#( i did not put much effort into making the lines clean so if its ugly thats why)

[kahenn]

when you’re in a war you don’t have time to put on lipstick

#( my art ) #( i did not put much effort into making the lines clean so if its ugly thats why) #(girl looks like ino with her hair in a pony tail) #(anyways war sucks but there she is ready to fight god) #(.:✿:. She is a spring breeze personified; art)

[bibliocratic]

clear the area jonmartin, post-MAG200 content warnings in the tags

They earn their ending. A happy-ever-after beyond the gaze of any eyes.

Jon endures his abdication. This world has no Archivists, has need of none, the thankless crown of Knowing finally unburdened from his shoulders. The blood washes off Martin’s hands with soap and scrubbing and scalding water. They live.

The end. In conclusion. Fin.

-

Jon’s new scar, the packaging of his skin split ragged from collarbone to sternum, fades like sun-caught paint. A maw of red pursing to a gummy primrose pink, settling into a rough cartography of white.

The first few months are hard. Brimstone flare-up silences and ice-pick shouting, open-handed forgiveness and closed-fist weeping. They drain themselves to husks with anger and worry and grief until there is enough space for better things to grow there in their stead. Jon’s nightmares were a nightly stormfront to bear, sweated sheets and dawn fanfares of panic and dread, but he is learning now, with the space for his ribs to expand, that it is ok for them to breathe here.

Jon digs up the garden with a rusty trowel until it is a bumpy canvas of mulch and soil, dirt tucked under his fingernails and decorated with smudges up to his elbows. He hums while he irons their shirts in front of the television, thoughtless and senseless with tune.

Martin has tried to, but the sound goes down the wrong way.

-

Martin is happy.

-

It isn’t the sight as such, that might sit as a film over his vision to tinge his waking sepia. The reddest thing they own is a terracotta plant plot brimming with raggedy thyme that lives a precarious cliff-top existence on the kitchen windowsill. He observes Jon’s face in all its variations, even pained – when he snags splinters in his fingers, when he stubs his toe on the stone front step and swears damnation – and his response is sympathy tempered by admonishment.

It’s not the sensation, not really, that might tremble on his skin. Martin’s palms tend to dryness inside their homely bubble of creaky central heating, hemmed in by boisterous coastal winds. He handles bread knives and butter knives and steak knives and carving knives without the muscle memory of other blades, and he thinks he might be getting pretty handy with his oven experimentation.

It’s the sound. It wakes him, the noise lingering like the echo of a slap.

The slick punch of metal into muscle. A tooth-bared, tense-jawed gasp.

Resurfacing to shocked consciousness, he would be seized by a frenzy, to know, to check. His scattering hand scrabbling for the lamp with such force he hit it off the nightstand to roll in a giddy clatter, throwing off the covers to rapidly pollute both of them with the outside air. Jon would be rocked from sleep, groggy, panicked, and Martin’s words would not come, a train of thought trying to race full steam where no one had laid tracks, so it would be just the two of them, exhausted and upset and amping the other up in misery.

Now, upon his rousing, Martin knows not to turn on the light. He does not check. The aftermath of punch-gasp curls in his ear, and he inhale-exhale-inhales with the ferocity of mantra, and clamps the threatened tears in the clench of his teeth.

He does not wake Jon.

-

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, you know me. Like a log.”

-

He is happy. He is. Why wouldn’t he be?

--

Jon rumbles like a rusty mechanism with snoring whenever he drops off on his back, and he mumbles accusatory when Martin coaxes him to his side. Martin finds black hairs on his pillowcase, in the shower plug. Jon is a vista of experience since the Eye left him, who gets hungry and tired and grumpy and drunk and silly and fed-up and giggly. Jon searches him out with the surety of magnets, and loves him, loves him, loves him. He seals kisses to Martin’s new landscape of extensive scars. Their disagreements, when they surface, are as meaningful and lasting as stones skipped on water.

Martin wanted this. He wants this. The rhythms of domesticity fading to foam on an untroubled shore.

He is out of practise with happiness, that’s all. It doesn’t come to him like breathing. He needs to till the earth of it, shelter its seeds from a thousand circling crows until it bears harvest.

He just has to try harder.

-

Night-time.

An episode or two of something simple, Jon nodding off like a capsizing ship before the credits. Encouraging him up in grousing, unwilling increments, rubbing out the nettle sting of pins and needles up his own arm. Check the locks, the light switches. Brush teeth. Pyjamas. Put his phone to charge, read until Jon succumbs to sleep. Click the light off, pushing Jon onto his side so his mouth doesn’t dry. Jon squirming around like a fastidious octopus until he has at least half his limbs hooked over Martin.

The dark creating shadow play. In the absence, Martin colouring in the gaps with lurid shades of disaster.

A creak – the rattle of a door downstairs, an intruder unfastening the back door, transferring their weight upon the staircase. A unfamiliar scent – the recollection of smoke-stench in his nostrils, the acrid promise of gas, the ferrous pungency of blood. The rain will flood their house to drown them. The wind will blow their roof in. Jon hooks his leg around Martin, the skin void of hair where Daisy’s mouth had almost torn it off, and all he can envision is the ways this could be destroyed as he watches.

Bundle Jon close. Ignore the rain, the itch at the bottom of his stomach, the queasy roil of his fear. Drift into unkind sleep populated with its garden of earthly terrors.

-

Martin is… not happy. Not exactly. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

-

Jon is happy.

-

Jon, rubbing at the compression lines around his hips, the accusatory splay of the top button refusing to budge closed:

“I can’t fit into my jeans.”

Martin enfolds him from behind, planting his palms over the slight paunch of Jon’s stomach, filled out through sensible eating and small indulgences and a hunger that will never be ravenous but has restored its human qualities.

“Hmm. It’s a good look on you. Healthier.”

“Or it’s middle age.”

“Or it’s eating things that aren’t tea and meal-deal sandwiches.”

“Or other people’s terror.”

“Oh yes, you’re right, I completely forgot about your subsistence diet of eldritch and unbidden horrors in a luscious wholegrain wrap, forgive me.”

Jon laughs at that. The sound has not yet lost its novelty for either of them.

He shifts, turns, his arms a buoy around Martin’s stomach.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Must be all the clean air,” Martin quips. “All that healthy living.”

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

When his heart has wound down from the pace of its gallop, he extricates himself from Jon’s grip. It is a laborious task to find the places where they’ve joined in the night and pull them apart, like separating fabric snagged on rosebushes.

He gets some water from the cold tap in the kitchen. Sits heavily on the sofa, the room cossetted by the gloom.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

His hands shake.

He doesn’t go back to bed.

-

He isn’t happy, but he could grow to be. He could. He could. He just isn’t trying hard enough.

-

Some days, he feels like he’s waiting for the ice to give under them.

Check the passers-by as they walk. Anyone familiar, any teeth filed too sharp, anything animal or blood-shot, any eyes that glance too deep.

Check the oven. The gas knobs are angled to off but a leak is not impossible in a house this old, their alarm might malfunction, they might fall asleep and some spark from a plug socket could catch and incite a conflagration.  

Check the window latches. The opening wide enough for a body to squirm through, the claws of a Hunter marring the sill. Wriggling infestations that invade through the letter box, the keyhole, the gap under the door where the wind can whistle through.

Check. Check. Check.

-

Jon is happy. Jon has a job, work friends, a hundred small luxuries that he has struggled to earn. Jon is happy, so why can’t he be? He went through so much less, the blood washed off easily with soap, what the fuck does he have to cry over –

-

Martin has always crafted his masks from scrap, tongue out in concentration, piecing things together in low light, a make-do-and-mend of his own devising. His early efforts, the paper mâché and glue easily cracked before he learned to shore up his constructions. He has a small collection garnered over years.

The quiet-voiced, muffled-stepped, muted-smiled creation of a Good Son.

The zipped-mouth, no-refusals-no-complaints-yes-of-course-how-high earnestness of the Good Employee, the desperation sanded off the edges so no one could see.

The I’ll-get-the-first-round friendliness, the open-handed, open-hearted, too-naïve Good Colleague.

This new mask forms in increments, in the same way a rising mound of dirt marks the extent of a grave being dug.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s just he’s better at not talking about things. He always has been. And it is an ugly, easy comfort, to slip back into bad habits.

And Jon is happy.

All the things Martin does not wish to permit the light to touch he compresses inside like shaken soda. The rot in him deepens structural, the places where he papers over moulds and fungal speckles with the distraction of their new life. His smile parades simple, contented, cheeky, teasing, and there is a meticulous artistry in each. He sketches interest, paints joy, manufactures irritation out of the clay of nothingness that he allows himself to feel instead of the overwhelming rush of everything else.

I love you, his mouth murmurs, laughs, sighs, groans, and that at least is always true.

The mask of a Good Partner slips on tailor-made.

-

They find their nine-to-fives. Jon’s job is uneventful, boring, and nowhere near an Archive. He works in a registry office for the council, filing and organising and he’s cheerfully lied on his CV in order to get it. He gets the bus and texts Martin grumpy faces and GIFs summarising his mood when he gets suck in the commute or some idiot parks in a bus lane, he has a couple of colleagues he likes and a greater number that he tolerates, he gets a hot chocolate from this universe’s overpriced multinational chain on his lunch hour. When he gets home, he complains with delight at the mundanity of his dissatisfactions, regales Martin with tales of meagre drama.

Martin gets a cleaning job at a school. It is monotonous, dull and safe. Martin loses track of the time easily, quagmired in his musings. The children are wary of him and his visible scarring but it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. The teachers are friendly enough, as well as the other cleaning staff, but he does not make friends. They’ll have to move anyway, if anything finds them here, if the Fears emerge again.

Martin tries not to feel like he’s waiting.

-

He wants to have a good night’s sleep.

-

“I’ll have breakfast at the school, don’t worry.”

“There were some leftovers from the canteen, so I’m kind of full.”

“It was one of the teacher’s birthdays, you know, Denise? Heh, might have had a bit too much cake. I’ll pop this in the fridge for later though, it’ll keep till tomorrow.”

“I’m just not that hungry tonight, Jon.”

-

He feels sharper when he doesn’t eat. It is uncomfortable, a scratched-out, hollowing sensation, but things focus more. He can control nothing else but this, and it feels good, to have this mastery over himself when so much is beyond him.

He drops down notches on his belt and tells Jon it’s all the walking he’s doing.

-

The world continues to happen to them. He goes to the cinema with Jon and picks at popcorn and encourages Jon’s outraged opinion. He meets Jon’s mildly interesting work friends and plays nice and excels at small talk, and he drinks half a cider that he nurses over the evening because it’s making his head fuggy. His body communicates its sharpness to him and he gains grim satisfaction from ignoring it. He goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep and goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep.

Martin does his best at living, and his mask doesn’t slip.

-

“You seem tired,” Jon pries his words out carefully, picking them out of his teeth as one would scraps. “Is… is everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure it is. Why?”

“…  you seem a bit down today. Recently. Is anything… is there anything you want to talk about?”

“I’ve just been working too hard. Been a while since I had to do double-shifts, heh, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“If you’re sure?”

Jon shifts to a different position where he’s sat on the sofa, his legs tucking up under him. Martin endures his questioning gaze with practise.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

Martin delivers a hand-crafted smile that’s gilded heavily with guilelessness and reassurance. He watches as Jon believes him and hates himself.

-

“You know… You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can – you know you can talk to me, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes focus on Jon’s chest at the point where a knife once sunk in, and doesn’t reply.

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

Jon has twisted over onto his back again, rattling like a chain-smoker’s cough with his snoring. They were quiet that evening, tangled up in their own thoughts, but there is none of that distance in sleep. During the night, Jon’s wormed himself out of the covers with a single-minded determination, his restless legs squashing the duvet to the bottom of the bed on his side, encouraging Martin’s to follow suit.

He’s shirtless, his top chucked off to pile unceremoniously on the floor. The temperature is ripe with a burgeoning summer heat, and Jon tosses and complains if he’s overwarm, and Martin didn’t think he’d get to feel the drudgery of another lived summer. He’s shirtless, and the room is palled in sweltering dark that softens the vague shapes of the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the knickknacks of the life they’re building together. He’s shirtless, and Martin cannot see where the scar is, the only scar of Jon’s he has ever thought ugly, but he knows it is there. That he put it there. That he could just as easily be waking up alone.

His body pains him to live in it. His stomach tight and bottomed out empty.

He is so so tired.

Martin’s heartbeat does not slow down. His chest constricting, and he swallows, a sharp sound hiccupping in his throat. He stifles it with a forceful sniff but more come as a painful spasming wave, and he has to sit up if any air is to dribble into his lungs.

He should get up. He has to get up, do this in the bathroom, doubled-over the sink, stifling his weakness where it cannot be witnessed. He cannot do this here.

Punch. Gasp.

His burning face is soaked as he bunches up his sleeves against his reddening eyes. A calming exhale drains out shaky, moulds itself into another loud sob. He plants his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes closed, and this will pass, he’s fine, this will pass…

“Martin?”

I’m sorry to wake you, he thinks to say. It’s nothing, go back to sleep, stop looking at me Jon, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing, it’s nothing…

His shoulders start to shake.

“Martin?” Jon repeats slowly. And the ice creaks and cracks and Martin gasps and then it breaks, and the force of his damned-up grief is tidal, catastrophic and he sobs into his hands.

“It’s… it’s alright – it’s… it was a nightmare, that’s all, ‘s alright…”

“It’s not!” Martin bubbles out, the words mashed to a wail in his hands. “It’s not, it’s not, it’ll ruin this…”

“Hey.” Jon brings his arm around Martin and he buries his head in the bony crook of his shoulder because he does not want to meet Jon’s eyes. “What do you mean? Martin?”

Jon rubs at his back. Martin’s body betrays him in a hundred ways as it collapses around him. His weeping wrings him out, dry-mouthed and headachy and trembling when he subsides into shivery breaths.

“Talk to me,” Jon says. “Please.”

“You’re so happy,” Martin sniffs out. “I-I want you to be happy, god, o-of course I do. Things are, they’re good, they’re good and we won, s-s-so why does it feel like I’m still holding my breath? I-I go to bed and I’m frightened of every noise, and I wake up and I’m terrified that someone somehow could take this all away, and I can’t sleep, and I-I’m tired, Jon, I’m tired of holding my breath, and it’s all – it’s all so much a-a-a-and I can’t – ”

“Oh, Martin – ”

His words fail him then. Jon holds him up and his arms do not loosen.

“We-we’re going to fix this,” Jon says after a long while. “I promise you, together, we’ll – we’ll talk to someone. You aren’t alone in this. Together, alright, we’ll do this together. We’ve survived – everything else, we can get through this too.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” Martin says, too drained to avoid honesty.

“…Maybe not yet,” Jon says after a pause. “That’s OK. I can wait.”

I’m sorry, Martin attempts to say but Jon presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon says. He strokes Martin’s sweat-soaked hair.

“… Can we talk? Tomorrow? You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I’d like to be there for you, if you want me. If you’ll let me.”

Martin nods because he doesn’t trust his gummed-up throat. Jon takes that as an answer.

Dawn comes in slowly enough but they see it in together.

#tma #the magnus archives #cw racing thoughts #cw anxiety #tw eating disorder #tw ptsd #ask to tag #cw nightmares #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #jonmartin #tma spoilers

[marvelsbanner]

You come here often?

Prompt: Bruce x reader soulmate au where the first words your soulmate says to you appears on your body.

Pairing: Bruce Banner x reader 

Warnings: very slight angst (internal, self-doubt), like one curseword 

Word count: ~1400

A/N: Likes, reblogs, and feedback makes my heart happy <3 Not beta’d, all mistakes are my own! 

**i don’t own marvel** **not my gif** 

It wasn’t ideal, really. But it also could have been worse. He’d seen soulmate marks that were insults, curses- some really downright vile things, so it definitely could have been worse. That didn’t mean looking down to his wrist and seeing the words “That physically hurt me” didn’t fill his chest with anxiety. 

He’s hurt a lot of people in his lifetime. A walking mass of destruction with no limits, a time bomb of green that seemed to go off at all the wrong times. 

He couldn’t imagine getting the privilege of meeting his soulmate only to hurt him or her, to see the utter fear in their eyes that he’s seen in so many others. To cause them pain by his actions, to have to live with himself after it- what if it was bad? What if those were the last words they would speak not only to him, but to anyone at all?

The thought of it alone kept him up some nights- a faceless body puppeteering his dreams, causing him to wake up sweaty and breathless and a little green around the edges.

He usually kept a wristwatch over the words, it wasn’t uncommon for people to keep their marks private. Less likely that someone twisted would try to fake a meeting. The only person he had shown was Tony, who tried his best to calm his anxieties (His own wrist had Pepper’s iconic “Wow, you really are an asshole”  after coming for an interview and finding him half naked and hungover in his office. They had been happily married for two years now) 

So, he tried not to worry- he really did, but every time he would take his watch off to sleep or shower the harsh black words on his wrist made his head spin with the possibilities of what was to come. 

-

He hated parties. Didn’t matter the occasion. Being in a loud, crowded room with warm bodies and fake smiles dripping with complementary liquor- it made him and the other guy incredible antsy. 

Despite knowing how much Bruce despised parties, and the threat that he was putting everyone in attendance in, Tony managed to drag him to nearly every single event he hosted. 

This time it was a charity event, Stark Enterprise making some big donation to a charity to clean up a little of the bad publicity and backlash the last Avengers battle had created. 

That being so, alongside his teammates was a pool of unfamiliar faces. He nursed his drink and surveyed the room, heart pounding as his feet did an antsy shuffle. 

Steve and Bucky were playing pool against Sam and Natasha, Thor and Rhodey were trading stories with important looking men in crisp suits, Pepper was making small talk with some of the women from the charity board, and Tony was no where to be found; ultimately, Bruce was on his own. 

Logically, he knew that, and yet he had the feeling that he wasn’t. He felt a pair of eyes on him from the side, and turned to see a pretty woman sitting at the bar, nursing a drink and stealing a glance at him. 

She gave a polite smile before ducking her head and turning away, clearly not expecting to have been caught. Or- maybe she had wanted to be caught? He wasn’t very good with these kinds of things. 

“That’s Y/N Y/L/N, she works on the head committee of the charity.” Tony says, appearing seemingly out of nowhere and making Bruce nearly spill his drink. “Jesus Tony- don’t sneak up on me like that,” he yelped, running his hands through his hair and trying to calm his raising pulse. Tony simply ignored him and continued speaking.

“Spoken with her a few times- super nice, uses big words I don’t understand. Right up your ally,” he said with a wink. “Go talk to her” he ordered, giving him a slight shove in her direction. 

“No- no! Tony, I don’t.. I don’t think that’s a good idea,” He fought, before Tony interrupted him- “Uh uh, no if ands or buts mister, I’m tired of seeing you sulking at these things.  She’s smart. She’s pretty. You’re smart. You look half way decent cleaned up, go talk to her.” and with a final shove from Tony he decided to give in, blowing out a sigh and downing the rest of his drink. 

He tried to calm his heart rate as ran his fingers through his unruly hair, wishing he had put a little more effort into getting ready today. He slowly made his way to stand by the bar where the woman was sitting, giving her a shy smile as she turned to acknowledge his presence. 

Panic. Panic. Panic. “So, uh, you come here often?” He stuttered out, immediately cringing and wishing he was still in his bed- or curled up in a ditch and dead, whichever would come quicker. God, he couldn’t believe he just said that!

She snorted into her drink, nose scrunching into a cringe and she shook her head at his awful line,

“That physically hurt me. Ouch, oh god you really need to work on your flirting skills, if that’s what that even was.” She started laughing before turning her head to meet his stunned gaze, his jaw practically on the floor.

“You’ll catch flies like that” she chuckles nervously. 

“S-sorry, I just, can you say that again?” He stutters out. 

“You’ll catch flies..?” 

“No no, before that. You- you said I hurt you.” 

“Oh, I meant- I didn’t mean- its just a saying,” she tries to explain before he cuts her off.

“No no, I get that, I just..” He quickly undoes his watch and turns over his wrist, showing the dark black words matching her exact phrasing. Her own jaw drops this time, eyes going wide before her mouth snaps shut and she gives him the smallest smile. She turns over her own wrist, the words reading “So, you come here often?” and he laughs, he laughs with a big dopey smile on his face- almost afraid to believe this could actually be happening.

“You’re not the first guy to say that to me, but you’re the only guy who’s had my words in return” She says with a smile. 

“God I- I’m so sorry you had to go for so many years with that god awful pickup line on your wrist” he laughs. 

“No I’m sorry you had to walk around with my words, I’m sure you’ve gotten some weird looks for that one,” she replies. He gives her an almost sad smile, “I was the only one who seemed to be concerned”

Her face slightly falls before she composes it, holding out her hand for him to shake, “Y/N” she introduces herself. 

“Bruce” he replies with a small smile. 

“So, do you come here often?” She says with a smirk. 

He gives a chuckle, “Yeah, yeah actually. I live right upstairs and am usually forced to attend these things by our generous host.” he says with a chuckle.

“You live in the tower? What are you, an avenger?” She jokes, clearly teasing before his face answered the question for him. “Oh shit, you’re actually an avenger. Are you the one in the star spangled spandex or the big green one?” She teases, but she could see his shoulders tense. 

“Yeah, that would be me. The big ugly green one” 

She frowns at his choice of words and tone, “Hey, I never said ugly. I always thought that guy was ruggedly handsome in a strange, green sort of way” 

He puffs out a breath and shakes his head. 

“What?” She asks, shoving his shoulder with her own. 

“I uh, I have a kind of.. complicated life. I was honestly expecting you to run at the first mention of the big guy,” He took a deep breath before continuing, “I uh, I was always worried that the first words spoken to me by my soulmate would be after he had hurt them somehow.” He finally raised his head to meet her eyes, expecting hesitancy or fear- and yet her eyes were free from judgment. 

“Well, they weren’t. Just tipsy teasing. And I’m not planning on running yet, but we did just meet. Buy me a drink and maybe I’ll change my mind afterwards” she said with a wink, and all he could do was give her a dopey smile in return. There she was, this beautiful, sharp-witted girl that he was so worried he would scare off, subtly doing her best to make sure he was at ease. 

“Yeah, yeah I’ll buy you a drink. On one condition.” He said to her.

“And what is that?” She asked, quirking one brow. 

“Go to dinner with me tonight.” He said smoothly. 

Her lips quirked into a small smile, “I’ll be there” 

He smiled and signaled for the bartender to fill up their glasses as he slid into the seat next to her, brushing his shoulder against hers with a playful smile. 

#my writing #my fics #Bruce Banner #doctor banner #professor hulk #the hulk #hulk #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x fem!reader #hulk x reader #hulk x you #hulk x y/n #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers x y/n #avengers x fem!reader #mcu #marvel #marvel fanfic #avengers fanfic #avengers fanfiction #avengers #the avengers #doctor dilf

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Gift Giving.

Commissioned by the lovely @strawberry-cake-and-earlgrey​.

Word Count: 3.0k

Pairing: Yandere!Sugawara/Reader/Yandere!Oikawa

Synopsis: Your boyfriends rarely agree on anything. Oikawa’s always been the jealous type, and while Sugawara isn’t as competitive, he never tries to hide his preference for one partner over the other. But, they can put their petty squabbles aside every so often, especially if it means taking on their favorite burden - proving how much they both love you.

TW: Graphic Violence, Blood, Lacerations, Knife-Based Violence, Non-Consensual Touching, Toxic Relationships, Mentions of Stalking, Implied Emotional Abuse, and Delusional Mindsets.

Sometimes, you wondered why Oikawa ever agreed to share.

He’d always struck you as the possessive type, the kind of guy who was too petty to let you split your attention between him and anything else, let alone another living, breathing person. Even if he still found a way to monopolize your time, dragging you away from your clubs and convincing your friends you had a good reason to isolate yourself so severely, he still had to deal with Sugawara. He could meet you at Karasuno’s gates every day, but he couldn’t go to class with you. He could brag about you to his team, insist on bringing you to every one of his games, but he’d always have to check with Sugawara, he'd always have to get permission, first. He could invite himself into your personal space, wait until you’re alone and helpless and vulnerable before he pinned you down and dug his teeth in, but he’d have to know Sugawara would already be there, smiling and laughing and smothering you more thoroughly than Oikawa would ever be able to. It had to eat away at him. It had to, at least a little. At least more than he let on.

It shined through, sometimes, if you looked closely enough. In the way he kept an arm around your waist whenever the two of you were together, or how he always found an excuse to remind you that he was the preferable option, the better option, even if he failed to denounce Sugawara’s love so blatantly. You could see it now, too, with his nails biting into your shoulder as he pulled you against his side, a tense grin pulling at the corners of his lips whenever you glanced in his direction. You hadn’t been surprised when he turned up on the gym’s doorstep, a duffle bag thrown over his shoulder and his timing purposefully engineered to avoid the rest of the team, but that didn’t mean you were happy about his sudden appearance. Not when you knew him and Sugawara so well.

You’d known something was wrong from the moment Sugawara caught your wrist and went on about how nice it would be if you stayed to watch him practice, from the second he volunteered to lock up and let everyone else silently assume you wouldn’t walk home without your responsible, hard-working boyfriend at your side. He was planning something. You knew he was planning something, but there was nothing you could do that wouldn’t attract attention, that wouldn’t frame you as the temperamental partner who couldn’t be asked to wait without throwing a temper tantrum. Especially now that Oikawa was here, the gentle guiding hand, the nudge towards a peaceful solution, the calm voice that’d coo and hush and offer agreeable explanations until he and Sugawara were deemed innocent and you relegated to the role of a bratty, ill-tempered child who should be more grateful of their ceaseless efforts. It amazed you, how willing he was to drop his poorly-masked hostility as soon as he and Sugawara were pointed towards a common enemy. It used to amaze you.

Now, it just made you feel sick.

By the time you reached the boy’s locker room, the lights flickering and the door creaking on its hinges as he pushed it open, there was a firm knot in the back of your throat, a blend of guilt and anxiety that left you biting the inside of your cheek as you stepped into the sterile space, freshly cleaned and just big enough to make you feel small, in comparison. Oikawa let you go, locking the door behind him, but you didn’t try to run. You didn’t have anywhere to go, anywhere to hide, anyone who’d believe you or any safe-haven to run Oikawa turned his back. It wasn’t like you would’ve gotten very far, even if you did.

Sugawara was already sitting in front of you, straddling the wooden bench in the center of the room and smiling, his expression so careless, you could almost believe it wasn’t malicious.

Almost.

“What’s going on?” You asked, the question followed by a small, forced laugh. It was a weak attempt, but you tried to stay light-hearted, hoping they’d be kind enough to return the favor. “If I forgot about a date or something, you could’ve just told me. I don’t need an intervention.”

“You’re close, angel.” Oikawa opened his mouth, but Sugawara was faster, tapping the bench in front of him as he spoke. You moved to comply willingly, but Oikawa still felt the need to push you down to Sugawara’s height as soon as you were close enough, keeping a hand on your shoulder as you positioned yourself to face the more mild-mannered threat. Oikawa didn’t seem to mind, though. He didn’t waste time, slotting himself against your back, stringing his arms around your waist despite your attempts to shift into the comfortable space left between you and Sugawara. All it took was a change in his posture to make you go still, accompanied by a quick peck to the side of your neck. It was more of a warning than a reward, but you had to expect that, with Oikawa.

“I don’t blame you, honestly. It took you so long to come around, I don’t even know if we can count the first few weeks of our relationship as…” There was a light chuckle, a glance towards the floor, and you noticed he was toying with something in his right hand. If he felt a need to show it off, you couldn’t tell. “As a relationship, I guess. I almost felt like a stalker, back then.”

“He was a stalker,” Oikawa corrected. “Stealing stuff from your bag, leaving all those gushy notes, following you home…” There was a sigh from Oikawa, too dramatic to be taken seriously, and Sugawara groaned in return. “Don’t worry, though, I was way more polite. Whenever I followed you home, I made sure you didn’t notice. I know how touchy you get about your privacy, sweetheart.”

You didn’t have to be told. Not after that. Not as Sugawara barely hesitated before reaching towards the collar of your uniform, nimble fingers beginning to undo the buttons with all the impatience he’d managed to hold back, earlier. “Our anniversary.”

There was a harsh tug on the hem of your sleeve from Oikawa, a cheery smile from Sugawara. Wrinkled, white fabric pooled around your waist, and abruptly, you realized just how cold the gym could be, despite the two pairs of eyes burning holes into your skin. “And I was going to spoil the surprise,” Sugawara lamented. “I wanted to wait until we were somewhere a little more scenic, but you know how restless Tooru can be, don’t you? He thought you’d catch on, if we waited any longer.”

“To be fair, I wasn’t against taking you home,” Oikawa added, almost absent-mindedly. “But, this is more private. I didn’t want anyone interrupting us while we give you your present.”

You stiffened, at that, fighting the temptation to push Sugawara away as he wrapped an arm around your waist over Oikawa’s, pulling you closer until you were crushed against his chest. Grudgingly, Oikawa let you go, but not without a disappointed huff. “I-I really don’t--” You tried to speak, but your voice was shaking, trembling despite your best attempts to keep it even, to stay composed. “I mean, I didn’t get you anything, so a gift really isn’t--”

There was a small, almost inaudible click, the scratch of metal on metal. You felt something pierce your skin, just above the curve of your shoulder blade, and a second later, it started to burn.

It was a shallow cut, the blade thin enough to make the cut as painless as possible, but it was still a blade, it was still a cut, and it still hurt. You jerked back reflexively, but that only helped Sugawara carve the first line, stark and solid and agonizing as he dragged his knife through your flesh, only made worse by the way he sliced at the wound, barely bothering to draw back before forcing it under your skin again, never pausing for more than a moment. You whimpered, trying to wrench yourself out of Sugawara’s hold, but he only brought his unoccupied hand up, tangling his fingers in your hair and encouraging you to lean into him, to ball his shirt in your hands and try to ignore the searing pain in your back, the thick, hot blood dripping down your back, undoubtably staining the uniform they’d been kind enough to hastily shove out of the way.

There was a slight tap to Sugawara’s wrist, and after one more jagged line, he pulled away just enough for Oikawa to swipe two fingers over the open wound. You cringed, shrinking into Sugawara, but Oikawa didn’t seem to notice, he didn’t seem to care. Not enough to stifle the sound of his fingers sliding past his lips, at least, or to swallow the throaty moan he let out as he tasted your blood, sending a cold spike of fear down your spine. Sugawara remained unaffected, only letting out a quiet chuckle before continuing his work. “You’re so gross.”

“And you’re messy,” Oikawa retorted, drawing back, taking up your hips, instead. “I would’ve done both, if I knew you’d be so bad at this.”

It was a stupid thing to linger on. You were being flayed, you were being tortured, but some stubborn, shallow part of your mind refused to move beyond the idea that the scar might be ugly, that Sugawara’s hack job might not fade into something abstract and meaningless in a few weeks. If either of your partners caught your futile attempts to glance over your shoulder, neither felt the need to comfort you. There was a small hush from Sugawara as you whimpered, a tightened hold on your hips from Oikawa as you writhed, but somehow, their touching acts of concern did little to soothe your worries.

“It’s not like I had a chance to practice,” Sugawara muttered, his focus now renewed. There was a swirl, a series of jagged lines, and you had to bury your face in the crook of his neck to muffle your cracked sobbing. You hadn’t realized you were crying before you heard yourself, before you felt the tears streaming down your cheeks. It made sense, but you still tried to will yourself to stop. Tried and failed, obviously. “And look, you keep embarrassing them. How am I supposed to work if you keep making the poor thing squirm?”

“Is that true, cutie?” You didn’t answer, clenching your eyes shut as Sugawara twirled the tip of his knife in a tight, slow circle, but Oikawa didn’t seem to mind. This time, when he leaned into you, kissing the top of your head, he didn’t pull away, even after Sugawara finished and your breathing steadied to a constant, wobbling pattern. “This is just for us. ‘s just for Koshi and I to enjoy, and even if his present is…” There was a deliberate pause, a kick to Oikawa’s calf. “Even if his is unique, you’re still gonna be our pretty little angel. As long as our gifts do their jobs, you’re always gonna be our angel, too.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as Oikawa held out his hand, Sugawara only hesitating for a moment before dropping a small, blood strained pocket-knife into his palm. You tried to stand, tried to get away, but Oikawa only had to snake an arm around your waist to keep you in place, pressing your body flush against his chest. “We only need a few more minutes,” Sugawara promised, his fixed smile sweet enough to make you think it might’ve been genuine. To make you think he actually might’ve cared, if you’d been brave enough to tell him to stop. “Bear with us, alright? Oikawa’s good at this kind of thing, it won’t take long.”

If nothing else, Oikawa worked quickly. Sugawara tried to be delicate, trading brief brutality for drawn-out precision, but Oikawa didn’t seem to follow the same statagy. He chose somewhere noticeable, somewhere sensitive, the dip of your collarbone, where you could see the hilt of his knife moving along the edge of your vision. Whereas Sugawara’s burnt, like a branding-iron being forced under your skin, whatever Oikawa was doing only resulted in a numb pressure, an awareness that something was splitting apart and you desperately, desperately wished it wasn’t. You tried to glance down, tried to see what he was doing, but Sugawara didn’t seem to care for that idea. Without hesitation, he caught your chin, tilting your head back and slotting his lips against yours. You might’ve been thankful for it, too, if he hadn’t taken his turn first.

The kiss was gentle, just as tender and considerate and synthetic as you’d come to expect from him. He wanted to distract you, clearly, to take your mind off of Oikawa’s knife and the thin incisions, but if anything, the softness of it only made the sensation more vivid, more unignorable. It only made everything hurt more, but you might’ve been giving him too much credit. By the time Sugawara’s touch began to wonder, his fingers dipping down to trace over the marks he’d so carefully engraved in your skin, you were tempted to say the distraction was more for his sake than yours. 

You never leaned into it, you couldn’t bring yourself to. It was all you could do to let out a scratchy, pained shreik as Oikawa finished, ending his carving with a long, winding dash that ran to the center of your chest, one that sent a fresh acidic wash across your skin every time you took a deep breath. You almost glanced down when Sugawara drew back, almost spoiled the surprise, but Oikawa was quick to press the flat of his blade against the bottom of your chin, forcing you to keep your head up as he pressed his mouth against yours, the kiss half as long as Sugawa’s but twice as forceful, as if he felt the need to get back every second he might lost. 

By the time it was over, you were gasping, the adrenaline fading and a new wave of tears building up in the corners of your eyes. Thankfully, your boyfriends allowed you a small moment of reprieve, but it was a fleeting sense of tranquility. Before you could calm down, before you could do so much as start to recover, Oikawa was already pushing you away, trusting you to steady yourself as he fished his phone out of his pocket. You stumbled, nearly falling forward, but Sugawara caught you, chuckling as you dug your nails into his sleeves. The sound was so calm, so cheery, you could almost bring yourself to ignore the shudder of Oikawa’s camera, the satisfied scoff he allowed himself as he looked over his work. You were confused, for a second, almost offended, but it didn’t take you long to remember the reason for his sudden distance.

Oikawa wanted to show off your gift.

Sugawara must’ve arrived at a similar conclusion. “Maybe we should wait,” He suggested with a noncommittal shrug. “It might be a little too much, today. We could wash off the excess, wait for it to scar… it’s not like I won’t be able to make sure (Y/n) doesn’t peek, in the meantime.”

But, Oikawa was already leaning forward, stringing his arms over your shoulders as he held his phone in front of you, already open to the picture he’d just taken. You didn’t mean to look. You didn’t want to look, but once you caught a glimpse, once you got a hint at the full image, you couldn’t tear your eyes away. It took you longer than it should’ve to recognize the sloppy scrawl, the lopsided text that’d been gouged into your back. You could still feel it, if you tried to. It wasn’t unbearable, but every cut seemed to ignite with a new fire as you looked over the uneven, jagged shapes. Letters, you realized, then a name. Koushi.

Koushi.

You felt like you were in a trance, like some unseen force was compelling you to lift your hand and drag your fingertips across the wound on your collarbone, one indented symbol at a time despite the fresh row of needles you pushed into your flesh at every point of feather-light contact. Neither of them made the effort to take another picture, but Oikawa cupped his hand over yours, keeping your hand on your chest, on the name that’d be etched into your skin for the next few months, if you were lucky. For the rest of your life, if you weren’t.

Koushi and Tooru. Sugawara and Oikawa.

Your loving, caring, devoted boyfriends. Your partners who couldn’t bear to see your attention stray.

The blood loss might’ve been a mercy. At least your mind was too clouded-over to really take in what this meant.

“It’s pretty, right?” It was Oikawa’s voice, but you could hardly hear him over the ringing in your ears, over the all-consuming, all-devouring dread that was beginning to swallow you whole. “We’ll be spending a lot of time together from now on, just to make sure it heals. We wouldn’t want you doing anything to ruin our gift so soon, would we?”

It was almost a relief when Sugawara spoke, urging you on with a whispered ‘tell him how much you like it’, his expression sympathetic but his eyes bright. He was remorseful, but he didn’t regret hurting you. He didn’t agree with Oikawa, but he genuinely thought he loved you, that he’d done something you might be grateful for. That was more than you could say for Oikawa. Possessive, jealous Oikawa. Petty, sadistic Oikawa.

Oikawa, who’d let another man carve his name into your skin just to punish you for catching his eye in the first place. Who’d sit back and watch you bleed, just because he couldn’t be the only person who got to say when you deserved to.

Your tongue felt heavy, when you opened your mouth. Your voice came out unsteady, your tone impassive, but you knew neither of them would care. Sugawara wouldn’t look any further than the words themselves, he wouldn’t want to, and Oikawa…

Oikawa just liked to watch you suffer.

“It’s beautiful.”

#yandere #yandere love #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere oneshots #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere scenario #yandere commission #commission #writing commission #yandere prompts #yandere sugawara #yandere sugawara koushi #sugawara x reader #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa #oikawa x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyu #haikyuu #Haikyu!! #yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyu #haikyuu!! imagines #yandere haikyuu!! #haikyu imagines #yandere fantasy #yanderecore #yancore

[draconic-ichor]

In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 23: Desperate Passions

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, oral sex, penetrative sex, nipple play, nipple piercings, scars/stitches, fingering

Summary: Juniper is fully healed and ready to get back to one of their favorite hobbies!

Feedback appreciated. 18+. This is a smut heavy chapter

“What are we having tonight, love?” Heisenberg asked, sitting back in the wooden chair. He had returned from working to find her over the stove, a simmering pot filling the apartment with a delicate fragrance.

“Pilaf.” She answered sweetly.

“Ah…alright.” Heisenberg nodded, her answer not making anything more clear to him.

He cut open a cigar, lighting it and bringing it to his lips as he watched her.

She pulled two deep plates out of the cabinet, looking towards him, “Get anything exciting made today?”

He made a prideful rumble, speaking through the cigar, “Mhm. The Soldat Zwei is almost finished. Give the bastard one, maybe two, good days of work and he should be up.”

“They are the ones with two drills right?”

“Correct. Moved the reactor core to the back as well.”

“When are you starting the….the Pan..pan?” She couldn’t find the words, placing a glass of water and silverware on the table.

“The Panzer?”

“Yea that one! They looked big.”

“Oh, sweetheart, it will be.” He gave a devilish smile, “Gotta wait till I get a bastard built like a shit brick house for that one.”

“Like Sturm?” She scooped food into the deep plates.

“Unfortunately…yes.” He frowned, that creature still brought him nothing but grief.

Juniper placed a plate before him, before taking a seat with her own.

Fuck me…what is this?

Heisenberg gulped looking at the meal. It was a pile of rice with chicken, carrots, mushrooms and herbs mixed in. It smelled normal and appetizing but left much to be desired to the eyes.

Juniper took a bite, looking at him through narrow eyes.

“Love, did you make bread as well?” He asked hopefully.

“No, there’s rice in here.” She pointed her fork at him, “And vegetables. Eat it.”

He made a little grumble, tucking into his food. It tasted good, the rice made with the broth from the chicken and the herbs giving it a homely taste.

…Thank god.

Heisenberg thought, mercifully, as he started eating with more gusto. Juniper loved to cook, and loved seeing him eat what she made even more. But her passion for the craft was almost matched with her desire to strive to make each meal healthy. Even if it meant throwing in things that tasted like death to pack more nutrients into every meal.

Heisenberg didn’t know if it was her trying to curb his lack of anything healthy or some Devine  force punishing him for his terrible daily diet for decades. In any case, it was a small price to pay for her happiness.

He finished his plate, even going back for a second. On the way back to his seat he paused, giving Juniper a soft pat on top of her head with his free hand. She beamed up at him.

They spoke more of his upcoming Soldat plans over dinner. Heisenberg explained how the Panzers should be immune to most types of damage, save for heavier explosions. They would be risky to produce and time consuming but a good last line of defense.

“Will all the armor put stress on the core?” Juniper asked.

He nodded, “I’ll have to use the bigger exhaust port like on Sturm but take in the energy production per energy draw to the multiple drills.”

“So they don’t overheat?”

“Precisely. I don’t want them spitting fire like the big boy.” Heisenberg pointed out.

After Juniper cleaned up the mess from dinner, Heisenberg ushered her into the bathroom. She followed him, used to this routine, she pulled her dress off and sat on the sink. Heisenberg leaned  on his palms against the counter on either side of her, dipping in to give her a kiss. She deepened the contact, hands finding the sleeves of his button up shirt.

He gave a happy little rumble, pulling away enough to inspect her incision. She sat still, waiting as he looked her over with a critical eye. The infection was completely gone, the tissue a healthy healing pink.

“I can probably remove the stitches, if you’d like.” He concluded.

“Please.” She almost begged, “They itch.”

He stood, chuckling, “Itching is good, means it’s healing.”

He retrieved a sharp pair of scissors, pouring a bit of peroxide over the blades before kneeling before her once more. With careful cuts he snipped through the stitches, pulling them free with deft fingers.

He tossed them away one by one into the trash can. Juniper watched him with big eyes.

“Will it scar?” Juniper asked quietly.

“Afraid so, Darling.” Heisenberg frowned.

Her eyes looked glassy, glancing over the pinkish new tissue.

Heisenberg took her face in his hands, lifting her chin up to meet his gaze. She wilted a bit.

"What's up?" He asked, concern in his gaze.

"Hmm…" She almost didn't answer, looking away, "I don’t want you to think I’m ugly…I have really bad scars…”

“Are you fucking serious.” Heisenberg’s lips were a fine line, “Look at me.”

She met his eyes, him correcting her, “No look at all of me. Look at all the shit my body has been through.”

Her eyes wavered, scanning him over. He was covered in scars, his skin was a patchwork of pearlescent lattice, even his face sporting a few.

“I am a scarred, fucked up old man.” He said plainly, “You are so fucking beautiful. A few scars can’t change that.”

Her eyes watered, cheeks growing rosey.

His face split with a grin, “Have I ever hesitated to bend your ass over every flat surface in this factory?”

 “…no.” She mumbled.

“Don’t  you even start to think I don’t find you sexy as all hell, ok love?”

“Mmmm.”

“What?”

“You haven’t bent me over anything in months.” Juniper pouted in his hands.

Heisenberg looked at her a moment before throwing back his head and barking out with laughter.

“You were healing!” He bared his teeth playfully, “But you’re all fixed up now, how about I show you how much you drive me fucking wild?”

Juniper smiled, nuzzling into his cupped hands, “Please, master?”

“Oh Honey.” He almost purred, “Keep that up and you’ll be bedridden again.”

They made their way back to the bedroom, Heisenberg catching her up in a messy kiss. While she was distracted he removed the rest of her clothing, backing her up until her calves touched the bed.

He lightly pushed her back, Juniper making a little ‘oof’ as she hit the bed. She propped herself up on her elbows, smiling as Heisenberg fell to his knees before her.

He didn’t dive straight into her heat like she expected, instead pulling her by the ankles closer to the edge.

His eyes were dark and hungry as he dipped his head in to drop rough kisses up the length of her leg. Juniper shivered at the heat of his mouth as he trailed ever closer to the place she wanted him desperately.

His lips lingered on the softness of her inner thigh, sucking a dark blotch there. He pulled free with a wet pop, meeting her gaze. She was already flushed.

“I’m going to have to re-mark my claim on you.” He almost purred the words.

“Make me yours in every way.” She spoke sweetly.

“I plan to.” He promised, kissing upwards.

He dropped a kiss just above her clit, smiling when her breath hitched. She made a little sound of want when he pulled away, thrusting her hips up in an effort to urge him back. Heisenberg growled as his large hands found her legs, pushing her down against the bed.

Juniper whimpered, watching him move higher.

He kissed along her scar, eyes flicking up to meet hers. The new tissue was sensitive under his lips, his beard making her skin prickle.

“Fucking perfect.” He concluded when he covered its length, his hands forcing her thighs more apart, “Every part.”

“…stop.” Juniper’s cheeks reddened further.

“Oh no.” He gave a devilish smile, “No mercy for you my little wifey.”

She gave a little mewl at his tone, her core clenching air.

“I was looking forward to dessert all night.” His face split with a mirthful grin.

“Then come get it!” She bared her teeth a bit playfully

Heisenberg dove into her sex, eating her like a starving man. He was messy and forceful, causing her to melt in seconds. He growled into her flesh, already feeling her tighten under him. He pulled away, scoring his thumb over her clit as he licked slick from his lips, “Already such a damn mess for me.”

“It’s…it’s been a w-while.” She spoke between pants.

 “Too long.” He agreed, going back in.

He made sure to pull multiple orgasms from her with only his mouth and hands, stopping every so often to trail kisses up her abdomen. She was breathy and blissed out, completely forgetting her earlier self-consciousness.

He stood, giving her a moment of mercy. Juniper watched him, breasts quaking as she regained her breath. Her skin was already glistening with a light sheen of sweat, stray onyx curls stuck to her forehead. Heisenberg slowly removed each layer of clothing, almost making a show of it under her hungry gaze.

Finally kicking off his boxers he crawled onto the bed. The bed creaked under their combined weight as he loomed over her.

Juniper eager hands found him quickly, squeezing the thick ropes of muscle that made his arms.

“Pretty impressive eh?” He smirked cockily.

Her fingers slid upwards, fanning over his chest. She gave him a little devilish look as she found his only nipple piercing.

His breath hitched a bit as she toyed with it; coming almost unglued entirely when her head quickly dipped in to take the metal into her mouth.

The movement was almost too fast for him to react before the sensation rippled through his body. Juniper was spurred on when she saw how his body shivered in response, deepening the contact.

Heisenberg pushed her away, holding her down against the bed with strong hands. He swallowed, “That’s enough of that.”

Juniper licked her lips, the taste of metal and skin on her tongue, “Seemed to like it.”

He ground his teeth a bit, aware of his hard cock. He caught her lips up with his own before she could continue.

He kept her occupied, grouping down her body as he lined himself up. She gasped into his mouth when she felt the weeping tip bump her folds. He pulled away to brace himself over her.

“Fuck, I missed you.” His voice was low and almost wavering as he pushed into her. Juniper’s back arched, moaning as his cock stretched her out deliciously.

Her core was tight from the months without him.

He started pumping into her almost desperately, lifting her legs to hook around his waist. With the better angle he was able to reach deeper, rubbing against her g-spot with every thrust.

She clawed down his back, crying out every time their hips sloppily met together.

The sex was messy and raw, both needing to feel the release of pent up passions. Heisenberg groaned out breathily, hands finding purchase in the mattress to buck into her harder.

He felt her tense under him. “F-Fuck! Come for me Doll. Come on my cock!” He grunted out, moving a hand to her clit. His thumb scored quick circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Juniper buckled under him, sobbing out her release. A surge of slick coated his cock as her cunt clamped down on him.

She felt divine, like liquid velvet around him. Heisenberg became a mess of sounds himself, balls slapping into her ass roughly as he chased his own release.

His hips jolted, bottoming out in her. She felt him pulse as her insides were flooded with hot ropes of come.

She felt extremely full, bits of his release oozing out around his cock.

He settled over her, wanting to stay slotted within her walls. Catching her breath she pulled his face closer, peppering his jaw with kisses.

He gave a little rumble of amusement, letting her fawn over him.

~

They tangled into one another, the darkness filled with the sounds of their heavy breathes and soft moans. A hunger of the flesh deep in their minds. Words weren’t needed. Their touches, tinged with desperation for an act both had feared would be lost to them, was everything in that moment.

Skin to skin, a heartbeat felt under fingertips. The world outside the bed didn’t exist, the nightmares couldn’t reach them.

Heisenberg pressed his body against Juniper’s, his cock never leaving her. In the soft lulls between rounds of sex he held her close, wanting to feel over every inch of her. She thankfully held onto him, losing track of the hours. He nipped into the soft flesh of her throat, huffing out hotly when he heard her mewl.

He felt her tense under him as he rocked into her afresh. Juniper didn’t know how many rounds or orgasms they shared, the night becoming a blur of pleasure and overstimulation.

Eventually exhaustion overtook her and Juniper fell asleep against his chest. Heisenberg stayed fully inserted inside of her, softly tracing her spinal scar. Their bodies were stuck together with sweat, he could feel every breath and heartbeat of hers.

He let his mind wander to work. With the spring thaw here it would make collecting bodies from the grave easier, but also he would have to be much more on top of watching the village for casualties.

Juniper was his favorite distraction but she was a distraction nonetheless. He wouldn’t force her away, no, she gave him more purpose to strive to escape. She made his hunger to explore the world deeper, he wanted to give her a better life than the factory.

And he would give it to her.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #heisenberg x oc #re8 oc #heisenberg #in the steel steeds heart #resident evil #heisenberg smut

[girlmeetsliv3]

Prince of Nothing IV

~ Part Four of Five ~

Release Date: December 19,2020 @ 12 p.m. (GMT-4)

Word Count: 18K

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything except for you…

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything: heaven, hell, and everything in between. His family was an enigma who came to power under mysterious circumstances and had managed to retain hold over the kingdom for centuries - even if no one knew how. There was one thing that Jungkook wanted though, something that could never be his: you. A nobody. A girl with no title. No land. Just money and a pure soul to your name. Jeon Jungkook would’ve never spared a look your way, had that incident not occurred. Now you find yourself the target of his affection and the most hated woman in all the land. Which will kill you first?

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation, abuse, and vivid, as well as implied, descriptions of abusive acts. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

“No.”

           YN’s eyes widen in shock before she tries to cover it up. “No?” What do you mean no? YN was so certain that Jungkook wouldn’t hesitate to jump at the chance - proving her point.

           Jungkook’s hands trailed up the side of her body, fingers gently dancing across her torso until they reached her neck where they settled on either side of her neck. The tense skin was massaged with such efficacy that YN couldn’t help the way her eyes rolled back. He observed this reaction with a smile on his face, then tentatively his lips brushed hers. From where his hands were placed, he could feel the racing of her heart. He could feel how the blood rushed through the veins - his blood, what little of it she had swallowed making its way home. Their kiss, if it could count as that, lasted only a few moments. Yet it was enough for Jungkook.

           “No, I won’t sleep with you.”

           In a second all hope leaves YN, if she couldn’t distract Jungkook with sex if it wasn’t truly all he wanted then what? Seeing her downtrodden expression Jungkook chuckled then he pulled YN in closer, hands sliding down towards the back of her dress. “I won’t sleep with you darling, but I will make love to you and fuck you if that’s what you want.” Before his words could even sink in, Jungkook used his strength to rip her dress open. Exposing all but her chest which lay pressed against the prince’s.

           “Your wager?” YN asked again, unwilling to let him have the upper hand. Not when so much was on the line.

           Jungkook chuckled, “Oh darling, how you never fail to amaze me.” Seeing her stone cold expression he acquiesced. “If I win you’ll be the mother of my child.” Aware of what would follow, Jungkook crashed his lips onto YN’s soft plump ones, not giving her a chance to change her opinion. What followed suit would cement their unspoken future and cause great suffering to many.

           “The prince?” Soojin’s lips were puckered, chin wrinkling in the way a child’s might when tasting something sour. The maids around her stood perfectly still barely breathing, they were too familiar with the expression on the princess’ face. Having been by her side for longer than she could remember they could recognize the pouty lips, furrowed brows, hooded eyes, and the pulsing vein in her temple. It signified a tantrum was incoming - surely to be the worst they had suffered as of yet. “Well?!” Soojin’s voice raised almost into a shrill. The typically refined Soojin had lost all of her demeanor in the past couple of days. Though the bruising around her neck had faded, the one around her heart had not and the ugly scarring it would leave was sure to affect not only her but everyone around her.

           Finally one of the maids stepped forward, bowing deeply demonstrating her submissiveness to the lioness in front of her. As if that ever spared prey from being eaten. “My apologies, my lady. The prince is still not out.”

           The scream that tore out of Soojin was guttural in nature, More like a growl than anything else. Though the tantrum lasted quite a while very few of the staff were harmed, and at that very minimally, the same could not be said for the princess’ chambers which were left in such shambles the entirety of the furniture had to be discarded. Yet it was not the thousands of dollars lost, nor the raging Seo striding down the hall that was to be a concern but rather her destination: the prince’s chambers - YN YLN inside them.

           Nothing spreads quicker than gossip in the palace and no one moves faster than the help, so Soojin wasn’t surprised to arrive at Jungkook’s door and see the usually present guards absent. They too would’ve been informed she was heading there and likely wanted to avoid facing the lionesses wrath. The heavy african blackwood doors had the Jeon sigils engrained in it - making it obvious who resided inside. Normally it would’ve taken a lot of effort to even open the door, it took two extremely muscular men to open it. Though in her rage, it only took a slight push from Soojin for them to slam open.

           Soojin expected a lot upon entering: to find her lover and his mistress entangled in the sheets putting on a show for anyone. Clothes scattered all around, champagne bottles, and wicked smiles placed on both their faces to taunt her. Instead the room was pristinely clean, bed made, and Jungkook was buttoning his shirt. “Can I help you with anything?” He asked, voice with a hint of roughness to it. They way it typically did after he had sex. The only thing that gave away his infidelity was the unkemptness of his hair and the slightest hint of a bruise around his neck. Soojin scoffs, incredulously that he would do this to her after everything - after all his promises.

           “Four days...I haven’t seen you in four fucking days!” Soojin no longer cared for maintaining appearances in front of Jungkook. Clearly he held no care for them.

           Jungkook sighed, leaning on the bed to put on his boots and tie them. “Frankly I don’t see what you’re so upset about. What I do with my lover has nothing to do with you.”

           “Your lover,” Soojin couldn’t help the sardonic smile that broke out on her face. “Have you no shame?! Parading your whore around in front of everyone while I look like a fool.”

           “You looking like a fool has nothing to do with me.” He chuckled, the vase Soojin threw his way was easily caught by Jungkook. The prince gently placed it beside him on the soft bed.

           Soojin’s chest began to rise and fall rapidly, she could feel the rage growing inside her. If Jungkook was ice then she was fire. It was just like when she was younger - the fire would grow and spread consuming everything that stood in its path. In this instance, an insolent little girl who sought herself better than a princess queen. “I won’t be held responsible for the consequences that befall YN due to your reckless actions.” At that the prince stilled, the air in the room suddenly becoming frigid as goosebumps rose on Soojin’s skin.

           “And I won’t be held responsible for the consequences that befall you if anything were to happen to YN.”

             “So you see your majesty, it would be reckless to allow this liaison to continue. Though I understand the prince has needs and would never dare interfere in his private affairs, this isn’t just about him. It’s about the needs of the crown.” Soojin despised king Jeon the II, she found the old man unnerving. Everytime his coal black eyes met hers, she felt the king saw through every facade and deep inside her soul. She assumed that is what had allowed him to maintain power even when his commanders, alliances, and sanity slipped his hands. Jeon exuded power, but his was strong and sturdy like a stone. His son’s power though was like water: constant, changing, tranquil, and tempestuous. Even hard stone was no match for the power of the sea. Everyone was aware of it, even the king in his fleeting reason, knew the time for a shift was rapidly approaching. Soojin couldn’t wait to get rid of the old haggard. To get rid of his lingering glances. Still she knew when to play her cards right, the only person to force Jungkook to submit would be his dear old dad.

           “You are right my child. Jungkook is far too reckless to take a Kim for a whore. It's enough that I allow one Kim to remain in my court - but two and the people may believe I am beginning to slip.” His voice was harsh, the laugh sounding more like a croak. The kind an old toad might make.

Soojin had to resist the urge to grimace, “Nonsense your majesty. No one would ever believe that. Everyone is aware that your reign is far from its end.” Which is exactly why once YN was out of her way, Soojin would make sure to get rid of him. She could hardly be queen if her husband wasn’t on the throne. The king may be the head, but everyone knows the queen is the neck.

           “Oh my darling, I am well aware that you have always been on the side of the crown unlike many others that would use it for their own interests. Not to worry, I will make my son see reason. If he doesn’t well -”

           “I am sure he will sire. Jungkook cares for you very much and he would never disobey his father.” Soojin wondered how much venom she could spill into the world before she eventually poisoned herself. She consoled herself by remembering that she was surrounded by vipers ready to strike. No mamba can compare to the jaw of a lion. Unbeknownst to Seo Soojin, the Jeon’s were no ordinary snakes and unlike lions who massacred their preys before eating them snakes consumed their prey alive.

           “Very well.” King Jeon turned around waving over a guard, “Call my son, it is time we have a talk.” Before turning back to Soojin before him, “You are excused my child, take care of yourself.”

           “Of course your majesty, take care of yourself.”

           “Have you heard?”

           “It is the talk of the whole castle.”

           “Well do you think he’ll actually do it?”

           “He would be a fool not to, plus it isn’t like he has a choice.”

           “He’s the prince of the nation. Of course he has a choice.”

           “Not against the king he doesn’t.”

           Sana turned around, wet rag in her hand as she whipped it towards the two gossiping maids who screeched at the possibility of their garments being ruined by the dirty water. “What are the two of you yapping about?!” Sana had simply been trying to salvage what was left of YN’s garments that had been ripped to shreds by the prince. Not that it mattered, Jungkook would probably buy her even nicer dresses and it wasn’t like YN had asked her to. She had seemed so disgusted when she walked back into her rooms. Heading straight for the shower and barely even sparing Sana a glance. Not that she cared, the less she had to interact with the mistress, the better in Sana’s head. Still, appearances must be kept up for the sake of the prince. So she gritted her teeth and cheerfully declared that she would wash her clothes.

           “Wouldn’t you like to know Sana? Probably run back to your lady and tell her everything.” Irene sneered, smoothing down the front of her dress and fixing her strawberry blonde hair.

           “Please what good would that do me?” The bitch deserves everything that’s coming to her. YN had explained her side of the story to Sana long ago, but she saw through the innocent facade she played. Why would the prince ever be interested in a stupid commoner like her when he had every woman at his fingertips? No. She had seduced him, even if YN may never admit it. Sana knew she was a wolf in sheep's clothing - just like her.

           “Because without someone to report on, you’ll lose the prince’s favoritism. Or do you actually believe he cares for you?!” Irene laughed and the other maids around her began to laugh too. Sana rolled her eyes, returning to the soapy water in front of her.

           “I’m no fool. I use him just as he uses me.” But her tone wavered towards the end, which only caused others to chuckle beside her. It wasn’t until one of the girls beside her took pity and told her what was happening.

           “The prince and princess Soojin are to be wed in seven days' time.”

           YN had been pretty much left to her own devices after spending several days and nights locked up in Jungkook’s bedroom. YN wished she could say the whole experience had been unpleasant, but the disgust she felt was more towards herself than the prince. She had enjoyed it deeply - every single part of it - though she would never admit it to anyone. Not even herself. So YN bathed herself multiple times that day, scrubbing her skin until parts of it bled, then she nearly tore off her hair for every time she saw it all she could imagine was Jungkook’s hands tangled in it. Every time she viewed her hands, all she could remember was how they would entangle together. Her lips were dry and swollen from all the kissing and sucking the prince had imparted on them. YN had never felt more like a whore - never felt more like a toy. In a move that was meant to give her power over the prince, all she had done during their trysts was find herself thinking what if? What if we had met in another time? Different circumstances? Could I love him? Could he be different? What if he changed? Is he capable of change? Would I love him if he did?

           It was those thoughts that plagued YN deeply hours after she returned and she sat still in her bed. Vito curled resting on her decolletage as she envisioned a different world where Jungkook was kinder, where he hadn’t caused her so much pain. Where they had met the way one should. He would have met her brother, introduced himself and promised to care for her, Jungkook could have been perfect. YN found herself getting lost in that what if, until reality came tumbling through her door.

“I’ll fucking kill her!” The door to the bedroom had been slammed open so harshly, the entire room had shaken slightly. It had frightened Vito so much he raised defensively and even YN had been ripped away from her daydreams. Jungkook was livid pacing back and forth as Morte was coiled around his arm, perfectly still despite her master shaking violently. YN had only ever seen him like this once and even then, there hadn’t been a murderous gleam in his eyes. YN cautiously slipped down the bed, her bare feet landing on the carpet. The second she was on the ground, Jungkook swept her into his arms leaving barely any space among them. YN had no choice, but to push her palms against his chest trying to leave some space between them.

Jungkook’s arms tightened around her torso, as YN resisted, eventually Morte unwrapped herself from his arms and formed a link with Vito around both their necks. Tying them together in more ways then one. “Who are you going to kill?” YN knew, Sana had mentioned it when she had brought her clothes back up. YN hadn’t paid much attention, even in her dally she was aware the Jungkook of her dreams and the one in front of her were two distinct beings. Though a part of her longed for the other Jungkook - she wanted this one gone from her life. Jungkook leaned his head close to hers, their lips brushing and it took all of YN’s willpower not to grimace.

“My wife.”

“You can’t. You promised me you would marry her, you promised the king there’s no going back on your word.”

Jungkook chuckled, “I can’t very well marry a corpse can I? Plus, I already have a queen.”

YN shook her head, “You can’t get out of this. I only promised I’d carry your child, not that I would be your queen.”

“You don’t have a choice in this, my darling.” Jungkook smiled, his teeth snagging and softly pulling YN’s bottom one. In his eyes, YN could see the lust pooling and she found herself amazed at how quick his mood could shift.

“I would rather join my brother than wear the crown on my head.” YN whispered harshly, as her palms kept pushing against Jungkook’s torso.

“That’s funny considering your brother doesn’t have a head.” The prince’s cruel words cut straight through YN’s soul. Instantly she was brought back to the rain, her brother’s beaten body, the lifeless eyes that peered at her as his body hung from the gallows. “Oh didn’t you know. I had his head removed and stored in a box, it is my most prized possession. If it wasn’t for him, you and I would’ve never met.” All the fight left YN’s body instantly, if not for Jungkook’s arms around her, she would’ve crumbled to the ground. “I really should give him a proper burial as a thanks. Oh well, there isn’t really much left to bury anyway.” The king Jungkook faded from her memory, until all that remained was the cruel beast in front of her. He seemed to take glee in her soulless eyes for he kissed her with such frenzy that could only be imparted by the happiest of people. Meanwhile YN could feel herself fading, her last remnant of hope being extinguished.

After a while of no response the prince finally seemed to notice that state of his beloved. “YN?” His hands grabbed a hold of her cheeks and forced her to look at him, only she didn’t. Though their eyes met Jungkook knew that she wasn’t viewing him, her mind in a far away place. “YN.” His grip tightened on her, as he hoped the pain would cause any sort of reaction from her. Even if it meant she would recoil, scream, hit him, it was better than having her empty gaze pierce into him. “Answer me YN!” His fingers were digging deeply into her cheekbones, his nails leaving indents into her face. Jungkook knew he was hurting her, but he didn’t care. React damn it! Do something! Finally someone did. Vito uncoiled himself and struck Jungkook’s hand, digging his fangs deeply into the prince’s palm. It shocked him so much, he jumped away letting go of YN completely. YN fell to her feet and fell back onto the bed, she had yet to react but Vito had placed himself on his owner’s neck, hissing and ready to strike once more.

Jungkook was in such shock, he didn’t even consider the fact that the snake had attacked him. Didn’t even think about commanding Morte to reproach. Instead he cradled his hand and looked at YN in a mixture of shock and fear. The way a child would when they had just broken their favorite toy. “I-I’m -” but he couldn’t even bring himself to say the words. He wouldn’t mean them because he truly wasn’t sorry. Jungkook only regretted having gone too far and hurting YN in a way which might be irreparable. Instead of attempting to make amends, Jungkook took a deep breath and turned around leaving YN truly alone for the first time since they’d crossed paths. As he closed the bedroom doors, he waved the guards away stating the “lady needed some time alone to herself.” Certain that when he returned in the morning, YN would be back to her usual self. She had to be.

The sun would set and rise three times before YN spoke again.

On the dawn of Wednesday morning, Sana knocked on the bedroom door bringing with her a plate of food which would be left uneaten like the others before. She didn’t know what exactly had caused her mistress to regress to such a state, but figured the news of the wedding must have done so. Her heart filled with bitter jealousy at the thought, but she coaxed another perfect smile on her face. “My lady, pardon the intrusion but I have brought you food and news from the crown.” YN didn’t really acknowledge Sana’s presence, only Vito seemed to be aware of her. His red beady eyes glaring at her as his tongue sniffed the air, as if entirely sentient the snake moved its head towards the bedside table. Tentatively Sana placed the platter there before, smoothing over the front of her dress.

“The King has requested an audience in private with you, my lady.” Sana glanced over, YN had been bathed and dressed every day at the prince’s insistence much to the maid’s annoyance. Particularly because YN didn’t seem to react no matter what she was subjected to: on various occasions Sana had ‘accidentally’ placed the water too hot only to make it too cold in an attempt to find warmth. She had tugged her hair too harshly, pinched her skin whilst dressing her, and even stepped on her. Yet YN had not so much as flinched, the woman finding herself in a deep dissociative state. The only indication of reasoning Sana could see was Vito that in the past couple of days had become far more active. Hissing and bearing his fangs everytime Sana imposed any type of miniscule harm on his owner.

She must be a witch. Probably enchanted the prince as well. Sana casts a glance towards the book laying upon the vanity: the black and red book taunting her. Perhaps the book offered some insight into her, Sana had never seen such a book in her life but it looked too opulent to begin to someone as poor as YN. It could be a gift from the prince. That only infuriated her more, all Sana ever received was pats on the back and harsh love making only to be tossed aside the second he had satisfied himself.

“We must get you ready, my lady. The king must not be kept waiting.”

YN had only entered the throne room on two other instances, both signifying further entrapment, but they had been at the hands of Jungkook and Soojin. Perhaps this would go differently, though something deep inside warned her that this meeting with King Jeon wasn’t a cause for celebration. Not when he had been plotting on murdering his son and accusing her. Not when she was technically his son’s mistress and the cause of all the turmoil in court. When she entered, the King laid sitting on his throne. It stood out harshly compared to the rest of the room, being made from a rare gemstone that seemed to absorb all the light in the room. The crown perched upon his head was dark in nature too, making it all too obvious that he was the dominant one in this conversation.

“Welcome, I’ve heard a lot about you Kim YN.” King Jeon stared down at the girl before him, trying to assess who she was, what she wanted, and how he could best use her to his needs.

Bowing deeply YN spoke, her voice soft yet clear. “You summoned me, your majesty?” There was a slight tremble in her hands she tried to hide by gripping her skirt tightly.

“Ah I did. There is something I wished to speak to you about.” The King waved his hand, indicating she could rise and YN did, slowly, as to demonstrate she was no threat.

“Yes sire?” If speaking to the prince was like walking on eggshells, then speaking to Jeon was walking on the edge of an active volcano. One which could go off at any second.

“I want you to murder my son.” The King’s voice was clear, no stutter whatsoever as if he were commenting on the weather and not the assassination of his own kin.

YN struggled to speak, unsure of how to react. She was a cornered prey, with no possible way of escape. “I-I’m sorry your majesty. I d-don’t understand.” YN couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, all the stories she’d heard as a child coming back to her. How the King was cold and callous but his eyes were even colder. Dark black pools that would make the devil shiver, yet so clear they reflected whoever he was staring at - reflected their true intentions.

“Look at me Kim.”

YN obeyed, but he was too far away for her to make out the exact color of his eyes. Even then, it was quite difficult to see with the tears threatening to spill.

“You know what you must do, yes? Or what the consequences will be…”

As YN stared at him, all she could see was a cruel man that would do anything to remain in power, even spill the blood of his own son. The apple never falls far from the tree. The King’s hand tightened around the seat and YN was certain that in the next few moments he would force her to agree to     something she could never envision herself doing. Even if he was the object of her loathing and tormentor - YN could never kill Jungkook. She had to cling to the last bit of her soul that still remained.

Please someone save me.

A harsh knock was heard and the doors opened to Kim Namjoon. “Pardon the intrusion, your highness. You asked me to inform you if anything happened in the outer lands.” YN almost cried tears of joy upon being interrupted, it could have even been Jungkook and she would’ve thanked him. “Ah yes, you’re dismissed.” The King waved her away as of nothing and YN couldn’t be more glad to have his eyes off her. She bowed deeply once more before hurrying out the door, managing not to break down until the doors behind her were entirely closed.

YN didn’t know how long she spent there sat on the floor as tears streamed down her face. It wasn’t until the door creaked open once more that she wiped her face and stood up rapidly. In her haste, she stumbled somewhat but was steadied by a hand grabbing hers. “Pardon my lady.” Namjoon’s smile was soft, reassuring and YN couldn’t help reciprocating it. “Nonsense, my lord.”

           Namjoon’s other hand came to lay upon hers, encapsulating hers in a warmth YN hadn’t felt in a long time. “Have you had time to read the novel?” His brow raised inquisitively.

           “I must admit I haven’t. Things have been busy as of late.”

           His chestnut eyes were warm, “I can relate. The castle has been in such a hectic state the gardens have been left unattended.”

           Now YN was left to be confused, “Pardon?”

           Namjoon looked around as if to ensure no one was listening in, he looked so childlike at that moment YN couldn’t help but giggle. “Well, they’ve not taken care of their blossoming flower.”

           YN rolled her eyes though the smile, and the rosey dust that spread across her cheeks revealed her true feelings, “Do you have a tendency to be so brazen, my lord?”

           “Hm,” his fingers tapped gently on her hand. “Only when with an intriguing companion, my lady. Only then.”

           “I don’t see anyone like that around here.” YN stated as she casted a glance around, in the corner of her eye she caught sight of a figure lingering behind a column but they quickly vanished.

           “You must give yourself more credit my lady. Though you are right, you aren’t intriguing as of yet only queer.” It was the shift in his tone that brought YN’s attention back towards him.

           “Oh? When shall I be intriguing then?” She tilted her head coyly.

           “After you blossom of course.”  Namjoon seemed so serious, all humour vanishing from his tone. “Though whether you will be a lily or an ivy has yet to be determined.”

           “It is entirely possible I will be both.”

           “Ah, that is true.”

           The two of them simply stared at each other, before distant voices could be heard echoing through the halls. Namjoon raised her palm towards his lips, placing a tender kiss. “Excuse me, my lady. I must be going.” YN nodded before allowing Lord Kim to walk away as his words and warmth lingered with her far into the night.

           “What’s this?” Jungkook looked at the large book in Sana’s chipped hands, he never understood why she manicured them considering they would only get ruined. Still it was better than the old weathered hands most maids had, hers were soft yet bony. They lacked the thinness yet sharpness of Soojin’s but didn’t possess the roundness and frailty of YN’s. “It is lady YN’s.” Sana hated attaching the prefix. It put YN above her, yet the last time she hadn’t the prince had severely punished her. It was as Jungkook’s hands traced the letters in the front cover that he identified what was written: The Golden Ones. A sinister smile spread across his lips, perhaps I should give YN more credit. “And how exactly did lady YN come to possess such a book?” His mouth twisted, full of mirth. It was the exact same as Jungkook’s copy. Ironic that he had spent his entire life searching for it only to have been right under his nose the whole time. Perhaps assigning Sana to be a double-agent hadn’t been such a waste of time after all.

           “Lord Kim Namjoon gave it to her as a present.”

           “Did he?!” Jungkook tried to hide his disdain, though the imprint of his fingerprints was left on the wood of his desk from gripping it too harshly. Placating his growing vexation, the prince smiled. “Very well Sana. You’ve done well.” The pat he placed on her head was patronizing - it was meant to be. People like Sana only obeyed if they thought it would prove how useful they were. So long as Jungkook fed her scraps of affection and not a full course meal, she would keep coming back. “Is that all?” She asked, before quickly following it up with. “Have I not satisfied you, your highness?”

Jungkook nodded, “Oh yes. But a story book is hardly evidence.” He let his fingers tap against the wood rhythmically as if in deep thought. “I need something concrete that proves your theory.”

Sana’s smile was forced, but she nodded and bowed nonetheless head touching the ground. “Of course, I shall deliver you concrete evidence of lady YN’s betrayal.”

      “You’re being reckless Namjoon. There is no point in pursuing the girl.” Seokjin rested his head against the cherry desk. It was old yet prominent standing as the centerpiece in their strategy room. Namjoon casted a glance at the people beyond the manor walls, those rallying in clear protest against the Jeon’s and their rule. They remained both aware and unaware of his existence. Even if they were to peer at him directly, they wouldn’t be able to recognize him. Namjoon wasn’t entirely sure they could recognize Seokjin, and he was the entire face of their operation. “It would be reckless not to pursue the girl.” He refuted as he let the curtain fall back into its rightful place, walking towards Seokjin and massaging the back of his neck. Seokjin groaned, swatting Namjoon’s attempts to distract him away. This was not a matter Seokjin would simply be dissuaded on.

“There must be a reason why Jeon is so willing to risk everything for her.”

Seokjin laughed incredulously, “When has madness ever made sense?” Seokjin simply couldn’t see what the big deal was. “She is nothing but a poor child that got caught up with the Jeon’s. She’ll probably be made to bear an heir and be tossed aside like all the Jeon women are.”

Namjoon shook his head, “No, Jin. It isn’t like that. She isn’t a pawn, Jungkook is planning on making her his queen. A king is nothing without a powerful queen.” Everyone knew it. It was the reason why the Jeon empire was failing. It was the reason why Seokjin’s claim to the throne didn’t stand a chance. As Namjoon’s father had always said: men are trees but women are seeds. If Namjoon was correct about YN, then she was the final piece needed to guarantee them a checkmate. If not, win the whole game.

Namjoon had to be smart though, for if the prince caught wind of his plan it would all be over.

On the evening of Thursday, just three days until the wedding between Prince Jeon Jungkook and Princess Seo Soojin, YN laid sleeping peacefully in her bed. It was a calm evening, barely a breeze could be felt in the night sky. It was also unnaturally warm, so much so Sana had suggested to her mistress, cracking the balcony doors and windows open. But YN politely refused, afraid something would crawl in or she would grow cold. Her sleep was pleasant, it was the first time in a long time YN was not plagued by nightmares filled with her brother’s lifeless body or Jungkook’s mental games created just to  torture her. She was resting comfortably, until a slight creak caused Vito beside her to rise from his slumber and hiss suddenly. When YN’s eyes shot open, she saw two masked figures staring at her.

Her screams were quickly muffled as a cloth was forced into her throat and her body was grabbed by the two men. YN struggled against them, limbs flailing in an attempt to land any sort of blow on them. Vito too sprang to her aid, but was grabbed and thrown against the head board. Unwillingly YN was lifted and dragged off the bed. She managed to wretch an arm free and attempted  to grab onto the sheets - onto Vito - but the snake was too far away and the men were far too strong. Capturing her in their grip once again, they managed to pull her into the bathroom where YN saw that bathtub full of water, finally understanding what was happening. YN fought like never before: kicking, scratching, she even managed to get the gag out of her mouth and began biting them. If the grunts of the men were anything to go by - and the harsh way one of them yanked her hair - she had inflicted some pain on them.

“Please! Help! Someone! He -” As if she weighed nothing, YN was grabbed and dumped into the ceramic tub. Her head knocked harshly against the back and YN felt something warm trailing down her head, as she gazed up dizzily. “Please, y-you d-don’t have t-to d-do t-this.” YN begged and pleaded, tried to reason with them but they wouldn’t listen. After everything she had endured, it couldn’t end like this. After all her suffering as a child, the loss of her parents, her brother, everything she ever held true. It couldn’t possibly end like this. I don’t want to die.

Strong arms grabbed a hold on her head, pushing it under the water. YN tried to hold her breath for as long as she could, trying to get her body to calm down so as to not consume more oxygen than necessary. Even then the seconds ticked on, YN could feel her chest begin to tighten the pressure beginning to mount the second she was about to breathe in water. YN was wretched out of the water, allowed to breathe only to be shoved in once again. With little air now, YN began to panic. Eyes anxiously looking around for anything to grasp onto. Anything that would serve as a life jacket - there was nothing. Her captors moved the moonlight now reflecting their golden armor.

YN was retched upwards one final time before being plunged back in, held down there longer. YN’s vision began to become blurry, chest tightening and lungs burning as her body forced her to breathe, only instead of air water rushed in. She was burning. She could feel herself burning from the inside out. Her mouth opened as she choked on the pain, only for more water to rush in. YN felt the last pounds of her heart as her senses faded, all her memories flashed before her eyes. The last was unfamiliar to her: a lily entangled by a snake its color changing from black to white. Vito? Eventually that faded too, as YN felt herself slipping into nothingness...slipping into death.

           Baekhyung’s hands disentangled from YN’s head as he lifted her hand from the water and checked her pulse. “She’s dead.” He stated, looking at the Seo guardsman. The man raised an eyebrow before checking for himself, seemingly content. “Thank you for your help. I’m sure your aunt will compensate you greatly.” Baekhyung rolled his eyes, “Didn’t do it for her. She’s simply an eyesore.” It wasn’t necessarily true, but with YN out of the way it would certainly facilitate things. The men walked out of the bathroom and then the door, not sparing a glance towards their surroundings. For if they had, they would have found the most peculiar sight, a bloated ball python struggling for its life, water droplets escaping its mouth. It took several minutes for the ball python to give up the fight. The second Vito took his last breath, YN took her first heaving, herself out of the water and breathing in air for the first time in twenty minutes.

           YN cast a glance toward the bed where her pet snake now laid dead, before pulling herself out of the bathtub and running straight for Jeon Jungkook’s room.

             YN’s knuckles rasped harshly on the blackwood of the prince’s bedroom door. When the prince didn’t answer the first time, her knocks became more incessant until YN was pounding so harshly the wood was beginning to bend under her force. She should have cared more about drawing attention to herself, but YN had just survived an assassination attempt and knew murderers didn’t linger long enough to be caught. Finally, the door creaked open, barely a sliver but enough that YN knew Jungkook was acknowledging her, inviting her in. A part of her hesitated, unsure whether this was all another elaborate scheme done by the sadistic prince in order to have her bend to him. No, this doesn’t seem like him. The Jeon’s weren’t fond of hiding in the shadows and hiring assassins. All of their ploys were done recklessly and with an audience. Since YN hadn’t stepped in, it seems Jungkook had decided to come out. He was still in his evening wear - his eyes took in YN’s disheveled appearance and a tear streamed face. He crossed his ankles together, leaning against the door frame.

           “To what do I owe the pleasure of having you come banging on my door at this late hour?” His dark eyes met hers, “Have you finally decided to speak to me or are you going to continue this ridiculous charade?” It isn’t until he noticed the blood on her head that worry crosses over his features, raising his hand to caress her.

           YN ignored him, instead choosing to answer a different question. “Yes.”  

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

   Seo Soojin’s room, when cleaned up, was actually quite beautiful. The reds and velvets mixed nicely with the fine gold accents. Normally guests would be a cause for celebration, as very few visited Soojin these days. Soojin would have been elated to have the prince himself in her chambers any night - but not tonight. Tonight Soojin sat seated on her bed, hair laid over her shoulders in nice neat waves. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She asked, voice hesitant as she looked around the room for anything that could serve as a weapon for Jungkook or herself. Jungkook stood in the center of the room, though he had never been in her room he held no interest in all the trinkets she had decided to adorn it with. That wasn’t why Jungkook had suddenly decided to visit, not after YN had barged into his own bedroom and clung onto him. Not after Jungkook had to persuade his beloved that she would be safe in his bed with Morte guarding her.

“Can’t a husband visit his wife in the middle of the night?”

“We are not yet wed.” Soojin was unsure of what game Jungkook was playing, her eyes sneakily stared at her door. She couldn’t see the shadow of her guard's feet.

“I would hardly think that matters when the ceremony is in a few days' time.”

Jungkook approached Soojin’s bed slowly, his footsteps careful and calculated each one of them measured to ensure the tamed lioness would see exactly where he was at any given time. As he reached the edge of her bed, Soojin leaned back to rest on the headboard allowing Jungkook to crawl onto the bed until the prince was mere inches from her. Soojin swallowed thickly, nerves eating her alive. “Plus you’ll get everything you have ever wanted…” His hand caressed Soojin’s cheek tenderly. “To be queen and bear my heir.” His soft touch turned harsh as he pulled her towards his lips. “I thought we’d get a head start.” With little hesitation their lips crashed against each other, full of hatred and passion.

In those moments of pure unadulterated lust, Soojin swore Jungkook had never looked more beautiful. His sweat caused his hair to curl towards the ends, framing his face perfectly. Despite how badly she clinged to him, his arms, his back, chest, legs, his every breath - Jungkook barely touches her. He kisses her, but it feels empty. Even when he finally does enter her, it lacked intimacy and felt robotic. The prince was harsh, demanding, and entirely selfish in his needs. Though Soojin did enjoy it thoroughly, it was clear to her that Jungkook was only searching for his own high rather than hers. Eventually the two reach their peaks, climaxing together as Jungkook fills Soojin to the brim.

Then as quickly and quietly as he arrived the prince untangled himself from Soojin. Redressing himself before leaving her room, not sparing the young princess a glance. Seo Soojin cried that night for the first time in years, memories of her youth plaguing her as she recalled the fateful day that set in motion the rest of her life.

 Thirteen year old Soojin was already a beauty to behold, even at such a young age. Despite being born a woman, she was exceptionally bright and cunning. Under different circumstances, she would’ve surely become a great inventor or even a great ruler. Sadly she was born a woman to a noble family who had long ago set their eyes on the prize of the land - a prize their only daughter could help them get. While Soojin had never met prince Jungkook, they had been engaged since she could remember. Having been raised with tales of the great Jeons and how Jungkook was the kindest and fairest prince in the land. Soojin could hardly contain her excitement at what her future might hold. The following week, she would embark to court and finally meet her beloved. Still, even at such a young age Soojin possessed little patience and great ambition. Seven days was far too long a wait.

“Come on Soojin, it is this way.” Kim Yoona yelled from far ahead, Soojin jumped over the rocks that were littered across the ravine, careful to watch her steps so as to not slip. They were deep in the forest, far from the watchful eyes of maids and guards, Soojin wasn’t afraid though. She knew the fate that would befall anyone who attempted to cause harm to a Seo. Much less the soon to be princess. Yoona had told her of a fortune teller that had apparently predicted the Jeons rise to power and the birth of the prince. She was notable throughout all the land and since hearing her tenacity for telling the future of those destined to be great, Soojin wanted hers read.

After crossing the water they trudged through more forest ground before finding a small clearing. The two girls abruptly stopped as they came face to face with an old cottage resembling something out of the fairy tales they'd read. “This must be it.” Soojin stated, marching forward once the shock wore off. There was nothing to be afraid of; she was certain of what her future would entail, she just needed the confirmation. Before Soojin could knock on the door, it was opened by a middle aged woman dressed in rags.

“Are you the witch?” Was the first thing out of Soojin’s mouth. She lay unimpressed as Yoona soon joined her side, stunned into silence.

“Are you the Seo girl?” The fortune-teller reproached, causing both young girls' eyes to widen, before the fortune-teller allowed them in. “It’s two hundred to have your fortunes read - each.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Yoona protested, but Soojin fisted the money out of her wallet before throwing it on the nearest table she found. “There, now tell me my future.”

“How about I tell you a story instead?”

Soojin rolled her eyes dramatically, “I don’t want a story. I want my future, tell it now.”

The fortune teller smiled, taking long steps before reaching a chair. She took her time sitting and making herself comfortable before finally turning towards Soojin. “Tell me child, have you ever seen a lion and snake play together?”

Soojin frowned, “What?”

“They are opposite beings in nature. Warm-blooded and cold-blooded. A union between them would never work.” The witch grabbed the pile of money and began to count it, “A lion takes several mates but always stays within his pride. A snake lives a solitary life, its only companions the flowers it lives alongside.”

“You’re making no sense!” Soojin’s hands balled into fists, as she began to raise her voice in frustration. “You’re speaking in riddles, talk clearly.”

“She means that the match won’t last.” Yoona, who had remained quiet until then, finally spoke up.

“That isn’t true!” Soojin screamed, head whipping back and forth between her friend and the witch. “Who will marry the prince if not me?! I am to be a queen. I will bear a son and become a Jeon. Our marriage will unite the kingdom and ensure prosperity for the kingdom.” The words were not her own, but those she had been raised hearing.

“Ah, a queen you will be and a son you will bear. A Jeon though is not a name that is given but granted. Read up on your history child, this union will only breed destruction.”

Soojin didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. The witch was lying to her. She simply wanted to embarrass Soojin, that's why she was making up all those lies.

Yoona excitedly pounced on the opportunity, now that Soojin was out of the picture perhaps she had a shot. “If not her then who? Who will marry the prince?”

Soojin turns to glare at her supposed friend, furious at the hope that had filled the young Yoona now that she believed Soojin to be out of the picture.

The fortune-teller looked out the window at the trees that surrounded them, “This winter has been long, but spring will come again. When it does, the flowers are always the first to bloom.”

“Flowers?” Soojin asked, at the same time that her friend drew her conclusions.

“A Kim?! I’m a Kim. Does that mean I will marry the prince?” Yoona asked excitedly, unaware of the glare now being cast her way by Soojin. Poor Kim Yoona misunderstood, her family though they held the last name, held very little power and had only managed to amass their fortune through their loyalty to the Seo’s. Something the young child, unbeknownst to her, ruined that very afternoon. Still much like young Yoona, Soojin too did not know the difference between Kims - they were those who simply possessed the name while others who were blessed with it.  When they were walking back towards their homes and Yoona accidentally slipped on the rocks and dove head first into the ravine, Soojin couldn’t bring herself to care much. If fate wants her to be with the prince, then she will surely not drown. The princess thought as she walked away and headed home preparing for her upcoming trip.

           “This winter has been long but spring will come again. When it does, meet me where the flower’s bloom.” YN had awoken alone in her bed in the morning, surprised that neither Sana nor Jungkook were around. She supposed it was a blessing in disguise for the note left on her pillow would have surely been the subject of questioning. It had taken her a while to decipher what exactly Namjoon had meant by the note, but figured that overthinking would be exactly what would be expected of her to do. So, YN headed towards her vanity but stopped cold when she realized the book was not there. I could’ve sworn… YN searched high and low through her bedroom in a manner that was discrete yet thorough. She felt eyes on her and didn’t know if they were guarding or threatening.

           Sana must’ve placed it elsewhere. It would be strange considering the maid never moved any of her stuff without explicit permission, but it certainly was a possibility. YN sighed, looking at the note once again tracing it with her finger as she pondered on what the lord’s intentions might have been in sending her that message. If it had been something unimportant, he surely would have communicated through his staff. It was the way of the palace. If it was urgent, Kim Namjoon would have come himself. No, this was something different. YN’s eyes danced once more on the small piece of paper, observing carefully as if the paper would suddenly reveal a secret to her, that was for her eyes only.

           “Where the flowers bloom…” What flowers? YN’s eyes widened as she recalled something her late mother had taught her. YN had been too young to remember much of her parents, even the few memories she did have were obscured. She did remember her mother always plotting lilies though, it was the only thing that she had been able to cultivate while they lived in the harsh areas of the city. Their garden, if it could be called that, had been barely a meter long. Though their father insisted that she try to grow vegetables, because they were always so expensive at the market, she only grew lilies. Even if they always died. Lilies were delicate beings and required extreme care and stable environments - something YN hadn’t known much of growing up. There was another thing about YN’s mother’s garden: she always complained about the ivy weed that threatened to consume it.

Where flower’s bloom? Lilies required care, attention, and warmth. It needed round the clock observation. An ivy, on the contrary, could potentially grow in any type of environment even the most inhospitable ones. The passage ways!

 It seems Jungkook had kept his promise of locking up the passageway, but YN had figured it couldn’t be the only one. Certainly a castle this old and large must have various entries and exits privy only to those who reside in them. So YN looked in the most obvious place she could think of. It wasn’t difficult to gain access to Jungkook’s bedroom, and the palace had been fairly empty as of late so there weren’t many lingering around. It was rather difficult though to escape the eyes she felt. Jungkook had promised her a brand new security detail, though she had assumed he meant guards. Now she was uncertain. Everywhere YN went she felt eyes and as she peered around the prince’s room, it was no different. Morte was nowhere to be seen but YN couldn’t be sure the snake was hiding or if she was accompanying her master.

“Psst.”

It came from behind her. YN spun around only to face the wall behind the bed. Then she heard it again, “Psst.” This time louder, as she drew nearer her eyes focused on the pattern of the dark brick wall. It was perfectly layered and symmetrical, likely thousands of years old, as the stone had long faded yet somehow kept its state. One last time the “psst” rang out and YN finally noticed that one of the bricks was slightly more pushed in than the others. It was something only noticeable since she was barely a breath away from the wall. Hesitantly, YN reached out and pressed at a large section of the wall sliding back by a few feet. Then she walked forward into the corridors making sure to close it behind, her unaware of the viper observing.

 “I was afraid you might not join me.” Kim Namjoon was not dressed in his usual attire of extravagant clothes. In fact, the old wash of his bottoms and creases on his shirt made it seem like another person when YN had first laid eyes on him, after discovering him deep in the corridors. “I have walked long and have yet to see any Ivies growing. Your clue wasn’t easy to decipher. Had I misinterpreted it, I would have headed to the gardens.” YN answered, there was something off about the lord today but she couldn’t put her finger on it. He seemed desperate to YN. “Ah, but we are at the gardens.” Namjoon replied, finger taping the wall to his left. The passageway they found themselves did in fact run alongside the palace gardens. To his left grew lilies, once planted by the great Kim when the palace was first constructed. To his right, inside the castle, ivies: tall, wild, and lethal. All planted by Jeon the I without intent.

“What is it you want my lord?” Though YN normally enjoyed conversing with Namjoon, something inside her stomach warned her that being hidden away with him would have consequences.

“Have you read the book, my lady?”

“Ah,” YN didn’t exactly know how to break it to him without possibly upsetting him. “I seem to have misplaced it.”

“Someone took it you mean.”

“Why would someone steal a book?” It was a genuine question, as Namjoon had come to that conclusion far too quickly.

“Why would someone steal you?”

So that is what he was trying to get at. YN had long grown tired of having to explain her situation and felt a bit disappointed that Namjoon would even ask. He seemed different. She should have known better. “That is the question I’ve been asking myself since I arrived.” Her tone was apathetic, as she glanced around trying to figure out how to end the conversation.

           “Surely you are not that oblivious my lady. You hold value - a true value that is rare to come by these days.”

           Now she was confused, “You make no sense.”

           Namjoon stepped closer. Even though it was just two steps, YN felt he was trying to bridge the space between them. Either to get her attention or establish dominance, she wasn’t too sure. YN held her ground. “I’m afraid I never do.” Namjoon caresses her cheek, leaning in to whisper. “You smell divine, like flowers...a Sharon rose, perhaps?” YN eyes widened. Her mind traveled to Soojin’s confrontation. “It is simply a name my lord.” Namjoon chuckled, “Yes, I suppose so. That is why there are only two true Kim’s in court.” He turned sharply on his feet and walked away, but not before spinning back just as quickly. “The help is sorted into two fields - Seo’s and Jeon’s - Sana is a Jeon, not by name but it is where her alliances lie - besides the crown.”

           The phone rang inside Min Yoongi’s study and he ignored it. Fully aware of who it was and the consequences it may bring, but the Duke couldn’t bring himself to care. Jimin was in a good mood today, splendid even, and Yoongi didn’t want to do anything that would risk that. So the phone rang for hours upon hours, jiggling harshly upon his desk much to his annoyance. He had instructed the staff to ignore it - let the man think he was out of town. Though it was a dangerous game, now far from the castle Min Yoongi found the courage he so often lacked. He was prepared to play the long game and ignore the brat, demonstrating that Yoongi was not a puppet or a butler he could have at his beck and call. When the phone finally stopped, Yoongi assumed he had won. Until the phone started ringing elsewhere: the master bedroom - Jimin’s room. Yoongi bolted out the door leaving his chair turned over and a few papers scattered. The duke ran through the hallway and burst past the doors just as Jimin put the phone to his ear. Yoongi ripped it out of his hand as gently as he could, not missing the questioning gaze of his beloved. “Hello,” his gruff voice sounding slightly out of breath from the run.

           “Hello Yoongi, I’ve been trying to reach you but it seems you’ve been too busy to pick up the phone. So I figured I would ask your darling for a favor, it’s been so long since I’ve heard from him.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened and his hands balled into a fist. “There’s been some problems with the phone lines lately, it looks like there’s a storm coming.”

           “Oh a storm is coming all right, but that is not why I contacted you Yoongi. I’m sure you’ve received the invitation by now.” He meant the wedding invitation. Yoongi had in fact received the invitation earlier that morning, to say he was surprised when he saw ‘Jeon Jungkook and Seo Soojin’ on the piece of paper would be an understatement. What of the girl? “You see there is the matter of my bachelor party.” Oh no. “While my soon to be wife is busy readying herself, I see no point in not enjoying my last night of an unwed life. So my beloved and I are headed towards your estate as we speak. I hope it isn’t too late for a party.”

             Jungkook had yet to tell her where they were headed, but he seemed in a pleasant mood something which caused YN quite a lot of concern. She was aware that the wedding was tomorrow and hadn’t found it to be a good sign that the groom was effectively leaving a day before. Though Jungkook had sworn he would marry Soojin, there had to be something else at play. A hidden pawn or move that he hadn’t yet exposed - it wouldn’t be out of character for him to somehow weasel his way out of a promise. Then again… The King was involved in this affair and Jungkook had yet to disobey his father. At least in front of her.

           “What has you so entertained?” Jungkook reached over and delicately massaged the frown between her brows. His other hand entwined in hers, fingers gently tracing over her knuckles. “Penny for your thoughts.”

           YN forced a polite smile on her face, “Simply wondering where we are going.” There was nothing to gain from speaking the truth. If her time in the castle had taught her anything it was that.

           “Hm,” the prince nodded, clearly not entirely believing her but choosing not to press the matter. “We are headed to an old friend’s place. Duke Min has agreed to host us for the evening as a farewell gift to my bachelor status.”

           The name rang a bell and the longer she dwelled on it, the clearer the person he was speaking about became. “Duke Min? As in Lady Eun’s lover?” As in the man she had begged to spare her brother’s life? To be fair, all the charges against her brother had been dropped. It wasn't the Duke’s fault that Jungkook had manipulated everything to kill her brother regardless. You killed his lover.

Sensing the clear discomfort in her tone, Jungkook smiled. “Don’t worry my love.” He leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning her ear. “Yoongi engages in various liaisons, but only one truly holds his heart. He and I are a lot alike in that sense.”

     The Min estate was a sight to behold, though it did not compare to the grandiose nature of the palace, YN found herself enjoying it more. It was brighter, a light sky color that matched the lush greenery that surrounded it. It was much smaller than a duke’s home should be, but that was to be expected of a secondary residence - even if it was where Min mainly stayed. In front stood Min Yoongi, as well as multiple staff, all different levels of anxiousness. Most thoughts revolved around the prince and what a pleasure it would be to serve his royal highness when they were so used to serving the duke and his lover. All of Yoongi’s thoughts, though, were on the girl. He longed to see her, only if to ease his curiosity. It had been so long since they had last met and Yoongi wanted to know if she had changed, what she had become. if she remained the same desperate child begging to be saved - or had transformed herself into a vicious snake.

As the carrier arrived, the driver quickly exited to open the door. Jungkook exited first with a sly smile on his face that caused most of the staff to swoon, and right behind him, wearing a simple satin high collared blue dress with a grey coat, exited YN. Her eyes cast around before they immediately dropped down. It wasn’t until Jungkook took her hand in his that she looked up, sending a blank look to the prince - which upon further inspection by the duke was filled with a mixture of contempt yet reluctance. Jungkook whispered something to her that caused her eyes to widen and she quickly looked up at Yoongi with fear in her eyes. The look mirroring one Jimin had given him the first time they had met.

It was gone rather quickly, replaced with a gentle smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Yoongi wondered if that sort of training had been cemented by Jungkook or if much like his songbird YN had learned that adapting meant surviving.

      After a brief tour of the home, the three of them had lunch though YN did not miss the fourth table set that went unused, much to the Duke’s apartments annoyance, the three then spoke in the patio for hours about politics, music, art, philosophy. Though it was more like YN was an observer than an active participant, Jungkook seemed fine about her lack of enthusiasm so long as she was draped on his lap or holding his hand. It was like she was a prize to be admired, but not engaged with. Any time she did wish to join the conversation, she would look up and meet Min Yoongi’s dark feline eyes and immediately sink back into silence. There was something about the duke that holy unnerved her, he seemed fine enough at first glance but the prince’s words kept bouncing around her head. Dinner then came and went, followed by drinks and finally it was time to retire.

“We have prepared two rooms like you asked.” Yoongi states, after waving away an approaching maid. “We hope they are to your enjoyment.” YN can’t help but feel a sense of relief at not having to share a room with Jungkook. They both excuse themselves and are guided up the stairs. Once the maid leaves, YN goes to enter the room but a hold on her wrist stops her. She turns back to look at Jungkook quizzically.

“Oh come on now darling, the rooms are for show.” He says amused. “It’s best not to cause an uproar the night before the wedding.” Jungkook doesn’t even give her time to respond, before he pulls her into his room and shuts the door. It is when he goes in for the kiss that YN rushes out a question that has been plaguing her all day. “Are you actually going to marry Soojin?” Jungkook stops, tilting his head to the side as if thinking over what she says. “Why? Are you jealous?” His tone is teasing, as he goes in for another kiss only to be stopped by YN once more. “You promised her you would. Promised me as well. Do you intend to keep it?”

Jungkook sighed, walking towards the bed and stripping off his clothes layer by layer. “Soojin has been my fiancé since we were children. I was always meant to wed her.” This causes YN’s chest to swell with excitement, only for it to be shattered seconds afterwards. “Still it is you who will be my queen. You did promise to wed me too recall? In exchange for protection from any more assassination attempts. Everyone always knows that first marriages are for gains and the second is for love.” He beckoned her closer, for some reason YN obeyed. Standing nearly nude in the moonlight YN once again was blinded by his beauty. He looked so much like an angel, but she knew devils could shapeshift to enticing forms.

Once again she wondered if things had been different would Jungkook have wooed her too. In another life, would she have come to love him? Would he even be interested in her? No use in thinking of what ifs. Nothing would change who Jungkook was now, just like it appeared nothing would save YN. Not as long as the prince was alive.

When YN awoke the next morning the prince was gone, the spot beside her in bed now cold. Though she couldn’t be certain it had ever been warm. She dressed and headed down stairs, surprised to find barely any staff and the duke gone as well. It’s a royal wedding of course they would all be gone. YN eyed the door and approached it, seeking an opportunity for escape. The place couldn’t possibly be as heavily guarded as the castle. YN hadn’t seen any guards or anything of the sort the day before. Just as her hand was about to grip the handle, a butler appeared startling her.

“Pardon the interruption my lady, but breakfast has been served outside in the garden.” YN smiles politely nodding before heading out towards the gardens. The gardens aren’t likely to be guarded. She could always escape into the forestry surrounding the house. As she exited the house, she caught sight of a man sitting at the table where breakfast was served. He was stunning, that was the first thing she noticed. With soft yet angled features, large lips, and delicate eyes. She must’ve been staring a long time because the man finally turned to look at her and in his eyes, YN could see a deep melancholy not dissimilar to her own.

“So you’re the prince’s whore?”

YN was taken aback by his bluntness, but squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She wouldn’t be disrespected by someone who seemed to be in the same boat as her. So that’s what Jungkook meant. “Are you the Duke’s?”

He smiled, she could tell it wasn’t fake as humor filled his eyes. Only to quickly be replaced with sadness yet again. “I am his lover, his songbird, his whore.” The man looked forward towards the violets, “It all depends on his mood.” Then filled with mirth, “It all depends on the sex.” It was once he turned back towards her, his smile a mix of innocence and seduction that he finally stated his name. “You can call me Jimin though.” YN couldn’t help the slight smile that spread across her face, for even though she did not know what Jimin had gone through he was still surviving and that inspired her a bit.

The two of them ate in silence and merely observed the garden, breathing in the fresh air and taking in nature. YN thought this might be the first time she has ever been at peace after meeting Jungkook. It isn’t until the sun is higher in the sky, past midday or a bit before, that Jimin speaks again.

“They’re both gone. Off to the wedding it seems.” He says it with such resentment, YN can’t help but wonder if it's because he isn’t with them or Jimin dislikes weddings in general. When YN questions him, he chuckles. “No, I’m not mad. A whore isn’t welcome in a church after all.” The sly wink he sends her lets her know that she too is included in the joke. Even then, she wonders if Jimin even gets to leave at all. Suddenly Jungkook’s words when they were approaching the house pop into her head, “The Duke is fond of keeping treasures too so be sure not to catch his attention.”

“Perhaps we should have our own fun.” She says suddenly, little thought given to the consequences said action may hold for both of them.

Jimin turns to YN, eyes widened before his lips pucker into a pout. “I’m not allowed to leave and no one can go against the Duke’s wishes.”

“I outrank the Duke.” A bit of silence followed before the two of them broke out into wicked grins.

 YN had never really been in the city, the area she used to reside in where the slums were, and even then she went out so little that her memories of it were vague. Jimin seemed to have a better idea of where they were going, dragging her from fashion boutique to cafes to bars and anywhere else he could think of. He seemed so jovial as if he were a bird able to fly after so long, when he looked it at YN it was with a mixture of glee and gratitude. Even if she didn’t enjoy all the attention garnered every time Jimin pulled out Yoongi’s money, she didn’t want to break what little happiness had returned to Jimin. Especially when he had seemed so starved of it.

“Here this is for you. If you’re forced and resigned to being the prince’s whore might as well dress the part.” Jimin often called her that instead of her name, but given the lack of malice in his voice whenever he did YN couldn’t bring herself to care. He handed her a velvet box, which upon opening it possessed a silver necklace with a black gemstone and matching ring. “Jimin I can’t take this.” It was certainly expensive judging by the look of it and she felt this was his way of saying thanks. “I appreciate it but -”

Jimin rolled his eyes and took the ring out of the box and forced it onto her finger. “Don’t make this a big deal. If you look like a victim people will treat you like one, but if you look like a queen...well no one goes against a queen.” He had maneuvered his way around her and placed the necklace on her neck tying it delicately on the back. “There now you look like a queen.” His fingers brushed comfortingly on the side of her neck. YN smiled and thanked him silently. They were towards the back of a store, it was a smaller boutique, likely only being able to contain no more than twenty people inside yet it was relatively empty. The stylist had stepped into the back after offering them beverages and hadn’t returned since.

As the two new friends continued their conversation, a car pulled up to the front of the store. It was a large suburban with thick windows that were blacked out. Since Jimin had his back to the front it was YN who first noticed it, finding it peculiar. It wasn’t until the car doors opened and she saw the sigil on the driver’s side that she recognized who it belonged to. Resistance. It didn’t take her too long to grasp at why they were there. Rather quickly she gripped Jimin’s arms, “Go to the back of the store and don’t come back out until it's safe.” Rather forcefully she shoved him towards the back and Jimin spared her a glance before running to the back of the store.

Please please please. YN didn’t know exactly what she was asking for, but it was the only thing that occurred to her. Five burly men entered the store all setting their sights on her immediately. “Hello, Kim YN. Our leader would like to speak with you.”

“I’m Kim Seokjin, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The words couldn’t be any more of a farce, but Seokjin was nothing if not civil and polite. The smile forced onto his face was entirely charismatic and swayed anyone that looked it at. While being a good leader was important, good looks also aided Seokjin in staking his claim on the throne. Though people swore loyalty to the Kim’s and claimed to despise the Jeon’s, no one would rally behind an ugly person not when their prince looked like a fallen angel. “I’ve been told quite a lot about you. I am sorry that we have had to meet under these circumstances, but it isn’t very often the prince lets his most prized possession out of his sights.”

Truth was he could have waited, but Seokjin wanted to see her. Wanted to know what had captured not just the prince’s attention, but Namjoon’s as well. Now that YN was in front of him he saw nothing that could explain it. She’s rather plain looking. Not only that but she sat perfectly straight in her chair refusing to engage in any conversation at all. Her lips were pursed, face stoic, and eyes observed everything at a clinical distance. She acts like a Jeon that’s for sure. Well if she wasn’t going to reply might as well continue, “I am sure you have first hand experience of how cruel the Jeon’s can be. They are cold, cunning, and utilize dark arts to keep their power. They took what was once a great country, with wealth and happiness to go around and have hogged it all to the point were most of the population lives in extreme hunger and despair.”

“Have you ever gone hungry?” YN’s soft voice spoke out, barely above a whisper yet it captured all of Seokjin’s attention. “It seems strange to me to hear about hunger and despair from a man who has never experienced it in his life.”

Seokjin was taken aback, but kept his calm. “I have faced much despair in my life, but it would take too long to go into detail about it. Plus I am not fond of comparing traumas.”

“What dark arts do you speak of? I’ve never heard of the Jeon’s performing dark arts.” That was a lie, but YN was baiting him. Plus if Seokjin had useful information that could help her escape Jungkook then she was willing to do anything.

Seokjin smiled, “A group of less than a hundred men stormed a castle full of guards, nobility, and the royal family and within an hour had slaughtered them all and taken control. Of course, it was magic.”

So he knows nothing. YN remained quiet, she observed Kim Seokjin the way one might a potential threat. Even if he had yet to attack or make his intentions clear, the only person YN had met that hadn’t attempted to coerce her or hurt her had been Jimin. The odds weren’t in her favor. Even Namjoon whom she had thought of as a friend had acted strange the last time they met. “Unless there is something you know. Which may help us restore the imbalance of power and return things back to their harmonious state.”

It was clear neither were buying what the other was selling and it was only a matter of time before that truth became obvious to the two of them.

“What I am trying to get at my lady is, it would not only benefit the kingdom but you as well if you -” Before Seokjin could finish his pitch, the doors of his office slammed open and in strolled Kim Namjoon decked in a royal blue blazer with matching top and cream pants, he looked like a leader and with the way he regarded Seokjin it was clear which one of them truly called the shots. “I learned you kidnapped Lady Kim when I specifically asked you not to. Now we have both an angry prince and Duke on our hands.”

“The prince is getting married, he is far too concerned with his future bride to care where his mistress is.”

“Ah, well since you clearly know Jeon Jungkook so well explain to me then why fourteen of our allies had their families raided and imprisoned not ten minutes after you took her.”

Both Seokjin and YN froze in shock, unable to believe what they had just heard. Ten minutes? It took ten minutes for Jungkook to find out she was missing and exact his revenge when he was more than a hundred miles away. “Don’t play with me Namjoon.” Seokjin’s voice had lost all its charm and was not monotone, “This isn’t funny.” Namjoon scoffed, “They’re awaiting their sentencing and everyone knows it's the gallows for traitors.” An image of her brother’s dead body flashed before YN and she struggled to not heave. “Now go fix it.” Namjoon demanded, pointing his finger out the door. Seokjin marched out not sparing YN a look, but she could tell by the look on his face he would surely blame her for this. It’s always my fault.

YN sat stunned in silence as Namjoon ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends with frustration. She glanced towards her lap trying not to make eye contact, her hands were shaking and YN gripped her skirt in order to steady them. “I can talk him out of it.” YN wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Namjoon or herself. “He wouldn’t -”

“Yes, he would YN. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re dead already.” He muttered, before sighing and gazing at her sympathetically. “Don’t blame yourself my lady. This isn’t your fault.”

YN chuckled humorlessly, “All of this is my fault. Every death that has occurred since the prince and I crossed paths has been my fault.” Or by my hand. Lady Eun and Vito flashed before her eyes.

“Well then I shall have to start referring to you as Lady Death or Lady D for short.”

YN smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood, “Very funny my lord.” The two stared into each other's eyes for a while before YN finally broke the calm silence that had settled between them. “Is Kim Seokjin an ivy or a lily?” The smile on the lord’s face melts away before he quickly replaces it with one that doesn’t reach his eyes. There is a mask on his face that YN has only seen him wear around others before and she smurmises what it must mean - Namjoon finally sees her as a threat.

“He is a Kim with a stake to the throne, one of the last remaining ones.” He walks towards a leather seat right across from where she is. Namjoon sits the way a gentleman would, reclining yet keeping his back straight and shoulders square. Head held high as his height caused him to look down at her ever so slightly. YN found herself imagining what he would look like with a crown on his head. “So what is your plan? To use Seokjin and let him die in his quest for the throne?” Her eyebrow raises as she questions whether Namjoon would be as cruel to use someone for their own personal gains, then again that seems to be the norm among the nobility.

“Seokjin won’t die.” Namjoon spoke as if this were a fact and not an optimistic delusion.

“Please don’t be foolish, my lord. The Jeons and Seo’s will wipe out any possible threat that exists to them.” YN had experienced it first hand.

“The Seo’s believe where all lunatics clinging to the past and the Jeons would never attack without solid reasoning.”

YN laughed, “The prince just executed four families without solid reasoning.”

“No,” Namjoon shook his head as disappointed she didn’t understand. “The prince executed conspirators that may have played a role in the kidnapping of a court lady and his lover.”

YN fixed him with a pointed stare, “You know the truth.”

Namjoon leans forward in his seat, “The truth doesn’t matter, tell a lie enough times it becomes the truth. People don’t want to believe the reality, they want to hear what is most convenient to them.”

“What is this truth that you are trying to tell? That Seokjin is the true heir when the Kim line has been so mixed that’s nearly impossible. Or is that little speech all you have?” YN was frustrated. Tired of being treated like a pawn in a larger game of thrones. “You seem to be under the illusion that I am completely unaware of what having a Kim king was like. I don’t like the Jeons nor the Kims, both patriarchy’s have set about ruining the kingdom each in their own way.”

“Good thing we aren’t going to have a patriarch on the throne.” He smirked.

YN’s words died on her tongue as the statement caused her to pause. It unsettled, then it all began to click. Jungkook’s intense desire to make her queen, Soojin questioning her family name, Namjoon’s insistence, even her brother’s untimely death. At that moment YN longed to be anywhere else but there to be far away: back in the store with her brother, back in their childhood home with her parents, even locked back inside the palace bedrooms. At least there she knew what to expect, what future awaited her. There her status as a sister, daughter, prisoner were clear. Inside the rebel grounds  they were not, she was about as certain of her fate as she had been that night in the dungeon. “What do you mean?” The look Namjoon gave her spoke for itself. You know what he means, don’t deny it any longer. “YN,” he rose from his chair cautiously, his eyes hesitant as if unsure how she would react. For a split second, YN could see what looked like trepidation in his eyes but what would the great Lord Kim have to be afraid of? “You were never merely a pawn and it was never nearly a name.”

Soojin sat restlessly on the marriage bed, waiting for Jungkook to arrive. She was certain there were ears glued to the chamber doors and could feel eyes on her figure, yet she couldn’t tell where they came from. The wedding had been a spectacle if a little small, but she supposed it would help cement her image as a humble princess. It wasn’t a good look to waste millions on a wedding when the country’s poor were starving. Her knees were tucked into her chamise as the cold air in the room nipped at her skin, the lit fire was too far away to offer anything besides light. Though she longed to go near it, she had been told it was bad luck for the bride to step foot off the bed before the marriage had been consummated. Even if it already had been days before.

She isn’t exactly sure how long passes, but knows that it must have been a while since the cold nipping at her had long seeped into her bones and was now causing her to shiver. The silk bedding offered little protection. More time passed and Soojin found herself dozing off, the new moon high in the sky before she was awoken by the ringing of a bell. It announced that someone wished to enter the room and Soojin gave her permission. A young maid entered, hair tucked tightly into a bun as she bowed deeply. She looked familiar to the princess and she racked her brain trying to find her name before finally recalling, Ah yes, Sana. The whore’s maid. Soojin didn’t think much of it, since YN was no longer in the castle and posed no threat to her. She regarded the maid civilly.

“What is it?”

“I apologize, your highness, the prince has left the castle for the city and it seems he will not be returning before tomorrow.”

Soojin laughed, to her it must have been a joke. Surely Jungkook would not leave on their wedding night to be with his mistress when his wife was right there. She lifted her hand to cover her mouth and realized she was not only laughing, but crying as well. Finally Sana looked up at her, eyes filled with pity and any sadness in Soojin turned to rage. I see. YN had sent her maid to taunt her, to show that even though Soojin was queen Jungkook still belonged to her. Soojin raised her hand to strike the maid, when a sudden sharp pain from her abdomen caused her to fall over.

“Princess?!” Sana rushed to her help, only to be pushed away by Soojin. “Leave! Lock the doors! I don’t want anyone to see me!” She roared like a lioness and Sana backed away, bowed in submission. It was once she heard the small ‘click’ of the locked door that Soojin allowed the sobs to wreck through her body as the pain in her stomach worsened. What is happening to me? She raises her hand and sees small drops of water that have stuck. Soojin could not remember the last time she had cried. Perhaps it had been her sixth birthday when her father had died or perhaps it had been when her mother scolded her for crying after his death.

Nonetheless she did not have time to dwell on it for the pain she felt forced her up and had her heaving. She could feel something crawling up her throat and she tried desperately not to choke on it. I won’t give up this fight. Not after everything I’ve sacrificed. The pain was harsher than ever and it burned so much that Soojin swore it would tear itself from the inside out. She had no choice but to open her mouth and let it out. Soojin expected a lot of things to exit her: bile, the wedding cake, even flowers if she were to be honest. What she did not expect was the small baby snake in the pool of blood; which upon closer inspection by the princess was dead.

           When YN arrived at the Min house it looked deserted as if not a soul resided in it, but she knew Jungkook was waiting inside. Even far away, YN could sense the danger radiating from inside - Jungkook was sure to be infuriated and she hoped it wasn’t too late to talk him down from his anger before more innocent people lost their lives. She pushed through the front doors, not surprised to find them open, and saw Jungkook waiting for her sat upon the stairs. What did come as a shock to her was that he was still wearing his wedding clothes. Did he really come straight after? His long hair is styled back to show off his undercut, the tight fit of his suit - a grey and white jacket with matching pants and the Jeon symbol embroidered on the left breast - show off his figure nicely. When the prince catches her staring he smirks, but it does little to subdue the fire present in his eyes.

           “Oh and did the rebellion help you find your way back darling? How nice of them. Not to worry, I’ve already sent them my thanks.” Sarcasm dripped from every word, but it stoked YN’s own fury how casually he spoke about killing people. How little he cared.

           “Haven’t you killed enough?! Those poor people have nothing to do with it and you know it. Stop murdering people as a show of power.” She was seething, not being able to bear the guilt of anymore blood on her hands.

           “A display of power?” Jungkook raised his eyebrow, “If I wanted to display my power, I would have murdered every single person in that little so called rebellion. No what I did was a display of my love for you.” Even through his insanity, she could see he was being honest and that terrified her even more.

           “How do you think it looks to your people that on your wedding day, you’re more concerned with your mistress's disappearance than your own wife?” Though Jungkook didn’t care about appearances, the crown still had an image to uphold.

           Jungkook opened his mouth, letting it form a small ‘o.’ “I see you’ve been under the impression this whole time that the public knows who you are.” He smiled at her confused expression, “You see while the public is aware that I have taken a mistress, all they know is that she is a lady of the court. But the murders that occurred tonight were due to the aiding of a wanted criminal.”

           “A what?” It was not the first time that day that YN had found herself as the centerpiece in a chessboard. Except that while she had just been told she was the strongest piece - this conversation would serve as a reminder of who truly controlled the game. “Your brother was an enemy of the state, one that conspired to overthrow the throne. While normally I allow Kim Seokjin to play diliances since everyone is aware his claim is less than weak, him reaching out to you demonstrates that he is a far more threatening player than I had originally anticipated.” He shrugs, “If you ever do manage to escape you will be persecuted for your crimes against the crown.” He would throw me in a cell and let me rot to prove a point. No, it’s more than that. Jungkook is not only cornering her, but the Kims in general. A criminal can’t be a ruler.

           YN walks toward Jungkook, her stride strong and determined as she crossed the space between them to come kneel in front of him. Once they were at eye level, she tenderly cupped his cheek. Whispering softly, “Are you afraid he sought me out to get to you? Is that what this is?” Jungkook leans into her embrace, trying to steal a kiss. YN avoids him by instead brushing her lips over the shell of his ear, “After everything you have done to me I do not need outside forces to compel me to hate you.” When she pulled back, she saw something unexpected. There were tears in Jungkook’s eyes, not dissimilar to the ones that had been there when she had told him of his father’s plan. For a split second, YN found herself wondering once again what might have happened if the two of them had met in a different time. If Jungkook were not the cruel prince that he is and had not hurt her, could she love him? Or were they doomed to repeat the same brutal love story for all of eternity.

           Jungkook’s hand snapped up to grab a hold of YN’s neck and he flipped them around, caging her between the marble stairs and his own body. “It is not his interest in me or my crown that fills me with bloodlust, but rather his interest in you.” The prince’s grip was so tight, she could feel the indents of his fingers being left behind.

           Perhaps she should have waited for a better time. Perhaps YN should not have taken the bait so clearly laid out by the prince, but it had been a long day and the only person who could truly give her answers stood right in front of her. “How long?” She questions in a broken whisper. “When did you know?” Had he known this whole time and that’s why he had been stringing her along? People in the kingdom longed to go back to a time before the Jeons, but their hatred did not extend towards the prince. In their eyes he was nothing like his cruel bloodline. Jungkook drew her closer, his lips trailing up her nose bridge until he planted a kiss on her forehead. “If you're afraid my interest in you is solely due to your bloodline, don’t be afraid. Something as measly as a name wouldn’t sway my affection.” He lowered his head, to make sure they were at eye level, “besides you’ll be a Jeon soon. Whether or not you are of royal bloodline will not matter once you are queen. If anything it will legitimize your place beside me.” The smile he gave her was saccharine, full of nothing but love and adoration. As if his words were meant to comfort her, when they were only a display of how carefully he had orchestrated everything.

           “When?” YN repeated, glaring at him with so much fury Jungkook swore he should be beneath the ground.

           “After our conversation in your cell. I had Yoongi and Jimin find information about you and deliver it to me.” He drew away, leaving space between them in case his words evoked a physical reaction. “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t being fooled. Then I read about your parents, what a strange accident that seemed to be.” His finger tapped his chin mockingly. “Especially so soon after your adoption had been finalized. Then I traced your lineage only to find it didn’t exist. Since my grandfather took the throne every single person born with the surname Kim has been documented, yet you don’t exist.” His pitch raised, dramatizing his words. “Seems like someone went a long way to make a little girl from nowhere completely disappear.” The prince shrugged, as if his words had not completely shattered everything YN once knew to be true.

“That is how I knew.”

           YN lunged at him, she didn’t exactly know what had compelled her to, but she did. The strength behind said attack seemed to surprise even Jungkook. Still he looked entirely serene when she straddled and wrapped her hands around his throat, deciding to repay him for what he had done seconds before. YN squeezed with all her might. Instead of being afraid Jungkook began to laugh, maniacally so, “Honestly darling, first stabbing and now choking. What’s next, are you going to try to poison me?”

           “Morte isn’t here.” YN spat out, “There’s nothing to ensure you survive.” The prince was beginning to turn red, face swelling at the constriction of air flow, yet he kept laughing. She had begun to understand the type of power Jungkook wielded, if Morte was his lifeline like Vito was hers. Then not having the snake around made him vulnerable.

           “I don’t need a snake to keep me alive because you won’t kill me.”

           “Who says I won’t?!”

           By now hints of purple had started to seep through, he was gasping for air. “B-because i-if you d-do I’ll k-kill i-it. I’ll k-kill s-Soojin’s unborn child.”

YN stilled, but did not relinquish her grip. “You’ll be dead. You won’t be able to hurt anyone.”

           “I’m the only thing keeping her alive,” he smiled sadistically. “The second I die, Seokjin will take power and he won’t hesitate to slaughter. Or maybe it’ll be your precious Namjoon. Perhaps even Sana, she’ll be so filled with envy and rage that I didn’t impregnate her that she will poison Soojin.” He leaned forward, licking his lips. “Then it will not only be my blood on your hands, but that of an innocent child.” As his words set in, YN’s fingers slacked and Jungkook took advantage, wrapping his arms around her torso. YN stared up at him, “How could you be so cruel?” It wasn’t until she tasted the salt on her lips that she even realized she was crying.

           “I will do anything to keep us together. Whether alive or dead, you cannot escape me.”

_6 Months Later_

           “Princess, are you ready? The prince and King are waiting for you.”

           Soojin sighed, standing up from the chair she had decided to rest on and allowed the maid to guide her towards the front of the palace. There was to be a tour today, charity work where the royal family went out and pretended to care about their people. The last tour, before Soojin had known about her pregnancy had been a success, even if it had been cut short by the King’s health suddenly declining once more. Still today’s trip towards the city’s slums was sure to not be too troublesome. Just smile and nod. Her hand brushed tenderly over her large bump, it was quite big for the stage she was at and had been the cause of much speculation and rumors. Still Jungkook played the role of doting husband and soon-to-be father so well, no one would ever suspect Soojin had only seen him a handful of times since the wedding. Even less since the engagements.

           Whom Soojin had not seen at all was YN. Though it caused her nothing but glee to think the wedding and pregnancy had hurt her in some way. The princess also knew that enemies should be kept closest of all, even more than her own son. “Did YN receive my gift?” She whispered lowly, so as not to be heard. The maid nodded, “Yes, princess. It was delivered at dawn by a neutral party.” Good, then she’ll be out of our hands soon. If YN was smart she would take the chance offered by Soojin, even if it was a trap that was sure to leave her permanently out of the picture. When she arrived at the main entrance, she noted all the guards and nobility lined up to bid them farewell yet - “My son will not be joining us. He has received word of the rebellion planning an attack and I have ordered him to stay.” King Jeon barely spared her a glance before adjusting his crown and entering the car.

           Soojin grimaced, but put on a smile when entering. It’ll be fine. Just smile, nod, and make them love their future queen. The King’s days were numbered, anyone could see, that is why the rebellion was getting bolder. Staging public protests, spreading propaganda, and small planned attacks. They were building to something. Rumor had it they had infiltrated the castle and though  Kim Seokjin had always been the face, Soojin had heard through the grapevine someone else truly pulled the strings. It's ridiculous. Just a little boy playing dress up. So the princess pushed it from her mind, cradling her stomach as the car drove away into the road to embark on the journey, unaware it would be the one that would lead her straight to death.

             YN didn’t know exactly how long she had been walking, but considering the sun had just risen when she had sneaked out of the castle and was now about to set she must’ve walked a significant distance. She hadn’t brought much with her, wanting to leave before Sana brought her breakfast or Jungkook stopped by. Only a jacket, a change of shoes, some money, a map, and Jimin’s gift tucked away in case the worst happened. The blisters on her feet were surely bleeding by now, but stopping to rest was a risk YN wasn’t willing to take. Cliche as it might be, YN heard the snapping of a branch before she realized she had company. “Lady YN.” When she turned around she was greeted with Park Jinyoung and Lee Baekhyung. “The King has requested you return to the palace as soon as possible.” The guard’s faces were as stoic as YN remembered considering she had not seen them in a long time.

           He sent his lap dogs after me...wait, the king? “I believe you’re mistaken, surely the King has greater concerns than me.”

           Baekhyung smiled, “Nonsense, nothing is more important to the King than you right now. And we’ve been sent to escort you back.”

           “Or retrieve you by force if necessary.” Jinyoung added.

           YN didn’t need to look to know she was surrounded by guards, still the trip had not been useless. She had gotten what she was after and the men were none the wiser.

           “The vehicle transporting the King and princess was attacked by the rebellion. Not all made it out alive.”

           YN gasped, No. That can’t be. Before YN could dwell on it any longer, the guards grabbed her and dragged her to the car. She didn’t put up a fight, too many thoughts running through her head, but one stood out above all. Soojin can’t be dead.

             “Get it out of me!” Soojin screamed, pain wrecking her body as she contorted every which way. Several maids held her down as they tried to save her son. “Get him out of me! He’s dying! He’s killing me!” Truth is with every contraction felt, Soojin found herself becoming weaker. Her muscles ached yet felt tender, bones brittle as if made of stone, every time she breathed it felt like she was inhaling smoke. What is this?! What is going on?! “Please princess. Just push. Breathe and push.” Soojin tried to do what she said, but instead of easing the pain it only made it worse. The knife had long been discarded and the maids were now attempting to help take the baby out, but it didn’t explain the pain. “Stop it hurts! It hurts!” She cried out, feeling like she was being torn from the inside out.

           The second she realized that, Soojin swore she felt claws trace the lining of her stomach from the inside. “Get that fucking thing out of me!” He isn’t human. It isn’t human. She had long been warned of the dangers of a Jeon pregnancy, but Soojin hadn’t listened. She never listened and it would finally cause her death. I should have killed it. By now the blood spilled all over the sheets, floors, and clothes was turning a dark red. I should have killed the girl before he met her. Soojin felt her heart begin to beat slower. I should have killed the witch. Her senses weakening  as spots filled her vision. I should have killed him when I had the chance. A flash of memory came to mind: the night she had told Jungkook of her pregnancy, how delighted he seemed to have been, yet when he spoke of ‘we’ she had somehow known it wasn’t about her. He knew, he knew all this time...and all to be with her.

           “Just one final push princess and that’s it.” Soojin's smile was filled with melancholy as she gave one final push, bringing the new prince into this earth. When the child took his first breath, she took her last.

             YN stood in front of the giant throne room, she hadn’t bothered changing knowing the King would look at her with disgust no matter what she wore. Tentatively she knocked, before the doors were slammed open and YN entered her eyes to the ground displaying submission. “You requested me, your highness.” Instead of a response, she heard a babble. When her eyes snapped up YN saw what to others might be the stuff of dreams, but to her, it was her worst nightmare come true. Jungkook sat upon the throne, a heavily jeweled crown resting on his head - the Kings crown. His entire focus was on the newborn in his arm. He gazed lovingly at the small boy and even cooed at it. Jungkook was so entranced a goofy grin adorned his face as he coddled his son.

           Eventually the prince King did look up and what you saw in his eyes was an amalgamation of pure love, obsession, and insanity. “Look Mommy’s here.”

#yandere bts #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere jeon jungkook x reader #prince jeon jungkook #royalty au #yandere au #yandere bangtan #yandere jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #yandere kpop #prince of nothing #prince of nothing iv #pon #pon iv #girlmeetsliv3

[avversiera-writes]

touch your heart [senju tobirama/you] - chapter 8

Summary: Hashirama might go down as the worst matchmaker in history, but he thinks he might be on to something. Tobirama sees through his brother's schemes and is determined not to fall for it. Or fall for you.

Word Count: about 3k

AO3 LINK TO TOUCH YOUR HEART

AOR SERIES LINK TO ‘TIL DEATH DO US PART

[<<<CHAPTER ONE] [CHAPTER TWO] [CHAPTER THREE] [CHAPTER FOUR] [CHAPTER FIVE] [CHAPTER SIX] [CHAPTER SEVEN]

It is raining blood.

  Someone is groaning faintly towards your left, but after waiting it out, they eventually stopped making any sounds. 

  Your hand comes up to your face to wipe the blood off of your eyes, but you still see red. Your clothes and your uncovered skin are doused in blood, and they trickle down slowly to the ground, mixing with the others' spilled ones. 

  Blood that you spilled yourself. 

  Darkness swallows you, and a strained laugh escapes your lips. 

  What is the point of all of this? Even killing so many bad people does not negate the evil of this world. No matter how you justify it, you still have the sword that ended lives. 

  Human ones. 

  Even if they did not deserve to live, who are you to decide that? If anyone can just kill, who decides what is right and wrong? 

  Tears spill out of your eyes and it clears your vision. 

  Your hand moves to take your wakizashi. You can end it all today. Easily.

  The blood rain stops. 

  A hand comes into your view, palm opened and extended towards you. Your hand pauses at the hilt of your blade.

  "I am Uchiha Madara," the owner of the hand says. "I've been sent to kill you, but I have a feeling that we are more alike than you'd think."

Your head rises, and you look to the face that might have just stopped you from dying. 

  His dark, spiky long hair surrounds him like a halo. His red eyes stare into you, touching your soul, and your hand falls away from your blade.

  "Take it and live," Madara says. "And if not, I will grant you your mercy here and now." 

Your hand slowly comes up, and you gingerly place your hand into his. Madara squeezes it and he pulls you up to stand. 

  "How will I live?" You whisper. At least death grants reprieve. Now, there is only uncertainty. 

  Madara takes his other hand and raises your chin towards him. 

  "Atone." Madara's voice reverberates in the bloody forest. "And start anew. There is a village where you can do that. I can take you, if you'd like."

You watch Madara’s eyes become black. Like the clearest night sky, adorned by a new moon. 

  In that moment, you are able to get a taste of this so-called peace for the first time. It tastes of clean water from a cold spring. It feels like freedom and salvation, like the chains bounding you to your past are broken down. 

  You step towards Madara and you look him straight into his eyes. The man narrows his gaze, sizing you up. Finally, his gaze softens. He must have found something worth salvaging. 

  Your eyes swim again, and as your tears flow down again, Madara moves his hand from your chin to wipe them away. 

  "Thank you," you tell him, your voice quiet and reverent.

  "Let’s go home," Madara beckons, like a shepherd to his flock of sheep. Comforting and gentle. 

  And you follow him. 

 //

Hashirama makes you stay in their house for the rest of the week, and while you really do not want to keep imposing on the Senju household, you aren’t going to lie to yourself. This is the most peaceful you’ve been in a while now. You also do not have to worry about your next meal, or whether your water is going to stop flowing. It did not even matter that Tobirama is giving you these dark looks of his, you are used to them and you do not think much of it–to you, this is like his default expression. 

 Tobirama does not ease up on his staring, you feel his eyes even through the walls. 

 You are still unsure of what to think of him. One moment, he is cold as ice, the next, he helps you out in the most subtle ways, like making sure your room isn’t too hot or too cold, or that everything you will need to work on the curriculum is near you. You try to notice these things, but they go over your head before you can even say thank you. 

You can see his effort trying to be nice, but even though you are enjoying your stay a lot, it makes you want to run. Sometimes people who are too kind are not kind for the right reasons. They always have a price to ask or intentions to harm you. 

 You remind yourself that even if Tobirama is a blunt asshole, he has never given you a reason to fear him. You already know he’s a rough man, but he is way better than the people you have met in the past. He is smart and he has a vision for the future, and every day, he proves that he has pure intentions to serve his brother, the village and its people. One ought to have a big heart to lay down for something bigger than you and not ask for anything back. 

 So you give him a chance. 

 Despite what you’ve seen and experienced, you dare yourself to show him a little more. 

It is like jumping into the unknown, head first into a pit, knowing there is nothing to catch you. 

//

“What is this?” You ask Tobirama, staring up at a very tall tree. 

 “You are going to climb it,” Tobirama says and he looks up as well. “It’s the same as crossing the river, but this time, you are going up and against gravity.” 

 You put your hand forward to touch the bark. 

 “And when you get to the top, let’s have that overdue race,” Tobirama hands you a kunai. 

You give him a sideways glance. “How is that fair?”

 “Giving up so soon?” Tobirama smirks. 

 “Please. You wish,” you taunt. “I’ll fight dirty if I have to.” 

Tobirama nods, and his face visibly softens with pride. “That’s so much like you, then.” 

You whip your head to him in awe and he shrugs. 

 “You have not been acting like yourself,” Tobirama reasons. “You’re always moping around, like a snot-nosed little kid. It’s ugly.” 

You roll your eyes. “What about you? Always staring at me to make my head explode, like a bastard.” 

 Tobirama presses his mouth into a tight line, but a corner of his lip lifts. “Lucky for you, you’re too bullheaded to take any damage.”

You open your mouth to retort back, but a laugh escapes your lips. You had no idea how much you’ve missed your banter with Tobirama until he started brooding around you a few days ago. No moment has ever been dull with him. Each second you are near him, there are always new sights to take in and explore. Tobirama’s eyes widen in surprise and his mouth parts slightly at the sound, and the two of you share a look. 

 There is understanding between the two of you, and you dare each other to look away first. 

 Neither of you budge. 

A breeze passes through, shaking the trees above your heads. A few dried leaves fall and they sway along the wind, following the way it swings until they fall to the forest floor with a silent crunch. Somewhere, a bird flaps its wings and sends out a melodious chirp that echoes through the giant trunks of the forest. Soft sunlight peeks through the small spaces of the boughs of the trees, and the light hits Tobirama’s eyes just right, and you can see his white lashes flutter and the lighter specks of his red eyes, the ring of muscles surrounding his pupil iridescent with pink, white and red. 

 You are rendered speechless. 

 Another soft breeze comes by to ruffle his hair, and strands of yours whip back. 

You peek up at him shyly, unable to look away. 

You see Tobirama’s arm come forward, and the next thing you know, his hand is nearing your face, and your heart thuds so loudly in your ears that you hear ringing. Every muscle in your body screams to run, but your feet are planted into the ground, as if the tree in front of you caged your ankles with its roots.

 Then the moment is over as Tobirama plucks a leaf from your hair. 

“Any questions?” Tobirama says in a hushed tone, as if he will disturb the sleeping creatures in the forest. 

 “No,” you almost stammer, but at the last second, you get ahold of yourself. 

Tobirama’s eyes pore over your forehead, and then your eyes. He stares a little longer, and when you catch him looking, he nods and he walks away from you. 

 You try your best not to call him back and ask him what he just did. 

 Nothing is making sense anymore. 

//

 Tobirama is not normally someone who dreads many things, but right now, he finds that he is dreading the due date of the curriculum. He knows that so many eyes are going to be watching the Academy’s growth and its new step forward to raising good shinobi, including the other hidden villages, and for once, that is not at the forefront of his mind and it is irking him. 

 He is thinking about you and how much effect you have on him. He thinks about you all the time and it drives him up the wall. You are always egging him on and forcing him to feel new things, and when you show that you genuinely care, Tobirama is not sure how to handle that. You are something else, and words are not enough to describe you. 

 No words are enough, and yet, when he looks at you, when he hears your voice, when he senses your presence and catches your scent, a hundred words run through his mind and it is fighting to burst through his lips. Mostly they are insults, but still. The best part is that you do not take those seriously and you are quick to respond. 

 Most of all, he is also thinking about the role you will be playing in the Academy. It will be a huge public event, and through his many talks with his brother, it is looking like other hidden villages are reaching out to Konoha because they also want the same thing for their shinobi. 

 It makes his head hurt, and he knows there are more pressing matters to attend to than just this stupid ache in his chest. 

 It is ridiculous. 

He is a hypocrite. 

 However, he is not Senju Tobirama for nothing. He has been in war for a long time. He knows how to prioritize and push down his boiling emotions. He is the most logical man around here, and his brain is what is needed. His mind has never failed him. 

 Never. Not once. 

 He does not want to fail you either, but it looks like he will have to. 

 It pains him to even think about the disappointment and hurt that your face will display, and it is because he will be the one to put it there. 

 He still believes that he is still doing the right thing. 

He rubs his temples with his thumb and fingers, chiding himself. This will pass, just like the seasons. This is just a mere infatuation. A curious attraction to the unknown. He is a human being after all, these are things his body reacts to and are just out of his control. The sooner he accepts that, the easier this will get. 

 It will pass, and it will all be over soon. 

//

You are halfway up the tree, when you are free-falling and hurtling towards the ground with a sickening speed that makes your mind numb and your stomach fly out of your body. You squeeze your eyes shut to accept your fate, you have had worse injuries before. You can probably manage. Broken bones heal. 

 You refuse to let out a shriek, but before you crack open your head on the forest floor, you crash into a hard board with arms that envelopes you and catches you. Suddenly, you are dropped into the ground unceremoniously and you yelp ungracefully, muttering a string of curses. 

You glare at the person who caught you, but when you find Tobirama’s face, your eyes widen. 

You are a second too late, but you have to keep up appearances. 

 “Ow! What the hell?!” You cry out dramatically, clutching your head. You shrink away from him, exaggerating your pain. “That fucking hurt, you snowman-borne oaf!” 

Tobirama’s face twitches, but he settles for an eye roll. “Really?” 

You peer up at him, and you grin. “Do you feel bad yet?” 

 Tobirama scoffs. “Do you feel shame yet?” 

“You know me,” you smirk, and you catch his thighs to help yourself up. 

 “Stop that!” Tobirama hisses. He grabs your arms instead and pries you off of him. 

 “Calm down, I knew you weren’t going to offer your hand to help me up like a gentleman,” you brush the dirt from your clothes. 

 Tobirama stares at you, incredulous. “Well, I wasn’t going to hold hands with a stranger.” 

You fake your hurt and put a hand on your chest. “Tobirama, I am no stranger! We’re friends, remember?” 

 Tobirama’s expression withers. “That’s a little much. I thought we decided on co-workers.” 

 “Partners!” 

 “Hell no.” 

You pout and Tobirama smirks. 

 “A running start towards the tree will help you,” Tobirama suggests, studying the trunk of the tall tree you were just climbing. “Impressive, given that this is a day’s work of progress.” 

 Caught off-guard, you smile shyly. “Well, a competition with you is not something I would want to miss.” 

 “I’m going to win,” Tobirama brags confidently. “You know that already.” 

 “Give this woman a chance, Tobirama, she’ll make you run for your money.” 

 Tobirama raises his eyebrows. “You have some guts to say that to me.” 

You elbow him. “I think that you lack people who tell you the truth. You are not all that impressive.” 

 “Liar,” Tobirama immediately says. He spares you a knowing look. 

You look away, trying not to blush. “Yeah, yeah. I lie a lot. You should expect that already.” 

 Tobirama nods, and he seems to be thinking about what he is about to say. You turn to him expectantly, and it catches him off-guard. 

 “You told me the truth when it counted,” Tobirama murmurs after a while. 

You frown, trying to remember what he is talking about. 

 Tobirama is acting really weird and you cannot find a reason why. 

“Let’s cross swords,” Tobirama proposes suddenly. 

 Your neck is seriously going to break if you keep whipping your head towards him. “What?” 

 “I said, let’s cross our swords,” he grits out. “A match or several. With swords.”

Tobirama keeps emphasizing each word, and you want to laugh if it was not for his very grim face. What is wrong with him? 

 This is the first time you have heard someone challenge you like this. It sounds so official, and not at all barbaric. 

 “Okay,” you acquiesce, uncertain. 

Tobirama nods and he gestures towards a path leading back into the village. He takes very long strides, and you jog towards him to catch up and walk by his side. You keep glancing at him, but he reveals nothing except the pink tint of his ears. 

//

Instead of bokkens, Tobirama opts to stick with real blades and you are starting to wonder whether he has a plan to kill you today. You cannot help jumping into that conclusion because Tobirama has been acting really strange around you. One moment, he is serious and scolding, the next, he seems to make allowances for your jokes and even participates in a banter. 

 Maybe this is what makes him truly dangerous. He is unpredictable in his own right. 

 Well, a match is not only defined by skills and strength. Sometimes you have to poke where it hurts the most before the actual fight. 

And it seems like Tobirama also knows this. 

The two of you stare each other down, one hand on your respective swords, ready to draw it. You observe the clean lines of Tobirama’s form, and you see him do the same with you. 

At the same time, the two of you brandish your blades and you both hold it in front of you. The blades sing, and you bend your knees lower. 

 Tobirama watches the expression on your face change, revealing nothing. 

He charges first, gaining his advantage to be on the offensive. 

 Tobirama’s strength is greater than yours and you know that you will not be able to take the brunt of his attack with a simple block, so you step forward and to the side to kill his momentum, and you strike down his sword towards the ground. 

 At the same time, you aim a back kick towards his chest.

 Tobirama jumps back, and lunges his blade towards you, but you are quick to duck down and parry his blade. 

 You slash and he meets your sword, and the two of you size each other up again between the cross of your swords. 

He pushes on you downwards, hard and with purpose. You let him, making him lean all his weight down. Your back arcs slightly, and when you feel that he is pushing you with more strength, you sweep your blade to the side and he follows it. 

 You get away from him, and when you turn back to him, your blade follows, swinging towards him. 

 Your blades connect, and they make several arcs in the air, before you are able to get behind him and aim an attack behind him. Tobirama immediately steps around you, the front of his body facing the side, and with his sword horizontal and level with his temple. 

 You regard him, one hand on the hilt of your sword and in front of your body. Tobirama advances, and you slide to your knees, slamming the flat of your blade behind his knees as you pass him by. You get back to your feet, not wasting time to follow it up. Tobirama is slightly bending his knees from the impact, and you quickly swing up and around him, wrapping your body around his, and with your weight and momentum from the swing, you push Tobirama to the ground, and with a flip of your hilt, you align the sharp edge of your blade against the side of his neck. Your palm holds the edge of your hilt, ready to strike him.

Tobirama immediately puts his sword up, pressing it on the side of your neck as well. 

“So?” You ask him. You lean forward towards his face. If he chooses to strike you, he will have no room. 

There is a storm in Tobirama’s eyes, but they are not angry. He looks alive. 

“Your win,” Tobirama calmly says. His pulse on his neck betrays him as it thrums against your blade. 

 For a second, you are tempted to lean down even closer. 

Tobirama seems to have predicted that because he holds his breath. 

 Nothing happens. 

“I see.” You get off of him and sheath your blade back into its scabbard. 

 You help Tobirama up to his feet, and then he holds his scabbard to slide his sword in it. 

 "How did you learn how to fight?" Tobirama inquires.

 You shrug. "I'd be lying if I said I learned it on my own...but well." You grin. "I was something of a thug, so I learned through fighting rings." 

 Tobirama does not seem to look shocked at this. "Like for money?"

 "Yeah, they bet and stuff. For entertainment." You purse your lips, making sure to guard your tone. "There was this feudal lord's son who knew how to fight. I learned under him for a while…" 

 Tobirama glances at you with an open look. 

 You sigh, trying to control the shaking of your voice as you say, "He was not all that good. One thing led to another, and when he pushed me into a corner, I killed him to get away."

You grow quiet at your confession. You surprise yourself that you would reveal this to Tobirama, but you know that he is not the kind of man to run his mouth. 

 The only thing you worry about is how he will choose to use this information on you. 

 Like you said. You are diving into the unknown whenever you are with Tobirama. 

Tobirama, for once, does not look judgemental. He seems to understand where you are coming from. 

"It was not your fault," Tobirama quietly reassured. 

 You stare at him, bewildered. This is the first time you have heard those words. The world always seems to condemn you, but Tobirama, who you expect to judge you the most, seems to accept what you have done. 

You swallow to control the tears that are pricking your eyes. 

 You let out an uneasy chuckle. 

"So, how about that race?" 

// 

Tobirama seems disappointed that you are going back to your own home, but your week at the Senju household is over, and you must go back to your own space. Throughout the week, Tobirama constantly challenges you, whether it is about sword fighting, general sparring, more tedious studying, target practice with his students and racing through trees. 

 You have gotten a lot better, even though you still stumble and fall at times, but you are better than the person you were at the beginning of summer. 

Tobirama stands by the gate of his house, his arms folded as you face him. 

"Don’t worry. I'll still be a pain in your ass tomorrow when I see you."

 "I am looking forward to it, then," Tobirama replies. 

You nod and you gather up the courage to say your next words. You stare at your feet first and then, you take a deep breath. 

 "Thanks," you tell him nervously. You pause awkwardly. "For everything."

 Tobirama slowly nods. "Sure." 

 "I'm going, then." 

Tobirama watches you as you walk away from him, and he walks the opposite way, towards the Hokage's office, towards his brother, where he must attend to his duties. 

You walk towards your home, thinking about the small moments that had transpired between you and Tobirama and you find that you are examining each one, and exploring what you feel towards them. You are surprised to find that you do not find yourself running away from it, expecting danger to catch up with you. Sure, Tobirama can be confusing, and he is truly a bastard, but you like spending time with him. 

 You will never admit it, but he is actually quite kind. Just saying it in your head makes you want to cringe, but you do not want to lie to yourself anymore. 

You see your place ahead, but it looks different today. There are things littering the grounds, a mattress, some clothes, and you see the owner of the building toss out more things, and it slowly dawns to you that they are yours . 

 You gasp, horrified at the sight and you run towards the owner. 

“Hey, what the hell?!” You shout. “What is this?!” 

The owner glares at you. “You missed the due date for the bills.”

 “What?” Your throat tightens as you see your own things in disarray on the ground. 

The owner throws down the books that Tobirama has given you and you are quick to bend down and pick them up again. 

 “Couldn’t you give me some time? I know I can pay!” You cry out, clutching the books to your chest. “Please.”

The owner folds their arms. “And I can make it rain tomorrow.” They turn away. “Find some place else. You are evicted.”

 “Wait!” You desperately. “Please!”

The owner turns to give you an exasperated look. “Are you really an adult? Even an orphan child can fare better than you.” 

 “But I’m a shinobi and I was incapacitated!”

 “You should have paid ahead then!”

Hurt strucks your heart and you try to fight the tears that are coming. 

 “Wait,” you whisper after the owner helplessly. Your chest feels tight, and inside, your heart drops to your stomach. You focus on getting breaths in, but it is harder to take in air when you are trying to hold your tears back. 

 “Shit,” you murmur to yourself as you bend down to get your things. You lay out a blanket to the ground to dump your clothes and your necessities into one big pile. “Shit…” 

A few people pass by, and they gawk at you as you scramble to get your life together. You hate their sorry looks, and it is so humiliating to be seen like this, crawling and collecting your possessions on the ground. 

You laugh bitterly to yourself. Why did you ever think that you could live on your own and manage to hold a place in society? What is the point in all of this?

You wipe a stray tear away and tighten the knot over your blanket. You heave it up and swing it over your shoulder. A headache tears through one temple to the next, but you grit your teeth. 

 You loathe the idea of it, but you know that it is time to go back. He is the only one who can help you. He has offered you a place, and you will now take it. 

 So you go back to Madara, under his wing and his shadow. 

Your steps are slow, still processing what just happened to you. You make it to the Uchiha compound by nightfall, and you keep going, ignoring the eyes watching your sorry parade. Madara slides his door open to welcome you, his black eyes as dark as the night. He does not seem surprised. He steps aside to let you in, and you drop your things on the floor, like some sort of surrender. 

 Madara’s hand slowly comes up to the side of your face, as if he will startle you. His touch is comforting and gentle, but it reminds you too much of your beginning with him, and you feel like you have ran in circles and still ended up in the same place. You feel like nothing has changed. You are still that person Madara found in the woods, soaked in blood, the nickname Man-Killer uttered by all the cold, dead bodies surrounding you. 

“Welcome home,” he greets you. 

 Your eyes swim, and tears fall from your eyes, but it is not from relief. You are frustrated at yourself for letting this happen. 

“It’s alright,” Madara admonishes and you come forward into his embrace. “It’s alright.” 

 His hand comes up to the back of your head. 

“You are home.” 

.

.

.

[CHAPTER NINE >>>]

#angelica writes #avversiera writes #Tobirama Senju #Senju Tobirama #senju tobirama x reader #tobirama x reader #tobirama x you #senju tobirama x you #tobirama x y/n #naruto fanfiction #'til death do us part

[laequiem]

No tricks, only treats [ONESHOT]

/ Cardan and Jude join the rest of the family to enjoy Halloween in the Mortal World.

Part of Tales from the Mortal Realm, a collection of random moments in the lives of the Queen and King of Elfhame.

"Is it strange that I find you attractive dressed as such?"

I was looking at myself in the mirror, assessing my outfit, when Cardan sneaked into the room. His training with The Ghost was paying off, he was as silent as ever.

"Strange? Yes. Surprising? No."

Read it on ao3

"Is it strange that I find you attractive dressed as such?"

I was looking at myself in the mirror, assessing my outfit, when Cardan sneaked into the room. His training with The Ghost was paying off, he was as silent as ever.

"Strange? Yes. Surprising? No."

I saw him prowl towards me through the glass. He slid his arms around my waist, staring at me through my reflection.

Today is October 31st and Oak insisted we join him in celebrating Halloween. Of course, this means we all need costumes. I decided to go as the one character I knew more than anyone else.

Cardan.

I looked through his wardrobe for my outfit. It was quite hard to find a top that was loose enough to account for my breasts, as most of his clothes were tailored to fit him perfectly. I also found a dark blue coat, its collar covered in iridescent feathers. I gave up trying to find pants in his collection, as my hips would never fit, and just wore a pair of black leggings with black combat boots.

"What do you mean, dear Jude?"

"The only thing you love more than booze is yourself."

He raised his brows, making a show of looking offended. 

"Your capacity to lie to yourself will always impress me,” he said then plucked a kiss to my temple, “I love you more than I love wine."

I don’t think I will ever get over him being  caring . It felt as if he was a completely different person from the boy who would disturb lessons just to get attention.

Cardan turned me to face him, then inspected my face. “Something is missing.” He took my hand and directed me to his personal vanity. He opened the drawer and pulled out some cosmetics. He lined my eyes with kohl and coated my lashes with dark mascara. I suppressed my laugh when I saw he was so concentrated that he had stuck out his tongue. Then, he took out some glittery gold powder and applied it on my cheekbones. 

He took a step back to look at his handiwork and smiled.

“And the final touch,” he said as he plucked his crown off his head and put it on my head at an angle, “Voilà!”

I looked at myself in the mirror. I did not bother with any kind of wig. I put my hair up in elaborate braids, letting a few short curls hang in a few places. Yet, even without his signature dark hair, I still looked like him. I made faces at myself in the mirror, trying to get his grin right. 

Finally, I got up. “Your turn now, dearest Cardan.”

When Heather learned that Cardan would be coming too, she started suggesting outfits for him. She even went as far as drawing some of them. Something about his otherworldly looks inspired her. Maybe it's the tail, since a lot of her designs included it: a devil, sexy cat man and my personal favorite, a cute puppy.

In the end, I chose my own, petty idea. I walked in the closet and pulled out the outfit I had the servants clean for the occasion. 

“A King needs his Queen,” I grinned as I revealed the Queen of Mirth dress and crown.

Cardan threw his head back laughing. “You sure know how to hold a grudge.”

Thankfully, my husband was a team player, and he went with it. Even in this, he looked strikingly handsome. Or pretty, I guess. Unfair.

We landed in Maine in the early afternoon. It was strange to be awake so early, but Cardan did not seem bothered at all. We met up with Vivi, Heather, Oak, Taryn and Garrett at the entrance to FallFest, some kind of harvest festival that was held every October in the local park. It had everything from harvest contests to food stands, a section with typical carnival games, a small hay maze and even a haunted house.

I was not surprised to see my eldest sister dressed up, she went crazy for Halloween every year. Vivienne would dress up for a week straight before Halloween, even when she still lived in Elfhame. She was wearing a tight black bodysuit with a tail and claws as well as a black leather mask with cat ears. Heather dressed up as some kind of … plant lady? She had a short bodysuit made of green ivy leaves, green stockings and a long red wig. Oak was with them, wearing a reddish pink shirt with a big yellow star on it. I can only assume they went for pop-culture references I am unfamiliar with.

The real surprise was seeing my twin Taryn and her quiet lover also dressed up.

"What are you dressed as?", Cardan inquired, cocking his head to the side, "You ought to have dressed as Jude, you have already proved to be so good at it."

I snapped my head at him and slammed my foot as hard as I could on his. He was joking, of course. But the peace between me and Taryn was still fairly new. We mostly kept to ourselves and rarely talked. Garrett was back with the Court of Shadow and we were friendly, but he kept his professional and personal lives completely separated.

Cardan was hopping on one foot, scowling at me like he did not understand why I was upset. Taryn understood, though. She was sheepishly looking at the ground.

"I… I'm sorry for tricking you, Cardan."

I tried finding something to say to end the awkwardness. I wanted Cardan to apologize for what he said, but I knew he would not. Fae don't apologize.

Thankfully, Vivi broke the silence. "C'mon guys, we're here to HAVE FUN!" she complained, "What ARE you two dressed as?"

"Phantom of the Opera." Garrett replied.

"Nerds."

"Says the one dressed up as Catwoman." Garrett mocked.

The bickering continued, though less mean-spirited than Cardan’s original comment, as we walked down the main path. Our first stop was the pumpkin carving station. Each couple got their own pumpkin to carve, though Vivi and Heather’s pumpkin was mostly Oak’s handiwork and the couple making sure he did not stab himself. Taryn and Garrett made some intricate flower design on theirs, Garrett being the one doing the carving of course. As for us, well… Cardan had creative ideas, but no skills with a blade, and my skills were more of the  stabbing  variety. We settled on giving our pumpkin a traditional jack-o-lantern face. 

After the effort of carving pumpkins, we were starving. Oak was complaining, dragging his feet on the ground so much that Vivi and Heathers were holding both of his hands to pull him along. Behind them, I saw Taryn with her arm looped around The Ghost's.

I was suddenly very aware that Cardan and I were the only ones not holding hands.

Nobody knows us here. We needn't keep the appearance of the power couple, together to rule and nothing else.

I took my hand out of the pockets of my borrowed coat and tentatively brushed my fingers against Cardan's hand. I saw him whip his head towards me, and I blushed when I witnessed the surprise in his face. Soon enough, he smiled. One of those smiles he kept for me and only me, blissful and happy. The smile he gives me when we have the time to spend hours cuddled together in bed, enjoying each other's presence.

Cardan took my hand and squeezed. I squeezed back.

We spent the rest of the afternoon eating good food, trying to guess the weight of giant pumpkins and visiting a haunted house. Cardan was fascinated by the weird human traditions and absolutely ecstatic about the food. Pumpkin-spiced flavored food will become the new trend in Elfhame, judging by his reaction.

When the sun started to go down, Taryn and Garrett left for Madoc’s, who decided to try giving out candy to the trick-or-treaters. Heather and Vivienne had initially volunteered to take Oak trick-or-treating himself, but when one of their friends invited them to a party, we offered to take him instead. Oak was excited to spend more time with me and “Uncle Cardan”. 

I had not gone trick-or-treating in...10 years? Maybe 12? Since my parents died. Cardan, obviously, had never gone. So, dressed up as each other, with Oak dressed as some cartoon character, we roamed the residential streets of the city to beg for sweets.

“If it is called ‘trick-or-treat’, does that mean I can make bargains if someone refuses to give me candy?” Cardan asked as we watched Oak go up to a house.

I gave him my best ‘I’ll-strangle-you-if-you-do’ stare. “No. No turning people into cats, no curse making them hear imaginary insects buzzing around their ears.”

“Why is it called trick-or-treat, then?”

Vivienne told me they had to explain this to Oak, too, a few weeks ago. Someone at school had mentioned being excited to go trick-or-treating and my brother had been very confused.

“I don’t know.”

Cardan hmmed and smirked, “Perhaps the Folk were involved when the holiday was first established.”

I crossed my arms.

“If that’s the case, not all traditions need to be brought back.”

He laughed at that, then reached around me and pulled me closer to him.

“You win. I won’t trick anyone,” he crooned in my ear, “but I want a kiss for being well behaved.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically. “So needy.”

Once again, I had to remind myself that nobody knows us here. Nobody recognized our costumes today: in the mortal world, dressed as each other, we were only The Guy In An Ugly Dress and Fashionable Emo Boy. Nobody knew we are King and Queen of Elfhame, therefore there are no expectations to be the hedonistic king and his murderous wife.

I slid my hand behind his neck and pulled him down. I felt him smile as I captured his lips with mine.

“Ew, gross!” Oak’s voice came from the other end of the driveway, “Stop that, come here.”

Reluctantly, we pulled away from each other and looked towards the house. Oak was in front of the opened door, talking with a couple. 

“Honey, look,” the tallest woman exclaimed as we walked down the driveway, “She’s dressed as High King Cardan!”

“Oh my god,” the other one replied, sounding so very human, “that sounds kind of profane. Do you think he would have her hung for this?”

As I looked at the two women, I realized that Oak had stumbled upon the house of a Fae couple. They saw through his glamour, and he saw through theirs.

“This is my sister Jude,” Oak started, “and this is my Uncle Cardan.”

Both females had gone completely still and were staring at Cardan with wide eyes. Simultaneously, they bowed deeply. 

“Forgive us, Your Majesty. We weren’t expecting you.”

“We so rarely see our kind around here,” the shorter one said nervously, “we… wanted to meet who little Oak was with.”

“We have tea, if you would like.”

I dared a glance at Cardan and noticed he seemed amused. Was he delighted to make them uncomfortable?

“That won’t be necessary,” he said as he took my hand, “My  wife  has us on a tight schedule, we have other houses to visit. Have a nice evening.”

I caught the emphasis on  wife  and realized they only recognized him as royalty. ‘  Your Majesty ’, singular. I could tell from the two females’ expressions that they also understood their mistake. I felt bad for them knowing they had no ill intent, probably unaware of the situation in Faerie. Yet, I could not help the grin that crept on my face. I worked hard to become High Queen. I fought and killed my way through the ranks, almost dying. Multiple times. I made decisions that will haunt me until the day I die. I am High Queen, and the Folk must know. 

“It was nice meeting you,” I say as I take Oak’s hand, “You are welcome to visit us at the palace if you wish.”

My memories from before Faerieland were to blurry, I did not remember getting so much candy. Did Taryn and I get that much? How could we possibly have eaten all of that? Cardan and I each had a smaller bag, only accompanying Oak to some of the doors, but Oak had multiple full bags. Once he went to sleep, Oriana was more than happy to give us some. She had learned how bad candy was for children’s teeth - even little Fae kids. She filled little bags for us to take back to Elfhame. 

Like anyone eating candy for the first time, Cardan went a little crazy. He wanted to try everything. Faeries might be different in a lot of ways, but I now have proof that chocolate is addictive even to them. 

The High King of Elfhame ate so much candy that he fell asleep on the couch, to the former General’s dismay.

#tfota #the folk of the air #cardan #cardan greenbriar #jurdan #judecardan #jude duarte #the cruel prince #the wicked king #queen of nothing #holly black #fanfic #fluff #laequiem

[i-did]

what would make renee angry in your opinion?

I had a really hard time answering this one actually. I thought about it for a while and asked a lot of my friends to see if they had any ideas, and here's what I came up with:

1) A professor or TA who is super shitty to her

Just a really shitty teacher.

as she goes through college, she’s bound to run into some assholes, and I don’t think Renee has perfect grades in the past or present. her not knowing academic terminology and feeling out of place in the college setting would make a lot of sense for a lot of the foxes, and Renee is good on putting on a smile, but she still eventually gets that one professor or TA that scoffs at her questions and “doesn’t have time for the likes of her” and the constant complete dismissal digs painfully under her skin and brings out her anger.

2) People who are intensely rude to her despite her best efforts to be as kind as she can be

Renee is patient, but we all have our limit. similar to the one above, but Renee dealing with someone who is just rude all the time and she struggles to keep reminding herself “we all have bad days, I don’t know what they’re going though.” Renee working in a coffee shop and a woman bumping into Renee and spilling her coffee on herself, only to yell at Renee for an hour, ignoring all of Renee’s pleasant customer service smiles. said customer later on becoming a regular and repeating this behavior, cutting off people in parking lots and flipping them off, Renee being kind and trying to give her a free scone only for the woman to tell her she hates scones, Renee offering something else only for the woman to tell her to shut up. that shit wears you down, and Renee still dumping her kindness onto someone every time only for it to backfire or be dismissed would make her have to take a few deep breaths in the back room before deciding, fuck it, she's cut off from active kindness, now only passible neutrality and not being aggressive is enough. 

3) someone who refuses her help

her knowing she could really make a difference, but some people just don’t want help, and she feels helpless and angry. she's not angry at the person, but the situation of them not being ready to accept help or even able to accept help makes her so frustrated she would start to grind her teeth in her sleep. She understands how it is, how hard it can be to take the first step to change or giving up pride or whatever the hurtle may be, but that doesn’t make it any easier than her thinking in her head “just let me fucking help you!!! or anyone!!! just let anyone in to help you!!!! fuck!!!” inside her head. she knows not everyone needs help or saving, but some people do, and when they shove her back, unwilling and not ready for it over and over while she’s trying to save them, she gets frustrated that she can’t.... do anything. and just has to wait. but Renee can be patient, and she’s willing to wait. 

4) Someone actively trying to wear her down and get under her skin

okay so this isn’t something that happens often, the closest Renee has really come to it is with Andrew when he first was scoping her out. but– if someone was actively trying to aggravate her, laughing at everything she said and making fun of her, pulling at her looser strings and picking at her ticks, watching to see what brought out her reaction, they could eventually do it and get under her skin. i think she wouldn’t let herself blow up at them since thats what they want, but she would silently excuse herself from the situation to take a breather. no one really does this with her, and Andrew only does this to size her up and even still his interrogation isn’t the type of harassment i’m imagining. i mean like old school bullying, not locker shoving, but the middle school girl shit that leaves emotional scars. and them being older, they’re less afraid to show it and be more straight forward mean. people don’t really do this to her tho, its too much effort to get a reaction, and when they do, its never what they would have wanted, like crying, but instead is her smile falling and then finding a way to make them feel like shit. Renee is kind, but she also knows how to play on a similar level as them, not just with fists. i HC Renee as plus size, and fuck it is hard to be different in anyway as a kid. but childhood bullying was the least of her worries and these people dont see how deep her personal self assurance has grown and how she has learned to stand with her head held high and her face serine. her and dan are quite similar in this, but dan is much more active and direct while Renee is passive in her letting it glide over her, dan has even gotten annoyed on Renee’s behalf and then annoyed that Renee was not affected and why she didn’t fight more directly back. 

5) People who are overtly cruel and she struggles to sympathize with

okay so, you ever see someone so mean and rude for zero reason to someone else and you’re just like... what the fuck??? Renee doesn’t let others get to her really, but damn.... someone going after someone else in ways that are just so uncalled for and so harshly.... it gets to her. She once watched an episode of catfish where the catfisher laughed at the girl, uncaring that he crossed so many emotional lines and manipulated people without really any care. and she wanted to throw the remote and punch the tv right where the guys face was on the paused screen. nothing like someone just, kicking someone else while their down with no mercy, or making fun of someone behind their back and them not knowing, making fun of the deaf kids voice behind his back and he doesn’t see them doing it, and she’s like, man, Fuck. You. in her head. I don’t think she was like, always a nice person, in fact, i think Renee used to very much so not be the type to sit with the alone kid at lunch but instead ignore him and think “yea he’s weird, kinda ugly” without thinking much of it. But then she decided to change, and she took everything she thought it meant to be a good person, and became that. she started sitting with the alone kid, she started doing charities, she started to smile instead of punch, and she started going to church. and so when she sees cruelness she was once passive in the face of, maybe even active in, she uses kindness. Renee is she good at using taking the high road in such a graceful way it makes others feel bad. like when she tells Nicky calmly “thats not very nice” after he jokes about Seth dying in a car crash on his way from the airport book 1, and Nicky feels like shit. it feels like shit to get called out sometimes, and while its not her goal, she does know it is an effect of it. (i don’t think she’s mad at Nicky in that scene, but she did say something since she is there to protect hers and she redraws that line in that moment, especially without Allison or Seth there yet to say fuck you themselves.)

6) Injustice and systems of oppression

for these i feel she gets more frustrated, overwhelmed, and sometimes resigned. she knows how dark and shitty the world is, but she stays up at night with her hand on her heart as she breathes deep, thinking about how... utterly fucked everything is. its pretty easy for me to HC that Renee is politically far left and has seen the dark side to lack of resources and systemic issues that are just... so overwhelming she doesn’t even know what she does as just one person. world pollution, corruption, class divide, flint water crisis, the homeless crisis, the prison system, functioning segregation in school systems, just... it all. she’s had nights after volunteering where she thinks “i did something, i did.” and she has days where she realizes “...i’m doing nothing, in the end... its all for nothing, there’s just too much.” just a bad day where she sits there, thinking about how much is wrong and wont be fixed and how ‘doomed’ things are, how broken, and she doesn’t feel at a loss, but rather this deep anger that comes from who she was before. 

7) herself. 

Her being unable to live up to her own standards. she still thinks mean things, she has mean and cruel urges, and when she has them, she remembers that she’s still a bad person trying very hard to be a good one, and she thinks she’s still a bad person at her core. she’s not self loathing with it, but she does think to herself “i’m a hypocrite.” and sits with that thought for a minute. sparring with Andrew has helped her, to balance the two sides of her in a way that feels both self indulgent and honest to her path forward. but sometimes while sitting in that church pew, she thinks of her dead mother, her dead step father, those she turned in without batting an eye, stabbing in the back to save herself, and she thinks “i should feel something.” but she doesn’t, she wasn’t sorry then and she’s not sorry now. and she thinks, “the others call Andrew a monster, and they don’t realize that i’m one too.” and she tries to muster up something deep inside her, but she cant. and it can frustrate her, how after all these actions, all those hours of beach clean up and homeless shelters and building houses in some other country and going around clapping her hands to the songs, but she’s still the person she is deep down. and it gets to her. i think her having a conversation with Neil one day, on what it means to be a real person, is she pretending who she is? is she her thoughts or her actions? which is the real her? and Neil saying, it’s all of it. every facet of the self is still the self, he is Nathaniel and Neil and Abram and every other person he has been and will be. we change but we are also always ourselves, and her actions are just as true as her thoughts. 

#renee walker #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #ask #mailob

[baezdylan]

LITTLE WOMEN FANFICTION

CHAPTER 3: SEVEN

Escapism

"Please, picture me in the trees...

...before I learned civility."

- seven, Taylor Swift

***

one.

- Let's run away.

It's barely a whisper. It's said more to the open sky above them than to anybody else.

- Let's run away.

It's more than a whisper now. It's a call. An invitation for something greater than both of them. And Laurie would gladly buy a ticket for that particular train. He would. But the sun is so wonderful and the clouds are so enchanting in their unusual shapes that even getting up seems like a chore. He wants to stay here. On the grass. But Jo is persistent in her wishes. Jo March never, never, gives up.

- Won't you say something, Teddy? Can't you just see it? We could be anything, do anything, go anywhere! The world could be ours!

She, unlike him, is on her feet. She always seems to be. Gravity isn't very fond of Jo. Or at least that's what Jo will tell you. Laurie doesn't know if that's true or not, but he likes hearing her talk. He finds himself generally attached to sounds. The chipering of birds. The first note you play on the piano. Amy's chaotic laughter. Beth's soft chuckles. Meg's little mumbles. Jo's wild exclaims. That's one of the many reasons why Laurie loves the Marches. It's like these sisters have discovered an utterly fresh, vivid and extraordinary way to be alive. It's a pleasant contrast to what he's used to.

It's always quiet at home.

"What do you say Theodore Laurence, kindest and most noble of knights of this kingdom? Shall we follow the wind and see where it leads us?"

"I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Then you accept my proposal?"

"I sure do, Miss March."

People's faces usually look radically different when lightened up with smiles. They look prettier, more beautiful and somehow truer to themselves as opposed to non smiling faces. Jo's doesn't. She is smiling at him right now and her face doesn't look any different. It's just as true and warm as it was a thousand smiles before. And would Laurie even be allowed to call himself a comrade of Jo's if he didn't gift her with a smile of his own in return? He grins at her with no specific thought behind the expression. This is how people are supposed to be smiling, he thinks. Wide and real. Yes, people are supposed to be smiling just like this.

For a second, Jo and Laurie are the same person. Hair wild, shirts half unbuttoned, cheeks flushed. Laurie's hands are splattered with dirt from the ground whose hostility he was taking advantage of moments prior. Jo doesn't seem to care about that. Once he's up and standing, she grabs his arm a bit forcefully (which he doesn't mind), a bit theatrically (because this is Jo and life is a theatre piece) and they start running, both of them now embellished with dust. There's a lot of stumbling (and stumbling is blamed on the seemingly nonexistent objects that appear and disappear under commands of fairy like creatures) and there's a lot of laughter (laughter that comes in its most natural form and doesn't show any interest in being contained under anyone's wishes, especially not the ones of the world).

"Oh dearest, the world might not be for us, but us we are for the world."

***

two.

Freedom is both the most basic and the most complicated aspect of life to be gained. It is so simple of a concept, one could easily and rightfully so believe how all of thought guardians (more commonly referred to as humans) should have the right to not only experience, but spend their entire lives swimming in shinning lakes of freedom. But it's not how it all works. Some have tiny bits of freedom. Some don't have it at all. Some have loads. Some have just enough. Too much, sadly or sadly not, have none. 

Jo sometimes wishes she were a tree. High up in the sky, stretching out her branches towards infinity. She isn't a tree though.

Imagination is of grave help despite what anyone says. To a normal person, the tree is just a tree. Tree and nothing else. To Jo March, a tree is so much more. It's an opportunity. An adventure. It's a solace and a home. A sanctuary. She's climbing up one of her leaf providing friends as she's trying to figure out how to describe this moment the best. Her reflections are interrupted by a voice which surprisingly doesn't come from the bellow, but from the above instead. Once Jo spots the speaker's ground conquerors (or "shoes" if you are of dull old sameness and don't find the pleasure in crafting phrases unlike our Jo), she immediately recognizes their owner. She still isn't sure why Teddy let Amy paint his shoes with images of flowers, but she is mesmerized with the final result. And although she shall never share this with the oh, so great artist, Jo thinks Amy's creations to be exquisite.

"I presume you are coming here to put your mind at ease."

"That is correct, my boy, and I suppose you are here for the same cause. "

By the time they exchange these lines, Jo has already climbed up to the place where Laurie is. She finds herself a steady enough branch and rests her head against the surface of the wood. Her friend is positioned in a similar way, his leg gently swaying to a peculiar beat of his own making.

Two figures, who almost seem to be one with the wooden fellow, occasionally take an exceptionally deep breath. Their hands colored with bruises, souvenirs from many extraordinary expeditions, their clothes decorated with leaves. Seemingly they are flowers, nature is their most beloved companion.

It's quite a story how Jo and Teddy, these flower resembling humans, coexist without many syllables shared. The phrases they do sometimes grace each other with can end up being translated as meaningless or lacking in thought. But Teddy and Jo, among everything else, are inventors. They invented a language which only functions for them. What is mean to others represents to them a code. What is strange to some, playful and witty to them it is. What is impossible to comprehend, they understand with little to no effort.

"Language of flowers is the language of flowers for a reason. Nobody, but flowers, thinks it much sense."

***

three.

"I'M ALIVE! LOOK AT ME, EARTH!!! I! AM! BREATHING!"

This is just one of the many declarations that have furiously been shouted at the void today. Young people often have trouble befriending compromises, especially if those compromises are to be made with the creatures you live in close proximity with. Jo has again been fighting with her sisters for reasons she cannot exactly recall right this instant. It's funny, because this always happens to her. Something sparks her temper, she recklessly gives into it and at the end, it's all about the anger she doesn't know how to release. She usually goes on long walks or takes deep breaths. She basically tries to isolate herself from everyone until the storm passes.

Teddy has a different solution for her troubles, troubles that naturally turn out to be his troubles too because they are Jo and Teddy, Teddy and Jo, and they have the same troubles (which is both wonderfully relieving and awfully annoying at the same time). Jo wouldn't even call Teddy's solution a solution. They are both making these announcements of nonhuman frequency and dancing their heads off, and as ridiculous as it is, Jo feels it liberating. They aren't improving anything (just the opposite, screaming random things into the air represents the peak of impulsive behaviour) and the conclusion is: no profitable discoveries in the "containing yourself" department. But who cares? Sometimes you have to let it all out. Dance and shout the worries away. It wasn't a coincidence that Jo met Teddy under the circumstances that she did. They were both of hot tempers, strong wills and free spirits. And they needed to dance it all out out. Despite the absurdity and inappropriate mannerism a foreign eye would most certainly find in their actions.

"There exists no right nor wrong way to express one's self."

***

four.

Laurie is surprised with how much he is enjoying this. It's all very simple. Yet, he feels at peace. He feels like everything inside him has a chance to rest.

It's the fireplace and captivating movement of the fire flames.

It's the soft "click" he discovers every time Meg takes a step. Her shoes are marvellous singers.

It's the chattering of dishes he recognizes somewhere in the background. It must be Beth, cleaning the table after the meal.

It's Amy giggling mischievously after coming up with what Laurie supposes to be some kind of scheme or more accurately, a master plan. He wouldn't know what is it about, but whatever it is, Amy is destined to succeed in it.

It's Jo. This is all because of Jo. He wouldn't have come across the hidden delights of the "uncomplicated" and "boring" if it weren't for her. She takes a seat beside him interrupting the spectacular date he had with the fireplace, rests her head on his shoulder and sighs. It's like this with them. Touching has never been a big deal.

"Beautiful."

That's all Jo says. "Beautiful." He doesn't question it. He understands what she means even though he cannot explain it. He understands.

"Warmth. Choreographed chaos. Lines overlapping. Minds intertwining. Familiarity greeting you "hello". People. Family. Home."

***

five.

She cut her hair. She cut her hair and everything is supposed to be at least a little better if not completely fine. But she can feel the tears forming in her eyes as she's approaching the house. The money in her pocket is so incredibly present. No, the money is not just present in her pocket. Everything those dusty pieces of paper represent carries weight. A weight so grand Jo could swear there is somebody following her, kind of like the money has taken the shape of a person and is now accompanying her, monitoring her every move. What kind of world sees a green, ugly paper and claims of it a metaphor for greatest treasures? And the tears? The tears she cannot comprehend. Why would she care? It's just hair. If anything, she should be bursting with joy right now. She got rid of the womanly burden. But it doesn't feel right. It's all extremely selfish of her. Selfish and thoughtless.

Her sister is... not well. Her father is out there doing all sorts of heroic things and instead of crying over her sins, she's crying over this. For once she does something right, for once the part of her that's wrong different isn't screaming. And then it hits her. It's not just a part of her that's different wrong. It's her. The moment she realises this she steps into the house. Everyone is either too distant or too close to notice all that is hiding underneath her seemingly admirable actions.

Her body is barely handling the atmosphere. It's barely cultivating the facade. But her body is also covered with Teddy's waistcoat and just as she remembers this little fact she sees her best friend right there in front of her. He is not too distant nor too close. He is right where she is.

They have the same hair.

Jo is pulled towards him because this is Teddy and hugging Teddy is like hugging herself. They stay like that for a few moments, their realities greeting each other like two fellow soldiers, finally reunited in battle.

It doesn't make her feel any less hollow. It doesn't change anything. It doesn't alter the wrongs. But it does make it a little better. It offers an assurance. An assurance embodying validity so present, money can do nothing but hold a candle to. An assurance of rational absurdity. Because that's what Jo and Teddy are.

They are rationally absurd.

"It's a childish belief that all twins look the same. There exist many ways to be somebody's twin."

***

six.

She is holding his hand.

He has just told her how he doesn't fit within himself. He has just told her that and she is still here, laying on the floor with him, covered with blankets. She said it made sense. She must have been too tired or something. She must have misheard. She must have.

"Jo, are you there?"

She does not respond. She only squeezes his hand. It's not about the gesture itself. It's about everything the gesture holds.

Promises. Lifetimes. Daylights. Midnights. Setting suns. Growing spirits. Flowery Youths.

She is holding his hand.

" Mutuality sure is a wonderful creation. What is more wonderful though is mutual understanding. Mutuality means the returning of the same. Mutual understanding means accepting and loving of the different."

***

seven.

"I could run away for real this time. Explore the unknown, unravel the mystical. Encounter the miracles. Touch the heavens..."

Her words are empty. They don't mean much. They are empty and desperate. Empty, desperate and meaningless.

Her sister got married. Meg got married and she is talking to herself about running away. The wind is dancing with her again long enough hair, tangling its fingers into her rough curls, reminding her of the countless times it has done the exact same thing before. Mocking her with its endless supplies of stability and comfort. Jo is leaning over the wooden fence, despite the wishes of her dress which keeps complaining about her unlady like methods. Jo honestly does not care about the fancy bridesmaid dress and its wants. If one has the will to climb fences, one shall enjoy the act of doing so, no matter what some piece of fabric might have to say. She is trying to hold back rivers her eyes miserably wish to let flow. She cannot cry. She must not. She has an ongoing bet with Teddy about this. He was daring enough to assume she will turn herself into a paddle today and she ought to prove him wrong.

"What might a lady like yourself be doing here instead of enjoying the jolly ceremony out there in the open?"

"I am no lady Teddy, my being is in no need of such chains."

Laurie doesn't pressure her into answering the question (she would have answered it in the first place if she had the intention to) and steps on the fence beside her. He starts humming a random melody, rhythmically moving his fingers to the sound.  He must be composing something again, thinks Jo and silently envies his creative range. It's been too long since she's written anything worth sharing.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Everything."

"Isn't that a bit too much of things?"

"Oh, it's just a little over the top Teddy, but I believe I can handle it. This mind is no stranger to overcrowding."

The same tree they used to climb when they were younger is now observing them, representing an eternal and haunting reminder of everything that once was. Jo is frightened. That silent way in which Teddy is looking at her is frightening. He is looking at her in ways she longs for to be different and his eyes have too many freshly discovered stories to tell. She is frightened she won't find those stories to be very pleasant.

"Do you remember that day when I told you how I wanted to run away?"

"How could I not?"

"I need to run away again."

Laurie doesn't need to hear it twice. He jumps over the fence and starts running, his arms widely spread, his tie and jacket long forgotten. It isn't real. Jo knows they will never go anywhere. The sun is setting and the lines of separation are clearing up. The sun is setting and challenges, struggles and complications lie ahead. She knows all of this. Yet, she hikes up her skirts like she's sixteen again and follows the path her boy has chosen for as long as she knows how to. Jo and Teddy run through the endless fields of gold, specks of sunlight meeting their bones. Teddy and Jo, Jo and Teddy, high in the sky for one last time before nightfall.

They keep falling over each other and eventually end up wrestling on the grass, occasional screams and consistent laughter adorning the air around them.

The last song of Meg's shoes. The last symbol Amy will ever paint on Jo's hands. The last wide smile of Beth's. The last understood conversation of birds. The last fellow of the trees. The last arrangement of flowers.

The last.

The last.

The last.

"Oh, to live in a world where there are childhoods, fields of gold and raging hearts."

"Grab a coat, leave a note and run away with me."

- William Chapman

#louisa may alcott #little women 2019 #little women fanfiction #laurie laurence #jo march #amy march #my writing #beth march #meg march #taylor swift #folklore #evermore #jo × laurie

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: Romantic Prinxiety (Virgil x Roman)

Word Count: 9841 Words

Summary: Roman goes into the Imagination after the events of POF but he runs too far. Can the others find him before it's too late?

Warnings: Eye Trauma, Injury,  Blood, Permanent Injury, let me know if I should tag anything else.

Notes: I might make a part 2 but I don’t know.

Shatter Me

Roman loved going into the Imagination and roaming around, the freedom to do whatever he wants and go wherever he wants. It also let him do things he couldn't do around the other sides like spar with his katana and visit Remus and Janus.

So he set out to his part of the Imagination first, cheering himself up with the beautiful meadows and he helped a small snake across the road and a short lecture to stay safe and not get hurt.

He then continued along his way through the Imagination with a small friend following him. Roman eventually stopped and picked up the small snakeling and it curled happily around his shoulders and he continued walking while talking to the small animal.

"So Virgil's been really nice lately. I think we're finally getting along and I really like him. I hope he likes me too." The snake flicked its tongue against his face like a cat grooming its owner. "I suppose you need a name? How about Romy?" The snake blepped at him and he smiled, pet over its side, feeling over the smooth, beautiful scales. "Romy it is."

They continued travelling, Roman telling Romy of his woes with the other sides right now until Roman stopped, noticing the sky had gone grey. Was it about to rain? Oh well, he wasn't going home just yet. He kept walking into the darkness until he found himself in the middle of a forest and realized what happened.

He had walked right into the dark side of the mind. He walked right into the dark side of the Imagination without so much as his sword for protection and he couldn't summon it here, inside of the Monster's Forest and he could hear the monsters that resides here, some howling, others growling, a few rattles and scrapes and screeches. And he was alone with Romy and no weapon.

He slowly, quietly, tried to find the path he'd come on but there was no indication of which way he'd come from or where he could escape. He stuck his head from the brush to look for a way out and got a slash across his eyes for his efforts. He stumbled back, hands over his eyes and holding them as he felt blood? tears? something warm and liquidy in his hands.

And he swore he was opening his eyes even though it hurt but nothing came through them. Romy hissed softly, cuddling to him, comforting him or at least trying to. Roman pet him, his only indication this was real right now and started crying. It would be too long before anyone found him, he'd die here.

"Wait, wait, wait. My baby brother is what?" Remus asked Janus again.

"I need to go into the Monster's Forest. I've been scouring the Imagination but there's only so many places he could be and the last place I need to search still is the Monster's Forest." Janus explained.

"I'm sure he's probably at his castle right now, moping because his ego was hurt." Remus told his boyfriend.

"Virgil checked there first, he's not there." Janus told him.

"Wha-"

"He has to be in the Forest, Remus, but I need your help to get him. It's been a month, Remus. I'm scared. What if something happened to him?" Remus' somber grimace greeted him when Janus finally managed to look up at him.

"Then we'll get him. Bring extra weapons, those things are vicious." Remus warned him.

Not a half hour later, they were at the entrance to the Monster's forest, Virgil, Logan, and Patton alongside so they had more people to search more area, weapons drawn and ready to fight whatever was in there.

"If we talk inside, it'll lead us to the center on the path where they can't hurt us. Don't step off the path, don't stop talking." Remus warned them.

They went about talking, Janus and Remus of their upcoming quest plans, Logan and Patton of their ideas to help Thomas focus, Virgil talking to himself quietly about his feelings about Roman. They eventually emerged into the circle of the forest, the dead center, which had a small grassy field surrounded by a tangled line of trees and foliage.

They didn't quite expect to see a bone-thin version of their friend mumbling to himself, or, rather, to the snake on his shoulders. Said snake slithered from his companion and to the closest side, Remus, to pull him closer, biting at the fabric of his pants and trying its hardest to drag him over.

"Romy?" Roman whispered. Romy let go to care for Roman, rubbing against him affectionately and seeming to tell him it was safe right now.

"Roman?" Remus asked, kneeling before him and ghosting his hands around his shoulders.

"Remus?" Roman asked back, reaching out for him, hands hitting Remus' chest and grasped on. "Remus, you came." Roman began sobbing.

"We all did, Roman." Remus alerted him.

"Everyone's here?" Roman asked.

"Yes, Ro, can't you see us?" Patton asked.

"I can't. One of the monsters. It...It scratched my eyes when I tried to leave." Remus hugged him close, protectively so, and Romy slithered onto Roman's shoulders, keeping him company again, protecting him.

"How did you survive here for a month?" Logan asked.

"You won't like it." Roman warned.

"Roman, are you okay?" Janus asked softly.

"I think so?" Roman answered unsurely.

"Remus, we need to leave, it's going to start getting dark soon." Virgil warned him, gently taking Roman, letting Romy crawl from Roman's shoulders to his own in the process of getting Roman settled in his arms. Virgil was concerned by how little his friend felt like he weighed.

"Okay. It's harder getting out so everyone tire this rope around you." Reus alerted everyone tying everyone to the rope. "We all guard Virgil no matter what. He can't fight. Virgil called bullshit. Virgil let his cloud-like aura manifest itself like a shield around him and Roman, impenetrable. "Nevermind, that works too. Again, keep talking, it should let us out if we all keep talking. Jan, talk to the new snake friend, keep him communicating." Remus reminded the snake-like side.

"Hey Ro, I'm really glad to have you back, everything's been so boding without you. I've missed you a lot." Virgil prompted Roman to talk.

"I thought I would die out here."

"I wouldn't let that happen. I made everyone search."

"But why do you care? I'm just a good-for-nothing price that can't even do his job."

"You're not. You're amazing and I'm sorry I've never said anything before but Roman, you matter and I'm sorry if I ever make you feel like you don't because you matter so much to me and I can't stand to see you hurt or unhappy."

"I matter to you?"

"Matter? Roman, I'm in love with you. Roman, I love you, of course you matter to me." Virgil sighed as they stepped from the forest and Remus counted all six of them and Romy, all seven, perfect.

"You love me?" Roman asked.

"So much." Virgil whispered, letting down his aura to calm himself and he had to hand Roman quickly off to Logan and took a few deep breaths to regain his strength and composure.

"Vee? Ae you okay?" Patton asked.

"I'm fine, I just... I had to protect Roman." Janus then noticed the blood spot forming on Virgil's right leg, his jeans ripped with three claw marks down the side from his hip to his knee all the way down his thigh.

"Virgil?" Roman asked as Virgil sat on the ground, breathing deeply.

"I'm okay. Nothing deadly. Just a little scratch." Patton would have scolded him if he wasn't downplaying it for Roman's sake.

"Remus, Roman, why don't you two go with Romy and clean up, I'm sure Roman needs a bath after a month in that dirty place." Patton told the twins.

"Sure, Pops." Remus began carrying Roman to the dark side house, Romy wrapped around Remus' neck now.

Virgil gritted his teeth as Janus had to bite anti-venom into him, nearly screamed actually, at the teeth impaled in his already venom-inflicted skin. But this was good, he could still feel it so no nerve damage had been done.

"I'm sorry." Janus told him, spitting out his blood onto the ground, nearly throwing up at the bitter, sour, burned sugar taste in his mouth of the venom that wouldn't affect him.

Actually, now that it was all he could focus on, he did throw up into the grass, Patton rubbing his back just as much as he was holding Vigil's had as Logan came running back with a first aid kit apologizing as he wriggled Virgil from his ripped jeans and began tending to the finally stemmed wounds.

Virgil would have been freaking out if he hadn't lost so much blood, but a few needles and some stitches meant basically nothing to him in his lightheaded, dizzy, dazing state of blood loss. So, even after nearly a hundred stitches, he was virtually unfazed.

Logan helped him into clean, not ripped jeans and helped him back to the dark side home as well where they found Roman and Remus in the living room with Romy, who was getting right along with Remus' pet possum, Pumpkin. Roman was telling Remus what he and Romy did to survive a month stranded in there with no way out.

"Romy brought me food. Well, his kind of food. But it was enough." Patton grimaced at the idea and Janus was already busy trying to quietly find something in the kitchen that would get rid of the taste still in his mouth from the venom.

"Do you want anything to eat?" Remus asked.

"If it's not any trouble." Roman whispered.

"Of cours, it isn't any trouble. I wanna feed my hungry baby brother! I won't even put anything weird in this time!" Remus told him.

"Thank you, Remus." Roman hugged him. Logan set Virgil next to Roman.

"Virge? Is that you?" Roman asked.

"It's me, my prince." Virgil told him, hugging to him.

"Are you sure that you're okay?" Roman asked.

"I'll be fine. Janus gave me some anti-venom and Logan stitched me up good so I'll be better in no time. It's you I'm worried about. You haven't even opened your eyes."

"It's ugly. They're scarred now. They shouldn't be open."

"I'm sure they're not ugly. They're a part of you. No part of you can be ugly, you're too gorgeous to be even remotely ugly." Virgil assured him. Slowly, Roman opened his clouded milky white eyes and Virgil held his face gently.

"Beautiful." Virgil alerted him

"They're ugly and they didn't heal right." Roman told him.

"Well, you won't see, I can't fix that. But I can make them look normal again if it bothers you so much." Logan told him.

"Please?" Roman requested. Logan put his hand over Roman's eyes and a healing blue light flashed before Roman's eyes were their old bright green, though with clouded milky pupils but they looked normal, no scar at all.

"Do I look okay?" Roman asked.

"As handsome as ever. Not that you weren't before." Virgil told him.

"I'm really tired." Roman alerted the other sides.

"Drink this and you can rest." Remus told him, handing him a warm bowl of soup, Virgil supporting his wrists and helping him hold the heavy bowl.

Once Roman drank the chicken based broth, he fell asleep against Virgil and Janus, who had settled next to him to check him over for any bites or scratches from the monsters.

Roman felt safe. He was home.

Taglist: @yeet-ceit​ @sneaky-slytherin​ @punk-academian-witch​

#sanders sides #sympathetic deceit #roman sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #snoweywrites #tw eye trauma #tw injury #tw blood mention #tw permanent injury

[alleycat97]

Soft Side Pt. 2

“Chloe chill, you’re pacing is killing my vibe.” Veronica spoke locking her phone.

“Is this ugly? What if she hates it? Maybe she will think I’m insulting her?” Chloe quizzed as she nervously patted down her clothes.

Chloe had finally decided on wearing an orange flannel tied up in the back making a crop top and khaki shorts. She was hoping it would be ‘stylish for a fair’.

“Oh Chloe you look perfect, she will love it and the effort you put into it.” Veronica added.

“What about Poppy? How am I going to get away without her knowing?”

“You leave Poppy to me, I’ve already got us a manicure lined up for starters tonight.” Veronica winked. “I told her you were hanging with Ford and Luis.”

“And she bought it?” Chloe asked concerned.

“Well if she didn’t, I’m sure you would know about it by now.” Veronica replied.

Meanwhile, Bea was just as nervous. Why? She wasn’t sure. Maybe she was unsure of Chloe’s intentions. Maybe it was a trap. Or maybe, just maybe, she genuinely liked Chloe and was nervous about this ‘date’.

“I can hear you thinking.” Zoey laughed as she watched Bea pacing.

“What if it’s a trap? Why would she want to go out? I don’t feel good about this.”

“Then why did you agree so quickly?” Zoey smirked.

Bea thought over the encounter, she knew from the second she saw Chloe, she was taken back by her raw beauty. So when Chloe asked her to hangout, she just went with it. It was exciting, it was unexpected, it was love.

The doorbell rang and Bea tensed up, “Its her. Omg what do I do!”

“Answer the door dummy!” Zoey laughed shoving Bea to the door.

Bea took a deep breath and opened the door revealing a equally anxious Chloe wearing, flannel?

“Oh wow you look incredible. I love that shirt!” Bea blurted out first thing, seemingly causing Chloe to calm down.

“Oh this thing? I’ve had it for years.” There she was, confident Chloe was back. “Ready to go?”

The girls said bye to Zoey, who threatened to kill Chloe if Bea got hurt. The two made it to Chloe’s car and surprisingly, Chloe opened the door before Bea could.

Bea was ready to submit herself right there in the back of Chloe’s Mercedes. Chivalry was huge back home in Winchester, and Chloe was knocking it out of the park so far. Bea started to settle in, Chloe was actually taking this serious.

The ride was somewhat quiet, both girls were nervous. It was a complete awkward silence at times, the situation these two were in and the nasty things they have said. Neither thought they’d be here.

A slight shiver ran down Bea’s spine causing her to shake slightly.

“Are you cold? Here let me turn the heat up.” Chloe quickly doing just that, to Bea’s satisfaction. “Would you like to listen to the radio?”

“Ummm yeah sure. Do you listen to anything country?” Bea asked trying to figure out the radio.

Chloe noticed her struggling and let out a giggle, “Here, allow me.” Chloe found a country station, Thomas Rhett started blaring and Bea immediately started humming and swaying in her seat.

“I take it you like this song?” Chloe said with a chipper smile.

“Love it!”

Chloe wasn’t a country fan, but she really enjoyed Bea in her element, it made the drive blow by.

It was an hour drive out into the country, and on a Friday night, the fairground was packed. Chloe paid for parking and found a spot in the grass lot, she had never seen so much grass and dirt in her life and she was silently freaking out over the dirt on her car.

“Well! Come on! We’re going to miss the fair!” Bea started jumping up and down like a child.

“Ok ok I’m coming.” Chloe giggled catching up with Bea.

Chloe was taken back by the fair. It was similar to some of the movies she had seen, but the smell of the fried foods, the overall aura of the place was nothing she could have prepared herself for. Her mouth was watering at the smells.

“Let’s get something to eat, here look! They’ve got all the good stuff.” Bea said pulling Chloe over to a booth with a small wait line.

“Is it all greasy?” Chloe asked looking over the menu.

“Mostly, but I’ll take care of it.” Bea insisted.

“I’ll have the buffalo wings and the deep fried Oreos. And my lady will have a Gyro and the frozen yogurt. Oh! And two lemon shakeups please.”

Chloe didn’t hear anything past, ‘my lady’ She was too busy smiling like an idiot.

She didn’t even realize she was sitting down at a table and eating her food, the fair taste overloaded her circuits and brought her back to Earth.

“Earth to Chloe!” Bea shouted.

“Huh? Oh.” Chloe's face became red from embarrassment.

“Are you with me? You totally fazed out on me.”

“Oh I’m good. This food is delicious thank you.” Chloe was impressed. Not just by the food, but how Bea knew she would like it.

“You’re welcome. Fair food is like it’s own entity. You can’t come to one without eating this mess.”

Chloe looked at Bea’s platter of grease and wondered what she was missing on, and as if her mind was read, Bea was offering her some food to sample.

Chloe grabbed a wing off the plate, it was hot, and slimy and the smell of the dip and rub flooded her nose almost making her sneeze.

“I’ve never had one of these before.” She said before taking a bite, sauce going all over her mouth making Bea laugh.

“Here, you have a little something...” Bea reached over and wiped the sauce from Chloe’s face with her thumb and then licking it clean. The touch alone was electric, Chloe didn’t want Bea to remove her hand.

But she did and she tried to hide her pout. After eating, the two wondered around eating cotton candy. They went to the livestock show, the rodeo and finally, the finale, the Ferris Wheel.

Chloe wouldn’t lie, she was very nervous. She didn’t do heights. Especially on a cheap carnival ride, but here she was climbing willingly on the death trap.

The where near the top, stopping every time to get more riders on, Chloe made the mistake of looking down.

“Isn’t it great up here? The view is beautiful.” Bea said looking to a mortified Chloe. “Chloe?”

“Hmm?” She said timidly.

“Are you alright?”

“Uh huh.” She said unconvincingly.

“Oh my. You’re scared of heights.” Bea said at the revelation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you. I thought I could do it.” Chloe said, naturally moving closer to Bea.

Bea wrapped a protective arm around Chloe who nuzzled tightly into her side. The soothing sensation of Bea rubbing Chloe’s armed calmed her down significantly and soon the ride began. It was actually nice looking over the fair, the cool night air filling her lungs, the warm embrace she was in. This night was perfect.

Before they could step off the ride, Bea placed a perfect kiss to Chloe’s temple and whispered, “I have one last thing for us.” Chloe melted. There was no way that just happened.

Chloe was pulled from her fantasy land day dream by the rugged sound of a man, “Step right up and test your skills and win a prize! How bout you little lady? Think you got what it takes? All you gotta do is shoot the bandits, but watch out, the Wild West is full of unknowns.”

Bea slapped down a $10 bill and grabbed the gun. Ready to win and adrenaline pumping.

“Well look at this little pistol. Think you got it in you missy?”

“Just turn on the game.” Bea stated.

The game sprung to life, cutouts of bandits and sheriffs dropping from the ceiling, Bea shooting true, never missing a shot. A good 3 minutes of blasting the bandits for a perfect score earned her a top prize. Bea looked her options over and obviously there was only one worth her pick. “I want that one.”

Chloe was staring at a giant Koala bear and Bea struggling to talk around it, “Here, I won this for you. I hope you like it.”

Chloe nearly fainted. This was the sweetest thing. How did Bea know she loved koala bears? God she was going to die.

“Thank you, I love it.”

The girls made it to the car and Chloe happily strapped her new bear into the backseat, Bea teasing her that it didn’t need to be buckled in. Chloe wasn’t having it, this was basically her child now. “I just want to make sure he’s safe.”

“He?” Bea laughed.

“Yes he. His name is Karl.” Chloe said immediately.

“Karl the Koala.” Bea couldn’t hold it in. The cuteness was too much. “I like it.”

The drive back to campus was much like the drive to the fair. The date was over and both girls had to get back to the unknown. This was forbidden to even happen, but neither wanted to believe it.

Chloe walked Bea to her room, lugging Karl along. “I really had a wonderful time Bea. This was the best date I have ever had.”

Bea couldn’t help but feel a ‘but’ coming on.

“But...” Chloe said earning a eye roll from Bea. “I don’t know how this will work. Poppy will kill us both if she finds out. I’ll be ruined, Poppy is dangerous Bea. She will kill me and then she will make sure your life is miserable. Even when you die.”

“Chloe.” Bea said calmly placing her soft hand on the girls cheek, reigniting that spark of energy. “I’m not worried about Poppy. I’m a big girl and you can’t worry either. I had a wonderful time tonight.”

And then quickly, before she could think, she was meeting Bea in the middle, her soft lips sweetly pressing against the other girls. It was wet, it was innocent, it was perfect. The kiss that sealed her fate. “This is going to be difficult.” Chloe admitted, pressing her forehead against Bea’s.

“I love difficult.”

#playchoices #pixelberry #chloe x mc #queen b chloe #chloe st james #queen b poppy #poppy min sinclair #queen b mc #queen b choices

[therainroguefanfiction]

⁂ In WAR✘ and LOVE ♥ (Tomura Shigaraki) Everything You Hate

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Slice of Life

Word Count: 3,292

Pairing: Reader x Shigaraki

World: Boku no Hero Academia

Prompt: “I love everything you hate about yourself.”

☂ R a i n d r o p from [@kyokosasagawa​] ➧➧ “Opps, sorry, didn’t notice that it had to be an open prompt! In that case can I request Shigaraki/Reader with “I love everything you hate about yourself”?”

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You glanced at Shigaraki as he sat at the bar in his black hoodie, fake hand covering his face. Since you had first met him, he seemed to have retreated farther into his shell, despite your attempts to break through his insecurities. Honestly, you wondered if your efforts only made things worse, but you genuinely cared about him and only wanted to help him love himself.

Somewhere along the way, you had fallen in love with the league’s leader, even though you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t. This only fueled you more, though, but he wasn’t having it. He always waved off your attempts and, as of last week, he now took to avoiding you if possible, speaking to you only when he had to and with a clipped tone.

You wondered if you had stepped over the line, but it felt inappropriate to ask him that, especially since he was never alone. He made sure he was never alone with you and when you asked if you could speak to him in private, he flat out told you no, which only got the other members of the league interested in why you needed to speak to the leader and why you couldn’t say it in front of them.

Today was your chance, though.

All of the members were out of the hideout, some on missions and others just screwing around, and you wanted to use this chance while you had it, but Kurogiri was still there, standing behind the bar and polishing the glasses as he did everyday. All you had to do was find some excuse to get rid of him.

‘Sounds easy enough,’ you smiled as you approached the bar, taking a seat a couple stools down from your leader. “Ne, Kuro-chan. When are you planning to go shopping again? Dabi ate all of my cocoa puffs.”

Kurogiri sighed as he set the glass on the counter, sending you a scolding look. “I told you two to stop fighting over the cereal.”

“He had the option to choose a cereal and he chose not to get one, that’s his fault.” You huffed, folding your arms across your chest. “But as soon as you returned home with them, he was more than happy to eat ours! He also ate Toga’s cinnamon toast crunch but she didn’t really care. When they were gone, she just ate Spinner’s lucky charms.”

For a moment, Kurogiri just stared at you as if waiting for you to tell him it was a joke, but your expression did not change. “If you wish, I will go and get some more later this afternoon.”

You chewed on your lip in frustration, glancing at the powder blue-haired male. His head was lowered, fingers resting against the glass of alcohol that he hadn’t even touched. His shoulders were slumped and you could see the deep frown set on his lips. He looked miserable.

Shaking your head, you turned back to the older male. “Would it be possible to go now? If Dabi finds out you got more, I won’t stand a chance. Pretty please~?”

He chuckled, putting his hand on his hip. “If you insist, but you must clean up the kitchen in my absence.”

Your eye twitched as you pictured the kitchen, pretty much destroyed after Toga tried to make pancakes based on a YouTube tutorial and Compress was supposed to be watching her, but he wasn’t and, well… the kitchen reflects that. “Uh… sure thing. It’ll be spotless!” ‘In like five years, maybe…’

Kurogiri opened a warp gate before pausing, his golden eyes shifting to the leader before back to you, lowering his voice. “Leave Shigaraki alone, Y/N.” And then he stepped through the gate, disappearing.

‘Sorry, Kuro-chan, but I just can’t do that.’ Taking a breath, you stood up and headed behind the bar to stand in front of Shigaraki. “Your drink is watery. Do you want me to get you a new one, boss?”

His shoulders visibly tensed at the sound of your voice so close to him, his fingers twitching around the glass. “No.”

You frowned, folding your arms on the bar top as you tried to see his face behind the hand. “Can I do anything for you?”

“Kurogiri gave you an order,” he muttered, turning his head away from you as he bit the inside of his cheek. Why did you keep trying to talk to him even though he clearly didn’t want to talk to you? It made no sense to him and he hated it. He hated how you looked at him, without an ounce of disgust within those beautiful eyes. You talked to him willingly, always kind and respectful to him. Always giving him a beautiful smile.

But that’s what you were to him – beautiful. You were like the sun, lighting up his bleak world whether he wanted you to or not. Always looking after him, making sure he was eating properly and not scratching himself too much. You also looked after the other league members, of course, but you always seemed to pay extra attention to him and his needs. It was like you knew when he was feeling stressed or upset, when he needed to be picked up or left alone.

Was he really such an open book to you? He didn’t like the way you made him feel, how vulnerable he was around you. It would be so much easier if you were just disgusted by his appearance, if you hated him for the monster that he was. And he truly believed that he was a monster in many different ways.

Shigaraki felt ugly, inside and out, his skin broken and cracked, like the dried ground in the desert. When he got overwhelmed, he scratched at his skin until it was raw and bloody. He believed that he was too skinny, his ribs standing out against his pale skin. He knew that he was emotionally inept, unable to offer what a normal human being could. He didn’t know how to act toward you and often found himself snapping at you, only to feel like a total ass afterward.

There wasn’t a single thing he could say that he liked about himself, but the list of things he hated was endless. But you didn’t share these sentiments. When you looked at Shigaraki, you saw his flaws, of course, but you found them to be beautiful. His flaws are what made him who he is, after all. Yes, he was full of flaws, but so were you, even if he didn’t believe so.

“I promise I’m going to get it done to his specifications, but I wanted to check on you first.” You smiled at him, but it was a bit sad. “Say… can I ask you something, boss?”

“What?”

“Am I… bothering you?” You wondered softly, using your nail to scratch at the black spot on the wooden bar top. “I don’t mean to, I just… I worry about you, you know? I want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself to the best of your ability but I also don’t want to overstep or upset you.”

His lips parted, a shaky breath escaping him at your words. You worry about him? Why did that make his heart start to race within his chest? Why did he always experience this strange feeling whenever you were around? He hated it. “I don’t need your worry, just go do what you were told to do.”

You winced at his harsh tone, bowing your head. “Yes, sir. I apologize.” And then you scurried into away from him toward the kitchen, heaving a heavy sigh as you went. You had definitely overstepped and upset him, but how in the world would you fix it? Apologizing seemed to be the only thing you were capable of doing.

With your mood already dampened, you were unable to hold back the groan that bubbled up within your throat when you stepped through the door into the kitchen. Batter was slung everywhere, sticking to the walls and the ceiling like discolored slugs. It was burnt over the stove, blueberries mushed on the counter and fuzzy with the beginnings of mold. Glass was broken in the corner under the small round table, reflecting the dull yellow light above.

The sink was overflowing with dirty, crusty dishes and one of the chairs was missing its leg, which you found stuffed in the fridge behind the cartoon of lumpy milk. You didn’t even know where to begin and you were fairly certain that there was a rat lurking somewhere, its little squeaks breaking you from your thoughts at intermittent intervals.

After a small internal debate, you decided to start on the dishes, pulling them from the sink and onto the counter so you’d have room to wash them properly. With the small amount of soap available, you doubted you would be able to get through all of them before the soap ran out, so you sent a quick message to Kurogiri letting him know that you would need more.

As you got to work, you hummed a soft tune that you had learned by watching an anime called My Otome, a beautiful song known by the chosen three. Unbeknownst to you, Shigaraki had followed you to the kitchen, hiding in the shadows beyond the doorway, his red eyes trained on you, following your every movement.

There was so much he wanted to say to you, but he was unable to form the words and even if he were able to, he knew he would be unable to speak them aloud. He could could watch you from the shadows as he had since the day he met you, wishing that you could be his but knowing that someone so dark could never have someone so bright.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You stifled a yawn as you stepped into the bar, your body sore and tired after a week-long mission. You were thankful to be back home and you couldn’t wait to crawl under your blanket and get some much needed sleep.

“It’s about damn time you got back,” Dabi drawled, turning his icy blue eyes to you when you entered. He was lounging on the dirty old sofa, his boots crossed on the coffee table.

You quirked a brow, offering him a smile. “Aw, did you miss me, Dabs?”

“Hell no,” he smirked. “But handy man clearly did.”

“Eh?”

“He locked himself in his room as soon as you left and hasn’t come out since.”

“He’s been in there a week?” You frowned, turning toward Kurogiri, whose golden eyes met yours. “Has he eaten anything?”

“I’m afraid not,” the villain responded with a shake of his head. “He has refused to eat.”

“Will you make him something? I’ll see if I can’t get him to eat it.” Rather than waiting for a response, you headed toward his bedroom with your heart hammering in your chest. There was no light coming from underneath his door and, when you pressed your ear to the door, there was no sound coming from within. Your knuckles rapped on the wood to get his attention. “Boss? I’ve returned from my mission… if you’ll let me in, I can give you my report on what happened.”

Silence.

Your fingers wrapped around the doorknob, attempting to turn it, but it was locked. You rapped your knuckles on the door again, raising your voice. “Boss, please open the door.” You caught movement from the end of the hall and you noticed Kurogiri approaching with a plate of food. “You have to eat something. I have some food for you.”

Without a word, Kurogiri handed you the plate before slipping away silently.

“Boss~ Please?” You rested your forehead against the wood for a moment, hearing shuffling behind the door. Finally, you sighed and pulled away, turning away from the door, but you only made it a few steps before you heard the clicking of the lock, the door creaking as it opened enough for you to see him.

Shigaraki was paler than normal, dark bags beneath his tired eyes. His stomach was growling loudly, making him wince as his eyes fell on the plate of food, the smell wafting to his nose.

You offered him a warm smile, unable to keep the worry from your eyes as you handed him the plate. “Here, Kurogiri just made it. Can I get you anything?”

He said nothing as he took the plate from your hands, turning on his heel to go farther into the dark room, leaving the door open. You hesitated, wondering if it would be okay to follow him inside, but since he hadn’t closed the door, you assumed that he was okay with it. Stepping inside, you squinted against the darkness, closing the door behind you.

He flopped onto the small red couch, the springs squeaking under his weight as he did so. The small TV across from him was casting a soft white light onto him, making it seem like he was glowing in the darkness. He didn’t even look your way as you cautiously approached him, settling down onto the couch.

“Would it… be okay if I give you my report?” You wondered softly, glancing at the TV screen, where the pause screen of a fighting game sat, waiting for him to return to it. He nodded, keeping his eyes on the food, and you proceeded to tell him about your recon mission and the information that you had obtained.

Though he heard you speaking, the words didn’t really register with him. He was just happy that you were back home, safe and sound. He was happy that he could be near you again, hear your voice and feel the heat of your body. He felt so much lighter with you back at his side, as if you were meant to be there.

“…it almost got hairy, but I was able to stop him in the end. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the files that we were looking for, but we did find a new lead. I sent it to Kurogiri and he has Spinner out tracking it down now.”

He realized that you were looking at him expectantly, waiting for his reaction or orders, but he hadn’t heard a word that you had uttered to him, too focused on his own jumbled thoughts and feelings.

You frowned at his silence, reaching your hand out, only to hesitate. You knew he didn’t like being touched, but you needed him to know that you were there for him. With a sense of determination that might see you killed, you rested your hand over his, making his body tense up and freeze in place. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve been locked in this room for a week and not eating,” you scowled. “That’s super unhealthy and -”

“Why?” He repeated, lips tugged downward as his red eyes met yours, clouded with confusion and annoyance and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Why do you care?”

“Because I -” you clamped your lips shut, feeling your cheeks heat up as you realized that you had almost confessed. Not only would he not accept your feelings, you figured he would be pretty upset at the confession, mostly because he wouldn’t know how to properly handle it. “You mean a lot to me, boss. I’d hate for anything to happen to you!”

Despite himself, he felt heat rush to his cheeks and he quickly moved his head so you couldn’t see, not that you could in the low light anyway.

You could feel his hand shaking beneath yours and you tightened your grip, sliding your hand into his but he jerked away, nearly jumping off of the couch. The plate clattered to the ground but didn’t break, thankfully.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” He growled, eyes wide and wild.

You winced at his harsh tone. “I’m sorry, boss.”

“Shut up!” He cried, his body shaking. “Who the hell do you think you are? Coming into my life and making me feel like this. Caring about me, looking after me. Do you pity me? Feel sorry for me? Tell me why!”

“It’s not like that at all!” You jumped up, meeting his gaze. “I don’t pity you, boss, I respect you! After everything you’ve been through, you keep moving forward. You have a goal and you chase that goal without stopping. Sure, you have setbacks and you sure, you get deterred sometimes, but you always get back on track. I care because I… I’m in love with you, Tomura.”

His brow furrowed, eyes shaking with disbelief and pain as he turned his gaze to the ground. “Love me? Don’t play with me! As if anyone could ever love me. As if someone like you could ever love me…” His hands shook as they reached for his neck, nails digging into his skin.

“Stop that,” you scolded, grabbing his hands and forcing them away.

“Don’t touch me, idiot! You know I can’t…” He pictured using his power on you by accident, watching the life leave your eyes as you crumbled before him and that made his heart squeeze tightly, painfully within his chest. If he hurt you, he would never be able to forgive himself.

“I trust you,” you stated calmly, resting your hands over his. “It’s okay if you don’t believe me, but I’m in love with you and I will tell you every single day until you do believe me. It’s okay if you don’t return my feelings, I never expected you to, but I will still be here by your side, taking care of you and watching over you.”

Shigaraki clamped down hard on his bottom lip as tears stung at his eyes, lowering his head so you wouldn’t be able to see. What was this warmth blooming in his chest? He hated it, but… he also didn’t want it to stop.

You smiled warmly, taking his face between your hands, using your thumbs to brush away his tears. “Look at me.”

He shook his head, trying to control the tears streaming down his cheeks, but he couldn’t seem to make them stop.

“Tomura.”

His eyes widened, snapping to yours. While he couldn’t identify the emotions lingering within your eyes, he could feel the warmth you were radiating and even if he didn’t fully believe them, he knew that you were being honest, genuine. You meant every single word you said to him.

Shigaraki did not deserve you. He wasn’t good enough for you, wasn’t good enough for the light and warmth you provided. That’s what he told himself, tried to convince himself, but…

“Tomura Shigaraki, I love everything you hate about yourself.”

He wasn’t sure what came over him, but he threw himself into your arms, nuzzling his face into your neck, his tears soaking into your shirt. You threaded your fingers through his matted hair, using your other hand to rub circles into his back. Your lips brushed against his ear as you whispered to him, telling him that everything would be okay. His hands clutched at your shirt as he tried to get a hold of his emotions, to understand them.

It would take a while before he could do so, but you would be there, patiently waiting for him to sort out his feelings and you would never stop loving him. And he would never stop craving your warmth and touch. Even if he never figured it out, as long as you were by his side, that’s all he cared about.

Tomura Shigaraki would literally destroy the world for you, and you’d do the same.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

#in war & love #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #anime #bnha #mha #writing #creative writing #writeblr #scenario #scenarios #anime scenarios #anime scenario #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfics #anime fanfic #anime fanfics #reader insert #reader-insert #reader #request #one shot #angst #fluff #slice of life

[limeblood-exe]

A Singular, Bloody Mattress (part 1)

tw: blood

The warehouse door bursts open, slamming against the concrete wall; the sharp sound thundering through the thick silence of night. Dust plumes and scatters as the old and abused door falls off its rusted hinges, the only sign of movement besides three masked figures who stealthily make their way inside. 

Mikey, wielding an odachi in place of his signature kusari-fundo, frantically glances around the abandoned mattress warehouse, surveying for any threats amongst the giant columns and rows of mattresses with an uncharacteristic expression of apprehension smearing his features. Joined in his search, Donnie approaches a much shorter column of mattresses, about his height, and stops to inspect one with his goggles.

“All clear,” Mikey whispers, determining that the deafening silence means that no present danger is lurking in the shadows. Not that they really expected any threats from a mattress store, but anything's possible when with them. 

Glancing behind him at Raph, who stood back for the all clear before entering any further into the building, he waits for further instruction from his leader.

Raph, holding a blanketed figure in his arms, nods at Mikey, and both relax their posture at the promise of no current danger.

“Do you think we were followed?”

Sharing Mikey’s worried expression, Raph tries to smile in an effort to placate his distressed younger brother, though it probably comes out more as a grimace when replying, “With that cool stunt you pulled off earlier? Not a chance. I don’t think those freaky Foot guys were expecting to get roasted with that fire tornado of yours. I bet you they’re running back home with their tails between their legs!”

Mikey responds in kind with a timid smile; he’s always welcome to any of his older brothers’ praise, soaking them up like a needy sponge. Besides, it was pretty cool what he did back there.

None of them had expected to be jumped by those two Foot dudes, having just left April’s house from a fun night of trying out the new board games her parents bought her. Now that he’s thinking back on it, they probably should have been more concerned with the fact that their enemies had actively sought them out rather than the turtles running into them by happenstance. The paper ninjas they commonly used were totally different this time around, and not just because of the change of color scheme (an ugly shade of dark green, if you were to ask Mikey his professional opinion). 

They didn’t have any hands.

Well, they did have hands, just in the shape of blades.

Really, really sharp blades.

The vomit-colored paper was obviously mystic, no inspection from Donnie needed. No paper should be allowed to cut cleanly through concrete for goodness sake. It shouldn’t be allowed to cut through shells, either-

Remembering why they were seeking shelter in the first place, Mikey’s gaze darts down to the bundle in Raph’s gentle hold, the blood seeping through the blue blanket. His face immediately falls, and he feels queasy at the sight of the red puddle already starting to form on the floor. Blood that should be inside his brother, not drenching some stranger’s blanket they stole from a clothes’ line. Mikey opens his mouth but before he can voice his question, he is interrupted by a heavy “plop” to his right. Bodies tensed, Ralph and Mikey whip around for the cause of the noise, only to see Donnie airing out one of the mattresses. Dust clouds the surrounding air, getting caught in the lungs of his unsuspecting brothers and a massive coughing fit follows. Donnie, unperturbed, just drags the offending mattress away from the dust cloud and drops it to the floor, wiping his hands against his thighs with a look of disgust on his face.

Facing Raph, Donnie says, “Lay him down here. I can't get a proper looksy otherwise,” while nodding in the direction of the mattress.

Following his brother's directions, Raph stifles down a cough as he kneels down next to the mattress, but hesitates for a brief moment.

“Don’t worry, Raph, I already scanned it. They’re safe. These mattresses are definitely older than most of Splinter’s clothing, but just as filthy, if you were to ask me, but they’re relatively clean,” Donnie reaffirms him.

“It’s not that, Donnie.”

And it's not. Not really. Swallowing thickly, Raph gently lays down his far-too-quiet and limp brother to the mattress, trying to be as slow and careful his large body will allow him. While Raph was as gentle as he could possibly be, even the faintest of movement jostles his younger brother, and a pitiful whimper escapes from his throat. Raph can’t help but wince, as hurting his own flesh and blood, even unintentionally, makes him feel sick to his stomach.

It doesn’t help that Leo looks absolutely awful. From what’s peaking out from the blanket, his eyes are pressed tightly shut, skin cool and clammy to the touch, and sweat beads at his creased forehead. He sounds awful, too, with his rattling lungs gasping for air like he just got done running a marathon, as if he wasn’t just carried for three whole blocks. Raph may not have as extensive of medical knowledge as Leo and Donnie do, what with Donnie’s general interest in all sciences and Leo being the medic of the team, but he knows signs of shock when he sees it.

His brother has lost far too much blood for comfort.

Donnie wastes no time in getting to work, carefully unwrapping Leo from the blanket. Donnie and Raph hiss at what is revealed from the confines of the blanket; a deep gash on the lower left side of Leo’s abdomen, his plastron having been neatly cut through deep enough to injure the skin and tissue that was supposed to be protected by thick shell. Thick rivulets of blood seep from the wound and cascade down Leo’s side even with the gray hoodie, also stolen, wrapped tightly around him to halt the bleeding.

“That doesn’t look good, Donnie,” Raph whispers after a second, trying (and failing) to reel in his worried thoughts about how quiet Leo is. He’s never quiet; it's basically Leo's given nature to never shut up. Yet, here they are now, and Raph would give up just about anything to hear one of Leo’s one-liners.

"No, no it does not," Donnie nods in agreement. His brows are deeply furrowed as he gently prods the edges of Leo’s laceration. 

“I’ll have to analyze just how deep the wound is. I have to get the bleeding under control, too, or he won’t even make it back to the lair in time,” Donnie states matter-of-factly. If Raph didn’t know his brother any better or notice the slight shake in his voice or the way his hands trembled, he might believe that Donnie seemed unfazed by his brother’s condition. But he knows, and they all know, that Donnie's attempts at appearing emotionless is just a facade he hides under.

As Donnie starts to delicately remove the sodden hoodie, the fabric gets caught on the jagged skin, causing Leo to let out a sudden gasp, back arching from the sudden pain, and his breathing becomes more erratic. Recoiling, Donnie puts a placating hand on Leo's cheek.

“Shit! Sorry, sorry,” Donnie mutters to Leo, gently thumbing away the tears that start streaming down his face. Raph is so taken aback by Leo’s reaction that he doesn’t even bother to chastise Donnie for his potty mouth.

"Is… is Leo gonna be okay?"

Raph faces his youngest brother, whose arms are clutching tightly around Leo’s sword. Mikey's gaze is locked to the floor, eyes wide with unshed tears. He looks so lost and scared, so devoid of his regular pep and overall cheer, that Raph has to suppress the overwhelming urge to engulf his brother in a giant hug.

His brothers need him right now. He might not be able to help Leo like Donnie can, but he's still their leader. He is still their big brother.

“Leo’s gonna be just fine,” Raph starts, approaching to grasp Mikey’s shoulders in his large hands, squeezing gently. “He’s strong, you know that. Remember that time when we thought Leo got lost in the sewers, and he did, but he found his way back? We spent hours searching for the guy and the cheeky bastard was home the entire time, eating the last of the oreos. Or what about that time he broke his arm doing that stupid double back-flip he saw in a video once when he was seven? He only cried like twice the whole time!"

Mikey looks at him, eyes glistening and mouth wobbling.

"I know my brothers. If there's one thing I can count on Leo, it's that he always pulls through in the end."

Silence fills the air for just a brief moment, filled only with the labored breathing of Leo. That brief moment is all Mikey needs, however. He presses his lips into a thin line and vigorously wipes at his tears with his forearm. After taking a composing breath through his nose, Mikey asks, "What do we do now?”

Isn't that the question. It’s far too dangerous to go back the way they came, not with the Foot Clan still searching for them knowing they have the advantage with one turtle down. And especially not with those new paper ninjas.

They’re incredibly lucky that when Mikey resorted to using his fire tornado, it was discovered that while mystic paper, it was still just paper and fell to the power of its natural enemy. Of course, that was after one managed to get the jump on Leo.

Raph can still vividly feel the gut punch he got when his own brother's screaming pierced his ears, the way his blood chilled in his veins and his heart plummeted. The raw fear of thinking oh god my little brother is dead.

He shakes his head. There'll be time to digest today's events later, when they're home and Leo's patched up and back to his annoying self, using his injury to his advantage so that his brothers may tend to his beck and call. And they'll fall for it too, of course, cause that's what family does for each other.

So, they can’t go back the way they came, what else then? The main sewer entrance for the lair is too far away to just make a run for it, especially being above ground. Raph could have Donnie track down another near manhole, but not only is Donnie currently busy using his tech to scan Leo’s injury checking the severity of it, they'll have no way of knowing if that manhole is connected to their sewer line unless they're in it. And even if that does happen to be connected to the lair, it's still quite a long distance to travel with someone who doesn't have any time to spare.

Dammit, he needs to think! Raph isn't the greatest at coming up with plans; he's always been more of a "smash first, talk later" kind of a guy. 

And look where that got them. Raph's baby brother is bleeding out to death, they're being pursued by the stupid flame-heads with deadly (well, deadlier) paper ninjas with nowhere to go, and they're stuck in a mattress store of all places. 

Leo would have known what to do. Hell, he'd have gotten them home by now with one of his portals, where they'd be enjoying the rest of their evening with pizza and a movie.

But they're not home. They're stuck with no where to run to, and Raph can't think.

“I-I don’t know," Raph stutters, self-doubt numbing his mind, jumbling his thoughts like clothes in a dryer, spinning and spinning. "I don't-"

“I c'n port'l us.”

Shocked, Raph whips around. Leo, even though his face is twisted with pain and his arms tremble, struggles to hoist himself to his elbows, swatting at Donnie's attempts to push him back down. Leo’s breathing extremely hard from the exertion of just sitting up, but he remains upright out of sheer stubbornness.

“I c’n get us-shit,” Leo grits through his teeth. Donnie, relenting to his brother's will, wraps an arm around Leo's shoulders, taking most of the weight as he leans him up. Glaring up at Raph, eyes blaring with fierce determination, he finishes with more clarity in his voice, “I can get us home.”

“No, absolutely not! Not in the condition you’re in.” 

Raph knows that with Leo now awake, they have a chance, a real good chance, of escaping their ridiculous predicament and getting Leo proper medical treatment. And Leo is the only one who can do it; he's the only one who can use his sword after all. But Leo can't even sit up without Donnie's support, which he clarifies as he gestures to Leo, “You can’t even sit upright on your own, how are you gonna hold a 30 lbs sword?”

“Oh yeah? Watch me."

Leo moves to stand up, pulling away from Donnie, but as soon as he draws his legs beneath him and shifts his weight, his eyes roll to the back of his head and he lists to the side. If it weren’t for his older brother, he would’ve faced-planted the floor. 

“Woah, woah, easy there ‘Nardo,” Donnie smoothly scolds, pressing his brother back to the comfort of the mattress. Leo hasn’t lost his battle with unconsciousness yet, grasping harshly onto Donnie’s bicep. His big brother grimaces but ultimately ignores it. After Leo's breathing evens out, Donnie gives his younger brother an exasperated look.

“Well, that was the dumbest thing you could have done.”

Leo rolls his eyes.

“Ugh, sh-shuddup, you weirdo asshole.”

Donnie snorts.

“Glad to know your personality is still somewhat intact. Though, I think you're more so the asshole here, seeing as I'm the one trying to be helpful and all.”

"Whatev', you just doin' this for yer own sake."

"Ah, yes. I have been wanting someone to be in my unquestionable debt recently, since I’m entirely incapable of doing anything from the goodness of my heart. Thank you for reminding me, Leon. I’ll be sure to remember this the next time you try to unload your chore duties onto me."

Leo tiredly gives one of his signature smirks, "No problemo."

Donnie's face turns stern.

“But seriously, Raph’s right. Being completely honest with you, I don’t even know how you’re still conscious right now.” Even as they speak, Leo’s eyes start to lose their focus, glazing over with exhaustion. Even eye-rolling and smirking seems to take away any energy he has left, and if Leo wasn't currently bleeding like a stuck pig, he would've gasped at the audacity of it all.

“I can do this," and Leo looks at Raph knowingly. "I always pull through in the end, remember?"

He's using his own words against him, Raph realizes. He must have been awake enough to hear his conversation with Mikey.

And he did say that, but if Raph was honest with himself, he mostly said those words to comfort Mikey. The odds are stacked against his brother right now. He doesn't have general mishaps anymore forming portals, but there are occasional days when Leo still struggles. Today, though, had been an average day, with Leo having successfully transported them directly in April's living room just earlier this evening, but failing to open one to the lair when the game night ended.

And there are plenty of examples of Leo triumphing when he reasonably shouldn't have. But looking at his brother now, bleeding and sickly and dying, he can't help the tendrils of doubt that suffocate him, snaking their way into his subconscious. 

But Raph knows his brothers. Even amongst doubt, Leo always does come through, in some way or another. 

Raph trusts his brothers, and he will trust Leo in his word that he can get them home.

After all, Raph's not one to make plans. He's never needed to really, not with his brothers by his side.

"I know."

Raph glances over to Mikey, communicating with a single look.

Mikey understands completely.

There's no time to debate whether Leo can do it or not. Every second that passes is another second of Leo losing more blood. Donnie might be pressing the hoodie into the large cut, but it’s not enough to entirely stop the flow.

At that moment, a large crash reverberates from just beyond the warehouse walls, the sound similar to the likes of a building collapsing in on itself. Dread stifles the air; their hiding spot will soon be found, it's only a matter of time. 

“You got this," Mikey encourages, presenting Leo with the handle of his odachi. Raph and Donnie watch, faces scrunched with anticipation. As Leo grasps the odachi, he breathes deeply, preparing himself both physically and mentally. 

His arm pathetically quivers as he lifts his sword from Mikey's hold. Raising the familiar object to its full weight, Leo heaves himself forward, sending white sparks across his vision as the pain blooms from his side. Blood begins to pool in his mouth as he bites the inside of his cheek to refrain passing out. 

Focus.

Focus on his breathing; focus on imagining the lair, the skateboard ramps, the untouched, warm pizza sitting on the counter waiting back home that Splinter had promised them.

Letting all other thoughts evade his mind; let's them fall to the ground like forgotten crumbs off of a home-cooked meal Mikey had prepared; let's them fall off his shoulders and into the drain like water when Leo spends too much time brooding in the shower and his brothers get upset at him for stealing all the hot water again.

Clearing his mind, Leo draws in the formation of a circle with the tip of his sword and blue light zaps and sparkles from his odachi.

But no portal forms. Halfway through, his muscles seize up, locked with overexertion, and he can't complete the circle. His sword lowers to rest on the ground, nearly falling from his grip altogether, his arms too tired to properly hold it.

His body has betrayed him, refusing to move when he commands it; feeling like he's trying to move around in thick syrup.

He didn't do it. His brothers' faith in him was misguided, and they're all gonna die here, not just Leo. 

No! Not wanting to give up, Leo tries again. An even more pathetic attempt than the first. His body protests his wishes, and his sword stays put as though it trying to tell him that he's already beat.

Hands are suddenly upon him, grasping the hilt of the odachi next to his own and resting on the back of his shell. His brothers are here, helping him bear the weight alongside him. 

"We gotchu, Leo!" There's Mikey's positive attitude, refreshing to hear as always. "Just focus on making a portal, we'll take care of the rest."

In the distance, another boom can be heard, louder and closer than before. Raph faces the direction it came from, protectively standing over his brothers as Mikey and Donnie crouch beside Leo.

Reaching his zen mode, confidence from knowing he's not doing this alone, Leo directs his sword to move in a circular motion, his two brothers following his lead and finishing in a perfect circle.

And like a miracle itself, a beautiful brilliance of blues fills the dark warehouse, and a perfect portal stares back at them.

Quick successions of multiple slashes can be heard, and the wall behind them explodes, raining heavy chunks of concrete and plaster all around them. Mattresses, carried by the blast, careen through the air, experiencing freedom for the first time in so many years. 

Wasting no time, Donnie throws Leo over his shoulder despite the weak protest, leaping into the portal. Behind him, Mikey and Raph follow, but not before Mikey gives the Foot Heads a taunting wave, blowing raspberries as he jumps through the portal. Leaving behind two very frustrated villains, having been outsmarted once again by the turtles and left with nothing but a single dusty and bloody mattress for their efforts, they can do nothing but stew in their hatred.

"Gah, those pesky turtles," the shorter one of the duo rasps. They had gotten so close this time, too. But they still have their new weapons at the ready; all they need as another opportunity to strike, then those pests will never bother them again.

Just as they're about to leave the warehouse, the larger of the two stops by the mattress, picking up what looks like a familiar blanket.

"Hey wait a minute, isn't that-" He doesn't get to finish that statement, with a scraping scream interrupting him.

"Noo! My Lou Jitsu: Punch Chowder hoodie!"

#rottmnt #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt fanfic #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #my writing #blood // #injury //

[sushiandstarlight]

Cookies: Chapter 18

This chapter contains today’s prompt “hope.” (Sort of.)

Previous Story: Of All The Beds In All The Hotels In All The World

Chapters 1-3 / Chapter 4 / Chapters 5 & 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17

Read this chapter on AO3

Rating G- Light Teen

There was something going on with Aziraphale, but Crowley couldn't pin down what that something was. He got more withdrawn and jumpy as the day went on. Over dinner he managed to fumble the gravy boat and spill it across the table. Gladys saved that with a quick clean up and having plenty more where that came from. He knocked Crowley's wine glass into his lap which meant he'd had to go back upstairs and change. That also wasn't all that big of a deal. Neither was the fact that they kept bumping elbows awkwardly or the fact that, other than that, Aziraphale hadn't touched him at all over dinner. Though, it made him realize that over the last few months there was rarely a time when they weren't in contact of some kind.

The biggest worry of all had been when the angel had finished his own slice of pie and Crowley surreptitiously slid him his slice. Aziraphale had thanked him with a smile and then proceeded to pick at it with his fork, but not actually eat it. In all the times Crowley had known him, all the years of watching him enjoy his food (and Crowley's,) he had never seen him too worked up to eat a dessert. A cold ball of tension was building in his own stomach. He wanted to get Aziraphale alone and figure out what was wrong, but there wasn't time for that right now. So, he watched him.

They all retired to the sun room, sitting around the cheerfully glowing tree with another glass of wine. Aziraphale and Crowley, as they normally did, took the loveseat. Crowley watched him and gulped his own wine. His worry was not decreasing, but he was starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges. The ring in his pocket felt large and hot even in it's tiny little box. He hadn't been nervous about it all day, not really, but now with Aziraphale acting so strangely he wondered if this was a good idea.

“Okay, boys,” Gladys ambled over to the tree and picked up the two large, lumpy packages and handed one to each of them, “these are from me and Edie. She picked out the designs and I made them.”

“Group effort,” Edie nodded, sipping her wine to hide her grin. It didn't work, Crowley saw it.

Crowley tore into his package while watching Aziraphale carefully dismantle his out of the corner of his eye. The sweater he lifted from the paper actually wasn't that bad as far as ugly Christmas sweaters went: it was black with a red collar and edging on the sleeves and bottom and in between was strewn with green and white stars. They twinkled in the light, the yarn being run through with sparkly threads. Crowley dutifully pulled it on over his own shirt, tugging it down and turning to the angel beside him.

“How's it look, then?”

“Oh, very festive.”

“Fits you just right, dear,” Gladys smiled at him and if it was a little mischievous around the edges he ignored that, “do you like it?”

“I'm warmer already, yeah I like it.”

Eyes turned to Aziraphale as he lifted his from the wrapping paper. She had had no qualms with making his sweater as hideous as she wanted: it was red with white trim and the center of the chest and belly was covered in a giant Christmas tree festuned with little ornaments and bells. The sweater actually jingled when he shook it. But, Aziraphale looked genuinely pleased with the gift. He pulled it on even with all the layers he was currently wearing and wiggled happily, making the bells jingle.

“I love it!” he stood and jingled over to Gladys and hugged her and then did the same with Edie, “No one's ever knitted me a Christmas sweater before... and I've been around a long time. I will treasure it.” Gladys looked a little taken aback with his generous praise, but she didn't say anything. Aziraphale jingled back over to Crowley.

“What do you think?”

Crowley choked.

“What? It's festive!”

“It's just...”

“What?” The angel's hands were on his hips. His eyes told Crowley he better say something nice or else.

“You're the angel at the top of a tree, is all,” Crowley couldn't contain his giggles any longer. Gladys and Edie joined in, laughing. After looking down at the sweater and then over at Crowley, Aziraphale laughed, too. It smoothed out some of the worry that had lined his face all afternoon and evening. The knot in Crowley's stomach loosened a little.

Aziraphale picked up the other gifts on his way back to the sofa where he sat a little closer to Crowley this time. He passed the flat rectangle to Crowley and then popped open his tin. Inside were little ginger cookies, topped with sugar. He thanked the ladies again for his gift and nibbled one while watching Crowley expectantly.

Crowley tore open the package and found a small, leather-bound journal. Inside were all the recipes for the cookies they had made over his stay. He had been trying to remember every bit of them so he could try baking them again later for Aziraphale, but it had been a rush job and he knew it was impossible to recall all the proper measurements. He opened the book and touched the lettering.

“You hand wrote them all,” he swallowed past the lump in his throat, touching the curly letters, “how did you have the time?”

“You can make the time for such things. There are some other things in there, too, like some recipes for scones. I thought you might want them, too.”

Crowley clutched the recipe book to his chest and stood, crossing the room and kissing her cheek.

“Thank you, I really do love it.”

“I'm glad, dear,” Gladys wagged a finger at him, “you be careful not to get it all grimy with sugar and butter!”

“I wouldn't dare. This is a priceless gift.”

When Crowley returned to the loveseat it was to find Aziraphale holding out the remaining tiny box for him, a strange look of nerves and hope on his face.

“Now, um,” Aziraphale handed it to him as he got closer and Crowley set his book down on the arm of the loveseat, “I want you to unwrap it, but I'll open it. You sit.”

Crowley sat and, in deference to Aziraphale's careful wrapping, he took his time untying the ribbon and unwrapped the box before giving it a little shake. It didn't rattle. He handed it back to Aziraphale. Only, in that time the Angel had knelt in front of him. He had a sudden, sinking feeling. Aziraphale opened the box and inside, nestled in grey velvet was a ring: it was a wide, black band that ended at the top shaped like a feather curled around a gleaming faceted black diamond. Crowley looked from the ring in Aziraphale's hand to the angel's face, completely flabbergasted.

“I... I had it all planned out. What I was going to say. It was going to be poetic and heartfelt, but I fear I'm too nervous for any of that... But, you know I love you, darling. And, I want to spend the rest of my days showing you just how much.”

There were a lot of things Crowley could have said to this proposal. There were a lot of things Crowley should have said to this proposal. In the coming years, he would make up for what he actually said:

“No way...”

Time slowed down around him in that moment. Not in the actual, reality-changing kind of way that he had done to avert the apocalypse. More like how time stops when you've made an awful terrible mistake and only realize it a moment after you've done it and now you have to live through every nanosecond of your mistake hitting home.

Aziraphale's face went through several shifts of emotion while Crowley watched, his tongue heavy in his mouth: shock, confusion, dismay, and then sadness. Crowley's eyes then shifted over Aziraphale's head, taking in Edie's face in her hands and shocked expression along with Gladys making strangling motions with her hands.

And then time reasserted itself at its natural speed. Aziraphale was clutching the box, now closed, to his chest and he wasn't looking at Crowley anymore.

“That's not what I meant! Angel, that's not what I meant!” Crowley was on his own knees, clutching the angel's chin and making him look at him, “I'll have you. You understand? I'll have you until this universe is dust and atoms and something else is here. And, by G-Sa- anyone!- if we're still here after that in some form, I'll still love you then, too.”

“So,” Aziraphale chuckled damply, eyes still wide and shining, “That's a yes then?”

“Yes, love,” Crowley kissed him, “It's a yes.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed in deeply and let it out slowly, “Oh, you rather frightened me.”

“I'm so sorry. It's just... I had hoped to... Well, you kind of stole my thunder.”

“How do you mean?”

Crowley reached into his pocket and pulled out his own little box. Aziraphale gasped, hand flying to his lips.

“We didn't.”

“Yeah, you idiots both did.” It was Gladys. Thankfully, this time when Crowley looked at her, she was smiling instead of threatening his life.

“You knew!” Crowley was incredulous, “You knew this whole time. He told you, too.”

“I'm afraid I have a confession to make,” Aziraphale stole his attention again, “I asked for Gladys' help with this. I... I wanted to do it here because this is where we started down this path. And she was more than happy to help.”

“But, the orphans...”

“Oh, they were real. Happy circumstance. Er, well,” Aziraphale coughed, “I mean, it's not happy that they're orphans. But she was going to bake for them either way. It was, ah, a convenient excuse.”

“Knew it was over the top.”

“So, can I see it?”

“See what?”

“My ring?”

“Oh,” Crowley looked down at the box in his hands, “Yeah, of course.” He opened it, revealing a golden band that curled like a serpent around an exquisitely clear diamond surrounded by tiny opals.

“My, it's beautiful.”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I do,” Aziraphale wiggled his fingers, “put it on?” Crowley slipped it on his finger. The ring looked like it had always belonged there and didn't that just make his heart flutter. Crowley offered him his hand and Aziraphale opened his tiny box back up, slipping the band on his finger. They both marveled at their own rings and then smiled stupidly at one another.

“Maybe we should get up off the floor,” Crowley laughed, slithering back up onto the couch and helping Aziraphale up beside him. He twines his fingers through Aziraphale's and squeezed his hand, “is this what's had you fretting all day?”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Yes,” they all answered in unison. Crowley mock glared at Gladys and Edie who suddenly found the Christmas tree the most interesting thing in the world.

“It's always been you, Angel,” Crowley cradled his cheek in his hand, “since the moment on the wall when you defied god herself to help the first humans. I've never had eyes for anyone else.”

Aziraphale, absurdly in Crowley's mind, looked like he might burst into tears again so he pulled him close and kissed him deeply, delighting in the soft moan he got in response.

“There was no answer,” Crowley pulled back and pressed his forehead to Aziraphale's, “that I would give you other than 'yes.'”

“Except the one you gave me was 'no way.'” Aziraphale was smirking at him.

“I'm never going to live this down, am I?”

“Not if we survive the end of the universe and live amongst the dust and atoms.”

“Bastard.”

“You love me,” Aziraphale sing-songed.

“I could take it back.”

“You won't.”

Crowley grunted, pulling back and looking around. Gladys and Edie had made a sneaky exit while they were in their own little world.

“Let's go upstairs, fiancé.” Aziraphale stood and offered his hand, lights from the tree bouncing off the ring on his finger. Crowley took his hand and followed him. Back inside their suite, Aziraphale pressed him into the door, pulling his arms over his head. The feel of the cold engagement ring pressed against his wrist hand him rocking into the angel as he was kissed breathless. They stumbled together towards the bed, but stopped short when they saw there was something on it.

A basket full of bath goodies. Salts, scrubs, soaps, lotions and body oils all in vanilla and sandalwood- something they would both like. Attached to it was a note in curly writing:

“Santa sees all and he wanted to bring you coal for your naughtiness, but we talked him into a bath set instead. Enjoy the tub, boys. Happy engagement! Love, Gladys and Edie”

“I'm not sure what we did to deserve them,” Aziraphale sighed happily.

“I'm not sure what we did to deserve them as punishment,” Crowley grumbled.

“You don't actually mind the attention.”

“Don't tell them that.”

“I won't if you keep me busy enough. I'm feeling a little bored right now... Maybe a little girl-talk, some gossip,” Aziraphale made for the door but Crowley grabbed his wrist.

“How about a massage instead,” he held up the little bottle of oil.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale drew close again, “What was saying? I'm afraid I forgot.”

Chapter 19 is now up!

#aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #star light-reads #30 days of prompts #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #christmas fluff #fluff

[dothwrites]

15.06 coda--ocean of silence

There is an ocean of silence between us. And I am drowning in it.--Ranata Suzuki

---

“And check your damn messages.” 

The words stick in Dean’s throat, vicious and painful. They manage to worm their way through, but there’s so many other words that want to claw their way out--What the fuck are you doing in fucking Idaho, why the fuck didn’t you listen to your messages, come back, God’s back and we need you, come back, God’s been writing our story all this time and I have no idea which way is up and which way is right, come back, we need you, I need you, I need you--

But he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t say any of it. Instead, he says “Check your damn messages,” and punches the end call button before he can say any of the words begging to escape. 

---

Castiel waits until he’s sitting in his cabin before he checks his phone. 

For weeks now he’s been watching the messages pile on top of each other, not bothering to check them. He didn’t want to feel that pang in his chest when he realized that none of them were from Dean. 

He feels it now, scrolling through the messages--Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam...Something, foreign and hot, clogs in his throat. If Dean had cared, just enough to send one single message, just some hint that he cared, even a little...

He listens to Sam’s voicemail from one week ago. He can hear the barely restrained emotion in Sam’s voice, present in the tiny wobbles and the small hitches of his breath. Sam says that Chuck, that God is back. That he never really left. That Lilith is back. That everything--Jack, Rowena--was all for nothing. 

That he lost everything. For nothing. 

Again.

If I stay, nothing changes, he’d said, but if he goes back, then nothing changes. From whichever way he looks at it--nothing changes. In the end, God will still be there, Jack will still be gone, and Dean...Well. Nothing will change. 

Just hearing Dean’s voice on the other end of the line, hearing the particular way that Dean’s voice shaped his name--Cas. Until Dean Winchester, he had always been Castiel. There had never been any other option. Then he met Dean, talked to Dean, and immediately, Dean began chipping away at him, starting with his name. It wasn’t until years later that Castiel looked at the shape of himself and didn’t recognize what he saw. It wasn’t until years later that he realized that Dean Winchester had molded him, with the care and precision of a master sculptor, into whatever Dean had wanted to see. And Castiel, whoever that angel had been, was lost forever. 

---

He drives back to the bunker. In the end, he doesn’t know what else to do. Get back in the game, he’d said, arrogant in the moment, still riding high on the release of his rage. He forgot that he’d closed that door behind him and thrown away the key. Not literally--the key to the bunker still sits in the pocket of his coat but. 

When he drove away, he’d honestly never expected to see the bunker again. And now...the gravel road is still the same, winding down to the forgotten entrance. Out here, there’s no light pollution, and Castiel’s headlights cut through the darkness to land on the figure of a woman. 

Something hot and unpleasant clenches in Castiel’s chest. Ridiculous, given their circumstances, but...The woman turns around, suspicion narrowing her eyes as her hand goes to her waist. Castiel catches a glimpse of a gun tucked into her waistband. Not a civilian then. 

He gets out of the truck, but leaves the headlights on her so that she has to squint to see him. It gives him the advantage, however brief. He just hopes that she’ll think before shooting him. His grace...well. He might not recover so easily from a gunshot as he once did. 

“Hello?” The woman doesn’t answer his call. A vague rush of foreboding prickles through Castiel’s body. His blade rests in his coat sleeve, heavy with intent. “Hello?” he calls again, louder. 

“Hello?” answers him. There’s a thickness to the voice, a slurring of the syllables that means--

Castiel shifts so that the light illuminates his body instead of silhouetting him. “Hello?” he asks again, making sure to face the woman directly so that she can see the movement of his lips. 

“Who are you?” she asks, never moving her hand away from the gun. 

“Castiel,” he answers. 

The tension in her posture relaxes and her hand falls away from the gun. “Oh.” Her eyes fall on him again, with a different kind of consideration. “You’re Castiel.” Her mouth twists as she takes him in--the holes in his shirt where the bullets tore through, the blood spattered on his shirt and neck. He can feel it on his face, pulling unpleasantly at his skin whenever he moves. He’d done his best to try and clean himself before he left, but it had been a quick job. As for his clothes--he didn’t have the infinistirmal amount of grace that it would take to clean his suit. He’s been carefully ignoring that fact, and he continues to do so with a neat little mental sidestep. 

“You’re an angel?” the woman asks. Skeptisicm is in her tone, and Castiel doesn’t blame her. He’s a skeptic as well. 

“A poor excuse for one,” he answers. He doesn’t realize, until he sees the quick flash of pity in the woman’s eyes, how pathetic that sounds. “And you are?” he asks, swiftly changing the subject. “I thought I knew all the other hunters but I don’t--”

“Eileen.” She extends her hand and Castiel takes it. Her shake is firm and strong, her skin warm. “Eileen Leahy.” 

The name sparks the faintest recollection of a memory and though Castiel doesn’t pull away, his hand jerks in her grasp. Eileen’s eyes sparkle at him, mirth dancing in their depths at his reaction. “You were dead,” Castiel says, because he remembers now. Eileen, who was killed by the British Men of Letters. Eileen, who Sam always spoke of with fondness and regret. Eileen, who stands in front of him now, whole and vibrant and alive, while so many others are dead and scattered into dust. 

“Weren’t you?” she asks. 

Despite everything, a smile breaks across Castiel’s face. “I suppose so,” he answers. “It seems to be a recurring theme for...” He stops himself before the words tumble out of his mouth. A recurring theme for residents of this place. 

He can’t say that. He’s not a resident here anymore, if he ever was. “For hunters,” he finishes lamely. Eileen’s expression tells him that he’s not really fooling her, but she doesn’t press. Once again, Castiel is grateful for the strange generosity of humans, the way that even though they can be harsh and cruel, petty and thoughtless, they’re also so gentle and careful with veritable strangers. 

“So why are you out here? I thought that this was normally the time that humans spent sleeping.” 

Eileen shrugs, glancing up at the stars. “Being dead for a few years--Sleep is kind of overrated at this point?” Her fingers flex in the fabric of her jacket as she turns in a slow circle. “Plus, i just like it out here. In there, it’s...”

“It can be stifling,” Castiel answers. The underground nature of the bunker, the way that two human men can take up so much space. The way that a single human can force his presence on an angel until they crumple underneath the weight of it. 

Eileen nods. A faint smile crosses her face as she looks around the bleak landscape surrounding the bunker. “You miss this,” she says, more to herself than Castiel. “The breeze, the smell. The feel of it.” She looks at him, a little shyly. “Do you want to go in?” she asks, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the door. 

“No,” Castiel answers, settling down on the steps. 

“I’m fine staying out here for a while.” 

---

After an hour passes, Sam comes outside to find them.

He’s obviously not expecting any company, dressed only in a thin shirt and pajama pants. He didn’t even bother to put shoes on before he came outside, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. His hair is tousled and sticking up in the back. Castiel wonders what’s between him and Eileen, that he would leave his bed and sleep to search for her. 

“Hey, I woke up and saw that you--” Sam pauses, his eyes lighting on Castiel’s form. He blinks away the slumber as his posture straightens and awareness filters back into his expression. “Cas.” His tone is carefully neutral. “I didn’t know that you were here.” 

“I just got here a few hours ago.” Eileen’s eyes flick back and forth between Sam’s face and his. Even though she can’t hear the obvious tension in their words, she can pick it up through the blatant discomfort in their body language. 

“I’m going to go back inside,” she says, and before either of them can say goodbye, Eileen bolts back inside. Castiel is left with Sam who has a strange mixture of longing, worry, and irritation on his face. 

“Did you get my messages?” he finally asks, leaning against the wall. Castiel wonders if he should stand, but nixes the idea. Even the thought takes too much effort. 

“I listened to them earlier.” 

“And why...” Sam is losing the fight against his irritation. He blows out a short breath and folds his arms against his chest. He seems incapable of looking at Castiel for longer than a stretch of thirty seconds. “Why didn’t you answer? Where were you?”

Irritation bristles its ugly head. Castiel grits his jaw to keep all of his roiling, seething anger inside. Sam Winchester doesn’t get to question him like this, doesn’t get to make demands of him; it’s not like he’s...

“I needed to be away. From here.” Castiel bites out the words. 

Sam finally looks at him, bleak frustration in his eyes. “Because of Jack? Cas, we all miss him. But it’s complicated and...”

Castiel’s anger and grief explode outward, a volcano finally reaching its critical state. He stands up, coat swirling around him as he stalks to Sam. He forgets his lingering weakness, the jelly state of his graceless body as he stands within an inch of Sam. 

“Complicated? You miss him? You and your brother were the ones who tried to lock him away from the world for all eternity, and when that didn’t work, you were the ones who put a gun to his head. And now you have the...” Castiel’s mouth works for a second as he tries to find the correct word, “the arrogance, to come to me and tell me that you miss him? That you’re sad that Chuck finished the job instead of you?” 

“Cas, that’s not fair,” Sam tries, but Castiel can tell by the fraying sound of his voice that he’s on the end of his tether as well. “You don’t understand--Jack killed Mom and--”

“No, I understand very well the Winchester definition of family,” Castiel spits out, then stops, chest heaving. He feels raw on the inside, like something came through and scraped its claws through every part of him. 

He never should have come back. He sees that now. 

If Castiel had actually reached out and slapped him, Sam could not look more confused or hurt. His mouth hangs open and his eyes reflect a sort of helpless pain that Castiel can identify with all too well. He knows what it feels like to have the people you took for granted in your life suddenly shift and change until you no longer know how to navigate through the new sharp edges. He knows what it feels like to get cut to ribbons on someone. 

“What...what the hell happened?” Sam finally asks, rubbing his jaw. “Cas, what...why did you leave?” 

And there it is. The question that he should have been asking all along, now delivered, too late to help anyone. 

Castiel doesn’t want to punish Sam. That’s never what this was about, but he can’t, he can’t...He can’t sit here and pour out the ugly remains of his life, his hopes, he can’t sit there and be a willing participant in his own humiliation. 

“Ask your brother,” Castiel says instead, petty and cruel. He heads towards the door of the bunker, hating the claustrophobic nature of the place but needing to escape this conversation. His hand on the doorknob, he pauses to look back at Sam. “I’m here to help with God because it’s my fight too. I can’t sit on the sidelines and watch because I have a responsibility. But after...However this ends, I’m leaving after.”

He goes into the bowels of the bunker, leaving Sam alone outside.

---

Dean is caught in the middle of a dream. 

Ever since they got the news that Chuck was back, he’s been dreaming more than usual. Normally his dreams are just strange, fever-pitch things. They’re enough to leave him gasping in a cold sweat, but not enough to linger over his day. These dreams though...these dreams wrap around him like a cold, forbidding blanket, and shadow every action that he makes until finally, he falls back asleep, only to dream again. 

Tonight, it’s more of the same. He’s racing through a forest that happens to look a hell of a lot like Purgatory. He’s hunting something. He doesn’t know what it is, but he knows that he wants to find it and destroy. He wants to dig his fingernails into this thing and shred it apart, until nothing’s left but the blood and gore on his hands. His blood thrills with the chase and all that he hears is just the sound of his feet racing through the undergrowth and the ragged sounds of his breath ripping through the air. 

Ahead of him, a rustle. Dean pours on the speed, his gun a promising weight in his hand. The tension of his finger as he squeezes the trigger, the recoil traveling up his arm, the satisfaction of hearing the bullet hit and watching the blood spray--Dean races ahead, hunting the creature that no longer bothers to be subtle. Now it’s running, straight in front of him, in a futile attempt to escape. 

There is no escape. Not here, not from him. 

Dean launches himself into the air, arms reaching out to grab the fabric of the thing’s coat. He brings it to the ground and they roll, scratching and clawing at each other, but there was only one way that this story was ever going to end. Dean springs to his feet, his quarry still on the ground, and if he were able, he’d throw his head back and howl his triumph to the night sky. 

He shoves his toe under the body and rolls them over. There is nothing but triumph as he looks into Castiel’s eyes. 

“Dean,” he tries, hands held up in surrender, “Dean, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to--”

Dean holds the gun up. He looks down at it, heavy in his hands. The Equalizer. Cas’ eyes flick to the gun, but then he keeps them on Dean’s face, open and earnest. Pleading. 

“Dean, this isn’t...This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, this isn’t you--” 

Cas’ voice tapers off to nothing as Dean places the gun against the skin of his forehead. His heart is pounding hard in his chest--excitement, horror--Whatever it is, Dean’s drunk on it, on the power to be found in the simple act of stroking his finger over the trigger. 

“Dean. Please.” Cas never takes his eyes off Dean’s face, and that trust, that faith, after everything that--

Dean squeezes the trigger, watches the blood and gore explode from Cas’ head, watches those bright blue eyes film over, watches the body slump--

---

He wakes, gasping, terrified, sick. He retches but nothing comes up, only the sick taste of his own horror. Just a dream, but the words sound empty both in his head and in the quiet air of his bedroom. Just a dream. It was just a dream. 

He didn’t kill Cas. He would never. 

But the dream was so real, with Cas kneeling, pleading...And the smooth feel of the gun jumping in his hands, the way that it was so easy to squeeze, the satisfaction of watching Cas’ body jerk, watching the quick spray of blood--

“Fucking christ,” Dean mutters. With quick, convulsive movements, he jerks his robe on and ties a sloppy knot. Obviously he’s not going to get any more sleep so he might as well...Do something. That has his feet and hands moving. 

Sam would suggest that he should exercise, but Sam is an asshole who eats granola and gets to have the person he loves in the same zipcode with him, so what the fuck does he know? 

Dean walks out of his room and closes the door quietly, just in case Eileen or Sam are sleeping lightly. He starts down the hallway, lost in the memories and the might-have beens, and he doesn’t see the other person in the hallway until he bounces off of them. 

He staggers back, an apology already on his lips, when he looks and--

“Cas?” he croaks, his heart thundering in his chest. 

He blinks to clear the last remnants of sleep from his eyes and then he looks-- “Why are you--” There’s blood, too much of it, it’s on Cas’ shirt and his coat, and his face, and there’s, oh god are those bullet holes in his shirt, and that’s too much blood, bullets in Cas and it’s too much blood--

“Dean, it’s fine. It’s not mine. I’m fine.” 

Dean realizes that he’d been speaking aloud, his hands clutching at the lapels of Cas’ coat in some desperate attempt to assure himself that this isn’t his dream, that Cas is still...That he’s...

“It’s not my blood. I’m fine. Look.” Cas takes his hand, in those sure, capable fingers, the ones that have put Dean back together more times than he can count, and guides it to his chest. Dean’s fingers catch on the ragged edge of Cas’ shirt, where the bullets went in before finding smooth, unblemished skin. Whole. Intact. 

Cas’ skin is warm to the touch and Dean drinks in the sensation before the full weight of reality hits and he realizes--This isn’t for him anymore. Touching Cas, getting to check him for injury--That isn’t for either of them. They both made sure of that. 

“You’re back,” Dean says, unnecessarily, but needing the moment to gather his defenses around him. He clutches his robe tight to his body like that’ll make a damn bit of difference, but it’s just one more layer between him and the rest of the world. 

Cas takes a step back. It’s hardly anything, but it feels like everything, in the deliberate distance that he puts between them. “Yes,” he says, his voice stiff in a way that it hasn’t been in years. “Considering the circumstances...I didn’t think that there was another option.” 

Dean jerks his head once, bitterly. “Right. The circumstances.” Because why else would Cas come back? Cas leaves because he wants to, because it’s time for him to move on, and comes back because of the circumstances. Because at the heart of it, Cas is still the duty-bound angel. “Well. We’ll try not keep you too long.” 

What have you been doing to get yourself shot, are you ok, where have you been, why couldn’t you have at least texted Sam to let him know that you were fine, why couldn’t you text me and let me know you were fine, why couldn’t you stay, why couldn’t you understand that I still wanted you around, why couldn’t you just wait, just for a little bit until I was fine again--

“I know that you’ve got stuff to get back to,” Dean says instead, like he’s possessed, like someone else is in his chest, saying these things that will make Cas flinch. 

He does. Cas still flinches, which means that Cas still cares, no matter how much he tries to pretend that he doesn’t. And if Cas still cares, that means that...Dean doesn’t know what that means. 

“I’ll try not to overstay my welcome.” Why did he ever teach Cas the nuances of sarcasm, the way that the English language can be manipulated to wound? 

Cas turns away from him, like he did that one night, like he does in some of Dean’s nightmares, the ones where he’s begging Cas to stay and Cas looks at him, coolly pitying, and says, I think it’s time for me to move on, and then he leaves, like all of this was never more than a pit stop for him along the way to bigger and better things. 

Something in Dean’s chest breaks. It shatters into a thousand pieces and then he’s lurching forward, hands reaching for Cas. He manages to grab a piece of his coat, but the tug of fabric is enough to stop Cas. “What Dean?” Dean didn’t know that angels could sound exhausted, but Cas does, Cas sounds like he has the weight of centuries and the weight of Dean pushing him down to the ground. 

“I...I don’t know,” Dean says, and there’s something liberating about the acknowledgement that he’s been floundering for these past three weeks. “I don’t...I don’t like when you’re gone,” he says. There’s more, but it’s all too raw, too painful, too true to say. If he says that, if he apologizes and confesses, and all the rest of it, then Cas will know, and then...Then, when Cas leaves after that, Dean will know that it was always him, that Cas was always leaving him, and Dean doesn’t think that he’ll survive that. 

Cas says nothing; he doesn’t even bother to turn around. Dean inches closer and Cas could leave if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. Infinitesimally, Dean moves forward until his forehead is resting on Cas’ shoulder. Cas stiffens underneath him, but he doesn’t move to shake Dean off. Dean stays there and breathes in the scent of Cas’ coat, which smells like something damp and wild, and then the scent of Cas, which smells like something fierce and unforgiving. 

The moment is fragile, so achingly vulnerable, that it’s no surprise when Dean ruins it. “It’s good that you’re back,” he says, and he means it in the way that he can’t sleep well when he doesn’t know where Cas is, in the way that he thought that he was never going to see Cas again, in the way that his heart lifted to hear Cas’ voice, even in those bitten off, reluctant syllables, in the way that this feels like a second chance, and then he says, “We really need you”, and everything shatters. 

Cas pulls away and leaves Dean cold and bereft. Now, when he turns around, his face is that angelic mask that Dean hates so much, the one that Cas hides behind when he’s feeling too much, when he becomes too human for comfort. 

“That always seems to be the case,” Cas bites out, short and bitter, and how did this go so bad so quick? Where were the warnings? “I’m here to help, because this is my fight too Dean. I was here when it started and i don’t get to sit on the sidelines and watch. But after...” Castiel shakes his head. “If I stay, nothing changes.” 

He walks away, leaving Dean standing in the middle of the hallway. For the second time, Dean watches him go and doesn’t say anything. For the second time, Cas never pauses or invites Dean to change his mind. 

Dean stands in the hallway until Castiel disappears, until he confirms that Cas isn’t coming back. Then he slinks back to his room, despair and defeat dogging his steps like two faithful hounds. He closes the door and wishes that the noise of the latch clicking didn’t sound so final. 

He curls up on the bed and starts scrolling through his phone. He needs a hunt, something that will consume his mind, something that will take him away from the bunker, away from Cas, away from the ruins of his failure. 

“Huh,” he says, as he lands on something that looks promising. 

---

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.--Anais Nin

#spn spoilers #supernatural #destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #castiel #dean winchester #spn15 #15.06 coda #15x06 coda #fare thee well spn #welcome to the end #dothwrites