-shaped body for a grand total of perhaps fifteen minutes, and already it was making life excrutiatingly hard for him. The now-physically-female had a very strong urge to find the idiotic vendor that had sold him the curs'd thing and throttle him to the threshold of death before force-feeding him his damned potion so that he could lavish in the so-called "joys of womanhood".
He would also take the time out of his busy schedule to track down the man (for it HAD to be a man) who had written that imbecilic phrase in the first place to do the same thing to him.
See how he liked the "joys" when the author found two horrendous lumps of flesh on his chest.
Wolfram scowled ferociously. He had never really gotten over his mother's strange and traumatizing tendencies to play dress-up with him (the "traumatic" part was easily provable from his sleepwear; all of the frills and bows and pink he had been forced to wear had bled through into his nightgown despite his efforts to keep his normal clothing as masculine as possible) as a small child, back when he had been too young and easily persuaded to do anything about it, and, as a result, now despised with a deep, somewhat irrational, passion all dresses. However, it was rare to find a shop in this part of Shin Makoku selling women's trousers, because the female population mainly wore skirted, befrilled instruments of torture, and acquiring a pair would entail going in for measurements, fittings, and waiting for the tailors to finish. In addition, he had to be ready for his covert return to Blood Covenant Castle as...well...anybody except for himself, really, and that entailed his being able to wear a dress well enough to seem female.
His plan just kept getting more and more holes in it as time went on.
Exasperated, furious, and frustrated, Wolfram stomped as well as he could in his new body down the streets of the marketplace, glaring left and right at any curious passerby that dared to stare at him, or, rather, any innocent bystander that just happened to be close by, nostrils flaring like a wild horse's as he searched the streetsides for a shop suitable for his needs. He spotted one or two that looked like they just might do, but all personnel inside scattered, minnows in the presence of a shark, the moment he so much as gave the barest indication that he might turn their way. It was probably a wise action on their parts: with every step he took, Wolfram became more and more irritated, and indeed seemed like he was liable to start breathing fire any moment, which, with his fire elemental powers, was probably not such a far-fetched possiblity as might have been imagined.
Perhaps they had the right idea.
However, eventually he eventually began to run out of steam (no pun intended), and calmed down sufficiently for the people in the marketplace to stop edging nervously away from him and settled on one particular store to try and find a cursed instrument of horrific, excruciating torture in (1). It looked reasonably respectable and had several dresses and tunics hanging in the window that the fashion-conscious part of him that he fervently denied grudgingly recognized as quite lovely. Wolfram entered cautiously, looking around at the various items of apparel as if they would spring to life and attack him at the least provocation (2). He flinched and winced, shuddering, at the item of apparel that assaulted his senses on his right that could not actually be called clothing, since there was not much cloth covering what was supposed to be hidden in order to maintain a modicum of decency.
Actually, now that he took a second look at one of the more indecent pieces, there wasn't much cloth at all. The outfit seemed to consist of strategically placed buckles, leather, and straps.
There weren't that many of those either.
Wolfram turned away before the thing attacked him and headed towards the safer-looking, more conservative OBJECTS OF ETERNAL TORMENT AND CRUCIFIXION on the other side of the building.
He could already feel his headache crescendoing to a head-splitting fortissimo (3).
Torn between his urges to rip a convenient shop lackey's eyes out, bang his head against a wall, or just set the whole bloody (4) shop on fire, the blond instead settled for massaging temples with one hand and covering his eyes with the other.
He was starting to have doubts as to the Maou's worthiness of his undertaking this - obviously horrifying - task.
All Wolfram knew was that Yuuri had better be DAMN good in bed.
(1) - In case you haven't already figured it out, he means a dress.
(2) - Which, considering the quirky nature and often deceptive appearance of things in New Makoku, might not have been as far-fetched as it seems.
(3) - We, the readers, can tell that Wolfram is almost to the snapping point. He's speaking in musical metaphors. Dear God.
(4) - Please, please, please forgive me. Suffice it to say that I have been reading waaaay too much HP fanfiction lately.
First Three Chapters
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Chapter One: An Argument and a Vendor )
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Chapter Two: Decision)
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Chapter Three: Acceptance)