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lo1k-diamonds · 4 months

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SX Seoul Series | Jungkook Entry 💜 Bubbles (Part 2)

PAIRING: Jungkook/Reader (You can also read it on AO3)

SUMMARY: You wake up the next morning and feelings you didn't want to stir are brought back to the surface. You think he might feel the same way but maybe you jumped to conclusions too soon.

WORD COUNT: 8.3k

GENRE: Exes to lovers, smuuuuuut, angst, making up

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: exes, explicit, unprotected sex (stay safe!), you guys fight and stuff gets punched and thrown around, lingering feelings, heartbreak, second chances

PARTS: [1] [2]

A.N. I wrote this story after a while of being unable to focus and write so I hope you enjoy it, I think it turned out fun :)

Masterlist | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs

You woke up in the morning, yet despite the sun’s rays hitting the floor, you couldn't be certain. Were you truly waking up?

You sighed and pressed yourself further back into a welcoming chest. The sheets had a familiar scent, and this along with the tattooed arm enveloping you and the breath fanning your hair made you sure that you were still dreaming. You moved ever so slightly, you wanted to submerge deeper into that dream, and his legs tangled with yours even better as if to tell you you were not going anywhere. It melted you because it reminded you of so many mornings before. So many dawns and sunsets where you’d be tucked in safely inside those arms, with his hum near your ear, his perfume trickling your nose, and you took deep breaths. That was your safety net, the place you rushed to so you could recover, rest, and gain the courage to face the world.

It was enough for you to search for even more. You were sleepy, dreaming, and on the only fluffy cloud in the sky where you wanted to be. So you turned under his arm to face him and your heart instantly trembled. His eyes were closed, but the soft lines of his face were the sweetest thing you had ever seen. You missed those pouty lips, that round cutesy nose, and the swell of those cheeks you used to tease all the time and that made you fall in love whenever delicate dimples would crease. His eyebrows had always been so expressive and now one had a piercing, which didn’t match the two rings adorning his lower lip except that he pierced the same side of his face. But even that didn’t surprise you; when you first met, he said he always wanted to do something, but didn’t know exactly what. You guessed he had figured it out.

You reached to brush his hair aside and felt the two studs on his eyebrow with a feather-like touch — you liked it. You liked everything about him, always had. You knew then your heart was getting loud and you smirked when it became deafening — because he opened his eyes. And in that moment, you decided that reality would only come knocking if you let it. You could pretend it didn’t exist. You could pretend Jungkook was still yours, that he didn’t hate you, that you belonged in his arms again.

You leaned in to nuzzle him and gave him a moment to move away. You were clear — you wanted to go on that ride again and forget everything else, but what about him?

He brushed his nose to yours once and captured your lips with a kiss that fluttered your heart. It wasn’t desperate or crude, it was gentle and warm like when two lovers said good morning. And that was all you needed.

You snuggled closer, embracing him and stretching and sighing in multiple turns. He returned your kiss and held you close, equally invested in that moment with you, away from any pain, anger, or subterfuge. This made you smile, contentment radiating from every corner of you, and it was as if you were in an alternate dimension. You could feel his love again and adore him back and you wanted to make the best of it.

Maybe it seemed against your better judgment, but you broke your kiss with a mischievous smile and turned your back on him. You pulled his arm firmer around you, in case he had silly ideas, and rubbed your ass on his crotch for good measure. The Jungkook you knew didn’t need any explanations or instructions, and indeed, he grabbed you close, grinding his hardening dick on your ass while breathing in the scent of your skin.

His hand came to cup your breast gently and you grinned, feeling elated with the way he was all over you. When he started playing with your nipple to harden it, you bit your lower lip and failed to contain your whimpers. He knew you were sensitive but it never stopped him before.

He started biting and licking down your neck and you were covered in goosebumps, arching your back to give him better access. He kept his sweet torture, but that wasn’t enough for you — you reached between your legs to grab his hard cock behind you and pull it to be squished between your thighs when you closed them. Then you rocked your hips and melted at the groan behind you.

“That’s it,” you cooed in a whisper, clenching around nothing in anticipation. “You’re so hard for me.”

You knew he loved to be coaxed, the same way you loved to tell him how good he felt. He wasn’t stopping, nibbling down your skin and pinching your nipple gently as he rutted you and you bit your lip.

“And I’m so ready for you,” you sighed. “Wont you check?”

Your tone was needy but you never bothered hiding it. His hand travelled from your chest to your core and instantly felt how you were dripping from your folds.

You whimpered, “See how you slide so well?” You meant at the surface, but his fingers sank into your flesh, pumping wet sounds out of you along with needy moans. “Fuck— You know where to go. You’ll feel so good, I promise.”

You felt his smile on your skin as he busied himself pumping you with two digits and getting juicy noises out of you. You moaned onto the pillow, rocking your hips to feel him better both inside you and in between your legs. You loved those sensations, not just the pleasure, but the scent reaching your nose because you were in his bed. You were living a dream and it was absolutely perfect.

His hand grabbed your hip, knowing well you were leaning forward and tilting your ass so he’d eventually slip inside you. The way he was making you crazy for it didn’t elude you, but you were never beyond begging.

“Fuck, baby. Please let me have you, please.”

He froze and you squirmed to feel him, thinking that was him just making you work harder for him.

He moved quickly enough that you didn’t think beyond it — he reached behind him inside a nightstand drawer and got something. You heard the wrap tearing and waited until he was ready. You didn’t let a single thought cross your mind, not now.

He grabbed your hip again and this time his cock pushed between your folds to get inside you, making you moan and lose all strength. He rocked his hips into yours and you gasped, leaning back. You didn’t expect him to grab your hair and arch you further, but you definitely tensed more around him, barely able to catch your breath.

“Fuck— Fuck, I love it when you do this.”

You could feel his breath down your neck. “Yeah? Love it whenever a guy fucks you like this?”

“No, only you.” Your reply was as natural as breathing, giving him all you had. “Always only you.” You were burning inside out, feeling flush not only on your cheeks but also on your chest, hands, and stomach. You reached to grip his arm supporting your hip in place; you were starting to get sweaty but you doubted he minded. You were just looking for more ways to connect with him. “Are you going to tease me? Make me a good girl for you? I always loved to be good so I could earn you filling me up completely.”

His hips jerked off tempo and you only sighed. He remembered for sure what you were talking about.

His fingers dug at your skin, “Yeah? How many times have you begged for a guy’s cum after that?”

“Never. You’re the only one I ever begged to, the only cum I ever wanted. The only raw cock inside me, the only—”

He stopped and pushed you by the shoulder to face him. You were a bit startled but faced him with all the vulnerability you had been showing so far. His eyes were glistening, almost hurt, and your breath shook. You didn’t want that reality, the one in which you hurt him. You wanted to be back a year before when everything was good and sweet.

His eyes were watering up and he looked down. You thought he was running away from you and you were desperate for him to stay, and you looked down too. Before you could speak, you noticed he had his hand around the base of his cock, just frozen like that.

You teared up, “Do it.”

He looked up at you and you saw tears in his eyes as well.

You smiled, “I never had anyone other than you raw. If you want to, I’d love to feel you again.”

He didn’t even blink. You were certain it was an impulse as you saw him pull the condom out and guide himself inside you as if he were a dying man and your core was his salvation. But as you both groaned and closed your eyes with the feeling of being connected again, you couldn’t care. You looked at him with a tear sliding down your face into the pillow and knew that it would all just break your heart in the end.

He must have known it too, because his eyes were glistening and red as he thrust into you at a slower pace. You instantly wanted to beg, but he gripped you closer, jerking his hips into you in a hard yet loving way that melted you to the bone.

“Fuck,” you dragged, trying to look up so you could see him above your legs still bent to the side like when you were spooning. You could feel him all over you again, inside and out in ways that felt like your souls were merging and it had you enter that beautiful reverie. You gripped his arm harder and forced his hand on your chest to squeeze as you moved with him. “Don’t stop. Please, please, please,” you said with every moan, scared that he would pull away and leave you. “Only you feel like this, please.”

“Only me?”

He was breathless, you almost didn’t hear him over your prayers. “Only you,” you confirmed, then you trembled and the words dripped out of your mouth. “I’ve missed you so much. So much,” your voice smothered with anxiety, with the tears flowing from your eyes that you squinted shut.

You didn’t fear that he would reject you or mock you or ignore you, you weren’t thinking. Your heart was hurting and you couldn’t keep it in anymore.

He slowed down and you hid your face under your hands, immediately wanting to ask him not to stop when you felt his breath near your ear.

“Me too. I’ve missed you too, bubbles.” His voice was wavering as he reached to kiss every inch of skin in range, soon after releasing his hand from your grasp only to grab it back and bring it to his lips. “I’ve missed everything. I’ve missed this.”

A sob almost silenced you, but you managed to call for him first, “Kook.”

It was a desperate sound you were almost ashamed to let out, so your hands instantly covered your face again.

He stopped and in a second was pulling your leg under him so he could get on top of you in between your legs and hold you tightly. He leaned down to kiss your hands away as his hips rocked into you gently.

His lips and calls convinced you to uncover your face only to wrap your arms around him and hide in his neck, “I miss you!” You whispered with a lump in your throat. “Please.”

He kissed your red and wet cheeks, down to the salty traces that led into your hairline, “I miss you too.”

Shivers ran down your body as his words emerged a knot of feelings from inside your chest. You were never able to face it, to deal with it, to forgive him or yourself, but his words. The way he was with you, holding you close just like he used to when he loved you. His body was fully connected to yours, maybe even his soul.

You sank your nails onto his back and focused on his weight on you, his soft skin, his scent, and the burning tension in your lower stomach. You knew you would explode soon but you needed to let it out.

“I wanted to see you.”

He kissed your head, “I’m here.”

“I needed to see you,” you tried, but the pleasure sparking inside you was about to steal that chance. So you hugged him closer — a moan was pushed out of you and you could feel your orgasm starting, but you still chirped, “I love—”

You couldn’t finish as you started shaking uncontrollably from the waves of pleasure tensing and relaxing every muscle in your body. You clung on to him, squeezing him so tightly you were surprised he didn’t didn’t break apart. But maybe he didn’t for the same reason as you — he was holding you together.

He waited for you to be done before pulling out and coming over your belly. He didn’t bother separating your bodies and just groaned near your ear as you hugged him close. You could feel the warm substance trickling down the sides of your stomach but you didn’t care. You were never one to be bothered, you were not disgusted by him in the slightest.

He kissed your head and you smiled, waiting and longing for his kiss to travel to your cheeks, then further to your mouth. You tried to control your happiness and kiss him back placatingly, still letting that joy reach corners of you that were dim otherwise.

When he pulled away, you had no idea what would happen, but you were at ease. Because you opened up to him and he missed you back, and even though you weren’t able to tell him properly that you still loved him, you’d surely have another opportunity soon.

That was what you thought and the reason your lips were curved, even when he got away from you to grab wipes so he could clean you. Yet as he did, you noticed he wasn’t looking at you. His jaw was hardening and he didn’t look nearly half as relaxed as you did.

Shit.

He wasn’t done yet when you tried to reach for his hand, but he dodged you and threw the wipe away before putting his legs out of the bed to sit with his back to you. You started shaking.

“Not to ruin your post-nut clarity, but I’d like to talk.”

You chuckled nervously and fumbled with the sheet — everything you said felt risky, and every step you took felt like the ice under you would crack. You feared speaking too soon but couldn’t risk doing it too late. You let those fears drown you once, but not again. At least this time your mistake would be insisting, not letting it slide.

“Nothing to talk about.”

You knew from his tone that he was about to push you away and it made you react. “That’s not true. I said I miss you, and you said it back.”

He didn’t answer; all you could see were his wide shoulders as he leaned forward, supported on his knees, and kept quiet.

You gave him the chance to speak his mind because maybe he needed time and who knew, maybe you did too. But you couldn’t think as you waited, you had no idea what to say. Nothing felt enough, but you wanted to say everything.

He heaved a deep breath and moved a millimeter to get up, and you immediately pushed. “Answer me. Talk to me. Why can’t we have a conversation?”

He scoffed, “That’s rich coming from you.”

You sat up as he got up and searched for clothes in a nearby closet. “It goes both ways.”

You bit your tongue and cursed yourself for reacting instead of thinking first — you didn’t want to fight, you wanted to talk.

You took a deep breath and spoke while he put a pair of boxers on, “Do you miss me?”

He scoffed and left the room and you jumped off the bed after him. You could only grab the nearest tee shirt you saw, black as everything else he owned, and scurried after him.

“Answer me,” you insisted, seeing him in the living room putting pants on. Where did those even come from? “Fucking hell, Jungkook, just answer me!”

“What?!” He exploded, anger brazen on his features, but you didn’t step back.

“Do you really miss me?”

“No.”

You raised your chin and tried to not give away how your heart was cracking further. You couldn’t think or you’d start crying. “Well, fuck you too.” Your voice still wavered, “Don’t fucking lie next time.”

You turned to reach the bathroom and get your clothes so you could leave. Your heart was pulsating with sharp pain and you knew you were seconds away from crying. You needed to get out. Now.

“You’re assuming I—”

“Yeah yeah, no seconds,” you spat bitterly, unsure if he heard you. He shut up, so he did. You grabbed your clothes, “You don’t have to worry about that.”

A sudden noise from behind you startled you so before you could strip, you turned around — he had kicked the bathroom door with so much strength you thought it might have popped off.

“What the fuck do you want from me?!”

“How many times do I have to say it? A fucking conversation!”

“I have nothing to say to you!”

“Fine! You’ll lie anyway!”

You turned your back to him, letting the poisonous anger burn your guts while you got a hang of your dress so you could put it on.

When a loud noise came from the door again, you weren’t even surprised. This time, he punched it and something metal hopped over the floor and rolled away.

“As if you didn’t say those things in the spur of the moment!”

“I didn’t.” Tears ran down your face and you cleaned them quickly, refusing to let the cry take over you. “I meant every word I said.”

“Bullshit,” his voice had so much contempt you almost broke down.

“I don’t care what you believe,” was all you said, then took the tee off. “Just because you lied doesn’t mean I did.”

He saw how your back bent and tensed while you put your strapless bra on. He was shaking in anger but he heard you sniffle and you didn’t sound like you were mocking him. He couldn’t handle it if it was true.

“Don’t joke around—”

“I’m not fucking joking.” You sounded angry now and you grabbed your dress to put it on. He clenched his fists. “But it doesn’t matter, it’s done.”

You put your strapless dress back on, adjusting it so it would cover you as much as possible. You had no way of seeing how angry he was getting at the sight of you wearing that again instead of his clothes, but it was something he would never admit.

“You want me to believe you wanted to see me?”

His voice was derisive and you turned to him. “I did.”

“That you needed to see me?”

He scoffed and you grabbed your heels on the floor. “I did.”

You turned back to him, thinking that maybe now you could actually talk, but he was shaking his head. You saw tears in his eyes before he started laughing and rubbing his face.

“It’s funny, is it?” You asked, filled with contempt yourself. “Why, you didn’t even hit the punchline yet.”

He uncovered his face and his whole expression was a warning.

“What?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. “If you’re going to mock me then at least do it well.”

His jawline was tensing again but you couldn’t care anymore.

“Come on, where’s the final question? You heard me. You would be running your mouth if you didn’t.” You scoffed, “Though I couldn’t really say it properly, but—”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

For a second you thought he was scared, but you only smirked, “I don’t? You know what? You’re right. Congratulations, you’re right about something and all you had to do was be an asshole.” You stepped towards him to get out but he didn’t move out of the way. “Let me go.”

He shook his head and you ignored all kinds of emotions on his face.

You pushed him, but he didn’t move. “Let me go.”

“No.”

You pushed his shoulders again, but he didn’t budge. You clenched your jaw, upset, and saw that it didn’t bother him in the slightest. In fact, maybe he liked it. You pushed him once more and he tried grabbing your arms, and you struggled.

He won — he grabbed your forearms, “What did you say?” You scoffed and he pulled you closer. “Tell me what was I supposed to have heard?”

“I said I—”

You were ready to spit it in his face but your throat blocked as you looked into his eyes. You were both angry and hurt, and you thought you were above it, but you weren’t. If you said it again, it would hurt infinitely more. But then it hit you — he just used you. He was attracted to you and wanted an easy fuck, and that was what that night was. You were hung up on him like a moron.

Your eyes teared up but you made a decision — it would be easier if he just crushed your heart right now.

“I said I love you.”

He released his hold on you instantly as if you burned and you scoffed. You guessed you did — this Jungkook in front of you clearly couldn’t handle something like that. He was a fuckboy now.

You pushed him again and he didn’t resist, falling to the side and letting you pass. You started looking around — you couldn’t recall where you had thrown your purse.

“I said don’t joke around.”

His voice was barely above a whisper and you didn’t stop. You were throwing sofa pillows around, “And I said I’m not joking. And I don’t lie either, contrary to you.”

“You have no idea what you’re saying.”

You pulled your hair back with a sigh; it wasn’t on the couch. “You’re starting to sound like a broken record.” You continued looking around, maybe in the kitchen? “What does it matter anyway? I get it — why you lied. I was being emotional and you wanted an easy fuck.” You huffed; not there either. “You got it, so you want me to leave now, right? Don’t worry, I want to, I just can’t find—”

He roared and punched something that made the coat hanger fall to the floor. “You talk and talk and talk but you still don’t know what you’re fucking saying!”

You got over your shock quickly and threw your shoes on the floor, “It would help if you fucking talked instead of breaking the place!”

“I can’t fucking talk when you’re driving me insane!”

You scoffed, “Me? Maybe you are just insane.”

He stepped to you with a dangerous look, “Watch your mouth.”

“Why? What will you do?” You rolled your eyes when he only took a deep breath in response. When you looked back at him he was closer and you instantly tensed up, and not in a bad way. He was eying you in that way that had you crazy needy but you stood your ground. “You’re not touching me again.” Your lips pulled in contempt, “Not like you want to. No sloppy seconds, right? So surely no thirds or fourths or—”

He stepped forward, ready to grab you, and you gave him your most disgusted piercing look.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me, don’t even think about using me again.”

You were out of breath, spitting venomous words while your eyes were locked, but in an instant, something wet dripped down your cheeks. You breathed, and instantly you recognized the pain searing your heart. It hurt. It hurt too much.

Your sob had you sucking breaths anxiously and you gave him your back. You didn’t want him to see how much it hurt you.

“I’d never use you.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Because—” He heaved a deep breath. It was complicated and he was so conflicted he wanted to punch something again. But seeing your shoulders move as you contained your sobs, his mind cleared. “Because I wanted to be with you.”

“Right,” you chuckled despite the tears. “Wasn’t fucking in a dark alley enough? Why did you bring me here?”

“To be with you.”

“Say it properly. To fuck.” He didn’t answer and you sucked in a deep breath, “Or maybe… maybe something worse. Not just to use me, did you want to hurt me? Is this some sort of… vengeance or—?”

“No!” He raised his arms to your shoulders but he didn’t touch you. You didn’t want him to.

You grinned but it was painful, “Lying again? Fuck, I never knew you like this.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Bullshit,” you almost laughed despite your crying and sniffling.

“It’s the truth.”

“Why should I believe you?”

He gritted his teeth behind you and gripped his hair in frustration. He was never the best at saying things, he always showed you better. He wished he could turn you around and get that stupid dress off you so he could cover you in his tee shirt again. He wished he could kiss your tears and hold you again like there wasn’t a mountain between you. He wished he could have you lying on his bed again saying those sweet things that shook him to his very core. He wished he could see your smile again as you drank your honey oat milk latte just the way you liked it because he made it for you. Fuck, he wanted that and so much more, but none of it would happen. He still hated you.

“Give me one good reason why you even talked to me back at the club,” you asked, more poised now that you had calmed your sobs and cleaned your cheeks. You turned to face him and he looked almost like he was in pain, but you only blinked your wet lashes. Your nose, eyes, and cheeks were still red but he knew you were crying, there was no point in hiding it.

“You looked beautiful.”

You scoffed, “Right… Beautiful enough to fuck easy, ri—?”

“Stop saying that!” Your assumptions were driving him crazy, but you were persistent.

“Why? Cause you can’t handle the truth?”

“Cause it’s fucking bullshit!” He smacked his fist on his palm, then opened both as if he could shake you to your senses, “You think fucking you is easy? You think wanting you and bringing you here was fucking easy? I gave in! I saw you, you said those things, and I had to have you!”

“You didn’t have to bring me here.”

“No, I didn’t!” He agreed with you and it made him swallow and take a breath from his shouting. “I did it for my own selfish reasons.”

“And what were those? If not to use me, not to hurt me or exact some sort of vengeance,” you enumerated with your fingers perhaps a bit pettily, but you wanted to understand. However, he didn’t seem interested in sharing — he had turned his back on you and stepped away to have space. “Then what for?”

He grunted and rubbed his face harshly before turning to face you, “Why do you complicate everything? I answered you already — to be with you. That’s all.”

You frowned and puffed; for some reason that answer just left you even more unsettled. “That doesn’t make any sense.” He threw his hands in the air and you insisted, “You wanted to be with me? Then why not let me finish blowing you?”

He scoffed and shook his head, “Thought you would have figured it out by now.”

Your frown deepened in anger, but it hit you. “Because… you didn’t want to use me?” His only response was a twitch of his eyebrows. “Then why not let me cum? When you ate me?”

He puffed a breath as his nostrils flared, but he still answered you, “Cause I was pissed.”

“Why?”

“Why?!” Your question made it worse. “Cause you spoke to me like I was nobody!”

Your chin dropped, “What?”

“You spoke like it could have been anyone else eating you and making you crazy and it made me want to tear you apart!”

You were shocked, just looking at him, and it infuriated him even more. He tried his best to keep his cool as he paced the living room — why were you making him feel inadequate? Like he was blowing something out of proportion when it meant so much to him?

“That's— I don't get it,” you tried, confused. “I wanted you to know how good you felt—”

“You called me baby!”

He was shouting again and you blinked, “So?”

“So?!” He kicked the back of his couch. “The most fucking generic term I’ve ever heard! Do you know how many people have called me that? Made me despise them every time!”

“But I've called you that before,” you pointed out, still confused. It was one of your nicknames for each other.

“You called me something else.”

His tone was suddenly sober and you instantly knew what he meant. “Kook.”

“Yes.”

He wouldn’t tell you how much he was hung up on it. He wouldn’t let anyone else call him that, he kicked out any women who tried, and just hearing it from your mouth now gave him goosebumps. It was who he was to you, who he wished he had been for his whole life.

You were just looking at each other while you recalled calling him ‘baby’ in the heat of your shared moments. You never meant it in a general way, you meant it endearingly. But you had called him ‘Kook’ earlier, and remembering it twisted your guts. You sighed and rubbed your eyes for a second — you had decided to crush your heart then and there. You weren’t leaving his place without bloodshed so there was no point in hiding.

“I was scared of calling you that,” you admitted, facing him again despite your fears. “I was scared of exposing myself like that.”

“Well, I did,” his grin was a sneer, but you couldn’t understand. Why would what you called him hurt him if he didn’t care? “So that was like a punch to my gut. Or maybe… maybe you didn't even notice that I—”

“Of course, I fucking noticed,” you blurted out, something akin to desperation on your features. “I noticed and it made me completely lose my mind!”

He leaned forward, gripping the couch’s back, “Not enough to expose yourself to me.”

“I was scared! You still hate me, I was—” Your own words hit you in realization, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. “I was scared.”

He scoffed, “Scared of what?”

“You know what,” you answered, uneasy.

“I do. See why you have no idea what you’re saying? You just blab and assume shit,” he gripped the leather couch and you thought for a moment he could have thrown it around if he wanted to. “The difference between you and me is that I knew who I was choosing.” His features hardened and you fought the urge to look small. “You said you wanted to do this and I took you.”

Your eyebrows twitched, “You’re trying to say I didn’t? Please,” you rolled your eyes. “Because I didn’t call you Kook sooner? You know better than that. I walked up to you, spoke to you, told you I wanted to be with you, came here with you, told you no one is like you, that I missed you, that no one makes me—” You huffed and bit your lip; you weren’t sure about saying any more than you already had.

His eyes were glistening but his grin was almost cruel. “You don’t look so scared now.”

You frowned for a moment before you raised your chin, “No, I guess I’m not. I was until you embraced me this morning and I thought—” Your lips twitched. “But that was fake,” his eyes snapped to yours and you stood still, “right? You lied. You never missed me, so what does it matter if you called me bubbles?” You scoffed but your eyes were filling with tears again, “Why call me that if you never meant it?” You shrugged, “I have nothing to fear anymore. It’s all fucked, I don’t think it can hurt more than this.”

His jaw was clenching hard while you spoke and he walked around. You thought he looked like a ticking timebomb with his biceps rhythmically reacting to his fists opening and closing.

“Well, I fucking wish it did,” he said. “It seems like nothing I do can hurt you, can it?”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m fucking serious!”

“Do I not look hurt to you?!”

“I want you to hurt at least a fraction of what it hurts me!” He punched the couch, but your watering eyes only hurt him more. “But all I managed to do was hurt myself even more!”

“You’re hurt?” You couldn’t hide your skepticism.

“What do you think?! Fuck, you’re so fucking selfish you can’t see anything in front of your nose!”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “Happens with liars. It’s hard to distinguish—”

“Shut up!” He turned to you and you squeezed your arms for comfort. “What does it matter if I missed you? If every fucking word out of my mouth was the truth and I called you bubbles because of what you fucking mean to me? Look at you!” You were shaking now with welled-up eyes. “Acting like a fucking abandoned puppy! You left!”

“What?”

“You left! You were the one who left!”

Your heart shook and you became pale, “That was— You mean—?”

“Yes!”

“But— You—” You were so confused. “You knew I’d leave!”

“What the fuck does that matter?! You said no and you left!”

Your heart instantly halted, “That’s— That’s something else entirely—”

“Yeah, right!” You shook with the venom in his voice. “I was ready, I made my choice, and you broke my heart!”

You were shaking and gripping your hands to soothe yourself, “I wasn’t ready.”

“You said no!”

His tone was accusatory and your chin trembled as you were swamped with old feelings and memories.

Only this time, you took a deep breath and answered back, “Listen to yourself! That day I told you I was going to the US to work for a year and you asked me to marry you! Does that make sense?!”

He had paced to his desk and as soon as you finished, he grabbed his gaming chair and threw it to the ground.

“You said no! You could have said something else! You could have said not yet or let’s talk or— I don’t know, just anything else! But you said no!!”

“Well, fuck, what was I supposed to say?! I had that job opportunity and you were going too fast!”

He sneered, “Fast?”

“Yes, fast! We weren't together for even a year yet!”

“I don't care! I fucking knew I wanted to spend my life with you! And you said no!”

“I said I love you!”

He kicked the chair on the floor, “And it wasn't enough!”

“No, it wasn't!” You stepped forward, wanting to punch something yourself. “Clearly! You’re fucking mad I said no, but what about you?! You fucking dropped off the face of the earth! You knew the dates of my contract, I forwarded the flight information to you, and you never spoke to me again! You didn’t even say goodbye!”

“What goodbye?! What bigger goodbye do you need than rejecting me when I’m on my knees for you?!”

“Stop being so fucking self-centered!” He started laughing, but you were not done. “I said I loved you. I wanted to be with you and you threw a tantrum like a child!”

“A tantrum?” He was still laughing and you’d recognise that bitterness anywhere.

“Be honest,” you breathed. “Would you have come with me?”

His laughter died. “What?”

“You heard me. And if you couldn’t, would you have waited for me?”

His eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights and you let the tears fall from your eyes.

“I never got to ask,” you continued in the silence. “You never answered me again. I always thought that your not answering was your answer. That you never wanted to see me again because if I wouldn’t marry you like you wanted, then you wanted nothing to do with me.”

He finally breathed, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” You smiled and cleaned your cheeks, “Then why is that the only thing you say? That I said no? I never meant no forever, I never meant that I wouldn’t in the future. But I needed that opportunity to build my career, I needed that sacrifice from you and you turned your back on me.”

“No, I—” His mouth was opening and closing, he couldn’t find the right words. “Because— Because I thought you wanted to just— To just leave me behind.”

“Behind? As if I wasn’t leaving my heart with you? Tell me, did you ever think about asking me? About talking to me?” His lips twitched in hesitation and your lips curved painfully, “Right.”

“I wanted to,” he admitted, but you shook your head in disbelief. “I wanted to but I felt broken. You left me and rejected a future with me, you didn’t want me. What point was there in reaching out to you?”

“I wish you had. Maybe it wouldn’t have worked, but a part of me likes to believe we would have made it. One year was a long time but not the end of the world. For you, I would have done it.”

You nodded and looked at his feet for a moment. None of you would ever know now, but you believed it. You were at peace with at least having voiced that to him.

You looked up at him and saw as clear as day how lost he was. He was gripping his hair with pain across his features, maybe something else. He was still shirtless in front of you, a Greek God in all his glory, yet your eyes couldn’t abandon the soft curls of his hair. Now that everything was out there, you were sort of melancholic. You’d miss him.

“Fuck,” he dragged in a grunt. “Is this what you wanted? To find me again and break me?”

You chuckled, “What the hell are you saying? I never thought I’d see you again. And if I did, I expected to find you married to the woman of your dreams.”

He groaned and rubbed his face before facing you, “You— You’re the woman of my dreams!”

Your lips trembled but you stayed quiet; you had no idea where any of that left you.

“I can’t believe this,” he let out, then scoffed. “No, I’m in too deep now. You could have reached out too. You could have told me all this and asked me before, but instead, you just turned and left. Because you didn’t want me.”

“I called you!”

“For like two days! How long do you think it took to heal my wounded heart?”

“I don’t know! From what I’ve heard, your heart has been more than comforted, you probably healed very fast!”

“Oh fuck off,” he spat with harsh eyes. You regretted letting those feelings surface, but it was too late. “You left me after rejecting me, I was free to do whatever I wanted and screw whoever I pleased.”

“You’re right, forget I said that.”

He laughed, “Nah, that’s just you. Worried about whether I’ve been well-fed or not. Why? Thought that would make it easier?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, to get me crazy again.”

You couldn’t help your lips pulling, “I did drive you crazy.” His eyebrow twitched over a dark gaze and you quickly sobered up. “But that’s not what I meant.”

“You’re fucking incredible, you know that?” He could be spitting those words for all intents and purposes.

“No, I meant that after I called you, I took your silence as—”

“No, no, fuck that. Excuses, all of it. You saw me on my knees and butchered my heart, then left days later for another country. If you cared, you would have done more.”

“You act as if you don’t have arms and legs yourself.”

“And you act like a damsel in distress when you’re anything but,” he had neared you now and you sobered up. “I still hate you, you know.”

Your lips trembled and you looked down with a sour smile. You did realize it, but it didn’t make it any easier. “I know.”

You were focused on mapping your conversation and seeing if there was anything you could tell him that could clarify things when he scoffed.

“No, scratch that.” You looked up and saw him running his hand through his hair. “I fucking hate you and the way you just tried to bring me down to my knees again.”

“I didn’t—!”

“I hate that I brought you here 'cause I wanted to see you here, in my home, as if that could bring back what we once were. I hate that I gave you what you wanted even if it hurt. I hate that I called you bubbles as if you’re still that person. I hate— I fucking hate you, I can’t—”

His voice broke down but you had already heard too much. You couldn’t face him anymore, you were hiding under your hand as your spirit drained in the form of tears.

“I understand.” Your sight was blurry but you knew the way out. You stepped around him, “I’ll leave—”

You weren’t expecting him to grab you and crash his mouth into yours, but you didn’t fight him. You let him kiss you desperately and did the same all while the tears kept streaming down your face.

“Don’t fucking leave,” he whispered to your lips, pressing his forehead to yours. “I can’t stand the thought of you walking out. Not again.”

Your cry was uncontrollable, “But you hate me.”

His hands were firm around your head, not letting you move away, and the only sound you both could hear was you trying to control your sobs. It broke him to see you cry, it always did. He didn’t know what to do. No matter how hard he tried, there was this poison inside him that gushed out every time. It was all breaking apart again, and he wanted everything to go to hell, but looking at you, he knew that wasn’t true.

You sniffled, “If you hate me and I love you then we're not on the same page.”

His heart shook like his world could crumble at any moment. “Don't leave.”

“I have to,” you grabbed his arms and accepted it. “So you can find the woman of your dreams.”

“You’re the woman of my dreams.”

You chuckled sadly, “You hate me, Kook. You’ll find someone better, trust me.”

“No, I don’t want anyone else.”

You brushed his cheek, committing that sweet touch to memory. “You’ll be happy. It’s okay.”

“No,” he gripped you firmly, wrapping his arms around your waist instead. “Don’t leave.”

“Why would I stay?”

“Because I don’t hate you. I can’t,” his voice trembled with tears that didn’t flow down his cheeks, but down yours. “I hate myself for not being able to, for pretending, for even trying when I’m so—”

His voice blocked and you reached for him. “Say it… Please say it, don’t hold back,” your plea shook in your voice and you gripped his shoulders tighter. “If you don’t say it, then I won't know what to believe anymore—”

“Fuck,” he closed his eyes, fighting to the last moment all those conflicting emotions within him. But then you nuzzled his nose, holding him closer. Waiting. You weren’t leaving this time until everything was said and done, and he almost burst it out. “I can’t. I can’t hate you, I love you. I could never forget you but you left me behind and I fucking hated everything. Because I love you, because I lost you, because I was lost and I still am. What the fuck do I do?”

“I’m here.”

“No, you’re not.” He moved away and forced himself to take a deep breath. He turned to you, “You’ll walk out again. I fucked up. We fucked up, but I fucked up. Right? I spent a year trying to hate you, loathing myself for not being good enough. For being so sure you were the one while you discarded me so easily like I was worthless, but I never bothered to hear your side. I never bothered to ask you. You broke my heart… but I broke yours too.”

Your chin was trembling, but you didn’t near him. He seemed to need the space.

“I’m sorry.” He hid his face at your words and your tears treaded down again. “I’m so sorry if I hurt you, I was stupid and immature, and you’re right. I knew my heart was staying here with you, I should have tried to reach out and make it clearer. I knew I hurt you, and after I left, I knew you'd hate me. I should have gotten over myself and told you how I felt anyway. Then maybe I wouldn’t have tried to look for you in everyone else or stayed hung up on thoughts of you and—” He chuckled but it was laced with pain and you shook your hands, “No, I’m not blaming you!”

“I know,” he revealed his face, with red swollen eyes, and wet cheeks. “I’m blaming myself. I spent so long trying to hate you, blaming you for everything under the sun in stupid attempts to make it hurt less. I’m an idiot. And an asshole. Look at how I treated you. I can’t face you without hating my fucking stupidity—”

“Ours,” you stepped forward, hesitant to touch him but with your hands raised nonetheless. “If you want to hate something, then—”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you in, “I won’t pretend to hate you anymore.”

“Then don’t hate yourself either,” you asked as he took your hand to his lips.

“I’ll try… since it’s you asking.”

Your lips trembled into a smile at the way he was gently brushing his lips to your hand. “I’m happy we talked about it. I’m happy to hear that you still have feelings for me though I wouldn’t want to assume—”

“Assume.”

You stayed quiet, hesitantly looking into his brown eyes as he sprinkled kisses on your knuckles.

“Jungkook—”

“Assume, bubbles.” You pressed your trembling lips and he brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers, “Assume that I love you and don’t want you to leave.”

Your heart was shaking; you were hoping, but— “Are you sure?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, “I’m sure. I just don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t want to hurt you, but there’s so much we need to talk about.”

His eyes were pleading and you squeezed his hand, “If you could forgive me, that would be a great start.”

He sighed, “I don’t think that’s the problem.”

“Yourself?”

“Slightly more complicated.”

You smiled, “Same.” You stayed quiet just looking at each other when you decided to tell him, “I wish we could… forgive our mistakes and restart. We could get to know each other again. See if… If it would work.”

“You don’t think it would?”

You supported his hand on your cheek, “I think we still love each other.” He held your gaze and you felt your cheeks burning under his touch, “But maybe that also means it will be difficult to heal our wounds.”

He nodded calmly, observing your face. “Do you… hate me? For what I did? For never replying to you or fighting for you.”

“No,” you instantly reassured him. “I thought you made a decision and that you wanted to move on from me. That’s a rejection, but that's life. You didn’t cheat or lie or anything like that.”

He sighed, “That’s true… maybe that’s why I could never truly hate you either.”

You couldn’t help a smile, “We… We’re both idiots.”

He wrapped his arm around your waist closer, “A mistake. It was all a mistake.” He pursed his lips for a moment, then brushed your hair gently behind your ear, “Your ‘no’... you never meant forever?”

You grinned, “No. Though I don't need a ring around my finger to know who I belong to. Do you?”

“Who do you belong to?”

You smirked playfully, “I think you know him.”

He sighed and let you brush your fingers around his neck in an attempt to tickle him before lacing your arms around his neck.

“I would have waited,” he finally said, seeing closely how your smile wavered and your eyes filled with tears. “I couldn’t drop everything to go with you, but I would have definitely made it work and visited you whenever I could.”

Your lips trembled and you tried to contain your cry, but your tears won. He pulled you to hide in the crook of his neck and you squeezed him inside your arms.

“Are you… going back?” He realized he didn’t know. “Or are you staying? In Seoul?”

“I got a position here, I’m starting next month.”

He sighed in relief. “I want to try,” his voice was close as he supported your head and leaned over your ear. “Us. I want to try.”

Shivers ran down your spine as you pressed him to you. “Me too.”

#bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts smut #bangtan sonyeondan #bts #ao3 fanfic #SX Seoul #kpop smut #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #smut #bts x fem!reader #bts x you #bts angst #angst with a happy ending #no y/n #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #lo1k-diamonds writes 💎

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atxxzist · 8 months

Text

the crown prince | c.s

summary: with the fall of the king, the kingdom of utopia rest on prince san's hand. but when bounties are put on his head as the consequence of his ancestors' actions, he realize there's a backlog of history to undo and a lot more to prove that he's deserving of being the rightful ruler

pairing: choi san x f!reader

genre: prince!san, commoner!y/n, medieval au, angst, fluff, suggestive

word count: 19k

(ao3) if you don't like lapslock

age 8:

you live in the fifth district, the poorest and most rundown of all districts, sitting at the bottom of the kingdom with a large body of water surrounding it.

the only remarkable thing about the place is the port that's often used for traveling in and out of the kingdom. other than that, rarely anyone from other districts would come down unless they want to be at risk of a flood--which always striked the district the hardest out of any others.

but even then, despite the limited portions of food your family has to survive on each day, or the hardrock wood mattress you guys have to sleep on that frequently gives your aging father back pain, life doesn't seem all that bad.

you still have your family and a roof over your head, and a mind too young and optimistic.

age 10:

just two years after, you soon find out how hard it really is for a kid living in the fifth district, and especially one without parents or someone to love and care for them.

the fishermen had said your parents fell overboard and their bodies couldn't be recovered.

you couldn't believe it at first that no one looked even the least concerned or urgent to search for your parents, but you soon learn that their lives are meaningless, and the people that threw you out after their death made sure you knew so is yours.

"ay, kid, we could leave you out here to die if we really want to," one of the tall, scary looking man says after your episode of protesting and crying starts to annoy him.

and easily like that, they both leave you in the orphanage that's already overcrowded with other children of similar circumstances.

you lose everything in one day; the house your father built from scratch, along with anything that's ever been handmade by your mother, it's all gone. they're both gone, and you feel yourself withering away with all the loss.

before the age of eleven, you become nothing more than a ward of the district and the responsibility to a bunch of strangers who probably doesn't care whether you live or die.

age 11:

it only takes a year for you to become almost nothing like the person you were once before who was cheerful and optimistic.

all of it beat out of you, watching every day as some of the children gets yelled at or punished for doing something so trivial, it desensitized you to the point you're no longer surprise to hear someone get told no one else would want them outside of the orphanage.

you don't talk to anyone or attempt to make any friends. you keep to yourself and would often read any books you could find or hunt for any sewing materials during the few time of the day they let you guys out.

age 12:

during dinner, you hear the group of kids sitting at the nearby table talk about the upcoming coronation of the prince.

"it's not even like we're gonna get to see it," one of the girls squeak, seemingly uninterested in the topic as she pokes her food because it's true.

events like that, especially any celebrations or gatherings are only reserved for those in the second and first districts, who are usually of noble and royal status. not nobodies like you guys down here living off of scraps and remnants.

"i want to see how the prince looks like," another boy adds with a mischievous tone.

you, too, want to see what the prince looks like, but you most likely never will. he won't come here and the chances of you going up there is damn near impossible, it might as well be good as a dream.

but all of the children agrees that he's the luckiest kid in the kingdom, and for that, they hate him for it.

age 13:

through the years, you've been watching as kids go and new ones would come in.

those that left were lucky to have gotten moved or adopted into a household that were willing to take them in, and you, like all the other kids in here, tired of the overcrowding and deteriorating state of the orphanage, hope that a kind family will one day swoop you away.

but it doesn't happen at age thirteen, and you continue to share a bunk with the same girl from three years ago who's been here longer than you.

age 14:

the states of the lower districts only seems to decline as you get older with the corrupted hierarchy and the rich taking all the resources for themselves.

for hundreds of years--you've learned, that it's always been bad, but everything's looking far worse than it has even four years ago.

but with the conditions in the lower three districts deteriorating, the citizens are growing more vocal, bitter, and resentful of those that resides in peace while everyone else is suffering.

the disparity not only made everyone despite the higher ups, but also each other as the stresses of the poor states get to them. and with you living in one of the three's, it made you harbor a hatred toward the top two districts as well, unable to see them past anything but greedy and power-hungry.

slanders of the royal family increased then. talks of overthrowing the king or starting a war for equal resources for all districts, and some even saying they'd rather swim across the ocean to reach kingdom aurora than to live in this "hellhole". but at the time, they were nothing but empty threats to make one feel better.

age 15:

you were so scared at first, hearing of all the horror stories told by the older, taunting kids who's gonna get moved into a family soon, that you're gonna be unlucky for the rest of your life and not get chosen like them.

that you're just gonna stay here until some lowly men decides to buy you off, or probably meet a worse fate.

but one sudden day when the director of the orphanage comes running into the dining hall and announces to all the kids to be on their best behaviors because someone from the second district is going to be coming down the next day, your life changes for the better at the age of fifteen.

you didn't think you had a chance at all, but you still wanted to try because no matter the intense dislike you hold for the two higher districts, if there's an opportunity for a better life, you're going to take it.

it's better than staying here and suffering. everyone else is becoming desperate and you're not any different.

the lady comes the following day as expected, her carriage alerting the entire place of her arrival as all the kids are on their knees with desperation in their eyes.

you guys have never had any visitors from a district so high up before, so this is very crucial.

when she walks in, everyone bows to welcome her, the sight as equally mesmerizing to others as it is to you. never in your life have you seen anyone with so many pearls and jewels, the gown she's wearing made of only the best materials.

it then hits you harder that however this lady decides to take you in, you're going to be living a comfortable life no matter what.

she takes one look around the room, all the children secretly crossing their fingers and it's when her eyes land on you and her lips turn up into a smile.

the director tells her you're a good kid. often guarded and doesn't really get along with the others, but well behaved nonetheless.

it feels weird to be the one everyone's envious of when you were usually on the opposite spectrum, but now passing all the kids as you make way to the front door, all their burning gazes planting a seed of guilt because you understand the feeling all too well.

but with the nation in this state, all anyone can do is look out for themselves. eventually, their time will come, and this just so happens to be yours.

the lady sits you down in the carriage next to her while the coachman leads the way back. she informs you will be working under the family as a servant but will be provided housing, food, and even freedom from time to time.

"i heard you like sewing."

you nod shyly at her words.

"i learned it from my mother."

"good. then you will have the opportunity to hone the skill."

the trip to the second district takes a total of three days, the only times you guys stopped was for food or toilet breaks. when the coachman announces the arrival, your first time seeing the scenery is that to of a fish fresh out of water.

you didn't even know trees or grass could be that green. or that it's not always supposed to feel like a sense of dread that takes the smiles off people's faces until they just look straight miserable.

it's as if you've entered a completely different nation, unable to comprehend the huge difference already, even in comparison to the third district.

the lady is quick to disappear into the house almost the size of the orphanage itself, calling for someone else to escort you around and show what the next couple of years (and possibly, the rest of your life) has in store for you.

you're to wake up at 5am everyday to prepare food for the noble family, and will be sharing a chamber with three other female servants: the main cook, the main cleaner, and another young girl about your age.

you're only allowed to wander during weekends with authorization and is only to go out for groceries or other necessities. other than that, any rule breaking will have consequences.

for the next couple of days, you practice the routine.

waking up in the early morning and prepping breakfast, then cleaning, and repeat for lunch and dinner. sometimes, you'd get to do different tasks like helping the noble daughter pick out a dress or shoes for the day, but that's only if you get called.

you pick up the cooking and cleaning quite fast because you used to help your parents a lot. and though the work hours can be tiring, the food you're eating and the place you sleep in is a lot better.

you also get the occasional freedom and access to improve your seamstress skills, and it's not the ideal life, but it is the best one for someone like you.

you hear a grunting sound close by one morning when you decide to wake up earlier than usual.

turning to the source, you see a figure far away near the tall gates, prancing around in his heavy armors with a sword in his hand. the sight definitely amazes you as you're only able to stare in awe before accidentally creating a ruckus that catches the attention of the stranger as he turns around.

it's still dark and you can't see his face very well, only until he starts walking toward you.

"can i help you?" he asks, voice a type of husky but innocent.

"oh, no." you shake your head, "i was just uhm... watching."

he chuckles and looks to the ground, your eyes trained on the way his dark hair ruffles along with his movements until he's staring at you again, finally out of the poor lighting.

he's cute and has childlike features. definitely not an appearance that gives away he could probably slice you dead right now if he wants to.

"you're the new worker," he vocalize, and it takes you a second to figure how he knew, following his gaze to the door of the chamber behind you.

"ah, yes i am." you nod.

"cool. well, i'm the gatekeeper. jongho."

"gatekeeper?" you crank an eyebrow, so far behind on rich people terminology, you have no idea what that means.

"i just protect and patrol the place in case of any intruders. it sounds fancy but it's really not. you don't have to keep it formal, though. we're all servants here."

"i see." you smile tight-lipped.

he also does look a little too young to be manhandling weapons or putting his life on the line, but you too, are also too young to be losing your parents and getting sold off as a servant.

for anyone in the lower three districts, it is all for survival.

you soon learn that jongho was born in the fourth district but he's been living and training here for so long, he can barely recall his time there.

and you're not sure what it is about him that makes you open up given the fact you've been closed off for so long ever since your parents death and the comprehension of the cruel world you're living in, but through the year and before you turn sixteen, you find your first true friend in choi jongho.

age 16:

you get acquainted with hongjoong, a friend of jongho and a messenger who travels in and out of the districts to deliver any important information.

you're not sure how he keeps his identity on the low in spite of the growing tension between all the districts, but jongho assures you he has his ways.

jongho spends his days training with many kinds of weapons; swords, spears, daggers, crossbows, and just about everything when he's not guarding the house--which he usually isn't because the second district is still relatively safe at this time.

but if there is any outside attackers, it would be jongho's and the other men's responsibilities to protect the noble family. it's what they've all been trained for.

you still cook and clean, and your sewing skills have gotten increasingly better that you also started picking up embroidery.

on the occasion, jongho would teach you how to use a dagger just so you'd have some knowledge of self defense and protection considering the alarming state of the nation.

and now that you're living under people of noble status, royal parties and balls were the standards. not that you'll ever get to attend them for yourself, always hearing about it for an alternative or watching the noble family dress up in pretty attires that cost hefty coins before they waddle off in their carriage into the first district.

hongjoong returns a week later, informing you and jongho that the conditions, especially in the fifth district, is really bad that some citizens have decided to risk their lives in hope of reaching the kingdom of aurora since ships and boats cannot be sailed without approval from the royal family.

"it's basically a death sentence to be living in any of the lower districts at this point. i fear if the king doesn't do anything about it, a civil war may be on the horizon."

age 17:

not much changes and hongjoong has said that the king, along with other royal and noble families, refused to take actions since the dividing of resources for all the other districts would cause the first and second to falter because they do not have enough for everyone.

it's better to keep some afloat than to put the entire nation at risk.

"but sir, that's only going to keep running the citizens out of the nation, and the ones that do stay are becoming angry. the first organization against the royal family already formed, calling themselves outlaws. and they're not just ordinary citizens. they could infiltrate the two higher districts if they want to. a solution is not to only keep them happy, but to also prevent a war."

"then strengthen the security. we also have equally skilled men, if not, more. send any able-bodied men to the gates of the first and second district and don't let anybody from the lower threes enter."

age 18:

things only get worse. nobody is allowed to travel freely between the districts anymore and anyone from the first two were strongly advised not to go down because the chances of getting robbed or assaulted are high.

the four working men in the house dwindled down to two because the other two, including jongho, would be sent to guard the entrance. but during rotation when he gets to come back to sleep and eat, he'd tell you that it's eerily quiet, but that all the lower districts know the higher ones are blocking off entrance and might retaliate soon.

"we should be prepared for the worst. hongjoong said the fact they're quiet might mean the organization is planning something."

age 19:

for a while, security at the entrance decreases when it looks like the lower districts weren't gonna try to do anything about it.

jongho and the other men in the house were able to stay around longer, sometimes even for a few days straight without going back, and the outrage did feel like it was just a false alarm.

no one in the higher districts, even hongjoong, were prepared for the storm that is after the calm.

"y/n! wake up!"

you groggily groan at the voice, sounding both hushed but eager as it jolts you from sleep.

it's jongho and he looks absolutely terrified, his figure hovering over your body still in bed.

"come on, y/n! we have to get going!"

you don't have the time to take in anything, jongho already pulling you up harshly to stand on your feet as you hurl out more groans and complaints.

"what's going on? i was sleeping, you know."

"the king is dead."

it's those words that makes you more awake than ever, unable to believe as you just stare dumbfoundedly while he ravages the drawers for more appropriate clothings.

"w-what? h-how?" you can barely form anything coherent at this point, your heart racing so fast.

"he was assasinated," jongho reveals, throwing a loose, oversized shirt at you. "we're not sure how they managed to get that far up the first district, but all this time, that must've been what they were preparing for--you need to get changed."

he throws you a pair of pants and continues speaking, at the same time going through almost the entire perimeter for anything that will prove useful.

you don't even care he's in the same room, your body going into shock and quickly pulling the night gown off before putting on what he gave you.

"hongjoong thinks they're planning a raid, starting from the second district and working their way up. if we stay here, we could get captured, held hostage, or whatever those outlaws want to do with us--here."

he finds the dagger he had given you sitting in the last drawer, pulling the extra sheath out of his pouch and running to tie it around your waist.

"keep this with you at all time, and remember what i taught you. just in case we ever get separated, you need to protect yourself," he demands, passing the dagger to you with an extremely serious look on his face along with the statement just now, making you queasy in the stomach.

you can't imagine having to part from jongho for whatever reason. you wouldn't know what to do.

he gestures to your shoes and you wear it quickly.

"now come on, let's go!" he grabs your wrist and your body flings forward, only managing to grab the pouch on top the dresser before your feet's following his steps out the door despite the lingering sleepiness and that you could be forgetting something else, but it's all happening so fast, your mind struggling to keep up.

you're about to ask him about the other servants, or the noble family, but as he whisk you into the nightly air, the breeze pushing past your skin, you realize that before jongho came, you were alone.

they all left you.

"where are we going?" you ask.

"down to the third district. hongjoong lended me a map and said to go through the forest, we'll catch less attention that way. he said we can stay at one of his hideouts for now."

for the next hours, you don't see anything but trees and branches in your way, and the moon high above the dark sky as it follows both you and jongho.

your feet tired and sore at this point, asking jongho to find a place to sit even for just a few minutes because you might just pass out.

"if we keep at this pace, we'll be able to make it to the third district by morning," he informs, handing over the costrel and telling you to drink.

you nod, passing it back after finishing, observing for a few seconds as jongho takes a couple sips.

"so where did everyone else go?" you finally bring up the question bothering you.

"to the lower districts. i heard some are hoping to reach the port so they'll get the chance to sail to aurora or dune, now that the royal family is in a crisis, people don't care anymore. but as you already know, we have limited ships and boats and it's going to be a bloodbath all around."

he goes on, "we only found out the king was dead when people from the first district started migrating, and then everyone in the second started panicking, and i honestly did too initially. i was about to start heading down until i remembered you."

you smile and nudge the boy with your elbow affectionately.

"if not for you, i probably would've turned into a corpse by tomorrow."

"pfft," he scoffs, "not a corpse but a captive maybe. their target is still the royal family, and now that the king is dead, they'll most likely go after the prince. the raid is just to scare people off so they can bask in the lavish that the first and second district has to offer. but still, it's better to be safe than sorry. they did killed the king, after all."

you take in the information, asking one last question.

"and where is hongjoong?"

"he was also in the second district at the time, but after lending me the map and instructions, he said he's gonna go up in order to get more details; hopefully talk to the prince and will report back in a few days."

"do you think he's going to be okay?"

jongho nods and stands up from the log, reaching his hand out to help you.

"he should be. he wouldn't be able to survive for this long if he isn't competent. but we should get going or else the trip will be delayed."

the hideout is a small shack in the corner of the wood, blending into the surroundings so perfectly, you and jongho almost missed it.

it's essentially a square with a single wooden bed, one chair, and a small table with an ewer sitting on top. jongho said the water in there should still be good to use, and that he brought enough breads to survive on for a few days.

"i can take the floor," he says, taking off the crossbow and sword that's been stuck to his body for an entire night and settling them down.

"we can take turns," you offer an alternative, pitying the boy because he's the one who's been doing most of the works.

"alright."

he nods it off. he wasn't gonna fight you on it.

you and jongho passes time by training for the majority of time. sometimes, you'd just watch, but when he isn't worn out by his own routine, he'd tell you the basics of a crossbow and a knightly sword and would proceed to watch you practice with the dagger.

"you're holding it like a coward who's never fought in their life," is his usual criticism.

"well maybe cause i am a coward who has never fought before," you will retort.

"when facing an enemy, you can't show that you're afraid. you have to believe in yourself."

"easy for you to say."

but regardless of his yapping that sometimes make you roll your eyes all the way to the back of your head, he's a good teacher and even complimented you. if saying that you're a lot less awful than when you started, counts.

three days later from when you both settled, the light, passive knock at the door alerts you and jongho, you almost wishing it was one of the outlaws, preferably a weaker member just so you can put what you've learned to use.

but it's hongjoong.

"so what did the prince say?" jongho asks, quick and eager.

"he's recruiting. said he'll take in anyone still willing to stand by his side while he figure things out. he needs time."

"what about the guards and men that were in the castle? isn't it their duty to protect the royal family?"

"more than half of them ran to the lower districts. the outlaws probably won't do much to a normal citizen, but they will be vile to anyone on the prince's side."

"and he didn't try to stop them?" you join, hongjoong turning his head to you and shaking.

"he said he wasn't gonna force anyone who didn't want to stay. but for those willing to fight by his side, he'll take them."

you don't mean to come off hypercritical, but you can't help but think that the prince is being careless.

"but the outlaws want him dead, no? he shouldn't be taking in just anybody. that's too dangerous."

hongjoong just shrugs.

"that was his order."

a silence hangs between the three of you after, and one glance at jongho, you see that conflicted look in his eyes and know that he's about to say something you won't like.

"i'll go."

you snap your neck to him so fast, there must've been a pop.

"what--jongho, no," you object, worry in your tone. hongjoong just standing by and watching the incoming dispute unfold.

"it's better than standing around and waiting for something to happen."

"but putting your life on the line? for all you know, there might not even be a solution at all. look at the state of the kingdom. people are running away, everyone fearing for their own safety. in the end, you could be dying for nothing. did you forget it's because of these people that us born in the lower districts have to live a shit life?"

by now, you're both facing each other and fuming through your noses.

"and did you forget that we haven't been to the lower districts in years? ever since we got the opportunity to move into one of the top two? even if we were just servants, we were living better than a normal family in the fifth district. i was guarding and blocking off an entrance because i was so much better than the people trying to get through. you think i enjoyed doing that shit? no. but it was my job. in some ways, we betrayed our roots, y/n. and you're right. the prince could be lying and stalling out of his ass, but you know... i'm hoping that he's not. because for once, i want to feel like i'm doing something worthy. i didn't train all my life just to guard gates where nothing ever fucking happens nine out of ten times."

you watch in disbelief as he turns to pick up his crossbow and sword.

"so whether you like it or not, i'm going."

he gives hongjoong a stern look, to which the older man returns one, but is soon carried away by your voice again.

"then i'm going with you."

and jongho knows he's going to sound like a hypocrite; the fact he cares for you as much as you care for him so he doesn't want you to put yourself in the face of danger.

he also understands that you share the same sentiment in regard to him, which is why you don't want him to go.

"no. it's safest for you to stay here. you don't have the same training and combat that i do. you can barely hold a dagger the right way and it's one of the most light and basic weapon. those outlaws will pummel you like a bug."

you roll your eyes and you can see hongjoong trying to hold in his laughter.

"well geez, thanks, master. but boohoo. all i know is that i need to stab," you snark, managing to pull a small smile from jongho before switching tone. "i'm serious, though. i know i'm not gonna be pounding anyone, but i'd still like to come with. it would put a lot of my worries to rest knowing you're alive and okay."

"i'll be fine, y/n," he assures, one hand on your shoulder, "and if it'll make you feel better, if hongjoong doesn't mind, he can come once in a while to inform you of what's going on."

you meet hongjoong's gaze at that and he nods with a thin smile.

but that's still not good enough for you because how can you possibly be okay with the only person you can call family, going off and risking his life?

you're not.

which is why when they both finally depart, you wait until they're a good distance away yet still visible to the eye, tying the sheath the way jongho did and sticking your dagger in before taking the costrel he left for you along with the remaining breads and following right behind them.

hongjoong used to travel on horseback but he has to be more discreet this time around, especially going up the higher districts.

you're somewhat thankful for that because you're not sure you can keep up if that was the case.

you stop when they stop, and rest when they rest. you would try listening in on their conversations but it's always inaudible from where you're at.

you put aside the pain of an aching feet or fear of the nightly forest, afraid you would give yourself out.

two days later, you're sure you guys are close. a part of you somewhat curiously pumped because you've never wander up the first district before.

with the sun setting and the stars soon to come out, you're hoping to arrive before it gets too dark because you really are dreading the idea of spending another night hidden behind itchy bushes.

dragging yourself up the steep hill, you can't help but to admire the scenery, the air of utopia still fresh and the birds still chirp like the nation is whole, resuming your steps only to see that you've lost sighting of jongho and hongjoong, and if you're any quicker, they will catch on.

you don't panic just yet, although you're getting nervous, but carrying on because the castle shouldn't be too far from here. as soon as you can spot it, it should be easy to trace it back to the two.

the only problem is how you're gonna get in once you reach it.

as you get closer to the top, you can spot the castle's head peaking, and once finally on flat land, you're able to see the entire thing, and the dazzling white architecture is hard to miss.

the heart and soul of utopia planted right in the center of the first district, and you've never seen anything more sophisticated in your entire life. but as you sneak closer, you're sure that you're not even gonna make it past the portcullis.

if you don't find jongho, you'd be coming all this way for nothing.

you've been watching the guards at the gate and their patterns of behavior for the last hour, every time inching closer to the entrance with the least amount of noise as possible.

but you should've known. you've overestimated your ability (by a large margin) thinking you can outsmart people who does this for a living, and of all places, it had to be royal family's. stupid.

you barely take a step when the pressure of a sharp object against your back make your eyes go wide in horror.

you're thinking this is it. you should've listened to jongho and should have not acted like such a know-it-all, because the next time he sees you, it will be in corspe form.

the beating of your heart is loud along with the stranger's breathing, their hand going retrieve your dagger from the sheath, and if they attack, you will have no other way to defend yourself.

"who the hell are you and why are you sneaking around my castle?" the deep, masculine tone drowns your ears.

my castle?

you foolishly turn around like an idiot, feeling the pressure of the object move to your neck instead, looking up at this mysterious stranger but unable to make anything out.

the running of footsteps and commotion can be heard from behind you, a series of voices and better lighting approaching with all the torches in the guards hands, and when you're finally able to make out the pair of eyes staring back, it feels as if you forgot how to breathe.

because if it isn't the most beautiful man you've ever seen, dark locks, sly and sharp eyes to that of a fox that looks disapproving of your choices before it turns slightly softer when he sees how harmless you actually look, the weapon in his hand lowering with a clear of his throat.

"what part of 'it's safest if you stay here' did you not understand?"

jongho's loud and frustrated voice echoes through the entire hall, pacing back and forth in place as he reprimands you in front of hongjoong, the prince, and his other royal companions.

the prince (who you have to make a point one more time that he's devastingly beautiful) was unexpectedly casual when you explained to him you were looking for your friends, even returning your dagger.

"i only came because i was worried about you. i know you would do the same for me."

"yes, but something could've happened to you. you could've gotten lost, or worse."

"as you can see, i'm fine. the most life threatening thing was the prince putting a knife to my back and neck."

"because you were limping around the castle like an idiot."

"well, what was he doing outside of it anyways?"

"why are you talking about the prince like that!" he yells, and the both of you having an awakening at the same time, registers how embarrassing and inappropriate it actually is to be having a screaming match in the royal family's hall, turns to the prince and bow in apology.

"sorry," you both mutter.

"it's fine," the prince dismisses.

when you were still living at the orphanage, some of the kids would often play guessing games about the prince just because the chances of ever meeting him were close to none, everyone might as well get creative.

some assumed he's a snob because kids being kids, they were all jealous of the fact he was living better, and so it's only natural he would think he's better than everyone else.

then some thought he looked like a troll, which was why the king and queen kept him inside most of the time.

none of you guys knew a lot about the prince, but there were words on the street that he almost never went out of the castle; some even using that as confirmation for why he's a stuck-up.

but after meeting him, he's nothing like the kids have predicted.

he definitely does not look like a troll or sound like a snob, at least so far. he's actually rather soft-spoken, though a bit aloof and stoic. but you suppose one isn't gonna be jolly after the death of their father.

jongho had insisted that you go back immediately, and you were considerate of the castle's deities enough to pull him outside just to object.

but you only got another line in the quarrel before the prince intervened and much to jongho's dismay, said you could stay for the night since it was getting late and traveling would be difficult.

"but you're leaving as soon as the sun comes up!" he proceeds to nag the entire time you tuck yourself to bed, the prince kindly offering a spare chamber for you to stay in.

"yes. i know," you reply, all snarky tone and turning to face the other way because he's getting on your nerves.

there's a quick silence before the edge of the bed creaks with his weight.

"look, i know you only came because you were worried about me, and you're right, i would do the same for you."

you toss slowly to look him up in the eyes from your position.

he goes on, now locking you in his gaze, "but it's way too dangerous for you to stay here, and we don't know when they're going to attack. and worse, if they see you're in alliance with the prince, who knows what they'll do? i'll be fine. this is what i've trained my whole life for. you just have to believe in me."

you sigh and frown, finally deciding to cave because you do know that jongho is capable. you've never doubted him. it's the opponents that you're unsure of, their next moves could be anything.

"i'll go back, but hongjoong still needs to follow the end of the deal."

jongho smiles warmly, relieved you're no longer trying to fight him on this.

"he'd be happy to."

you nod, figuring that since you're already here, you might as well ask.

"so how many men volunteered?"

"for now, three. me, someone named yunho from the third district, and another guy named minjun. but more might wind up later, who knows."

"i still don't think it's smart of the prince to be taking in just anyone. it's way too risky. you have good intentions, but what about the two other?" you voice concernedly, your forehead starting to crease from the distress.

you just met the prince, but you know that the idea is ridiculous and you don't want him meeting the same fate as his father.

"optimism maybe? i don't know. more than half of the royal family's protections are gone so he probably can't be too picky. but i'd like to think he knows what he's doing."

but he's also still young and is currently in a worse position than his father, the king, who couldn't even save utopia. you don't think anybody is ready to be in his place, let alone lead an entire kingdom that's falling apart.

"alright. then you should return to the others; help them look after the prince. he's going to need it."

"actually, he ordered us to stay with the queen and princess."

you shoot up from position, incredulity written all over your face.

"what--why? all of you guys? then who's going to look after him?"

jongho shrugs.

"i disagree as well, but after all, he's the prince. we can't disobey orders."

"you guys should be allowed to if it's foolish. what is going on in his head?" you shake your own, unable to believe it.

you just know that something bad is gonna happen, and it would be due to the prince's own incompetence.

jongho has no idea either given he only just met him as well, but he's crossing his fingers the prince will prove both of you wrong.

"i have to go. you should get some rest because you'll be leaving in the early morning. i'll see you then."

you're woken up by a heavy disturbance, the ruckus happening outside of the room but also sounding so close.

it might be best if you stay here; leave whatever the noises is to the guards in the castle, but you just feel it in your guts that your prediction have came true.

carefully opening the door, you peek your head out, immediately drawn to the bright light illuminating at the end of the hall, and soon, your quick and eager feet has taken you to the shocking sight.

the prince standing before jongho and another guard as they hold back someone you can't quite recall. one of his hand tending to the cut on his left arm, and you can see the red seeping through the thin white fabric.

the prince meets your eyes when he notices you standing outside.

"i knew it!" you screech, your turn to pace back and forth as jongho watches from the side. "he shouldn't have just taken in anyone!"

you found out it was minjun, one of threes who volunteered along with jongho, who attacked the prince. apparently, he had snuck away from the other guards and was in the prince's room within minutes, a sword aimed at the young royal that could've taken his life.

"luckily, he only got off with a cut. i can't even imagine what would've happened."

jongho groans anxiously, the first day on the job and the reality of it already showing its head.

"there's nothing luck-based about the prince's survival," hongjoong's voice has you both turning as he appears from the opened door.

"prince san isn't only highly skilled in all areas of fighting, but he's the best warrior utopia has to offer. he most likely knew about the attack beforehand, which was why he only got away with a cut considering minjun also isn't just an average member of the outlaws," hongjoong reveals, the new information makes you and jongho gawk at each other in surprise.

"y/n," he calls out, and you detach from jongho's eyes to look at him.

"yes?"

"i need you to do me a favor. i trust you enough, and you look rather... harmless."

you pinch in your brows. if he wants to go off about your terrible fighting and self defense skill, he might as well just spell it out.

"the prince said he has a plan, but we're going to need to buy time. and no matter how skilled he is, we can't keep dealing with people coming into the castle in attempts to severe the prince's head. it's best if he's away until we can figure things out, for his safety and the kingdom's."

you only hum and nod, wondering where exactly this is going.

"he'll be leaving with you in the morning."

your face falls in horror, unable to believe they're entrusting the prince to you. the thoughts of being alone with someone like him both terrifying but weirdly stimulating.

"oh my gosh, she's blushing..." jongho yelps, a smirk tugging at his lips. he's seen the way you'd ogle at the prince, definitely something you never did to any other men.

"i'm not!" you cry defensively, embarrassed. "i-i just don't think i'm the right person."

"we just need the prince away from the castle for a few days. for now, it look like the outlaws are not planning on moving up the first district entirely, so the rest of us should be safe as well for the time being. you still remember the way back to the shack, right?"

you nod hesitantly.

"good. then it's settled."

the following morning, everyone bids farewell to the prince, the queen and princess wishing him well as the guards and hongjoong stack him with equipments, while jongho makes you carry the food and water.

he takes off the royal attire, disguising himself in commoner clothings instead, as recommended by his companion, wooyoung.

hongjoong promises to report back once things get relatively better.

at first, it's nerve-racking because you just can't help it. the prince is so handsome and your touch-starved body just reacts naturally, but once you figure he isn't gonna talk to you, only gesturing or murmuring out short instructions, the spark wears off.

"we should stop and rest for the night," he speaks more than three words for the first time, laying down his stuff and nodding to the tall tree.

"alright."

you settle your things down as well, plopping against the tree and waiting for him to do the same but he instead pulls out the sword and starts slashing the air.

when he takes notice of your gawking from behind, he apologizes.

"sorry, i'm just... practicing, hope you don't mind. you can rest, i'll keep watch."

you nod it off, sleep soon taking over, but when you wake a few hours later, able to tell from the different color painting the sky, the prince is still practicing and seems just as eager as he was before.

"prince," you call out, his movements halting in place as he turns back at the sound of your voice.

"call me san."

you clear your throat, "uh... san, have you slept at all?"

he shakes his head.

"i was practicing."

you stand up, dusting off the dirts from your pants and growing concerned regarding the sleepless prince.

"you can sleep. i'll keep watch and if there's anything, i'll wake you up," you offer, but he's quick to reject the proposal.

"no need to. i'm not tired anyways. if you're feeling fully rested, we can keep going. the sun is almost up."

you watch in dejection as he goes to retrieve his things because you're not sure you can believe he's not even the tiniest bit tired from everything so far.

it takes almost an entire day to reach the destination, your body tired and aching for something to sit on, the minute you reach the shack, you're sprawled all over the chair.

the prince looks just fine, though.

"it's small, but comfortable," you assure the prince just in case he has any doubts in mind. because you initially did, too, but it was surprisingly homey when you last stayed with jongho.

he nods, eyes roaming the small interior.

"it'll do."

"you can take the bed. i don't mind taking the floor," you tell him, but he instead shakes his head.

"the bed's all yours. i'll be outside practicing."

you scowl and sit up from your seat.

"again? we've been traveling all day. you should really get some rest considering you didn't get any the night before."

but he's stubborn, grabbing for his sword again as you can only sigh in disapproval.

"i really don't feel tired."

"then you should eat, at least."

"i'm not hungry."

you end up going to bed alone, only listening to the prince's grunting and slashing outside as he practices like he's trying to reach out to something or someone.

the uneasiness consuming you, seeing him always looking so miserable as if something's bothering him, unable to rest or do anything else.

it's understandable because of the circumstances he's in, but you wish he would be kinder to himself.

you only give him another two hours before taking matters into your own hand, flinging the door open to his figure dancing around the area with his sword, calling his name softly that makes him stop in track to look at you.

"enough," you mumble, quiet but stern, prying the weapon out of his hold with so much power, you think jongho would be proud.

"no, i have to pr--" he reaches for the sword but you move back, the prince grabbing only the nightly air in place.

"no, you don't," you spit, your free hand going to grab his wrist and dragging him back inside. "you need to eat and rest."

the sword clinks the flooring when you drop it, sitting san down on the bed and grabbing some of the breads and dried meat before taking the seat next to him.

"i understand you're going through a lot right now and it's tough, but you need to take care of yourself. you can't wear your body out or punish it. you're not even fully healed from the cut. if something happens, if worst comes to worst, you need to be prepared to fight."

you push the food toward him but he doesn't budge the slightest. his eyes trained on it, but everything else completely frozen.

for a second, you think all the efforts is gonna go to waste because the prince won't listen, but much to your surprise, he starts talking.

"my father and everyone around me would always say i was the best fighter in the entire kingdom; that i was one of a kind, gifted from a young age, and the future of utopia. i used to believe that as well, but what kind of prick can't even save his own father?"

a small gasp fall, fussing under your breath, "san..."

"maybe i'm only as great because i had the access and materials to become great. but in actuality, i would be no more than average in any other scenarios."

"san, you are great. hongjoong said you are, and you even fought off minjun. it's not your fault what happened to your father," determination in your delivery, finding yourself oddly caring for someone you barely knew.

"father did always lived every day as if it was his last. he knew everyone was out to get him..." he fidgets with one of the breads before taking a small bite out of it. "i thought it would make me feel better if i caught his killer, but i really don't feel any different."

"so hongjoong was right. you knew about the attack?"

you watch as he ogles at the piece of bread like it's the most interesting thing in the world, noddling lightly and taking another bite.

"somewhat, yeah. i was the one who found my father's body, and you can imagine… it's not easy for any kid to see their own parent blue in the face, lying lifeless in front of them, and especially knowing their murderer got away. it made me vengeful, but i couldn't act recklessly. i had to set up a bait because i didn't know who it was, but i knew they were coming."

you listen to each of his words so attentively, and you make sure he knows.

"it could've been your friend, jongho, or the others that came along. it could be anyone. it could be all of them. but regardless, whoever it was wanted me dead just like my father and wouldn't have passed up the chance."

you exhale, looking at the prince with sympathy and sadness in your eyes, all this time you really gave him too little credits, one of your hand somehow finding itself on top his resting one and soothing it.

"i can't do much, but i'm here to listen. if we're going to be together for a while, we might as well have each other's back."

and when san finishes his food and actually goes to sleep for the rest of the night (although you did have to fight him about sleeping on the floor), you finally feel at ease, able to go to sleep knowing he's not pushing himself.

san is the first thing you see upon waking up, his figure bending down a couple feet away and drinking out of the costrel.

he knows you're up from the movements, turning to meet your tired eyes.

"good morning."

"good morning, san."

"you should eat first. i left some out for you."

"oh, okay."

you nod politely, throwing the blanket off and getting up from the makeshift bed, but first telling him that you're gonna go wash your face.

"i checked the ewer. there's no more water in there."

"hmm," you hum, attempting to come up with a solution. "i'm gonna go down to the river. i'll be back in a bit."

"wait." his call stops you in track, half your body out the door. "i'd like to come with."

"is that okay? i mean... will that be safe?" because now that the prince is with you, you feel it is your responsibility to keep him out of danger no matter how unskillful you are. you don't want a single sighting putting his life on the line (more than it already is).

"we'll make it quick. besides, i need to wash up as well. i don't feel too clean from all those practices."

the river is actually quite close by, having never been there during your stay in this district but following the sound of nature was relatively easy to do. and you suppose hongjoong chose the spot for this reason.

once there, you're splashing your face immediately and rejoicing in the cool sensation, only just registering san's been watching you the entire time when you turn and meet his piercing gaze.

his expression blank before dropping to a smile at your wide-eye. and the first time that he does, you realize you've never seen him smile, ever. your attention taken away by the deep indentations appearing from his cheeks, and for just a second, your heart feels like it might explode.

but it's his turn with the river, you observing as he mimics you until both your faces are wet and raining with droplets.

"here," you say, pulling out the spare handkerchief you had remember to bring before coming, offering it to him then using the other one for yourself.

he thanks you, about to wipe his face when the striking design catches his eye.

"this is beautiful," he comments, your head snapping his direction. "did you make it yourself?"

you nod shyly.

"i picked up embroidery somewhere after sewing for a while."

the conversation continues on the walk back, san asking the questions because he just grasped the revelation he doesn't know anything about you.

aside from trying to sneak into his castle and being the friend of one of his guards, that's as much as he can recall off the top of his head although you're quite literally in a life or death situation with him.

"you said you picked up embroidery, so are you from the second district?"

san knows almost everyone who lived in the first district, having spent his entire life and becoming familiar with the surrounding neighbors.

during the occasional balls and parties, he'd get acquainted with some from the second districts. but he's never seen you before. if he did, he would probably be able to recognize you.

but he knows that a hobby and skill like embroidery was something only those in the top two could afford. it was a luxury, as much as san hates putting it like that.

you giggle at the thought and shake your head.

"i was a servant for a family from the second, but i'm originally from the fifth. i picked up embroidery because the daughter of the family was pressured into learning and i was there to help sometimes."

"oh..." is all he says.

maybe he expected you to have some noble blood or be from greatness, but the only thing close to the two were the shoes you shined and the people you served.

your entire life, nothing about you was ever great or noble.

you may have ran from the lower district for a better life, but you were never ashamed of where you came from.

it made you who you are, and if anything, you're a survivor.

"yeah..." you mumble, stopping once reaching the shack again.

he picks it up from your tone, correcting himself to make sure you don't misunderstand, "no. i didn't mean it like that. i'm just, curious about you and your background."

"oh?" you squeak, "then what do you want to know, prince."

you take a seat where he was sitting before, reaching for the food he left for you and looking up at him from where you are, wondering what kind of prince would want to know about a commoner like you.

"an iris," he refers to the pattern embroidered on the handkerchief, "was there a reason why you chose it?"

you smile softly, the question taking you back to a lane of memories and nostalgia.

"it was both of my parents' favorite flower. they always did clung onto any sort of hope there was when it came to our living conditions, and father would always used to say the iris not only symbolized that, but also courage and bravery. i don't know how true that is, but i tend to associate the flower with my parents. it was all i managed to take when me and jongho ran from the second district."

"that's sweet," the prince says, making your eyelashes bat as he plops down at the end of the makeshift bed but he never once look away from you. "and where are your parents?"

the death of your parents was once something that was difficult to talk about; a reality that you used to deny because you couldn't accept that they're no longer by your side and sharing the same struggles. because you guys did suffered a lot, but you all had each other.

and suddenly, you only had yourself.

it wasn't until jongho that you started to open up again; learn to let someone into your heart; to share the same struggles and to suffer all over again, but at least with someone by your side once more.

and it's with that lesson that you allow the prince in as well, unveiling some parts of yourself, for some reason feeling like you can entrust it to him.

"they passed away. the fishermen said the sea took them. it's been a long time and i've come to terms with it."

you don't miss the way his chest fall and a sullen look takes over his expression.

"i'm sorry to hear."

his life experiences and pain could never compare to anyone from the lower districts, he understands that all too well; how good and privileged he's had it.

but grief doesn't discriminate, and the feeling is... debilitating.

it makes you go into denial, nothing but a directionless road laying ahead, unable to help but think if you ever will recover.

but he feels a little better after talking to you, a living proof that no matter the loss or grief one goes through, there's a chance he will make it out fine in the end.

you're about to go off to bed when you suddenly remember what hongjoong had told you.

"prince," you call from below, the title just naturally rolling off despite the plenty of time he's made clear you can call him by his name.

"we have to change the dressing on your wound."

you get up to go search through one of the heavy bags, digging for some clean linens and vinegar the others had made sure to pack for the prince.

"hongjoong said we should change it every couple of days," you tell him, sitting at the edge of the bed while he stands up from the sleeping position. "your arm, prince." you gesture and watch as he rolls up his sleeve.

your cheeks for some reason start heating up at the sight, the blinking and nervous twitch of your eyes give it away, causing a giggle to tumble out of the prince at your flustered reaction.

"y/n," he speaks, once you've stared for long enough and still have yet to remove the old cloth. "that's what jongho and hongjoong calls you by."

"y-yes." you nod.

"have you ever tend to a wound before?"

"well, no. but i've been instructed on how to."

"i see." he smiles, and you're about to crack at the man in front of you. beautiful smile, perfect features, and some muscular arms to go along with it.

once you've contained yourself (or at least look like it), you unwrap the worn cut-out cloth and replaces it with a new one, every steps of what hongjoong had laid out followed to the very best of your ability.

"thank you, y/n," the prince says one more time, and the last smile on him for the night makes you think he just might be teasing you.

the past few days that you've spent with the prince, he's proven your expectations and predictions wrong over and over again.

almost like everything you've assumed is untrue in the best way possible. his aloof and stoic ways melting into smiles and laughters when you'd tell him stories about the kids back at the orphanage and how they thought he was a troll.

spending days and nights confined to a small space with someone you just met, the idea sounding awful but the reality actually quite nice because it's comfortable with him.

he not only speaks well, his words always the most soft and unoffending as they can be, but he also listens well.

day by day, the doubts you had--whether he would be able to salvage utopia, changes to the hope and belief that he's more than competent to pull it off.

but there's still questions bothering you; the strangeness of the entire picture in how utopia managed to fall to a state this bad in the first place if the prince is as level-headed as he presents himself.

he at least should've been talking sense into the king.

so you finally ask, during a routine morning where you and san have gotten accustomed to waking up the crack of dawn, sitting facing each other and munching away on portions of food that becomes less the more days pass by.

"san," you start, his name now more comfortable on your lips. it makes him pick his up head from the food to you.

"hongjoong said you have a plan, right? the reason they sent you here was to buy time. i-i was just wondering where does it go from here?" you try your utmost best to not sound meddlesome.

you're just worried.

because as much as you enjoy the time together, the unknown makes you uneasy. you don't want to doubt him but you also don't want everything so far to be for nothing.

it's the prince's personal affairs and not yours, but you just wish for there to be assurances; some kind of proof that speaks he knows what he's doing, because the closer you get to him, the more you fear losing him.

"i have a plan, yes," he answers, the calm demeanor on him a complete contrast to the troubled one on you. "why? are you worried?"

you breathe out, eventually nodding timidly.

"it's just that the state of the kingdom right now is really bad and it's going to take a lot to please the citizens, especially the group of rebellions. the idea of peace just seems so... unreachable."

you already sound like you're about to break down, when the prince--the one actually having to deal with it, looks the most calm and collective.

he acknowledges the concern, thinking it's fairly reasonable. actually, he's surprise everyone's been able to restrain themselves from spiraling for this long.

if he was someone else, he don't think he'll be able to put his trust into an inexperienced prince in hope of him saving the entire nation as well.

"the people of utopia isn't aware, but about a decade ago, the king of aurora, the closest neighboring kingdom to us had offered to help the nation after witnessing the terrible conditions most of the lower districts were suffering from," san reveals, "but my father... he denied the help."

you squeeze your brows in disbelief.

"what--why?"

"the king of aurora only requested for utopia's protections and services in return. as you know, we may lack in every other aspects, but armed forces is our strength. almost every men in the nation has some kind of experience when it comes to fighting or self defense. aurora is a peaceful and harmonious nation, but their men do not have the same training, combats, or skills that we do, and the king of aurora acknowledged the fact. though aurora was very unlikely to get into an altercation with another nation, the king said he would feel a lot better with utopia behind them."

"my father didn't see a point in tying ourselves down, binding an 'unnecessary' responsibility to our back. he said our ancestors' done it for hundreds of years without help and it will continue to be that way. ever since then, aurora has shunned us. they're not gonna start a war over it, but in other words: they hate our guts."

there's a pause from the prince, something shifting in his eyes before he starts again.

"i love and cherish my father. he is my father after all, and most of everything i've been taught were from him. i also understand that some of the things he did were for my mother, me, and my sister. but i wouldn't ever tell him i also think he's selfish; that i disagree with his view of the world; with his way of running things."

the pain in the prince's voice and delivery is seeping, your heart curling at the amount of hurt he must keep to himself, but if you can be the one to lessen it just a little, you will listen to his every words.

"but still, he's my father and i miss him. no matter how selfish and unreasonable he was most of the times, i promise that after everything is over, i will hold a proper burial for him. i will also repay everyone that stood by my side... i promise that."

his volume tapers near the end, his gaze melting into yours at the last statement.

"i also promised i will correct the mistakes of those who came before me, and if it takes my life, at least i'll be content that i went down with my morals. that i fought for what i believed in, even if the ancestors come back to tear me to shreds for it."

you chuckle, attempting to hold back just the smallest tear pricking the corner of your eye because all you ever did was doubt and doubt, and every single time, he always proved you wrong in the best way possible.

"so you're going to attempt to make a truce with aurora?"

he nods.

"i have to try. if we want equality for everyone, we can't do it without the help of aurora. if we do it now, without aide, the nation will fall apart no different than it is now. no amount of transports based on utopia alone will be enough. but aurora's economy; the standing of their nation is stable enough that helping utopia back on its feet will barely feel like a lift of a finger to them."

"but how would the message reach them?"

"on the day that i got attacked, i sent out one of my men, seonghwa. he knows the way around the sea best. by now, considering it's almost been a week, he should have already reached aurora, but it will take another couple of days to return. that's why i need to buy enough time for seonghwa to come back. i know the citizens won't believe it until they see the king and prince yeosang of aurora for themselves."

"and just what if the king and prince rejects the offer?" you're just trying to touch upon all possibilities.

"you see... i've thought of that as well. in fact, there's probably a bigger chance of them dismissing it considering our history and all. but if that was the case, i had already told seonghwa to head for dune next. it will take him at least another week and a half because of the distance, but if worst come to worst, that's our last hope. dune would be a lot harder to get on our side because they're not lacking in anything, their only weakness is they don't have any kind of alliance. and i was hoping after we sign a treaty with aurora, we could try for dune because they'd be more willing then, knowing we also have aurora, but that's only wishful thinking."

"you really thought everything through, huh?" you have to admit, you're impressed.

"you have no idea. every night after my father's passing, i barely got any sleep... until you finally enforced it upon me."

you giggle, meeting a soft smile on the prince's lips.

"well you need it. and seeing as intricate the plan of action is, you're going to need it even more. don't overwork your body, get plenty of rest in preparation of the big day. i believe you'll be able to do it."

there's a quick silence in the air before the prince speaks again.

"thank you... for believing in me, and keeping me sane of all things."

"my pleasure."

"but if hongjoong doesn't show within a few days, or does with the bearer of the bad news, we'd have to be prepared for relocation. they will pick up that i'm not in the castle and will try looking for me. if dune is the alternative, we're going to have to buy even more time."

"here," san says, coming from behind to stand in front of you, pulling out his own.

after observing one of his practices, he had asked how familiar you are with daggers since he recalled ripping it out of your sheath that day.

you said all understanding you have of it were from jongho, though he liked to find fault in your execution, and after a couple demonstrations, the prince seems to agree that there's a few areas you could improve on.

"a dagger is a short distance combat. some of the most basic requirements in becoming somewhat skilled at is, is trying to master the three primary positions."

you watch him get into stance.

"the first one is a downward thrust, usually used for an opponent who's not experienced in knife combat."

he acts out the method, thrusting his weapon into the air and turning to you.

"you try."

you attempt to mimic what he just did, the weapon a lot light and easier on your grip because the training from jongho did pay off in some ways.

"not bad," he comments, "just more confidence, and don't be afraid. because trust, when the enemy is coming, they won't hold back."

he tightens your grip on the dagger before stepping away.

"this certain method can also be used when an opponent is equipped with another melee weapon, or a firearm."

you nod, his encouragement and gentle teaching style as he tries reframing from straight up saying you stink in some ways or forms, is definitely preferred.

"got it! you are a much better teacher than jongho by a mile. you're actually nice to me," you joke, and the most flattered smile acrossing san's lips doesn't go unseen.

you wouldn't ever say it out loud, not to the prince at least.

that though leaving the place and each other's presence will be for a good cause, in some parts of you, you're already starting to dread the separation.

the parts that already grew fond of him in such a short matter of time, you fear there will never be another chance like this. together.

after everything is over, things will go back to the way it was.

he is a prince after all, and you're just... you.

"so, prince, what is the best defense weapon. figure i should ask from only the most competent person in utopia," you talk from your seat, staring up at him as he preps for another hour of practice.

he promised it'll be only an hour today.

"pfft," he blows, "don't say it like that. you might end up unimpressed."

"i mean it."

"you haven't even seen me on the battlefield."

"but i believe in you."

you hop out of your seat to him, tilting your head, "so?"

"i would say a spear. distance is honestly the best defense there is, though i do enjoy practicing with a sword more."

and that's when it happens. all the long days and nights of peace and harmony comes crashing down, from the corner of your eye catching a cloaked figure from far away standing on top one of the hills with a crossbow in their possession.

"prince!" you cry out, pushing his body away from target the hardest ever as he falls to the ground, and then a short second after, the most painful sensation of your chest being struck takes your vision and breath away.

the last thing you see and hear before fading into utter blackness is the sheer horror on the prince's face as his hands are covered with blood, and the desperate call of your name.

"y/n!"

the sound of jongho's voice makes you think you're in a dream, only until your lids are fluttering open that you see the both, scared but relieved expression of your best friend.

"oh my gosh... thank goodness you're alive."

by how tight he's squeezing your hands, you're glad to know you're not dead just yet.

"where am i?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

"back at the castle. you were out for about four days."

"four days?" you repeat, when the memories come flooding back all at once and then some. "the prince."

you attempt to sit up but the dull pain from where you've been hit prevents you, your head falling back into the pillow.

"easy," jongho soothes your body back into position, "you lost a lot of blood, and not only that, the arrow had been poisoned. luckily, the castle has shelves of antidotes for it, but we were all worried that there was just the smallest chance you weren't gonna make it."

he pauses briefly, "the prince got you here in a day and a half... he felt really bad about what happened. he was by your side the entire time and only just left yesterday night when it was announced the king and prince of aurora have arrived."

"aurora have agreed to a truce?" your tone weak, but still filled with excitement, so happy for the prince.

"yes. and hopefully the prince can get them to sign a treaty. that's the plan. it's still going to take them another two or three days to reach the first district, but the prince wanted to go welcome them formally."

"will he be okay?"

"he's under disguise. but you should get some rest and stop worrying about someone else when you're in a worse condition than them," jongho snarks.

"just making sure..."

a smirk graces your friend, a coy look on him.

"what exactly happened back there that's now making you two act like an old married couple forced to be apart? i've known you for longer than the prince and he looked like he was in more distress than i was."

"nothing that is your business," you dismiss, hoping your cheeks doesn't tint a color that gives it away, a chuckle rolling out of jongho at that.

"you used to want to tell me everything. but fair enough. rest and wait until your body is fully healed. i'll visit you every day to update."

it's hard to wrap your head around the fact you didn't wake up for four days--which, more so, should've been the highlight, but you're more intrigued that the prince was by your side up until the last minute he had to go.

you don't want to get overly giddy about it; go beyond what's appropriate and assume that he did so because of another reason, and not just because he felt bad.

but you do wish to see him soon. even if just for a bit.

the next few days is a routine, usually consisting of jongho welcoming you with a wholesome breakfast that's more fulfilling than breads and dried meats, then another meal at dinner.

you're in bed for most of the time, your view usually the ceiling of the castle or the empty space around you, everyone busy and occupied now that the plan is becoming a reality.

jongho tries his best to visit you every day, and hongjoong on the occasion to check your condition, but if they're not patrolling outside, they're in halls discussing the next course of actions.

you've heard that the prince have returned just last night with the royals of aurora, not a single peace or quiet outside of your room since.

you can only hope that the loud and muffled voices outside is an indication that everything is going to work out for the prince; for the kingdom of utopia.

laying around in bed all day, only watching as the sun comes up and down as the wind sways the branches outside the window, wishing you could contribute more, if anything than just wait around all day feeling absolutely useless.

the first creak of the door ever since morning is heard, jongho having told you he won't be able to bring the next meal as he'd be out with the other guards but said someone else would.

and every time, no matter how hard you try burying the inappropriate sentiment, you wish it was the prince, even if just to see him for a minute.

you haven't seen him since that day.

but still, you're grateful to have any interactions at all. even if it's not the prince.

"hey," hongjoong greets, a thin smile on as he goes to take a seat on the stool facing the bed.

"hey hongjoong," you return, finally able to sit up without feeling like your gut's about to spill out.

"you doing better?"

you nod.

"a lot better compared to before."

"good. thought i should drop by to let you know about what's going to happen the next couple of days," his voice a deeper, stern tone, "the prince and royals of aurora will be going down the districts, one by one. the prince wants to let everyone know of the upcoming changes and fix that he has in plan. me and jongho will be away, but yunho and the rest of the guards will stay in the castle with the queen, the princess, and you."

"and how long are you guys going to be gone?"

hongjoong shrugs. "really depends. it could be a week, it could be more than that. traveling down to the fifth and coming back up here is gonna be a while. but as quick as possible, i hope."

"okay..." you frown. "just, stay safe."

you care for their safety and wellbeings more than anything. all three people of whom you're most familiar with, going off and risking their lives again. you're going to feel a certain type of way about it.

but they're doing it for a good cause. for the nation. for everyone. and so you allow to put your heart at rest just a little bit.

"don't worry. aurora brought some protections as well, and if we can convince the second district now overrun by outlaws, the rest of them should be easy."

hongjoong leaves after some last words of encouragment, and him wishing you a fast healing process.

later that night, they all left for the lower districts as stated.

the castle grows increasingly quiet, all ruckus from before now dwindled down to almost nothing.

the guards are usually busy patrolling outside, even more now that the prince is out, and the only people that seems to actually be around are the queen and princess.

the princess is the one to bring your meals, and you feel awful about the fact when it should be the other way around.

but she is wonderful. soft-spoken, elegant in her manners, and always with a smile on her face although you know it's not easy for anyone, especially what she's going through.

she bears almost no resemblance to san, but there's still some tell-tale features, like their eyes. the same foxy and slanted characteristic trademark on both siblings that looks so mellow on the princess, but entirely menacing on the prince.

"your tea."

the soft call of her voice would get you up from bed immediately, scooting over to thank her as you two meet eyes.

once you start feeling a lot better, able to stand on your feet and support yourself fully, you stroll the garden with the princess as she reminisce about everything crossing both of your path.

"i, too, wanted to be trained in weapons and self defense, but father said it wasn't suitable for someone like me. he would always take me out to the garden instead, in hope i'd develop a liking for it just so he didn't have to deal with the persistence. and i did... i did blossomed a love for gardening."

you scowl at the revelation.

"well, that's not right."

"it's not, but it was my father's order. he was a stubborn man and didn't like to listen to anyone. i wish i could say i saw anything else for father's ending."

both the prince and princess seems to share a mutual feeling regarding the father figure. though they understand the deeply flawed king, it's hard and conflicting when it's your own father.

"brother taught me what he could, which wasn't always possible because father was always around. but san is a good person... despite the amount of pressure father put on him, i believe he would be a great king. better than father himself."

a smile cross your lips at the mention of san.

"i believe he would be a great king, too," you add. you know he will be, and you wish for nothing more than all his dreams to come true.

"brother san seems to have taken a great liking to you," the princess brings up, recalling the signs and body language of her younger brother when he was with you despite your sleeping state and lack of awareness.

an act of affection and fondness she has never seen the prince give anyone before. not even the noble daughters that would show for events.

"oh, no," you deny, shaking your head, but the way your stomach swoops at the statement is real.

"why not?" she tilts her head, a brow raising. "do you not like him?"

"no--i mean, i do. i like the prince as a friend, but anything more than that would be innappropriate, i think." your volume tapers and your eyes shy away from hers, but the soft giggle makes you snap back.

"love is a beautiful thing. you shouldn't run from it, no matter the class difference or adversities. i know my brother wouldn't."

she smiles and pat your shoulder, abruptly taking your hand and leading the way out of the garden.

"so tell me, did you know that the kingdom didn't used to be divided into districts?"

you hum from behind, "actually, i do. i read it in an old history book i found back at the orphanage."

the kingdom used to just be utopia as a whole. no divisions of anything or labels to anyone. but when the capital found out they could cheat the system and hog all resources and supplies by dividing up the nation, the district system was implemented.

and those who lived furthest from the capital suffered the worst due to change, which was why the fifth district, a once fine ground for fishermen and access to the sea, declined overtime due to the lack of available care.

"yes," she mumbles, letting go of your hand and turning around, your feet screeching with the sudden stop. "brother wishes to abolish the system, after mostly everything gets taken care of, of course. by then, none of this 'social class' would matter as much."

you know she means it from the good of her heart; soul just as kind as her brother, but it is not only the struggle of being a fifth district kid, but also the reality of being a no one as compared to a prince.

you get accustomed to the newer routine, waking up the crack of dawn to go help the princess prepare breakfast the best your healing body can. just the smallest, throbbing pinch still there when you sit up, but you're fine nonetheless.

the morning when the sun hasn't even shown its head yet, your body still tired and mind hazy, the opening of the door gets a silent groan out of you as you turn to the source expecting the princess to have something for you so early.

but the sight jolts you from sleep, and you know that it's him, even in the faintest lighting.

"good morning," his voice like velvet has you sitting up, your gaze trained on him the entire time he goes to take a seat at the stool.

"good morning, prince," you return, the smallest amount of joy hiding in your delivery because you really are so happy to see him again.

he went back to the princely attire coloured in white, and his hair a slicked back kind that makes him so handsome, although some strands are loose and slightly messy from the many days gone by.

"san," he corrects you, the sound of his actual name so much better when you say it.

"san," you repeat, a short giggle after that he joins along. "so you're back already. how did it go?"

your expression changing to stern that instant, if you stare at him any longer, you might just burn a hole from how serious you are.

"a lot better than i expected," he answers, a thin smile on as he scoots closer. "i really owe it to the king and prince of aurora. if they hadn't took pity in me, i don't know what else i would've done. but for some reason, they chose to believe in me, and i really am so grateful for that."

he must've been so scared but unwilling to show it. unwilling to give away the fear that the kingdom in his hand is so close to crumbling down by a mere inch, everything could fall apart just like that.

but he had to persist through the hardships and doubts; masking any weaknesses because it would scare away the people if he did. if the ruler of the kingdom itself barely has any faith in the situation.

you reach for his hand, the stronge urge to comfort him as the soft look on you melt into his.

"san, they believe in you because they can see that you're capable. and i believe as well, that you from now on, you will make utopia a better place for the people."

he thinks that you always have such a way with words; how they always make him feel so warm and at ease every time. it's never felt so easy with anyone before.

"y/n," he calls almost in a whisper, taking his hands out of your grasp to now enclose yours. "i apologize for not visiting you. but as soon as i returned and had cleared everyhing with the royals of aurora, i came to you immediately."

"no. it's okay. you have a duty as the prince of the nation, i totally understand. there's no need to apologize."

you can feel his grip on you getting tighter, his eyes a type of desperate but also affectionate.

"but still, you saved my life. you traded yours for mine. to me, you're just as important."

you're surprise by the confession, an array of butterflies dancing in the pit of your stomach and you can see the prince growing more tense, but nonetheless, he persists.

"before i go any further, can i ask you one question first?"

you nod at that. "go ahead."

"you and jongho..." he starts, only to thin out before trying again, "are you guys... dating? or, well, do you like him?"

he's nervous and if he wasn't holding you, he would probably start fidgeting to hide the fact.

"me and jongho?" you quirk an eyebrow, failing to hold back the snicker from the thought while the prince just stares dumbfoundedly.

"i love jongho, but he's more like family than anything. we've been through a lot together but i can't see him in that light."

you've given similar answers out a couple times, especially to the other servants who thought you both had a crush on each other.

the prince's chest drop in relief and you can't hide the amusement you get from it.

"what? you thought me and jongho had something?" you can't stop giggling.

"well, i just had to make sure," he says, a hint of embarrassed and shy that is incredibly cute.

he wouldn't tell you that the one time he actually decided to come in the midst of everything, jongho was already by your side and if you didn't look so happy, he wouldn't have went back because he could tell jongho is someone special to you.

"so?" you await what he has to say, the eagerness only making him more nervous.

the grip on you loosening up to a more softer but more intimate one, one of his thumb running over your hand before he speaks.

"i know this might be too sudden and we haven't known each other for long, but, if your heart isn't taken by anyone, i'd like to ask for a vow."

you just stare ahead and wait for him to finish the sentence, your heart beating exceptionally loud.

"i understand it's a bit abrupt, but... i-i've never felt this way with anybody else. there's something special when i'm you, and i'd like to ask for a vow; a promise that we'll reserve our hearts for each other."

he's so scared, willing to take the chance at first because he will regret it if he doesn't. but now, he's afraid he might've ruined whatever he had with you in the first place, retracting immediately when there's only silence from you.

"but it's not an obligation. you don't have to. i'm just--"

"--i would love to," you cut, watching the panic on his face dissipate that instant.

"really?"

"yes. i would love to," you assure once again, the thinnest smile crossing your lips that soon turns bigger when he returns one.

he's absolutely over the moon to know the feeling is mutual; that what he felt and got from the time together wasn't just because you were compelled to treat him equal to his title.

that something more came out of it.

"but..." you mumble, the smile fading when reality sets in again. "is this going to be okay? you're a prince, and i'm just... me."

"of course it's going to be okay. i don't care who or what you are," he comforts, delivery incredibly passionate, you can't fight it. "but more importantly, before you give me your words once and for all, i need to know if you'll be okay with the conditions first. you can be honest. i won't be upset because i would never try to hold you back regarding anything."

"i'm listening," you acknowledge.

"the citizens of utopia have decided to give me a chance. that chance is not only to salvage the nation, but to also prove to them that i'm capable of leading and won't repeat the same mistakes those who came before we did. i don't know how long it's going to take; specifically how many years. but i will crack down on any remaining harmful outlaw members, i will be traveling in and out of the kingdom a lot, and i will be working on making this nation a better place for everyone. that is something i promised to do, and i will do just that."

he takes a deep breath and start again, eyes on yours. "so if you don't want to wait, i won't hold it against you. if there's things or someone better out there waiting for you, you don't have to accept my proposal. but just if you do... if you're willing to wait for me, once the nation is in a stable state and i don't have to stress too much about being all over the place, i promise then, that i will ask for your hand in marriage."

the bold declaration does take you by surprise, hard to grasp that the prince of all people would want to marry you.

"i know it's a lot to take in," he says, "but you don't have to give me an answer now. whenever you're ready."

you shake your head.

"no--i mean, i would love to. no matter how long i have to wait, i think it'll be worth it. after all, the nation is your priority and the people needs you."

he's taken aback by how fast you made up your mind, but overjoy that you want it just as much as he does. he can't be any happier.

"you're sure you want to do this?" he asks again just to be sure, but crossing his fingers you don't just so happen to change your mind.

you nod earnestly.

"i'm sure. besides, i doubt any guy would ever be interested in me let alone want to get married."

he chuckles, a sound you can to listen all day.

"even if they are, they can't get you now. so i don't want to see any of them trying to woo you or something. and you can't give in because you already gave me your words."

it's your turn to laugh, the jealousy endearing on him.

"well how would i know you'll keep your words, too? what if i wait and wait until i'm a grandma with grey hair only for you to take it back? marry someone else instead and say you don't want me anymore?" you tease.

"tskk," he sneer, "that won't happen, because i would never promise anything i knew i couldn't do. so you don't have to worry."

a reassuring smile spreads across his lips as so does yours, seconds passing by when the silence consumes the room and the both of you just stare at each other, completely smitten.

you notice the slightly fallen strands covering his eyes, going to move it with your finger but your hand stopping at his cheek after, a staring contest ensuing before something comes over you, leaning over to deliver a kiss to his other cheek.

when you pull back, the shy and flustered reaction of the prince brings another giggle out from you.

"i believe you, then. go and show everyone that they made the right choice in giving you a chance. go and make the nation a better place for the citizens. no matter how long, when you come back, i'll be right here... for you."

age 20:

you're twenty years old when the district system is abolished, and when you're nearing twenty-one, it will have been a year since you've spoken to the prince, and will be a few months that you've last seen jongho.

he had been given an opportunity to stay at the castle as one of the prince's permanent companions and took it.

as for you, you moved back to what used to be the fifth district, your heart and soul still full of regard for the place no matter how far you run because every last memory of your parents are rooted here.

you didn't want and couldn't ask for anything in return for the loyalty to the royal family during their toughest time, only taking the coins they had kindly insisted on giving and proceeded to find somewhere to settle. make a life for yourself.

the first few months after declaration of adjustments were as tough for anyone else as it was for you. no matter how positive of an effect, changes are always difficult.

the nobles having to reclaim their homes again after migrating from fear of the outlaws; the party finally retreating, and the former having to piece everything back together with the thought in mind that everything won't be the same, but it will be fair.

the lower districts benefitting the most from the changes but time is their biggest adversary, because though good things are coming, they're not going to come in an instant. having to wait days, months, years, for the full glory to show can be defeating.

but nevertheless, it's coming, and tomorrow will be better than yesterday and so forth. a year later and you can already notice the difference, especially the sea that once gave up on the nation ready to ripple once more.

where you're currently at, you couldn't have done it without the help of those around you. hongjoong who gave you full rights to his hideout in the fifth district because he won't have the use for it anymore, having also been promoted to work alongside the prince.

and with the coins the royal family gave you, you put it into materials to hone the skill you're best at, now finally making a living off sewing and embroidery.

over the year, you've renovated the small shack to your liking with the knowledge you carried from your father, building something for yourself you can call home.

you can still recall that feeling; the first sinking realization of being alone and the taste of freedom. you no longer belonged to somebody or owed anything to anyone. no longer the poor kid just waiting for a better life.

you were your own person, and it feels amazing to be free, though you think it would be even better if he was there.

the thought of him crossing your mind every couple of days, wishing for nothing but only the best for him, hopeful that one day, he will return to fulfill the promise.

"those are some fine handkerchiefs you have there," a young man's voice stops you, spinning around to greet him with a smile.

"you crafted them yourself?" he asks, his tone a type of mischievious that you don't even read into.

"yes," you simply reply, always putting on your best behavior when there's a possible customer. "would you like to take a look at them for yourself?"

"i'd love to."

you untangle the basket from your arm and start going through the many fabrics of your creation.

"wow. not only is the creator herself beautiful, but so are the creations. i've never seen these kind of patterns before," he comments, a smirk on that is both amused and flirty, you can't help the way your cheeks immediately reddens.

the man only seems to find the sight even more endearing as a snicker bubbles out of him while you're still just standing there because you've never met someone so shameless before.

you're about to say something when an arm is thrown around your shoulders instead, turning to the source and your body an immediate mix of relieved, joy, and a skipping heartbeat.

"san..." you say by natural instinct, his unreadable expression meeting yours before moving to the young man in front.

"i'm sorry, i told her to not go wandering by herself but she wouldn't listen. let's go back, honey."

he snatches the basket out of your hold with his other hand and hauls you back the other way.

"i've only been gone for a year and you're already flirting with another man?" he accuses once you're able to flee from his clutch, his steps following right behind you as a pout overtakes his face.

"i wasn't flirting. i was trying to make money," you weakly defend, focus on the path back to your place that you believe the word 'cottage' would be more fitting for.

"you're way too beautiful and talented to be out there spending your days talking to young men."

"pfft," you blow, "and you're way too handsome and princely to be traveling everywhere and going to other kingdoms in the presence of other noble and royal daughters."

"and i'd still choose you, baby."

your heels dig the dirt flooring, snapping around from the pet name, a laughter at the verge of coming out.

san can see the amusement on your face, only smirking in response.

"what? i know you like being called that."

this time, you really do laugh and he follows right after, absolutely in love with everything about you. whether that's snarking back or laughing at him.

"whatever you say, prince," you poke more fun at him before dragging him by the wrist into your place.

"cute what you've done," he pass a comment while you put the basket away.

"yes. and i have just about everything i need."

it's just a little bigger than the hideout back at what used to be the third district, but it has the same convenience in that it's close to the river, cutting out trips to the bathhouse which saves a lot of time.

he nods, the dimpled smile never leaving his face.

"so... what brings you here?" you eventually ask, sitting next to him on your bed, the atmosphere shifting because despite enjoying the banter and mischief of it all, you miss him and haven't seen him in over a year.

"we just returned and arrived at the port this morning, so i wanted to come visit and see how you're doing. you know, to make sure no one was trying to sweep you off by your feet."

you playfully land a slap to his shoulder, snickering.

"you're ridiculous. all year long and my love life is so dry, but the one day someone acknowledges me, you just have to come back," you reply with sarcasm.

"i'm sorry to ruin that for you, but you can't take it back. you promised to marry me, and i will make sure every guy in the kingdom knows that."

you remember the first time meeting san, his state of grief making him almost an entirely different person. quiet, stoic, and always in distress, it's the most wonderful surprise that he's actually a child at heart.

able to let loose once in a while and just have fun.

"no need to. you won't have any competitions at all."

he chuckles quietly at that and closes any remaining distance between you two.

"you speak too lowly of yourself when you're the most beautiful girl i've ever seen."

you bat your eyelashes, shying away from his gaze. you just blush way too easy.

he chuckles at the sight and moves the subject along, "but i also came because i have good news. the king and prince mingi of dune have agreed to a treaty."

"really? t-that's great!" you stumble your wording, beyond happy for him because this was everything he wanted and planned for.

"yeah. it wasn't easy but the fact we have aurora did most of the convincing. dune was... interesting to say the least," he says, briefly recalling the month he spent at the kingdom.

"you did it, though" you smile. "it's only going to get better from now on."

"i hope so. but it seems the real challenge just began. this place is going to need a lot of work."

"that, it is. but for now, you just need to relax. rest a little and eat if you already haven't. i can make you some soup, would you like that?"

he nods.

"i would love that."

he loves how comfortale and easy it is with you. when the weight on his shoulders gets too heavy, he can always rely on you to make it better, even if just for a bit.

"so where do i sleep?" he asks, walking back in after washing himself by the river with the towel you gave him.

the day had been nothing short of a dream, eating and cleaning together and just small exchanges that multiplies the butterflies in your stomach.

you wish everyday was like this.

"the floor," you joke, the response making him scowl.

"i'm carrying the nation on my back and you're gonna make me sleep on the floor?" he throws the towel over his shoulder, his wet strands of hair swaying along with his movements.

"that bed looks big enough for the two of us." he points with his chin. "besides, we're gonna get married anyways."

you roll your eyes, snatching the towel from him as you go to ruffle his wet hair with it, his shout of protests underneath coming out muffled.

"fine." you land the fabric back around his neck, crawling into bed and scooting to the wall to make space.

he lays down and faces you, your gaze burning into each other's when he cranks out a smile.

"i'll be leaving in the morning and you might not see me again for a while after. don't you think you should give me something to remember you by?"

your brows furrow, your mind jumping to conclusion considering the position you guys are in and the tone in which he said it.

"i'm not gonna have sex with you," you spit, prompting the loudest laughter ever from him, followed by confusion from you.

"no, of course not. i was talking about another of your handkerchiefs."

"oh..." you murmur, feeling embarrassed.

"not until we get married at least. then, we can do it," he states with confidence, the thought of taking you to bed and inserting control another way is tempting, and he can't wait for the day.

you smack his chest lightly, as flustered as you are, you can't help the giggle that slips out.

a few seconds of silence pass by before he starts moving closer, his breath ghosting your skin and finger going to caress your cheek.

"i really do want to kiss you right now, though," he confess, "if that's okay with you."

you nod as much as your pillowed head allows you to.

"that's okay with me."

you close your eyes shut, trying to keep from flinching as you await his kiss, moments later only for his lips to crash against yours, his hand moving to your jaw and his body pressing forward as the kiss deepens.

you kiss him like it's the last kiss between you and him; like your life depends on it, the bed creaking under as he takes it upon himself to connect your bodies.

he pulls back much to your disappointment, both of your chests heaving and trying to catch your breath, his forehead bumped with yours and tip of his nose brushing your own.

"good enough," he speaks, his breath still not yet returned, "any more than this and i might not be able to contain myself."

you giggle, placing a soft peck on his cheek, flashing one last smile.

"goodnight, prince."

"have a safe trip, and take care of yourself," you bless, blue in your heart as san makes his way back to you after speaking to the coachman.

all the laughters and butterflies of yesterday won't be experienced again until who knows how long. he will be away after this, and you will miss him dearly.

you wish he could stay but you know he can't. he has something bigger and better to worry about.

he stops before you, melancholy in his eyes as well. he doesn't want to leave you but he has to. and as much as he wants to take you along, he can't let you bear the same responsibilities and weight.

he wants for you to be there, when he already made everything better.

"you take care of yourself, too." his hands naturally finding itself cupping your cheeks. "don't overwork yourself."

"i won't."

you place your own hands over his, desperate to salvage his touch for one last time.

"when can i expect to see you again?" you ask.

"i don't have a definite answer, but i'll be back. i promise."

you two share one last kiss before you watch him go off, blue still in your heart, but you know that someday, he'll come back, and it will be to stay.

age 23:

you're twenty-three years old when there's a knock at the door one suspicious morning.

living in the middle of nowhere, and even over the years, you're only able to count on one hand the range of selection there is when it comes to who it could be.

"hongjoong?" you squint, the man you haven't seen in forever looking slightly more buffed; mature, his hair styled and attire new and shiny.

"great seeing you again," he greets, still on horseback and glancing down at you.

"would you like to come inside? for some tea or a drink?" you ask, figuring it's only proper etiquette you do.

"i'm good. i only came to deliver something."

you continue squinting, one hand shielding your eyes from the early sun, reaching out when hongjoong hands you a letter and unfolding it.

"an invitation from the prince?" you read, incredulity as you shoot up to look at him.

"yes. the prince is finally accepting his accession to king and the coronation will be held a week from now. that is all i have for today. i have to head back soon."

you have so many more questions but hongjoong already turns his back before you can ask them, settling for staring at the ink in awe when the sound of his voice picks your head up again.

"i hope to see you there. the prince will be expecting you."

you leave for the capital the following day, packing only essentials and enough coins, taking along pearl, the white horse you had purchased a year back for traveling purposes.

there's been a lot changes in the four years since san took the reign, all of them for the better, of course.

some of the homes have been revamped, some new ones added, and everywhere you passed, there are greens and beauty in each sceneries.

the citizens look happier, kids a lot less miserable and even those in the orphanages are coming around to the new implements along with those in progress to solve overcrowding.

members of the outlaws have dwindled over time and quieted.

for the first time in hundreds of years, utopia is able to live up to its name in some form; a place of ideal perfection.

so you couldn't fret too much; be upset that in the three years that have passed, san's only visited you once. because if it wasn't for him, the nation wouldn't have been able to achieve the current state.

you travel to the capital with hope, expectation, and excitement at the fact you will be seeing him again; a strong belief that everything will feel just the same as last time.

you stop at inns to rest when the nights fall and start again at dawn, reaching the destination in five days total, the day before san's coronation.

there isn't any difference to the castle, not even a bit. a touch of nostalgia hitting you when thinking back to the event four years ago.

entrance is easy to get through, showing both of the guards who seems to recognize you, the letter.

tying your horse to the nearest tree, you proceed to the door with a pounding heart, banging on it twice before the castle door creaks from the other side, absolutely no idea who the person could be.

"y/n!"

your eyes widen at the sight, that nervousness replaced by delight.

"jongho!"

before he can get another word out, you're already in his arms, the warmth of your best friend something you missed greatly in the full year you haven't seen him.

you can him hear giggling in your hair, pulling away to that goofy smile of his as one settles on your lips as well.

"you came," he simply says.

"of course i did."

jongho takes you inside, your nosy eyes wandering the interior that's also the same as before but still dazzling with all its history, cracks in some of the wall, and antiques.

you greet the queen and the princess who only gets more beautiful by the years, them welcoming you with warm smiles and you can tell immediately the new changes other than their appearances.

they sound happier; no other burdens or weight pulling them down, carrying it around like a haunting that won't go away.

you walk around the courtyard with jongho after, finally a time and place to catch up. all those time of being with each other, you didn't think you could survive if he wasn't by your side, but to have gone four long years only seeing him once in a blue moon, you'd say that's some character development.

"how are things here for you?" you ask him, walking alongside shoulder to shoulder.

"amazing," he answers almost instantly, "it's crazy. i never thought i'd get the chance to work in the capital, but the royal family's castle? with the prince? it's everything i've ever wanted."

you can't stop smiling, his tone telling of just how much he means what he just said.

"that's great. i'm happy for you. you did always say you wanted all those training to go into something."

he nods.

"and you? how are things down there?"

"much better. it's coming together. the people's the most tame i've ever seen them."

jongho hums in acknowledgement.

"i heard you're going to become queen," he suddenly brings up, and you almost choke in return.

"and who the hell said that?"

"--i did."

the familiar voice that isn't jongho makes the both of you turn around, your stomach dropping and heart palpitating because you know all too well who it belongs to.

you can only stare breathless as he takes a step closer, your throat dry.

he's just as mesmerizing as you remember but like hongjoong, time have passed and he has gotten more bulky, manly, and handsome if that's even possible.

"i'm glad to see you can come," he mumbles, a charming smile on that render your knees weak.

jongho clears his throat, attempting to hide a smirk as he goes to excuse himself politely and walks back inside, leaving you stranded in the presence of san.

everything still feels the same with him.

"yeah. i got the letter," you reply, glancing around the empty area, "though it seems i might have gotten a tad excited."

he snickers, and oh... how you have missed the sound.

"you're the only one i gave a personal invitation to," he unveils.

"oh." your eyes swell, only to break the tension after. "then i guess i'm special."

"you are," he assures, closing the distance and taking one of your hand. "i have promised you that once utopia is stable enough, i will ask for your hand in marriage."

you watch as he goes to pull something out of the pocket of his suit, one of his knees pointed to the ground, his entire body falling with it.

"and now that i've finally reached that goal... y/n, will you marry me?"

it takes a moment for you to process everything, overwhelmed with joy and happiness before you can properly nod.

"yes. of course."

and he will marry you, after the rise to king and acceptance of his title as the ruler of utopia, keeping the promise just as he did to every others.

permanent taglist: @moonchele

a/n: not me talking shit abt wanting broken era to be over only to go & write a 19k oneshot. but i loved writing this & had a lot of fun bc it was v different from what i'd usually write

#i don't know shit abt politics #so go easy #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez angst #choi san x reader #san x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines

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gimmeyourlovepls · 10 months

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Trapped

paring: earth 42! miles morales x reader

warning: cheating, gaslighting, basically not a cute fic

summary: you find out miles is cheating on you, and with a heavy heart, decide to leave him, but he's not letting you go.

a/n: hey! sorry this is the first thing im contributing to this fandom, i have a really long story in my drafts that im still working onnnnn this piece of work is inspired by a fic i either saw on here or ao3, pls tell me if u find it so i can credit them ;-;

Cariño = Honey

¿Entiendo? = Got it?

"Thanks for coming, have a nice day!" The cahier said as you walked out of a bakery with a box full of cupcakes, along with some chocolates and other snacks you bought earlier. You were basically bouncing with joy, a massive grin present on your face.

Today was you and Miles' 2 year anniversary, and although there had been a couple of bumps on the way, you were happy that both of you were still together. You looked at your phone to check the time and saw that Miles texted you back.

Mi amor <3

You: happy anniversary!

You: i have a surprise for you but its not ready yet

You: I'll text you when its done then you can come over <3

Mi amor <3: aight see you soon princessa

Giggling, you walked over to Miles' apartment building and walked through the hallway towards his room, already searching through your pocket for the extra key he gave you in your bag. As soon as you found it, you opened the door as quiet as you possible could, which was hard as hell with all the stuff you were holding.

You pushed the door open with your feet and walked slowly, and it seemed like Miles didn't hear, you, because you heard no footsteps coming for you. Putting your stuff down on a couch, you walked around trying to find him.

As you neared his room, you started to hear noises that sounded like Miles and something else, you couldn't really tell. You still wanted to surprise him through, so you slowly pulled open the door.

"Miles please..." A girl who had never seen before was on YOUR man's lap, pressing kisses on his face and slightly grinding against him. "Calm down, cariño, I'll take good care of you soon," he said as he held that girl's hips and grinded her hips down with a groan.

You didn't even realize you were crying until you brought your hands over your mouth. You slowly walked backwards and slammed his door, knowing he would be able to tell he got caught, grabbing all your stuff, leaving his extra key that he gave you on a table and running.

Your legs carried you all the way home, though it was a far distance. You couldn't even feel the burn with how sad you were. As soon as you got to your house, you locked all the windows and doors, knowing Miles would try and get in. You just wanted to lay in bed and cry, but you knew you had one more thing to do.

Mi amor <3

You: dont fucking text me anymore, be happy with that girl.

You: by the way, happy anniversary :)

================================================

Scrolling on your phone, feeling sorry for yourself, and eating the snacks meant for you and your now ex was not how you thought your night would go, but the occasional funny video made up for it. You changed out of your nice outfit and wore your most comfortable pajamas (apart from Miles' shirts), stuffing chips into your mouth when you heard banging on your window. Your mom was home and asleep, but she wasn't that heavy of a sleeper, so you went to your window and pulled back the curtains.

"Ugh," you groaned as you saw who was standing behind the glass-pane. "I'm gonna keep knocking if you don't let me in." His voice was muffled, but you understood enough to unlock and open the window for him.

"Hey look-" He started, but you were NOT listening to his BS. "No Miles, you look. I have dealt with you for the past TWO years. Every time you have stared, flirted, or even made out with another girl, I have ignored it and forgiven you. I have NEVER cheated on you, I have even ignored all my male friends for you because you get so jealous. I'm tired Miles, and I can't with you. Please leave."

"Cariño-" Miles pleaded with you. "Don't call me that. That's what you called that girl you were smooching earlier. Go back to her and never talk to me again." You started pushing him towards the window, desperate for him to leave before you either started crying or beating the crap out of him.

"No, we aren't doing this shit." He pushed you backward until your back was against the bedroom door. "Miles, don't-" Your insults dissolved into air as he started to kiss you, the way he did at the beginning of your relationship, when you thought he still loved you. "I ain't leaving you, and there is no way your leaving me, ¿entiendo?"

You wanted to say no, but your heart still longed for him desperately, so you melted into his touch. He noticed your response and pulled back to pull you into a passionate kiss.

It didn't matter what you did, you were trapped, and Miles certainy wasn't letting go.

hey yall i was feeling silly and decided to writeeeeee hope u at least semi enjoyed it and that u have a good day/night :))))

(also if ur waiting for a part two, dont hold your breath, im literally having the worst writers block ever and can not. HOWEVER, if you have requests, please send them in so i can write thank youuuuuuuuu!)

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deancaspinefest · 3 months

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Take The Long Way Home

Author: sidewinder | Artist: caught-a-dragonfly (Sarah)

Posting on Monday April 15

Two months ago, the world didn’t end. But for Dean Winchester, who fully expected to sacrifice not just his life but his very soul in order to stop Amara? The celebration has been clouded by the disappearance of his best friend, Cas—the friend he’d started to realize meant more to him than he’d been willing to accept until now. The last anyone’s seen of Castiel was when he was banished from the bunker by Toni Bevell. The Brits swear they don’t have him. Neither Heaven nor Hell claim to know of his whereabouts. All of Dean’s calls, texts and prayers to the angel have gone unanswered, and Dean can’t help but worry that a "Winchester win" has once again come at a terrible price. One day hope finally arrives in a lead from an unexpected if not always trustworthy ally. However finding Cas might end up being only the first step in saving him—not simply from the forces holding him captive, but from the prison of his own mind.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

As Dean approached the galley, he saw the light on there already, meaning he wasn’t the only early bird up and about today. His mood brightened with a momentary spark of hope—Cas rarely slept, and when he was around the bunker, he usually enjoyed hanging around in the kitchen to read or watch cat videos and shit all night on one of their laptops. But Dean’s bubble of hope burst when he saw it was just his brother, sitting there in his sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt, chugging a disgusting-looking green smoothie. Sam was no doubt ready to head out on his morning self-imposed torture session—that is, a five-mile run looping around the bunker to Lebanon and back.

Kid seriously had to be the devil’s vessel if he found that kind of physical torment enjoyable.

“Hey,” Dean grunted at his brother.

Sam looked up from his laptop at Dean and nodded. “Hey. You’re up early.”

“You too. Couldn’t sleep?”

“Rarely do.”

Yeah, that was something they had in common. “Anything up?” Dean asked on his way to fill the coffeepot with water.

“Not really. Just restless, I guess. I found a case, maybe. Not that I was looking for one,” Sam added quickly. “But while I was searching for any signs of Cas, or Lucifer, I came across a news story about some strange deaths in Wichita. It’s not far from here, and—”

“If you wanna go hunt whatever it is, go for it,” Dean cut him off. “Take mom. I know she’s itching to get out of here and do somethin’ other than stare at our ugly mugs all day.”

“Dean—”

“No, Sam. I mean it. Until I know where Cas is, I just can’t. My head’s not in the game.” A distracted hunter was a dead hunter. That was the rule their father had drilled into them as soon as they each could carry a weapon, and learn about the things that went bump in the night being real. A week ago, Dean had let Sam talk him into going on a “milk run” hunt to clear out a small vampire nest near Toledo and he’d nearly lost his neck thanks to not fully concentrating on the job at hand.

“Okay, I get it.”

“Do you?” Dean snapped. “Cas has been missing for two months, Sam! We have no idea where he is, if he even—”

Dean cut himself off. He couldn’t say it. Not out loud.

If he even survived.

(continue reading on Ao3 on Monday April 15)

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel art #deancas art #pinefest 2024 #pinefest previews #2024 Dean/Cas Pinefest #author: sidewinder #artist: caught-a-dragonfly (Sarah)#canon divergent #hurt!Cas #alternate season 12

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marvelmusing · 1 year

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In Another Life

Masterlist

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alternate Universe!Reader

Summary: When the making at the heart of the world steals you from your own universe and drops you into the fictional country of Ravka you’re thoroughly bewildered. But this is an opportunity for you to right every wrong - and hopefully save one life in particular.

Word Count: 60.5K - COMPLETED

My Masterlist • Series Playlist

Read on AO3 HERE

Part One

One moment you’re going about your usual day, the next you’re in Ravka - the fictional country in a fictional universe. When you realise that the story you know by heart hasn’t even begun, there’s only one person you can think of going to.

Part Two

After a restless night of sleep, you wake with too many thoughts in your mind. The contents of the General’s war table provide an ample distraction, and soon the man himself joins you.

Part Three

You and Aleksander journey to Kribirsk, where everything starts to become real for you, as your plan is finally set in motion.

Part Four

Accompanied by your new recruits, you and Aleksander return to the Little Palace, and soon settle into a comfortable routine. But nothing ever stays the same for long.

Part Five

Alina is presented to the king as the sun summoner, and from that point onwards you and Aleksander become increasing busy - and apart.

Part Six

An unexpected visitor arrives with some good news, and Aleksander makes a earth-shattering discovery.

Bonus Scene

As your first interaction with Baghra occurs, a wounded Aleksander returns from a mission, and you have no chance to ponder over her opinion of you.

Part Seven

The search for the stag takes your group north into Fjerda, but it’s after you return to Os Alta that a surprising event occurs.

Part Eight

The Winter Fete goes smoothly, a perfect evening followed by a foiled assassination. A few days later, you and Aleksander journey into the Fold.

Part Nine

After a dramatic arrival into West Ravka, your group travels to Os Kervo, and you recruit a pirate privateer to join you in the search for the sea whip.

Part Ten

The hunt for the sea whip has begun, but a number of obstacles stand in your way, demanding more from you than you ever thought possible.

Part Eleven

Your near death experience has taken a toll on you, which forces Aleksander to come to a realisation.

Part Twelve

A successful return to Ravka prompts you to share warnings of the future with Aleksander, and a new (but not unfamiliar) character invites himself into your schemes.

Part Thirteen

Slowly the pieces of your plan for the Fold come into place, but thoughts and fears of the future continue to haunt you.

Part Fourteen

Ravka’s seat of power changes, and Aleksander makes a discovery that sends you both north in search of his sister.

Part Fifteen

As Alina is about to bring down the Fold, Aleksander suggests a theory that lifts your hopes.

Part Sixteen

Together, you and Aleksander journey to the monastery of Sankt Feliks. To mend the tear at the making, a sacrifice from one of you is required.

Part Seventeen

With the remains of the Fold vanquished, the people celebrate. Together, you and Aleksander work to establish peace in Ravka and a safe haven for your Grisha.

Bonus Scene

Alternate Ending

Until I Found You - IAL (Aleksander’s Version)

Aleksander isn’t expecting to find love in this lifetime, that is until you arrive. - A collection of scenes from In Another Life from Aleksander’s perspective, as well as a bonus scene.

Post-In Another Life

Future Uncertainty

Lingering insecurities rear their head now that everything has been resolved, and Aleksander encourages you to share your fears. (set mid-part seventeen)

The General’s Crown

In an attempt to escape the attention of being a living saint, you retreat into the fields and create flowers for the local children. It isn’t long before your husband finds you.

Christmas Eve

Its your second Christmas in Ravka, your first with the country at peace and Aleksander as your husband. Together, you have the perfect Christmas Eve.

The New Year

It’s New Years Eve, and the first time you’re celebrating with Aleksander as your husband.

What the Future Holds

Immortality suits you well, and your new life with Aleksander is better than you ever could have imagined.

#in another life au #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling #the darkling x reader #the darkling au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone

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lenreli · 2 months

Text

relinquish your flesh

[AO3]

Dreamling, Explicit, 2.2k. Inspired by @meadowziplines, who is also writing something along these lines!

Dream is very tense. Hob helps him relax - and let go of his long-held control. (aka, Hob doms Dream into an incoherent mess)

Hob gasps, mind trying it’s best to hold onto the pleasure coursing through him as Dream’s cock spears him―

But Dream looks so tense, which of course Hob didn’t get anything out from his partner aside from courtly matters, and well. He looks so strung-tight, even in his bed, that Hob can’t help but think of turning Dream over and taking control, making him pliant and boneless, only pleasure on his mind―

And Dream stops altogether. “Dream?” He asks, blinking at the way his lover has completely frozen. “Love? You’re not breathing?” He asks gently, and sure, Dream doesn’t need to, but he tends to when they’re getting physical like this, especially in the Waking.

Dream blinks, hands no longer digging into Hob’s hips as starry eyes look up at him. “You would? But,” Dream, oddly enough, closes his mouth, expression confused and Hob groans as Dream’s dick leaves him.

“I would?” He asks, only realising after that Dream’s probably talking about the daydream. “Of course I would,” he clarifies and Dream frowns, brows furrowing ― and such yearning want in his eyes, the blue getting swallowed by black and stars, and Hob’s heart twinges.

“I am a king,” Dream offers, like that explains anything, “a king is supposed to rule,” Dream continues, a hand gesturing between them, and Hob’s eyebrows raise at the implication.

“Love, you’re not meant to rule the bed no questions asked,” he sighs, and Hob can only feel incredulous as Dream looks even more confused, starry eyes blinking. “You’re not the king in our bed, you’re my lover, my partner,” he explains.

“All my other,” Dream cuts himself off, frowning and looking down at Hob’s chest. Hob bites back a sound, something angry probably, but even more baffled because Dream’s been around since the beginning of the universe, billions of years and yet― “you would not think less of me? For,” Dream stops again, pink lips thinning as he looks away.

Sighing, Hob tugs Dream down, pressing light kisses to Dream’s lips and jaw, his partner stiff as a board as Hob eventually wrangles him down onto the bed, “do you think less of me?” He asks pointedly, raising an eyebrow and Dream shakes his head, still looking away from him. “So why should I think less of you?”

“I do not, I,” Dream opens and shuts his mouth more, searching for words and Hob nips down his pale neck, light bruises soon appearing as Dream holds onto his biceps.

“My love, relax, I’ll look after you,” he says softly, hands sweeping up and down Dream’s torso and Dream makes a sound that seems pulled from him. “The only thing you’d need to do is enjoy it―and follow my instructions,” he says as he bites the hinge of the other’s jaw, and Dream makes a confused sound, and there’s a gasp as he takes hold of Dream’s cock, sliding it back inside with a groan.

“You have given no―” Dream whines along with Hob as he rides himself on the other’s cock, adjusting the angle until it hits his prostate consistently.

“Relax,” he breathes, nipping Dream’s ears as Dream’s hands, on the bed, arching into him and Hob whines, bliss fizzling through his veins, “and don’t come,” he grins and Dream makes a sound, starry eyes looking up at him as Hob grabs one of Dream’s hands, kissing and licking the inside of his wrist. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?”

Inside him, Dream’s cock twitches and his partner makes a sound that seems wrenched out of him, hand near his face spasming and eventually patting his beard, Dream’s black eyes becoming even wider.

“See, you’re being so good for me already,” he says and Dream whimpers, gasping as Hob nips down a pale inner arm, chasing the orgasm that was derailed a bit earlier. “So sweet and lovely, my own treasure to look after,” he whispers into Dream’s elbow and there’s another wrenched sound, the other’s body gasping underneath him as his thoughts just become pleasure as he comes with a whine, squeezing Dream’s cock as he does, his come splattering up to the other’s neck.

“Hob,” Dream keens, eyes wide and unblinking as Hob pulls himself off, one hand fluttering on the stubble of his beard, the other on his shoulder as Hob focuses on moving to the bedside table, getting out some warm, tingling lube that he usually saves for when he wants to feel really good. Or when his partner before Dream wanted it.

“Now, if you still want to be king in bed, consider a king being fucked so crudely by a peasant,” the words leave him without warning as he puts a lubed finger into Dream’s hole, who shudders, plush lips open as Hob licks up his neck, “but of course, that can be for another time, just something for you to think about. I do have many years of these fantasies, you know,” he says as Dream gasps, arching into him.

“I,” Dream whines, the fingers digging into his shoulder as he adds another finger, the other’s cock twitching and red, leaking pre-come.

“I want to make you feel good, want you to look after you so well,” he rambles, slowly stretching Dream open, eventually adding a third finger as his other hand pushes Dream’s arching body down by his stomach. “You’re no longer a king in bed unless I want you to be.”

His words are punctuated by a brush against the other’s prostate and Dream lets out a wail that makes his ears ring, that makes the window in his room shudder.

“Please,” Dream’s voice cracks, low and breathy ― and there are tears, like shooting stars out of his glistening eyes and Hob leans in to kiss him softly, free hand coming up to touch Dream’s throat, caressing the soft skin as he continues to finger Dream.

“I know, don’t worry,” he soothes, spent cock twitching and he groans, nipping marks down Dream’s throat, down to sharp collarbones as Dream’s cock, red and leaking presses against his stomach. “You want to come for me so much, but you’re so good for not doing that,” he whispers as licks a pink nipple, Dream whining and crying out. “So very good for me.”

Dream keens and arches into his fingers, nails digging into his shoulder, another into his bicep as Dream makes a frustrated noise and Hob sighs, pushing Dream flat onto the bed. With how desperate he is, Hob’s not sure if Dream can tell the way he wants to wrestle back some control, clinging to it.

“My love,” he smiles, hand going down to a bony hip, lightly touching the other’s cock and Dream gasps, “let me take care of you,” he pleads softly, stretching Dream’s hole as another sound gets pulled out, Dream slowly relaxing, the nails no longer biting into his skin, “there we go. My wonderful Dream,” he praises, feeling a shudder around the fingers inside of Dream. “Your only duty now is to not come, my Dream.”

There’s a keen as his fingers brush against the other’s prostate, and a gasp that seems to suck some of the air out of the room―and Dream’s hands fall off him, lightly gripping the bedsheets as unblinking eyes of the universe stare up at him. “Yours,” Dream ― speaks, though it sounds more the machinations of reality, Dream’s form seeming to unravel briefly, hurting his eyes before becoming even more solid under him, around him.

“And I’m yours,” he says with a smile, feeling Dream relax even more around his fingers ― and Hob can feel his cock hardening, heat coiling in him and Hob hums. “One other thing. Do you want it tight, or looser for when I make love to you?”

At this, Dream blinks slowly, eyes flickering down to where they’re connected. Dream’s mouth moves and there’s a whimper as Hob twists his fingers. “Tight,” Dream breathes.

“Of course, my love,” he smiles, and there’s a whine as his fingers leave, Hob peppering kisses over Dream’s face, the edge of teary eyes as he coats his cock with lube, “so good for me, telling me so quickly,” he hums again ― and they both whine as he enters Dream, cock dragging against velvet walls and Hob takes a deep breath, dry hand going to pet wild black hair. “You can touch me,” he breathes.

There’s a keen as Dream’s hands go straight to his chest, nails digging into his chest hair as he slowly leaves Dream, and there’s a gasp as he goes back in. One of Dream’s hands trails up into his hair, holding it loosely as he begins a slow rhythm, only garbled sounds that are close to his name coming out of Dream’s mouth and Hob mentally pats himself on the back.

“So good and beautiful for me,” he praises, voice breathy as he focuses on Dream’s pleasure, and there’s a loud wail as he grazes Dream’s prostate, the other’s cock twitching against his stomach. “Oh, my Dream, you want to come so badly, don’t you?”

“Ye―s,” Dream grinds out, the plea long and slurred, tears flowing more freely as Hob fucks into his prostate, and Hob moans as the other’s hole squeezes him tightly, keeping him inside. “Hob.”

“You’ve been so good for me, you’ll get what you want soon,” he croons, Dream whining as a hand goes to pet Dream’s jaw, trailing down to hold onto the other’s hip. “My king, so bound by duty and function, so good and dutiful for me in this,” he says, and Dream shudders, eyelashes fluttering as the stars in Dream’s eyes seem to vanish, becoming more black void than the night sky. “Do you feel good?”

Dream nods, motions jerky as a sound floats through the air―literally, the waves of it tangible, the moan hanging suspended as more come out, and Hob keeps up a steady pace.

“You’ll have to tell me, pet,” he breathes, and Dream makes more garbled sounds, the soundwaves hanging above them as Dream looks at him pleadingly.

“I―yes,” Dream gets out eventually, arching into him, the pale form blurring around the edges briefly, almost melting into his groin and chest before he solidifies again.

“Excellent,” he whines, focusing more on his building heat, the soon enough tipping over the edge as he comes into Dream’s hole, feeling the walls around him grip him tighter, “I won’t leave you,” he soothes, thumb brushing back-and-forth on Dream’s hip, going down to press a kiss to pink lips, Dream trying to respond but lips slacking, the other’s tongue grazing the stubble of his beard. “You can come anytime now.”

Dream squeezes him tightly and comes with a sob ― and Hob blinks as the other’s hand come flies up to his neck, and there’s a faint sound of dogs barking, other things and Hob looks around, his alarm clock turned off. And Dream is ― resting, eyes closed, and not even a sound comes out of him as he exists Dream, looking around to see that the power’s blown out, probably due to a certain anthropomorphic personification. Caressing Dream’s face, he quickly moves to get a towel, cleaning them up.

And some red wine in a glass, as well as a snack for himself, and Dream curls up against him as he gets back to his bed. Taking a sip, he knows Dream doesn’t care for it, but perhaps Dream might want some as he pets Dream’s hair, the body next to him all but lifeless.

Hob’s gotten halfway through his chocolate bar before Dream stirs to life next to him, and there’s a groan as Dream slowly opens his eyes, expression confused. “No need to get up, just feel it,” he says softly, kissing a black brow and Dream lets out a sigh, melting onto his chest. “You may need to turn the power back on though,” he grins, and dark blue eyes flick up to him from his chest, and soon enough the alarm clock blinks back to life.

“This is why―”

“If you’re going to go on some this is why I shouldn’t experience ground-breaking, mind-bending pleasure route, please know that I don’t care,” he says quietly, but firmly and Dream’s mouth clacks shut. “The important thing is: did you like it? And would you be up for more?”

And of course, there’d be things like safe-words and all that, but they can take it slowly. Dream groans, pushing himself up to kiss his collarbone ― and take a sip of wine before resting his head on Hob’s shoulder. “I would,” Dream whispers, voice rough and croaky, “I,” Dream frowns, his hands wriggling before settling on his chest, fingers going through his chest hair. “Hm,” Dream purses his lips, shutting his eyes as he melts even more onto him.

Literally, the other’s form melting over his chest as Hob continues to pet his hair, everything below his neck losing coherency until there’s a mass of white on top of him. “I’d love to do it again, if there’s any doubt,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows and Dream just makes a soft sound, almost a purr and Hob is delighted to see not an ounce of stress or tense lines anywhere on him.

[Fin]

#dc #the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fanfic #dream x hob #hob x dream #hob x morpheus #lord morpheus #dream of the endless #hob gadling #writing #not sfw #and yet my brain won't touch my actual wip's

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circusinthewalls · 13 days

Text

☆ Those Simpler Sonnets ☆

Miguel is deep in the throes of his bi-monthly rut. You've quelled his voracious need for the time being, but the poor man can hardly even sleep without you. That's why he's quick to find you now, early in the morning long before the sun has even breached the horizon as you get yourself a drink of water.

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Tags: Porn With Plot, Just a little bit of plot, Like a tiny bit idk, Soft Miguel O'Hara, Feral Miguel O'Hara, Rut minus the ABO, Spider.. Instincts bullshit idk dude is just horny, AFAB Reader, My First Fanfic, god help, It's 4AM, Topping from the Bottom, Top Miguel O'Hara, One Shot, About as gender neutral as you can get with Spanish, Riding, Mutual Orgasm, Sorry if the Spanish isn't good I'm not a native speaker, Proship DNI, MDNI

a/n: This was uhh.. like not proofread at all? Also my first fic so bear with me. Tags and the fic itself are just pasted directly from ao3 because I have to be up before the sun tomorrow. Sorry for any grammar errors, but I hope you enjoy. o7 [ao3 link] [Masterlist]

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Miguel stirs in your shared bed, lazily outstretching an arm in search of your warmth. When it fails to be met with the familiar brush of your skin against his, worry sobers him, if only by a fraction. Upon cracking an eye open he realizes that you aren't in the room at all. What's more is that the door is cracked, distant light spilling in from elsewhere in the apartment. He doesn't bother to check the time, nor turn a single light on before sluggishly clambering out of bed and into the hallway. Not that he really needs to, of course. He can make out your scent growing headier with each step closer to the kitchen.

You can hear him coming, or... sense it, rather. For a moment you pause in bringing the glass to your lips, offering a look back over your shoulder in his direction. To ensure he doesn't trip on the living room furniture, perhaps. It's not long after you cast your gaze forward again, sipping at the water in your hand, that you can feel his palms graze over your sides. They travel a languid path around to your stomach and soon settle down on your hips, pulling you back so his larger form can engulf your own. The movement makes you minutely aware of the soreness that's begun to emerge from your romping hours prior, but you pay it little mind.

Now that you're in his arms you can feel him soften significantly. You greet him with a small hum as you drink, and he gives a grunt in return. Having you near is enough to soothe his frayed nerves, evidently. He dips his head down and tucks his face into the crook of your neck, tiredly nosing along your jawline.

"Mi sol," he murmurs.

"Mm?"

"A kiss?"

A breathy chuckle slips out, but you oblige.

His lips don't stay on yours for long, though. Soon they're brushing back down your neck, just relishing the way you so graciously tilt your head off to the side. There's no stopping the groggy laugh that escapes when you can feel, no-- hear-- him sniffing you. He grumbles, cheeks flushing in embarrassment, but he can't help it. You smell so damn good, so damn perfect.

Frankly, you can't help yourself either. The sun isn't even up yet and you're so tired, the way he's got his face pressed in against your neck, nosing and huffing-- You know he's in rut, but it takes all your strength not to burst out laughing.

Well, despite your best efforts you break anyway. With your head tipping back, you barely manage to set your glass aside on the counter to avoid dropping it as you dissolve into a fit.

It's in this moment, though, that the more instinct-driven side of Miguel's mind sees an opportunity and doesn't hesitate to take it. He bites down firm into the side of your now bared throat, releasing a low groan when he feels your giggles stutter off into a whine. This isn't the first time he's bitten you, and it certainly won't be the last. Yet still, the immediate surrender that seems to always overtake you rekindles his desires in an instant. He's all but ready to tear his boxers off and have another go at you if you'll let him, but he forces himself to relent somewhat. You'd lovingly taken the brunt of his insatiable appetite earlier in the evening as it was. Drunk off your scent or not, he'd be a fool to be so rough again so soon.

Bringing one of his hands up from your hip to instead support your head with, he pulls off your neck. Your blood on his lips has his own rushing southward, so naturally he laves his tongue over the wound for a better taste. Cleaning and savoring you in tandem. You shudder at the feeling, another noise bubbling up, but he's quick to soothe you by peppering kisses atop the divots his teeth left behind.

"Can I?" he pleads in a whisper.

He's given you the upper hand on purpose, so you decide to tease him. While you're still in a position to, that is.

"Can you what?"

He huffs. You can feel how painfully stiff his cock is. He knows you can. Just to be sure, and maybe to get back at you, he pulls you harder back against it anyway. You snigger, but he's not in the mood to play games. If you're going to let him have you then he wants you now, not in five minutes when you're done laughing your pretty ass off again.

"Please?" he grits, but you don't miss the way the word almost teeters on being a whimper.

"You're no fun, Migs," you reply, hints of a fake pout tugging at your lips. Then you give him a playful jab with your elbow and peck on the cheek. "Of course you can."

That's all he needs.

Immediately he scoops you up and strides forth into the living room. He sets you down so he can settle on the couch, but he's soon reaching out for you again, one hand guiding you to straddle him while the other wrangles his erection free from its fabric confines. As luck would have it your patience is waning too, so while you're moving to get on top of him you tug his boxers down past his hips and off entirely. You throw your shirt off as well, and seeing as it was the only clothing concealing your gorgeous form, a satisfied growl rumbles in his chest at the sight of you. It's about the only thing that even begins to temper his growing need, second to actually being inside you.

When you've finally got your thighs planted on either side of his waist he brings a hand up to steady you while the other helps align him with your entrance. Or tries to, at least. You move his hand away, gripping his cock and holding it still so you can rut against the crown for a second, letting his pre slick up your already glistening folds further.

He has to sink his teeth into his bottom lip to stifle a groan. Fiery want is coiled so tightly in his gut that it's liable to snap if you keep this up, but he's trying his hardest not to rush you. The faint mewl you let out helps a little. God, he loves the way you sound.

Bringing his tip back to your hole again, you at last begin to sink down. His hips buck weakly, aching for more of you, but you don't allow him to properly move until he's bottomed out. Even with the dull ache from your first round, being split open by him is exquisite. You barely register the strangled moan he lets out once he's fully sheathed. Your thighs are trembling around him and you're far too focused on how full you are. You're not even sure if you can get yourself to move.

"Fuck, Miguel," you keen. "I-"

Without missing a beat he's shifting beneath you, taking hold of your hips and planting his feet apart so he can do all the work instead.

"I can do it, amor," he breathes. "Just let me, baby. Just let me."

"God-" You swallow down a whimper and nod. "Yes please."

So he starts a slow pace, beginning with gentle rolls of his hips while you adjust. When those familiar, delicate whines begin to sound he makes a point to go a little harder. Not faster, really, but there's undoubtedly more force behind each of his thrusts. His own sounds of pleasure escape with them, panted groans and even the occasional growl when his eyes flicker down to where your bodies meet, watching how well you take him.

"Look at you... Paraíso terrenal.."

He grinds up into you, and almost cums right then and there when he feels your insides flutter weakly in response. Beautiful.

"That's the spot, isn't it?" he growls. "Gonna cum for me already?"

You're far too caught up in how good everything feels to do anything but moan. That's fine, though. He can tell you're on the edge just as much as he is, and he'll be damned if he's not about to fuck you over it.

It doesn't take long, either. Minutes pass by like seconds, your orgasm creeping up faster than you'd expected. While your insides are spasming he's holding you down on him, hips stuttering as he spills himself as deep as you he can get, body curled up somewhat from the intensity of his own climax. You ride out your shared ecstasy before ultimately collapsing in a sweaty heap.

The both of you are a spent mess, but you're content. Miguel can't be bothered to pull out, but.. honestly?

You're not sure you care.

Sleeping on the couch would be a lot colder without his cock in you, anyway. Copyright © circusinthewalls on Tumblr. 2024. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.

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tavs-tressym · 2 months

Text

Delicious Denial - Chapter One

(AO3 Link) | Master List

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav (You). F/M.

Word Count: 2100 (approx)

Tags: Fluff, eventual smut, Tav w/tragic backstory, graphic violence, domestic fluff, camp life, Tav has no magic/fighting ability, slow burn romance, sexual tension (A LOT).

WARNING: Contains graphic descriptions of violence and gore.

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A reimagining of the game's events if Tav had zero magical or fighting ability. But she's still pretty fucked up. 👍

(Lots of comforting camp life content.)

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Chapter One - Intoxicating

“Fucking-... Piece of-... Ugh!” Your fingers burn from the friction of wrestling with your chain. You let out a guttural growl as you fall back, flat on your arse in defeat. Yep, you’re definitely stuck. The cuff makes your ankle itch and the chain doesn’t seem to have weakened. Panting, you search your cell for some form of escape to no avail. Just in the cold cobbles beneath you and the bars that cast lengthy shadows on your bruised body. Your clothes are tattered and ripped, if you can even call them clothes anymore. They leave your injuries from your perilous journey here on full display. The last thing you remember was falling, then… Floating? Then black. Now, there’s goblins everywhere and your head hurts… A lot… It really, really hurts actually…

The room begins to spin as you focus on the sensation, then you remember the creature that lives behind your eye. You shiver at the thought as the room pulses around you. It’s searching for… something? It searches for… it’s own kind. You sense it’s kin nearing your cell. The creature writhes in your skull, burning your eyes from the inside. You cry in pain, holding your head to prevent it from coming apart. “This, is the human?” A raspy, deep, feminine voice commands. You squint, attempting to pierce your vision through a wall of warped pulsations. “Y-yes ma’am. We found her by the crash site.” Another voice responds, full of gravel and apprehension. Whoever he’s speaking to, he’s afraid of her.

“Hmm… Interesting.” Your creatures connect and you feel an overwhelming urge to open your mind to the intrusion.

You see her silhouette: Thin, tall and armoured. Then, her wisteria skin and light blonde hair comes into focus. “Welcome home, True Soul.” You do not see her mouth move, nor hear the words through your ears. Instead, her voice echoes in your mind. She pokes and prods at your thoughts, prying open your defences and harvesting your memories. She smiles and pulls out of your mind abruptly once satisfied. You gasp for air as the pain finally subsides and you crumble to the floor. “It will get easier.”

“Wh-what is this? I don’t-” You speak through tears.

“Shh. It will become clear soon enough. The Absolute has plans for you. For us all.” Her words almost sounded like comfort, but there’s something wrong. When she dug into your mind, it left hers open to you. She wants something.

She scans your deteriorating rags, then glares at the goblin by her side who shivers under her gaze. “Do you have no sense?! No respect?! Find some clothes for her. Now!”

“Y-yes Minthara! Sorry! Er-” He dashes away and returns moments later, bundle in hand, he slides it through the bars, shaking.

“Thank you…” You reach for it hesitantly.

“Once she is dressed, you will bring her to me.” She walks away.

“Y-yes Minthara.” The goblin responds. He flicks his eyes back at you and gestures for you to hurry up. You nod and dress yourself, trying to conceal as much of your body as you can from the worried eyes of the goblin.

You smooth down a dress made of various pelts over your wide curves. It wasn’t well made and it certainly could have been more modest, but it fit well enough and you were grateful for the change. The gate opens and the goblin hastily releases your ankle from the chain and pushes you forward. “Move.” You obey and walk in front of him, arms behind your back as he directs you through the camp by your wrists. As you move through what seems to be a lively party, all eyes are on you. Some goblins jeer and make obscene gestures, others inspect your body from afar as they glug their ale. Choosing not to let this phase you, you dare to ask your guard a question: “What are you celebrating?”

“Raid. Good one.” Despite his bluntness and reluctance to reveal information, you hear the smile on his face in his words.

Eventually you make it to the inside of a large, run down, temple-like building. It seems the party stopped here. The grand architecture allows for various phrases, commands and even cries of agony to echo and bounce off the walls. Minthara is observing a map as you approach her. She looks up at you, briefly. “Better. Leave us.” You can’t help but admire her authority as the goblins scatter at her command. She looks back down and traces her fingers along painted roads. Curiously, you look over to find that the map contains no location that you recognise other than Baldur’s Gate. “Is this where we are?” You ask hoping that maybe you aren’t as far from home as you once thought.

“Yes. But I’m hunting for something that isn’t on this map, or any for that matter.” She doesn’t look at you as she speaks.

“That doesn’t sound easy.” You try to sympathise. Powerful allies are always useful, especially in situations such as this.

“No. Especially when all you have are dimwitted pawns at your disposal.” She spits disgust through her words, you nod and move closer to get a better look at the map. “In usual circumstances, I wouldn’t care, but I plan to make great use of you, True Soul. Your name, what is it?”

“Tav. And you are Minthara?” She nods. “You call me True Soul, what does that mean?” She grins with excitement as she gets to be the one to explain The Absolute, the tadpoles and your potential. She does so with a fierce determination in her eyes and a proud loyalty in her voice that speaks to the darker cravings of your mind. You consider that maybe this creature in your head isn’t so bad, after all. “And your hunt? Is it to serve The Absolute?”

“Correct.” She pauses to consider whether or not to reveal her intentions. “There’s a weapon. Powerful and well sought after. I am sure that it is being protected by a grove of druids somewhere in this area.” She circles a section of the map for you. “No matter how many patrols we have sent, they return with little information. Pathetic creatures.” She grumbles under her breath. Her eyes light up, she looks at you and grins.

“We have a prisoner. Though, I believe our… ‘interrogators’ lack a certain finesse. His lips remain tightly bound. I’m sure The Absolute would have a fine reward for the one who loosens them.” Her eyebrow raises as she eagerly awaits your response. Torture isn’t your usual expertise, but you can see in her eyes the excitement and even arousal at the thought of you shedding such blood for The Absolute’s cause. You deduce that her disappointment in you would have far greater consequences than the pain of a stranger.

“I understand.” Your eyes are wide as you accept this unsightly task. You stretch a smirk over your teeth in an attempt to match her enthusiasm.

“Excellent. Follow the screams, oh, and do not come back empty handed.”

You do as she commands, following the pleads for mercy until you find two goblins and a human tied to a torture device. You try to put on your most authoritative voice as you speak. “I have orders from Minthara. I’ll take over from here.” The goblins grumble, displeased with the arrangement as they open a space for you, directly in front of the stranger. You move into position and look up at him. His eyes are dry yet his cheeks are stained with tears, his cracked lips part as he whimpers softly. You approach, he scans you, unsure of your next move. And honestly, you’re unsure too. You’ve never been in a position to hurt someone, before now there was no opportunity for you to take. In fact, you have grown accustomed to the opposite, but this is different. This is… Powerful. Powerful in a way that makes your stomach churn and your heart flutter. A questionable, undefinable mix of want and need. You graze your finger over your canvas as he squirms. His fear is intoxicating.

Hot pokers sit in a brazier, you take one and hold it in front of his face, just close enough to singe hairs. “Where is the grove?” You ask him calmly, allowing the poker to emphasise the question for itself.

“F-fuck… Y-you…” His response doesn’t anger you, it frightens you. Your eyes widen as you build the courage to transform your threat into action. Your breathing becomes deeper as you try to submerge your hesitation. You muster as much command in your voice as you can, trying to hide your pleading. You do not want to hurt this man, no matter how intriguing this sensation is. “Where is the grove?”

He lets out a desperate whimper before feebly grasping onto his loyalty. “I s-said… F-fuck you.” The emanating heat travels from his cheek, down his neck, down his chest, stopping at his stomach. He gasps and desperately tries to wriggle away to no avail. You look into his eyes, searching for the key to end his torture, you find none. He screams in devastating agony, the smell of his burning flesh causes the goblins around you to salivate. You look down to find your own hand gripping the poker. Although you had prepared and felt it’s movement, somehow the choice your arm made surprised you. “Okay! Okay! Please! Stop!” You hold on a moment longer, examining the strange appendage before you as it shamelessly displays it’s power over it’s victim.

You pull away suddenly, your mind inhabiting your arm once again. The man splutters and cries, riding out the unrelenting wave of soreness. Regaining composure, you look back into his eyes. You yearned for the ability to communicate that he was not the only victim in the room, that you don’t want him to feel such pain. Then again, you suppose that would offer him little comfort. “Where is the grove?” The tears in his eyes obscure his vision until you are nothing but a blur.

“P-please…” By now he knows his pleas are useless but he continues anyway, using them as a mantra to calm himself through the pain. “No more… I beg of you…”

“Where is the grove?”

“No… I can’t be responsible for their deaths… I can’t…” In all the chaos, you hadn’t even considered the possible slaughter that Minthara had planned for the grove. If these druids are guarding this ‘weapon’, it is doubtful that they will hand it over without a fight. You can only hope that their forces are stronger than hers, for there is nothing you can do now, you need this information to protect yourself.

You spot a rusted dagger on the floor and swap it with the poker. The man flinches at the possibilities you now hold in your hand. You place the tip on the left side of his stomach, below the steaming burn. “Where is the grove?”

“No, I-” His defiance is interrupted by a shriek as the dull blade buries itself into his skin. You push. “Stop! Stop!” You look at his pained face, he looks at you, you need not repeat the question. You begin to drag the blade to the right, rust snagging on flesh, his blood leaks in irregular spasms, it is and isn’t pretty. He cries and looks at you in terror as he realises that you have no intention of stopping and his innards will soon be spilled onto the floor. He submits. He submits to you.

“P-please! I’ll tell you! Everything! Please!” You step back, removing the dagger from his body and releasing it from your grasp. Once he regains somewhat control of his breathing, he speaks again. “E-East… P-past the ruins and… The bridge. They c-covered the gate with ivy…” His head lolls in defeat and exhaustion.

You look around to find goblins staring at you in awe. Before any could compliment you on your twisted success, you nod and leave to report back to Minthara. She leans back and hungrily gazes at you as she processes the information: satisfied, impressed, fascinated. Before you know it, you’re travelling by her side, her army marching closely behind. She steals glances at you, noticing your beads of nervous sweat. You’ve never been close to a battle like this, and you’re really, really bad at hiding it. She doesn’t comment, just smirks and continues her pursuit. Together you head to the grove, to the weapon, to the East. Once again, you hope that they can handle what’s coming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter

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seoafin · 1 year

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dog days are over | chapter two

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags (for this chapter): none except typical gojo behavior word count: ~4.1k

fic masterlist read on ao3

You are in a store, looking at an intricately carved wooden grandfather clock, when you suddenly stand upright and look around. Satoru and Megumi are nowhere in sight, or even in the antique store for that matter. The last thing you remember was following Satoru and Megumi in the crowd. Satoru had been on the phone receiving unpleasant news, from the look on his face. But then you caught a glimpse of the clock you had spent the last ten minutes marveling over in the storefront window, and your legs had done the rest.

It’s a fine grandfather clock, undoubtedly out of your budget, but beautiful nonetheless. It's large, about the length of Satoru actually, the fine wood nearly red and carved into delicate spirals on the side, with gold touches overlaying the clock window, the second hand slowly ticking away.

You catch your face in the reflection of the glass panel, and you ponder it. One day you were a child, peering into your mother's vanity mirror, inspecting your features with the indifference of a toddler. Then you were a motherless girl, in near tears at how your father would cringe away from the familiar set of your nose and lips. You don't think your face has changed much from high school. Unless it has?

You wonder how you appear to others, what they see when they look at you.

You step away, searching for your phone in your bag. It’s not until you blindly reach for the familiar shape of your phone that you realize you don’t have it. You must have left it at home.

Satoru would find you…probably.

The man at the counter dips his head in a farewell and you smile back as you step back outside. The gravity of the situation hits you. This is troubling. Satoru and Megumi…the park is a possibility. They could’ve also gone to the department store too. Your best bet is to….stay put. If nobody comes in the next ten minutes, you’d head to the department store.

You stand outside the store, watching passersby. All types of people. Schoolgirls, couples, businessmen, older women and men. All people with lives, oblivious to cursed energy and jujustu sorcery and all the dangers that lurk in the dark. In another life, you would be someone. Maybe you’d be walking home from work. Maybe you’d be walking to see your parents, to a house that doesn’t exist anymore, not in this life. You’d be a working adult, or maybe you’d still be in school, just like you are now.

A woman walks right by you, laughing while on the phone. There is a brightly cut diamond on her ring finger. She doesn’t look much older than you. In fact, she might even be your age. You wonder about the circumstances of her marriage. She might not be married yet. She could’ve just been recently proposed to.

In another life, you could’ve been just another girl on the street, happily engaged and chatting eagerly to a friend on the phone about wedding plans.

Your world tilts a little to the left at the revelation.

“Heya missy,” a man says, walking up to you. You note the open collar of his cheetah print shirt, the sagging waistband of his pants. There’s a lit cigarette stuck between his teeth. He’s so close to your face that the ashes of his cigarette fall onto your shoes.

“You waitin’ on someone?”

“I am,” you say patiently. “He should be here soon.”

You hope anyway. Maybe you’d just make your way to the department store regardless.

“Leaving a beautiful woman like you waiting?” He laughs, blowing a fresh face of smoke in your face. “This fella doesn’t know how to treat a woman like you.”

Perturbed, you take a step backwards into the wall, but the man steps forward, closing the distance once more.

“C’mon,” he says. “Me and you. There’s a karaoke bar near here…”

“I’m good.” You turn to start walking to the department store.

The man’s tone turns ugly. “Now wait a min—” You feel fingers brush your wrist. Satoru is not there and then he is, and when you register the blur of his presence and distinctive cursed energy, he is pulling the man up by his wrist. The man struggles with Satoru’s height, toes raised in an attempt to stabilize his footing.

“Leave before I break your hand,” Satoru says tonelessly, tipping his face down to meet the man’s eyes past his sunglasses. “Out of my sight.”

Satoru lets go of the man’s wrist, and he falls, stumbling to the ground. You see a flash of his bruised wrist. He doesn’t even spare you a glance as he runs away.

“Thank you,” you say. He shouldn’t have gone that far though. You don’t think it’s right to be harming civilians like that. Especially to help you, of all things. You’re about to speak up again, when he turns to you.

“You.”

His eyebrow twitches once, temporarily marring the cool expression on his face, and you think that maybe you should’ve just gone to the department store after all because there’s a very real chance he is annoyed at you.

You suddenly find the ground very interesting. Satoru’s shoes enter your vision. And when you finally look up at him, his fingers are flattening the collar of your button up shirt, fingers grazing your bare neck where his gaze rests.

“Maybe I should get you a collar and leash,” he says casually, easily, as his fingers begin to button your shirt, out of the top three you neglected when you initially put the shirt on. The first, then the second. “Since you keep forgetting yourself.” The third. Your shirt is buttoned to the collar. He clears the hair from your face to behind your shoulders, fingers brushing your neck.

You stare at him. He meets your gaze unabashedly. You don’t know how to feel about the fact that Satoru just called you a dog. A lost, blind dog. Sometimes, you know him as well as you know the back of your hand, and sometimes, you think he’s completely incomprehensible, speaking in a language only Suguru can understand.

You blink. A sudden thought strikes you, and your eyes go wide, sweeping all around you. “Where’s Megumi!?”

Before a passerby can bump into you, Satoru tugs at your arm, bringing you into his chest. He takes your hand, fingers entwined around your own, and leads you. “I left him in the park.”

You’re horrified. How can he be so nonchalant about leaving a child in the park? “Satoru—”

He exhales, shoulders temporarily sagging in a contained effort. “Megumi’s a big boy now!” He exclaims, grinning. “If he can’t survive 20 minutes by himself, he’ll never survive the life of a jujutsu sorcerer.” He frowns. “At least Megumi remembers his phone.” And that's more than we can say about you, isn't it?

That brings you to silence. You…You knew Megumi would likely never experience a normal life but you still wanted to grant him whatever semblance of normality you could. You’d make it up to him somehow, feeling guilty that you had yet again, thoughtlessly wandered off. A habit Satoru remarked about over and over as headache inducing. It wasn’t as nearly inconvenient when you were alone, with nobody to answer to.

The two of you find Megumi on a stone ledge, drinking from a water bottle while clutching three pink shopping bags in his arm. And Satoru left him with Mimiko and Nanako’s Christmas presents. You shake your head, unable to even find the words.

“I’m sorry.” You say apologetically. “Were you waiting long?”

“Not really,” he replies. You wince. He’s lying in consideration for your feelings. You take a seat next to him.

“Tell me everything you want for Christmas.” You are serious. You have a few things in mind for Megumi’s Christmas presents, but if he had his own thoughts and ideas, then even better. “Satoru will buy you whatever you want.”

Satoru snorts. “That’s some nerve you got there.”

You ignore him. Megumi peers up at you, and you resist the urge to take him into your arms and squeeze, unsure if he’d take it well.

“What was it?” He asks. What caught your attention?

You are embarrassed all over again, especially since you can feel Satoru’s own interest. “There was a…clock.” You clear your throat. “Should we get dessert?” You lift your head, and see a crepe truck parked at the far corner of the park. “How about some crepes?”

You watch with Satoru as Megumi walks towards the crepe truck, money gingerly tucked in his hand, a smile on your face. It feels like just yesterday he was seven and barely up to your waist, expression oscillating between blank indifference and a scowl. He had been at the age where you could wrap your arms around him and feel his small body cling to you back. Children grow up quickly. Megumi, Tsumiki, Nanako and Mimiko. It makes you both incredibly sad and proud. Now Megumi is at an age he can buy crepes all by himself because you expressed interest in eating dessert.

…Or maybe he just wanted to get away from Satoru. The smile on your face grows wider. Some things just didn’t change. Satoru could get married. Suguru and Shoko too. The three of them would eventually leave you. But your relationship with Megumi would never change. At least, you hoped.

Satoru clears his throat. You blink, taken from thoughts, and turn to him. You see that he’s taken off his sunglasses, head angled forward to allow his eyes to take center, flashing in a calculated, pointed look, and you are already bracing yourself for some kind of inane request. Or so you assume. You resist the urge to turn back forward and ignore him.

“...?”

His voice is light. Almost pleasant. “Don’t you think you’ve been spending a little too much time with Megumi recently?”

You are wholly unsympathetic as you stare at him, tilting your head to the side. “...That’s a little pathetic of you, don’t you think?”

His bottom lip juts out in a displeased expression, bordering on a pout. Though you aren’t sure if it’s because of the blunt manner in which you replied or your actual response.

“...”

You feel…a little bad. Especially because he won’t stop looking at you. The days where you could comfortably ignore him have seemed to pass. The two of you aren’t in high school anymore. And you’re not the same person you were in those days you could indifferently brush off Satoru’s crude comments and easily irritable attitude.

“I like spending time with Megumi,” you say lightly. Suguru’s so good with the girls that sometimes you worried Megumi felt left out. Not because Suguru didn’t make an effort to include him, but because there was only so much a ten year old boy had in common with his similarly aged sisters. So the two of you went off together in search of bookstores and record stores in Jimbocho, tried your hand at arcade games (and spectacularly lost in a fashion that Satoru would undoubtedly make fun of you for), tried different types of matcha at the department stores, and more.

You’ve never considered it a chore or babysitting. Megumi’s silence was different from Satoru’s constant activity, his overwhelming presence you’ve watched others get easily drawn into. Or even Suguru’s dominating calm and peace. On some level, the two of you understood each other. You think if anything, it was nice to be understood without any words needed.

Satoru does not look appeased. “More than you like spending time with me? ” With Suguru?

You wonder what has him so agitated lately, if the incident earlier could be indicative of something more, something that’s been troubling him. You don’t know who had called him earlier, or the contents of the call, but you think it has everything to do with Satoru’s recent moods. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him so antagonistic.

“Of course not,” you say evenly, carefully, but his mouth drops in a greatly aggrieved gesture, as if you’ve just told him you killed his dog.

“Liar!” He exclaims, purposefully raising his voice and inviting several curious glances from onlookers and several women who seem both invested in the potential drama and Satoru’s good looks. “Just who do you think you’re fooling!?”

You sweat. “Satoru…” You see a man turn to the woman next to him and mouth couple fight . You’re inwardly mortified. Satoru straightens. “I really can’t speak to you while you’re like this.”

“He gets you more than I do,” he huffs, crossing his arms.

You blink, before staring down at your lap, feeling warm enough that the chill outside doesn’t feel as cold. You meet his gaze. “You…miss me?”

“No needa sound so surprised,” he says unhappily, eyeing you as if you’ve said something wrong. You seem to be making a habit of saying all the wrong things. He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

It hadn’t occurred to you that Satoru and maybe Suguru and Shoko too, missed you as much as you missed them. You didn’t expect Satoru of all people to tell you as such. Your smile grows wider. He misses you. It’s an oddly vulnerable declaration, especially from Satoru.

He impatiently taps his foot. “...Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

You laugh. “I love you too Satoru.”

A strange look crosses his face. You aren’t sure if he’s pleased or displeased at your words, but you’ve never been one to shy away with your own declarations of love. You love him, you love Suguru, you love Shoko. You love the kids. You hope they all know how much you love them, so much that you’d do anything for them. You think your love, in all its meager, useless glory, for all its joys and sorrows, is the only thing you have to offer.

Satoru only looks at you, and takes a seat next to you. His fingers brush yours. “I’ll make you take responsibility for those words, you know," he muses. "One day."

The two of you watch Megumi wait in line for crepes. You rest your head on his shoulder. “You don’t need to get married if you don’t want to.”

He exhales roughly, confirming your suspicions. He doesn't need to ask you how you know, or anything else. “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t think it matters what I think,” you close your eyes to the heat of Satoru’s body. “What do you want?”

There’s a silence. When you open your eyes and raise your gaze, Satoru is looking at you.

“Everything.”

It’s an answer very characteristic of him. A smile nudges at your lips as you straighten yourself. “As long as you’re happy.” Then nothing else really mattered, did it? Maybe you were selfish for wishing it. Everyone’s happiness at the expense of everything else, but you found that you didn’t really care. If Satoru decided to quit the life jujustu sorcery tomorrow, you’d support him. Just as you’d support Suguru and Shoko and whatever Megumi and the girls wanted for himself in life.

“I do feel a little bad though,” you admit truthfully to him, sheepish. “I wish you’d still at least drop by those matchmaking ceremonies.” It makes you sad to think of all those women, working themselves up to look their absolute best, ignored and disappointed because Satoru couldn’t be bothered. You know it was expected that Satoru would do whatever he wanted, just as he always has, but it wouldn’t kill him to say a nice word or two before politely excusing himself. Though, if anything, it seemed Suguru was undertaking that duty for him.

Satoru makes a face that confirms your thoughts. As if even the mere thought of it all is a much too bothersome task.

“Suguru says they’re all very nice girls.” Great conversationalists. Mostly disappointed at Satoru’s lack of interest, some relieved. They had interesting thoughts and opinions, but very rarely an outlet for them, which made Suguru’s kindness even more meaningful.

“Does he,” Satoru comments dryly. His voice drops into a mutter. “If he likes them so much he should just marry one.”

You look at him sympathetically. Satoru probably isn’t used to feeling jealousy. You’re not sure of what to say to him, so you settle on covering his larger hand with your own, and giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Nobody could ever replace what the two of you are to each other.” You pause, deciding there’s really no way to approach this topic lightly. So you bluntly say, “Is everything alright between the two of you?”

He flips his hand over, tightly interlacing your fingers as he looks straight ahead, eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. “Just don’t understand him sometimes.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. Satoru raises an eyebrow, but you’re too busy laughing to respond right away. It’s been a while since you’ve been so thoroughly amused.

“I’m,” you let out the remnants of your laughter, shoulders trembling, “sorry.” You shake your head, straightening. “Instead of not understanding him, are you sure you’re not frustrated because you know him too well?”

You think in Satoru’s case, his frustration is born from an overt understanding of all things Suguru more than a lack of understanding. It’s because he knows Suguru so well he also has to recognize that, like himself, Suguru can be more than implacable. Stubborn to the point of nonsense. Stubborn, just to make a point. Satoru knows Suguru as well as he knows himself, from the inside out. But Suguru isn’t Satoru, and sometimes their conflicting opinions cause more strife than necessary, especially considering their competitive streaks and antagonistic natures.

Satoru opens his mouth to rebuke you. Then he shuts it, resigned. You’ve won.

“Suguru’s just being being polite and kind,” you point out. You don’t point out that you’re sure Suguru would never entertain the affections of a woman he knows Satoru wouldn’t like. That there are many things the two of them have agreed on, and this would just be another. “You never know when you might need a friendly face in the crowd. I’m sure Suguru’s thinking about the future.”

Satoru’s existence was regarded as much as it was scorned, feared. The strongest jujustu sorcerer who would only grow more into himself, into all the abilities of limitless that the six eyes afforded him. The strongest. A once lonely title now shared. You don’t want Satoru to be feared or reviled, despite Satoru’s own indifference towards it. And you’re sure Suguru shares that sentiment. If Satoru has spurned jujustu society, then Suguru has embraced it. This is Suguru’s way of navigating jujustu higher society and politics, subtly crafting and pulling strings and favors, maintaining illusions of hierarchy and power, dangling promises of power and advantageous relationships. All in Satoru’s absence.

Or, more rightly, you suppose it’s Satoru letting Suguru take the reins.

For all its many flaws and hardships, this is a world Megumi and Mimiko and Nanako will inherit. All of them have been hurt very much. There’s so much work to do to make it hospitable, inhabitable. To grow a garden where there was once a barren wasteland.

Satoru is looking at you oddly. Like he’s trying to convey to you something you don’t understand, all through the intensity of his gaze.

“?”

He quickly masks it with a conspicuously suspicious look. “You’re taking his side, aren’t you?”

You smile, shaking your head when Satoru’s thumb starts massaging circles into your hand. “I know better than to get in between the two of you.” Your smile turns a hint sheepish. “But…Suguru says that they’re all very nice girls. You never know…” you trail off suggestively, thinking of Suguru and his charmed white lotus girl. “There could be a girl—”

“Absolutely not.” There’s a finality in his voice that gives you pause.

“That’s okay too,” you say slowly, shrugging. Satoru has always known what he wants. Maybe in the end, all Satoru wanted was Suguru, and what could you say about that? You only wanted Satoru to know that love came in all shapes and sizes. If you could love him and Suguru and Shoko, then it was only reasonable to think another potential lover between the two was possible. Besides, the future was unpredictable. You knew that better than most. Maybe not now but…

You squeeze his hand tightly enough that it should be uncomfortable, but Satoru doesn’t even flinch. He returns the squeeze, his hand so large they nearly engulf your own. You don’t remember his hands being so big. And then the two of you are squeezing each other’s hands, trying hard not to laugh. You’re glad the tension has somewhat left Satoru’s shoulders. There’s a lopsided grin on his face as you meet his twinkling gaze, and you are struck by the thought that he looks like a delighted child on Christmas, and you think everything is right again. If you could help him (and even Suguru to an extent), you’d be happy. Everything will be the same when you see the two of them again. It makes you think of living another life, and everything you’d be missing if the misfortunate events of your life hadn’t happened.

You watch as Megumi is handed two crepes. He begins to walk back, carefully balancing them in his grip.

“Earlier,” you say. “I was thinking about what life would’ve been like if I had never become a jujutsu sorcerer.” You think about the woman who rushed past you earlier, and the glinting band on her finger. Her palpable happiness. “I don’t know who or what I would’ve been in another life, but the fact that I’m here says something I guess. Right now, right here, I’m content.”

You have more than enough. You could never ask for more. You’d upset the precarious balance of the universe somehow. The same forgiving universe that had somehow deemed your unworthy existence deserving of happiness. As fleeting as you knew it to be. You were content. It was more than you knew you’d ever get.

Satoru goes silent, face discerningly blank. “Is it enough?”

“It is.” You’ve never needed much. You had grown up without much love at all, and to still somehow find so much of it was something of a miracle you were thankful for everyday. “It is, for me.”

The two of you sit in silence. A girl falls down in the sandbox, scraping her knees. Sitting upright, her lips wobble, fingers curling into her thighs as she tries not to cry. Seconds later, her father scoops her into his arms and they walk away. You become aware of your heart dully beating in your chest.

“I would find you,” Satoru says calmly, gaze burning. “In another life, I would still find you. The three of us would be together.”

The words fill something cavernous and aching in your chest. A wound that never healed right. A wound that grew as you did. Something that makes you selfish and sad and always leaves you wanting. It’s a dangerous thing.

You don’t know if you love or hate it. The inevitability of it all. The promise of happiness in his words. Satoru doesn’t break his promises, but you do. It’s why the both of you try not to make many in the first place.

You find yourself smiling. “You’ll get my hopes up,” you joke, resolving to take his words as just that, a joke. You’ll get what you deserve, one day. In this life or the next. Expecting any different would be…

Satoru opens his mouth to respond but Megumi returns, sticking Satoru’s crepe in his free hand. When Megumi takes your free hand with his own, he hands you the crepe the two of you decided to share. You stand, moving to be released from Satoru’s hand but his grip on you tightens.

You shoot him a look. “Satoru, let go.”

“I won’t,” he says with a scowl that says that the two of you have unfinished business. You would prefer he wouldn't. To Megumi: “How much to take a walk around the park by yourself?”

You are appalled. You hope your gaze conveys how pathetic he is being. “Satoru…”

Megumi takes a bite of the strawberry crepe. “No.”

Satoru sends the boy a flat stare that Megumi meets with his own. You finally yank your hand away from Satoru’s with an exasperated huff, and an overdramatic betrayed look crosses his face as he gapes at you. You smile at Megumi as he offers the crepe, which you take a bite of.

“Let’s forget about him,” you say pleasantly, swallowing a mouthful of sweet cream. The two of you start walking towards the street.“Should we stop by the record store on the way back?” You’d buy him any record he wanted. It was so hard to spoil Megumi. You liked to do it at every opportunity. It was your guilty pleasure despite all you had read about moderation for children.

“Yeah,” he quietly agrees. “I’d like that.”

The two of you leave Satoru behind in that park, a double chocolate nutella banana crepe in his hand.

#gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ddao #m.jjk

373 notes · View notes

lifblogs · 3 months

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Better Late Than Dead

Fandom: The Bad Batch Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Pairing: Tech/Phee Word Count: 1268 Summary: Tech arrives on Pabu for the first time since he was rescued from Dr. Hemlock, and put his mind back together (mostly). A special someone is there waiting for him. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Disclaimer, I have PCS (Post-Concussion Syndrome) so this story could be a mess, it could be great. I don't know, but I tried, and I had fun. First story I've written since I hit my head. I am sooooo nervous about it for some reason. This fandom seems like nothing but kind, though. If you read it, thank you. READ ON AO3

Tech paused getting off the ramp. Once he stepped off onto Pabu he would no longer just be on the Marauder with his family. He would exist in a public space, with people who… might not understand, who would see him differently. He was different.

There were some stares from the crowd, but he couldn’t track all of them, faces blurring and disappearing as he watched. But maybe those eyes were still on him.

Subconsciously, he touched the back of his head, feeling the metal plate there that replaced part of his skull, felt the lines where his scalp had split, where either through injury or one of his many surgeries his brain had been exposed. His new and enhanced left eye (replacing the gouged one from Plan 99) searched the space before him frantically, but he tried to take in what the right saw first: bright, blue skies with white, puffy clouds; a calm ocean for kilometers on end; happy people in colorful clothing—survivors, every one of them. How could such a place exist when he’d been through such horrors in Hemlock’s dark labs? Now it was like this beautiful place only half-existed.

The beauty was what his right eye saw. The left one… He hadn’t had a chance to reprogram it yet. Most of what he saw through it was a dizzying array of heat signatures, structural integrities, and the best places to shoot a target. According to his eye, everyone was a target. This was all superimposed over his regular vision from his right eye. The confusing signals to his brain usually left him with the feeling as if his eyes were being scooped out (half a phantom pain and reminiscent of his real horrors), and it would throb up into his head. With the metal plate added in, he had more headaches than he could manage on most days.

Still feeling anxiety churning in his gut; cold, clammy fear gripping the back of his neck and stripping him bare, he held up his new datapad. Tech decided to do a quick check of his metabolic system, and the absorption levels of his various injected pain meds, and their half-lives. This was done through a chip implanted at the base of his skull. Unfortunately that had required an extra surgery, seeing as that hadn’t fit in the area where he’d needed his skull repaired.

His datapad beeped quietly, and a yellow bar showed up near the top. He’d need to re-inject his left hip soon.

Tech glanced up, the real galaxy around him becoming too real. Coming towards the ramp with a hesitant smile and shining eyes was Phee.

His heart suddenly seemed too big, blood somehow beating hard all across his torso, even as it crawled up his throat. Phee. He really had thought of her, even remembered one instance of Hemlock torturing him for mentioning her name. He shuddered, his mechanical left leg shifting in a way that seemed too obvious and inhuman to him.

Tech wasn’t the same.

Am I even Tech?

No, no. You’ve… you’ve been over this already. Done the work. I. Am. Tech.

And he had thought about Phee in what he had thought would be his last moments. He’d surprisingly had the time to think about a lot of people.

He’d thought about his last-minute realization, and he’d mourned what could have been. And now… there she was. Here he was. Pabu. Safety. Phee.

Tech took a deep breath, tried to swallow back his fear, and stepped down the ramp, all too aware of how he looked now. Feeling clumsy with this changed body, he struggled to put his datapad back on his belt. One last thing to put between this moment and the next, the inevitable.

Phee met him at the bottom of the ramp, letting him step off. For a moment the voices around them dimmed, but neither of them spoke.

Oh no, she’s horrified. She’s disgusted. She’s—

“You look different.”

Blunt, as always.

“Oh.”

“I think I like it.”

“You… do?” Tech asked, caught off guard as he usually was with her. (How could anyone script conversations with a flirtatious, bold pirate?)

She shrugged. Was she… crying?

Some of his vision blurred. His eye malfunctioning? No. His right one. He was crying.

Hesitantly, she touched his shoulder. Tech jumped a little, but let her warm, assuring touch stay there. He wondered what that hand felt like—strong, calloused.

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

Was this him? All these differences, and injuries, and modifications?

Well, he was still Tech, so he supposed that made the plate in his skull him, the chip, the cybernetic leg, and eye. Still… Tech. Just different. A new Tech.

“I suppose.” He was surprised to hear himself speak.

“Then of course I like it! But I have a bone to pick with you.”

Tech almost backed away, startled, as her finger prodded against his chest.

What bone?

What—Oh!

“Seven months?!” she went on, voice raised and rough. “I don’t see you for seven months?! And all I could get out of Mr. Face Tattoo was that you were ‘indisposed.’”

“Sorry I’m… late,” he got out, as if that somehow summed up everything that had changed his life, that had even affected hers.

That’s when a sob left Phee, and her tears spilled, and she cupped Tech’s scarred face in her hand. It was calloused, just like he’d thought it’d be. Something about her touch was reassuring and invigorating all at once.

And it was kind.

Tech hadn’t realized how much he’d needed someone outside his family to support him until that moment. It left him weak in his right knee, and he might have trembled.

Phee sobbed again, and then got out with a smile bright enough to rival the stars, “But still—better late than dead, I always say.”

Tech held her hand against his face for a second, marveling at the feeling, her words. Then he wasn’t sure who pulled who into an embrace, but suddenly she was flush against him, her heart beating fast, chest moving with her sobs, a wild scent of ocean salt, island fruit, and some kind of warm spice surrounding him. With his chin tucked against her shoulder, and her head resting against his he learned her hair was a softness he’d never felt before.

“Though of course you had to lose one brown eye on me,” she joked. He was surprised when it didn’t hurt, not from her.

“I’ll try not to lose the other one.”

“You’d better. What am I supposed to call you now? ‘Brown Eye’ doesn’t sound romantic.”

“We could… make it romantic,” he ventured, voice a soft murmur against her.

Phee laughed, and pulled back, patting his cheek. “Honey, I’m not sure you know what romance is.”

For the first time since Plan 99, months and months ago, Tech laughed—something he’d thought he would never be capable of again. And, he thought, maybe he’d like to do it again. With Phee.

“I’m smart,” he assured her, watching as she wiped away her tears, wishing he could do it for her. He went on, surprising himself, “I’m sure I can learn.”

Phee took his hand in hers, and Tech was startled by how much he enjoyed that her hand was smaller than his.

“Well, come on then,” she said, starting to drag him along, towards society as a whole new person. “You’re gonna have a lot of studying to do.”

Tech smiled, somehow, as he followed her, leaving just a little bit of that dark lab behind him.

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb tech #phee genoa #tech x phee #techphee #techphee fanfiction #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars tbb #star wars tbb fanfiction #fanfiction #tech #writing #my writing

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netherfeildren · 1 year

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FEAR OF GOD : Epilogue : Birdie

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Ahh my friends, here we are at the end of this now, and I just need to say that this experience has been one of the kindest and most supportive I’ve ever had. Please know, from the very bottom of my heart, that I have poured over and tucked away in my memory each and every single one of your kind and encouraging and supportive words. You all have given me something I can never repay you for other than by trying to continue to write things that you all enjoy and connect to. Thank you, thank you, thank you a million times thank you.

Word Count: 863

Read on AO3

EPILOGUE: Birdie

Softer than a little wild bird’s wing

Are kisses that she pours upon my mouth.

-Sara Teasdale, Sappho

As the end of summer nears and the birth draws closer, she spends more and more time in the water. The heat is blistering, and the heavy weight of their child sits low in her pelvis, a tight ache in her back making the dark pool of the nearby lake one of the few places of relief.

He’s never far. Though she likes to fight and gnash her teeth and feign independence and rebellion, even now, when she’s more tender and vulnerable than ever. The dawn of motherhood has made her claws sprout, sharp and vicious, but she knows he enjoys them. Enjoys taking the rebellious streak pregnancy has imbued her with and taming it to his will.

She floats on her back now, the looming shade of the trees shielding her eyes from the bright sun, and she is languorous. Mind made hazy and withdrawn and overwhelmed by the song of the birds and the lilting rustle of the trees in the soft breeze. Her hair fans out in a cloud of long tendrils made specter-like in the deep water. Like fingers reaching out, searching for him.

She knows he’s near. Watching her from the darkness between the trees. Knows that he’s followed her from their home, even after she’d forbade him to – promised that she’d be safe, that she could take care of herself.

After all, they’ve been through so much. She’s proven herself twice over and more.

She lets herself sink a little lower, only the prominence of her round belly and her eyes peeking above the surface of the water. That’s when he steps forward, like some sort of beast out of the shadows, uncomfortable with so much of her being hidden from him. She hears the rustling of his clothes and the movement of water and then he’s there.

Little bird.

Big hands sliding along her skin, smoother than the water, cupping her swollen breasts and then further, pressing down gently on her belly. The child gives a sharp kick, recognizing her father. He insists she’s a girl.

“You followed me.”

“I’ll always follow you, my love,” he murmurs into her skin.

She doesn’t fight him, despite his disobedience, lets him pull her onto his already hard cock. And then she’s there, impaled and taking him deep within. The child turns restlessly, matching the staccato of her beating heart.

“You can’t try flying away anymore, little bird. You belong to me now.” His clutch on her skin translates all the possession of his words.

“What if I promise to bring you with me?”

A soft kiss behind her ear, the hinge of her jaw, tongue running along the column of her throat to taste the sweet water gathered there, “Only if you promise.”

“Always.”

Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie.

She lets her head loll back onto his shoulder. His skin is wet and cool and he tempers the fire in her skin while he strokes the one in her cunt. It’s a haze of slick bliss. The heat of the sun presses down on all the parts of her made swollen and ripe by him.

They float together afterwards, her back propped on his strong chest as he curves his hands in an arc over her body, the gleam of his wedding band catching in the sunlight, and she watches the wispy milk white of his seed floating up through the water, seeping out of her cunt. The very essence of him made physical, come to life

Soon they’ll have a baby born of the two of them. A perfect piece of them both, also come to life.

There is a farm near Jackson, Wyoming where a family lives. Where they are happy. Where they are always together, protected and surrounded by love.

It took a sort of brutality others found terrifying to get there, but sometimes an ending is made all the sweeter for the ugliness that comes before.

It was like this: Joel Miller had a daughter once, a beautiful daughter, full of hope and happiness, and she was his entire life. But then she was taken by a world overwrought by monsters almost indistinguishable from their human counterparts, and so he lived in a grave for many years. But then came another little girl, also full of hope, but who, perhaps, had not known as much happiness. And yet with a potential for it so great, it pulled him forcibly out of that grave and back into the living world.

And then there was you. You who saw him for exactly the sort of creature he was, who unraveled the spool of him until you reached his very marrow. And you stole him for yourself. Drank him down until he lived inside you. And together, you made life in a world gone to decay.

The love of his life.

And now it is this: Joel Miller has four daughters: two by fate, one by you, and one past. Not one cherished any less than the other. And there is no more mere potential for happiness. Because now they exist only in it. Always.

There are no monsters in the house, and no one ends up alone.

The moment lives on forever.

Fear of God Extras : Part I, Part II

Netherfeildren Masterlist

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copias-sewer-rat · 5 months

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IN HIS IMAGE [SECONDO x f!reader] CHAPTER III

While you are in search of a new book to read, Secondo will continue to test the reach of the lust ritual.

Apologies for how short this chapter is. This is the middle chapter and it will be conecting to the next one and the subsequent finale. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it!

tw/tags: smut. +18 warning, established relationship, spicy literature, semipublic sex (kinda?), thigh fucking, teasing, p in v, brief mention of cunnilingus, catholic defiance (very brief), pillow fucking, m/f relationship. 2.7K words

Read also on Ao3 | My masterlist Previous chapter | Next chapter

The library is empty, not many people visit it so early in the morning, but you needed to get a new book. You are looking for something very specific and it is taking a while to find it. You have checked every bookshelf, even asking the librarian for its location, but it seems impossible to find its whereabouts.

You are about to give up when you suddenly see a very worn out spine with the title almost faded. Curiously, you get close and grab it with care. The title read ‘Ms. Finley’s big adventure’. That was it! You almost laugh out loud when you read the title. It seems to be taken out from a child’s book, but of course, it isn’t. Lately, you have been leaning towards the more spicy tomes of your own bookshelf, and you have devoured them all in a few weeks. The romantic plot mixed with the nasty descriptions of sex made you swoon every time. Secondo himself doesn’t understand what lures you to them, but he gets extremely happy when you get to a particularly horny scene and need to jump to his bones to quiet the ache.

There is no much time left until the library gets a bit more lively, but you do want to start the book immediately, so finding your favorite spot in the library, a tiny desk on the corner with just enough light to read, you settle to read the first chapters of the book:

‘The night was fast approaching and Ms. Lena Finley needed to find a place to rest. She had escaped just in time from the grasp of his lover, the priest of Fallengrace, father Lucius Viper. But for how long could she avoid him? In the distance, a small tavern welcomed her with smoke coming out from its chimney and a warm light emanating from the windows. Just in time, a storm was approaching. She hasted her horse and in a few more minutes they arrived to their destination. The place looked welcoming enough, but what she needed the most was a good bed and a nice sleep. The bed was comfortable, a bit softer than she liked, but good nonetheless. She covered herself with the sheets when it suddenly started to rain. The gentle sounds of the drops against the window made her more sleepy than she was and soon she was drifting into slumber.

Memories of her forbidden love appeared in front of her, his warm body, his beautiful auburn hair, his two radiant green orbs that shone even brighter when he saw her. And oh… his member… how his enormous member ached when he entered her. He made her feel so good, so loved. But their love was forbidden. She could never forgive herself if she became the cause of his demise. She could not bare either being so agonizingly close to him and not being able to be with him. That’s why she ran, that’s why she was hiding from everything.

She had made it far in the couple of days she had been gone. Lena would find a place to work, a place to start over, but of course, she was sad. She loved Lucius with all her heart and her tears started to fall when she thought sleep was near. Her sobs echoed through the silent room, until it wasn’t silent anymore. Some quick paced steps approached the room, then silence. Lena was scared, maybe they had found her, maybe it was all over. A couple of knocks suddenly broke the silence.

“Lena, it is me… please I know you are there… please…” It was Lucius! He had found her, how?

With caution, she got out of bed and stood in front of the door. Her breath was heavy and her silky nightgown was doing nothing to protect her from the cold. Slowly, she opened the door to find a drenched Lucius standing right in front of her. His hair wet, his eyes sad and with dark bags under them, but once he saw her, a small light flickered on them, as if life had returned to him.

“My love…” Lucius launched forward, hugging Lena as she was made of smoke. “Please, don’t go, don’t leave me. My soul aches for you, I am lost if you are not beside me…”

“Lucius… but your position, your responsibilities. I could never be the reason for your demise, my love.” Lena whispered against his neck, hugging him back. The water dripping from his clothes sticking to her nightgown, but the familiar heat emanating from him felt so welcome to her chilling soul.

“I don’t care, I only want you. Fuck the church, fuck them all from trying to make you go away. I will never forgive them.”

“Dear, please, don’t say that. I know how important it is to you, I know how much you love God.” Lucius hugged her even tighter.

“No, not as much as I love you, never as much as I love you…”

They kissed then, slow, deep, all the emotions unspoken poured into the embrace. Lucius grabbed Lena’s back and went upward until he found her neck and then her cheeks, deepening the kiss. He moved slightly forward, not breaking the contact as he closed the door with his foot. She understood then, she felt the same, they both needed each other, right there and then.’

It has been only twenty minutes since you have started reading the book and it was already getting to the good stuff. Suddenly, your phone buzzes. A message from Secondo:

‘Tesoro, have you found what you were looking for?’

‘I have, I am reading a bit in the library.’

‘Oh, I figured. Can you stay there a bit longer? I am going to be busy.’

‘Yeah, sure. Do you need anything?’

‘Not really, well… just don’t make much noise, you know the librarian gets when she hears unwanted noises.’

‘Caro, what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Niente, just teasing, I know how you get when you read those books my dear…’

You blush, trying to come with a witty comeback but Secondo seems to have disconnected from the chat, leaving with the last word. He is acting weird for sure, planning something. Nothing you can do for now but continue reading.

‘Lucius drowned her breath with his passion, trying to consume her like the forbidden fruit everyone said she was. It didn’t matter to him, he was going to sin, he was going to become the worst sinner if that meant that they could be together forever. He sat her gently on the bed and took a good look. Her hair looked so soft and so did her skin, the droplets of rain that had drenched him had transferred to her, falling through her arms and between her breasts. The outfit she was wearing was also wet, sticking to her skin, hugging her curves. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes upon.

Lena laid on top of the bed, extending her arms over her head, he gown rising over her knees and reaching her covered core. Lucius stood standing, right in front of her, looking at her with a hungry gaze, thinking of all the things he wanted to do to her. Them. he knelt down, like he always did, ready to pray, ready to pull his whole devotion into the one he loved the most. Delicately, he grabbed the elastic of Lena’s panties and pulled down, Lena herself raising her hips to allow for a better access. Once off, Lucius got close, inhaling the sweet scent that emanated from her. She was so ready, so wet, so fucking perfect. His nose brushed her core, his breath hitting her like a cold breeze in the summer heat. Then, his mouth enveloped her entire cunt, sucking and licking, he was desperate for her nectar. His tongue swept up and down, sometimes circling her clit-’

A jolt of pleasure kicks you suddenly. You know you are wet, you know you are horny. That is no excuse however to feel a dick brushing your folds. It cannot be. You look down and gasp, a glistening blue dick is just sliding through your cunt. That motherfucker. How was Secondo doing that? Did the lust ritual had more reach than you thought? It was all so new and unknown, you hadn’t found any accounts from people that had attempted the ritual before so it was all a shot in the dark. It had served you well before, but this? This was completely unexpected, not unwelcome, just surprising.

You see Secondo’s dick fully erect, glistening with precum, thrusting slightly and making you moan at the contact. You don’t know what he is fucking, but the position is making you want more, then you remember where you are. You are in public, any minute now someone would be getting close to you, looking for a book. You had to flee. Standing up you see your predicament, the floating shiny member of your lover was still there, continuing its lustful motion. You were trapped, everybody would see so you have to take this as quietly as you can, there would be time for revenge later.

Secondo lays on top of your shared bed, completely naked, smirking like the devil that he is and fucking a pillow. He is imagining you, seated on a chair of the library, he knows exactly where, he knows how much you like that seat so he can picture you so clearly. He closes his eyes and your image is so real, you are hunched over, the book in your hands, your eyes wide shut and your breath quick and ragged. His thrusts continue, the pillow feels like your cunt, your folds, wet and hot. He is not going to enter you today, he knows you could not take that much without moaning his name, so he is going to fuck your cunt.

You know what he wants, you are coating him entirely, but the fact that he is not entering you is driving you nuts. His tip is hitting your entrance and the length of his cock brushing your clit… You close your eyes and try to focus on how the fuck not to moan as loud as you want. Involuntarily, you close your thighs, clenching them around Secondo’s length and you can feel him twitching, the contact surely made him gasp. The image of his naked body fills you then, his elbows on the mattress, his knees too, he has fallen over from the unexpected contact of your thighs.

‘Cazzo!’ You can hear on the back of your mind.

‘Two can play at this game, my dear… You underestimate me.’ You think and the rumbles of a low chuckle bless your ears. You are not talking to each other, it is impossible, but the ideas, you minds, they are connected somehow. What the fuck was that ritual?

‘I could never, you are too much of a needy slut for me to underestimate you’ The thought hits you and you blush deeply ‘Now be good and let me fuck you a bit, sì? And be quiet, we don’t want t get you in trouble, do we?’

‘When I get you-ah!- my revenge is going to be slow and painful, I promise…fuck!’ You think, hoping it reaches Secondo, his movements starting again, giving some needed attention to your clit.

‘I wouldn’t want it any other way, tesoro mio… I really want you to pour all your frustration into me, you know I can take it… as-I-know-you-can-take-mine.’ The last words of the sentence marked with a heavy thrust each, which makes you clench the table in front of you, turning you knuckles white.

The glistening ghostly cock in between your thighs quickens the pace and you hear the wet sounds of your drenched cunt letting the member in and out of your folds and thighs. You want to moan, you want to whimper and you want to fucking scream Secondo’s name. Without being able to avoid it, and after a particularly rough thrust, the book you are holding falls from your hands onto the floor. The sound of a woman hushing makes you turn white, you were so lost in the pleasure and focusing about not letting out any sounds that you had neglected the book. You open your eyes widely at the sound, checking your surroundings with a panicked expression but there is no one around. The librarian must still be at her spot, but any more sounds and she could come check in any moment, you need to be more careful.

Slowly you rise from your chair, both of your fists gripping the wooden table. The always familiar tightening of your abdomen starts to make itself present. Grabbing with force, you arch your back and open your legs, if you wanted to get out of there, better to finish this fast. In your mind you hear a displeased groan, so you close your legs again, enveloping the ghostly cock.

‘Good girl…’ You hear, biting your lip to not let out any of the sounds you want to do. This is one of the most frustrating things Secondo has made you do, and he is going to pay it tenfold… but it feels so fucking good to have him like this, your little secret, he fucking you so good and you having to keep quiet… so sinful.

There is nothing you can do but close your eyes to fully concentrate on being quiet, Secondo laughs and you want to kick his ass, but maybe when he is finished fucking you. The brushing of your clit feels surreal, tingly and swollen into heavenly bliss. You want to come so bad, but when you instantly think about it, Secondo quiets you.

‘My dear, I do need to fuck you today. I need to feel you around me. Could you be quiet while I fuck that pretty pussy of yours, mhm? Will you be a good girl for your Papa?’ You want to fucking kill him, but you also want him to fuck you into an orgasmic puddle of lust.

‘Okay… Caro, please be quick, I am so close already.’

‘I know, tesoro mio, I can feel it, your tightness, your aching core is calling me… somehow. And I want nothing more than to get lost inside of you.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Stay there, but part your legs once more, I will take you from the back.’ You nod and comply.

Your forearms now rest on top of the desk, your fists clenched and hurting from the force you are doing. Secondo stands up from his place on the bed, and grabs your invisible hips, aligning himself once again with your entrance. Without warning he slides in with such ease you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

In and out, the rhythmic motions set by Secondo’s heavy thrusts swing your body forward, the table moving slightly, creaking under your force. At this point you do not care about the noise, even if it would mortify you if anyone found out about what was going on, but the lust was clouding your common sense, you just want to come.

‘Faster, please…’ You plead and without a word Secondo sets his motions even faster, your core already on fire, the blissful release wanting to get out.

‘Come for me, tesoro mio…’ and on cue, you do. Your walls clenching around his pulsating dick, your orgasm hitting like a tsunami. You put your lips together, a scream just at the back of your throat. Secondo continues his motions and with a couple more thrusts he is coming too. His seed feels hot and heavy, making you hum in pleasure, but there is nothing there as you glance down. He must have ruined a perfectly good pillow.

Trying to think of something for Secondo to hear doesn’t work anymore, you cannot hear him. The glowing dick in between your core faintly disappearing after he let out his release, it is the proof you need that this connection only works while the occurrence of the act of lust itself.

You are left there, siting and exhausted from the bliss of your orgasm. You know for sure Secondo is laughing, waiting for you to come back to tease you to no end. Well, we will see who teases who, after all, revenge is the sweetest treat.

----

Italian translations:

Niente: nothing

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augustjustice · 7 months

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Crush Confessions, Part 1/?

Inspired by this post

AO3 Link

It was a totally normal, run-of-the-mill Saturday night when it happened.

The spring from hell had crept slowly into summer, and the older teens were all gathered at the Harringtons’ for what was becoming a near weekly hang out tradition–movies, music, booze and weed guaranteed. Steve had held more parties than he could count here over the years, but these quieter nights getting to spend time with their little apocalyptically bonded gang were his favorites, no question.

He and Eddie had gone into the kitchen in search of refills for their now empty beers, and somehow gotten sidetracked into an extended conversation on…well, pretty much anything and everything, from Eddie and the munchkins’ latest campaign (‘harrowing’ was the word Eddie had used to describe it, Steve committing it to memory as Eddie rubbed his hands together in glee) to how Lucas’s summer basketball practices with Steve were going (great, the kid was a natural, and only getting better by the day).

Steve wasn’t even sure how they had gotten on the subject–some playful crack from Eddie about Steve’s high school title as ‘The Hair,’ maybe–but the next thing he knew, he was reaching out to tug on a strand of Eddie’s own long, dark mane.

“You’ve got such nice hair to work with, dude,” Steve said sincerely, curling it around his finger, “I could style it for you sometime, if you wanted.”

Eddie had stilled as soon as Steve’s fingers combed through the locks, and he was now shooting him a baffled, amused look, like he also wasn’t entirely sure what was happening. He opened his mouth, but before he got a chance to say anything, Nancy walked by.

“Don’t let Steve talk you into it,” she warned with a giggle as she passed, following Jonathan back out to the living room, “you should have seen Dustin at the Snow Ball. He looked like the world’s cutest poodle.”

“Hey!” Steve protested, one hand on his hip as he jabbed a finger at Nancy’s retreating back. “I’ll have you know that hairspray has never, not once, let me down.”

As Nancy disappeared, Eddie turned to him, a dimpled smile teasing at the corners of his mouth, bright eyes expectant.

“You gave Henderson’s hair the old Harrington treatment?” Eddie flicked at one of the locks falling artfully across Steve’s forehead, which earned him a half-hearted watch the hair, man as Steve batted his hand away. “And pray tell, good sir, when was this?”

“Like Nance said, it was for the middle school dance,” Steve explained, then launched into an entire retelling of the night as it had unfolded.

By the time he had finished, Eddie was staring at him with those rapt, dark eyes, a strand of hair pulled down over his lips like he was trying to smother his wide smile–and failing miserably at it, as it so happened.

“What?” Steve asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Nothing, man, nothing,” Eddie shook his head, smile never wavering. “It’s just…”

He clasped his hands together in front of him, his whole body practically doing a little shimmy, the kind Steve had come to associate with Eddie not being able to keep whatever thought had suddenly struck him from spilling out.

“You’re just–stupidly sweet, you know? That’s all I was thinking.”

The earnestness with which Eddie said it caught Steve off-guard, and he felt a faint blush rising to his cheeks.

Eddie was always doing that–with him, with the kids, with Robin–telling them exactly what he thought and felt, like he wore every emotion he’d ever had right there on his sleeve, out in the open for anybody to see. And while he was perfectly capable of being a little shit when he wanted to be–Steve liked that about him, too, was always happy to have someone who could hold their own alongside his own bitchiness–more often than not, he was painfully sincere, never shying away from giving out compliments, bear hugs, and even the occasional effusive ‘I love, man’s for something as simple as remembering his favorite pop.

(Yoohoos, of course, a fact Steve could never forget–not after the long, hellish Spring Break Eddie had spent on the run. …If that chocolate nightmare could even really be called pop, that was.)

“I mean…I guess so,” Steve murmured, rubbing a hand over the nape of his neck, not sure what else to say. It was like he was in the Upside Down all over again–Eddie showering him with compliments he didn’t entirely know how to take. “He just…he needed a ride. You know how those kids are. And I wasn’t doing anything else, so I just thought, I mean, that I’d–”

“That’d you swoop in and play big brother, and give our nerdy baby Dusty Buns a confidence boosting pep talk while you were at it?” When all Steve could do was shrug, feeling weirdly bashful and still struck a bit speechless, Eddie snapped his fingers. “That’s what I’m saying. It kills me, the way you just do shit like that, and it’s–god, you’re so cute, what the fuck? It’s kind of disgusting, to be honest with you.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Steve waved his hands in the air, as though calling a time out, “you think I’m cute?”

This time, it was Eddie’s fair skin that flared suddenly red.

Tugging a strand of hair down over his face, he cleared his throat. “I, uh. I’m pretty sure I said it’s cute.”

“No,” Steve shook his head, emphatic, as he tapped a finger to his ear, “no way, dude. I definitely heard what you said. You said you think that I’m cute.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, giving Steve’s shoulder a gentle shove.

“Don’t act so surprised, Harrington, everybody at Hawkins High who liked dudes acknowledged the cuteness of King Steve at one point or another, even if it was just inside their own head. Same as anybody, I wasn’t immune to that shit. But it’s not just that. You’re just so–” Eddie flailed in Steve’s general direction again, words seeming to have left him. No small feat where Eddie was concerned.

“Alright, alright, don’t stroke out on me, man,” Steve caught one of Eddie’s wrists in his hand, the touch stilling him instantly as Eddie blinked over at him with those too big brown eyes. “I’m so what?”

“Nice! You’re so nice, it’s stupid, man, and you definitely weren’t supposed to be.”

Steve barked out a laugh.

“What, you liked it better when I was an asshole?”

“Yeah! I mean–no, of course I didn’t, I just…it was a lot easier to control some stupid high school crush when I thought you were just some hot douchebag but now you’re all–heroic and noble and shit, and I am but one measly little mortal and very homosexual man, Steve. You can’t do this to me.”

“Okay, I’m not that nice,” Steve protested with a roll of his eyes, still feeling that tinge of heat on his cheeks.

“No, you definitely are, dude. You’re like–like, rescue kittens out of trees, help little old ladies cross the street nice.”

“So I helped Mrs. Davis across the street put away her groceries one time–”

“See! You see what I mean?!” Eddie jabbed an accusing finger at him. “You are literally that nice!” Then, he covered his face for a moment, hiding it behind his hands as he sucked in a deep breath, like he was trying to steel himself for something. When he spoke again, the words came out muffled through his fingers. “I just–I like you a lot, you know?”

One corner of Steve’s mouth quirked up into a soft half-smile, confusion clinging to the edges.

“I like you, too, Eds.”

“No, Stevie, I–that’s not exactly what I meant, man.”

Dropping his hands, Eddie caught Steve’s gaze, dark eyes suddenly serious. Steve felt the whole mood in the kitchen shift around them.

“I mean…I like you. God, that sounds so fucking stupid, like we’re in kindergarten, or something,” Eddie scruffed that hand over his face again, running it up into his hair to ruffle the very locks Steve had complimented earlier. “What I’m saying is…I’ve had this fucking–massive crush on you since high school, and you constantly finding new and unique ways to be adorable is definitely not helping, dude.”

Steve blinked, surprised.

The truth was, he had suspected that Eddie might be flirting. Steve had cultivated enough game over the years–the ‘You Suck’ period of his life notwithstanding–to recognize it when he saw it, and he had known, since Eddie had put two-and-two together about Robin’s sexuality and come out to the two of them, that Eddie was into guys.

But…Eddie was also an energetic, tactile guy. He got in everyone’s space, cracked jokes constantly. The playful borderline innuendo was mostly restricted to his interactions with Steve, but there was still enough leeway for Steve to write it off as Eddie just being like that.

Evidently that wasn’t all it was.

And even as Steve felt that pleasant, fluttering warmth that came from knowing somebody had a crush on him…he also felt a sudden, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Because…Steve was straight. He’d never been interested in anybody who wasn’t a girl.

Which meant that now he was in the uncomfortable position of having to tell Eddie he couldn’t return his feelings.

Steve was no stranger to rejection, on both sides. He’d been turned down–and still blamed that stupid sailor hat for at least a third of those rejections–and though he kept his options open and played the field in high school, he’d had to let girls down easy when he started dating Nancy or gently rebuff them when he simply wasn’t interested.

But usually those were relative strangers or casual acquaintances, people he chatted up at the mall or Family Video or in the classroom. They weren’t someone who had quickly become one of Steve’s best friends. They weren’t funny, kind Eddie, who had a way of making Steve feel totally at ease every time they were in the room together, who had slotted so perfectly into Steve’s life it felt like he had always been there.

Sheesh, was this how Robin felt, huddled on the bathroom floor at Starcourt? Knowing you had to let someone down, someone you really cared about, all because you just happened not to be compatible in this one specific way?

The whole thing completely sucked.

“Eddie…” he trailed off, not sure what to say. Wishing there was something he could say.

Eddie jerked up his head, and when he caught Steve’s eyes, he shot him a sympathetic look, like Steve was the one who deserved comforting in this situation rather than the other way around.

“Oh, no, man, don’t sweat it. I know that you are totally, 100% a certified straight boy. I just, I don’t know,” he shrugged one shoulder, smile sheepish, “you know what absolute shit I am, about keeping things to myself. So, I thought…I’d go ahead and tell you, get it out there before I blurted it out at an even less opportune moment. And I’m also here to tell you that, give me a little time, and I can absolutely guarantee I’ll get over it. Cross my heart, the whole shebang.”

He drew a little cheeky X over his heart with his fingers, the curl of his lips growing wider, much more like the Eddie Steve knew.

“In the meantime, I just…hope we can still be friends?” Eddie blinked those wide, hopeful doe eyes at him, and Steve had never had any intention of saying no, but, even if he had, it would have been impossible in the face of that.

Steve gave Eddie a friendly clap on the shoulder, his smile soft and sincere.

“Of course, man. Of course we’re still friends. Nothing’s gonna change that, and definitely not something like this.”

“Oh, why, cuz so many of your friends have had crushes on you in the past?” Eddie teased, but his posture had noticeably relaxed, body open, swaying in Steve’s direction like he always did.

Steve huffed out a laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“The opposite, actually. Before we became platonic with a capital ‘P’ soulmates, there was a period in there where I definitely had a crush on Robin.”

“No shit?” Eddie shook his head in amusement, curls bouncing.

“As embarrassing as it is to admit it now, I totally did. And I mean,” Steve gestured into the kitchen, where the other four teens were congregated around a six pack, “you know I’m friends with my ex. Just saying…I’m kinda the poster boy for crushes on your friends, so. I know a thing or two about what you’re going through.”

“Guess I’m in pretty good company, then.” Eddie nudged his shoulder against Steve’s. “You’re a good guy, Steeeeve Harrington. Which is still totally not helping with the crush, by the way.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Eddie Munson,” Steve mimicked teasingly.

“What are you two even doing in there?” When Robin’s voice suddenly bellowed into the kitchen from the other room, the pair of them jumped, like they had been up to something. They shared a quiet giggle at their own surprise. “Not to break up your little secret babysitter’s club meeting, or whatever it is, but could grab some chips? We’re all out up here.”

“Duty calls,” Steve said with a nod of his head.

“The host’s job is never done, or so I’ve been told,” Eddie agreed.

As Steve attempted to juggle the three bags of chips from the counter under one arm and his beer in the other, Eddie took mercy on him and took the can from his hand.

“This one’s totally lukewarm now, Stevie. Let me get you another.”

Steve simply nodded in reply as he watched Eddie grab a fresh drink from the fridge, keeping the room temperature beer for himself.

When they finally stepped back into the living room, Robin crinkled her forehead at him in a silent, What was that all about?

Tell you later, Steve replied with a significant look of his own, earning him a shrug of acceptance as Robin went back to cheerfully shoving the chips he had just tossed her into her mouth.

Steve settled down into his customary seat on the loveseat beside Eddie–still close enough to the chair Robin claimed as her own that they could throw snacks at each other and share stage whisper level conversation–and Eddie handed off the cool beer can to him, tab already pulled up and everything, with an easy, “Here you go, man.”

As he got comfortable, Steve caught the quick, relieved look Eddie shot him when he didn’t leave any more space between them than usual, their thighs pressed tightly together, close and casual. And that was enough for a swell of hope to build in Steve’s chest, feeling reassured that nothing would have to change between them.

Surely, everything would be just fine.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #crush confessions #unrequited love #(but don't worry not really it just takes a little time to get there)#my writing #my stuff #my things #i don't know how many parts there will be of this or when i will get to part 2 only the adhd and the muses know that #but wanted to go ahead and get this out there anyway since i finally have a completed first part

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abarbaricyalp · 3 months

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Written for the @sambuckylibrary Valentine's Bingo fill: Secret Admirer

5 times birds try to tell Bucky he has a secret admirer and 1 time a human does

Rated T for brief Canon typical violence AO3 Link

Blithe Spirits, Higher Still and Higher

Truthfully, Bucky was hiding. Not well. Not in any substantial kind of way. He was sitting on a bench almost directly outside the front door of the New Avengers Compound. Anyone on the south side of the building would be able to see him. Still, he was not anywhere near any kind of AI system that could tell people where he was or could ring out to him to join some inane meeting or the other. Bucky was not very good at the bureaucracy of this job. Sam said he was an excellent trainer and he established good relationships with the younger heroes that came through the compound, but Bucky was fairly certain that was where the compliments ended as far as his work here was concerned.

He hated it. He hated the building. He hated being in DC. He hated the transient nature of everyone who came through the door. He had a house in Louisiana where he was close enough to the Wilsons to stop by when he wanted. The only good thing about being here was that Sam was usually here as well.

So he took breaks outside as often as he liked. The bench was just big enough for him to lay out on without having to incline either his head or his feet on the armrests and the backing was tall enough to block out the sun after 1:00pm. He really liked this bench.

He was absorbing enough sunshine to stave away the AC chill in his fingers when a bunch of rustling interrupted the otherwise quiet afternoon. He dropped his arm away from his eyes and glanced to his left, searching for the intruder to his quiet afternoon. He expected one of the kids trying to wrangle him into a sparring match, or a handler trying to wrangle him into a desk.

Instead, there was a crow bouncing towards him with a bundle of wildflowers in its beak. It kept throwing its head back at him in some sort of display. He sat up on the bench and the crow jumped up to stand next to his leg. It deposited the flowers on his thigh.

“Where did you get these?” he asked with a small smile. The flowers were nothing extraordinary, so he didn’t assume the bird had taken them from anyone’s hands. Except maybe a nearby child who’d been collecting them on a walk. But Bucky disregarded this theory. They were of the usual suspects as far as flowers went. Some yarrow and laurel and even bluebells. The stems were chopped fairly neatly, which didn’t suggest that the bird had ripped them from the ground.

Actually, if he thought about their origins much more, he was probably going to get a headache.

“What’re you gonna do with them?” he asked the bird instead, like it could answer him. He collected the flowers in a loose grouping and held them back out, but the bird didn’t take them. Instead, it hopped away again. “You’re leaving them with me?” he surmised.

The bird bobbed its head. It cast one more glance over Bucky and then flew away. Bucky took the flowers and, after glancing around to make sure no one could see him, closed his eyes and pressed them against his nose.

II.

Being back in New York felt much more comfortable than being in DC, even if he was once again stuck in a stuffy building. This time, he was doing more paperwork than he thought should be allowed of one person after saving the world for the umpteenth time. As soon as their assigned agent had turned his back, Bucky had vacated the office seat and headed for the nearest food truck.

He’d asked Sam to come along, but had been flatly denied. He was trying very hard not to take it personally, but he wasn’t really succeeding. Sure, he wasn’t half the flirt he’d been in the 30s, but he held his own in this brave new world. He picked people up fairly easily when he wanted to.

The only problem was that he hadn’t wanted to. Not for a long time. His attention had quickly and fully shifted to Sam. But Sam was remarkably resistant to Bucky’s attempts to woo him. Despite the fact that they got dinner together all the time, or went to see a new movie often, as soon as Bucky started asking with the express intent to make further moves on Sam, Sam became absurdly good at skirting his invitations.

This wasn’t even a move. He just really wanted a hotdog. He figured a walk in the sun would be good for Sam too. But, no. The paperwork and their deadlines and getting shit done.

Whatever. Bucky was in New York again. He wasn’t going to waste the precious few hours he had in his loud, noisy city again. Certainly not by embarrassing himself in front of Sam or pushing his boundaries.

Bucky knew this food truck and he was more than a little obsessed with it. When he’d been goading Sam into coming with him, he hadn’t lied by saying he literally dreamed about these hot dogs when he was in Louisiana. This line, the warm summer sun, it was all worth it as he got to the front of the line and reached for his wallet as he began to order without looking at the menu.

He stopped halfway through, which the vendor didn’t even clock, just mumbled, “Yeah, with the relish and extra mustard, I remember.”

“No, wait,” Bucky said and patted his pockets down again. The back ones and then the front ones and then his own waist, where his jacket would usually sit if he was wearing one. “I don’t have my wallet. I must’ve left it in my coat.”

“I think I can spot ya’ this time,” the vendor said in the sarcastic, but loving way, of a brash New Yorker. “You just knock my truck outta the way next time aliens attack.”

“No, no, I can’t,” Bucky insisted, the ghost of his mother’s good manners curling low in his stomach. “I was gonna get a handful. I don’t wanna put you out. Just give me a second. I’ll be right back.”

“Barnes!” the man called after him, but Bucky was already striding away.

He didn’t get very far. A very large pigeon posted up in front of him. Bucky tried to sidestep it, but it followed him across the sidewalk.

“I’m not in the mood,” he told it, which made someone walking past him snort. “Actually, I’m kind of in a rush and I’m starving.”

The pigeon didn’t budge. Instead, it reached under its wing with its beak and produced a twenty dollar bill. It threw the bill on the ground between them.

Bucky blinked at the bill and then at the bird. The bird cocked its head back at him. Did birds blink, he wondered. Surely they must. Flying in the air and everything. They’d need to protect their eyes.

“Go return it,” he said, nudging the bill back towards the bird without actually stepping closer to it. This bird was clearly a criminal. Who knew what it’d do next.

The bird picked up the bill and flung it at Bucky with a palpable distaste. What was going on here? Bucky was in a hunger and hotdog aroma fueled dream. His stomach chose right then to growl like he hadn’t eaten in years. He’d literally had a huge bagel this morning. (There’d been a point to prove to Sam about the frankly appalling bagels in DC.)

Still, his stomach was growling and no one was shouting about theft by bird or chasing this pigeon down. So…he took the bill and got back in line. The pigeon followed after him, letting itself get distracted by the scraps on the ground along the way.

“Found a twenty in my pocket,” he explained to the vendor when he got back up to the front of the line.

The man looked like he may have been skeptical but wasn’t interested enough to actually care. Bucky ordered two hotdogs with the promise he’d come back tomorrow for his handful. Not that he was going to get away with feeding Sam hotdogs two days in a row. Not unless one of them came with broccoli instead of mustard.

He started away from the food truck with his semi-ill-gotten gains in hand when all of a sudden a sharp pain stabbed through his ankle. He looked down with a scowl and found the pigeon basically glaring up at him. Again, with the birds having eyelids thing. He was going to google it as soon as he got back into the room him and Sam were locked in.

“What?” he asked. “It’s a barter system. I don’t have the money anymore.”

The pigeon bobbed its head like it knew what a barter system was. Then it looked pointedly at Bucky’s hotdog. Ah, Bucky thought. It was a barter system. He tore off a piece of his bun and tossed it at the pigeon. Without another look, the pigeon grabbed the bread and flew away.

Literally what was going on?

Read the rest on AO3 here!

#sambucky #bucky barnes #sam wilson #captain america #sambucky fanfic #the falcon and the winter soldier #writing #sbvday2024

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the-obnoxious-sibling · 2 months

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in which this story comes to an end. (fucking finally.)

part eight of the post-marineford portion of the near miss fics! (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7) if you have no idea what i’m talking about but would like to read a shanks/buggy story about kissing in disguise and then having to deal with the emotional fallout of doing that, click on this link, that’s the tag for the whole thing in chronological order. (plus a fair bit of complaining about writing, one inspirational improvised musical number, and a snippet of shanks pov) if you do know what i’m talking about: it’s done! it’s done!! i wish i could say i planned to end this on 3/8 but lmao, did not know the significance of the day until, like, this tuesday. but it’s done. i’m taking a break from the world of this story to work on some gift exchange fics, but i will be uploading the first few fics to ao3 soon, and should start posting the shanks POV post-marineford story in late april. if there are scenes you’d especially like his POV on, let me know! i’ll do my best to incorporate them.

Buggy spent a very cathartic half-hour shouting at a bunch of guys who ate up his words with a spoon. Always eager to please, the men obediently found themselves disembarkation buddies, cleaned up the messes they’d made, and started gathering their things (mostly weapons they’d stolen off the guards at Impel Down).

It was nice to be respected, Buggy thought as he watched them scurry around the ship. However misplaced the respect, it made people listen to him, something Buggy had wanted for as long as he could remember. He’d never been able to get enough. Probably never would, if the hunger that grew every time these men cheered his name was anything to go by.

He wandered up to the room he shared with Galdino—thankfully empty, he didn’t want to end up in another slap fight over details—and took care of his own possessions. (It wouldn’t do to have any excuses to delay or hang back when they got to the meeting point.) With the modified Marine jacket and hat back on, Buggy could fit everything else in a small satchel that he strapped around his waist, neatly hidden by a twist in a sash and the way the jacket fell. He left the room… more or less the way it had been when he arrived—there was no way to hide that dent in the wall, and Galdino would have to be the one to deal with the smear of wax across half the bed—and exited the room for the last time, taking in the view of the deck below with a contented sigh.

The Red Force was a well-run ship—a compliment Buggy would never voice aloud, but in the privacy of his own mind he allowed himself to think it. Even with hundreds of strangers aboard who couldn’t help but get in the way, she was clean, well-equipped, and sailing smoothly. Buggy didn’t know if he’d be able to say the same in a few hours, when all these men would be trying to squeeze onto the somewhat smaller Big Top. Buggy rubbed a hand across his mouth to hide his involuntary grimace at the thought. Maybe the island they were meeting up on had some industry he could put them to work at? A farm would be fantastic, if he could get paid for their labor and get the produce at a discount as well…

Buggy looked over the deck in search of one of Shanks’ senior officers. He didn’t know most of them by name, but those cloaks and capes they wore were distinctive enough that he thought he should be able to identify them on sight, and surely if the one he found didn’t know anything about the island, they could point him to someone who did. The navigator? Roux, who seemed to know a little about everything? Beckman, whose job it was to know something about everything?

And, think of the devil, one of the doors to the interior of the ship opened to reveal Beckman, speaking with a few of those cloaked men. They each went their own way, and Beckman crossed to the railing, taking up a pose not dissimilar from Buggy’s a few levels above him. That was a first mate for you, always keeping an eye on things, one way or another.

Buggy sent his feet down the stairs and the rest of him took the shorter path, swooping down to Beckman’s side like a giant white bat. To his credit, Beckman didn’t react to this unusual approach. Instead, calm as anything, he said, “Whatever you said to those men, it seems to be doing the trick. Thanks.”

Buggy waved the praise off. “If they’re so eager to be under my command, they’ve got to start learning to behave themselves sooner or later. Might as well be now.” Leaning an elbow against the railing, Buggy looked Beckman over. He sure did seem a lot more relaxed now than he’d been outside Shanks’ rooms. Relaxed enough to share intel? “Tell me something.”

Beckman glanced sideways at Buggy. “Hm?”

“What do you know about this island where we’re meeting up with my crew? Is it populated?”

“Ah, I don’t think so, no,” Beckman said, tilting his head back, recalling the facts. “Snake picked a jungle island that’s a bit out of the way of normal trade routes. There’s some ruins, but no signs of recent habitation.”

Buggy tried not to visibly wilt. “Ah.”

Beckman’s eyes lingered on Buggy. “We didn’t want to risk a naval presence on the island getting word out to the rest of the Marines.”

“No, no, it makes sense.” Buggy sighed, shoving a hand under his hat to scrub at his hair. “Just trying to figure out how the hell I’m gonna feed all these guys in that case.” No way had anyone thought to tell Alvida that Buggy was bringing new guys with him, let alone a lot of new guys. She’d have gotten the ship supplied with their normal numbers in mind.

Well, the new guys were a tough bunch, maybe they’d see hunting for their dinner as a fun challenge. Assuming there was anything safe to hunt and eat on this island… Buggy dug his fingers into his scalp, biting back a frustrated groan.

Beckman laughed. “Yeah, I don’t envy you that job. At least we were expecting to take on passengers.” He whistled to get the attention of someone up in the crow’s nest and flashed a hand sign at them. After a few exchanges, he stopped signing and rolled his eyes. “Stubborn, overworking little—” He cut himself off and glanced at Buggy. “Was that all you wanted from me?” Buggy nodded. “Then I’ll see you when Shanks finally gets up the nerve to talk to you… or when we land. Whichever comes first.” With that, he walked over to the mast, got the attention of a young man who’d been leaning against it, and grabbed onto a low-hanging rope. The two of them pulled themselves up into the rigging—to harass whoever was up in the crow’s nest into taking a break, probably.

Buggy watched them climb for a minute, a frown crawling its way across his face. When Shanks finally gets up the nerve to talk to you… so there was something Shanks was hiding that he didn’t think he should, huh? Buggy had figured the feeling he was getting off Shanks was about one of those topics he’d had private conversations with Roger about way back when, not something that Shanks would consider any of Buggy’s business. But apparently that wasn’t the case.

Buggy’s frown deepened. He could come up with a list of topics Shanks wouldn’t want to broach but would still feel obligated to bring up, no problem. But that list was short, and Buggy didn’t like the thought of discussing anything on it.

Unsettled, Buggy leaned back against the mast, arms crossed.

“Look out below!!!”

Buggy looked up and shrieked at the sight of a man falling head-first out of the crow’s nest. He scattered—it wasn’t like his body would soften the blow enough that the guy would live—and then blinked, as a rope he hadn’t noticed went taut, and the falling slowed to a gentle, somehow mechanical motion.

“The hell is wrong with you?!” he demanded, floating up to be eye-level with the slowly descending man. This was, if Buggy remembered correctly, Shanks’ sniper, Yasopp, of the infamous years-long tempting out to sea. Someone with good aim, and a keen eye, but not particularly decisive—or, at least, he hadn’t been back then. He was also apparently someone with a shitty sense of humor; he wasn’t answering Buggy’s question because he was too busy laughing and pointing at Buggy.

“Your face! Oh, my stomach hurts,” he said, clutching at his waist. “Oh man, that was almost worth getting kicked out of the nest.” As they approached the ground, he shifted his weight so his feet would touch down first, and untangled himself from the rope with practiced ease. “Phew. Sorry, uh—Buggy, right? Yeah, sorry about that. The crew knows better than to stand so close to the mast when the watch changes, and I didn’t think to check before I jumped.”

“Jumping from the crow’s nest for fun.” Buggy shook his head. “And here I thought you people were almost respectable.” Yasopp, the maniac, cackled. Beckman, drifting down to the deck on his own rope mechanism, in a much more orderly fashion, chuckled a little.

“It’s possible we’ve been on… well, not our best behavior. Let’s call it better behavior than usual, these last few days,” Beckman admitted. “Except for Yasopp, who doesn’t know the meaning of the concept and so stays up in his nest.”

“You haven’t been on your best behavior, you’re as mean as ever,” Yasopp said, putting on an over-the-top pout.

Beckman rolled his eyes. “Because I need to be, to get anything done around here,” he said. “And you need a break. Drink, talk to someone, tinker with one of your ridiculous trick bullets, I don’t care, just—let someone else keep an eye on things for a few hours, okay?” He nudged Yasopp in the side with an elbow. “Or are you gonna say you didn’t train your juniors well enough at their job?”

Yasopp crossed his arms, sulky. “No,” he conceded.

“Good,” Beckman said. Giving Buggy an apologetic grimace as he untied himself, he said, “I trust he’s apologized to you already?” His tone suggested that if he hadn’t, Yasopp would soon regret it.

What a mother hen of a first mate, Buggy thought, fighting down a smile. “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” he said, shrugging off the incident like it hadn’t carved a decade off his lifespan. “I should’ve known you people had to be at least a little crazy, since you run around with Shanks.”

A small smile crossed Beckman’s face, and Yasopp muffled a snort of laughter in a fist.

Someone called out in a panicky tone for Beckman from a far corner of the ship, and the smile fell off his face. “If you’ll excuse me?” Not waiting for a reply from either of them, Beckman walked off.

“So mean,” Yasopp said, fondness creeping into his voice.

“That’s first mates for you,” Buggy said, unable to keep a similar fondness out of his own voice. Shanks had done a good job finding this guy. When you grew up with the gold standard first mate (or, heh, the Silvers standard?), it was hard to find someone who could measure up. “Keeping things in order when your captain’s lost his head.”

Yasopp chuckled. “Ah, the boss isn’t that bad off.” When Buggy gave him a skeptical look, he smirked. “Lost his heart, maybe, but he knows where his head’s at.”

“I—uh.” Flustered, Buggy cleared his throat. He’d really just gone and said it. “You’re a lot less subtle than your crewmates.”

Yasopp shrugged. “I leave subtlety to subtle men. I’m not built for it; I’m built for getting to the heart of the matter, and doing it fast.” He extended two fingers towards Buggy, lifted his thumb into the air, and twitched his hand like it was a gun recoiling. “We both know where things stand. What’s the use in dancing around it?”

“Sure,” Buggy muttered, his thoughts going back to what Beckman had said. What was it Shanks both didn’t want to tell him and needed to tell him? What was there left unsaid, besides the sort of thing Buggy had already decided didn’t need saying? He crossed his arms. Damn it, he’d been trying to avoid thinking about this shit!

“Hey,” Yasopp said, snapping his fingers to draw Buggy’s attention. “You work with bombs, right? You make them yourself?”

Welcoming the change in topic, Buggy scoffed. “Of course,” he said, “only an idiot trusts the kind of weapons manufacturers who are willing to sell to pirates to make explosives that are good, reliable, and cheap, and I have better things to spend my money on.” He narrowed his eyes at Yasopp. “Why?”

“Because Beck just gave me permission to tinker with my trick bullets, and if you make your own explosives you might be able to figure out what I’m doing wrong with this one.” Digging around in one of his oversized ammunition pouches, Yasopp presented Buggy with an unusually lightweight cartridge. “Here, what do you think?”

Buggy cracked the cartridge open, curious. Inside was a pool of silvery-black gunpowder and a thin-walled hollow bullet, which proved to have some other kind of powder inside. Buggy pinched that powder between two fingers, rubbing them together to feel the grit and then sniffing at the residue left behind. He stared at his fingers, baffled, and smelled them again. “What is that, aluminum and an ammonium salt?” Yasopp nodded. “Are you trying to make a cartridge that explodes in the barrel?”

Yasopp sighed, running a hand through his locs. “What I want is a smoke bomb I can fire out of a gun. What I’m getting is… that, more or less.”

“Yeah, of course you are, a big velocity change ignites this stuff easily. With a different catalyst, though, or maybe a better sealed chamber…” Buggy trailed off, considering the bullet. A miniature smoke bomb, huh? Something that could stand up to the initial shock of gunfire, and turns to noise and powder on impact… “Do you have a chem lab around here somewhere?”

Yasopp grinned.

The two of them didn’t emerge from Yasopp’s workroom until the bell rang out announcing last call for lunch. Buggy wasn’t sure he’d ever get the metallic burnt smell out of these clothes, but he didn’t care; this had been fun, the kind of idle experimenting with explosives that he hadn’t had time to do in years. Buggy hadn’t realized how much of a man’s free time it ate up, captaining even a smallish crew, until he’d gotten a fraction of that time back.

“Too bad we didn’t figure out a solution for your smoke bullet problem,” he said, dusting the last of the gunpowder off his shirt sleeves.

“Eh, I’ve been working on this on and off for months, it wasn’t gonna be an easy fix,” Yasopp said, shrugging his star-spangled cloak back on. “But it got both of us out of our heads for a few hours, so I’d hardly call it a waste.”

Buggy blinked at him, frozen with one arm in his jacket. “Both of us?”

“You were fretting, I don’t know what about. Shanks, at a guess. And I’m… not good at letting other people take on my responsibilities.” Yasopp grimaced. “Beck doesn’t always have to toss me out of the nest, but…”

Buggy frowned, sliding the jacket up his other arm. “I wasn’t fretting.”

Yasopp gave him an unimpressed look. “Sure. And what kind of concealer do you use to hide the frown lines you must have, if you make that face every hour of the day?” When Buggy scowled at him, Yasopp said, “I’m not a subtle man, remember? If you want somebody to pretend to believe your lies, you’re looking at the wrong guy.”

Buggy sighed. As Yasopp locked the workroom up behind them, he admitted, “It… was good to get out of my head for a while.” Yasopp gave him a squeeze on the shoulder, and they left it at that.

Lunch was a bit less exciting than the past few days had led Buggy to expect: the fried rice with pickled cabbage and ham that had been served with Shanks’ breakfast was the main dish on offer, with other repurposed leftovers making up the rest of the meal. When Roux wasn’t looking, Buggy gave him a curious look. The rest of the crew had been on their best behavior, according to Beckman… so, had Lucky Roux been showing off? If he had, it had worked on Buggy; he still wanted to poach Roux for his own crew, even if this less impressive offering was his usual fare.

Eating his bowl of rice with a couple promising-looking toppings—all well-spiced and delicious, of course—Buggy made his way out onto the main deck. A few Red-Haired and Whitebeard Pirates glanced Buggy’s way, but most of them had gotten used to Buggy over the last few days and returned to their meals without paying him any mind. He peered down at the lower deck, crowded with men in worn prison uniforms standing in surprisingly well-organized clusters of twos and fours, finishing their lunch.

“Afternoon, men!” he called.

“Captain Buggy!” they cheered.

“Let’s see,” Buggy said, and on a whim set aside his bowl to chop off his feet and swoop down, close enough to excite his men but just out of reach. “Aren’t you arranged all nice and orderly? It looks like you did as I asked.”

“Of course!”

“We’d do anything you asked, Captain Buggy!”

Buggy grinned. Music to his ears. “Then I suppose I should reward you, shouldn’t I?” A few excited sounds rose from the crowd as Buggy returned to his spot on the deck above them. “Hm… I’ve told you a few stories of the old days with Captain Roger, and a few more adventures of the great Captain Buggy’s crew. But there’s someone I’ve yet to introduce you to, a captain who’s been allied with me and mine these last few months.” Someone who might need some convincing to cooperate with the sudden appearance of all these guys… and who was more eager for praise than even Buggy. “Let me tell you how the strong, beautiful Iron Mace Alvida saved my life.”

A hush fell over the crowd.

“Yes, I know what you’re thinking: the great Captain Buggy, in need of rescue?!” The wide-eyed stares Buggy received confirmed this. And by the look of it, some of the men were mentally tacking on the phrase by a woman? to that question, as he’d suspected they would. Yeah, best to nip that potential problem in the bud. “Well, I’d been through a terrible trial in the days leading up to our first meeting. Separated from my crew, from my body, alone on a half-wrecked ship, starving, a vicious sea monster rising out of the waves before me, his many-toothed maw dripping with drool, eager to eat me—when suddenly! A great iron mace came down on his skull!” Buggy slammed his lunch bowl against the railing, the crash of metal on wood drawing the eye of every man below.

Buggy grinned. If they hadn’t been hooked before, they sure were now.

He fudged some of the details, of course—no need to reveal exactly who had put him through that terrible trial, or how his crew had behaved in his absence. But the broad strokes were true enough, and the changes he made were in support of his reason for telling the story: to convince these guys to respect Alvida, to flatter her as they did him, to make this joining of forces go as smoothly as possible. Sure, it didn’t put Buggy in the best light, at least not at first, but he didn’t want Alvida taking a perceived slight out on a man who might be able to stand up to her mace. If revealing one of his weaknesses was how he avoided that disaster, so be it.

He was just reaching the ‘rescuing his crew from cannibals’ climax of the story when a cry rang out from above: “Land ho!”

Finally. The relief that rushed through Buggy nearly made him cry. After all the many hells he’d been through since being arrested… things could finally start getting back to normal.

“We’ll continue this story after we disembark,” Buggy announced, to a few disappointed groans from his men. “Find your buddy if you lost track of him during lunch! Make sure you both have everything you’re taking with you! Stay out of the way of the Red-Haired Pirates while they’re get us to shore, but be ready to leave the second we’re docked!”

“Aye, Captain!”

But of course, it wasn’t quite that simple.

Buggy found Galdino sitting in the empty mess with Lucky Roux, making polite conversation over a pot of tea. Though, with these two, it might not actually be the conversation it seemed to be—something about the island Roux sourced his tea from? Apparently it was a distinctive blend, and hard to acquire.

“Did you need something, Buggy?” Galdino asked, an undertone of irritation to his voice. Because of course Buggy needed something, why else did he ever seek Galdino out?

Well, if Galdino didn’t want to be used, he shouldn’t have made himself so useful.

“The dock’s gone,” Buggy said. “Either rotted through or swept away in a storm.”

Galdino glanced up at him, and set down his teacup. “Well, at least it’ll be a challenge. Lucky Roux, it’s been a pleasure.”

“It’s sure been something, having you people aboard,” Roux said with a wide smile. “Hopefully not for the last time.”

Buggy snorted. “In your captain’s dreams.”

Galdino muffled a laugh in his fist; Roux didn’t bother concealing his amusement. Buggy realized how his words had come off, scowled, and stormed out of the mess with a mutter of, “Come on, Galdino.”

The two of them joined Beckman and the Red-Haired Pirates’ navigator at the bow of the ship, and considered the space where a dock clearly used to be. A ship this big, an island with such a sharp drop from shore to sea? They wouldn’t be able to land without a dock.

“Can you do it?” Beckman asked.

“I’ll need to begin from the shore,” Galdino said, thoughtful. “If it isn’t well anchored from the start it’ll drift away.”

“That’s no problem.” Buggy chopped his feet off and leaned forward, letting Galdino sit cross-legged on his back. He flew them to shore, where Galdino made some long wax spears that Buggy wedged into place. When they were securely dug in, Galdino melted the tops of the spears and, starting from that spot, created more wax to mold into a floating dock. Nothing that would be any good at anchoring a ship the size of the Red Force long-term, but they didn’t intend to be here any longer than necessary. So long as it could hold firm while the men disembarked, that was all they needed.

While Galdino worked, Buggy hovered above the canopy, looking for any kind of promising location to settle his men. He quickly spotted the ruins Beckman had mentioned—several of the old buildings were tall enough to be seen well above the treetops, the gray of the stone standing out against all the greenery of the jungle. There was one with a large paved area around it, not far from the shore, which seemed promising. Buggy took a moment to fix the spot in his memory, then went back to tell Galdino about it.

Galdino barely paid him any mind. He was focused on his work, and confident enough in it to stand on the dock as he was building it, a foot or two of wax all that separated him from the awful, helpless death that awaited any Devil Fruit user in the ocean. It was bold of him; Buggy preferred a nice, reliable boat any day.

“Any messages to pass on to the men?” he asked, hovering at Galdino’s shoulder.

“They’ll need to be light on their feet, and should stick to the center of the dock,” Galdino said. He was starting to sweat; extruding this much wax in one go must take a lot of effort. “If their weight isn’t balanced right, one wrong move could capsize this whole thing.”

Buggy blanched. Yeah, he could never. “Noted,” he squeaked, and flew back to the Red Force to convey these instructions.

Despite Galdino’s warnings, the disembarkation went well. Buggy watched with no small amount of pride as the buddy system worked beautifully, each pair of men walking down the gangplank, across the waxen dock, and onto the shore without any signs of a bottleneck developing. Being listened to was nice—it was very nice—but being listened to, having your orders followed, and seeing them work exactly as you imagined, now that was heaven. Buggy might not be the strongest pirate the world had ever seen, but damn it, he was good at this shit.

As the last dozen pairs prepared to leave the Red Force, Buggy felt a gentle weight press down on his foot. He frowned, tried to remember where he’d left his feet, and only then noticed a presence on the main deck that made his hackles rise.

Shanks.

“Are you holding my feet hostage?”

“That depends,” Shanks said, giving Buggy an unreadable look. “Are you leaving without saying goodbye?”

Oh, this guy. On his own ship, surrounded on all sides by his most trusted officers, and still managing to look like some kind of miserable wet cat, terrified of being left alone.

“And how was I supposed to say goodbye to someone who’s been hiding from me?” Buggy asked, instead of the dozen meaner things he wanted to say.

Shanks glanced away, suddenly awkward, and Buggy took the opportunity to look him over. The shower had done him good, gotten him clean of all that secondhand makeup—though it had not, Buggy noticed with a quiet little thrill, removed the bruises that had apparently been hiding underneath some of that makeup. His hair looked nicer, almost healthy, even pinned back by the sunglasses Shanks had propped up high on his forehead. “Are these the shame glasses I’ve heard so much about?”

Shanks’ hand rose to fiddle with the temple of the glasses. “Ah, yeah.”

“I thought your crew was supposed to laugh at you while you were wearing them?”

“They’ve been laughing at me, all day,” Shanks said, tired. “And they’ve been right to, given… everything.”

Well, that was ominous.

With a sigh, Shanks said, “There’s something I should have told you earlier, Buggy, but there never seemed to be a good time, and… I didn’t know how to say it.” A sheepish smile pulling at the corner of his lip, he said, “I still don’t, to be honest,” and pulled the sunglasses down over his eyes.

It took Buggy a moment to put it together. Shanks’ discomfort, the way the large mirrored lenses took up so much space on his face, the nervous twist of his lips… then Shanks ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and it clicked. All the blood draining out of his face, Buggy caught Beckman’s eye; he nodded, ever so slightly.

(Fuck.)

Buggy got up in Shanks’ face, looking past his own wide-eyed reflection to confirm that spark of recognition. Shanks leaned back, Buggy reconnected to his own feet, and at this angle… yeah, he knew that face. He’d kissed it, once.

(Oh fuck, he’d pickpocketed that guy, too.)

Fighting down a hysterical burst of laughter, Buggy said, voice high-pitched from the strain, “Well, uh, thanks for the ride, Shanks! I’d say I owe you one, but I’m pretty sure you still owe me another two or three dozen favors before we’re even.” He backed up, hands brushing along the railing as he inched towards the stairs, and beyond them the gangplank, the dock, the island, freedom.

(Somewhere he could have a little breakdown about this revelation in private.)

“Buggy…” Shanks cautiously held out a hand.

Buggy pulled back out of reach. “I’m not saying goodbye to you, Shanks!” he snapped. Shanks faltered, his hurt visible even past those ridiculous sunglasses, and Buggy sighed. Did he have to spell it out? “Stupid. I already told you.”

Confusion wasn’t a much better look on Shanks. Well, either he’d figure out or he wouldn’t.

Buggy rolled his eyes, spun around, and ran off. Over his shoulder, he promised, “Until next time, Red-Hair!”

#notfic #the near miss fics #one piece #shuggy #buggy #shanks #now if you’ll excuse me i’m going to sleep for a week #orz why is writing so easy at the beginning and so hard at the end

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