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sutorus · 8 months

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THE GRUDGE PROFESSOR!GETO for KINKTOBER 2023!

DESCRIPTION: everybody loves professor geto, and judging by the thousands of viewers you get on every live, a lot of people love you, too. but you and professor geto hate each other. you’ve had enough of his humiliation rituals, and decide to do something about it.

PAIRING: mean professor!geto x student!reader

WC: 5.3k i am an unstoppable beast

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, teacher/student dynamic! adult age gap! (reader is in college, unspecified age), sw/camgirl!reader (don’t like don’t read! no shaming 😤), strong language, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel, darling), reader calling geto "sir", unprotected relations, creampie, afab reader and terms

A/N: this switches between povs a lot so i hope that’s okay or at least readable lol! also i set out to write him so much meaner but he’s just kind of a simp... enjoy?

reblogs are very much appreciated i'll uwu for u :pleading eyes emoji:

it is said that those who cannot do, teach.

geto suguru could have done many things. he had the brains, the muscles, the features, the traits. the ambition to succeed in any field he desired. satoru says in a world ruled by the strong there is no place for humility.

but humility is not why suguru became a teacher. neither is ineptitude. no, he’d become a teacher because it was the right thing to do.

to use his gifts to help shape new generations, help unlock potentials long dorment and buried deep under years of a lackluster schooling system. geto suguru prided himself, above all, in being a righteous man.

but japan’s most upstanding citizen for 28 years in a row held a shameful secret. a secret in the shape of you.

he saw the darkest sides of himself on your face (eyebrows scrunched, eyes shut tightly, jaw slack as you—), your voice (higher in pitch with desperate moans that sound almost scared on the brink of your—), your body (taut and plump in all the right places, glistening with sweat, bouncing up and down on a—).

when you walked into his classroom that fateful day, the world tilted on its axis. his first thought was, fuck, then, it can’t be, then, most embarrassing of all, i’ll finally find out what she smells like.

(he did, when you went up to his desk to hand over your test. a whiff of vanilla, argon oil shampoo. too sweet, too youthful. and he’d watched you leave, tennis skirt flowing like a water lily, dick already chubby in his pants.)

it was slowly starting to consume him.

the first time you spoke in class, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. it was really you. the cute, slutty girl he’d been milking his cock to for the better part of a year.

god, when you finally said his name. you would never in your wildest dreams think that he’d been imagining those words coming out of your mouth, of him coming out of your mouth, dripping out of you, all over you—

he was losing it. this was not like him. this was never supposed to happen, and he has to put an end to it.

everybody knew of geto suguru, the prodigy professor. already getting a phd despite not even being 30, handling the administrative slack for the department while managing office hours every day of the week, promoting student events, helping organize spirit weeks and charity drives.

everything he did, he did for others. those not as capable as him — which was most people. in other words, it was really, really hard to hate him.

but you damn well managed to.

and to think you were excited to take his class. everybody told you to run, not walk, to sign up for his twentieth-century Japanese philosophy chair.

“oh, professor geto is just the best,” they’d said. “he makes it sound so interesting and engaging, he gives the most life changing assignments, he really cares about us.”

bullshit.

the first time you stepped into that classroom, suspiciously full for a philosophy class, you felt a shift in the air almost immediately.

and sure enough, professor geto suguru was eyeing you down like he’d just seen a ghost. it made you self conscious, like he’d taken one look at you and decided right then and there you were too dumb for the class.

it made your blood boil. sure, you stood out a little bit from the actual philosophy majors, but that doesn’t mean he gets to judge you. he literally doesn’t know you!

but fine, first impressions are tricky like that. for all you knew, you could’ve been misjudging him right there.

however, with each passing day, you grew more and more assured in your suspicions.

you knew the man had it out for you, always calling on you to answer when he knew you weren’t paying attention, never grading your papers above a B even though you did everything right, somehow managing to fucking avoid you during his excessive office hours.

his looks were almost the most infuriating part of it.

his beautiful face constantly set in that nonchalant look, his big veiny hands always gesticulating, his huge fucking arms straining the fabric of those dress shirts, his ear gauges and man bun contrasting the prim and proper image the rest of him conveyed.

under different circumstances, he’d make your mouth water. under different circumstances, you’d imagine him going down on you all night long, singing praise about how good you taste and how tight you are.

but in this timeline, you absolutely loathed him. and he loathed you too. why? you didn’t know.

but you knew for a fact that it was personal.

“i don’t care,” megumi said around a mouthful of meatball, cutting your monologue short. “i’m not doing it.”

you sigh, melting into your chair. “megumi. please. i am literally begging you, i just need some hard evidence so i can go report his ass.”

he eyes you curiously. “report him for what?”

“i don’t know. bullying? sexism? whatever the hell his problem is,” you pick at your food, huffing in annoyance.

“you’re overthinking it,” megumi replies, dismissively.

“okay, how about this,” you lean forward, putting an elbow on the table. “if you write the assignment for me, i’ll get your dog that expensive halloween costume you’ve been wanting.”

megumi lifts an eyebrow.

“you need to get one for each,” he says simply.

you grin. “deal.”

suguru really does give it his all to make your life with him a living hell. pulls out all the stops, years of friendship with gojo satoru paying off as he comes up with ploy after ploy to get you to drop his class.

it feels bad, being mean to you. but for the hidden, twisted parts of him, it feels delicious.

watching you huff and puff, all hot and bothered when he corrects your answers on the spot. watching you nibble on your pen at the increasingly difficult exams he hands out. letting himself wonder if you missed a stream this week because you were too busy cramming for a make up test.

he knows he’s pushing you to your limit, and even if there’s some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing you so agitated at his hands when it’s usually the other way around, he doesn’t enjoy upsetting you.

the problem is, suguru knows it’s either he gets his shit together or he continues tormenting you, and, well.

the spirit is willing but the flesh is so, so weak.

he knows it’s getting worse, too, because he’s not infatuated by you only when you’re undressing on his screen, or all dolled up in class.

when you tie your hair up in a ponytail, when you suck on a hangnail, when you lick your thumb to erase a smudge on your paper… all of it drives him wild.

he can’t teach with a permanent half chub anymore. this has to end, one way or another.

you sit down in front of your computer, adjusting the camera before turning it on. soon, viewers start trickling in, little dings notifying you of their messages.

you smile, waving at the screen.

“hi everyone! i know i’m a little bit late today, i hope you can forgive me…” your eyes scan the chat, giggling at the compliments. “‘you look tired, sad face’, ah. i’m sorry. i guess i’ve been a little stressed lately.”

your robe falls over your shoulder as you readjust your position. a few donations come in, accompanied by supportive messages.

“you guys are so nice. it’s not a big deal, it’s just this dude giving me a hard time at college.”

you absentmindedly trace your collarbones, reading what your viewers are saying.

“you’ll kill him for me? that’s so sweet,” you joke. “nah, it’s not a student. it’s a professor. exactly, ynlover444, a grown ass man picking on me!”

you sigh deeply, allowing your body to finally unwind and relax on your chair. you prop a knee up against the armrest, giving your viewers a little peek in between your legs. you’re wearing one of your favorite sets, trying to get in the mood after the week you’ve had.

“ugh, sometimes i wish i could just…” you suck in a breath, clenching your hand into a fist before releasing it. “sit on his face and get him to shut up, you know?”

you laugh at the countless me firsts that flood the chat, bringing a finger to your lip.

“anyway! enough about that horrible man,” you reach beside you to grab a box your viewers know all too well by now. “let’s get to the fun stuff, shall we?”

as always, satoru is no help.

“why don’t you just fuck her?” he asks, eyebrows arching above his sunglasses. “ya gotta just fuck her.”

suguru clears his throat before taking a drag of his cigarette. “i’m not fucking a student.”

satoru shrugs. “everybody does it. besides, you basically already do.”

suguru wonders, not for the first time, why he ever told his friend about his situation. about your streams, that he’d stumbled upon randomly and innocently and had gotten instantly hooked, about you barging into his classroom like an angel at hell’s gates, about you you you you, everything about you.

“that won’t fix anything.”

satoru clicks his tongue, swirling his soda inside the can.

“poor, naive suguru. did you not just tell me about what she said on her stream?" and yes, regrettably, suguru had told him. "it’ll fix everything.”

suguru doesn’t even let himself consider it, except he does.

at this point it’s no secret that he’s thought about being inside you, but now that you’re here it’s just too real and too risky and completely fucking wrong.

it goes against the entire life he’s built for himself.

he’s lost. he wants you so fucking bad, wants you close, wants you so far away, wants to ravage you and never have to see you again.

it’s fight or flight. if he got you alone, it could go either way, he realizes that.

suguru wonders what part of him will win by the end of all of this.

your heels clack on the linoleum floor of the hallway as you approach professor geto’s classroom, megumi’s graded paper clutched tightly against your chest.

the thing about megumi is that he's a star student. he’s never gotten anything below an A on any of his essays, makes the dean’s list every year, tutors his seniors. so the big, bright B- on the page tells you everything you need to know.

damn right it’s personal.

you don’t even bother knocking, slamming the door open while still trying to contain your indignation.

geto is sitting at his desk, piles of papers sprawled on top. he has his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a surprised look on his face that would be cute if you didn’t want to slap it right off.

he says your last name like he’d been expecting you all his life.

“to what do i owe the pleasure?”

your jaw clenches as you take a few loud steps towards him. you slam megumi’s paper down on his desk, leaning over.

“professor geto, i demand an explanation. a real one, this time.”

the man takes a deep breath, lips twisting disapprovingly. he smoothes the paper over.

“as i already explained in my notes right here, the structure is fine, but i couldn’t help but miss a more in-depth analysis of the four nodal concerns of philosophy that we talked about in class, such as—“

“no,” you interrupt. “just no. you know you’re bullshitting me and i’m sick of it. this paper deserved an A!”

“miss—“

“what’s your problem with me?” you spit out. your eyes finally meet and there’s nothing in geto’s that could answer your question. your chest is heaving, lips wobbling and hands shaking, trying to contain your anger.

geto clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “like i said, your paper could’ve used a bit more—“

“no it fucking couldn’t have, because it’s not my fucking paper, it’s fushiguro’s fucking paper and the only reason you gave it a B is because i was the one who handed it in!”

he sits up, straightening his posture.

geto sounds austere when he asks, “do you realize how much trouble this could be for both of you if i reported it?”

you can’t believe this man. he’s been picking on you the entire semester and when you finally confront him about it this is what he chooses to focus on.

“are you fucking kidding me?” that earns you a stern look from him, eyebrow raising taller than that fucking high horse he sits on. “professor geto. what did i ever do to you?”

there must be something earnest in your voice because geto sighs, getting up from his chair.

he walks until he’s standing in front of you, leaning against his desk and crossing his feet.

“do i bother you?” is all he says. it surprises you.

you jut your chin out. “as a matter of fact, you do.”

the man hums.

“i bet that’s really difficult for you,” he speaks like he’s sympathetic, like he understands. he sounds almost sheepish when he says, “i bet sometimes you wish i would just shut up.”

you blink rapidly. “no, it’s not like that. it might shock you but i genuinely do enjoy your class, it’s just that—“

“or maybe you wish you could shut me up,” he continues, ignoring you. “maybe going as far as to say that you could… sit on my face to get me to shut up.”

your mouth goes dry.

before your brain can fully process the shift in the atmosphere or the fact that your professor is maybe possibly hitting on you, you realize where those words are coming from.

it’s what you said. about him. on stream. right before fucking yourself on your hot pink dildo.

you can’t speak, can barely even look in his general direction.

you had really thought things couldn’t get any worse. had barged into his office with nothing to lose, almost hoping he would cordially invite you to remove yourself from his class permanently.

but now? now you have no idea what’s going to happen to you.

“i…” you start, the words dying in your throat. geto chuckles, crossing his fat fucking muscly arms across his chest.

he says your name, low and syrupy. “is it true? you’d like to?”

you can feel your face flush hot in embarrassment, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, wishing desperately that you’d never walked into his classroom.

you have half the mind to apologize to him, right now.

“it’s just a figure of speech,” you try. geto clicks his tongue.

“what a shame.”

your wide eyes shoot up and meet his. “w-what?”

he smiles sweetly.

“it’s a peace offering. you can take it, or we can forget you ever said anything,” and isn’t he just so slimey, actually, when he’s the one who brought it up. he had said it, and now…

now you can finally allow yourself to look at him.

those delicious, broad shoulders, the ever-present bored look, the stubborn fringe that falls out of his bun.

you could so easily forget what you came here for.

“so, like, a truce?” you ask, taking a daring step forward. geto nods, uncrossing his arms. “and you stop treating me like i’m fucking dumb?”

he tilts his head. “i think you’re a very smart young lady. determined. entrepreneurial…”

“geto—“

“professor geto,” he corrects you, hands reaching out to graze your hips. “you’re intelligent. i just like to push my students.”

you both know that’s a lie, but it’s okay, because now you know exactly why you got under his skin and it makes your own burn.

you run a hand down the line of buttons on the front of his shirt, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“then… push me, professor.”

it’s so incredibly lame, the porn line you hit him with, but to your surprise it works, a low groan rumbling deep in geto’s chest.

he swiftly closes the distance between the two of you, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing your lips together.

it’s ravenous, the way geto dips his tongue inside when you gasp in surprise. you moan against his mouth, slipping a leg in between his two.

he’s half hard already when he rubs up against your thigh.

geto picks you up with ease and sets you down on his desk, and it’s so fucking cliché, the papers crinkling under your weight, the pens clattering to the floor. but it turns you on beyond belief.

you share a few open mouthed kisses, an exchange of tongue and moans and hot breaths between your lips.

if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that you've fantasized about it before. a silly idea, at first, something you'd just blurted out mid-stream.

but that little seed had been planted, and when you got yourself off that night, you might've imagined for a moment that it was your mean professor's cock squeezed tight inside you, making you come undone.

geto slips his hands under your skirt, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him. you line up your crotch with his, moving your hips in tight little circles that make the both of you groan.

his fingers are tugging your underwear down, down, the soft patch sticking to your gooey cunt. he lets the soaked fabric dangle from your ankle, grazing the back of his knuckles on your core.

“mmm, fuck,” geto breaks the kiss, swallowing. his pretty lips are flushed and shiny, parted around his panted breaths. “you always get this wet or am i special?”

he’s smirking, the bastard, leaning back in to kiss your neck.

god, you smell so good, like lotion and perfume and sunshine and sin.

“shouldn’t you know?” you sneak your fingers up into his bun, pushing your chest against him. he works his lips expertly on your skin, using just the right amount of teeth, of pressure.

geto hums against your neck, kissing a line up to your jaw. he snakes a hand under your skirt, thumb pressing down hard to rub on your clit, two fingers slipping inside.

you immediately clench, a soft, drawn out mewl leaving your lips.

the slide of his fingers against your walls send a chill down your spine, filling you up so perfectly. you feel the thin skin at your opening stretch around him, burning at the friction as his fingers plunge in and out of you.

“god, look at that,” he rests his forehead on your shoulder and pulls the hem of your skirt up. “do you hear that, baby? so fucking wet for me.”

you whine, hands cupping his jaw so you can kiss him again.

“please…” you mumble against his lips. “more…”

you wonder how much of what you can say he's heard before, which exact words have left your lips and sent him over the edge. it makes you self conscious, oddly, like he can see right through you.

not-so-kindly ignoring your request, geto removes his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth.

you watch as his eyelids flutter in pleasure, a hum rumbling low in his throat.

he looks so good like this, just edible.

you pull him in for a kiss before he can, relishing in the surprised little noise he lets out. your knees are wobbling, feet dangling from your seat as you taste yourself on his tongue.

he swallows your moan hungrily, forearms trembling with the need to hold back.

geto knows this is wrong, so wrong on so many levels, puts both your positions in jeopardy, it makes him feel perverted and primal and so fucking alive.

he’s been watching you fuck yourself on those silly toys for god knows how long now, knows every spot that makes your hips buck, knows exactly how to make you cream like a debased slut around a cock.

it should feel unfair, how easy it’s going to be for him to make you cum, only if it weren’t for the fact that your mere presence is enough to get him hard as fucking diamonds.

“tastes good, huh?” he whispers, thumb caressing your chin. you nod, smiling devilishly.

“tastes better on your tongue, prof.”

geto groans low like a starved animal, holding your throat in his hand with a loose grip. he’s overwhelmed, that much shows, not knowing what to do with you or where to start. but there’s one thing he’s sure of.

he presses one last kiss to your spit-slick lips before dropping to his knees.

you can hardly believe it. sulky, big bad bully professor geto suguru on his knees for you. you prop a foot up on his desk, your sole skidding on a piece of paper.

“scoot closer, please,” he asks, cordial even like this. you bring your ass to the edge of the desk, your dripping pussy hovering over his face.

he looks so good under you, hair already disheveled, a delicious tent in his tailored pants.

you tuck the hem of your skirt into the waistline so you can watch as he sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning like he’s fucking relieved.

you throw your head back, fingers buried in his silky hair as geto’s fingers find their way back inside.

he fucks them in and out of you lazily, pushing out strings of slick. geto slurps it all up, spreading your wetness all over your clit and sucking it back in his mouth.

god, his cock is straining in his pants but he doesn’t dare touch it, can’t until he’s inside you. you taste like fucking heaven, like all his fantasies, like he always knew you would.

you’re whining softly, bucking your hips into his face almost shyly, as to disrupt his pace.

you sound so much better in person, although he can’t wait to have you moaning into his ear without needing the headphones.

“god, this perfect pussy,” geto mumbles into you, his breathing labored. he runs a thumb all over your cunt, gliding it over your soaked lips. “been dreaming about it for so long.”

“yeah?” you ask. “tell me. tell me how you stroke your cock to me every night.”

and every night might be overselling it. geto is a busy man.

but your words do make him realize that no girl he’s had since he found your stream has satisfied him quite like you do. your flirty smile, your moans, the way they sometimes turn into uncontained giggles as you stuff your pretty cunt with a dildo.

so he tells you, blush spreading across his cheeks.

“fuck, i do,” he tongues your clit, tracing lazy circles. “i do. just look what you do to me.“

and there it is, that cheeky, slutty giggle, directed at something he said this time.

he takes his fingers out, spreading your opening with both thumbs as he licks you all over.

geto gulps, tongue dipping inside of you, sucking your clit into his mouth, sliding down to your entrance, every clench of your pussy pushing out more and more slick for him. no one's ever eaten you out as thoroughly as this.

“oh, fuck, sir,” it slips out casually, the way it would were you talking to any other professor. but given the circumstances, you revel in the deep moan geto buries into your cunt.

you trap your lips between your teeth to keep anything else from tumbling out, but it’s useless.

“please, sir, i’m so close—so close just keep doing that, yeah just like that—“

“fuck,” he mumbles, pulling away to suck in a desperate breath. then, “fuck,” sultrier, right into your core.

you grind against his face, finding purchase in his hair as a final few flicks of his tongue push you right into the crest of a mind-numbing orgasm.

it’s so good, so much better than when you're alone. the friction so perfect, his long, thick fingers plugging you up last minute to viciously fuck into you.

“god…,” you breathe out, legs trembling as he runs his hands up your thighs.

his chin is glistening, bubbles of spit and cum gathering in the corner of his mouth. he looks so good like this, like he was meant to please you and nothing else.

geto feels like a fucking teenager, so goddamn close to busting in his pants at the sight of you. his dick hurts, balls tight and the head throbbing where it’s tucked into his underwear.

“please, sweetheart,” he can’t hold himself back any longer, slick fingers already undoing his belt.

you get to work on his zipper, pulling his pants down along with his underwear and damn.

you figured he was big. he was a tall man, broad shoulders, shoes the size of a yacht, and the bulge in his trousers was a pretty good indication. but it couldn’t have prepared you for the sheer size of him.

longer than it is thick, cleanly shaven, pretty veins and ridges and standing angry red in attention. god, you want it inside you.

he notices you looking.

“do you need more prep? i can—“

“no, fuck no, suguru, need it inside me now,” you wrap a hand around him and he hisses, caging you in with his arms on the desk.

he huffs out a laugh, blowing the fringe framing his face. “what happened to sir?”

you kiss down his jaw, squeezing right below his tip.

“sorry, sir,” you say against his ear. “are you going to punish me for my slip up?”

geto groans, pulling on your hair hard and making you face him.

“take your shirt off for me,” he instructs, and you obey, maneuvering around his tight grip on the back of your head.

his spirit is so unbreakable.

here you are, teasing him, coaxing him to rough you up, push you around, relieve both your frustrations properly once and for all, but he’s just so… adoring, and hungry, and just so irrevocably into you, and you find out that’s so much better.

geto relents his hold on you to unclasp your bra, cupping your breasts and sucking a nipple into his mouth. you whine, caressing his hair.

“so fucking perfect,” he massages your tits, looking mesmerized.

“yeah? they haven’t gotten old to you yet?”

he laughs, so cute, and you can barely remember that just hours ago you hated the sight of him. you stroke his cock up and down, squeezing harder at the tip trying to milk all that delicious pre he’s been wasting on the inside of his boxers.

“no, f-fuck—never gonna get old,” he pushes your boobs against each other, imagining his cock sliding in between them, his balls nestled underneath, his load blown all over your pretty face—

fuck, he’s gonna cum if he keeps going like this.

he rips your hand away from him, ignoring your knowing smirk and pushing his tongue into your mouth.

“i’m gonna fuck you now, okay, sweetheart?” you moan, nodding, shimmying your hips so he can have the perfect angle.

a big hand clasps your thigh to wrap your leg around his hips as his tip pokes around your entrance.

you’re whining in anticipation, clenching around nothing, nails clawing his clothed back.

when he slips in, it feels like coming home. you’re like warm honey around him, cunt pushing him out but clinging to him at the same time, with every stroke. it’s fucking maddening.

“ahh, g-god, sir, ‘s too big—“ you swallow around the lump in your throat, feeling the tip of his cock in your guts.

he’s huffing, concentrated, bullying his cock into you inch by inch with shallow thrusts until he finally bottoms out.

“fuuuuck, angel,” he grips your waist with both hands, like he could just fuck you up and down his length if he wanted to. “took me so well, look at that.”

you do, dropping your heavy head to look at where you’re connected. you clench around him and he whines, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in.

the metal legs of the desk skid on the floor, papers and pens raining down to the floor as geto starts roughly plunging in and out of you.

you let out little ah, ah, ahs in time with his strokes, the ache deep in your stomach finally starting to fade.

“f-fuck, you’re gonna—topple us over, suguru, go easy—“

“can’t,” he chokes out, wheezing as he pushes his cock in as far as it can go.

he gives shallow little thrusts, his length straining the fine skin at your entrance so good, hitting a spot inside you over and over that makes your head spin.

your fingers twist into the back of his shirt, pulling him in to whine right into his ear.

he’s so big, stretching you out so thin that you feel every ridge and vein, can feel both your heartbeats inside your cunt.

“ohhhhh fuck, fuck sir, please please touch me—“

he grabs your ass before you can even finish your sentence and presses you flush against his hips.

geto’s tip is kissing your cervix now, his balls sticky and creamy against your ass, your clit grinding against his pubic bone as his thrusts violently shake the both of you.

“fuck, wanna do it so fucking loud but i can’t, we can’t, what if someone walks in—“

you moan wantonly at his words, expecting to be chided, but geto seems to love it despite his worries because his cock kicks deliciously inside of you.

“look how loud you’re being, listen to yourself,” he grunts out, the belt pooled around his feet clanging with every stroke, the absolutely lewd squelches from your pussy resonating in the entire classroom.

you two sound so good together, better than you’ve ever had, better than he could’ve ever imagined.

“so loud, so wet on this cock,” he spits out, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “do those toys make you feel this good? this full? answer me.”

“hahh, n-no, no one but you,” you can’t think straight, head thrown back in pleasure and eyes squeezed shut. “only you, sir.”

geto whines like he’s aching, pounding into you mercilessly and making a mess under the two of you.

“fuck yeah, that’s right. i’m making you feel good, baby?”

“mm-hm,” you mumble, tongue lolling out. geto's going so hard now, has you pressed up so tight against him, body caging you in, fucking every breath and thought right out of you. “close.”

“yeah?” he speeds up his effort slightly, and you’re sure he’s going to have desk-edge shaped bruises on his thighs tomorrow. “gonna cum on my cock? cream all over me?”

you let out a long, drawn out whine, tits bouncing up and down with the force of geto’s thrusts.

“let me see your face when you cum, darling,” he cups the back of your neck, breathing hard through his nose. “keep your eyes on me. that’s right, sweetie, so good, you’re doing so good.”

you preen at the praise, feeling suddenly self conscious with the man's laser focus attention on you.

you coo out little noises, growing in desperation, holding onto his biceps for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you.

your pull him into you closer and rub your clit against him, grinding helplessly as your orgasm creeps closer and closer.

the moment you open your eyes and meet his hungry ones, you’re cumming. your walls spasm around him, making the glide of his dick impossibly wetter with your release.

geto chokes on a sound, his cock hostage of your pussy’s vice-like grip as your greedy cunt milks him for all he's got.

“f-fuck, baby, look so pretty when you cum, always look so fucking sexy so fucking perfect that you’re gonna make me bust, i’m gonna cum for you god gonna cum inside, gonna blow my load all deep inside this pussy—“

it’s the most desperate he’s ever sounded, speaking through clenched teeth and a soaked mouth. you moan in return, letting him use you.

he slams his forehead down your shoulder when he thrusts once, twice, three times and cums, his balls drawing up so tight that it hurts. he fucks it into you with shallow thrusts, panting, almost wheezing in pleasure.

it feels like it lasts forever, his orgasm. like all of the blood in his body goes straight to his balls to push out the thickest, most satisfying nut of his life into the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

you feel it fill you up so good, hear it, too, squelching and sticking to both of you.

geto’s body slumps against yours and you stay like that for a while, catching your breaths. there’s cum sliding out of you, down his balls, onto some poor student’s essay you have your ass on top of.

when he pulls out of you, he takes a beat to watch it spill out of you some more, his face and chest red, his smile groggy.

“god, this,” geto has to fight the urge to say thank you for letting him fuck your brains out. he swallows.

“yeah,” you blink away the haze, feeling sore and fucked out. “this.”

“…is probably going to happen again, right?”

he knows it shouldn’t. he knows it will.

maybe both parts of geto can learn to coexist.

you grin, touching the tip of your tongue to his lips.

“well, i still haven’t made good on that promise of sitting on your face, have i?”

the next morning, in class, the students erupt in happiness at the news that professor geto had an accident that ended up ruining most of last week’s graded papers he had in his possession.

so he decided to give everyone an A for their troubles.

and finally, finally, there was peace in the world.

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chronurgy · 8 months

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I think that before Gortash and Durge started working together, they were both very lonely. And part of why their relationship is so intense is that they both see the other as the only person in the world who can handle them. The only other person in the world who could possibly understand them or be on their level, and to some degree, chosen as they are by evil gods, they're not really wrong.

Because as worshipers of dark gods, both Gortash and Durge have very specific paths laid out before them. As a worshiper of bane, gortash needs to become a tyrant - he needs to end up on top of the world. And as they said in the Prayer for Forgiveness, Durge is well aware that Bhaal created them to be the last soul alive.

But both of those things, being on top of the world and being the last soul alive, are very lonely ways to be. And I think both Gortash and Durge have both had periods in their lives where they were very lonely - Gortash in the house of hope (or frankly even before that, his parents hardly seemed loving) and Durge was likely treated more as an instrument than a person in the Bhaal cult. Neither of them want to be alone again, and after meeting the only other person in this world who can possibly be on their level, they seem to immediately set out to find ways to work the other person into their rigidly planned out lives.

Gortash genuinely plans to share power with with Durge, to rule alongside them. He gives you, his co-conspirator, his partner in crime, half the credit for the plans - calling them "our" plans. He's happy to hear you're alive, he's genuinely pleased to see you again, and he's ready pick right back up where you left off. He tests your resolve with the netherstones because he very specifically doesn't want another flunky, he wants an equal. He doesn't want to be alone up there on top of the world, with no one who could ever hope to understand him. He wants Durge right there with him and he's willing to commit a Banite sin (sharing power! the horror!) to get it.

And Durge, well, we saw the Prayer for Forgiveness. Durge plans to kill Gortash on Bhaal's altar, the same place they hope to die. I do think that Durge intended to kill Gortash last, and kill him slow. So that when they kill themselves he'll still be there. So they can die together, hand in bloody hand on that altar. Because being created to be the last soul alive is such a lonely fate, to know that you'll die completely alone, without even someone to hold your hand. And that is Durge's sin, the one small comfort they'd allow themselves - not dying alone, but dying with Gortash, holding his hand, knowing that there was someone there who loved them as they both breathed their last. Imagining dying in a loving embrace instead of alone in a cold world.

It's interesting to see how they both can't escape their gods plans for them (ruling and dying), can't bring themselves to imagine any other ending, but also go on to explicitly sin against their respective gods in the name of their relationship (ruling together, dying together). They're both drowning and they know they can't escape but goddammit they're going to go down together, the only two people in this world who can handle each other, the only two people who matter.

#That's part of what makes their relationship so compelling to me - they really are the only motherfuckers who can handle one another #And they're both willing to change up their gods plans to fit the other in them #But they can't escape them entirely maybe because they don't want to #They're sooooo doomed #enver gortash #dark urge #dark urge x gortash #durgetash #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers

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sunboki · 3 months

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— ENDLESS WINTER. a Christopher Bahng fiction

Christopher Bahng x f. reader

TROPE. Beast! au, Mage! au, enemies to lovers (she wants to kill him), marriage au, angst

WARNINGS. violence, kidnapping, mention of a past war, descriptions of murder, reader is injured, hyunjin is a bit of a pain, hinted minsung (hehe), blood, kissing (dubcon), cursing

WORD COUNT. 12k words

AUG'S NOTES. if there’s ever been a more spontaneous fic in history it would be this… every sentence is write is purely self indulgent…. (genuinely a written version of the stories i make in my head while laying in bed)

SYNOPSIS. As heiress of the Magus, otherwise, Mage Clan, you find your position ripped from your fingertips when the Beast Clan conducts a raid. Left the only survivor, you make it your priory to stay alive in a ravaged Kingdom. That is, before you’re captured.

alternatively :

Starvation becomes the least of your problems when you meet King Bahng.

Hiding in the kitchen’s cupboard was definitely not your intention.

Neither was the Kingdom getting raided by the Beast Clan or being the (presumably) lone survivor in the castle, but fate would have its way, whether you liked it or not — this one just a bit more severe than usual.

Your mother once told you of the Beast Clan, of their ferocity and inability to handle things diplomatically. In her opinion, Beast were barely able to be considered Human.

Well, these words came after the Mage-Beast War; a grueling, disgustingly brutal dispute that caused what was referred to as the “Endless Winter”, a curse put upon the nation by a Magus overseer bidding every day of every year with, well, “endless winter”.

She told you how the ground used to be a wondrous green. Soft beneath your fingertips like feathers. Now, blankets of snow stretched as far as the eye could see, killing off any remaining expanse of foliage.

Although years had passed since then, your Kingdom was still recovering, still navigating importing routes in order to supply necessary goods.

Yet, everything was rapidly adapting, whether that was the snow-shoe rabbits roaming your vast tundra or the unexpected growth of fur on the bottom of the horse’s hooves.

Growing, learning.

Magus, though a lineage of magic practitioners, had begun to dull over the centuries. There was no need to learn with peace eminent, and the more aged those wielding supernatural abilities became, the less said abilities progressed into your generations.

However, Magus is the hearth of your Kingdom, and for as long as you live, the title shall reign supreme.

A title that, used by enemies and allies alike, had modernized from its ancient form Magus, to Mage.

Dinner held in the customary hall began that night, seat upon seat homing each member of the family adorned in their extravagant clothing.

Your father occupied the upmost chair, his plate stacked full of greasy lamb and pork bones. You, on the other hand, had had your fill chatting the cook’s ear off, slipping sweet potato wedges here and there as you talked.

Ms. Maewether was her name, a sad soul who carried her love in her cherished dishes. A love reserved for her late husband, a Beast himself, who unfortunately passed in The War.

Back then you asked her questions to the moon, about what they looked like specifically — if they really had eight inch claws like all the other children gossiped, if they could feel.

The last one was important, because everything Ms. Maewether told you you believed without a doubt, and the number one thing she pressed was that Beasts can feel, so very deeply. Just like humans.

The War changed that, and tension rose tenfold, especially as each Kingdom recovered from their countless casualties.

Luckily, your life had been peaceful, having been born young enough you could hardly remember.

Had been peaceful.

A scream from outside redirects the table’s conversation, relatives and siblings alike turning their head to gaze out the window.

Your blood runs cold.

Beasts, left and right, are slaughtering. Their clothing stained in blood that certainly isn’t their own, blades in clutch.

Immediately, panic ensues. People are trampling over each other to get out, disregarding every instinct but to stay alive. It’s chaos.

Dodging flailing bodies, you anchor yourself in a secluded cupboard below the countertops, shrinking as close to the wall as possible.

A few moments after everyone evacuates the Dining Hall do you hear cries. Yelling, gargled sounds. You cringe back imagining, stifling your breathing as much as possible.

Suddenly, a thought comes to mind, a thought that might just be responsible for saving your life.

Smell.

Ms. Maewether warned you a Beast’s smell is like no other, like a dogs. Twenty times as heightened as a persons.

So slowly, silently, you fish your hand into the small bit of darkness in front of you, locating a small bottle of cooking grease you wince upon finding — forcing the awful smelling concoction over your body, masking your scent.

Right after sitting down the container does the door creak open, heavy footsteps belonging to none other than a Beast. You can hear it in their sniffing, the clicking of their claws. Chills scatter your arms.

Another enters as the second door creaks, muttering something incomprehensible to its companion. At this point you’re pressed to the other side of the cupboard, both hands covering your mouth.

Your heart thunders in your chest, beating unbearably loud the longer you huddle.

Walking past where you lie, a Beast stops, body ducking down close enough you can hear its labored panting. You wait, waiting for the door to be flung open and for your death to await.

It doesn’t. And you thank whomever above for the echo of its presence fading away into the distance, barely relaxing against the highly uncomfortable hiding spot.

Instead, a blood curdling screech rips through the atmosphere, comparably close to where you hide. Abruptly, it stops, the thump of a body against the floor making you staunch the nausea building like bile in your throat.

It takes three days for you to finally peer out of the cupboard, the entirety of the Kingdom completely void of a soul.

Taking your first few steps around do you notice a woman, obviously slain by the puddle of blood surrounding her and the putrid stench. Her mouth hangs open—horror-stricken, frozen in place. You vomit in the sink.

For about a week do you roam the murder-house of a castle, finding purchase in a non-blood-bathed room and the many, thought to be endless amount of food.

You won’t leave, simple.

As long as the Beast Clan believes they’ve killed everyone, you’re safe.

That reminder was assuring, until your food supply dropped exponentially and a new problem situated itself on your platter.

Worst case scenario you die of starvation, the likelihood high if you stay here. Solution? Hunting.

Granted, you’re not the most skillful hunter, but you’re also not horrendous with a bow. Except, it’s not your aiming abilities you stress, it’s the chance someone sees you, the enemy sees you.

Four weeks in and you’re left with no other choice than to bundle yourself in layers upon layers of clothing and heed the feeble weaponry available.

Blizzard frost permeates your vision, wobbling steps making your hunger evident the more you roam. A horse would’ve been effortlessly useful, but selling yourself into that fantasy had been futile upon realizing they either took or killed all escapades.

A hare catches your eye, pale fur barely divisible from the terrain below. Carefully, you crouch down, elbow stretching the arrow back as far as possible whilst maintaining a solid grip. Steady. Steady.

Shoot!

The arrow flies, puncturing the animal in its chest enough to where it thankfully doesn’t suffer, flopping over rather pathetically instead.

However, your success is short-lived.

Stalking forward to snatch the creature quickly, a shadow looming overhead halts your footsteps. Behind you.

Before you can think to run, you wind back, meager arrow in hand providing little defense against the attacker.

First thing you take in is how huge they are. At least six feet tall if not taller, brilliantly ruby eyes revealing its true identity.

Beast.

With ease the man has your efforts pinned, curiousity overflowing as the animal looks at you. Yet, he doesn’t look like an animal, and apart from those eyes of his, no other factors would’ve revealed him to you but that.

This Beast has a fox-like face. A younger stature and smaller, slanted features.

“Hyung, what is this?” He asks, lifting your petrified frame like you were the rabbit you’d killed earlier.

His older counterpart glances over, and any hope of getting released plummets upon those wild crimson hues focusing in on you—knowledgeable as to what you were.

The cooking grease had long worn off, and your identity was likely as apparent as can be.

Mage.

Older Beast easily roaming through the snow, his fingers tangle into your hair, drawing out a cry when he jerks his hand up, forcing your gaze to meet his through the searing sting of your scalp. The younger grimaces.

His long, nearly white hair is tied into a ponytail, sharp cheekbones and calculating stare beyond intimidating. Beneath his left eye you note a small, distinct mole.

“One remained, huh.”

It’s a fever dream walking into the Kingdom that, compared to yours, looks positively flourishing with life. Beasts of all kinds roam about, carrying on with their daily lives, oblivious to the winds of death they’ve swept your way.

Everything in your body feels as if it’s shutting down, unable to feel the sensation of your legs as you trudge forward, the younger, much kinder Beast ensuring you kept pace.

Freezing temperatures carry on the longer snow falls, gluing strands of hair to your forehead, blanketing your lashes while your nose runs incessantly.

In front of you now lies the castle, far grander than you could’ve ever imagined. Twin spires peek above the low-hanging clouds, stone columns towering above.

From your distance you spot two knights positioned on either side of the entryway, large armored helmets with hawk feathers adorning the ridges.

One knight stops your ascent, the light-haired man rolling his eyes profusely.

“Minho, this is important.”

“Important enough you’re bringing a Mage into the Kingdom?”

His voice smooth as honey, he sports a dominant tone when speaking. Stare observant, he watches the other Beast’s expressions with uncanny precision.

“Because if you haven’t noticed Hyunjin,” He leans forward a bit, whispering. “You have the entire Kingdom’s attention.”

At this, either of the Beasts who escorted you turn around, and upon doing so are met with hundreds, if not thousands of eyes boring into their soul. Whether it’s younger Beasts or aged soldiers, those heinous vermillion orbs seem to see through you.

You gulp.

“C’mon,” Hyunjin harshly beckons, nudging you forward through the gates with the younger quick on his tail.

Every color in the Palace is monochromatically grey, although strikes of royal blue reside in large drapes hung from perched balconies.

Similar guards to those outside sift throughout the room, familiar hawk feathers litter everywhere in sight, paving paths to the core of the room where a throne sits.

Pointed edges flank either side of the massive chair, the ocean blue rug underneath reflecting up and out of the ceiling — a glass design stretching wide across the throne room, emphasizing the dusky weather outside.

According to the younger Beast whose title you learned as Jeongin, the King was currently participating in a hunt with Changbin (the lead hunter of the Palace), so after hasty appreciation of the sheer volume of this breathtaking castle, you’re forced toward the dungeons.

Jeongin wears a pitying frown, promising to return with some food to your chambers in the case the King doesn’t arrive for a while.

At least someone in this Kingdom doesn’t insist you’re beheaded.

“Finally, somebody else is here.”

A voice erupting from the darkening depths to your right make you jump, chained wrists clanging abruptly. Through minimal lighting of the burning lamps hastened upon the walls, you make out the silhouette of a man, face bunching in a sweet manner when he smiles.

Unusually, his hands aren’t chained.

“What’re you in here for?” You begin, gaze narrowed in confusion. The chubby-cheeked stranger smiles haphazardly.

“I would ask you the same thing. I’m the King’s Advisor, he just gets tired of me and puts me in here sometimes,” Your chamber-mate sighs, and once you take in what he professed, the urge to laugh becomes too strong to control.

Laughing for the first time in quite a while is sort of relieving, especially when this new acquaintance of yours begins whining his dismay, aimlessly trying to hush your giggles.

Red eyes. You can see them blinking up at you, gleaming when he grins his pointed teeth.

Quickly pausing, you wait in horror as he gradually sniffs in.

Your stomach sinks.

“Wait… You’re a Mag—“

His phrase is cut off by a loud ringing noise, a familiar echo of keys tunneling down the dungeons stairwell.

Another stranger unlocks the door. He’s burly, with curly hair in disarray. Cuffs of animal fur wraps around defined biceps, his top a tight-fitted arrangement of fur and woven leather paired with small iron spikes studding the shoulder lining.

A scar passes down the corner of his lip, long since healed but remaining faded.

“C’mere,” He ushers, voice gruff and rumbling when he unlocks your shackles, big hand pushing you forward up the stairs.

If anybody here had pure Beast in their bloodline, it would be this man. His demeanor is rough, but his touch on your back is surprisingly gentle whilst guiding you upward.

Again you’re granted with the wondrous sight of the Throne Room in all its historic glory, although your gaze directed at the floor keeps you ignorant to so many heads bowed, so many voices cast to silence upon the click of footsteps approaching.

And when you look up, you meet strikingly blue eyes—perhaps a genetic mutation of a sort.

They’re stunning, enrapturing almost, and you find the need to break eye contact immediate, more dire than normal while staring down at you.

Plump, full lips and perfectly sculpted facial features seem that of a Greek god’s, too ethereal to exist in your reality. A glittering, silver crown sits stark atop a black nest of hair.

Either arm rests on the sides of the throne, and you swore you’d never seen someone look so, King-like. That, and the massive cape of wolf-skin draped over his back.

A devil, dressed as an angel.

“Your Highness, this Mage was found near the L/N Kingdom by Hwang Hyunjin and Yang Jeongin while scouting the territory.” A palace-woman announces, the same guard who lingered outside, Minho, standing to your side.

Your blood boils, disregarding every ounce of amazement once inhabited.

It’s him. The man responsible for the demise of loved ones you couldn’t count on all of your fingers and toes.

Minho, as if sensing your frothing rage, mutters through his helmet a staggered warning—remaining upright and unmoving at attention.

“Do not move and do not look into his eyes unless you’re asking for death.”

Your patience dissipates, lip twitching involuntarily.

You can’t remember the last time you were genuinely angry. You were happy, surrounded by people you loved.

Those people weren’t here now, they were killed.

“You murderer! You’re a—“ Your attempt at lashing out at the King stalled when Minho kicks the crevice between your knees, forcing you down on the carpet below.

“Monster! A bloody— fucking— Monster!”

Palace representatives gasp their bewilderment, some beckoning you away to the dungeons, others urging Minho to end you right here and now.

It wouldn’t matter, would it?

The King’s raised hand stalls the accusations, his familiar clicking footsteps nearing closer till he stands before you.

Shifting down into a squat, the man tips your chin up to meet cerulean again, his head slightly tilted to the side.

“Don’t get it mixed up little one,” He murmurs, the pad of his thumb controlling your movement.

“I did not kill your family. Your family killed themselves.”

Fist sharply winding around for a punch, he catches it before you can even register your predicament, iron grip strong enough you fear he might just snap your wrist in half.

“And I wouldn’t recommend fighting back, otherwise I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Concluding his threat the further he bends your wrist, you whine, face scrunching from the pain until he finally stops, amusedly surveying your expression.

Denying your own enraged shaking, you suck your teeth, focus vehemently pinned onto him.

“Why would you care about my safety?” You snarl, trying to wriggle his hold off to no avail.

“Because,” The King cocks his brows. “I like you.”

About to spit another word, he interrupts you, index tracing the veins of your arm.

“Plus, I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.”

You shiver.

Your second day and you feel as if you’re officially going insane.

The only person tolerable here is Jeongin, that chamber guard whose name you don’t know, and Felix, the castles cook. You barely see the King, and even when he’s present he’s usually quartered in his study.

What he does there remains unknown, information learned in the mere form of startled maids leaving the room and gossip among those wandering the Kingdom.

“Do you know what he does?”

Felix looks up from the dish he was laying in front of you, wispy blond locks bouncing with the movement.

“Does what?” He piques, ridding a stray piece of hair clinging to your sleeve.

“The King, what does he do all day long?”

One thing about Felix you love, his honesty. Regardless of if most would tell a quick fib and flee, Felix, although occasionally working around a topic, takes the time to actually explain things to you.

Allows you to learn more of the place you’re going to have to call home.

“Hm..” He pulls a chair from your right to drop into, and for a moment, you see Ms. Maewether in that smile of his. Your heart aches.

“Chris— I mean, King Bahng is always busy. He plans trade agreements, oversees the hunts, and basically keeps this castle alive.”

Chris?

“Who’s Chris?”

Felix nearly squeaks, burying his head in his hands. Evidently, you weren’t supposed to hear that part, but an eagerness to know more about this solitary King kept your hesitance at bay.

“That’s his name. Christopher Bahng, but you’re not allowed to call him that and not allowed to tell anyone about us having this conversa-“

“Tell who?”

You quite literally almost fall backwards in your seat, failing to anticipate the pair of hands placed on Felix’s shoulders.

A pair of hands, followed by a pair of ocean blue eyes, boring right into you and the horrified boy in front of you.

King Bahng. In the flesh.

“Oh.. Hey Chri— Hello Your Highness.”

Again he corrects. These two must know each other.

“Tell who, Felix?” He speaks, tone nothing short of teasing—though the boy looks just as startled, practically sweating through his clothing.

Still adorning that flanking wolf-cape of his, his dark hair is slightly messy, expression distorted curiously.

You hate him to admit, but King Bahng is horribly attractive.

“Nothing! Nothing at all, Your Highness,” Felix chirps, fixing you with a ‘Don’t say a word’ glare you cease to argue with.

Rising up from your seat quickly as if you had any duties in this Kingdom to tend to, you find yourself stalling.

You have so many questions. …And the overwhelming urge to slap him across the face.

You’ve received a fair warning on the latter.

“I’ll be off now, Your Highness.”

The last words come out involuntary, used to referring to your own father this way. It made you sick to know you regarded his murderer the same.

And though the King didn’t stand extremely tall (considering how young Beasts were already your height), his hulking stature felt as if it could swallow you whole, pointed canines flashing when he smiled, sending your head reeling.

Pleased.

King Bahng was pleased hearing something nonthreatening come out of your mouth.

Vile.

Yet, you simply curtsied and hurried off, ceasing to notice the immediate growl Felix directed in the King’s direction.

“Good lord, I know she smells good but you’re practically undressing her with your eyes,” The freckled boy grumbles, returned with an uninterested expression from his friend.

Before the King can head off to whatever meeting he has planned, however, he spins on his heel.

“Have you consulted Seungmin about the scent-blocking salve?”

“Possessive, are we?”

His glare shuts the cook up immediately.

“If there is one Mage left, it’s mine. And since she’s the survivor, she’s mine.”

Yeah, he’s not beating the possessive allegations. But if he’s going to gain your trust, and eventually, after much thought, become mates, he’s keeping every other Beast in the Kingdom at a distance from you at all times.

“Jeongin will report when it’s completed. And Chris?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t expect her to warm up to you.”

King Bahng hums.

“I don’t.”

And with that, Felix follows your exit, leaving the King to his own devices, your nectar-sweet smell lingering in his nose.

“If I stare at the same wall for hours and hours, shouldn’t it break by now?”

“You’re a Mage, not telekinetic,” Han replies, repetitively scanning over a piece of parchment assumed to be a guest list.

In the midst of your incessant boredom, you found yourself following the King’s Advisor around, peering over his shoulder at the endless list of haughty names written in languid ink strokes.

Amongst them, you ceased to find your father’s name. You knew it wouldn’t be there, but somehow, you wished if you blinked enough it would magically appear.

King L/N, written in that same, cursive font.

Rounding a corner, you conclude if there’s anyone you avoid more than King Bahng (a.k.a Chris), it was Hyunjin. That man was a serpent in a Beast’s body.

Catching sight of his dreaded ponytail, you hastily retrace your steps, hiding behind a massive doorframe while Han stares at you as if you’re a rodent scurrying at his shoes.

“He won’t bite y’know.”

“If only you would’ve been there when he first found me,” You whisper angrily, practically clawing at the wood desperately till he leaches you out.

Leaching enough, in fact, that you end up right in Hyunjin’s line of sight, who surveys you up and down with a cocked brow to the point you’re sure steam is billowing from your ears.

Mocking. Ruby-red, mocking eyes.

He does bite. He sinks his teeth into the flesh and tears.

You won’t bleed without biting back.

Han’s iron grip tightens on your arm as slowly, oh so slowly, Hyunjin walks closer.

The strategist prowls, edging right up in your face—noses a thread-width apart.

His glower sets your fury alight, lips curled in a deriding notion.

“No need to glare, wouldn’t want wrinkles ruining that face of yours.”

“No need to get so close unless you plan to kiss me, mutt.”

Though, just as Hyunjin preapres to lunge, a big hand holds him back, animal fur cuffs indicating it isn’t the King who stepped in.

The man who had fetched you from the chambers earlier divided either of you. Shorter, but evidently stronger.

“Control yourselves, both of you. For as long as she stays in the Kingdom, she’s The King’s property—“

“I am no one’s property,” You snarl, and the guard turns.

Basked in clear lighting, you can finally see him. Honing dark brown hair hanging above his eyebrows, the same scar resides by his mouth, though, his eyes are much kinder than you expected.

Taking a slow inhale, he reads your conflicted expression like an ornate mirror.

“One mage in the Kingdom of Beasts? Sorry to break it to you, but yes, you are his property. So as long as she’s here, nobody lays a finger on her, understood?”

Glancing to each person, either of them ease their apprehension, the bewildered Jisung next to you stifling a breath, Hyunjin rolling his eyes with a loud huff.

Baiting seconds pass, and in that period of time do you realize you never caught his name. Specifically, the guard’s name.

“Excuse m-“

“Seo Changbin,” Han interjects. “His name is Seo Changbin.”

Ah. Right.

Now on the roster of least-likely to kill you, Jeongin, Changbin, Felix, and Han.

Filled with a need to evade, you stand merely as a spectator as each horridly red hue snaps to stare at you, your heart spiking an alarming rate.

The King’s Advisor’s fingers tighten to the point you’re sure he’s blocking blood flow.

“You need to leave. Jisung, get in contact with Seungmin and see when the salve is done,” Changbin instructs, already shoving Hyunjin away.

Salve. What salve?

Failing to give you any explanation, you’re dragged off, boisterously complaining before the highly annoyed man abruptly pauses, finger nudging your forehead irritably.

“You smell.”

Then he leaves, and you’re left to wonder if you’re still in primary school or the Kingdom of Beasts.

You smell? What’s that supposed to mean?

First thing in the morning, you’re torn from your slumber with a blazing sun scorching your eyes.

Your canopy beds silken drapes doing little to block the attack, you whine to an apologetic Jisung who merely sighs in return.

“Sorry sleeping beauty, but we have an appointment to attend this morning. Can you handle getting dressed on your own?”

You roll your eyes, groggily pulling yourself upright. “I was an heiress, not helpless.”

To which he cracks a miniature grin and slips out the door, allowing you to hurriedly strip off your chemise and messily arrange your stays and petticoats.

Out of all things you’d been deprived of, a part of the L/N Clan unable to be divided was your garments.

Somewhere, in the midst of fabric and citrus scented soap, you swear you can still smell bits and pieces of home.

What this appointment entailed you failed to ask, gingerly hustled down winding hallways barely illuminated with sunlight.

The Kings Advisor expertly winds further and further down, georgian architecture littered in symmetrical golden portraits and decorum, casement glass windows twinkling as you walked past.

Having reached a dead end, you’re pleasantly surprised to watch Han jar a brass doorknob open, paving a breathtaking view of the garden ahead.

Garden had to be an understatement. This amount of foliage was nothing short of a forest.

Flowers of all kind surround your walk to a shrouded greenhouse, abnormally brick relative to it’s stone-castle counterpart. Its walls are overgrown in slithering vines, door nearly invisible without proper inspection.

Jisung, having noticed your amazed expression, chuckles.

Granted, it’s been years since you’d seen any form of green vegetation, your astonishment felt justified.

“We’ve arrived.”

Oh how you wish to stay here forever. Not captive by the Beast Clan, no, but in this garden, hidden.

And if the last door took effort to pry open, this was a new challenge entirely. Through thickets of dense hedge and tangled branches, Jisung had to quite literally ram himself into the chittering wood for entry.

“Knock next time would you?” A voice projects from inside, belonging to a man clad in rounded spectacles, a slightly hooked nose, and cleanly hair parted to the side.

The Kings Advisor, apparently having known him, beams his prize-winning smile upon seeing the man.

“Seungminnnn—“ Han drawls out, excitedly waddling over to wrap him in a crushing hug. Stiffly, Seungmin pats his back, an action you fondly watch from afar.

“Ah!” The more ebullient of the two springs up, turning to you. “This is Seungmin, he runs the apothecary here.”

Nodding stiffly, Seungmin ushers you to one of the many mahogany chairs circling a gateleg table; a vase—likely jade with its pale green hue—filled with indigo hydrangea presides in the center.

“And,” Han’s outburst cuts off your awe. “He’s practically my little brother.”

Now you’re in awe again, but for a different reason. And by the evident frown on Seungmin’s face, he can tell.

“Shocking, right?”

Yes, shocking for certain.

Though, before you can reply, Han slaps his hands on either of the man’s shoulders, expression transformed into one of seriousness.

“About time I left then, yeah?” Was spoken while his form hurriedly retreated out the door, leaving you with more questions than answers to what just occurred.

“..He forgot something again.”

Biting back your laugh, you finally take a seat, given ample time as Seungmin shuffles off to the side to acknowledge your everything to its fullest extent.

Matching the plant-infested interior, verdant drawers scatter the corners, a lone, looming medicinal cabinet left ajar as the chemist poured over a variety of assorted concoctions.

Air stained with a damp smell of earth, you notice, much to your curiosity, the longevity of such a place.

This apothecary, though inside the castle, feels like an entirely new settlement of its own. An establishment existing before the war, rebuilt (inefficiently) enough to where it was only required to stand stable.

From first sighting you’d grown an attachment to it, but this newfound understanding, these newfound details setting the apothecary apart from your predicament let you imagine yourself anywhere else, back to a nostalgia you longed for.

A short term fix.

“This.” You’re handed a phial from overhead. It’s a slightly green substance, thicker in texture that rests heavy in your hand. “Is for you.”

Slipping across from you, he surveys your analyzing, arms crossed over a deep brown waistcoat.

“And this is..?” You inquire, looking up from the cork-sealed glass.

“A salve. You had better not waste it, material is low as is and I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.”

Well that didn’t answer your question. You’ve heard conversation about a specific salve for days on end, but no genuine explanation caved in—

‘I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.’

Repeatedly mulling over the words, you can practically feel your heart palpitating, head beginning to spin.

..End already? The endless winter.. ending?

“So you’re saying,” You murmur, placing down this special salve in order to truly regard him.

“There’s a way to end the Endless Winter?”

His brows crease critically, seemingly sarcastic.

“There’s an end to everything sweetheart. Life, death. Start, finish. War,” He meets your eyes with a conniving grin, a face you hadn’t seen on the man before.

“Peace.”

Automatically, you roll your eyes.

Peace? Peace when there was no peace left to be made, no kingdom remaining to make peace with?

“And how do you think the nonexistent Mage will make peace with Beasts?”

Seungmin grins.

“Well there is a Mage left,” He scornfully states, flicking your forehead whilst you palm the sting, frown evident.

“And as far as making peace goes, marriage.”

Marriage.

What.

“Wait- so you’re telling me big bad King Bahng could’ve just hooked up with a Mage and called it a day and everything would be fine?”

Seungmin clears his throat.

“One, Bahng doesn’t ‘hook up’. Two, it’s not as easy as that.”

Of course it’s not as easy as that. Why would it be?

You wish to claw your eyes out of your head, anticipating his explanation.

“Because if you weren’t aware before, marriage ties between Mage and Beast are very difficult to establish. Bahng is picky on everything, and even pickier when it comes to mates.”

But before you can argue there were thousands of suitors roaming the L/N Kingdom for him to pick from, Seungmin interrupts.

“Plus, if anyone else were King I’m sure we would’ve had peace decades ago. You’re lucky you’re in the castle right now, otherwise you would be eaten alive.”

Your face scrunching worriedly, he rakes an exasperated hand through his hair, plopping down on the vanity’s chair.

“Your scent.”

Again, you’re reminded of Han’s ‘you smell’ comment. Why is it showing up a second time?

He groans frustratedly, wordlessly praying you understand.

You don’t.

“Mage have specific scents. You can’t smell it since you’re not Beast. But let me tell you, you smell fucking delightful.”

Oh.

That’s what he meant by eaten alive, and the entire ‘you smell’ conundrum.

Seungmin, rather entertained with the shock written on your face, shrugs his shoulders, nonplussed by the crassness of his earlier statement.

“Now you get the use of the salve, right? And why you’re not allowed to leave the castle?”

Your mouth feels dry of response, beckoned toward the exit without so much as a peep passing through your lips.

However, right as the you’re halfway gone, he stops you, brows cocked.

“Do us all a favor and marry him, will you?”

And like that, the apothecary’s door thumps closed behind you.

If only the “him” he was referring to wasn’t King Bahng, you might’ve agreed.

Marriage in the L/N Kingdom had been a sacred event.

An event you’d been prepared for since childhood, fed daydreams of a day you would be married to a prince-like man with perfect features and a perfect personality, every element fabricated from a young age.

Truly, you loved it. Loved visualizing a life shared with your loved one, whoever that man would be.

Little did you know he might just be King of the Beast Clan.

No. You refused. Marrying a murderer, the murderer of your family, was the last thing you would oblige to.

He sent the command, he led the attack, and you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction of marriage.

Although, one problem. Similar to life back at the L/N Kingdom, supplies only lasted for some time before shipments became low, and pretty soon (according to Seungmin) the salve you were given would run dry.

Meaning, your meager chance of protection lay completely exposed, susceptible to any Beast daring enough to try something.

Two sides of a coin remained. Heads, you marry the murderer of a King and spring returns, or tails, you abstain and are eventually left vulnerable.

You’ve always been the person to confront a difficulty head-on, but, in this case, a different, defensive approach crossed your mind.

Run away.

Despite Seungmin’s sensible reminder to not leave the castle, what other option sounded suitable?

Die physically or mentally, pick your poison.

Or maybe, never drink the poison in the first place. Evade.

Three days have passed since you received the salve, and after applying it behind your ears and between your elbows at dawn, you were free to do as you pleased—within the castle walls.

Yet, tomorrow’s dawn would be divergent. Tomorrow, you would be days away from the Beast Clan.

Sneakily roaming around, you managed to find certain outlets to your disposal. Nearby the chambers you’d been kept in was a moth eaten, hooded cloak seemingly unworn for quite awhile. Ideal for an anonymous escape.

Furthermore, amongst the colloquy during a dinner with Changbin and Felix in the Great Hall, you distinctly recall overhearing information about the stables.

If you were to flee, you needed a horse, and thanks to the guard, you knew right where to find one.

Unable to sleep the night before, your dry eyes blink through the dense darkness, sweeping the candlestick from your side table for a minimal source of vision.

Lathering a copious amount of salve all over your skin, you slip down the winding stairwell, grateful for the shadowed moonlight gazing down upon the Throne Room as you venture.

Bingo. There’s the cloak.

Sweeping the fabric over your shoulders, you slip the hood over your head, creeping down the steep steps leading into a surrounding ward.

On your left, across the butcher’s vendors.

Blindly searching, the whinny of a mare alerts your close distance, carefully winding through lead ropes and linked fences to the first horse in sight.

You have to be fast, the sun will rise at any moment it pleases, and it’s impertinent you’re gone by then.

Hoisting a mere saddle pad over the back, you deem the saddle too noisy, slipping the reins overheard and adjusting their length accordingly.

Jogging forwards, you’re brisk to gain a running leap atop the horse prior to the thunder of hooves charging forward.

Closer to the gatehouse you near, a luckily open drawbridge allowing easy passage across.

Faster, faster. You can’t afford to slow down. Daylight is beginning to peer above the horizon, warming your back with rays of sunlight amongst a snowy landscape.

And when the kingdom wakes up, it’ll be as if you were never there.

But, an undecided factor stayed. Where would you go? There was no kingdom left for you, no home to go to.

For now, you needed to prioritize finding a hiding spot, if only for a night, that supplies warmth.

Given the opportunity, too long out here and you or your horse will indefinitely succumb to the frigid conditions.

Veering off sharply, you sidle beneath a barren magnolia tree, its thick trunk barely blocking the unforgiving wind. Pretty soon you’ll have to keep on, but for now, you’ll savor the temporary peace.

Blue skies indicate it must be nearing morning, and you assume the castle will be slowly waking up. By now, King Bahng would likely be awake as well, you’ve been told he doesn’t sleep well anyway.

Scouts. He’ll send scouts most likely. Knights like Minho or Hyunjin.

Ugh, the mere thought of Hyunjin finding you a second time makes you nauseous.

Except, the longer you consider it, King Bahng is the worst case scenario.

I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.

Those words send an entourage of chills slithering up your spine, and not from the cold.

Because while Hyunjin is a type of spiteful strong you want to avoid primarily due to how annoying it is, King Bahng is a quiet strong, the kind that wouldn’t confess his anger, but have you witness it firsthand instead.

Enough thinking. You have to go.

Using the bumpy roots below you for leverage, you wind a leg around the horse’s back, aiming to reach the edge of the territory before midday.

That was the goal, until you’re pummeling to the ground.

The moment is instantaneous, your horse releasing a shriek as it’s swiped right off its feet, slipping onto hard, icy ground and simultaneously crushing you in its descent.

Almost like vomit you feel the screech of pain building in your throat, a numbness in your right leg along with the warmth of blood soaking your clothing doing little to sustain level breathing.

Then, in the midst of your hysterics, you look upon the visible side of your horse, a pair of claw marks scratched right across its stomach.

Scrambling out to the best of your abilities, you bite your tongue, praying this is one of Hyunjin’s sick, sadistic games and not an obvious ambush.

You refuse to die like this. You’ve survived once and you’ll be damned to give up now.

“I’m impressed. You’re not as weak as I thought.”

A sneering tone speaks from behind you. According to the claw marks, Beast, but not one you remember. And with your current state—being unable to rise to your feet—you’re utterly incapable of ascertaining an identity.

Instantly, your hand reaches up to trace the alcove beneath your ear and neck, any ounce of hope disappearing upon feeling for the salve.

Gone.

“Now, care to tell me what a Mage is doing in Beast territory?”

He’s hiding behind you on purpose, drawing you into a sensory overload, a panicked frenzy of adrenaline and fear.

Deer caught in headlights.

A curved claw unlike those in the Kingdom of Beasts winds your head back, staring straight into the face of something you can hardly deem Beast, more like wolf.

He has this terrifying look in his eyes, and breath that stenches of metal and flesh.

This man is the kind of Beast you’d grown up believing in. Violent, merciless.

Minho, Hyunjin, hell, anyone. Please.

As if second instinct, you assess everything around you, snatching the closest stick to you and jarring the sharp end through the bottom of his chin with all your might.

A gagged, sort of howling sound emits from above you, putrid-smelling blood spraying all over your face.

In split seconds does another form appear in your peripheral, your dread heightening before ultramarine stills the horror in its tracks.

King Bahng.

He’s quiet, expertly slicing the back of the neck, the attacker dropping to the ground motionlessly.

“I could’ve handled it myself.”

It’s a lie. He doesn’t respond.

If the first Beast hadn’t killed you, he certainly would. He said it himself, whenever he pleased, he could break you.

So when King Bahng’s arms extend toward your position on the ground, you prepare for the worst, crawling backwards as quickly as possible.

Surprisingly, he kneels down in front of you, and, as your vision clears, you notice the concern written on his face.

Weird, the feeling compiling in your gut as he looks at you like that. The way your eyes build with tears, lungs finally hacking for as much non-congested air available without a single word said.

Just by his expression alone, you’re a fit of blood and tears, the aftershock hardly helping ease the experience.

Crying, in the middle of a forest, with King Bahng as a witness.

“I know, I know,” Is all he whispers, and you barely recognize when he hoists you into his arms, the searing sting of your leg your only indication of movement.

Smoothly maneuvering you again his chest, he cradles your body close, one hand directing his horse as you ride back to what you assume to be the Kingdom.

Through the aching pain, you can’t even be upset about returning, merely focusing on the subtle warmth of his body and the strength willing you to say something.

“You speak nothing of this moment,” You murmur, the King’s body erupting into a tremor of laughter.

“I speak whatever I like whenever I like, sweetness. No one touches what’s mine, yeah?”

Mine. You hate the effect he has on you.

Yet, your snarky remarks are depleting in tandem with your energy; the soothing, shushing sound he’s making and the repetitive thump of hooves doing little to keep you from sleeps tempting beckon.

Eyes drifting closed, his tightened grip pulls you closer, your cheek smushed into the fabric of his coat whilst lost in slumber.

“Hold on a bit longer for me, we’ll be there in no time.”

Recovery, to your luck, is swift. Either that, or Kim Seungmin is secretly a Mage, because within a week spent off your leg, you’re back to normal.

A little sensitive to weight, but overall, healed.

Initially, despite the agony blazing through your body, you were thankful you barely recalled seeing anyone, swept into the apothecary immediately.

The last thing you wanted to see after returning would be the faces. Plus, what about your friends? Jeongin, Felix, Han? You’re sure they looked destroyed.

Except, it’s all fake. A feign kindness given to you only by sympathy. What do the faces matter anyway?

You gorge that question to the very back of your throat when said Cook walks through the apothecary’s door, utmost apprehension apparent. He grabs your face, brows knit—but not in an angry sort of way, more like staving-down-tears.

“Don’t you ever do something like that ever again.”

Past him, you can’t help but smile seeing Seungmin’s softened expression watching Felix, adoring his preciousness just as you are.

“I promise.”

Nodding curtly, he turns around, leaving you to view the many ingredients scattered across his apron.

He rushed here, cute.

“I’ll bring breakfast down here.”

Craning, you can barely make out his deep voice, lowered to a nearly inaudible decibel. Ears flushed pink, you’re filled with a worrisome amount of happiness seeing Felix’s embarrassment trying to maintain an upset facade.

“Hm? What was that?”

Ah, at this point you’re picking fun.

“I said I’ll bring breakfast down here.”

Precipitously slipping outside, both you and Seungmin are left to stifle your bubbling laughter, graced with the most appetizing platter you’ve had the pleasure of eating a few minutes later.

However merciful those first few days were, dissipated. And in a short amount of time, you could feel the eyes boring into your back, the questions resting on the tip of tongues.

All the same, nobody mentioned it. And if anything, that made the paranoia grow.

It was gradual. The subtle shadow you swore you saw in corners, the terror stopping your heart in your chest when you swear someone breathed down your neck.

Your body may be healed, but your mind certainly isn’t.

To a degree that two weeks later, you’ve found sleep nearly impossible, lingering in the kitchen in the wee hours of morning, teetering on your wits end.

Some occasions it’s Felix who you see first, wiping the sleep from his eyes, loading coal into the furnaces to heat the kitchen for the day. Other days it’s handmaids, shuffling around busily, carrying goods to and fro.

This time, Minho arrives first, for once wearing regular clothing opposed to his usual armor, steaming saucer in clutch.

Perhaps this is an opportunity, he is a knight after all.

“Hey Minho?”

Tired eyes sweep to your figure on the table, the rim of his cup held to his lips.

“I’m too paranoid and at this point I might die of sleep deprivation,” You huff, referring to his raging, bed-headed self . “…Could you teach me how to use a sword?”

He’s staring at you like you‘ve grown two heads, pulling a chair back to settle in, arms crossed over his chest.

No sentences need to be said aloud, merely spectating the gears turning in his head enough to set your nerves on edge.

Yet, in the midst of your waiting, you note a peculiar bruise peeking from his collarbone, another lingering a tad bit lower.

“And you think a sword is going to protect you?”

The question is genuine, lacking the bemused nature you were expecting.

Another thing you’ve noted throughout your sleepless nights was the continuous amount of times you’d watch the King’s Advisor sneak into his quarters, a realization keeping your response baited.

Seems his love life isn’t a concern.

“Hey, those marks on your neck and shoulder, are those from Ha—“

“When do you want to train.”

All lightheartedness vanishing, you have to chew your lip to avoid ticking him off further by giggling.

“Tomorrow?”

Pushing in his chair with an agreeable hum, you merely whisper a hurried “Thank you” he grunts at, rushing off to who knows where and giving you leeway to recover from the hilarity of it all.

Tomorrow, however, came far too early, not anticipating to be woken up at the crack of dawn, grumpy enough the prospect of blackmailing the King’s Advisor became dangerously tempting.

Yeah, good luck. He’s not budging until you’re on your feet.

Seems you underestimated Han Jisung’s stubbornness.

Rushed into a loose gown, you’re led to the Inner Ward, an open sector in the middle of the castle.

Upon being met with a too-smug Minho, you can practically see the word “payback” hovering above his head, busying himself with fetching supplies.

Perhaps this is karma coming back to bite you.

Ouch.

Except, you’re puzzled. You’re being taught how to deul, yet your teacher isn’t adorning armor nor gear of any kind.

At your confusion, the knight chokes a cocky guffaw.

“First, we learn how to properly move.” He hands you a wooden sword. “If I so much as leave a scratch on you I’m as good as dead.”

Again, he may appear snarky, but his tone is nothing short of serious. Minho is hard to read.

Wait.

Seeing past your panic, the Beast seems to answer your unspoken question.

“King Bahng is visiting the villages today, he won’t be back till the evening.”

A wave of relief grounds your bones, standing rather pathetically while Minho aids in critiquing your position, instinctively shifting into his own in front of you.

“Now, there are a lot of things to consider when dueling. I’ll narrow things down. Don’t overestimate or underestimate your opponent, trust your gut, be aware of everything, and lastly, do not be afraid to deceive.”

Promptly, he’s lashing out before you can even process his advice, wooden weapon drawn above his head as your grip tightens, attempting to block the strike only for his foot to press into your stomach, sending you falling right onto the ground instead.

“Isn’t that unfai—“

“Like I said, deception is your greatest weapon. In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.”

He reaches a hand out for you to take, helping you back up again only to both fall back into your stances.

“Keep in mind, your sword isn’t your only weapon.”

Minding his instruction, you continue onward, sparring heartily till the beating afternoon sun becomes too hot to bask in any longer. Amongst the four hours you had been consumed in training, you’ve snagged certain valuable points.

Calmness is crucial. Your mind streams clearer when you parried, void to the opponent’s increasing frustration—given an advantage of both agility and focus.

Two, unpredictability is a gift. Minho is especially good at being unpredictable.

Whether he charges headfirst or aims the forte of his sword toward particularly weak points, you begin to mimic his performance, growing closer and closer to conquering those signature tactics.

Of course, your enjoyment can only last for a bit before it spoils.

Spoiling as in, Hwang Hyunjin’s random appearance, sauntering into the area as if he’s King himself.

“Well look at this, didn’t think I’d see our runaway and Minho here.”

There’s an air between Minho and Hyunjin, one that forbids Hyunjin from egging his superior on, just like when you were first brought to the Kingdom. Lucky for you, you could be degraded as much as he approved of.

Feigning a dramatic gasp, he gestures to either wooden sword held in raw palms.

“No way, you’re learning how to deul?! Don’t tell me you’ve never learned basic attacks? Oh right, you never had to fight, huh, princess?”

You bite the skin of your cheek, minding your composure.

“You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough.”

Now he’s asking for it.

“Say,” He sneers. “Let’s duel.”

Keeping Minho from intervening, you apologetically nod to his disproving expression. He knows it’s stupid, even while fetching his armor and adjusting the metal plating to your body, and you do too, but you can’t afford to back down, you won’t.

Testing your abilities carrying a legitimate sword this time, Minho grants Hyunjin a terse scowl, their own wordless agreement to tone down on anything too harmful.

Somehow, it grates your nerves further.

Straight away, he charges his right foot forward, the metal colliding with a loud ring, narrowing your body to shield your unprotected side.

Hyunjin, though skillful in his wrist mobility, clearly uses his size compared to you as an advantage, carelessly throwing around his jabs whilst relying on form alone.

You shuffle back and forth continuously, the commotion of metal rifle drawing the attention of Beasts alike throughout the castle, stopping their movements to survey.

Lurching himself forward once more, you will your legs to support you, balancing the crushing force of his pushing ascent with as much strength as possible.

“If you win, you get whatever sensible award you want,” He grits, using pure weight alone to gain higher vantage. “But if I win, you marry King Bahng.”

Suddenly, interrupting your stunned reaction to his proposal, Minho’s reminder breaches your eardrums.

Deception is your greatest weapon.

Honestly, you’re bewildered Hyunjin hadn’t played petty thus far, and you have no doubt he will any moment now.

You can’t afford to waste the opportunity.

Maintaining your gaze targeted on his face, you steal the chance, slipping your sword right beneath his feet, hooking the guard just fast enough to cause his legs to buckle.

The tip of your sword centimeters from his neck, you cock your brows, finding satisfaction in the glare he’s boring into your skin from his spot on the ground.

In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.

“If King Bahng wishes to marry me, he will deul me himself. That decision isn’t up to you.”

Stalling his immediate laughter upon nudging the sharp point right up against his pulse point, you chuckle.

“I might have to do this more often, you’re not bad when you shut your mouth for once.”

Dropping your sword, you reach out a customary hand he rejects, either of you following Minho to the side stalls to return his armory before a haunting voice stops you in your tracks.

“One more match?”

You’d been ignorant to the Kingdom’s sudden burst of energy, the trembling chains of the drawbridge dropping onto cobblestone ground, the gates shifting open.

Having appeared through thin air stands King Bahng, constantly arriving at the worst of timing.

He’s clad in traditional armor, though his has fancier plating, cleaner sheen, azure hues hidden within the gorget.

Your stomach ties itself into a knot, piecing together the details.

“If this is about the deal, I don’t think I-“

“Oh please princess, this was never up to you. We did this for the sake of the Kingdom, you think we ever considered your say in this?” Hyunjin interjects, quickly escorted away by a frowning Minho and an additional guard you don’t recognize.

Huh?

What… What is he talking about? For the Kingdom? What does he mean for the sake of the Kingdom?

Do us all a favor and marry him, will you? Seungmin’s words ricochet in your skull, the parts assembling perfectly into place.

But if I win, you marry King Bahng.

Marriage.

They knew all along. They knew you were set to marry him and yet, no one told you.

If your betrayal had been violently inflicted, you would look like a rag doll. All this time, these moments you thought were glee-filled, hopeful.

Lies.

Tearing the King’s chance to speak from his fingertips, you pick up your sword, denying your shaky, white knuckles and replacing those broken feelings with rage instead.

No, you can’t afford to show weakness. You must replace these feelings as quickly as possible.

No weakness, no mercy.

“Fine, let’s duel.”

“But-“

“Pick. Up. Your. Sword. And fight me.”

Releasing a sigh, he cautiously pulls his own sword from its sheath, waiting to be counted off unlike Hyunjin.

However skillful you’d been before had completely vanished. Though, you would give yourself the benefit of the doubt, this fight meant your future, meant the minuscule bit of freedom you’d gotten to experience here.

The last thing you wished was to realize you had been lied to, but even more so to realize you’ve been lied to in front of the entire Kingdom, curious faces peering from the castle’s allures.

Your swings sloppy, you credit the severity of the blows as you attack and defend, evidently dueling with fatal intent.

You’ve lost this battle, you know it. Your senses are too overwhelmed to assess spatial awareness, and every muscle in your arm cries out for relief.

Swept off of your feet in a repeated cycle to earlier, you accept, sitting below the tip of King Bahng’s sword, your defeat.

Almost automatically, the pieces of pride you’d attained after your victory against Hyunjin amounted to nothing.

You may beat everyone else, but you will never beat this man, now matter how hard you try. The odds will always soar in his favor, and you will suffer the results of it.

This is not a game you’ll win. Because from the beginning, you existed as a marionette, enjoying such naivety till the comprehension as to who controlled the play hit you.

This theatre was particularly unforgiving.

He won.

If your insomnia before was grueling, this was an entirely new extreme.

Averaging a meager two hours per night, you’re positive you’ve memorized the guest list by heart, staring blankly at the crinkled parchment, unblinking.

In a matter of days, the congratulatory ball will be held.

You’ll be attending said ball as the bride.

Weeks ago, the guest list had simply been a past time, a mandatory errand for the King’s Advisor, a ball you weren’t aware, and wouldn’t be aware, was meant for you.

Your chest feels.. sad? Empty?

Yes. Empty is the word. An emptiness gutting you from the inside, the ugly drawback of exhausted options and worthless optimism.

There’s a lot of things to ponder on as well, factors you have to analyze, ensure it wasn’t another stage for an audience you so foolishly performed.

No escape.

Tuesday, two days before the ball, Jeongin drops by your door, carrying a package under his arm and that effortlessly adorable smile gracing picture-perfect features.

“This is for you, from.. um..” The anxious boy stammers, placing the binded package on your room’s veneer.

“You can say his name, Jeongin, I’m not mad.”

He exhales audible relief, slender fingers wrapping around your hand before you can bid him farewell.

“He— The King, he’s a good person.”

You force a tight grimace, agreeing despite your contradicting expression.

Perhaps he is, perhaps he isn’t. You don’t know what to believe anymore.

Slipping from bed once the young boy’s footsteps fade in the distance, you gingerly unwind crimson ribbon, allowing the leather exterior to unfold.

Inside lies a gown.

A gown that, investigating how breathtaking it is, should be considered nothing short of a ball gown the longer you stare.

Designed as a mantua, the white fabrics paired with lace neck frill and engageantes add an elegance you’ve never seen before. Light, subtle blue hides beneath ruffles of the skirt, further accented by equally blue lace strings fastening the back together and outlining the seam of your square-cut stays.

You can only marvel at the gift given by your future husband, wishing so terribly you could simply run into his arms and pretend everything was well.

If only it was under better terms, as if nothing had happened. If King Bahng was another man, it’d be possible.

And Wednesday night, the root of your problems bares his face, knocking at your door while you were under the impression it was Han instead.

Acting as if you didn’t care was much easier around everyone but him, especially when you were halfway into tying the laces of your dress, the dress he had purchased for you.

What awful circumstances.

“Don’t touch me,” You hiss, regarding the man across from you with a frown.

Lifting either hand in the air, he seemingly invites you to figure out the impossible strings yourself, cueing a very aggravated, very futile attempt at tightening the ties of your ball gown before (hesitantly) allowing the man to slip behind you.

Of course you had to choose now to try it on.

His touch irritably careful, he ensures the fabric is snug fitting but breathable, each woven thread in its coordinating pattern.

Where he learned this you have no idea, only aware of how horrific this close proximity is, your restlessness growing unbearable.

Running his tongue over his top teeth, he backs up slightly, taking you in with apparent speechlessness.

He clears his throat.

“I won’t apologize because I know it means nothing to you, but please, let me explain. I intended to tell you, I just-“

He sounds timid, like a child.

A sour, bitter fury froths like bile in your throat. You want to explode.

“No. No. I didn’t want this! I won’t!” You wind around, pointing an accusing finger to his chest. “You killed them all, my family, my loved ones, children. I hate you. I hate you!” Your voice breaks, a gravelly, disgusting drawl raking your throat raw. Salty, burning tears drip down your collarbones.

Grievance. An innumerable stage of sadness you hadn’t reached before now, overflowing.

As he tries calming you down, you only grow angrier, pushing from your path to the door, ripping the handle awry.

Instantly, his arms wrap around your middle, hauling you back as you kick and scream, fingernails digging into any available skin, dress puffing as your legs flail.

Catastrophic.

“No- No!”

You’re certain the entire kingdom can hear you, but that’s the last concern occupying your headspace, too focused on escaping, far off as you had done earlier, anywhere but here.

“Stop crying,” He commands, either hand on your wrist pinning your back to the bed, expression morphed pitifully. His calloused hand swipes the storming rivulets from your cheeks.

“Please, Y/n, please stop crying. It hurts.”

Your response shortens into a simple sob, aching.

“It hurts..?” You murmur, eyes shifting over his face. “…You hurt?”

Incessant crying causing your skin to burn, he only blinks at you.

A fit of anger forms just as fast as it disappeared in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re hurting? You’re the sick son of a bitch that killed my family and took everything I’ve ever loved away, you don’t deserve to hurt!”

Sucking in a necessary inhale, you angrily flail, wrinkling your nose at the careful tilt of his head, the distance of his face from yours, every scar, every pore close enough to see.

What happened to the King who threatened to break you? Why is he pitying you, looking at you with such kindness?

Longing to bring up how useless the deal was, how the benefits of the marriage aren’t your responsibility, you simply glare, emotions a whirlwind you can’t explain, can’t say aloud.

And all he does is stare. Staring like you’ve said nothing at all.

You want to cry out, want to curse him for all eternity, curse those blue eyes that seem to pave a pathway through your soul.

But you don’t. He beats you to it.

“..Do you know why my eyes are blue?”

What?

“Because I’m not fully Beast. My mother was a Mage. She turned against my father after I was born, left us, and vowed to do everything in her power to destroy Beasts.”

Your face contorts nonsensically, his tight hold on your wrists loosening the longer he speaks.

“And I assume,” He redirects your head, forcing you to maintain eye contact.

Rearing deja-vú reminds you of your first encounter.

“No one ever told you Mage’s started the war.”

You scoff.

“Or that the Mage planned to cut off all trade supply simply out of spite. And so, I did what I had to—“

“You did what you wanted to. You killed helpless people because of your own problems, my family had nothing to do with it!” Vocal cords throbbing the louder you scream, you try kicking your legs to no avail.

“Your family, Mage, had everything to do with it. My people would have died-“

“Mine already did. So now what?”

A minuscule pinch occupies his brows.

“You weren’t supposed to be alive.”

“But I am, so you might as well let me join them.”

He sighs, a stray, obsidian strand of hair hanging over his forehead.

“You know I can’t do that.”

You test the words on your tongue, wedging your hand out to grab his face, feeling the dip of his jaw as he sucks in a breath.

When you first met, he had told you he’d break you. This change of heart confuses you, grates more anger in your chest.

“And why is that?”

Opening his mouth, he momentarily closes it, then opens again, contemplating the statement with caution.

He’s right, in some way.

You’re not supposed to be alive, not supposed to be saddened. You were meant to be in the ground with them, be one of the many bodies littering the L/N Kingdom, granted an eternal sleep.

Yet, you aren’t.

You survived, and you despise this man with every fiber of your being for that.

But things cannot change. You can’t bring them back, and his situation is just as painful as yours.

You both lost people, or, would’ve lost people.

An explanation or an apology, as he said, isn’t necessary.

So you’ll get what you want, tangibly.

Forcefully grabbing his chin and jutting him closer to you on the bed, your voice drips with venom, noses mere breadth apart.

“Then end this winter and marry me, Your Highness.”

For a split second you swear his gaze drifts to your lips, but you shake the thought away, his sharp canines glinting off the mirrors reflection.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one to propose?”

“You killed my family, no need for formalities.”

“Care to remind me why you agreed to marry him? Weren’t you planning to kill him?” Felix piques, apron woven around his thin waist, skillfully measuring flour that’s dusted over his nose.

You needed to get your anger out, then devise a plan. Show King Bahng you weren’t going to succumb to his charms, tricks. Ever.

You hum from your spot on the counter, conversing just as you’d done back in your kingdom with Ms. Maewether.

Technically, he was your new Ms. Maewether.

“Oh no, I still plan on killing him, I just want something first.”

Except, you didn’t talk about murder in front of Ms. Maewether. That was new.

He raises an eyebrow.

“And what would that be?”

Snapping your fingers, you cheerily tap your heels against the cabinets below.

“I want to see spring again.”

Silence overcoming the kitchen, it takes Felix a full minute to understand your preposition before bursting into unadulterated laughter. Well, until he realizes. Then he pouts.

“Aw, I was really looking forward to seeing Chris rejected at the altar.” The smaller Beast whines, popping a piece of sugary sweet dough his mouth and handing another to you.

“Hey, now that’s just cruel,” You mumble, muffled by the delicacy you’re currently chewing on.

“According to you yesterday, not really.”

Ah. Right.

“We just… have a lot to talk about.”

The phrase sounds stupid, but it’s true. Logically, emotionally it’s true. There is a lot in need of discussing.

For now, you’re indifferent.

“I’ve always thought you two were similar.”

The cook’s outburst catches you off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve always wanted to protect what mattered to you most, and maybe, one day, you can understand why he did what he did.”

Leave it to Felix to be your reasonable opinion.

Nevertheless, an invisible barrier rests between you two. A lie. His lie. The Kingdom’s lie.

“Felix, I will never understand why he did it,” You humorlessly chuckle, hopping from your spot. “So tell me, why did you lie?”

All morning you debated the right time to confront him. Tonight was the night, the congratulatory ball, the wedding. Why wait?

Freezing with his back turned to you, he stops mid-slice, dropping the knife atop the cutting board and gradually facing you.

Oh Felix.

His nose flushed pink, lips quivering, you allow him to race forward and hug you, head tucked into your shoulder while you stand there, motionless.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It was decided from the start, but we were told not to tell you, not until King Bahng told you himself.”

You want to tell him it’s okay, make some jokes, act like things are normal. Though your arms stay glued to your side.

“I guess Hyunjin beat him to it, huh?”

His arms tighten around you and, with a sigh, you pat his back, gently nudging him off of you where you can hold that sweet face of his.

“But don’t worry about me, alright? I can handle this, and I forgive you, so let’s move on from this, Lix.” Tenderly rubbing the skin of his cheek, he meekly smiles, an action you can’t help but feel relieved seeing.

You’re strong. You have to be strong. For Felix, for Han, for Jeongin, for your friends throughout the Beast Clan, you’ll be strong. You’ll enjoy wearing the gown regardless of who bought it for you, cherish the wedding no matter the man you’re wedded to.

If you’re going to have to live like this forever, you might as well make the most of it.

On today’s occasion, you’re dressed by a hand maid sent to your quarters, polished and puffed to perfection by the time five o’clock arrives and the banquet officially begins.

And when you see yourself in the mirror, you’re not exactly sure who stares back at you.

She’s pretty, yes, but she isn’t Y/N. She’s a Queen, the Queen of the Beast Clan.

Your stomach wrenches.

By tomorrow, you’ll be married. Married to King Bahng. You will be a wife, the wife of a King just as the L/N Kingdom intended.

The thought continues to plague your mind, sucking more and more oxygen from your lungs that as you’re escorted to the ball room.

You can hardly inhale and exhale normally as Changbin, whom you appreciate enormously, walks you down the aisle, past an abundance of people you’ve never seen before. Beasts, business men, acquaintances alike.

Sensing your panic, your linked arms allow him to spare you a meager glance you anxiously return.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

All previous calmness long dissipated, when you finally redirect your attention from your feet and take in King Bahng waiting at the altar, your rampaging anxiousness increases tenfold.

As the audience claps and either of you turn with your backs facing the crowd, you scorn your lack of a poker face when the King rests a hand on your back.

“Breathe,” He utters, only a whisper you heard.

Wishing to thank him, you bite your tongue, considering the man you’re referring to in the first place prior to replying.

A sharp nod of your head is enough.

Stifling an exhale, you spin on your heel, both bowing to the public before facing each other and holding hands, an action that shouldn’t cause goosebumps to swarm your arms, but does anyway.

“You plan to smash my face in at our wedding?” He murmurs below the customary vows, acknowledging your fingernails digging into his hand.

“Keep giving me ideas and I migh-“

The retort vanishes when he presses his lips to yours, doubling back in shock before his palm on your back keeps you close.

Granting you breathing room if only for an instant, a slow grin tugs at the edge of his lips.

“Then before I die, let me have this first.”

And he dives right back in again, kiss surprisingly tender compared to what you’d expected. Something bruising, dominating.

Instead, the King was soft. Soft as he held your cheek in a hand, soft when pulling you in by the waist.

Separating if only for a fraction of a second, you reach to hold his face, every instinct beckoning you to push him away dissipating into nothing but the nullified drone of your head and the insistent racing of your heartbeat.

“Are you that nervous, pretty? Your heart is-“

You pull him to your lips once more, hating how easy it is to forget, how his lips numb your thoughts—though unable to get enough.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

The guests hollering in your peripheral the lone sound breaching your eardrums, you can’t help thinking.

He did this for his people just as you would’ve done. As for the Mage instigating the war, some secrets shall remain hidden, unable to be answered. You have to accept that among many things.

The King has done nothing but care for you, and as much as you resent him for it, you respect him, if only a tiny bit, as well.

He’s irritable, and not to mention annoyingly handsome. His sympathy-filled eyes might be the death of you, and those dimples of his are stupidly lovable.

But he’s your husband, and somehow, strangely enough, you don’t find yourself hating the thought as much anymore.

Not when he holds you, and especially not when he kisses you as if it’s your last.

After the many hours spent celebrating, you couldn’t have been more enthusiastic about returning to your quarters.

Joined by King Bahng, you find traversing as easy as ever with the help of the (half) Beast behind you, helping navigate past multitudes of people, oddly comforting touch on your back guiding you through the hallways.

Arriving at your room, he pauses, awkwardly shifting his weight on his heels, bewitching gaze flitting left and right, uncharacteristic to his usually smug attitude.

“…Was the kiss too much?”

King Bahng, asking if his kiss was too much?

You wanted to photograph this moment in your mind forever, debating on whether you should tease him about it, egg the normally stoic King on.

However, you tip his chin down, pressing a chaste, soft peck to his lips, amusedly observing him freeze before melting into your touch.

“Could be better.”

He huffs a sigh in response, and you’re left wondering if this is the same man who threatened to break you, the one who now looks like a pouty toddler.

Although, just as you slip by, he takes ahold of your wrist.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

You crack a smile.

“Good night Chris.”

And, suppressing your chuckle, you close the door behind you.

Hastily undressing into nightwear and slipping into bed, you stare up at the ceiling, hours passing from the ticking of a clock in the corner, echoing around the room.

Then, abruptly, your door creaks open.

“My gods, what are you doing here?” You whisper into the darkness, the door creaking behind his crouched form, King Bahng’s crouched form.

“I needed to see you.”

Ah. Don’t say things like that.

Pulling the covers further over yourself, you squint accusingly at the man as he enters, silencing your urge to reprimand he saw you mere hours earlier, presumptuously sitting opposite to you.

He scans what’s visible, fixating on your hand for a moment.

“You kept the ring on?”

Noting the gleaming jewel on your ring finger, you can’t help but feel slightly bashful. It’s not like you’re really married, but the thought sends a sort of satisfaction spreading throughout your chest.

“If I take it off, will it become winter again?”

He grins, giggling childishly.

“Is that the only reason?”

Debating on your response, you wet your lips, looking back up at his barely distinguishable face shrouded in darkness.

You have no doubt he’s thriving off your hesitance.

Oh how badly you wish to wipe that look clean, but in reality, keeping the ring on feels as if a part of you from your own kingdom is with you, similar to your old clothing.

The part of you that, if not invaded, would belong to someone loved, newly wedded.

“No,” You mutter, though the phrase is barely audible.

He perks up.

“Hm?”

You regret saying that. But he’s already heard, there’s no use lying aimlessly.

“I said no, that’s not the only reason.”

“Care to tell me the other reason?”

Rapidly averting your attention to your hand, you discover speaking is easier when not looking at him.

“Keeping it on makes me feel like I’m really in love. I like imagining that, being married.”

You miss the sad lilt crossing his face.

“We are married.”

Without missing a beat, you meet his stare.

“Are we?”

Unlike before, there’s no waver to your voice, no caution.

Winding around to your side of the bed, he settles beside your feet.

You clear your throat.

“I wanted to see spring again, and to you, I’m simply a present. A playtoy to your disposal. This isn’t marriage, not how I was taught, this is just a business arrangement.”

Nevertheless, the hurt leaks into your voice. So long to a resilient tone.

“Y/N, don’t do this to me.”

Come to think of it, it’s the first time he’s ever called you by your name apart from last night.

Having had enough of his nonsense, you spring for his collar, dragging him below you on the bed. Opposite to earlier, you’re on top this time, you’re in control.

“You don’t deny it.”

A silence passes.

“I would deny it a thousand times, but you wouldn’t believe me. And I don’t blame you for that.”

He sucks in a breath.

“I only ask you don’t doubt this marriage. This isn’t a business arrangement, and I will treat you with as much respect and love as possible, even if you don’t want me too. That is what marriage is, how I was taught.”

It’s your turn to inhale, lost within the confines of this dark space.

“Chris, do you love me?”

You both have people you love, people you want to protect, wanted to protect. It wasn’t his intention to hurt you, not when he found you after you ran away, not when ordering a salve to keep you safe, nor now, as you lean above him.

Like he told you. You weren’t meant to survive. You were supposed to be peacefully asleep, forever.

This man, this Mage, this Beast, is as much a murderer as your savior. You choose how to condemn him.

“I do, more than you could ever imagine.”

How can you stay mad at a guilty man, a man who kept you alive when you were on the brink of death? Who now professes to loving you, wanting to give you a marriage you’d been cheated of, give you everything you’ve been cheated of with everything in his power.

Hovering right by his lips to the point your chests touch, you place a miniature kiss there.

“I hate you, so much.”

Then another kiss.

His arms, wrapped around your more elevated form, drag you down in an embrace. One hand presses your face to his shoulder, another rubbing circles on your back.

“And I’m so sorry, I’m so, so, sorry.”

Raising up, you can’t contain the tremor of your lip, the way your eyes shakily close shut as you steal a third kiss from his lips, a kiss he returns, hands carefully holding each side of your face.

“Chris?” You manage, currently straddling his lap, his body resting against the headboard.

Kindly, he keeps a palm against your lower back, helping you balance.

“Can you show me what it means to be loved?”

You never understood how a person could melt until this moment. He wears that look again, like in the forest. The look that makes you cry.

What love looks like for Christopher Bahng, you don’t know. You have no doubt there will be ugly moments, moments you’ll reconsider, rethink.

You’re both hurt, some wounds still hurting. But for him, for you, you’re willing to take that chance.

“I’d be honored.”

FIC TAGLIST. @stayceebs97 @duhgirl @yourgirljanvi @readr1221 @spearbinnie0327 @hyunjinsartpeice @cheesytangerine @palindrome969 @luminouskalopsia @kiaralynn3838 @chrizztopher97 @starlost-andfound @weeping-angel-in-the-tard1s @zaggprincess2

sunboki, may 2022 ©

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weathertheraine · 8 months

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Pirate AU!! Thank you @stringofturtles for watching OFMD S1 with me and re-igniting my Pirate Emotions so I had the motivation to finish this. The first sketches have been sitting in my files for months so please forgive the fact that they look different skdfjh.

More fleshed out AU details under the cut !! :D

- The kids are a little older than canon - the third years in their early 20s - but the story still starts with the second and third years as an established crew who then pick up the first years and the coaches.

- Daichi as a Captain is of course very much like he is in canon. He works very hard to take care of his crew and takes on a huge responsibility for providing for them (as well as making sure they don’t die in idiotic ways). Suga is First Mate so it’s his job to make sure DAICHI is okay and not worrying himself to death. He also has a good handle on morale/the emotional state of the crew.

- Asahi is the first line of offence when dealing with other ships. He doesn’t like actually hurting people, but he’s good at breaking ranks and barrelling through defences to get hold of whatever Karasuno needs. He was ‘off the team’ and out of commission for a little while after he lost his hand (not seeing combat while he was in recovery, and needing to build up his courage again). Noya played a huge part in helping him back onto his feet, and has been kind of protective ever since.

- Noya’s job is to make sure the ship isn’t boarded, so he very rarely leaves it.

- Ennoshita and Kiyoko work together as navigators and managing the little money the crew has. Ennoshita is the only crew member in the beginning who can kind-of read (Kiyoko can only read a little), and they work a lot with maps and planning out journeys.

- Tanaka is great at intimidating opponents. His eyepatch is totally for show - he thinks it makes him look cooler and scarier. His parrot doesn’t often co-operate with him.

- Narita and Kinoshita take care of maintenance and supplies and making sure there isn’t gunpowder anywhere there shouldn’t be, as well as things like fraying rigging and rotting boards/canons secure and the like. Of course, things like that are everyone’s responsibility, but these two consider is theirs particularly. It’s thankless work but the boat would definitely have burned down by now if not for them.

- Enter the first years!

- Kageyama is a prodigy swordsman with a huge reputation as a lethal pirate, although most people who spread those rumours don’t realise he’s as young as he is. He was marooned by his previous crew for being a controlling Captain (who should never have been captain in the first place, having only his fighting talent as the real reason).

- Hinata recently ran away from home to “become a pirate” without much of an idea what that actually entailed, and ran into Kageyama without knowing his reputation. All he knew was that this guy was incredible fighter, and he demanded that he teach him to fight! He now won’t leave him alone.

- Tsukishima ran away as a very young child in an attempt to find Akiteru, whose sailing ship was attacked and lost at sea. He fell in with pirates along with Yamaguchi (who was picked up after surviving a shipwreck), and the pair ended up sticking together as they bounced from ship to ship, ready to run whenever it seemed like tensions were getting high. They (read: tsukki) are going to need to break this habit, if they’re going to be a real part of this new crew.

- Tsukishima and Yamaguchi can’t sleep if they’re not in the same hammock. Embarrassing. The reason Yamaguchi was so tiny as a little kid is that he didn’t get enough food. Tsukishima still tries to sneak him extra (and gets in trouble with Daichi).

- Tadashi ends up as a sharpshooter, one of the few kids who’s confident using a pistol

- Hinata and Kageyama spar together all the time. It’s GOING to end in a make-out the first time Hinata successfully beats him.

- Neither of them have noticed that Tanaka’s eyepatch switches sides.

- Yachi is picked up when the crew stop in a bar in her town. She’s a better-off girl, about to be talked into an politically advantageous marriage, and desperately wants to get out of her situation. “Running away with pirates” was admittedly pretty drastic, but anything sounds like a good idea when Hinata suggests it so sincerely!!

- Ukai is a washed up older pirate, without a crew. Takeda is a very unlucky literature teacher who just happened to be on a sea voyage. They both ended up taken as hostages by the same (meaner) pirate crew, who were then stolen by the Karasuno kids. Although, it’s kind of unclear at this point whether they’re actually prisoners… They’re being treated very nicely (especially Sensei) and are in danger of getting attached…

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ikeuverse · 2 months

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LIGHTHOUSE — p.sunghoon

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader GENRES: angst, fluff WC: 3.9k+

WARNINGS: mention of divorce, a bad relationship with his father, a few swear words, lots of kisses.

SYNOPSIS: sunghoon felt lost after his parents' divorce, even more so because he never got along with his father. the only thing that kept him going and guided him to good things was you.

NOTES: i tried to write this angst to see if my creativity comes back. at first i wasn't satisfied with it, but little by little i know i'll start posting again and i want this story to be my starting point. i chose angst bc i've been angsty lately. but i hope you like it!

masterlist

If there were a cliché meter for life's events, yours would surely be overflowing if you were to look at the story of falling in love with your neighbor.

And even worse, if your mother was good friends with his mother and had a little help in the process of bringing the two of you together.

But you wouldn't be cliché about the part where you were never opposed to it, least of all Sunghoon. He loved the idea when his mother told him that the neighbor's daughter was going to spend the vacation there.

He was charmed from the first moment he laid eyes on you. And it wouldn't be any different if you said otherwise because Sunghoon was charming. And neither of you was embarrassed or denied when both mothers complimented or invested a little more.

"Y/n is so pretty, I think you two match" your mother would say to Sunghoon at every opportunity.

"Did you know that I agree with you?" he would reply to your mother with such a charming smile that even after looking in her direction it wouldn't disappear.

This is how your attack on Park Sunghoon began and how much you let him into your life.

Perhaps the cliché part of denying everything and making things slow while you gradually felt your feelings for him grow. Or the cliché of discovering his life through his mother who always met with you in the afternoons, telling you fragments of a life she thought she knew.

Or a Sunghoon she thought was her son, while you painted a completely distorted picture.

But no. It was more interesting to accept that he would take you out for coffee every afternoon after the university study session, talking about life and finding out about it for himself. Hearing from Sunghoon every little thing you wanted to know. Talking about your life and how much you thought you were doing for yourself.

It was nice to discover that you two had things in common, like, for example, that you both decided to give up the dorms at university to move back in with your mother. The case? Unfortunately the same. Your father decided he wanted a divorce long before he knew you were doing well in your course of choice.

Your mother handled it very well, not least because she had wanted a divorce for a long time. Sunghoon's mother, who was going through the same process, wasn't coping so well. Since she still said she liked his father in some conversations they had.

That could be why Sunghoon was so shaken when he said those words out loud, almost destroying his coffee straw when he told you about his parents' divorce proceedings. He never mentioned how much it hurt him because – as his mother was always proud to say – he was a strong boy. And Sunghoon wanted to be that stronghold for his mother.

"Maybe you can share it with me then" you shrugged and tried to smile at him.

It was then that Sunghoon felt he could share things with you without too much worry.

About his parents' divorce, about how much university was killing him, or how he couldn't complete such a simple task. But the one thing Sunghoon couldn't say out loud was how much he was falling in love with you.

He thought that would be the cliché of his life. To be so madly in love with someone and hide it to get it across, but no. Sunghoon didn't want it to go away, he wanted to tell you.

He wanted you to know about every single time you helped him or were there. Or every time the two of you went out together somewhere different and talked about life.

They were always subjects that were too difficult for him to deal with since, at home, Sunghoon wanted to be as light as possible. You thought you wanted to be like that for your mother too, even if her process was a little more relaxed, but showing strength to the woman who brought you into the world and was happy that you were back home was the least of it.

"Hey" Sunghoon's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, the little movie running through your mind from when the two of you first met "What are you thinking about?" he asked.

You looked into his eyes, a glow so intense that you liked it and felt even more comfortable every time you looked at him.

"About when we first met" you let slip, sprawling out even more on the sofa in the house that Sunghoon shared with his mother.

"And was it good for you?" Sunghoon fought the urge to hold your hands.

Even though the two of you were close and intimate enough for this, you knew his limits and even though you felt the same way, you thought it never went beyond casual hugs because he wasn't ready. So you could wait.

"I think it was one of the best things that could have happened to me since I moved back in with my mother."

"Strange" he paused for a moment, you froze in place thinking you'd said something to upset him. But as soon as you turned even more towards him, Sunghoon was smiling "I was going to tell you exactly that."

"Oh, were you?" your question came out low, at a moment when your body almost leaned forward, but Sunghoon was quick to do it first and when you blinked, his face was inches from yours.

That had been a breakthrough for him and you too. Feeling him so close, Sunghoon's breath almost next to your mouth almost made you sigh.

"Sunghoon..." you whispered.

"Yes?" he said in the same tone, raising one of his hands to rest on your cheek. There you knew that another step would definitely be taken.

What you so desperately wanted was about to happen, so you thought you'd put your hand over his. Like a silent request that Sunghoon could move forward.

He did it ever so slowly, lips brushing against yours and ready to be kissed if it weren't for the damn doorbell ringing.

The boy in front of him gritted his teeth in frustration... He'd always lacked the courage, but when he finally decided to do it, he had to be interrupted.

Why couldn't it be later? Just when Sunghoon was about to kiss you after so long.

"You'd better answer that" you still whispered, and even though you didn't want him to leave, the doorbell had been rung once again. It could be important.

"I'll be right back, please don't go anywhere."

As if I could. You almost answered, but he was quick to get up from the sofa and go to the door.

From where you were sitting, you could only see Sunghoon and half the door, not who was outside playing and interrupting the moment you two shared. So you only knew who was there by the words of the boy in your field of vision.

"Dad" didn't take much for you to notice how uncomfortable Sunghoon was. It flipped a switch and you quickly got up from the sofa, pondering whether you should gather your things and leave or wait for him there.

Sunghoon gave you a single glance, which didn't mean much, and left to close the door. Maybe have a private chat with his father while you are there.

To give you even more privacy, you decide to go to the kitchen and get a cup of juice that you were both drinking before deciding on the movie a few hours ago.

That doesn't calm your nerves and curiosity, let alone the uncertainty of what to do.

What was his father doing there? Had he come to talk to Sunghoon about the divorce? Did he come to ask him to move in with him or to tell him that he wants to go back?

Your thoughts were interrupted again by Sunghoon's voice, this time deeper and more serious than when he had called you into the living room.

"Hi" you tried to smile, but as soon as you saw his bright eyes and red face, something was definitely wrong.

You came around the kitchen counter and didn't wait for his permission to wrap your arms around him and pull Sunghoon's body to you. Visibly taller and stronger than you, this didn't stop him from letting you hug him, let alone lowering his head to lay it on top of your head.

The low sighs he let out were an indication that nothing was going right, that he was crying silently and didn't want you to see him like that.

"Hello darlings, I'm home!"

How wonderful, his mother had arrived just when she wasn't supposed to.

Sunghoon let go of your arms and ran up the stairs to his own room before his mother said anything. The hurricane that passed through her was a basic indication that something had happened.

"Are you two all right?" his mother asked as soon as you appeared, looking between your figure and the spot Sunghoon had rushed past.

You just nodded, wanting to be brief at that moment. Even if you knew you'd have to tell them what had happened, Sunghoon probably wouldn't be leaving his room any time soon.

You were right to think that Sunghoon wouldn't be leaving his room any time soon. A whole week without any contact with him, let alone knowing about him when the boy's mother came to your house to talk to his mother.

It made you sad in a way, wondering how you could help him since the problem was always shared with you. But this time it seemed that Sunghoon wanted to get as far away from everything as possible.

Would it be bad to go to his house first? Perhaps a message would suffice before you crawled out from under your covers as the strong wind beat against the glass of your window.

you: hey you: are you okay? i'm worried

Sent.

Read.

He read his message and more than ten minutes passed before Sunghoon could reply. He couldn't be avoiding you, could he?

sunghoon: i'm fine sunghoon: no need to worry

He's never been brief enough with you since you first met. Sunghoon has been frustrated a few times since then, but that was never an excuse or anything for him to treat you like that.

you: want to come here? i kind of miss you...

The message had been sent for forty minutes and there had been no reply from Sunghoon. Right, whatever had happened to his father had certainly stirred something up inside him to make him avoid you too.

You remember his mother saying that Sunghoon didn't talk to her at all during that time, only going downstairs to get his meals and locking himself in his room without any contact with her the whole time.

She even considered calling you to see if you could get him out of there, but considering the messages you and he had just exchanged, surely you'd only get in the way.

"Shit" you cursed softly as your eyes stung and your heart ached more than usual.

This couldn't be happening, you never thought you'd cry for Sunghoon. You never thought you'd follow the cliché of taking it easy and even walking away from your neighbor's son when you had the chance.

Your mental questions were interrupted by the sound of thunder outside, indicating the enormous rain that was beginning to fall. Perhaps this was a metaphor for how watery his eyes were, wanting to wipe the pain from his heart along with the falling rain, wiping away all the bad feelings that had hung over that week.

Feeling that nothing was right and that, at the same time, everything seemed to fit together. If that was the answer to what you – almost – experienced with Sunghoon, it hurt. But you could accept it.

"Damn" you cringed when another thunderclap cut through the sky, at the same moment that your cell phone vibrated on the bed. Two things scaring you in a short period.

You unlocked the device to read the message flashing on the screen.

sunghoon: can you open the door?

Was he downstairs? And in the rain?

You didn't think much of it when you pushed back the covers and ran down the stairs to the front door to open it for Sunghoon. You didn't even consider the possibility that it was someone playing a trick on you, using his cell phone for a bad joke. No, he wouldn't allow that.

Unlocking the door and cringing at every sound of thunder outside, your face lit up at the figure in front of you.

"Sunghoon. Oh God, you're—"

You were going to scold him for being soaked, he knew he'd hear something from you, but he couldn't before doing what he'd come there to do.

The interruption was defeated when his lips pressed hard against yours. Without even thinking, he just pulled you close and swallowed your scream of terror at feeling him completely wet and cold. But at the same time, you relaxed and let him lead.

Giving way when his tongue poked at your lower lip, shuddering at the cold touch his fingertips provided when they touched your cheek.

You didn't mind feeling your clothes getting damp because he was wet from the rain, you just wanted to focus on the kiss that had taken so long but was happening.

It was slow and needy, and that made the feelings of the boy in front of you clearer. Because Sunghoon was kissing you with such need, holding you with such fear that you would leave and slam the door in his face. Sunghoon needed air, he needed to stop kissing you, but it was impossible. And he knew from the day he started fantasizing about it, that he stared at your mouth for too long.

He knew that as soon as he kissed you, it would all be over. He would have to give himself up as he was doing now. Letting out a moan when you plucked up the courage to touch him, tangling your fingers in the wet hair at the nape of his neck and tugging on it when Sunghoon decided to press his body even closer to yours.

"I'm sorry" he whispered against your lips, catching his breath long enough before kissing you again.

Blindly you walked backwards – without letting go of him – into your house until Sunghoon closed the door, turning your bodies to press you against the cold marble that separated the inside of the house from the outside. Protecting you both from the rain.

"I'm sorry, y/n" he repeated when the kiss stopped, his forehead pressed to yours and keeping his eyes closed.

You opened your eyes, looking at his face and now noticing the points you hadn't noticed before.

In addition to the hair falling on his forehead from the rain, his lips reddened from the kiss you shared, his eyes looked bright too. Sunghoon thought that the rain could mask how much time he spent crying in his room, he just didn't count on you knowing him well enough for that.

"I hope you're saying that because you wet all my clothes, not because you kissed me."

His laugh made you smile, leaving another kiss on Sunghoon's lips, from which he took longer than usual to pull away.

"I meant—" you kissed him again, interrupting anything else he might have said.

"Let's go upstairs and change and you can tell me, okay?"

"Okay" he was relieved by the sweet way you were handling the whole thing.

He felt he didn't deserve all that treatment as he went up to your room and stood so as not to wet the bed, waiting for you to find something for him to wear.

It wasn't a big surprise that you had some of your father's clothes because men's sweatshirts were always more comfortable. Sunghoon also had some of his father's, even if that man had to be put out of his mind for the moment.

"Do you mind?" you smiled at him as you brought the garments closer together.

"No" he smiled in thanks "I'll be back in a minute" Sunghoon walked to your bathroom and closed the door behind him to change.

Not that you minded the delay, he knew he'd have his own time to take off the wet clothes and put on the dry ones you'd delivered. But it was inevitable not to think about the last week as Sunghoon looked at his reflection in the mirror.

Noticing how sad he was, reverberating his father's own words in his mind: the real reason for ending all the good feelings he had with him. It triggered a series of bad feelings and the boy only realized it after realizing what a foolish thing he had done by taking you away from him.

Sunghoon had never wanted this to happen, on the contrary, your presence in his life had become the lighthouse he needed to guide him every time he thought of losing himself in the negativity that surrounded him. He hadn't regretted for a second saying the things about his father to you, but he felt ashamed that he had let that man make him fragile enough to lock himself in his own room and live isolated even from his own mother.

You're not going to cry about this, he thought as his eyes threatened to sting again. Sunghoon was ready to go out and find you, all he had to do was run his hands through his hair remove any remnants of raindrops, and take a deep breath before leaving. And so he did.

He found you leaning against the headboard with the remote control in your hand, inside that sweatshirt that he was sure could fit one more of you inside. Your eyes turned away from the TV and your fingers stopped pressing the buttons on the remote when Sunghoon finally appeared.

"Are you all right?" he knew you would ask, and at any moment a decent answer would have to come, other than ignoring you as he was doing.

You allowed yourself to be walked to your bed, not caring when he lazily threw himself over your body, causing you to fall back on the mattress to the sound of his laughter.

"I'm not" he said, lying down on top of you before rolling over to lie next to you "But I'm staying" now the touch of his hand was warm, and it would be even warmer after Sunghoon snuggled under the covers with you. And he didn't even need a verbal invitation for that, the boy had already pulled back the covers so he could get even closer.

His heart felt a little more at peace when your hands touched his face, a caress against his cheek that he so desperately needed. Closing his eyes and letting himself be carried away by the sensation of calm that this brought into the poor heart of the man in front of you.

"My dad" Sunghoon said after a while in silence, knowing that he was the one who had to start the conversation. You were there to reassure him, to make him feel safe and a little better. And since that was happening, it was only fair that he explained himself "He's a big jerk, to be honest."

"Do you want to have this conversation?" the softness in your voice almost made him cry again, feeling guilty for having tried to push you away.

"I do. You need to hear it from me" he opened his eyes without any effort to find your eyes already staring at him. When you nodded, he knew he could continue what he had started at that moment "He's always been rude to my mother, he's always tried to control my life and hers. And the divorce was only in a state of denial because mom thought about how I would feel" silence from you as he spoke, continuing to caress Sunghoon's face with every word "That day he came here, it was to say that he wanted to go back because he heard from my mom that I was supposedly dating."

At that moment, your cheeks burned and you were thankful that the light in the room was illuminated only by the television and, from time to time, the light of the thunder that still echoed outside.

"I didn't allow it to happen and we started arguing. He threw a lot of things in my face and how I would be just like my mother and ruin any shit that came into my life" Sunghoon's voice wavered, he knew he would cry if it wasn't for your lips slowly kissing him. In a strangely good way, it calmed him down, and he didn't let you pull away until he had another kiss "I know I pushed you away, I pushed my mom away too. But it made me very afraid."

"What were you afraid of?" you whispered.

For a good few seconds, the sound of the rain and your breathing were the only thing you could hear. Sunghoon slipped his arms under the blanket so that he could wrap his arms around you, taking advantage of the fact that your mouth was still close enough to kiss once more.

"I was afraid my father was right" if it were possible, he wanted to merge his body with yours as he held you so tightly against him, afraid that you would throw him out of your house "That day I was going to kiss you in the living room, tell you everything I was feeling because I couldn't hold back any longer. But he ruined everything. I ruined everything."

"Hey, hey, hey" you kissed him slowly, ending up with your mouth next to Sunghoon's ear "You didn't ruin anything."

"What do you mean no?" he said back, waiting for you to return to your original position facing him "I pushed you away, I didn't answer. But it's because I was scared, you know? All this is new to me" you wanted to say that you understood why this was mutual "I didn't know how to deal with the proportion of these bad things and I pushed away the only person who guides me through this idiotic darkness of fear, insecurities, and love."

"Love?" you had a half-smile on your face.

Sunghoon's eyes widened when he realized that, in a completely strange way, you were rambling and declaring yourself at the same time. You laughed when he tried to wriggle out of it, saying he didn't know what you were talking about.

"I think we can figure it out together, what do you think?" feeling him so close was giving you a comforting sensation. The smell of Sunghoon getting more and more into your sheets.

"Please, because I don't want to be without you anymore, y/n," he whispered, and it was Sunghoon's turn to move closer and put his mouth to yours "You're the lighthouse of my life, and I've felt lost and confused during this time. I think I need you by my side for all the moments, not just the bad ones."

Sunghoon, in one movement, pondered the weight as it hung over your body and stared into your eyes with every word that came out of your mouth. He saw you smile at that, smiling back.

"Then I'll guide you, Hoonie."

That was all he needed to be able to kiss you more deeply and never let go. Because Sunghoon knew he needed you the second you came into his life. And saying out loud that your arrival was a lighthouse to guide him was surely the best thing you could have heard that rainy night.

#enhypen #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #sunghoon angst #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen au #enhypen masterlist #enhypen x reader #sunghoon fanfics #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon angst #enhypen imagines

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gotholdladywithadhd · 3 months

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Unpopular opinion, probably.

So I've read many metas, and thought a lot about it and have come to my own personal conclusion about the final 15.

I'm taking it at face value.

Because it was the most human Crowley and Aziraphale have probably ever been and I think that is at least part of the point. Love makes people stupid and they are navigating a very human thing in very unhuman circumstances, and it's hard enough to do as a human in human circumstances!

I think Aziraphale believed the Metatron about Crowley bc he was expecting the worst when TM mentioned Crowley but instead got the one thing he wanted most (him and Crowley together and safe, not Crowley being an angel. ) Crowley was absolutely the carrot here. (and no I do not think Crowley would have been safe or happy, but that's besides the point.) I can't tell you how many times I've believed patently ridiculous things because I wanted to believe them so badly even though if I was looking at the same situation objectively from an outside POV I would see how ridiculous it was, so I totally get it. This isn't to say I think Azi had a real choice to go to Heaven or not and I think he did understand that as well, but I get the temptation the Metatron threw out to him, I really do.

As for Aziraphale literally saying all the wrong things to try and get Crowley to come with him? Um yeah been there done that too, the nerves take over, the brain shuts off, the mouth goes into autopilot pulling stuff out its ass, and "WITAF did I just say?" happens.

Crowley not taking any of it well and only hearing what he expected to hear (I'm not good enough for you bc I'm a demon and you only really want me if I can be an angel) *and* also being more able to see through heavens bullshit bc he has lived it, and can see it from the outside, *and* all whilst being the most honest and vulnerable he has ever been with Aziraphale in 6,000 plus years (or in fact possibly to anyone, ever. the closest before this admitting he was lonely to Azi during the Job minisode,) *then* hearing what he took to be the same Heaven will save us line from Azi was enough to trigger a massive bout of RSD and a broken heart. Everything was supposed to "vavoom and sorted! " and instead the stupid awning broke and everything went wrong. I think I've said it before that at this point Crowley can't hear anything over the sound of his heart breaking into a million pieces.

That's a whole lot to pack into the brief moments before Azi has to leave with the Metatron (who let's be honest was rushing him before he could change his mind) esp when neither of them are used to discussing their relationship openly. They didn't have time to think, to ask questions, to share information, (like hey guess what really happened to Gabriel?) Crowley tried to communicate as much as he could about his feelings with the kiss but Azi didn't have the time to properly process all that and said the wrong thing again and Crowley was rejected (he thought) again and it all just went so very wrong. You can't fix a 6,000 year relationship in 15 minutes, you just can't no matter what the story books say.

It's about two people wanting the same thing but not being able to get it (yet) because of circumstances and personalities. All of S2 was about them seeming to be closer than ever (and in many ways they were) but really they were opposed at almost every turn. (in RL not the minisodes, those actually showed them working together and coming out okay mostly, if you don't count wee Morag or Crowley getting dragged to hell) The way they both handled the Gabriel situation, how they both worked to solve the mystery, even how they tried to make Nina and Maggie fall in love were all either done alone, or in opposite ways. I've said it before and I'll say it again, as it was pointed out right in ep1, their exactlies aren't the same and until they are, they aren't going to be able to be together. The one time they did work together in the season, they produced a 25 lazuri miracle. That is the point of the final 15, and the whole season 2 in my opinion.

They'll get there in the end though!

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mrsbuckybarnes1917 · 24 days

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10: REVELATIONS

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

Sharon Carter, of all people, manages to knock some sense into your favorite super soldier.

Word count 2.8k

Warnings: Sharon Carter and her brutal honesty, Bucky Barnes and his ignorance

Bucky returned from his mission physically unharmed, but his conscience didn’t let him off so easily. Sharon was a great partner, but she wasn’t you. She was very business-like but cold. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but he couldn’t quite open up to her the way he had with you. Bucky wondered if he would ever be able to bare his soul to another human being again. He had given so much of himself to you, was it too much to ask for just a little in return?

Why had you forced him to take just drastic measures? Why did you force him to choose? Why didn’t you love him back? There were days when he could see love in your eyes when you looked at him, but the voice deep inside Bucky that always told him he was undeserving, had him believing that all he saw were his own feelings reflected back at him. He would never have dared to think that you would have been so selfish as to deny him of someone who would love him in return. His thoughts constantly revolved around you, plaguing him long into the night and affecting his sleep.

He couldn’t deny it, he missed you. He felt like a part of himself was missing. Without you by his side, life seemed empty. He reflected on how he didn’t feel that way when he was away from Priya. Perhaps he should, especially after he had confessed his love so publicly to her. Bucky sighed heavily. Had he been too rash? You were always so kind, so selfless, so giving. He would never have entertained the notion that you had nothing to give him for his birthday. Even if he didn’t have your love, he knew he had your friendship. What had gone wrong? You had once told him that all you wanted for him was peace and happiness. Right now he felt neither.

He craved your company, he longed to hear your voice, coveted the warmth of your embrace. But his anger and sense of betrayal had been overwhelming. Why wouldn’t you let him be happy? He couldn’t have you and you wouldn’t let him be happy with someone else. Bucky tightened his grip on the controls of the quinjet.

"Barnes, I got to say, I knew you had a reputation for staring, but I think you’re taking this to a whole new level." Sharon interrupted his thoughts.

"Sorry?" Bucky looked at her with surprise. He had all but forgotten that Sharon was sitting next to him.

"If you grip those controls any tighter, we're going to plummet to our deaths."

"Oh," Bucky released his grip on the handles.

"What's going on with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look like you haven't slept in a week."

Bucky shrugged.

"So why isn't Cricket here with you?" Sharon probed, continuing despite Bucky's sullen silence. "I mean she clearly wasn't busy with other things."

"Stark calls the shots, I don't know what he’s thinking." Bucky lied through his teeth, knowing full well that he had requested Steve to assign him a different partner.

"So nothing going on between you two?"

"Nothing going on? What does that mean?"

"Oh come on Barnes, I know you’re ancient, but you can’t be that clueless. Everyone thinks you were sleeping together!"

Bucky’s eyes were practically popping, he was utterly speechless.

"They what?"

"But you have a girlfriend now. Is that why Cricket resigned?"

"SHE WHAT?" The plane jolted slightly

"Watch it, Barnes!" Sharon shrieked.

Bucky straightened up the quinjet before speaking. "Cricket resigned?" he asked, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he had heard.

"You don’t know? Wow, how badly did you fuck her?"

"We didn’t…"

"Oh, so she’s leaving because you wouldn’t fuck her, is that it?"

"Sharon, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"I’m just curious!" she shrugged before prattling on. "I can’t see why else she would be leaving such a great position… unless, did you knock her up?"

"For fuck sake Sharon, nothing happened with me and Cricket. We’re just friends."

"Well maybe it should happen then. The way you two look at each other is sickening."

"You know what, this is the reason no one wants to work with you." Bucky grumbled.

"Because you’re too afraid to hear the truth. I’m just telling it like it is. She looks at you like she wants you to fuck her."

"Sharon, I’m warning you."

"Ooooh, Mr America, Cap’s best friend is warning me! What’re you going to do, spank me?" Sharon replied in a mock sultry tone.

"Shut up, Sharon."

Sharon let out a barking laugh, but said nothing more, leaving Bucky more to think about than before. How dare you resign without telling him? Surely it was something someone discussed with their partner. How does someone dump their partner without so much of a word? The small voice of conscience in his brain, your voice, screamed, ‘didn't you do the same?’ He had requested a new partner on this mission because he was angry. He remembered the look on your face when he had left for this mission. Bucky could tell you had wanted to speak to him, but he hadn’t given you the opportunity. The rational part of his brain told him that you had made many attempts to speak to him.

Bucky's mind was a whirlwind of emotions as he tried to process everything that had just been thrown at him. Sharon's words echoed in his head, taunting him with the possibility that maybe he had missed something between him and you. Had he been blind to your feelings all this time? Had he been so consumed by his own insecurities and doubts that he had failed to see what was right in front of him?

He couldn't shake the feeling of regret that washed over him. Regret for not being more attentive to you, regret for not being more open with you, regret for not realizing sooner that maybe, just maybe, you had feelings for him too. The thought of you resigning because of him made his heart ache with guilt. How could he have been so blind?

Bucky's thoughts raced as he tried to make sense of everything. He couldn't deny the fact that he missed you, that he longed for your presence, that he yearned for the connection he had with you. Sharon's words had struck a nerve, awakening a realization within him that maybe, just maybe, he had let something special slip through his fingers.

As the quinjet continued on its course, Bucky's mind was consumed with thoughts of you. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had made a mistake, that he had let his own fears and insecurities cloud his judgment. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you, of losing the one person who had always been there for him, who had always believed in him, who had always seen the good in him.

Bucky knew he had to make things right, that he had to find a way to reach out to you, to apologize for his blindness, to make amends for his mistakes. He couldn't let you slip away without a fight, without at least trying to salvage what was left of the bond between you.

As the quinjet landed, Bucky's resolve hardened. He knew what he had to do. He had to find you, he had to talk to you! With a determined look in his eyes, Bucky stepped out of the quinjet, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead in his quest to win back the one person who had always held his heart.

"Buck," Steve put his hand out to stop Bucky marching off as soon as they disembarked from the plane. "Where're you going? We need to debrief."

"It can wait." Bucky shook off Steve's arm.

"Bucky, this is important."

"I don't care, Steve." He shouted over his shoulder as he made his way towards the compound's living quarters.

Sharon stopped beside Steve. "He's got it bad."

"What happened, Sharon?"

"He realized he's an idiot."

Steve frowned at her.

"Cricket." Sharon rolled her eyes. "Are all of you clueless?"

"Sharon, Cricket isn't here."

"Well, someone's going to have to tell him that."

Steve sighed. "I guess we could reconvene in an hour or two."

"Great, I’m off to take a shower!" Sharon waved at Steve and wandered off.

Meanwhile, Bucky had started sprinting towards your rooms, practically knocking over a couple of new agents who had been getting a tour around the compound. He arrived on the floor where your rooms were situated feeling out of breath and extremely nervous. He had no idea what he was going to say, having not quite thought things through. Frowning slightly when he noticed that your door was slightly ajar, he skidded to a halt. You had to be inside, you often left your door open. You always said ‘everyone was welcome’. Your warmth extended to everyone you met, every single member of the team opened up to you, confiding their secrets. You had such a beautiful openness about you, it was so easy for anyone to fall in love with you, even a broken centenarian with a cantankerous demeanor and suffered from post traumatic stress.

Bucky took a deep breath, he still didn’t have the right words in mind, but he knew he wanted to see you, just a glimpse of your smiling face. He hadn’t seen it in a while, and he knew he was the cause. He had been so angry about his own choices, blaming you for having to make them, that he hadn’t stopped to think about how they affected you. For someone who claimed to love you, he had been incredibly selfish. It was almost an epiphany to Bucky, finally dawning on him that he had forced you to adapt to his choices rather than discussing them with you. He was the one who was too cowardly to share his true feelings for fear of losing you, and his behavior had led to him losing you anyway.

Softly, he knocked on your door, which swung open slowly. The sight before Bucky almost broke his heart. Your room was empty, all the things that bore your unique signature were stripped away. He stumbled inside still breathing heavily. What had he done?

"Cricket!" he called out loudly at first, as though you were hiding behind the remaining furniture, before whispering desperately. "Cricket."

Bucky collapsed on your bed, turning to the toy white wolf you’d left on your pillow. A white wolf, that was his moniker. He remembered seeing you choosing it at Coney Island and had been so blinded by jealousy that he hadn’t noticed your choice. You had always chosen him, systematically and consistently put your faith in him, given him your unwavering trust. Why had he been so quick to dismiss you on his birthday? Why hadn’t he returned your trust? He clutched the plush toy against his chest, burying his face in the fur and breathing in deeply, it smelled of you. He knew you had held it just as he was doing now. He wished it was you that he was holding, oh to be able to bury his face in your hair. He missed how you stroked the back of his neck when you comforted him.

Finally Bucky took his nose out of the small wolf and looked around with tear stained eyes. They landed on the thin, still wrapped vinyl record on your bedside table. The beautifully printed card was carefully taped to the edge. He ran his fingers over the flowery card with his name stenciled across the front, he could tell you'd made it yourself. He slipped his finger in the gap where the wrapping paper met and opened it with ease, unveiling the first edition Glenn Miller album which had been produced back in the 40’s. Bucky sniffed as he ran his fingers over the record before picking up the card to read your message.

"Dear Bucky." He could hear your voice in his head as he read your words.

"Happy birthday to my best friend! I hope this day brings you all the joy and happiness that you deserve. I wanted to take this opportunity to remind you of the love that surrounds you, both from your past and present.

"I know how much your family meant to you and how much you miss them every day. That's why I got you this Glenn Miller vinyl, the last song you danced to with them. I hope that when you listen to it, it reminds you of the love that they gave you and the memories you shared together.

"But I also want you to remember that you are not alone. You have friends who care about you deeply, who are here for you no matter what. We may not be your blood family, but we are your chosen family, and we love you just as much.

"So on this special day, I want you to know that you are loved, Bucky. You are cherished, you are valued, and you are important. And I hope that as you listen to that vinyl, you feel the warmth of the love that surrounds you, both from your past and present.

"And may you always remember that you are not alone, that there is someone out there who cares for you more than you could ever know.

"With all my love, Cricket."

He couldn’t believe the depth of your love and care for him. How could he have been so blind to it all this time? How could he have pushed you away when all you wanted to do was show him love and support? Bucky felt a wave of regret wash over him, realizing the mistake he had made in letting you go.

He sat there on your bed, clutching the record and card to his chest, tears streaming down his face. He had never felt so lost and alone, knowing that he had driven away the one person who had always been there for him. The weight of his actions weighed heavily on his heart, and he knew he had to make things right.

"Buck?" Steve’s voice broke through Bucky’s maelstrom of guilt and self flagellation, making him look up at his oldest friend. Steve sat down beside him, putting a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder. "Look, you have time to fix this. Do you have any idea how much Cricket loves you? She's always been there for you, and you just pushed her away without even giving her a chance to explain," Steve said sternly.

Bucky nodded, wiping away his tears. "I know, Steve. I messed up big time. I was just so scared of ruining our friendship if I told her how I really felt."

"Well, now’s your chance to make things right. Apologize to Cricket and tell her the truth. She deserves to know how you feel," Steve urged.

"What… what am I going to do about Priya?"

"Tell her the truth."

"I don't want to hurt her."

"Bucky, you can't keep living a lie just to spare someone's feelings. It's not fair to either of them. You need to be honest with yourself and with them. It may be difficult, but it's the right thing to do."

Bucky took a deep breath, nodding in agreement. He knew what he had to do. He had to apologize to you and tell you how he truly felt. He couldn't let fear hold him back any longer.

He stood up, determination in his eyes. "Thanks, Steve."

Steve gave him a reassuring smile. "I believe in you, Bucky. You can do this."

There was something about the way Steve spoke, he had a way of inspiring people. Bucky had seen that since they were kids. He couldn’t think of any other reason as to why he would have followed the scrawny kid from Brooklyn down every dark alley. He was grateful for Steve’s unwavering friendship and the honesty in his opinions. "Did she tell you how she felt?" Bucky asked. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

"Buck, it’s not my place to talk to someone else about their feelings."

"You don’t think it’s too late, is it?"

"You won't know until you try."

Steve's words didn't instill hope, but he was right, all Bucky could do now was try his best.

"Do you-" Steve stopped as his phone vibrated. He pulled it out to see a message from you flashing up. "Hang on, it's Cricket."

"What did she say?"

Steve frowned, you never sent voice messages. You always said you hated the sound of your voice. He pressed play apprehensively.

"STEVE!" Your voice was loud and urgent over the speaker. "Alien attack! Vrellnexian! Need back up! Red Oaks Mill. Back up would be- shit" They caught your muffled curse before the message stopped.

Steve and Bucky took one look at each other and leapt up off your bed, running towards the door.

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fan fiction #my best friend's girl

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irisintheafterglow · 10 months

Text

Never Grow Up (gojo x you)

summary: on the first night megumi is in gojo's care, you give the kid some things to help him sleep.

word count: 2k

cw/tags: friends to lovers, mild language, mentions of toji and satoru's fight with toji, mentions of food, fluffy fluffy fluff

note: i'm such a sucker for co-parenting megumi with satoru, that's it. hope you enjoy!

likes/reblogs/feedback is appreciated <3

“Surprise! Your favorite is here now!” A melodic voice rings out behind you in the courtyard, and you skeptically cross your arms in front of your chest as you turn to face him. He pouts at your serious expression, frowning down at you over the rim of his sunglasses. “Why the face?”

“Where’s the kid?”

“I asked first, but he’s fine.” He draws out the last vowel, throwing his head to the side casually. You track his lanky, carefree movements with a narrow stare that Suguru would be proud of. “I put him in one of the spare rooms for the night.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. “And then you just left him?”

“Like I said, he’ll be fine. He’s a tough kid.” He gives you one of those heart-stuttering sly grins, but you’re too exasperated to dwell on how handsome he looked.

“He’s four, Satoru, and fatherless. You’re not doing very well with this whole ‘mentor’ thing so far.” You shake your head, turning on your heel and heading for the dorms. Satoru falls into step next to you, still attempting to flirt some affection out of you, but you’re unbreakable. “Remind me his name again?”

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

“And his dad–”

“Tried to kill me.”

“But you–”

“Killed his dad, and bought him from the Zenin clan to train here.” He finishes your sentences naturally and patiently, opening the door for you as you approach the boys’ dorms. “I put him in here,” Satoru says, guiding you through the halls to a room in the back corner of the building.

“You really put him all by himself in the back?” Your chest hurt at the idea of a little elementary school boy alone in the dank halls of the building.

“Nanami said he didn’t want to be bothered by a child all night.” Of course he did, and of course, Satoru listened.

“Neither of you know how to handle children. Where’s his sister?”

“With relatives on his mom’s side. I’ll be in contact with them at some point.” You nod, reaching for the door handle when he stops you, slender fingers wrapping around your wrist. “Whatcha doing?”

“I’m gonna talk to him, Satoru. Sorcerer or not, he’s probably terrified of being in a new place with people he doesn’t know.” A thoughtful look crosses Satoru’s face, and he reluctantly releases you.

“Fine. But be warned; he’s not the most talkative kid.” He shrugs, leaning against the dead end of the hallway to wait.

You find Megumi lying awake on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Spiky black hair falls around his face, and the blanket looks oversized for his small body. He sits up carefully when you open the door, pulling back the covers and sitting cross legged as you kneel in front of him.

“Hi, Megumi.” He’s silent, eyeing you warily with a guarded expression. You smile warmly and look at him as softly as possible. God knows how Satoru was acting with him before he came to you. You introduce yourself and watch his eyes twinkle when you mention that you’re a student at Jujutsu Tech. “I’m the same age as Satoru, that guy who brought you here.”

“He’s weird.”

You can’t help snickering, especially when you know that Satoru was probably eavesdropping from the other side of the wall. The scowl plastered across his face is probably very entertaining. “I know; he is pretty weird. But you’ll grow to like him, I promise. Are you hungry?”

“No. He bought me McDonalds.”

“I see. What’s your favorite thing at McDonalds?”

“I like chicken. He ate four burgers.” His voice stays relatively even, but the corner of his mouth quirks up when he describes the ungodly amount of Big Macs Satoru consumed.

“Yeah, he’s…like that. Well, I just wanted to check on you before you fell asleep, if you needed anything? A glass of water or something?” Megumi falls silent, eyes flicking around the room anxiously. He wrings his fingers, adjusting his seat on the bed and avoiding your gaze. He must have been nervous to be sleeping in a new place, in a bed he didn’t know and surrounded by strangers.

You redirect your attention to the open air beside you, spreading your fingers and summoning a small black portal on the floor. “I have a few things for you, if you’d like them.” Despite his hesitancy, innocent eyes peek over the edge of the bed to the void on the floor, fascinated. You reach your hand into the portal, feeling the cold air on your forearm while you rummage around for Megumi’s gifts. Your fingers find faux-fur and you pull out a stuffed gray wolf with pointy ears in a sitting position. His mouth falls open in surprise, boyish and sweet. You reach back in again a few more times, retrieving a blanket, a toothbrush, and a nightlight that cast constellations on the ceiling.

Megumi’s eyes zero in on the wolf, and you hold it out for him to take. His fingers delicately sink into the plush fur, and your heart feels a little lighter as he places it on his lap, leaning over the edge at the other goodies you’d pulled from your domain. Even if he was technically a Zenin child, to you, he was just a little boy whose curiosity got the better of him. As you continue to wordlessly hand him items, you see him visibly relax, examining the nightlight and fiddling with the corner of his blanket.

You clear your throat, keeping your voice as gentle as possible. “I know you don’t know anything about techniques yet, but if my research is semi-correct, the first shikigami you’ll be able to summon are dogs. I picked this little guy up for you to have. If you don’t like it or don’t want it, I can get you something different–”

“I like it.” His soft voice quickly cuts you off, and he hugs the toy closer to his chest as if you were going to take it from him. “I want to keep it.”

You smile at him, and he finally meets your gaze with less fear than minutes earlier. “Okay,” you nod. “I’m happy you like it.”

He’s barely able to murmur a “thank you” before the door aggressively slides open and Satoru dramatically drapes himself in the doorway. You and Megumi stare at him, unentertained by his theatrics. “Alright, kid, that’s enough chit-chat. Time for bed.”

“I am in bed.” As Megumi fires off replies, you reach over and plug in his nightlight. Little stars scatter across the ceiling in different shades of yellow and blue.

“You know what I mean. Time for you to go to sleep.”

“You just want your friend back,” Megumi states boredly and you bite back a smirk at Satoru’s reddening face. The boy looks at you, down at his wolf, and back at Satoru. “I like them better than you.”

You snort, and Satoru looks like he’s been shot, throwing a hand over his heart in agony. “Cast out by my own kin. How cruel fate is!”

“I’m not related to you.”

“That’s not the point, Megumi.”

“You said during dinner that was the whole point.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth.” Children, you think. A child arguing with a taller child.

Your hand reaches out to lightly ruffle Megumi’s hair and you rise from the floor. “Sorry, Satoru. You heard the kid– I’m his favorite.” You wink at Megumi, laying out the blanket and patting the pillow to encourage him to lie down. “Unfortunately, he’s right. It’s time for sleep. We’ll be around in the morning to get you, okay? And then maybe we can get some breakfast. How’s that sound?”

Megumi nods, curling his body around the stuffed wolf and letting you pull the covers over him. His eyes find the star-shaped projections on the ceiling and trace invisible shapes on them. Satoru’s arm naturally wraps around your shoulders as you make to exit the dorm, but before you step out, you hear Megumi’s tiny voice in the darkness.

“Goodnight.”

You can still slightly see him from the glow of the rising moon, and you smile over your shoulder. “Goodnight, Megumi.”

As Satoru walks you back to your dorm, his arm doesn’t leave its place around your body. If anything, he pulls you closer, and you let him. He’s taken his sunglasses off, allowing the light of the stars to reflect off of his hair and his vibrantly blue eyes. You always thought Satoru looked most handsome at night, and tonight was no different. Allowing yourself to consider him like you were was walking a fine line between friends and more than friends, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to cross it.

“I’m just irresistible tonight, aren’t I?” His teasing snaps you out of your love-struck daydream, grounding you back to the present. He must have caught you staring.

“You’re definitely something, Satoru.” He hums smugly, and you look at him out of the corner of your eye. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Just find it cute that I rendered you without a spunky remark for the first time.”

“You’re gonna get a lot more than a spunky remark if you keep looking like that, asshole.” You poke his side and he yelps, contorting away from you like one of those car dealership inflatables. You can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips and Satoru can definitely see the heart-eyes you were giving him. For once, the mutual flirting seemed that it might actually mean something tonight. You reach your dorm, and Satoru follows you in without invitation like he’d done hundreds of times before.

“You’re really good with the kid.” His limbs stretch out as he flops onto the covers while you slip off your shoes. “How do you do it?”

You toss sleeping clothes on the bed, debating on aiming for the white-haired idiot on it. “I just pretend he’s you.”

“That’s rude. Are you calling me a toddler?”

“That’s exactly what I’m calling you, Satoru. This whole thing is a little kid taking care of a slightly smaller kid.” You stand between his legs with your hands on your hips, and he sits up to look at you. For once, he needed to look up at you, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

“I’m not nervous, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Gojo Satoru doesn’t get nervous about anything, you know, but it was still a bold move to basically adopt a child right out of high school. Even for him.

“You’re not?” He shakes his head confidently, peering up at you with those stupidly bright blue eyes. “How?”

“Because I have you.” Your stomach does a backflip. “I never get nervous because I have you.” His hand finds its way into yours, and you bring up your free hand to caress his cheek with your thumb. You guess tonight was the night to cross the line.

“Did you just baby-trap me with a child that is neither of ours, Satoru?” Your hand cups his face, and he leans into your touch.

“Oops.” You chuckle, letting him pull you closer until he’s able to press his lips up to yours. As he stands at his full height, his hand comes to tilt your chin upward while your arms slide around his neck. You stay there for a few moments, drowning in the overwhelming presence of his body. “I think we’re gonna be great at this whole parenting thing,” he murmurs against your lips when you pull back to breathe.

“I can’t believe the way you ask to date me is with an orphan. That’s emotional manipulation.”

“I call it effective persuasion.” You shake your head at his antics, and he presses a feather-light kiss to your temple. You sigh, face falling in disappointment as you check the time.

“Alright, get out.” Your hands reluctantly press against his chest to no avail. He never turned on Infinity around you, but he was immovable on his own.

“Ouch, tired of me already?”

“That, and we’re taking Megumi to breakfast tomorrow. For all three of our sakes, you need to try to rest.”

“Scared that I’m gonna die and adopt my murderer’s kid again?”

“Don’t even joke about that. You can’t just kiss me and then die. It’s not fair,” your mumbles trail off when Satoru kisses you tenderly one last time, nudging your nose with his.

“You’re a menace.”

“I know you love it.”

“I guess I do.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk imagines #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk satoru

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woso-dreamzzz · 5 months

Text

Video II

Meadema x Baby!Reader

Summary: Munchkin vs ACLs

The first week with you is perfect.

You're a fairly well-behaved baby. You're smiley and happy and you sleep through most nights. Viv's on overnight duty though, your first week with them, because she's the only one out of the two of them with working knees.

It's absolutely perfect. You settle in well and you fit so well in Viv's arms that it must be fate.

Then...She tears her ACL.

It's like you know something's wrong because you scream and cry for days on end and Beth and Viv barely have the strength to get up to attend to your needs.

Between the two of them, they manage to pull your crib into their room, leaving it at the foot of the bed for easy access. You get less time on the floor on your sensory mat because they can't bend down properly to grab you anymore.

It's like their own personal hell.

You won't settle unless one of them is holding you. You won't settle unless one of them is moving you about.

Beth cries multiple times as she tries to soothe you as you sob until you're red in the face. Viv cries too but when she's in bed and you've just fallen asleep. She sobs into Beth's chest for hours.

It's a struggle but neither she nor Beth can imagine their lives without you in it.

They keep you to themselves for the first few weeks they have you but end up bringing you with them to rehab when they start.

"Oh, look at this cutie," Vic coos as they both hobble in," Look! Look! She's smiling at me!"

"It's gas," Beth laughs.

You're completely passed out in your pram and you smack your lips together a few times in your sleep.

"I'll take her," Lia offers," If you two want to go to the physios."

"We can keep her," Beth insists," It's fine."

"You two can barely walk," Lia reminds them," Let alone push her all the way down to the physios. Let me take her."

Beth is loath to leave you. Viv doesn't want to leave either but she knows that Lia's right.

"You'll bring her back?" Beth asks and Lia shrugs.

"I don't know. This little cutie might end up coming home with me."

"Alright," Beth laughs," That's it. I don't think we're going to let you have her."

"Go!" Lia says," You'll get her back."

Beth is a little guilty as she tries to rush through the first part of the rehab session, desperately trying to hurry everyone along so she can escape to the gym where she knows you and Lia are.

Viv's not ready for the gym just yet so she's stuck in the physios for most of the day.

Beth hobbles her way to the gym as fast as she can go. The scene that greets her is one that she suspected.

Your pram is parked right by the door, completely empty save for the changing bag hanging off a handle. You're nowhere near it, held nice and snug in Lia's arms at the very centre of the group of fawning teammates.

You make happy little snuffling noises as the team coo over you.

"I hope you washed your hands," Beth says in greeting as she heads over.

"Of course!" Katie says with a grin as she tips her pretend hat," Only the best for Viv's baby."

Beth rolls her eyes. "I get that you're the president of Viv's fan club but she's my baby too."

Katie waves a dismissive hand. "Same thing."

"Well, do I get my baby back or not?"

Leah, who has somehow taken custody of you, shakes her head. "Haven't you got stretches to be doing?"

"Haven't you?"

"I'm holding this little munchkin. She's like a little angel, mate. I'm not putting her down."

"You've only got five minutes," Steph complains," Then it's my turn."

"Don't take turns on my baby!"

Leah rolls her eyes. "This is the Arsenal baby. She's all of our baby."

"I don't see you getting up in the middle of the night for a feed."

Leah ignores her, soaking up all her time with you before begrudgingly handing you over to Steph, who takes her turn happily before moving you along the line.

Beth doesn't get you back unless it's for feedings or to change you but even those two things are done with an audience of your aunties cooing over you.

"We need to keep her away from them," Beth says softly that night as she sits in bed with Viv, you tucked up on Viv's chest taking a bottle," We'll never get her back again."

Viv laughs as she mops up some of the milk that's spilt down your chin. "I don't think it's that easy."

It's not because a few weeks later Laura moves in.

She's done her ACL too and it's like pass the baby to the most depressed person in the room. With three working knees between them, it's like playing hot potato with the you and you're very rarely out of somebody's arms.

To be honest, you seem to enjoy this greatly and, when Viv finally puts her metaphorical foot down and sets you up for tummy time, you whine and cry the entire time.

"Don't, Laura," Viv says softly when Laura moves to pick you up again," Not with your knee."

Beth's the one that's been put in charge of you, sitting next to you on your mat with her leg stretched out.

You keep whining and crying and Beth has to turn a blind eye because she knows that you're meant to be having more tummy time than you're actually getting.

It's just easier if someone's holding you now that you currently have more working knees than anyone else in the house. Usually, it's Laura who ends up holding you (not that she complains) but Viv's insisted on tummy time.

You whine a bit pitifully before it peters off when you notice that no one's coming to your rescue.

"It's alright, munchkin," Beth says softly," Just a little bit longer and then you get to nap."

You end up doing that in her arms. It's easier than hobbling through the house to place you back down in your crib. You yawn softly, your mouth making the perfect 'o' as you move around a little bit.

Your eyes flutter shut and you go completely limp and relaxed in her arms.

"The bottles are done," Viv says as she limps over," Ready to be heated up when we need them."

Beth smiles. "Munchkin's asleep too."

"So is Laura."

Beth hadn't even noticed Laura asleep too, curled up on the sofa with an arm grazing the floor.

"We're so good at this. Two knees between us and we've got everything done."

Viv rolls her eyes. "I saw you finish her tummy time early, you know. She needs to do it properly later."

"Oh, come on, Viv! She was crying!"

"You're such a pushover."

#woso x reader #meadema x reader #beth mead x reader #beth mead #vivianne miedema x reader #vivianne miedema #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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bloatedandalone04 · 4 months

Text

Good as Gold

➪the one where leon fell in love with you from the second he saw you.

Warnings: angst, fluff, indications of smut, leon pining over you, jealous leon, mentions of injuries, mentions of blood, blood, descriptions of blood + injuries, you all really need to stop with those foul leon fics, i am so serious, he deserves some fluff once in a while, damn

Word Count: 5.5k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

The first time Leon saw you, he knew he wanted to do everything in his power to protect you, despite you being a very good agent and more than capable of protecting yourself.

Still, he knew he wanted to be around you all the time, and he was quite certain he was in love with you after the first conversation the two of you had.

When you and he were assigned as partners for this mission where he and you had to act like a couple, he was borderline thrilled, then he realized he would be spending most of his time looking out for you instead of actually getting the information he needed from the doctors.

It was an attempt at stopping a virus before it got out, and Leon had to go full camouflage for this one. He cut his hair short and hated it immediately, but the look you gave him once you saw it for the first time had him appreciating it a bit more.

He had to wear a suit that night, and even he thought he looked quite nice, but nowhere near as good as you looked. You were given a dark blue dress with a slit in the side, and he was obsessed with it from the minute he saw it.

Then you hooked your arm in his and stayed glued to his side the whole night as you both listened to the drunk doctors spill all the information on the virus, and the recorder in Leon’s suit pocket caught everything.

When you two got back to the hotel you were staying at for just one night, you fell asleep with your head on Leon’s chest, still wearing that sinful dress he wanted to take off you. Neither of you planned for that mission very well, even forgetting to pack extra clothes, so you both had to sleep in your formal attire. Leon took off his jacket and put it over you while you slept, and he spent his night trying to figure out how to face you the next morning after finding out how well your body fit against his own.

He didn’t mean to, really. They had given him a room with only one bed, and neither of you wanted the other to sleep on the uncomfortable couch in the corner.

You talked about everything and nothing at all, and Leon was so close to saying those three words to you, but decided it wasn’t the best time.

Oh, how he regretted that one.

Another mission you were given together had the addition of Chris, and that annoyed Leon since he knew the Redfield brother had a thing for you, too. It was annoying because Leon didn’t just have a thing for you, he was in love with you, and had been for a year at that point.

The mission was going well, but Leon had to continuously watch Chris flirt with you, and you did nothing about it since you had no idea about the way Leon felt about you. He was extremely good at hiding it, though he did try to show it in subtle ways; like keeping you behind him at all times whenever you were near something potentially dangerous, or how he loosely laced his fingers with yours under the table as you and he debriefed from missions, how he always let you come to him whenever the weight of the job felt like it was too much for you to handle.

He did all of it for you, and he wished he was man enough to do more.

Because now he watched as Chris brushed your messy hair behind your ear as you caught your breath from the ten minute sprint you all just did to escape the infected villagers in the tunnels.

Leon reloaded his gun as he took off in a random direction, muttering something to you about staying with Chris as he went to search for more ammo and weapons.

Maybe it was petty, and maybe he was acting like a child, but he couldn’t help it.

He regretted it, though, because as soon as he got back to you and Chris, the villagers had found their way to the three of you, and they weren’t letting up this time.

Leon’s ears were ringing as three different guns fired in opposite directions, and when he turned to check on you after hearing your quiet cry, his beloved gun almost slipped from his fingers as he saw the pitchfork that was embedded in your abdomen.

He watched as Chris shot both the pitchfork wielder as well as another villager that was coming for you in your weakened state. He watched as you pulled the pitchfork out of you and feebly tossed it aside, and he watched as your body betrayed itself and began to sink to the ground.

Before you could reach it, Leon finally snapped out of it and nearly got impaled himself as he ran over to you. He heard the sound of Chris shooting the man who tried giving Leon the same fate as you as he caught your body and lowered both himself and you to the ground.

Blood formed on three places on your shirt, and Leon pressed his whole hand and forearm down against them without thinking twice. Your cry of pain had him wincing as he looked over at your pale face, and he felt his heart rate spike as he saw the blood that began pooling in your mouth. “Hey,” he said quietly as Chris single-handedly took out the last four guys before he was crouching on the other side of you. “Keep your eyes open for me.”

You give him a pointed look, even in your current state, as you mumble, “I’m trying to,”

“I know,” he muttered as he looked over at Chris, panic poorly hidden on both their faces. “What do we do? We can’t leave her. We need to get her out of here, she needs-”

“I know, Leon,” Chris cut him off, and Leon was sure the brunet was surprised at how quickly Leon had lost all control the second you had gotten hurt. “You need to get her out of here. Find the surface as fast as you can, and don’t look back for anything.”

Chris tried to take control of the situation as best as he could, but Leon was barely listening as he looked back down at you and saw your emotionless face staring back up at him. A ghost of a smile was on your lips, but he knew you were fading quickly. “Hey,” he called again, much stricter this time, but you just blinked slowly. “Stay with me, okay? You’re not dying today. Not here.”

“Leon,” Chris said, reaching over and grabbing his shoulder. “You need to focus. Get her out of here, I’ll take care of the rest, you both need to get out of here. Now.”

Leon barely nodded as he picked you up and wrapped his arms around your middle and under your thighs. You cry again, and Leon doesn’t look back at Chris as he takes off in the direction you all came from. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, refusing to stop as he ran through the tunnel and towards where he hoped the surface was.

He knew he was abandoning the mission, even though he was advised to never do that. But he didn’t care. He couldn’t just leave you to die, he wouldn’t.

“Leon,” you whispered, and it had him moving even faster. “It’s okay, I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt that much anymore.”

He knew you were going into shock, and he refused to see you reach the stage that came after that as he kicked open the gate and fled from the tunnels. “You’re okay,” he rasped as he ran through the small town and towards the Jeep. “You’re okay, baby.”

The name slipped out before he could stop it, but he didn’t care at this point, and neither did you as you smiled up at him. “I’ve always wanted to hear you call me that,” you confessed in a tired voice as he finally reached the car. “You’re my favorite person, Leon. I..”

Leon looked down and saw that your eyes were closed now, and he cursed as he opened the back door and gently set you down on the seats. He climbed in with you as he grabbed Chris’ jacket and wrapped it around your wound. He tied it pretty harshly around your middle in hopes to stop the blood, then felt around on your neck for your pulse.

When he found it, he felt how faint it was and it sent him into a further panic as he got out of the back and into the driver’s seat. He knew Chris would be fine, and he also knew he couldn’t wait for him as he started the car and drove away from the town.

He’d have to send someone back for Chris, and then take the hit for being the one to abandon the mission.

But if it meant saving you, he didn’t give a fuck about the repercussions.

Leon got you back to salvation, but wasn’t allowed to be in the room with you as the nurses and doctors ripped your shirt after tearing off Chris’ jacket to see how bad your wound was.

He was left in the hall as they worked on you, his arms and shirt covered in your blood. The sight was one he never wanted to see, and he knew he should go wash it off, but instead he stayed right there.

This wasn’t a typical hospital, there were no waiting rooms, so he leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the hall to your room, and stayed there for God knows how long until a doctor finally came out and told him hours later that they had managed to stop the internal bleeding. But you had lost a lot of blood, and he was wearing most of it.

He still wasn’t allowed to see you as they moved on to test you for any viruses, and he knew how long that could take. So he caved and went home to shower and wash off the red that covered him.

Then he was right back in that hall after he changed into clean clothing. It was nearing a full twenty four hours since he carried you out of those tunnels, and he was beginning to go crazy.

He needed to see you, needed to see for himself that you were okay and alive. He couldn’t live with himself if something happened to you when he was just a few feet away.

The night nurse went in to check on you and accidentally woke Leon up from his spot on the floor. His back was against the wall as he looked up at her, and she gave him a wary smile. “I’m sorry, Agent Kennedy. I didn’t mean to wake you,” she apologized and he just waved her off. “I have to go report on her status, but she’s fine for now and will most likely recover within a few days.”

Leon perked up at that. “She’s going to be okay?”

“Yes,” the nurse nodded, then saw the look on his face and added, “That doesn’t mean you can sneak in there while I’m gone. I mean it, Kennedy. Her test results haven’t come back yet, she could be contagious with something.”

Leon nodded and watched as the nurse walked off before he promptly stood up and quietly opened the door to your room. He knew you didn’t have any viruses, he was with you the whole time, and he would’ve gotten it, too.

After slowly closing the door behind him, Leon turned to look at you. His heart fell at the blank expression on your face, and the way your eyes didn’t move behind your closed eyelids.

He had only ever seen you asleep a couple of times, one being back in that hotel room, another being when you had fallen asleep in the backseat of the Jeep as you waited for Chris to arrive so you could go on the mission, and both times you appeared to be dreaming. Your eyes never stopped moving behind closed lids, so to see them be so still now made him feel anxious.

Without being able to stop himself, he walked over to you and stood next to the bed, his left hand finding yours on top of the covers. “Hey,” he mumbled as he extended his leg and pulled a nearby chair towards the bed without ever taking his eyes off you. His fingers tangle with yours as he sits down, and your warm skin against his had his heart calming down just a bit.

He looked over at your pretty face, the dirt and grime you’d collected from the tunnels now gone, and what replaced it was a few cuts here and there. Leon still thought you looked beautiful, and he wished he had told you that before this. He should’ve done so many things before this, but he was a coward when it came to you.

But he wouldn’t be after you wake up.

He would tell you that he loved you and how he needed you in his life. Because, after all,

“You’re my favorite person, too,”

The same nurse from last night had found him with his head next to your hip on the bed, his hand still locked with yours, and she softly scolded him as she escorted him back out of the room and told him that he’d get to see you in a few days from now, and that you’d be awake by then.

That, along with the physical proof that you were okay, was what he needed to be able to talk through how the rest of the mission went with Chris. The eldest Redfield had successfully gathered up all the needed samples for the virus, as well as took out a large portion of those already infected with it before he caught a ride out of there and came to check on you.

Leon couldn’t even be annoyed at that since it was because of Chris that he was able to get you the help you needed in time.

With no further updates on both you and the case, Leon was left to return back to his sad and empty apartment with the files Chris gave him to read over. It helped keep his mind off you for a bit, and when he was about halfway through the paperwork, he stopped to answer the door when someone knocked on it.

He opened it slowly, then swung it open when he saw that it was you who was on the other side. You look a lot better than you did the last time he saw you, and your small smile had his knees feeling a bit weak as you gazed at one another. “Hi,” you say quietly and Leon had to blink a few times to make sure this was real, and that he hadn’t fallen asleep at the table with the case files.

“Hi,” he said back once he confirmed that he was awake and aware, and your smile grew a bit.

“I heard you were the one who risked the whole mission to get me help after I stupidly got stabbed with a pitchfork,” you murmur and Leon wanted to take you into his arms at how you were still able to find humor in the very situation that had him nearly losing his mind. “Then I laughed and said that Leon Kennedy wouldn’t risk a mission for anything and how nothing else was that important to him. And then I realized that wasn’t true after I remembered how you carried me out of those tunnels and stayed with me until you couldn’t anymore.”

Leon stayed silent as he confirmed your words with a single nod.

“Why did you do that?” You ask as you wrap one arm around your middle, and Leon wanted to pull you into his apartment and sit you down so you weren’t straining your wounds. “Why would you risk that?”

“You should sit down, Y/n,” he suggested instead of answering your question, but you just shook your head.

“Why did you risk it?” You ask again. “You saved my life, but I’m not worth that risk, Leon.”

Leon shook his head as he stepped towards you. “You are worth that risk,” he couldn’t keep the way your words offended him out of his voice, and you picked up on it as you stayed still and asked,

“Why did you risk it?”

He knew you wouldn’t be satisfied with anything other than an honest answer, and he wasn’t going to go back on his words and lie to you about how he felt. Seeing you with your eyes closed and your body covered in blood almost made him lose his mind, and he couldn’t continue to live without telling you just how much you meant to him.

“Because I love you,” he answered as if it was the most simplest question he’d ever been asked, and he supposed it was. “And I couldn’t live with myself if you had died on that mission and I didn’t.”

Your mouth closes as you take in his words, and when you begin to blink away tears, he continues,

“I know you can protect yourself, and I know you’re not defenseless, but I still want to be the one who protects you,” he took your hand in his, similar to the way he did back in your hospital room. “I want to be the one to take the hit for you, or the stab for you, or the bullet. You really think you’re not worth the risk? I’d risk it all for you all over again in a heartbeat. Without a second thought, I’d do it again.”

You bite down on your lip as you lace your fingers with his and allow him to pull you into his apartment. He guides you over to the couch, but before he could gesture for you to sit, you push him down instead and drape your thighs over his. “You love me?” You asked in a quiet tone as you hesitantly placed your hand on his shoulder.

Leon nodded, giving you full control over everything right now and keeping his hands at his sides.

You force away a smile as you shyly ask, “Will you say it again?” and Leon wasn’t used to having you act so nervous and hesitant around him. Usually you were so confident and collected, but right now you were allowing yourself to be vulnerable with him, and he loved you even more for it.

He didn’t think he could deny you anything right now, so he nodded in response to your question. “I love you,” he said again, then added with a barely-there smirk, “Baby.”

You give him a pretty smile and lean in to press your forehead against his as you guide his arms up to gently wrap around your middle. “I’ve always wanted to hear you call me that,” you repeated your words from earlier in the week, and Leon hummed as the tip of his nose hit yours.

“I know,” he rasped. “I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you that I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you since the second I saw you.”

“Leon,” you murmur and gently run your fingers through his short hair. It still hadn’t fully grown out yet, but he didn’t mind it as you softly tug on the strands. “It doesn’t matter how long it took you. I would’ve waited forever, I think. Because I love you, too.”

He let out a sigh of relief he had no idea he was holding as he leaned in and brushed his lips against yours. “I nearly lost it when I carried you out of those tunnels,” he confessed. “I thought I’d lost my chance to tell you how I felt, and how beautiful I think you are.”

The words sounded foreign to him as he didn’t have a whole lot of time to put towards a relationship due to his job, but that didn’t make them any less true.

And you knew this as you caressed the side of his face and traced his various freckles with your thumb. “Maybe soon you’ll be able to show me how you feel, too,” you teased and pressed yourself closer to him. “Thank you for saving my life, Leon. And thank you for finally telling me the words I’ve been wanting to hear from you for over a year now. I never let myself believe that you could ever feel that way about me.”

Leon was careful with your stomach area as he ran his hands up your back and gently gripped the back of your neck. He kissed you deeply and felt his heart skip a beat at the quiet moan you released, and he knew it would be the best kiss he’s ever shared with someone. Because it was you. “Believe it,” he mumbled. “Because I’ve been yours since day one.”

594 notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 19 days

Text

BERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. hobi)

genre: angst, tiny fluff, itty bitty smut

word count: 6.0k

summary: your ex-boyfriend shouldn't have this much influence over you when you have a new man, should he?

playlist: berries / pinterest board: berries

warnings: depression, daddy issues, use of titles, oc has dirty thoughts about hobi (do we blame her? no, we do not), slowburn, implied sex, dd/lg, soft argument

note: this took every last bit of my strength, so i had to split it up. i'm sorry if this is a piece of absolute shit, but as you all know work this week squeezed everything out of me and i'm so exhausted that i'm not even sure if this is worth posting. i struggled a lot with this fic, rewrote it multiple times, and i'm so very happy that it's finished. i hope you all enjoy the start of a new series, this time a slowburn that will have more parts, more depth and everything. and surprise! it features hobi, my beautiful husband. it was my first time writing about him and he's missing so terribly from my soul that it was one of the reasons why i struggled so much. i wish it weren't like this for my first time with him, but oh well. i hope you, guys, enjoy. please, let me know what you think. <3

The satiny material of your cream-colored dress must be the one and the same that these sculptures had worn centuries ago. You can almost imagine the softness kissing your fingerprint instead of the cool stone as you graze your touch against each and every immortalized angel of loveliness. You’re stirred by a sense of poignancy—that you’re alive and they’re not and yet you believe that as you stare at them, feel what they’ve been through the more you study their eternal expressions, they stare right back with their eternally tender eyes, see right through you, through your heart, know its contents. You wish you were in their place instead; you’re sure they would’ve handled your cursed life better than you can.

Or you wish you were as stony as them.

But you’re an opulent fountain of emotions that are anything but gentle.

This thought distracts your attention from the way your feet ache in the boots you chose to wear to impress your date. Thigh high, with black knee socks underneath to keep you warm from the cruel breath of autumn. Hoseok is carrying your trenchcoat as you’re adventuring on your own in this art museum and that’s the only sliver of kindness he’s shown you this very morning.

The only compliment you’ve received from him was a nonverbal one. An up and down look with a smirk creeping in when he picked you up at your apartment. No hug, no caress. You felt so small—and awkward a little bit, comparison rushing in. Not in the form of a wave of the sea, but in the form of a snake, its thick body tightening around your throat. An ouroboros, which made you regret going out on a date so soon.

It hasn’t even been a month since you’ve become a single girl again, learning how to walk in this new, harsh reality, your legs wobbly, weak and too, too heavy. And the lack of comfortable physical contact made you see your ex-boyfriend before your own eyes, the memory of how he acted at the beginning of your first date. The way he picked you up into his arms due to his excitement of being with you and carried you inside his car. He put on your seatbelt for you. Drove carefully. Held your hand as he led you to the restaurant he picked for you. Even during the walk after while you talked about the stars and you couldn’t help but tell him that his eyes were filled with them.

Hoseok did neither of those things. He had asked you where you wanted to go and you’ve wanted to visit the museum for quite a while, so you suggested it. He had agreed, no sort of enthusiasm evident in his voice muffled by the phone call. And you’ve barely exchanged a few words during the half an hour of your time spent here, let alone led an entire conversation. You should’ve heeded the warning when it was right in front of you.

Hoseok is certainly not of the artistic kind.

Looks quite bored as you turn your head to look at him, your coat dangling from his arm so terribly devastatingly. And when you focus your gaze to your right, where a dark wine-tinged room, with golden frames of paintings, awaits you and where you’ve longed to go the moment you stepped a foot inside this grand building, a distaste pools on your tongue, your former aesthetic elation ruined.

You’re surprised he didn’t stand you up.

You don’t even want to take pictures. As a matter of fact, you want to go home. But you can’t. Can’t ravage your only possibility and means of forgetting the person you still love. Can’t really encourage Hoseok to leave your life, not when you’re the type of person that doesn’t find love upon every corner you turn to.

This is your only chance. And he’s the only man you’ll conceivably have in your life for quite some time.

You walk up to him and take your coat from his arm. His eyes deepen on you, in fact they haven’t strayed from you during the entire half an hour—and that bothers you. If your ex-boyfriend were here, he’d share the beauty with you. Make you laugh so hard that the sound would echo around the vast room. Perhaps give life to the sculptures and they would laugh along, too.

Your heart hangs heavy in your chest, sinks ever so slowly and you can’t bear it. You need to leave. Take this date elsewhere, hope for betterment to grace you—to have but a fragment of pity for you.

“You hungry?” you ask, softly, willing your voice to be smooth and not divulge the brassy storm of your emotions to him. Hoseok doesn’t know anything about you. Doesn’t know that you yearn for another person to be standing in his place. “Did you have breakfast?”

Hoseok needed the date to be in the early hours. Said he had a meeting in the afternoon. Would be working on a project with his colleagues until the late hours. You didn’t mind, not really, in fact it animated you—brought briskness into the sadness of your headspace, knowing it was rainy and cloudy outside. Perfect weather for the influence of the arts. That is, until you realized that it was a grave mistake to take a businessman to a museum; that you dragged a heathen to a church.

Hoseok shifts his weight on each foot, his shoulders swaying with the movement, and he licks his lip, bringing your attention to them. Small, but full—you wonder what they would feel like against yours. Wonder if he’d be gentle with you or violent. If he’d stroke your hair or grip it; fondle the ribbon you’re wearing in a half up do or untie it, entirely. Use it for another means like your ex-boyfriend invariably did.

Your distaste grows, but not for Hoseok. It grows like poison ivy for yourself and your tendency to compare him with someone he doesn’t deserve to be juxtaposed with.

Guilt blossoms in your sternum, the leaves of that poison ivy. Pretty to the eye, but deadly for the body. Just like you. You’re too baneful for such a pretty man like Hoseok. You’d do well to respect his boundaries and abstain from physical contact, prevent red rashes from marring his skin.

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Hoseok says, just as softly, rubbing the nape of his neck, the black cloth of his dress shirt taut over his arms—a pretty sight, one that could be hanging in the wine-tinged room for generations to gawk upon. “Truth be told, I was too nervous.”

A brief smile adorns his slender face and you melt, the poison ivy scratching you raw. Your heart picks up its rhythm, flattery clothing it in a protective layer and you pout, your hand itching to graze his forearm. But a hidden fight rises in you, an army of darkness ready with their bows, their arrows shooting thoughts into your brain about how little you’re worthy of such kindness and favor.

Though when Hoseok blushes upon seeing your tender expression, it gives you some sort of strength to stand tall against those demons. Despite the fact you don’t understand it, you don’t question it either and you cling to it, sensing its freedom speaking to you in a foreign language. A yearning forms in you, one you haven’t yet had the possibility of meeting. A yearning to learn its syntax and vocabulary. And when you give in to it, the poison ivy in you lessens.

This is good.

You reciprocate his smile and you coo. Find it the easiest thing in the world. And because you’re so grateful for what he’s unwittingly done for you, you decide to share your truth with him as well.

“Let’s go eat, then.” Your eyes crinkle and you’d bet light flickers in them, for your whole body does, you sense it. A warm light enlarges on its axis, taking a hold of the heaviness you felt. “There’s no need to be nervous. It’s what I told myself when I was getting ready. My stomach hurt and believe it or not when I told myself these words, it stopped.”

Hoseok chuckles, his arm slapping back to his side, but you notice that it trembles. You’re so touched by it that you become angry at yourself, self-hatred clashing with that warmth. You misinterpreted him so unfairly and what’s more, you wallowed in your brokenness and your heartbreak, when Hoseok had been nervous and timid the whole time, which now sheds light on his lack of closeness with you.

You’re despicable. And the awareness of it transforms into that snake tightening around your throat again. Only this time, you welcome it. Long for it to take your life. It’s the least you deserve.

But you’re not letting yourself loll in the bed of your horrendous emotions. No, you lift your hand and you caress his arm, the one that quakes. And amidst the sepulchral attention of the sculptures, you’re a witness to that trembling’s halt, to Hoseok’s visible tranquility, and you want to weep.

You know if you were to gaze at the eternal angels of beauty, you’d see stony tears appear on their ivory cheeks, too.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok mumbles and you curl your brows in confusion, not knowing what he’s apologizing for. Hoseok opens his mouth again to speak, but he pauses, sloshing the words in his mouth. You feel so bad that a craving to better yourself overcomes your entire being. “I’m sorry for being such a buzzkill. If you wanna explore this place more, we can. I saw you looking at the room with the paintings.”

He tilts his head in the direction of the aforementioned room, but you care very little about it as of now. You’d much rather take this elsewhere and get to know him better, so you don’t make the mistake of distorting him again. You’re not very keen on forcing a heathen to pray, either, however you do appreciate his willingness and attentiveness. Carry those things into your jarred heart, fold them inside its chambers, the edge pieces to the puzzle of his personality.

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, taking it one step further and hooking your arm around his. Hoseok sighs, his shyness slowly breaking apart as he clasps his hand over yours and if you could dissolve any more, now would be the perfect time for it. His hold is strong and steady—and it creates something stable within you, an orchard of fruit trees, pink and green, and bushes of berries, a safe place you want to rest in; lay down your brokenness and woes in. “You’re good. No need to apologize.”

His blush deepens at the reassurance and he smiles, softly, running his thumb over your knuckles. And the gratefulness you feel due to the fact he’s touching you, it is the rain that freshens up the apples and cherries hanging on the twigs of those trees, guiding it into full bloom. You focus on it—focus on the thick, cottony material of his dress shirt as you rub his forearm in response. You want to acknowledge yourself with the unspoken parts of him like these, remember them, allow them to heal you and crack the plaster over your heart.

And there you hear it. The crumble as Hoseok leans in and presses a chaste peck onto your cheek, lingering there for a second more, inhaling your sandalwood scent. And his smile widens as he looks down on you at such close proximity, erasing your touch-starvation once and for all. It’s your turn to blush now and you feel an inkling to shy away from his gaze, but you stifle it back. Curl your mouth in a smile—your heart thumping louder amidst the orchard now that it has more space to function in.

“No, I really want to apologize. It’s been too long since I’ve been on a date and you’re so stunning that I’ve forgotten my game, so I can’t help but to be nervous. I don’t know how to act around you,” he says, mutedly, punctuating his sentence with a breathy laugh, glimmering eyes flicking to the lining of your silky neckline just below your collarbones, tracing the miniature cherub hung up on your dainty necklace plated in gold, motionless against your dress. Your own heart grows wings and momentum in its place, fluttering in haste to move closer to him. He bores his gaze back into yours, letting it stay there. “Art isn’t really my thing, but you look like you belong here. Look like all those angels around.” He nods at your necklace. “And like that angel, too. Can I take a picture of you?”

You’re so taken aback that you don’t have time to respond. Pulling out his phone from the pocket of his dress pants, he withdraws from you and gently ushers you in the direction of the closest angel, your trenchcoat slung over his arm again, vibrating with life. He positions you how he likes—right in front of the immense sculpture, your head turned slightly to the side so the wisps of your white ribbon in your hair can be seen. His touch grounds you, tells your bloodstream, your organs that everything is okay, repeats it a little louder to your headspace—all before war could be declared with you.

Hoseok, the prince of peace.

The prince that crouches to the dirty floor so the vastness of the angel’s wings can fit in the shot. Yours, too. You think you’ve grown a pair of your own, alongside your heart, now that your shared honesty brought you closer.

You struggle to hold back your sob, to stop the corners of your mouth from rounding, your chin from quivering—all because the lightness that you sense wrapping over your heart is one you haven’t felt in a really long time. You feel taken care of, feel like you can depend on him, and while you can’t explain why you feel that way, you consider that such an immense blessing, regardless. So much that your eyes wet for the camera, but you don’t mind. Let that be captured in the memory—the mending that occurred. And let that be safe with him.

You smile and the flash goes off, which causes you to burst into giggles, your liquid softness forgotten, and run to him, your palm covering his phone camera so nobody sees his defiance. You look around to make sure no employee is in sight before you face him, cheeks warm, heart warm, wings warm, body warm. Hoseok quirks a brow, confused, gaping up at you from his position, and you take a deep breath to halt another inrush of laughter.

“You can’t take pictures with flash here. They’ll throw us out,” you whisper-shout, your giggles escaping your tightened mouth. His own forms into an ‘O’, fingers clicking on his screen, presumably turning off the automatic flash.

“I didn’t know,” he whisper-shouts back, mouth stretched in a lopsided grin. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid.” You shake your head, shoulders still shaking with the last of your giggles. He probably didn’t have a phone back then, which makes it even funnier. He inspects his settings again to make sure it’s all good before his hand finds your thigh and pushes you back. “Okay, I turned it off. Go back to the angel.”

It’s your whole body that flutters now, not just your heart, both pairs of wings unfurling, and when you retrace your steps, you still feel the heat of his touch—half on the fabric of your dress, half on your bare skin. And as you smile more naturally for the picture this time, greed kisses your core. A greed for more of his touch; on the same place as well as elsewhere.

A twinkle of where he could possibly touch you flashes before your eyes and it’s all your focal point consists of when you turn your head to your former position the way he wanted it and he praises you for it: “Good, good.”

Your muscles clench as you imagine his hand going underneath the fabric, exploring what’s hidden in there for him. The words of praise he would utter at the discovery of your private flesh. Your ears must be red. Such a twist of events you didn’t expect. A meek form of demureness creeps in, enveloping you in a feminine sensuality and you’ve missed feeling this way. Missed feeling pretty and alluring for yourself first, then for a man second. Missed being the center of your attention like this, of someone else’s as well.

You’ve always loved it. Perhaps due to the fact that you very seldom have it—so when it does come, it changes your life and you attach your being to it.

You didn’t anticipate going home with Hoseok, especially not on the first date. But because you’re being fed, you don’t really care about being proper. You want to go home with him and so you simply shall.

Can’t let the opportunity run away from you.

And so you arch your back a little bit more, look up at the angel and give her your silent thanks, your hair flowing around your form when you flick your gaze back to Hoseok to see him concentrated on the task, his smooth features gravely serious. Your stomach flips.

“Now from the back,” he instructs without lifting his eyes off of the screen of his phone. “Just like you were.”

A breath lodges in your throat, the double meaning burning the poison ivy down to ashes and you swallow it, let your stomach acid consume it until there’s nothing left of it, until all that your body carries is nothing but the lightness and the seductiveness that Hoseok gracefully gave you, the comfortable heft of the wings that grew because of him.

It’s those things that drive forth your following words with the world’s ease, unabashedly.

“You want it from the back?”

Hoseok’s mouth parts and the look he exchanges with you should chill your blood, but it doesn’t. If anything, it boils it. The heat that wafts off it pools in your core before ascending to your imaginary wings, leaving them dripping with sweat and the dew of titillation. Hoseok’s eyes narrow, shadowed by the furrow of his brows, encouraging it all the more.

There is it—the heady energy shift, permeated with the sweetest of berry juices, stemming from lust, from the orchard he planted in you. Strengthening your allure, steeling you from head to toe. You submit to it; kneel into it, notionally. Your elation raises from the dead—and you grin.

“Behave.”

A pulse in your private parts. The lengthening of your expression of delight. Your wings, your muscles clench and the same winged creatures soar to your heart from your stomach, squeezing the beating flesh. You swivel on your heels, the hem of your dress rippling, exposing more of your tender skin, the ribbon in your hair following suit.

Hoseok sucks in a breath. Your cheeks ache from the joy’s strain and it is utterly exhilarating to you.

“Yes, sir.”

Hoseok coos his approval and you can’t take it anymore. You let him take a few more pictures as you move around, dancing in your own way, running your fingers through your hair, trying to distract yourself from the throbbing between your legs, but to no avail. And when you sigh and face him head-on, Hoseok is already on his feet, walking towards you with a reappearing lopsided grin that forces the butterflies gnawing at your heart to go absolutely rampant.

You’re done for. You need to take him home. You’re not even curious about how the pictures came out—you can always look at them later.

Hoseok seems to know about your neediness because when he crosses the distance, he cups your chin. Makes you look up at him. And his smirk deepens while your heart increases in size, wings flitting at the special attention.

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs, caressing your skin with his thumb. Your eyes round and the heat you feel is sweltering underneath your clothes. All the more reason for him to take them off. “The pictures are great. Wanna see?”

Biting your lip, you shake your head, briefly. “What I want is to make you breakfast,” you say, mirroring his tone, hoping he gets the hint.

Hoseok waggles your chin, humming. “Oh, yeah?”

Fuck. If his scolding already didn’t make you submissive, then his response and his actions have. You wet your mouth, teeth instinctively sinking back in, and only nod. Hoseok opens your coat and covers your shoulders in its warmth, pressing the cotton twill fabric against your sternum.

“Thank you, sir.”

A fond sound pours out of him and the fact that he likes to be called by that title heightens the pulse between your legs. “Let’s go.”

He leads you towards the exit with a hand on the small of your back and you’re so happy to be touched at last that with a final look at the angels, you send out your silent love and goodbye to them, thank them one last time for the kindness you received because of them, one that you so ferociously sought after and longed for.

They seem to bow to you, happy to be of service, and you smile so profoundly that you feel as though nothing could stain your joy and mar it all over again. They wouldn’t allow that to happen—and a tendril of hope burst open within you like sunlight tearing through clouds, one that is suffused with the notion that Hoseok would stand in the way, side by side with those sculptures, too.

And he does when you swivel your head back and catch a glance of someone you know.

A piercing on the side of his brow, unchanged from the last time you saw him. Round eyes, murky. Ashen complexion that used to bloom with vibrant tints. Full, soft-toned mouth, ever so stuck in that pout, one you used to kiss until it bruised.

Your bloodstream doesn’t cease its flow. Not until you notice the person beside him.

A girl with an aura so cataclysmic that it forces you to stop dead in your tracks. An August night storm personified, obnoxiously sweet-smelling of the past summer that you spent with her companion. The hollow, funereal scent of a meadow doused in petrichor—she walks with it, her hands intertwined before her in a clasp.

You wished for him to be in Hoseok’s place so ardently that he appeared. And now that you contemplate him, the lack of distance between him and the girl, it makes you regret that you ever did.

Because, unknowingly, it drenched you in gasoline and his presence is a lighter, hers the hand that has flicked it to life and now serenely holds it against your skin, waiting until the flames, little by little, devour you whole.

And the job is finished when both of their heads whirl, meeting your livid stare.

And Jungkook, too, stops dead in his tracks.

“Do you know him?” Hoseok asks and you find it strange that you can hear him when all you can see is red.

And the red fades into the matching black shirt that Jungkook is wearing, into his bluntly pained mien; into the strands of his date’s short hair and her scrunched up brows as she regards you with a strong aversion that makes you scoff. And the same red weakens when Hoseok turns your attention to him by playing with the ends of your ribbon, grazing them before twirling them around his finger.

A breath of fresh air, he is.

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know whether to tell him the truth or come up with something that won’t devastate what you have currently going on with him. But if you lie to him, you’ll stumble into a dead end you’d much rather stay clear of. You’d see it before your eyes once you do take him home and it would ruin the newness he brought up with you, preventing it from taking root in you.

Devastation awaits you in either case. Both you and Hoseok.

Cursed, your life is. Doomed, absolutely fucking doomed.

What would the angels do in your place?

Seeking their wisdom behind you, it is not in them that you find your answer, but in the passing pair dressed in black, making their way over to the dark-wined room. He’s pretending he didn’t see you at all, walking away from you without saying a word, despite the fact you broke up on good terms.

You worshiped him in this very building almost on your knees and he dismissed you as if you meant nothing to him, caring for the feelings of his date, instead.

Peculiarly, the sentiments Hoseok installed in you, both of the passionate and the soft kind, turn that fire blue and it becomes the driving force that guides you to act without a single thought spared.

“Yeah, I do know him. Do you mind if I quickly say hi to him?”

The corner of Hoseok’s mouth curls and he caresses your hair down your back one last time. “Go, I’ll get the car ready.”

Such a confident, strong man, broken out of the confines of his former timidness. Not possessive, nor insecure—letting you do what you want. Respectful of your personal life that doesn’t include him just yet. And for that very reason it will—as soon as you’re done putting out that fire in you.

It’s not only you that has gone through a change upon this hour and it strikes your awe, enough for you to lean in and peck his cheek, just like he did to you.

Hoseok makes a sound of endearment, pivots on his feet to leave you to it, but you grab a hold of his hand. Have a need to say something to him.

His brows rise at the attention and you brush your hand across his knuckles, mimicking his previous actions, having learned them, intimately.

“Thank you, Hoseok. Really,” you say with a smile that could magnetically pull the sunlight out of its hiding place behind the clouds and bathe this bizarre room in light. You squeeze his hand.

A swirl of shyness flushes his face in rose pink and he shakes his head. “No need to thank me,” he assures, reciprocating the smile. “And call me Hobi. You can save Hoseok for later.”

Your jaw falls open and Hoseok chuckles, warmly, deepening the pulse between your legs until a wet spot adorns your panties beneath your dress, one that you look forward to showing him at the aforementioned time.

He pivots again and you watch his tall, lean figure leave. Back muscles clothed in black, straining against the fabric. He must’ve undergone his military service.

A beautiful man. You can’t wait to taste him. Taste that manliness.

Loosening a breath, you turn around to search for your ex-boyfriend. And much to your dismay, he’s appreciating the angel sculpture—the very one and only Hoseok took your pictures with. Fire licks at your every nerve ending, but then you notice that his date is nowhere in sight.

A perfect opportunity to do what you want to do.

Pulling out your phone out of your little purse, you look for his name in the history of your calls and tap on it, placing the device against your ear, your hoop earrings clashing against the screen. You watch him palm his pocket as the vibration disturbs his aesthetic pleasure and he casts a long glance at your name filling up his screen. Doesn’t comb his gaze through his surroundings. No, he seems to be transfixed by the twist of events and when he swipes his finger to accept the call, his stare begins to dig a hole into the dirty, marble floor.

Doesn’t say anything.

You scoff, fury grazing your fire. “You’re pretending not to know me? That’s low.” His pout rounds and the tip of his shoe traces the edges of the ruination he’s caused. Remains silent. “Who’s your little girlfriend? I thought you’d introduce me. Where is she, anyways?”

It’s him who scoffs now and he flicks his gaze towards the face of the angel. It’s like he’s staring right at you. “You shouldn’t be doing this, little one.”

The too familiar pet name brings agony to your heart and you would break had Hoseok not given you his strength, if the dependability of him waiting for you outside wasn’t real. And the allure and the lightness in you, perhaps the very love of the sculptures encompassing you—all of those things only vivify your solidity. You have no reason to break, you’re safe.

“Well, I think you should be a good Daddy and meet me right there in the red room,” you seethe, glad for the anger to be lingering in you, for the utterance of the title leaving you unscathed. You’re just giving him a taste of his own poison, nothing else.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair and sighs, clenching his jaw. “Don’t call me that.”

You chuckle, enlivened by the provocation. “I can do whatever I want. Besides, you started it.”

He grits his teeth. “Not when you’re talking to me, you can’t.”

Your fire rises in overwhelming waves, your curt response ready on your tongue, but Jungkook hangs up, making you shut your mouth, instantly.

You hate him for that; hate him with the entirety of your being.

What has happened to your friendship? To the sweet, weeping Jungkook who broke up with you because he didn’t want to cause you any more pain with the state of his mental health, who has been dealing with depression for so long that he’s reached a point of no return, a lightless room with no windows, where all he saw was you, and he didn’t want you to be a victim of such unhealthy attachment. So he bid you goodbye, hugged you until you couldn’t breathe and let you go.

Three weeks ago.

You haven’t seen him or heard from him since until now. Until you’ve found someone else and moved on with your life. That’s just your luck.

And now the person you’re gazing at, it’s not the same one that wept against your chest. Yes, he might have been strict with you during intimate times, teased you with his fatherliness during the day even—but that invariably was imbued with the mellowness of love.

Try as you may while his words ring in your headspace, you cannot unearth any trace of that same mellowness in it. Only bitterness, coldness and a profound darkness.

Jungkook pockets his phone and, leaving both of his hands there, sunk deeply, he walks over to the wine-tinged room, his frown obscuring the place in gloom. Murky clouds, personified. A perfect match to the storm of his companion. Bile lodges inside your throat.

You follow after him, your feet aching terribly in your boots, but it serves as some kind of alleviation to the tautness of your emotions, of your confusion, disgust and offence. Makes you feel better—because once you see Jungkook ogling a certain painting of a woman beaming at him softly, dressed in flowers, blues and greens as the redness akin to your fire burns in her background, the agony tries to slither its way inside your heart, but fails.

You’re a locked orchard.

Jungkook senses your presence and he swivels, biting the inside of his cheek, pierced brow quirking. There’s a strain to his shoulders and his Adam’s apple bobbles as he takes in your appearance. The creaminess of your short, silky dress, the darker shade of the same color of your trenchcoat slung loosely over your shoulders, exposing your brown, leather, high-heeled boots, your matching purse clutched in both of your hands as you strut towards him. Calm, all of a sudden. It does nothing to you, nothing whatsoever—your heart momentarily attached to Hoseok.

“I thought you’d already left,” he murmurs, tipping up his chin. Begins to sway back and forth on the balls of his feet, the carmine hues of the room swathing him in a deeper shade of darkness. “Isn’t your boyfriend waiting for you?”

You don’t bother to correct him. It’s none of his business who Hobi is to you, not when he treated you like a stranger.

“We were about to leave, but then I saw your actions,” you say, quite monotonously, your calmness as disturbing as it is triumphant. You yourself even wonder at it. “What the fuck was that?”

A smirk. “Glad to know I still have some kind of effect on you.”

You scrunch up your brows, distaste once again pooling in your mouth. “Trust me, I would’ve done this with anyone I know. You’re not special.”

His smirk widens. “So, you’re not jealous?” He rubs the side of his jaw, staring at you, intently, and disgust comes over you like a splash of a wave, soaking you in cold sweat.

He did it for that very reason—to make you jealous. Walked right past you, just to get a rise out of you. As much as you loved him half an hour ago, that affection turns into dust within you, sprinkling the fruit trees and the berry brushes with its gray smithereens, poisoning them.

Ouroboros, all over again. Full circle. Anger covers your disgust.

A voice echoes within the room. Airy and light, as feminine as it is otherworldly, and you know, without a doubt, who it belongs to. It doesn’t suit her, not in the slightest.

“There you are,” your ex-boyfriend’s companion trails off, the clapping of her flat shoes halting. “Who are you?”

You only turn your head to the side, signaling to her that you’ve heard her question, because you fix your stare back at Jungkook as you answer it. “It’s not something you should trouble yourself with. Can you give us a minute?”

You don’t hear any movement, so she must be stubbornly staying where she is. All right, she can join the conversation for all you care.

When you turn your head back around, you catch stars oozing from Jungkook’s eyes, a conveyance of adornment painting his face in gentle colors that could never be associated with this room. There it is, the face you know, so resplendent of the one you last saw. And it grazes your anger, whispers to it that it was a mistake, a game of pretense, because you’re reverently acknowledged with his soul—you know who he is. While it may explain his fucked-up behavior, you don’t soften. Not at the hint of familiarity. Not even at the hushed hint of your deduction telling you that the reason why he unmasked himself was because you chose him and didn’t run away when his companion spoiled your short time together.

You don’t soften because you simply don’t want to.

You don’t want to give in to any means of getting close to him.

The chapter is finished. You shouldn’t have called him. You should’ve left with Hobi.

You don’t wish to keep him waiting long, nor do you wish to keep sprawling in your mistake. You pivot, ready to leave, but Jungkook captures your hand. Desirousness palpitates in his eyes as if he, too, needed to tell you something of urgency.

You’ll hear him out, but that’s the end of it.

“Can I see you later?” he asks, pupils growing in size until they absorb his chocolate irises, his grip over your hand tight and heated. A wind blows in your orchard, sweeping away all the darkened smithereens left by the bane, freshening you up.

You don’t really think that’s a good idea.

“I won’t have time for you later, I’ll be with Hoseok.”

To Hobi, you won’t lie, but the same can’t be applied to Jungkook.

His breath hitches in his throat, disappointment weighing him down, the thought of you being intimate with someone who is not him causing his posture to slouch even more.

But he surprises you with the words he says next.

“I’ll wait, then. Let me know when you’re alone.”

And you surprise yourself even more when you nod, turning on your heel and scurrying off to meet Hobi outside.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

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