#nothing like some good old black brothers angst

[barbieaemond]

A curse for a curse

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader

Warnings: angst, sub!Aemond, smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), overstimulation, orgasm denial, p in v, chains kink (idk if that’s even a thing but it’s there)

Word count: 8.5K

Author’s note: PLEASE READ THIS ->There's a little canon divergenge as in Rook's Rest is not happened yet, so Aegon is King and Aemond went to Harrenhal. Based on a request I got for sub!Aemond.

Taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @ashovertheriver (y’all i can’t remember the others, I had my taglist in my old blog so…sorry 🫠)

Harrenhal tastes like curse and smoke when she enters the blackened and ruined walls.

She is sure, as she is sure that dragons are real, that this place has been cursed over and over since Balerion and Aegon the Conqueror proved that not even stone was safe against dragonfire.

The air is heavy in her lungs, as breathing through a thick layer of wool and her steps echo down the corridors in a strange way; it seems like a never ending sound, echoing through the walls and many lost ages.

But her stride is steady, her eyes fixed on the doors of the Hall of One Hundred Hearths where she is sure to find him, where she will end this thing for which she has no name, and yet it is draining her, wearing her out like a starved leech.

“When is Aemond coming back?” the Queen Mother asks, and then little Jaehaera asks the same question, even Helaena, in those rare moments of clarity, wonders about her brother. And each time, she doesn’t know what to say. Her lip grows stiff, her jaw clenches and she wonders obsessively from dawn till dusk. What is he doing there?

Why has he not returned now that Harrenhal has been taken?

What is he doing with that bastard woman? 

“They say she’s a witch.” King Aegon says with his glassy eyes, putting down his cup as he looks around to choose a target on which to pour his anger. Wine seems to not work anymore, it is not enough to quench his thirst for revenge, and unfortunately, she happens to be the easiest mark.

“He killed everyone in that gods-forsaken place. Everyone except the witch.” He leans forward, watching her with amused anticipation just like a child who waits for his favorite toy to break. “Why did he not do it, sweet good-sister?”

He wants her to snap, and surely something does snap inside her, but she refuses to be humiliated like this.

“I do not know, your Grace. Perhaps my husband learned the Gods’ mercy and decided to spare a woman.”

His chest shakes violently as he laughs, and there’s nothing more humiliating than his laugh, not even the whispers traveling all the way from the Riverlands.

He’s taken her as his prisoner, keeps her in his chambers.

She has utterly bewitched him.

Every word is a stab to her heart and every time his word reaches her through a raven, the wound splits more open and festers.

He does not mention the bastard witch. He says nothing on the matter. He informs her of the war progressing, tells her he will come back soon.

Soon.

Soon was two moons ago and he’s still there.

It doesn’t matter anymore, she thinks as she reaches the doors of Harrenhal. Soon is now.

The look on Ser Criston Cole is almost comical as two soldiers open the doors of the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. “Princess?”

She immediately looks around, but there’s no silver in that huge black hall.

“What are you doing here?” the Hand asks, walking to her “It is not safe for you—”

“Where is the Prince?” she cuts him off, her tongue hitting her teeth like a blade cleaving the air.

Ser Criston looks puzzled for a moment, and even if she doesn’t show it, anguish twists her gut. But then he says “The Prince is not here, your Grace. He’s out, on the battle camp.”

She looks at the soldiers in the room, watching her like some kind of weird creature—a lamb in a den of wolves. That is no place for a princess, no place for a woman. And yet, it is precisely her place.

She belongs to his side. As he belongs to hers. It’s what she’s been telling herself for two moons of sleepless nights.

She should have come here with him in the first place, war be damned.

“Leave, please.” She orders the men “All of you. I need a word with the Hand.”

They may not be used to taking orders from a woman, but they immediately leave the Hall like a pack of unruly children.

The thud of the doors is like some kind of curtain falling and she is finally free of this act, free to snap.

“What is going on here, Ser Criston?”

He shifts on his feet, looking down, looking utterly incapable to answer her question. “The situation in the Riverlands is quite delicate at the moment—”

“I don’t give a shit about the war, Ser Criston.” She almost hisses “You are perfectly aware of what I’m asking.”

His mouth shuts and she resists the urge to use her hands as talons to part his lips and grab the truth from his throat.

“What is going on between Aemond and the witch.” she states, she is not asking.

The Hand sighs deeply and takes a step closer. His whole demeanor changes, becomes confidential, almost fatherly. “My Princess, you must not believe the foul whispers that have been spread.”

She feels a glimmer of relief blooming in her heart, but not strong enough to relinquish the leeches sucking at her bones. “What should I believe then?”

“It’s true. The Prince spared her life.”

“Does he keep her in his chambers?”

“What? Seven Hells, no. She has her own chamber. A little room in the wing intended for servants.”

“Did she ever visit his rooms? Alone?”

Ser Criston looks down for a moment, his lips contracting. “You must understand, my Princess. There are no servants here.”

The wound between her ribs cracks open.

There are no servants here. Did she help him dress? Did she help him bathe? Did she do all the things she used to do? All the things only she was entitled to do?

“I want to see her.”

“Princess, it is not wise.”

“I believe it is very much wise, Ser Criston, since my marriage is at stake here.”

 Ser Cole sighs again. “She’s…dangerous, my Princess. She’s eerily persuasive.”

“So, you think it’s true? That she’s a witch?”

“I’m not sure about her powers, my Princess. All I know is that…one of our soldiers spat in her face when she was still a captive by order of the Rogue Prince and she just…murmured something to this man.” He swallows lowering his gaze and takes a deep breath. “The next day he ripped out his own tongue with his bare hands, bleeding to death.”

Disturbing as these words can be, she keeps a steady and cold face.  

“She claims she can read the flames. That they speak to her, that she saw all of this happening—the Prince coming here. She claims she saw the fate of the war.”

A long silence stretches between them, but however right the Hand’s reasoning may be, she is not keen to let magic and superstitions take what she has come here to retrieve. “Take me to her.”

Ser Cole stalls for a moment, trying to make her give up by merely looking at her. But at last, he caves. “As you wish, my Princess.”

Her room is completely bare, save for a hearth and a bundle of dirty covers and a pillow thrown on the ground.

She enters and the air feels even heavier, more cursed. She feels it like something weighing on her shoulders, drying her throat.

There’s a woman sitting before the fire, clad in rags with long black hair falling down her back. She seems to register the door opening and closing only minutes later, as if she was too focused on her fire staring. But then she turns her head and looks at the woman before her with a strange smile.

“Alas, you have come.”

The Princess blinks quickly, watching the woman stand up and walk closely to her, chains on her feet and hands. She feels something unsettling under her skin, behind her eyes, as if she can’t stop looking straight into the green eyes of the witch, not even if she wanted to.

“You must be Alys.” She says, quickly scanning the witch before returning, inevitably, like a magnet, into her bright green eyes.

The woman, whose age is impossible to determine, keeps her smile as she looks at the Princess from head to toe. “You are exactly as I saw you in the flames.”

“That will save us some time, then. No need for introductions.”

“No. I know who you are.” The witch says, curling her cracked lips some more “I can see his mark on you.”

“His mark?”

“Yes.” She says, unnaturally widening her eyes. “He leaves a mark on everything. Things, places, people. Much like me, I’d say.” From her throat gushes a high-pitched laugh, jarring and spiteful. “We have much in common, the Kinslayer and I.”

The way she utters the last words makes the Princess grind her teeth, as if they were…what? Friends? Allies?

Lovers?

“Have you been in his chambers all this time?” she finally asks and the witch has the boldness to roll her eyes. “Is that the only reason you’re here? To know if he cheated on you?”

“Answer my question.” The Princess orders.

“Darling, If I wanted to fuck him, I would’ve done it ages ago.” She starts laughing again, grinning mischievously and then she sighs. “You left your mark on him as well. I can feel you in his head. And you are so heavy.”

She doesn't know what to make of that. There is not a single reason why she should trust her word. And it's not just the alleged powers this woman may possess. It's her whole demeanor. Haughty, even though she is a bastard. Mocking, as if she looks at the young woman before her, and sees much, much more.

“Just as you, I’d say, since he’s forsaken his family and his wife to do whatever you’re making him do it with your witchcraft.”

She bursts out laughing, so loud that the Princess flinches and takes a step back.

“I’m not making him doing anything. I can’t play with his head. He’s too stubborn. I did not curse him, sweetheart. Your beloved prince is already accursed.”

“Then what do you want? Gold? Lands?”

“I do what the flames command. I serve no God, no King, no Lord. And neither does your husband. It was his choice to see.”

“To see what?”

“What the flames choose to show. I know how this war will end. I know which color will stain the other for good. I know who will sit on the Iron Throne.”

The Princess furrows her brow, confused and puzzled, apparently pleasing the witch who smiles again and nods. “Oh yes, he will make a sight to behold wearing the Conqueror’s Crown.”

Who? Aemond? On the Iron Throne?

“So that’s how you’re keeping him here. With visions and fantasies.”

“He asked me to. At the moment I’m more valuable to him than all his generals and soldiers put together. Besides, I know how to deal with him.”

The Princess almost laughs at this. “I see. You think you can handle him, don’t you? A wild dragon for you to tame, is that what he is for you?”

“Well, I’m not denying he’s handsome enough to please my eyes.”

“And once you have tamed him, what will you do? How will you handle him when you scratch the surface, and you see the neglected son? Lonely, misunderstood, maimed. The boy no one cared for.”

It is the first time the witch does not have a quick biting answer. It makes the Princess rejoice.

“All your witchcraft won’t be enough to handle him.”

The witch falls silent. There is a distant look in her eyes as she observes the Princess and the more she stares, the more the younger woman feels dreadfully uncomfortable. She starts to feel something in the back of her mind, like a gentle abstract push.

“Ser Criston." she says suddenly, swallowing but keeping a collected mask. "The keys, please."

“Your Grace, Prince Aemond will not be ha—”

“I’ll deal with Prince Aemond.” She says, looking straight at the witch and the ghost of a superb smile hovers on her lips “I know how to handle him.”

The Knight slides the keys from his armor and hands them to the Princess. She is ready to free the witch’s wrists, but she stops, locking her eyes on Alys. “There is a carriage outside. And some guards who will do whatever Ser Criston will order them. Take it and go wherever you want, there’s even gold in the—"

“I told you, I don’t want—”

“I don’t care of what you want!” The Princess snaps, raising her voice, and the pushing dissolves. “You live to serve the flames? Fine. Do it elsewhere, far away from us.”

Alys shuts her parched mouth, and simply nods. “As you wish, Princess.”

She removes the shackles from her feet, and then from her hands, holding the chains between her fingers. Alys touches her hurting wrists, before tilting her head down in some kind of bow, or maybe a mocking gesture. The Princess cannot bring herself to care.

The witch makes her way past the younger woman but at last, she stops for a moment, leaning back her head of dark curls to say “I did touch him, just once. He put a knife to my throat.”

Vhagar likes to nestle on the burned blackened towers of Harrenhal, like some kind of dreadful reminder of the legacy of ruins and ashes Balerion the Dread has unleashed on this cursed land.

Aemond enters the castle walls with his circle of counselors and generals. They crowd on him like bees with honey and he knows why. He knows that most of the time they don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. They hang on his lips and jump like little good soldiers, jostling with one another in the hope of gaining something more when the war ends. A land, a title, one of them had even had the guts to offer a daughter to marry.

“I am not sure of what you are implying, my Lord.” He had said to the Lord with a dangerous black glint in his eye, as the fool thought it was wise to remind the Kinslayer that he and his wife had had no children yet. “Whether you are insulting me or my wife. I am sure of one thing, though. You will shut your hole before I take your tongue and feed it to my dragon.”

There were no more talks of unwed daughters between those walls.

“My Prince, if you allow me—” one of them says as they enter the Hall of the Hundred Hearths “We should give the lords who pledged for the Blacks more time to consider—”

“I gave them enough.” He says turning with a glare, looking even taller than he is, with his silver armor streaked with gold and the long green cloak. “They will pledge to my brother before dawn or I will bring dragonfire to their lands. Then we shall see where their loyalty lies while they burn to the crisp.”

They all shush and Aemond almost thanks the Gods for this brief blessed moment of peace. He ponders for a moment and then looks at a young soldier behind him.

“Summon the witch.” He orders “Bring her to me.”

He looks down to remove his riding gloves but out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the boy is still there.

“Uhm, my Prince, the witch is not here anymore.”

“What do you mean she’s not here?”

“S-she left, your Grace.”

The last word does not even leave his mouth the poor soldier feels a hand around his neck and the Prince is easily lifting him from the ground as if made of feathers. “You let her flee?!” he rages with his eye blown wide.

“I-I did—not your Grace!” the boy manages to croak while he’s choking, legs kicking like a chicken in the butcher’s hands.

“He’s right. I did.” Her voice cuts through the air and Aemond turns his head in a blink, looking positively stunned to hear his wife, to see her there.

He lets the soldier boy go and stares at her on the threshold of the huge Hall. He blinks with disbelief, as if he’s finally able to see after days and nights spent in a cloud of fog. Something shifts inside him him—something that has been wandering ceaselessly day and night, lifting the weight from his shoulders, from his black heart. Not Harrenhal’s weight, not Alys’. A weight far darker, a curse far more dangerous.

“Out.” he orders the Lords “All of you.”

They obey at once, scattering down the Hall only to stop for a moment before the Princess, to pay their respect.

The doors close but she stays on the threshold. His eye roams on her figure, once and then twice. He has never seen her wearing such a simple dress, easy to disguise her noble roots, her royal ones. And even though the mere sight stokes almost three moons of ugly and burning desire, it only makes him angry. It only makes him ashamed.

“What in the name of the Seven are you doing here?”

She walks to him and without uttering a single word or even sparing a glance to him, she begins removing the heavy armor plates from his body.

“What are you doing?” he asks with deep wrinkles on his forehead.

“My duty as wife.” She replies sternly, holding his arm “Or did you forget you had one?” she looks at him and sees rage blazing behind his eye—rage and maybe a tinge of hurt.  

“Am I doing it right?” she asks removing the armor plate from his forearm “Was your witch friend better than me?”

The metal clatters on the ground as he grabs her arm, hard, pulling her close. “I asked you a question. We’re at war and you go strolling around the continent? Have you lost your mind?”

She tries to wriggle herself out of his iron grip, unsuccessfully as always. “How strange, that is a question I should ask you.”

“Enough.” He says grinding his teeth, digging his fingertips into her skin until her mouth twists with pain.

“Enough was two moons ago, Aemond. When you were supposed to come home, to your family, to me.”

“In case you didn’t notice, we’re at war, my dear wife. Things in war don’t go exactly as you planned them—”

“Oh spare me!” she cuts him off, freeing herself “Spare me the war talk, that’s all I’ve been hearing from you.”

“What did you expect exactly? Love letters?”

“I expected what I deserved. To know the truth. You have not mentioned her. Ever, not even once. Do you have the faintest idea of what I’ve been through all this time? Of all the dirt they have been spreading behind my back?”

“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says turning his back on her, as if he had not done that enough.

“No, you will.” She promises, circling him to look straight at him again. “They said you were so besotted with her to deny her leaving your chambers.”

“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says again, closing his eye for a moment.

“They said, and this was from the wretched mouth of your beloved brother, that you put a child in her womb since I was not able to give you an heir.”

“I don’t want to hear about it!” he shouts, and she knows she hit a nerve there, because he never shouts.

“Why? Does it make you ashamed? It should. I had to hear all of it. I had to endure it while you stayed here playing fortune teller with your witch whore.”

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and raises his gaze to look at her, dead serious. “You know nothing about her powers. She saw many things, happened precisely as she predicted. I needed her. I needed her powers and you had no right to send her away.”

“You needed her?” she repeats, pale with utter disbelief. “You needed her for what? For her to tell you how good you’ll look wearing the Conqueror’s Crown? To feed you with fairy tales while we risk our lives staying in the capital, unprotected because Dreamfyre can’t fight and Tessarion is still in Oldtown. What if the Blacks decide to attack us now? They have a dozen of dragons, we have only Sunfyre.”

“The Blacks will not attack.”

“Did she tell you this? Did she see this in the flames?” she can’t fight back the contempt curling her lips “Are you listening to yourself? Flames and visions to win a war? You poor fool.”

“Watch your mouth, woman.” he seethes “You don’t talk to me like this.”

“Or what? Are you going to chain me up? I kept her chains, you know? I thought you’d like a token of your time with the witch.”

“Did you come here for this? To make a scene like some common girl who feels threatened by another woman?” his lips turn upwards, curling and twisting with ugly deprecation “What do you think you know about the war? What is your contribution while you lie around in a lavish castle waiting for me to come back and fuck you? I’ll tell you. None. You can’t even perform your duty to give me an heir. And you come here to lecture me?”

The wound is rotting from the inside and he’s pouring salt on it.

“I came here for my dignity. As a woman, I have nothing else. I came here for your mother, who I fear will go mad with worry just as your sister. And lastly, to tell you that I’m with child.”

Aemond stills completely, so much that she thinks the witch’s curse is hitting him right now, no matter how far she is, turning him into stone.

“But it seems utterly irrelevant to me right now. So, go. Hurry! You might still find her.”

She moves to leave the room and he does it at the same time, trying to reach her, to stop her, but she flinches as he tries to touch her, battling his hands away.

Aemond utters her name, softly, and it makes her stomach turn.

“I will leave at dawn.” She informs him with a blank face “I won’t disturb you and your precious war any further. Fret not, husband. I will stay in my lavish castle like the good soldier I am, waiting for you to come back and fuck me.”

This is place is not only cursed, but it is also so freezing cold that she wishes for one of those direwolf furs the Northerners use to wear as she sits before the hearth in what she assumed to be Aemond’s chambers. The room is large, even larger than the ones they share in the Red Keep, but it’s completely bare and almost ominous with its black walls that stink of ash and smoke.

A cursed place, fitting for a cursed woman.

She has been for quite some time. Because she chose to stay by his side, because she chose to love him.

“We could turn to a Septon. Annulments are rare but possible. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins.” Her father had said in the aftermath of Lucerys’ death. She had looked at him like he was some kind of lunatic.

As if she could leave him, as if she could turn her back on him and marry another man.

As if he hadn’t left his mark on her.

She thought the Gods had cursed her for good, that was why, however much they tried, she couldn’t bear his child.

“A child is the highest of the blessings from the Gods.” Her mother had said during one of her last visits to the capital “How can they bless your union with a man so accursed?”

And yet.

She is impatiently waiting for the sun to set. Even if her limbs have never been so heavy, as much as her heart, she finds no reason to stay here, not when she can’t stand even the sight of him. But of course, how can there be peace in such a cursed place?

She hears the door opening. She knows his gait. She wished to hear it for two moons as she lied alone in their bed.

She hears him approach until he is beside her, but she does not look at him. She only sees his arm holding out a small tray.

“Eat.” An order, not an invitation.

She doesn’t even bother to look at the food, keeping her cold gaze on the fire. “I’m afraid I lost my appetite, dear husband. You can thank yourself for that.”

She can feel his eye piercing, burning her skin, the air coming from his nose short and harsh.

“Eat or I’ll feed you myself.”

She doesn’t bother to even answer this time.

Aemond stares at her, waits for her to look at him, he needs for her to look at him. “Is it true?”

“What?”

“That you’re with child.”

“In my husband’s lovely words, I lie around all day so I guess I’m capable enough to notice if I miss my moonblood.”

He leaves the tray on the stone mantelpiece, noticing a pair of chains lying there, and then looks down at her.  “You will stay here with me.” Another order.

Another rejection. “I will not.”

“Yes, you will. You are not going anywhere, not in your condition.”

“I see. Now I’m worth something to you, am I not?” and finally she looks up “My duty is fulfilled, my womb is finally swollen. It’s a shame your witch left, we could have asked her to look in the flames and tell us if it’s a boy or a girl.”

Aemond lowers his shoulders and grabs her chin with the same cruelty he is used to brandish his sword, tightening her cheeks to prevent her from uttering another word. “I said enough.”

He watches as she tries to escape his grip, pushing his shoulders as her eyes grow more and more scornful, and he knows he deserves it. But that ugly thing breaks, snaps like a thin rope pulled too tight.

His mouth is on hers, fingers squeezing her cheeks to force her to take his kiss, which is not really a kiss, but more of an act of war, a relentless and rather quick siege, because she was already starving. She opens his mouth and this alone makes him whine with relief as his tongue slides between her teeth. Her hands grab his doublet collar, knuckles turning white and she angles her head, only to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood.

He winces as he pulls his head back and sees her licking her lips, a dead distant look in her eyes. But her hands move, gently, through his silver strands. "My words are but blunt knives on you. I must hurt you in the only way I can."

“I did not touch her.” He says like an oath “Ever.”

“I know you didn’t.” she reassures him, but her eyes stay distant, as if even being this close now, they are also miles and miles apart. “Maybe it would’ve been better if you had.”

“Did you want me to fuck her now?”

“I wanted you to need me, not her.”

His eye is on flame, rage and shame dancing together, but it’s not aimed at her. He finds that the only person on the receiving end is none other than himself.

Something dies in his eye, his shoulders slump and his head falls forward, hiding what no one would dare even think of seeing on the stern, cruel face of Aemond One Eye.

He kneels before her and lays his head on her belly, catching her off guard. She can't see his face, and yet she has it before her eyes, clear and indisputable as something carved into stone.

The surface has never been so frail. She doesn’t even need to scratch it, she only has to lift it.

No man is so accursed as the Kinslayer.

She had thought it true enough, but what about Aemond’s curse?

“I know you feel guilty.” She says, or rather whispers, as if she’s being blasphemous by accosting such a word to such a man. “I know you feel guilty for Jaehaerys. For Helaena.”

His answer is mute, but it’s the loudest confession she could get.

He fists the fabric of her gown between his hands, knuckles turning white on the verge of breaking. She feels him nestling further inside her, like a child, and she closes her eyes for a moment, placing a hand on her wound to stop the bleeding, and leans over him, sliding her hands on his back, softly but firmly, as if helping him to stay whole, as if preventing him from breaking into pieces.

Aemond didn’t believe in curses.

He did not regret, not even for a moment, the murder of Lucerys. He did not care that the Gods had turned their backs on him. They had done it a long time before. He did not care of how people called him, of how they would baptize him in the annals of his lineage.

He had started to care, to feel guilt, after he actually killed his kin.

For he had killed Jaehaerys, he had killed Helaena.

Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer.

In his head, he heard that word with his mother’s voice, with Aegon’s, Helaena’s.

He found some kind of peace, of solace, only in his wife. But then the war was calling and he fled to Harrenhal. It was his duty, it was his way to try to make things better, to get revenge. 

He had taken Harrehanl back and he knew he should have come home. But then the witch, the very same who had forced a man to rip out his own tongue, had spoken to him, talking about visions and flames, of predictions that happened to be alarmingly accurate, of him sitting on the Iron Throne with the Conqueror’s Crown on his silver head.

And he saw an opportunity, however blurry, to set things right, as they should have been in the beginning. He saw a way to get the upper hand in this war. And furthermore, as much as he did not realize it, he had found a way to stay away from the Keep. He would rather dare with witchcraft than return home and hear Helaena's wails cutting through doors and walls, and through his heart.

But next to the guilt had come the shame, for he had turned his back on his wife, for he could imagine the filth their enemies and non would spread, like shit flowing in the sewers.

He had tried to confine her to the back of his mind, but she became heavier and heavier as the days passed, along with the scarce letters in which he never mentioned the Rivers bastard.

She, of course, had sensed it immediately.

“You can’t win this war if your mind is elsewhere.” She had said one night, on one of his visits to her room.

He always stayed on the threshold, arms laced behind and poorly disguised distrust stretching his features.

“I told you to stay out of my fucking head.”

“You need not worry, my Prince.” She retorted with a chilling smile “I can’t play with your head. It’s too heavy…and ugly. And this woman…oh, she’s eating you alive.”

The witch is gone now, and yet she is still there.

She lingers on the walls of his chambers like a ghost, she imposes a wall between him and his wife and perhaps neither of them is strong enough to climb it. So, for days they just circle one another like wounded animals.

The Princess is staying with him of course. He has forbidden her to leave his side and she has caved, on one condition though. She has given him three days to deal with the Riverlands and then they will go home, together, where they are needed, where the mighty dreadful Vhagar is needed.

The day before their departure, Aemond returns victorious from the Riverlands. He has gained the allegiance of the lords in a way Visenya Targaryen would be proud of.

He will never forget the Lords' faces draining of color, probably pissing themselves, as Vhagar roared a war chant in the sky, and tongues of fire brushed the lands as warning.

He enters the chambers quietly and sees her crouched on the floor as her hands dig into a drawer, pulling out papers that she carelessly drops to the ground. Aemond closes the door firmly, announcing his presence, and she looks at him for a single moment before sighing in defeat, closing the drawer.

“Looking for my love letters?” he teases, for the first time after days of loud silence.

“I was looking for ink, actually.” she says looking below a paper left on the table. “Besides…love letters from you? Ghastly.” 

He can’t fight back the smirk curling his mouth as she walks close to him and begins removing the armor. He looks at her face and she’s stern, almost rigid in her gestures, in the way she touches him, as if she despises doing it and yet she can’t help herself.

He doesn’t have a clue.

He doesn’t know that her stiffness has nothing to do with contempt. He doesn’t have a clue of how much she aches for him. Of how much she wants for him to take her, fast and rough, as he often used to do, because she can’t stand to be treated like some porcelain doll to be cocooned thanks to his child growing inside her belly. She wants to be more than that, she demands to be his wife again.

“Have you eaten?” he asks her, gently, and she wants to break something.

She can’t stand it anymore. She can’t stand all the questions.

Did you eat? Did you rest? Did you sleep?

“Is this how is going to be from now on?” she asks looking up “You acting as if you are my maid?”

He clenches his jaw and his face turns stern just like hers.

“First you accuse me to have forsaken you and now you don’t want my attention. Make peace with your mind, wife.”

“I want you to be my husband.” She says getting close to him until she smells dragon and ashes.

She wants to bathe in it. “I want to be your wife.”

Aemond’s eye lingers down on her throat, on her constricted chest, and his lips part. “You are.” He vows, locking his eye on her.

“Prove it.” She whispers tilting her head with a challenge dancing on her parted lips, hovering against his.

He is one breath away from swallowing her whole but he stops, melding their breaths in one, and he grins. “Are you going to bite me again?”

“As if you didn’t like that.”

A moment later his teeth sink into the soft flesh of her lip, her neck. His hands are everywhere, frantic and needy. She can feel he’s restraining from holding her too tight, but she wants, no, she needs more. She wants him in her bones.

They move without logic, clinging to each other, trying to assert dominance on one another. He grabs her wrists and forces her down on the chaise beside the hearth. He is looking at her in the same old way, as if he’s blind to anything else. She aches so much for him that she’s breathing hard, the word please climbs her throat, slides on her tongue, but she will not beg for him.

In all truth, she doesn’t have to.

He kneels on the ground like a pious man at the altar, and she hikes up her skirts, spreading her legs to place them on his shoulders, heels pressing on his back to bring him close.

“You know what you want, don’t you?” He teases with a feral grin.

“Curse you and your hideous smirk.” She says sliding on the chair to bring her apex close to his overly talkative mouth.

“You love my smirk.” He says grabbing her thighs to secure them around his face. “Besides, I’m already cursed.” He leaves a red mark biting on the soft skin of her thigh, looking straight at her and how she startles, whining in half pain half pleasure.

She catches a glimpse of the sapphire glinting between her thighs before her eyes fall shut and she moans unnaturally loud as he licks a stripe along her wet folds and up to her apex.

She is trembling with anticipation, with arousal that pools from her, glistening his mouth and nose. Her hips begin bucking against him and he moans contentedly as he buries his tongue inside her, lapping and tasting like a starved beast.

Her breath grows shorter and shorter for how close she is already, so much that he stops to look at her with a spiteful grin. “Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”

“Shut up.” She whispers hoarsely and pulls herself up just enough to grab his head, pulling his hair to force him to take where he left off. Her hips are rocking on their own against his face, nails scratching his scalp harder and harder as she comes undone in his mouth, while he hums with pleasure, drinking of all her. Eye fixed on her as he watches her throw her head back, spasming and trembling with a loud moan.

Her back hits the back of the chaise as she catches her breath and looks at the black ceiling in a moment of pure bliss. Two moons of anguish are but a distant memory, her mind is foggy, she doesn’t even remember the face of the witch.

He dismantles her legs from his neck and she looks down at him, cheeks red, watching as he climbs on her, unbuckling his belt.

“No.” she says, and she stops his hands. “Do you think I would make it so easy for you?”

Aemond looks at her, half puzzled half curious, and then she pushes him down, overturning their positions so now she’s sitting on his lap, feeling all of his hard length against her.

“It’s my turn to prove it.” She says raising an arm that goes on the mantelpiece behind them.

“Prove what?”

“That you’re my mine.” She promises, and Aemond hears the distinct sound of metal clinking.

She lowers her arm and he sees a pair of chains between her fingers. He is bold enough to smirk at her. “I thought you were the one who wished to be chained.”

“I’m not the one in need of a lesson.”

She grabs his wrist but he easily pulls away. “What if I don’t want to?” but there’s an intriguing glint in his eye, on the edges of his arched mouth.

“Then who will take care of you?” she asks with fake innocence, grinding on his cock, and she smiles as the air comes out of his mouth in a hiss. “Are you sure your hand will suffice?”

He looks at her with challenge, breathing slowly through his mouth, and he caves.

“Chain me.”

She smiles darkly and grabs his wrists, fastening the chains and then locking them to the sides of the chair. She stands and grabs his legs, sliding his back further down.

She notices his eyebrow rising and she looks at him. "I want you to be comfortable. I'm afraid this will not end so soon."

He swallows with anticipation and watches her as she slowly climbs back on top of him and begins to unbutton his doublet., pushing the fabric aside to reveal his diaphanous pale chest and her hand slides over it, over his ribs, stomach, and navel, halting his breath.

Her lips hover against his, swallowing his shallow breath, but suddenly her head dips down, leaving a trail of little heated kisses on his neck, on the planes of his chest.

He watches as she does that, feeling her lips like burning embers marking his skin. Her eyes lock on him and she opens her mouth engulfing one of his nipples, circling her tongue around it. He tilts his head back, lips parting to let a puff of scorching air out, and then she's grazing her teeth over the soft pink skin.

The chains metal clink as he winces.

She grins pulling herself up and slides a bit down his legs with her bottom, so she has open room to his belt. She begins unbuckling it, looking at him, watching the glare he’s giving her.

“I can’t tell whether you want to kill me or fuck me.”

“I need you to fucking do something.”

“Like what?” she asks, palming his cock through the fabric “Tell me, husband. I may grant your wish.”

He rocks his hips in one slow movement, trying to feel every inch of her hand, but it’s a faint touch that only makes him ache for more. “Move, grind on me.” His voice is imperative as always, but his tone is different—all heated and husky.

She frees him of the constricting belt and breeches and lays on him, releasing a blissful sigh when she feels the hot hard flesh colliding perfectly against her core. The chains clink again as he tries to move and she smiles, caging his snatched waist between her legs.

Aemond is panting quietly, trying to get a grip on his own body but he finds it’s a useless fight when he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt.

But then his wife seems in favour of granting him some mercy. She starts grinding on him and his lips part some more, panting loudly this time, as he feels, and hears, the beautiful obscene sounds her wet flesh is making rubbing on him.

“Lift up your skirts. Let me see.”

She stops grinding and he almost whines with annoyance, moving his chained wrists in a useless attempt to grab her waist and force her to move again.

“I don’t like that tone, husband.” She says, and her voice is husky as well, her breath labored “Ask nicely.”

Aemond is silently starting to regret this whole thing. Patience was never one of his virtues, if he even has virtues. He’s completely at her mercy and cannot do anything but comply.

“Please. Lift your fucking skirts and let me see.”

“Hmm.” She hums smiling. “Better.”

Her skirts turn into a bundle of fabric around her waist and he dips his chin, looking straight at their flesh as she resumes her torture.

“Fuck” he utters, his eye growing heavy but he keeps looking, and he doesn’t have a clue whether it’s the rubbing or the mere sight of her coating his cock that draws a moan out of his throat.

“Do you see how I much I’ve missed you?” she asks hoarsely, grinding more and more firmly.

His head hits the back of the chair as he keeps panting and rocking his hips against her, lifting his waist as if desperately trying to slide inside her.

“I touched myself every morning. I woke up all wet and aching for you. And where were you? Here, plotting with your witch.”

“Enough of that fucking witch.” he croaks, a sheen of sweat is ghosting on his forehead. “Faster.”

She does the opposite. She stops altogether. And this time, he can’t do nothing to muffle the whimper gushing out of his trembling mouth.

The Princess tilts her head, savoring each moment, and soon his piercing glare comes back even sharper. “Once I’m free of these fucking chains, I’m going to fuck you senseless till morning.”

“Unless you are still chained to this chair in the morning.”

He watches as her hands hover on his thighs, a feather touch that drives him mad, that makes his hips buck uselessly. His lips twist, swallowing a plead his pride won’t allow him to let go.

But she hears it nonetheless, in the way his fingers flex and twist, in his chest raising fastly. It may suffice, but it doesn’t.

“Stubborn, are we?” she teases, just like her hands, barely touching down his navel. “Your witch got it right. She said you are too stubborn, that’s why she couldn’t play with your head. She couldn’t handle you.” her fingertips finally dip down and she can see the silent plead in his eye.

“I can, though.” her palm brushes the tip and he whimpers, again.

“Please…” he whispers impossibly low, too low for her liking.

“Louder, my love.”

His mouth twists again but the need, the ache is so heavy that it burns out all the pride numbing his tongue. 

“Please…” he begs freely “Please, touch me.”

A groan rolls out of him as she finally grabs it, squeezing softly before starting a slow rhythm up and down. He pants loudly, hips moving on their own as he tries to fuck her hand with a steadier pace. “Don’t rush it.” she scolds him, placing a firm hand on his waist to stop his frantic movements.

“I can’t take it…let me come…”

“Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”

“You’re cursed, woman.”

“Takes one to know one. A curse for a curse.”

She looks at him, hair all ruffled and sweaty on his forehead, a painful pleading expression twisting his sharp features and she smiles victorious. “I have half a mind to leave you like this.” She says and for a moment, he dreads she’s being serious.

“Luckily for you, I’m just as greedy as you are.”

In a swift moment she nestles between his legs and he’s moaning loudly before he even has time to register anything, except her lips locking around his tip, sucking so harshly he thinks she’s going to utterly drain him.

She starts a steady pace, just as he likes it, taking all of him, down to the base untili it hits the back of her throat. The chains clink and clink against the chair as he twists his wrists, bucking his hips harshly to fuck her mouth as deeper as he can, enthralled by the lewd sounds she’s making.

“Gods, yes…” he moans watching carefully as he slips in and out of her “Yes…just like that, just a little more…”

She feels him tense inside her mouth, she feels him tense all over and she knows he’s dangerously close. She stops for a moment, licking her lips and looks at him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to break the rule.”

Aemond groans with frustration, not having the faintest idea of what she’s talking about. He isn’t even sure he remembers his own name. He is just blood boiling and bones so tense they’re close to snap.

“What was it again?” she asks “Ah, yes. My seed belongs in your cunt.” She leaves a trail of soft kisses on his hard flesh and he whimpers once more. “My ever-romantic husband.”

“Fuck the rule, you’re driving me mad. Let me come.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Please.” He begs “Please let me come in your mouth.”

The Princess is merciful enough to grant his wish. She engulfs him once more and he moans loudly for how sensitive he is. She picks up the pace and pride washes over her, pooling between her legs, as she sees him writhing beneath her, moaning with his mouth open, eye closed shut and the chains clink like a frantic bell while he twists his scratched red wrists.

He curses and mumbles nonsense under his breath until he stills completely letting out a long and loud grunt, spilling abundantly inside her mouth. She swallows to the last drop, gently sucking the pulsing tip.

The chains are finally still and silent. He’s breathing hard and short with his head thrown back, staring at the ceiling without seeing anything.

That is until he winces, feeling her hand on his sensitive skin. He raises his head to look at her, almost puzzled. She smiles slyly, moving her hand up and down. “Did you think it was over?”

If he did not feel so spent, he would be utterly thrilled and definitely flattered.

“Seven Hells, woman, give me a bre—” words die on his tongue wiped out by a hoarse gasp as she takes him in her mouth again. But this time, she sucks so slowly that Aemond actually whines in pain. And she looks straight at him, while her head bobs, relishing every moment, watching as he comes undone beneath her, babbling pleads, begging her to stop and a moment later to keep going. His voice is breaking, cracking as he whines and whimpers, poised between pain and pleasure.

Soon though, she hears more whines of pleasure than pain, as gets harder and harder in the hot haven of her mouth.

Suddenly she stops, and just stares, savoring the sight before her. The cruel Aemond One Eye, chained to a chair in a mess of sweat and sobs.

“Untie me…” he says, trying to make it sound like an order, but it’s a pale imitation of his usual tone. His words are slow, sluggish.

“You are not in charge here, my love.”

“Then quit the act and fuck me.”

Perhaps, if she wasn’t so equally desperate for him, if she wasn’t leaking between her thighs, she would have prolonged this torture, this excruciatingly sweet punishment. But she can’t take it anymore.

She climbs on him, and it takes her the least effort to let him slide inside her. He slips his back further down that chaise so that his hips are angled just enough to thrust into her, fast and steady.

“Oh Gods—yes!” she moans throwing her head back, frantically bouncing on him.

“D’you miss this?” he rasps, with a tinge of his usual infuriating confidence “Did you think of this when you touched yourself? Missed my cock inside you, hmm?”

She clamps a hand on his mouth to shush him and he bites her palm, thrusting even harder, making her whine loudly until her throat goes dry and her sight go white. They fall in a wild frenzy, utterly intoxicated with each other, leaving bites and marks all over, sealing one inside the other with a curse much more dangerous than any kind of witchcraft.  

They come together, as she clutches his head to her chest so tight that he can barely breathe. He rests his head on the chair, slowly catching his breath, and she nestles against him, still sank on him.

He moves his hands to touch her, wincing for his aching wrists.

“Untie me now, would you?” he asks softly on the crown of her head.

“I’m not sure.” She muses against his chest. “I’ve quite enjoyed having you at my mercy.”

“Who said I didn’t?”

She moves her head to look at him, a little smile starting to light up her face and he looks down at her lips, mirroring her.

“Besides, it’s your turn.”

She raises her eyebrows fighting back a smile. “Now?”

“Haven’t you heard? No man is so accursed as me.”  

#a curse for a curse #liv (in la vida loca) #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond x wife reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x wife reader #aemond smut #hotd fic #house of the dragon #aemond one eye

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | Part 7

You just have to trust him one last time.

Tags/Warnings: Game Designer!Jungkook, Brat Tamer!Jungkook, kinda himbo!Jungkook, Non Idol AU, established relationship, Angst, minor injury, emotional kook, some lore [Tags will be different for every part!]

Length: 1k Words

There is no taglist for this fic.

Collab with @euphoricfilter ! 💜

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Back home, he’s pacing.

He’s broken a plate in the sink while doing the dishes, cut his hand a little because of it, and he doesn’t know where you’ve put the first aid kit. And he also doesn’t want to text you and ask you because if he’s annoying you then he’s only gonna make it worse for himself to get on your good side again, and you’ll also scold him for being clumsy again.

So he just puts a random bandaid on his hand, and moves to vacuum the floors.

His plan is to have all the chores done by the time you get home, so that your mood will be good and he can work on falling into your favor again. He hopes that you’ll just stay over at your friend's for one night, that you’ll text him soon to ask him to pick you up- so that he can show you that the time of torture is over now, all of his work sent out and work email and phone now on vacation mode. He’s all yours again-

And he’s just waiting for you to be his again as well.

You’ve not really talked to him besides a morning game of battleships while he was eating bland cereal (because the milk tasted weird and he didn’t know if it was bad or not- and you weren’t there to ask), and that’s fine. Well it’s not really fine, but he accepts it as maybe your way to get back at him. And it’s a relatively small price to pay, considering the shit he’s pulled you through- just as long as you return to him.

He’s tripping over the cable of the old vacuum and almost falls face first onto the floor, just to catch himself on the edge of a table, causing the cable to tighten and pull the plug out of the socket. And in an odd way, the sudden silence makes him feel like he’s drowning. Usually, especially on a day like this, you’d both be running around the house to see who can get their shoes on first just to not be the one who’s gonna pay for the food you’re about to get. Or you’d both be still tangled in the sheets in bed, still drowsy from sleep and the exhaustion from your usual indulgence in love prior to falling asleep. Or you’d have some music on while folding laundry, jumping around in nothing but panties and another stolen shirt of his.

But you’re not here. What if that’s how it’s going to be from now on? Forever?

He’s biting his lip to prevent himself from becoming emotional again as he sits down in his office, opening the drawer underneath. Your present is still in there, safely tucked away in a fancy little box, and he just hopes that you can understand why he went through this with you the way he did. Growing up, he’s always been fed with this obsession of success, that if he’s not the one doing the sole work himself, then he’s not allowed to call his success his own. With a father in a law firm, a brother running a multi-million worth business, and a mother that owns several restaurants, he’s basically always been the black sheep.

Tattooed, pierced, designing his stupid games all day, and with no very impressive wealth to show for himself, he doesn’t have the best relationship with his family, if any at all. So he just became a husk, and accepted any form of love he could get- fucking around until he met you-

Someone who didn’t care. Someone who liked him just the way he was, with all his flaws and odd habits and frustrating traits. You challenge him, you’re not treating him like a stupid failure, you make sure he knows his worth despite the big gap between him and his brother for example. And maybe that’s what made him so attached to you over the course of time- he just can’t imagine a life without you anymore, because especially now, he notices how much he needs you.

And it’s not about the chores, or about the fact that you constantly save him from food poisoning- it’s your presence.

“Urgh!” He yells out, hands on his face as he presses the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“What’re you yelling for?” Your voice rings out, and he immediately slams the drawer shut, movement of his body stiffening up so quit that he crashes his knee into the underside of the desk, shaking everything on it, as he hisses but gets up anyways, limping towards you to pull you close. “Kook-“ you mumble muffled against his shoulder, but he just sways you around from left to right, head buried in the crook of your neck.

“Welcome home-“ he rambles, moving to kiss your cheeks before he freezes, wide eyed. “-fuck I should’ve asked if I could kiss you right? Shit babe I’m sorry-“ he rants, and you roll your eyes, running your hand through his slightly greasy hair.

“Its fine. Why’s the vacuum thrown around like a murder victim though?” You ask, detaching yourself from him as you move to pick it up and roll up the cord of it.

“I..wanted to do the chores before you came home. Which by the way-“ he says, following you around like a lost puppy. “-why didn’t you ask me to pick you up? It’s cold outside..” he whines, and you shrug.

“Gave me some time to think.” You say, and at that, he tenses up. “Jungkook.. I..” you sigh, before you turn around to face him. “I still don’t know why you’ve been like this and it really hurt me-“

“I can tell you now!” He rushes out. “Like, not all of it but most of it- enough of it, I promise!” He presses.

“I don’t want you to make up shit. If you don’t like me like that anymore-“ you begin, but he shakes his head, frantically pulls you closer to hug you.

“Don’t ever think like that. I love you, I really do..” he mumbles against the top of your head. “And I’ll prove it to you, promise.” He urges.

“How?” You meekly ask, unable to resist snaking your arms around his torso as well.

“Just trust me one last time.” He whispers, and it sends a chill down your spine just how serious he sounds.

“I promise it’ll be worth it.”

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts jeon jungkook imagine #bts jeon jungkook x reader

[little-x-wolf]

| cardigan — the salvatores x reader |

there was a superstition that if you kissed your soulmate in the maze, you'd be bonded for life.

warnings: angst, guiseppe is a terrible father, a barrel full of tears, mentions of violence, lil bit of katherine slander!

merry christmas everyone!

“Vintage tee, brand new phone

High heels on cobblestones

When you are young, they assume you know nothing”

You remember those days like yesterday. The three of you laying underneath the old willow, basking in the warmth of the Virginian sun at the Veritas. Some days you played hide and seek amidst the Salvatore maze. You'd place a peck on both of their cheeks for good luck. There was a superstition that if you kissed your soulmate in the maze, you'd be bonded for life. 

They kept telling you — the elders — that one day life was going to overtake your friendship. Soulmates would turn to friends, friends to acquaintances and one day, Salvatore would be a name you used to know. The three musketeers would exist in just memories, to never meet again. But those were just farces, right? 

You knew your bond was unbreakable.

“Sequin smile, black lipstick

Sensual politics

When you are young, they assume you know nothing”

Lily Salvatore died in 1858. Their fathers' beatings had become frequent to the point they couldn't even hide it from you. An occasional pat on the back would have Damon hissing. He seldom lied to Giuseppe to save Stefan from trouble. You would patch him up at night, listening the best you could. 

The nightmares in the deep pits of his mind had come to fruition. His mother was dead; His brother hiding in the closet from his drunkard of a father. Sometimes, their maid, Betsy would hum his mother's lullaby to help him sleep. Before long, Giuseppe had her released of her duties. You took over the role, your fingers caressing his raven locks — you helped him sleep. 

“But I knew you, Dancin' in your Levi's

Drunk under a streetlight, I knew you

Hand under my sweatshirt

Baby, kiss it better, I

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed

You put me on and said I was your favorite”

Damon was sent to fight for the confederacy. Stefan was to be engaged to Rosalyn Cartwright, and you were to be married off to a wealthy Englishman. Your little games had stopped for a while now, but the older Salvatore wrote whenever he could. You'd write back, of course, waiting eagerly for his return. You feared he'd come too late; You'd be gone in a month or two.

Stefan would sneak you out sometimes, take you riding on Mezzanotte, his favourite horse. One time, he stole a bottle of rum from his father's collection to accompany the two of you on your getaway. He watched as you guzzled it down greedily, slurred disappointments tumbling from your lips in no time. Lord, you wished you'd never grown up. And when you started to sob, he held you tightly against his chest, placing a kiss on the top of your head. 

He wished it too. He wished it too.

A friend to all is a friend to none

Chase two girls, lose the one

When you are young, they assume you know nothin'

Then one day, a storm racked through your garden. One damsel by the name of Katherine Pierce, swiping them off their feet, boys who once had been yours. Rosalyn Cartwright was found mauled by an animal underneath the old willow, wide eyes staring upwards. They held a secret that couldn't be whispered anymore.

Her body was barely in the ground when you found Stefan emerging from the damsel's chambers. You were disappointed; He didn't care. Fights between the Salvatores had become frequent. They had become thirsty for the others blood, constantly fighting over her affections. Your despised the girl, maintaing as much distance from her as possible. They were well aware. Soon, they stopped bringing her up in your presence and eventually, visits to your house became scarce.

Stefan accompanied Katherine to the ball; Damon took you (because Katherine had chosen his brother). You smelt the whiskey on his breath, pushing him away when he kissed you in the darkness of your room. You were no rebound. You were no second choice. It stung your heart to think he thought otherwise. If you could have been, though, life would've turned out differently.

“But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss

I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

The smell of smoke would hang around this long

'Cause I knew everything when I was young”

The Salvatores were dead. Giuseppe had a statement released saying that they died while trying to capture vampires. But you knew better. At last, you knew the secret Rosalyn was trying to tell you. Katherine was a vampire and they died trying to save her. 

You couldn't even remember the last time the three of you spoke. You weren't even allowed to be there when they were buried. You couldn't peck their cheeks or sing them a lullaby. And when you broke down finally, it was in the isolation of your room. Giuseppe died shortly afterwards and the house burnt down. You left for London, visiting the manor sometimes with your husband whenever you were around. 

You'd sit underneath the spot where the old willow used to be and think of them. Your boys. The lake dried up with and so did your tears. Your children would ask about the Veritas and you'd realize, when all your words were littered with past tenses, that Salvatore was a name you used to know. 

“I knew I'd curse you for the longest time

Chasin' shadows in the grocery line

I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired

And you'd be standin' in my front porch light”

Sometimes, on a particularly despondent day, you could see them in the dark alleyways, tiptoeing out of your memories and onto the corner of your eyes. In grocery lines, the cinemas, you swore you saw them on your porch in London once. And oh, you'd curse them. The sadness had turned into fury over the years and white hot it was. They didn't even care to say goodbye. Why should you spend the rest of your life thinking about them then? 

They chose to let you go. You didn't.

“And I knew you'd come back to me

You'd come back to me

And you'd come back to me

And you'd come back”

Your husband succumbed to the flu a few years later and in 1917, you decided to move your family back to Mystic Falls. One day, someone showed up at your door, asking for directions to the Boarding House. It was Damon and Stefan. They had barely aged at all while you were a 70-something lady with wrinkles and a barely functioning eyesight.

"The most beautiful I've seen you," Stefan murmured as he clung onto you, concious of not hugging you too tightly. He didn't want to hurt you.

Damon couldn't meet your eyes for a few minutes. The last time he did was before he kissed you. The kiss had been devoid of every good thing he felt about you, reduced to the anger at his brother and desperation after getting rejected. He hadn't been able to forgive himself. 

It took you all a little time to settle into your new reality. You were happy to have them back in your life. You were a frail old lady now, there wasn't much you could do physically. But on slow days, you'd find yourself with a cup of tea in the parlour of your house, settled admist your two boys. You loved to hear about all their adventures—the good and the bad ones.

You kept Stefan from going off the rails.

“And when I felt like I was an old cardigan

Under someone's bed

You put me on and said I was your favorite”

The Salvatores had a home till October 5, 1934, the last sunrise you'd ever see. Stefan clasped your head and Damon hummed you a lullaby, holding in the tears as you dozed off. The next time you met Stefan was about a century later and Damon followed soon.

And the three musketeers were reunited, never to part again.

#stefan salvatore x reader #damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore #stefan salvatore #the vampire diaries #cardigan #tvd #tvdu #christmas #fluff #angst with a happy ending #Spotify

[myfandomprompts]

𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

Warning: Angst, spoiler for episode 10 (I promise there will be more Aemond after this chapter) (Part 1 - Part 3) Masterlist

Summary : You are content in Dragonstone, until the news of the King's death reaches the Fortress. You have no allies, and so you go to the only place where you don't expect to find him.

You were happy at Dragonstone. You were absolutely delighted by Rhaenyra's children, both old and young. The babes were incredibly sweet with everyone, and you felt the loving family radiating inside the castle walls, love that you did not feel in the Red Keep.

Jacaerys and Lucerys were both quite busy but they still found time for you, inviting you to some of their activities, tending to their dragons… You were intimidated by both Rhaenyra and Daemon, but it passed quickly as you remembered how considerate Rhaenyra was, and how much the Rogue Prince liked a good joke. The only thing unplanned was the length of your stay. You've been in Dragonstone for far longer than you and your father had intended, not for the displeasure of Ser Lorent Marbrand who was your only close family inside the great walls of the fortress. You had asked several months ago to extend your journey, and everybody had agreed. You missed your family a bit, Helaena and your friends, but you were dreading your return. The return to him.

You shivered from your thoughts as you entered the great hall. You had just come back from the library down one of the towers, having finished studying healing properties of seaweeds when you heard that the Princess Rhaenys had just landed in Dragonstone by one of the guards. You stumbled upon some lords and Daemon all standing around the table as you advanced further into the hall. Feeling like you were not in your place, you tried to sneak away as graciously as possible, maybe go to the beach where you knew the princes were sparring, but a horrifying scream froze you into place.

You rushed toward the screams, crossing the room and not bothering about what the Rogue Prince and the lords there might think. You found Rhaenyra in agonising pain, clutching her belly, maids feet away from her, as lost for what to do.

You ran to her, trying to steady her, "Princess, what happened? Why is this happening?" You knew it was too early for the labour to begin.

"King Viserys, my father, is dead," she announced through gritted teeth when she was able to look at you properly. You froze as she grabbed your arm for support. She cried of pain once more before keeping on. "Prince Aegon has been crowned today. In the Dragonpit."

You said nothing as images went through your head. The grief of the Queen, Aegon with a crown on his head before the people, swinging his sword above his head... His grandfather, protector and wife at his side, as well as Aemond.

Aemond who always found Aegon not fitted for the throne, but supported him nonetheless. Aemond who was fierce, wiser and more willing to be crowned, but always took his duty as the second son to heart, no matter his opinion on the matter. Aemond, who rose higher and higher as the years passed, surpassing his brother in everything aside from debauchery. Aemond, who was certainly standing at his side as his brother was crowned king, standing tall with his usual stance, arms behind his back, eye scanning the room.

You were not feeling well. All of the implications of such an event dawning on you. You were separated from your family, and you had no idea what would happen to them, as they have always been loyal to King Viserys, and always found Otto Hightower manipulative enough to achieve his dark schemes. And there you were, with the true heir to the throne giving birth month too early, and no means of action.

The new Black Queen gave birth to a stillborn, and was crowned during its funeral. All went fast. Lords were demanding war as Rhaenyra tried to slow them down, preferring diplomacy. When her sons volunteered to be messengers for the lords who had pledged loyalty to her, including Lord Borros Baratheon, you couldn't help but intervene. The Baratheons were some of your kin, your aunt married one of their lords and have lived in Storm's End ever since. So you required of the Queen to be sent there with Lucerys to be mainly an asset in the negotiation, but also because you wanted to be with your family in order to better step out of this fight. You wouldn't do anything until you had news of your father. Ser Lorent, ever protective of you, did not succeed in changing your mind.

You learned that you were to fly on dragon back, and you weren't enchanted per say. You enjoyed flying, but the only dragon you have ever ridden was Vhagar, and there was much more room than Arrax offered. However, you arrived in Storm's End several hours later.

"It is best if I enter alone," Lucerys said at first. You wanted to argue but a roar echoed through the courtyard. You turned and saw Vhagar lifting her head above the walls. You swallowed.

He was here.

Part of you wanted to run into the hall, hoping he'd be right there, but the other part of you feared the moment you would see him. You could not allow yourself to give up all the hard work you had done while you were away from him. Not at a moment of such crisis. Your head told you to stay put, but your heart was longing for just a sight of him, a glance, a word.

You stayed outside as the rain started to pour and Lucerys entered the hall. Vhagar seems to recognise you from afar, as Arrax became more and more agitated. You tried to soothe him but you weren't his rider and failed to even approach him. You took shelter under the porch when the rain started to blur your vision. After a while, the doors opened again, the guards revealing a Lucerys as agitated as his dragon. You struggled to hear him above the loud thunderstorm.

"Y/N, you must stay! Find your aunt, I must warn my mother as soon as possible, it's-," he quickly looked at the doors behind him, tension emanated in waves from him, and you were starting to be scared. You wanted to know if he had seen Aemond, though you felt like you already knew the answer.

"It's too dangerous on dragon-back!" he continued over the rain, "I'll come back for you, meanwhile, if you have affection for my family, please try to convince Lord Borros to take our side!"

You wanted to argue once more. Too dangerous on dragon-back? You just arrived this way, why not depart the same way? He feared something, and you felt it. But how long will he be gone? What had happened? 

However, your wishes were becoming true: you were exactly where you wanted, you had the opportunity to stay away from the halls of Dragonstone where battle strategies were surely planned, as well as away from the halls of the Red Keep. Your desire to step away from the boiling conflict achieved. Although it seems here, in Storm's End, you were running toward another diplomatic disaster.

Lucerys hugged you briefly, at your own surprise. You reciprocated his affection before watching him speaking to Arrax and mounting him, flying away with haste. You looked over the wall. Vhagar was invisible to you now. Was Aemond gone too, or was it just too blurry for you to see?

You announced yourself, and the guard let you in. Lord Borros was surprised by your presence. You thought it best to exclude the fact that you came with Lucerys at first, because if you were right, the meeting between the Prince and Lord Baratheon did not go well. If you were to appear as a guest and not demand alliances away, it would be smarter. So you settled to only ask to see your kin.

At first, you dodged the questions of your arrival with ability, but when your aunt arrived you were finally able to relax. You learned that Lord Borros has refused Lucerys' demand to honour the oath his father made to the Black Queen, and that shortly after, Prince Aemond, who had arrived the day before, had demanded his eye in return for the harm he caused him all those years ago. You were expecting to see him appear in the hall at any moment, but you were told he left. To chase the younger Prince.

Panic took you at that announcement. You barely managed to admit that it was Lucerys that brought you here with the calm demanded of your position, and finally you were able to take your leave. Your aunt was glad to see you, but looked very worried. But it didn't matter. You wanted to rush outside and scream into the storm for Aemond to return, not to harm his nephew. 

You were useless, dragon-less.

Hours passed. You were settling in your aunt's apartments, tormented, the storm still raging outside. You thought you heard a roar several times over the raging sea, but you saw nothing from the window of your tower.

Then you heard it, a thud over the storm. Vhagar had landed. You rushed out of the room, and started to descend the many stairs that led to the great hall. You barged in. Aemond was standing there, soaking wet, head down, facing Lord Borros still seated on his throne.

"What happened out there, boy? What did you do?" he demanded.

Aemond was still staring at the floor, his expression was unreadable, but not for you. He didn't have his usual smirk, his eye weren't focused on his surroundings. You haven't seen him like this, ever. You dreaded what he would say next. You didn't want to hear it.

When the Prince looked up at the Lord on his throne, he let the silence linger a while longer before talking, "Lucerys Velaryon is dead. Slain by Vhagar."

The room went silent, and the world twirled before your eyes. Seconds later you were on your knees, clutching your chest for air, as cries of despair escaped you as well as a flow of tears.

"No!" You didn't hear yourself scream, but at that he finally saw you. You were there, on the floor, still wet from the weather, now surrounded by ladies of the court who tried to steady you. What in the seven hells were you doing there? You couldn't be, not now, not after what he had done.

His legs instantly moved toward you, he wanted to reach you, to touch you, "You murdered your own kin?" Lord Baratheon roared.

He stopped in his steps at the question, still too far from you for his taste. His heart was heavy. He didn't look away from you as he answered, "I searched for his remains, in vain," He was not sure if you were able to follow anything that was happening around you now, but his words were meant for you. "I never intended for it to happen. It was an accident."

The rooms filled with whispers, and after a deep breath, Lord Borros announced; "You are still our guest, my Prince. I expect you to honour the promise you made to me and my daughter, and my loyalty shall not falter."

You struggled to open your eyes, you had no idea of how much time had passed since you collapsed. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? When you came to yourself, you were still in the hall, people of the court looking at you and Aemond much closer than he was before. You didn't hear anything that was said, and the ladies around you finally managed to make you stand, your aunt among them, worry written all over her face.

The room was dismissed, your aunt immediately advised you to rest in her apartments, and Aemond who finally had the opportunity to come toward you, was afraid that you would once more escape away from him.

And indeed you were faster. Ignoring your aunt, you freed yourself from the hands keeping you steady and rushed for the door, to the rain. You needed air, and your heavy breathing didn't help calm yourself. He wanted to protect you, that is why he didn't take you on Arrax. And now he was dead. Because of Aemond, because of the man you always wanted.

You felt dirty, empty, and the pouring rain was hurting your skin. You felt something on your arm, almost like a caress, a hand grabbed your elbow for you to turn around. Silver hair entered your vision and you saw an eye watch you with worry. You escaped from his hold at once, and the next thing you knew, you had slapped him. 

He didn't say anything at first, slowly looked back down at you with a lazy eye. His silence was louder than the storm above your head and it annoyed you. It annoyed you and you were angry. So you began hitting his chest with your fists, repeatedly, weakly, almost screaming in rage. He didn't flinch, he let you harm him for a moment, eye boring into you before clasping your hands into his, putting a stop to your doings. You struggled, begging him to let you go, but he didn't. He pulled you close, waiting for you to calm down, to be still.

"You killed him... Your own nephew," you cried. "How could you...?"

He just stared at you, sadness filling his eye; "I never meant for it to happen," he stated.

You watched him, taken aback. He looked sincere. Or were you still this weak?

"Nevertheless, he is gone. Onlt the Gods know where he lies. And you didn't want this? I've been told you demanded his eye, I see you settled for far more," you said bitterly.

"What is done is done!" he said, angry now. "My mistake can never be redeemed as his own never was. My only solace is in the fact that I did not want this, Y/N," he shook your arms as he continued; "I don't care what is said about me now, but I never wanted for you to be in pain."

You barely held a sneer from escaping your lips; "This is all that matters to you? My pain? Then you should have thought of this years ago, before you-"

"You abandoned me!"

A loud thunder came at the same time. You were silenced by his words, your ears ringing from the pain. You were exhausted.

He took a deep breath and his voice became firm.

"You abandoned me. How long were you planning to stay away in that damn fortress? Months? Years? All of your life? The very castle I could not set foot into, and you never returned. Ravens forgotten, friends as well," he talked louder now, "Do you know how many times I thought about flying there to steal you away? You had no right, no right to go away like this. The thought of you, happy, away across the black water bay made me-," he stopped himself, and the next moment he softened your grasp on you, as his shoulders relaxed.

"Now it's different. You are to return to the Red Keep, with me. Your father misses you, it is long due you take your rightful place," he continued coldly, like he hasn't snapped moments before. 

You watched him with narrowed eyes, tears still coming down on your cheeks. You saw his eye look at your lips briefly, then back at your eyes. Even if you were momentarily taken aback by the movement, you let nothing appear as you slowly manage to free yourself from him. You gave him one last look, lifted your dress up and walked away. You needed to be alone, where he wouldn't be.

-0- Part 3

@let-love-bleeds-red @crazylokonugget

#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #fanfiction #oc #aemond x original character #aemond one eye #house of the dragon #imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #romance #house targaryen #aemond kinslayer #ywawm #mygif #aemond 1x10 #usermyfandomprompts #hotdedit

[treasureofmammon]

Random mammon headcannon i want to share

He gets bad nightmares about you dying so sometimes he wakes up in a cold sweat and crying. He normally cleans himself up as he sprints to your room in the middle of the night, needing to know if your ok.

Once he sees you sleeping and alive, he fixes your blanket and sits by your bed, resting his head on the bed as he stares at you. he eventually falls asleep looking at you, you have found mammon sleeping next to your bed multiple times but you he never tells you the real reason he was there

@ezracorner1

First off, I'm sorry. Honestly, I'm still figuring out how Tumblr works and realized late how to see Asks, and then I took my time to respond to you. I hope you can forgive me. I'm on my 20s, but I act like an old woman, apparently. Lol.

I took the liberty to make a short story about thiiiiissss!!!! After all, my sweet demons were on a war, they have some unresolved things to talk about and heal. They are obviously overprotective; so with a sweet little and weak lamb like us, they probably go over the top. I LOVE THE IDEA! Although I HATE the fact they probably live with PTSD, hence where the nightmares come from 😪

✨️💛✨️💛✨️💛✨️💛✨️💛✨️💛✨️💛✨️💛✨️💛

Warnings: Flashbacks and topics related to war and death. Hints to mental illnesses. Obvious attraction, but not an established relationship (yet). Angst at the beginning, but also, tenderness and care. I took some creative liberties since I haven't read some parts of the story (struggling to get UR cards), so some details might change from the OG storyline. Finally, I didn't check the syntaxes of the paragraphs so much. Sorry if some stuff doesn't make a lot of sense.

*I apologize in advance for what y'all might read, I absolutely love to write, but I'm not such a good writer. Lol*

[Note: Mammon x Gn!Neutral reader. Spoilers ahead- English is not my first language, so there might be orthographic and syntax errors - The following characters belong to the mobile game "Obey me: shall we date" and are owned by Solmare Corporation. This is a mere work of fan-fiction. I took some creative liberty].

✨️💛✨️💛✨️💛✨️💛✨️💛✨️💛✨️💛✨️💛✨️💛

Nightmares and dreams

Mammon looks at his right, familiar faces, that he once called "siblings", shattering his other loved ones forever. Their comrades and family's expressions suddenly realize that their existence, one that could be eternal, are brought to an abrupt end at that exact moment. And some of them, many even, look at Mammon with despair, lost and afraid of their own death.

His almost extinct battalion, who he commanded, conformed by his little brothers and sisters that he once witnessed brought to life in a blow of Father's breath, forever gone. Some of them he watched grow up, hugged, played, spoiled, and then... trained. Not anymore. No clue will lay in history that they existed, no irrefutable proof of who they were.

Mammon's eyes widen in horror, mouth open in surprise.

He then looks around and catches in a glimpse a spear that falls graceful and fairly as a punisher of the traitors, hovering over Asmodeus, unerring.

—No. Not Asmodeus, not him!—

Mammon runs faster than the light and slides himself with his younger brother in his arms, successfully saving him from the imminent death. Mammon sighs and thinks it's fine now, but immediately, a penetrating scream is heard, and Beel and Belphie shred tears. The time freezes: all of them stop, every single one of the angels stops, the arrows fall to the green grass, and a new flurry of arrows never comes.

—Lilith... No!—.

Lucifer takes her in his arms, but the ground immediately opens, and both fall. Lucifer's wings turn black, and horns come out of his head as he descends in rapid speed; his halo is lost on the battlefield until Michael takes it with him as a prize for nothing.

Mammon follows them without a second thought, loyal as always, worried like the second brother he is, launching himself to a fall to a who-knows-where place.

As he falls, flames consume his body, his wings burn down to his core, his white robe dissipates, his halo turns in ashes and his head throbs in pain while he feels two horns that grow from it. But he doesn't lose sight of Lucifer and of Lilith's face. Except now is not Lilith's is yours.

Mammon loses his mind: the abyss he falls in turns pitch black, swallowing Lucifer and Lilith in his arms. He has a sinking feeling in his gut and screams, not scared of his own life, but scared of Lucifer's, Lilith's, and yours until his slim body finally bursts against the ground. The room is still completely dark. Shyly, he stands up, —Lucifer? Lilith?—, he calls.

Suddenly, a reflector light turns on. You are right below it, lighted up like a star. The yellowish rays touch your silhouette gracefully as if you were an angel yourself. Beautiful. Candid. Endearing.

—MC? —

You turn around to look at him and smile tenderly, like you usually do. His heart melts. For a short moment, his worries dissappear and he smiles back. He walks to you, enchanted by your bright soul.

Until a pair of claws dig in your back. Your scream never heard. In a gasp, you fall to the ground, bloody, and a set of glowing purple eyes withdrawn into the emptiness of the never-ending darkness of the room.

—NO!— Mammon screams and rushes to you, your face now lifeless, while blood scapes your body. He cries your name, but there's no response. Suddenly, a familiar voice chants: —This is your fault! She died because of you!—. A new figure emerges from the blackness.

—Lucifer?—

—No—, finally revealing his identity, —I'm you—. Mammon's own face responds back.

Mammon's eyes open wide suddenly. Awake, gasping and panting, scared, drowned in his own sweat. He sits in his bed and takes his forehead in his hands. A nightmare.

Mammon feels his heart pace altered. And he tries to calm down.

—It was just a nightmare... right? It felt too damn real. They're here, they're just asleep, they ain't death, right?—

Rationally, Mammon knows he had a bad dream, but a part of him drags him to unreality, so he jumps out of bed, leaves his room, and makes his way to yours. On the short path, he takes his shirt off and notices that even his torso is dripping in sweat, but he manages to clean his face with his wet shirt.

Slowly and carefully, he opens the door of your room, still gasping for air, now in a much more stable breathing pace. When the door is open enough, he peeks inside your room, there, you lay in bed tranquil, your face expression at peace, and your chest slowly moving up and down, asleep.

—Thanks Lilith...—, he whispers and lets himself in your room, knowing that once again, as usual after dreaming your passing, he might be violating your space and the sanctity of your placid sleep. But, he does it anyway. You're his human, after all.

Mammon stands for a short while, looking at you, making sure you're real and safe. He fixes your blanket, covering you well. Then, quietly, he drags your desk's chair to your bed's side and sits, watching you dream your own dreams, snoring softly, comfortable, and even happy.

—I love ya—, he whispers and observes you until his eyelids can't stay open, his head resting right next to your hand.

When you wake up in the middle of the night, Mammon is lying right next to you, uncomfortable. You sigh, thinking that it's happening again.

Gently, you reach to his hand, and he wakes up in a jump, confused and scared.

—MC?—

This time, you don't ask a thing. You just pull his hand to you, and he gets the hint, half asleep, not sure if you inviting him to share the bed is another dream that feels too real again or reality itself.

Mammon nuzzles against your chest, and you throw your arms around him after covering him up with your blanket, too; then, you kiss his temple, trying to convey all your emotions in one little peck.

—I have no idea why you do this— you admit, —but I don't mind sharing my bed with you, Mammon; after all, I love you—.

Your love confession, unheard. For now, that's okay, as long as you can hold your best friend and crush on your arms as if you were lovers already.

#Treasure of Mammon Asks #Treasure of Mammon writing #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me! #obey me mammon #mammon #mammon avatar of greed #mammon obey me #om mammon #mammon om #mammon om! #om! mammon #om! shall we date #mammon obey me! #obey me! mammon #obey me shall we date mammon #omswd mammon #om! swd #shall we date mammon #the great mammon #mammon fluff #mammon x mc #mammon x gn!reader #mammon x y/n #mammon x you #mammon x reader #mammonobeyme #obey me mammon x reader #mammon angst

[fuwushiguro]

Call Me If You Get Lost

part seventeen | masterlist | part nineteen

Yuuji Itadori x f!reader x Megumi Fushiguro

Genre: Smut & Angst Notes: University AU, all characters aged up. The reader is getting on my nerves a lil oops<;3 Warnings: 18+, pet names, cheating, family drama, smokin' weed!!, depression, blowjob, fingering, clit kissing, tit sucking, degradation, pining, lmk if i missed any! Words: 6.9k

Synopsis: You’ve been dating Yuuji Itadori for nine months. He’s the best boyfriend you’ve ever had, he cares for you deeply and he’s amazing in the sack. When new boy Megumi moves to town and joins your art course, you are shocked to discover he isn’t the quiet introvert you suspected him to be.

You don’t think highly of yourself anymore. There was a time you thought you were a good person, at least a better person than your parents, but that time is a mere memory. There couldn’t possibly be a more perfect person, a perfect boyfriend, a perfect lover, than Yuuji Itadori. But somehow you found a way to fuck it up.

The fucking Fushiguro’s.

“You think you’re fucking smart, kid, but you aren’t as smart as you think.” Toji tells his son. The statement is met with nothing but a huff and an eyeroll. He knows what he did was wrong, it wasn’t meant to pan out the way it did, he even apologised. Isn’t that enough? “I don’t believe for a single fuckin’ second that you didn’t tell him to come so you could fuck with her head.”

Megumi sighs, again, not even bothering to hold eye contact anymore. Instead, he’s staring pitifully at the ground.

“Got nothing to say for yourself, you little shit?”

“What do you want me to say? I said I was sorry!” he tries to defend himself, knowing it’s futile. He is completely in the wrong, there is nothing he can say to justify what he did. “You’re so fucking obsessed with her, it’s weird. It’s sick, actually.”

“Jealous? Fuckin’ sounds like jealousy to me.”

“I’m not fucking jealous of you! You’re a fucking—!”

“Woah… dad? Megumi? I could hear you yelling from outside… I got some extra groceries for our guest staying, where is she?” Tsumiki questions, carrying the bags filled with food and toiletries to the kitchen before approaching her family.

“Probably fucking fingering herself ready to bounce on this old pervert.” Megumi crudely announces to the room. Tsumiki gasps, astounded that her precious little brother could be so vulgar about someone she thought to be a friend of his.

“You better watch your fucking mouth. I’m sick of you, I’m really fucking sick of you talking to me like I’m dirt on the bottom of your shoes, same for her. She’s done nothing to you, and you know that!”

“I- I’m gonna be late for work… try and keep the noise down, please.” Tsumiki requests, picking up her car keys and heading for the exit.

Toji sits down on the nearest sofa, crouching forward and interlocking his fingers to rest his chin on as he thinks. There’s a black spot on the wall that he can’t tear his gaze from. Looks like one of Megumi’s art supplies found its way onto the alabaster wall in the kitchen. It is such a perfect stain, he thinks. The way it is so obscene and bold in contrast to the white wall it is infecting.

He can’t think about it anymore, though, Megumi is pacing back and forth in front of him. His eyes are red, bloodshot, and puffy. He’s raking his fingers through his hair, messing it up so much he almost looks like Toji’s doppelgänger.

“You know what your problem is, kid?”

“Oh, please, enlighten me. There is an abundance of things wrong with me for you to pick from.” He doesn’t stop pacing, still a ball of nervous energy as he tries to find the simplest spot to simply exist in his own home.

Toji rises from his feet, grabbing his son by his shirt and throwing him down into the nearby armchair. He lords above him, green eyes fighting each other intensely, both of them refusing to look away or even blink to seem weak. Whoever blinks first loses, they both think.

And of course, Megumi blinks first.

“You’re always coked up to your fucking eyeballs. I thought you only did it now and then, are you addicted?” Toji questions. Megumi tries to push him away, but he can’t. “Answer me, if you need professional help I’ll—”

“Stop. Just fucking stop.”

“I’m trying to help you!”

“Throwing money at my problems isn’t gonna fucking fix me, okay?!” Megumi yells. “I’m not addicted, I’m not stupid. It’s just… It’s just fun, alright? Makes everything… fun.”

Toji laughs, though it’s more like a scoff. He moves away from Megumi, allowing him to leave if he wishes. But his son seems paralysed, afraid to make a wrong move in case Toji yells at him again. Something he said has earned a disapproving laugh, but he isn’t sure what he said that’s so funny.

“You sound like… me.” Toji sighs, covering his eyes with one hand as he furrows his brows and massages his temples. “When your mother died, you’re acting how I did. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I taught you that this is okay.”

Megumi is quiet, unable to answer. It sounds genuine, a real apology. But is it real? Or is it just a trap to get him to submit?

“I don’t know how to be a good dad, or any kind of dad. I’m shit, I know that. But I swear everything I’m doing is for you. I’m trying for ya, kid.” Toji tells him, honestly.

Neither of them has heard you come out of your room, eavesdropping on their private conversation. You’re sitting at the top of the stairs, doing your best to be as quiet as possible. You feel bad for Toji, and Megumi, too, in a way. They don’t know how to be around each other properly. To be a real father and son. But you can tell how hard Toji is trying to make an effort. It’s all down to Megumi, you think. Whether or not they can move forward in their relationship is up to Megumi.

“I— I know…” Megumi sighs. “Thanks… I’ll try too.”

“Can you lay off the coke?”

“Yeah, I mean… I’ll try.”

Toji ruffles his hair and pulls him into his arms. Megumi doesn’t expect it, his eyes almost bulging out of his head at the embrace, they gloss over completely with tears when he feels his dad kiss the crown of his head.

“I love ya, Megs, I love you.” Toji tells him.

Megumi’s eyes begin to vibrate, unsure of where to look. He clears his throat and decides to close his eyes to prevent any tears from spilling over, he allows himself to be held by his father, embracing the warmth of his body.

“T-Thanks, dad.”

You’ve been locked in Toji’s room almost all day, only leaving for a trip to the bathroom. It’s been nice to spend some time with yourself. Playing your favourite music and doodling in your sketchbook. You have some solid plans sketched out, and part of you is excited to go to class again and start painting.

“O’Keeffe?” Megumi speaks after a quiet knock on the door, but you don’t hear. Your music is playing full blast in your ears and the only thing on your mind is your art. He assumes you don’t want to be disturbed; but his curiosity gets the better of him.

You still don’t notice him when the door begins to open, due to your back facing it. He can hear your music playing now; and it makes sense why you hadn’t told him to go away. His conscience is chiming in, telling him to turn around and leave you alone.

But that isn’t Megumi’s style.

Instead, he throws a piece of gum over your head and on the mattress in front of you. It startles you, and you pick it up to examine it. And when you turn around and see him standing in the doorway, he can’t help but snicker at the sight of you jumping.

“What do you want?” you ask him, pausing your music.

“I came to say sorry, again, I wasn’t thinking straight.” he tells you. His eyes almost glitter and his cheeks redden as he awaits your response.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, okay. I’m busy right now so… leave, please.”

His head tilts and he can see a little bit of the sketch in your hand. “Can I see?” he wonders. You quickly close the book and tuck it under your pillow. “Okay, sorry, I get it.” he nods.

“Megumi… I’m tired. You are draining me. Is there anything else you wanted to say?” you ask him again. He shakes his head. “Okay then. Goodnight, Megumi.” you stand up, hoping to incentivise him to walk away. But he stays put, holding the door against the wall so that you can’t close it.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go somewhere… with me.” he tells you, and it knocks you slightly. You’re taken aback, unable to move an inch. All you can do is stare at him.

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t drive, it’s late… were you going to ask your dad to drop us off somewhere and pick us up later?” you query. It comes out meaner than intended, and you can tell the comment has annoyed him from the way his jaw is clenching. But you’re surprised that he manages to hold his tongue.

“No.” he pulls a joint from behind his ear. “I was thinking we could go for a walk and smoke.” he informs you.

“You know I don’t do drugs; I’ve never smoked before.” you remind him. “And I don’t think it’s a good idea to walk around with that in public… it reeks… I can smell it from here.”

He sighs, but isn’t afraid to keep eye contact with you. “Is the issue smoking? Or going outside?”

“You’re the issue, Megumi.” you tell him sternly. “You know what happened last time, I don’t want to do that again.”

“Tsumiki doesn’t like it when I smoke in the house, but she’s asleep and we can open a window… weed always makes me feel creative. We can draw together, if you like. It was fun when we were colouring on the bus.” he smiles, thinking fondly of the memory.

You can’t help yourself from smiling, too. “Yeah… it was fun.” you nod, agreeing. “Fine, hurry up before your dad hears you. Don’t make me regret this.” you whisper to him. You don’t notice it, but the subtle change in his expression is Megumi doing his best to contain his excitement.

Before he returns, you quickly throw one of your boyfriend’s hoodies on over your pyjama shirt. Not that you looked particularly provocative, you just want to make sure you don’t give him the wrong idea.

He returns, his sketchbook in hand and an additional three spliffs.

“Open the window and pick some good music.” he smirks.

Your back is against the wall, as well as the crown of your head. There is a glass ashtray in your hand, tilting between your crossed legs. Megumi keeps glancing at it, making sure he gives himself time to grab it in case you get ash all over Toji’s duvet.

“I feel like I’m better than everyone else right now.” you tell him, wistfully.

“Huh?” he smiles, “What do you mean?”

“You too, we’re both better than everyone else. Aren’t you feeling this?” you giggle, “I feel like we’ve done this thing, and we’re better now. Like… I feel like a higher being.” you tell him.

“Are you high?” he bursts out laughing, he begins to cough on the imaginary smoke in his throat.

A whine that turns into a whimper traverses through you. “I was supposed to be sketching!” you almost yell, earning a hush from Megumi, encouraging you to lower your volume. “I feel too tingly and tired to do anymore drawing.” you explain, adjusting your head so you can look into Megumi’s eyes.

“Tingly, huh?”

“Mhmm, tingly.” you pout.

He puts down his ashtray and leaves his joint inside of it, uncrossing his legs from his seat on the ground before standing up. His eyes resume observing yours as he gets closer and closer to you. Your heart is pounding, and you instinctively begin to close your eyes the nearer he is.

And there he is.

You can practically feel his nose touching yours. His breath on your lips. And you hope he can’t hear the way your heart is racing because of him. Your lips start to purse, and you can’t undo it because everything within you right now is screaming that you can’t. He’s going to kiss you again, and your mind doesn’t want that.

But your body does.

“Y-Yuu—”

You can’t say anymore, the end of a blunt between your lips and a clicking sound reigniting it.

“Breath in, O’Keeffe, don’t fall behind.” he smirks, watching as you do your best to obey him despite being so under the influence. With that cute smile on your face you’ve had all night, it makes you look like you’re on another planet. “Can I draw you?” he whispers, the vibrations of his voice rushing straight to your clit. And you gulp; you can’t help but gulp as you see the real depth of his intense stare.

“Okay.” you nod.

He helps you get the ashtray comfortably on your thigh so you don’t have to think about it anymore. Megumi’s hand takes one of yours so that you can hold the blunt on your own. You feel the breeze of him moving away from you as he moves quite quickly. You’re so worked up; you can feel your heart still pounding and you begin to worry that something is very wrong.

“M-Megumi? My heart hurts.” you tell him, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“Guess how many girls I’ve sketched.” he demands, barely looking at you before scribbling in his book again.

“W-Wha? Um… uhh… two hundred?” you wonder.

“Tch,” he chuckles. “You think I know two hundred people? Let alone two hundred girls.” he tells you, giving you the slightest hint.

“Half of that?” you furrow your brows.

“Less, O’Keeffe, way less.”

“Don’t tell me… ‘I’m your first?’” you put on a brooding, disgruntled Megumi impression as you ask him the question. His nostrils flare, with an almost unperceivable smile. But again, he shakes his head. “Fine, you win, I give up.” you sigh, a little peeved that you couldn’t figure it out.

“You’re my second.” he smirks as he does an impression of your impression. He turns the sketchbook so that you can see his quick drawing. It’s rough, really rough, barely even looking like you at all. It could be any girl in the world with the addition of some devil horns coming out of your forehead.

“You’re such a dick.” you can’t help but laugh at the poor drawing. “Will you draw me, for real?” you ask, and he nods. You can’t stop yourself from smiling, again. Realising he was trying to distract you from thinking there was something wrong with your heart. Just your mind playing tricks on you.

He changes his seating position as he finds a more optimal way to draw you.

“Megumi?”

“Mhmm?”

“I did have phone sex with Yuuji.” why the fuck did you say that? This is the longest time you’ve managed to spend alone with him without arguing or hooking up. You close your eyes, hoping somehow that will make it so he didn’t hear what you said.

He did hear, obviously, each word felt like a pinprick against his skin. But he didn’t let it deter him from sketching. Holding the façade that it doesn’t bother him. He’s never liked sketching women. He never truly learnt how.

He thinks they can’t stay still for long enough.

“Why are you telling me about that, O’Keeffe?”

“Do you hate me, again?” you pout, opening your eyes.

“No, I don’t hate you.”

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t? Doesn’t what I just said make you hate me?” you ask, genuinely curious as to what he will say. It doesn’t sound right; it doesn’t sound like the Megumi you’ve come to know. Especially after how furious he was when he suspected it before.

“Why do you care if I hate what you do with your boyfriend in your personal life, O’Keeffe?”

His question stumps you and you have no idea what to say. Is there a reason? There’s something deep down that’s screaming at you that there is. But you can’t acknowledge it, not really. You can’t begin to let yourself believe what you’re feeling deep down. There has to be another reason. There needs to be something else that you can say.

“Well… I need to know what about me makes you so angry. What things I say might make you hate me.” you tell him, your head lolling a little as you let yourself relax.

“I’m just a bully, O’Keeffe, mean ol’ Megs. Right?” he grins, still sketching. You don’t answer him, unsure of what to say. All you can do is stare and wait until he decides to continue. “Keep your head up f’me, princess.” he demands, and you respond perfectly for him. “Me being a dick to you isn’t… your fault. It’s mine.” he tries to assure you, though you aren’t sure if you believe him.

“Are we friends? Will we ever be friends?” you question him.

“You want to be friends with me?”

“That’s all I ever wanted, from the very start.” you try to remind him. “Knowing that you and Yuuji were best friends made me want to be friends with you. I tried to be kind to you, and you were just…”

“I know.”

You have no idea how angry he is. With you. With himself. But mostly Yuuji Itadori. His own heart is thumping, now, knowing the hatred he feels is down to plain simple jealousy. He can’t stop thinking about his night out with Gojo. He can’t actually believe he told Satoru that he loves you.

Maybe he just likes you a lot, as a friend.

It’s not like he’s in love with you.

You can love your friends, right?

“I’d like to be friends, Megumi… I like being around you when you’re like this. A-And on the trip, you bought me my plushie… you were so sweet to me at times.” you tell him, each word you speak laced with longing. It’s emotional enough to make your eyes leak, a detail he wastes no time in drawing onto your portrait.

“Let’s be friends, then.”

The sky is black and so is the room that you’re in. Neither of you have the energy to turn on a light, and it would only attract the insects from outside in here anyway. The music stopped a while ago. There are only two sounds filling the room right now.

Your breathing.

Megumi’s breathing.

“I’m cold.” you confess. “I think I’m gonna sleep now…”

Megumi doesn’t say a word, instead, his breathing becomes heavier for a beat. Like he’s trying to inhale a feeling of vigour so he can leave you in peace. But he can’t. He begins rubbing his eyes and making them even heavier than they already were.

“You can’t stay here, Megumi, you have to go to your own room.” you whisper, fluffing your pillow before resting your cheek down onto it.

“I know.”

“I don’t want your dad to find you in here and—”

“I know, O’Keeffe.” he grunts, picking up his things and resting them in his lap as he tries once again to summon the energy to stand up. “I’m fucking exhausted.” he groans.

“Me too…” you agree. “Can… Can I see?”

“The drawing?”

“Y-Yeah… before you leave.”

And suddenly, a wave of stamina courses through him. The strength to stand enters him and soon enough he’s turning on the bedroom light.

“Megumi, the bugs will come in…”

“I’ll kill them for you.”

He sits beside you on the bed, flipping slowly through the pages of his book. There are so many drawings and paintings of his dad. You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye, but you rest your head on his shoulder as he turns over each and every page. He really is so ridiculously talented. And you can see how much he loves his dad from all of this artwork alone. Toji is his muse, you suppose. Each and every piece is so eerily beautiful but also… sad.

“Has Toji seen these?” you speak softly. He just shakes his head. Your question makes him flip through the pages faster. You feel sad, sad that he doesn’t want to open up and guilty for hitting a nerve with him. “You should show him.”

“He doesn’t like art.”

“But he loves you. And he loves himself.” you giggle, “I think you should show him.”

He smiles at your joke but doesn’t answer you with words. Instead, he keeps going through the book until he finds your portrait with the horns that took him a few minutes. It makes you laugh again, and he can’t help but laugh too when you call him a dick for the millionth time.

He turns the page once more, showing you the sketch that he spent the entire night on.

“Sorry it’s… I don’t know. I’m not used to feminine faces.” he tells you modestly.

Your eyes begin to shimmer as you look at it. He is majorly downplaying how amazing this sketch is. It’s so detailed. So realistic.

It’s so you.

“Is this how I look to you? W-When I cry?” you can’t help but look at him now. Forcing his face to turn and face you while you look into his eyes. “You’ve made me look beautiful, Megumi. Really beautiful.”

“That’s… that’s just how you looked in the moment. I just drew what I saw.” he can’t hold eye contact with you. An overwhelming sense of shame and embarrassment rising from his toes to the tips of his ears. He can only pray that he doesn’t blush again, it’s so fucking humiliating how bashful he’s been around you lately. “It’s no big deal, keep it if you want.”

“Megumi…” you sigh, looking out of the window and then at the light switch in the room. “Can you shut off the light, please?” you request.

He grins, finally standing up to actually leave the room. “Goodnight, O’Keeffe.” he tells you quietly after turning the light off. The room is plunged into silence and darkness again. And he’s sure that he can genuinely hear how hard your heart is pounding.

“S-Stay.” your voice squeaks. “Stay here, with me.”

Megumi is frozen for what feels like a lifetime. All he can see in the darkness is your silhouette. The way you’re sitting upright and resting your body weight on one arm as you are assumedly staring at him. Waiting patiently for him to come to you and be with you.

“For how long?” he gruffly speaks.

“All night.”

“What about Toji?”

“I— we’ll wake up early so you can sneak back to your room.” you suggest. It hurts, a little. Thinking that you’re ashamed of him and you don’t want his dad to know. But the reality is that it makes perfect sense. He’d probably give you both an earful. He’d get the wrong idea. Jump to conclusions that aren’t even there.

He doesn’t say another word as he approaches you. Megumi sits next to you again; and even in the dark you can see the glittering of his emerald eyes.

“Come here.” he instructs as he gets into a comfier position. His head resting comfortably in the pillows as he lies flat on his back. He welcomes you into his arms, your head settling on his chest. You can hear his heart.

It’s electric.

Neither of you say anything, nothing of value, anyway. Both of you have your eyes closed. All either of you can hear is the sounds of life outside of the window, your breathing, and your hearts.

“Why did you tell me about you and Yuuji?” his voice sounding close to a hum as he plays with your hair. He needs to know why you brought it up. He needs to know why you wanted him to know, the real reason.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.”

“No… ‘m not lying, Megumi. I— maybe I just wanted you to know how much I love Yuuji. How serious we are. How much I miss him.” you answer wistfully, you feel his body tense under you and it makes you panic. “F-Friends talk about this kind of stuff.” you inform him.

“About their sex life, you mean?”

“Mhmm…” you nod against his chest. “But we haven’t been friends for long, have we? Maybe that kind of conversation is something we should build up to.”

“Do you want to tell me about your sex life with Itadori? What you did on the phone? Would you like me to tell you about other girls I’ve fucked?” he asks all of these questions incredibly calmly. It’s a little worrying, you’ve never known him to be as relaxed as this before. It’s weird. Because the words he’s saying seem like they should be sarcastic. But the way he’s saying them… it’s like he truly wants to know.

“Do you want to know about it?” is all you can think to ask him. He isn’t sure. The idea of you being so in love with Yuuji that you had phone sex to quench your thirst is pissing him off immeasurably. And yet, he can’t deny how much he needs to know the details.

What gets you off?

“Yes.”

“It was… romantic. He asked to see my whole body… ‘n he asked me to use my toys.” you start.

“You have toys?”

“Yes.”

“Did you bring them here?” he wonders, excitedly.

“No.” you shake your head.

“What toys did he ask you to use?” he decides to be his final question, and he is met with nothing but annoyance when you hide your face in his chest and begin to giggle shyly. “Tell me, O’Keeffe.” he demands.

“A dildo… a-and a vibrator.” you admit. The idea of seeing you splayed out on your bed as you fuck yourself makes his cock twitch. He can’t think about it anymore or he’ll lose his mind. But he can’t help it. He can’t get it out of his fucking mind. He already knows how unbelievable you look as you cum. He can only imagine the difference with a multitude of toys pleasuring you.

“Okay.” he practically chokes out. “Let’s… we should sleep now.” he closes his eyes again, unable to stop himself from playing with your hair.

“A-Are you hard?” you ask him. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. Your hand is splayed across his chest, his heart is battering against it. He does all he can to keep himself composed as the sensation of your fingertips gliding down his body drives him to the brink of insanity. And the little gasp you emit as your hand finds his cock. When you feel how fucking hard you’ve made him. “Because of me?” you finish questioning.

“Yes.” he replies, bluntly.

“I’m wet…” you mutter. His ears prick and his eyes shoot open as he looks down at your head on his chest. Did he hear you right? You aren’t saying anything else. It’s definitely possible he could have misheard you. But it definitely sounded like he heard you correctly. “Thought you were going to kiss me earlier… and I got wet.”

His snickers, chuckling quietly to himself as he thinks back to earlier. He knew he’d riled you up. He knew exactly what he was doing, but he hadn’t expected you to confess it to him so confidently.

“Princess… can I touch you?” he asks, no trace of a whisper in his voice. He speaks proudly, but quietly as not to wake his family. “I wanna finger you.”

Your mind, again, is screaming no. But your body… your stupid worked up body is crying for his touch. You’re not even sure if you’re high anymore, you don’t think so. But you’re wriggling around, and it isn’t subtle enough for Megumi to ignore how riled up you are for him. You can’t do this again, can you? You can’t cheat on Yuuji again. You’ve already done this with Megumi. And you kissed his fucking dad last night. You need to stop.

This time you need to stop.

“Yes.” you whisper, your heartbeat echoing off the walls in the room and into both of your ears.

You’re staring at each other like you’re mythical beings. Are you really here? Is this really going to happen a second time? If you do this, you know there’s no going back. Yuuji is kind-hearted enough that he might forgive only one indiscretion. But there’s no fucking way he can get over two of them.

“I need you.” you confess, a trembling breath carries your voice to him, and you can’t stop looking at each other’s eyes.

Your lips.

And he can’t help but to succumb. His lips crash against yours as soon as he registers your willingness. You hook a leg over his hip, immediately grinding yourself into his thigh as his lips travel to your neck.

And he sucks.

He sucks between shaky moans, his breath drying where his mouth had dampened.

“Fuck,” he pants, “I need you, I need to fuck you.” he admits, still aiming to bruise your neck to sign his name. And you can’t help but to let him.

“C-Can’t, you can’t.” you tell him. There is a small, ignorant part of you that thinks you and Yuuji can move past this. But to go all the way and sleep with Megumi? That is the ultimate red line.

“I know.” he responds. Because he does know. He knows what you’re thinking, and he hates that you might be right. Even after this, all of this, he still might forgive you. “I just wanna finger you.”

You nod again, looking up above at his lustful face. His body feels scorching in comparison to yours. You’re still cold, afraid maybe. Scared of what this momentary submission to temptation will lead to.

But you spread your legs for him like a whore.

But to him, they’re spreading like an angel’s wings.

He’s seen you before. Your bare-naked self. And it’s so beautiful. So wonderful. What resides at the apex of gorgeous, silky legs is your vulnerable petalled flesh. He feels it under his thumb, beneath your cotton sleep shorts.

“Your shorts are so thin… your pretty pussy drenched ‘em.” he coos, kissing the shell of your ear. And you mewl for him like the perfect girl you are.

His thumb slowly circles your cotton-clad clit. It’s so slippery and swollen.

“M-Megumi, kiss me.” you plead. He responds favourably, bending down to kiss you as he carries on teasing your clit. He loves the way you moan into his mouth when you kiss. Even when you pull away to moan with your lips barely touching. He thinks every time you do it you add another century to his life span.

“You’re such a good girl. My perfect fuckin’ girl.” he praises you, kissing down your neck and between your chest. You feel him move your shorts into the crease of your thigh, but he hasn’t attempted to touch your slick folds.

A sharp gasp leaves you as you feel him kiss your clit. Your legs quickly shut, clamping around his head.

“Open your fucking legs right now.” he demands, twinkling jade eyes staring up at you. And you do as he says, once again, slowly opening your legs for him as your body breaks out into goosebumps. He pushes two fingers inside of you with ease, your drooling cunt making it easier. His thumb returns to massaging your swollen clit.

“I— I wanna cum.” you lie. It feels amazing, and you’re sure it won’t take you long. But hearing him talk down to you like that has made you discover something you didn’t know about yourself.

“Already?” he questions, sounding disgruntled. “This slutty little cunt wants to cum f’me already?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Knew you were a slut. Guessed it the second I saw you.” he reminds you of the first day you met. He’s telling the truth, he really has thought that about you since then.

He picks you up like you’re weightless. He’s sitting on his knees and he positions you so that you’re straddling his thighs. He pulls your silk top apart so hard the buttons scatter across the wood floor. Not a single second is wasted, once your chest is revealed to him he fixates his eyes on yours as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth.

The way you throw your head back is involuntary. His fingers are still pummelling your insides in the best way possible. His thumb is massaging your clit just right and now he’s suckling your tits perfectly. You really are gonna cum.

You fucking are.

“Megumi—!” your voice cracks, you’re breathless as you look down at him. He doesn’t let up on your tits until you start clenching around him. His neck cranes back so that he’s looking up at you, and you kiss him as best you can. Moaning against him as you ride his fingers until you’re shuddering against him.

“Fuck… You are so—”

“Can I blow you?” you are practically fluttering your lashes in hopes he’ll say yes. He wasn’t sure what he was about to say. Something embarrassing, probably, he’s thankful you interrupted.

He’s shocked, stunned, even. He hadn’t expected you to be the type to enjoy giving head. Truthfully, he expected you to be nothing more than a pillow princess he could easily influence.

“I don’t do it much; I think I’m good at it though.”

“Are you asking me to decide whether you’re a good little cock sucker, princess?” he patronisingly speaks. It makes your pussy throb to hear him talking to you like this. A little mean, but with the slightest praise to balance it out. You hadn’t realised how much you liked being degraded. Is that why you keep forgiving him every time he picks on you?

“Yes.” you nod, kissing him again.

“Off the bed, on your knees.” he breaks the kiss to tell you. “Now.”

He leans over to grab a pillow as you slide off the bed and onto the ground. The wood flooring feels awful on your knees, but you soon understand that’s what the pillow is for. He drops it between his feet and instructs you to rest your knees on it.

“Will you kiss me?” you meekly ask, and it’s so pathetic. How desperate you sound and how shy you are about it. Just fucking kiss him if you want to kiss him, don’t ask. Don’t give him the satisfaction of turning you into his quiet little door mat.

“So fuckin’ needy.” he chuckles and makes out with you messily. His tongue begins exploring the inside of your mouth, and you’re a puddle at his feet. He’s so fucking sexy it’s driving you insane. You still can’t believe how ripped he is as he throws his t-shirt to one side. He grabs a fistful of your hair and forces you to kiss him again, and you’re more than happy to.

He pulls down his sweats just enough to free his cock, still kissing you as he jerks himself off. You want to please him, desperately. But his fingers are laced through your hair to keep you in place as you struggle to breathe between sloppy kisses.

However he grants your wish, yanking you away from him and pushing your head towards his length.

“Suck.” he orders.

Your jaw drops for him as you let him slot himself inside of your welcoming mouth. Immediately you begin to gag, unable to cope with his monstrous length and the way he’s pushing your head onto it.

“Thought you said you were good at this? C’mon, you can do better f’me. Suck like a good girl, breathe through your nose.” he patronises you. His sultry voice rushes straight to your cunt, and your willingness to obey overcomes you as you begin to breathe heavily through your noise. “Thaaaat’s it, fuckin’ perfect, baby.” he praises you.

Perfect? Really?

You aren’t so sure, but hearing Megumi say it encourages you to live up to his expectation. It’s in this very moment you realise how much you’ve let yourself go. Usually painted nails are now stress bitten and stubby. You’re glad the lights are out so that he can’t see them. Something is telling you that he’d be disappointed with how your hand looks as you wrap your hands around his cock, twisting them while you lick and suck his blushing tip.

“F-Fuck, jus’ like that baby. Such a good slut f’me…” he moans, his breath shaking. You can feel his body tensing beneath you, his fingers tugging your hair at the roots. “Pretty little cocksucker, aren’tcha?”

“Mhmmpf…” you answer him as best you can as he fills your mouth. He’s leaking uncontrollably, the tangy taste overwhelming your tongue.

You can’t get enough.

You do all you can do give him the best head of his life. Bobbing your head quickly and gripping his cock just harshly enough to drain him of his pre. He practically yells when you lick it up, your tongue swiping over his slit. He grits his teeth and hisses as you lick up and down the underside. His eyes almost roll out of his head when you alternate between sucking each of his balls while jerking him off with the perfect grip.

“Shit, baby, ‘m gonna cum. I’m f-fucking—”

You giggle as you take him back into your mouth, doing your best to take him as far down your throat as you can. He moans loudly, biting his lip to stop himself from waking anyone as his seed spurts down your throat. You moan, too, as the taste of him floods your senses. But like the good girl you are, you swallow every single drop.

He pulls you up from the ground once he’s completely finished, letting you straddle him again. His arms fully wrap around your back and he kisses you deeply, allowing himself to lie back on the bed as you do.

“M-Most guys don’t like kissing after head.” you whisper. He silences you with another kiss.

“I’m not a fuckin’ pussy,” he tells you, kissing you again. “You did so fucking good, princess, course I want to kiss you.”

He tickles your back delicately as he holds you, still kissing you the whole time.

You don’t even remember falling asleep.

But you did, together. You’re still in Megumi’s arms as the daylight breaking into the room starts to wake you up. And once you begin to stir, he starts to wake up too. He kisses your exposed shoulder, and then your neck again, admiring the deep purple bruise that’s etched into your skin.

“Good morning.” he mumbles against your pulse point.

You giggle, “Good morning, Megumi.” you begin to squirm as he lets his hand wander to your protruding, exposed nipple. He can’t decide where to touch you, his fingers roaming your entire body as he leaves soft kisses on your shoulder.

“W-We can’t,” you laugh a little, “We have classes.” you remind him.

“Don’t care, we have time.” he mutters. You try to object, but can’t as his touches become more and more arousing. You’re losing yourself to him again. And for whatever reason, you can’t find it in yourself to care. “Turn onto your stomach and lift your ass a little for me.” he tells you. He gives you the space to do what he asked.

“F-Fuck,” you gasp as he slots a single finger inside of you again.

“Still so wet.” he teases you. He pushes your shirt upwards so he can kiss along your spine while he fingers you.

You’re moaning into the pillow, unable to control yourself so early in the morning.

“Megumi!”

You both freeze, paralysed by fear. What time is it?

You pick up your phone to check.

“We forgot to set a fucking alarm!” you tell him, completely panic stricken.

You hear the sound of Toji opening Megumi’s bedroom door, assuming he’s sleeping in. But not long after it slams again, the two of you begin to scramble.

“Pillow! Pillow!” he whisper shouts at you. You throw one to him. “Pretend you’re asleep!” he commands. You tuck yourself beneath the duvet to hide your body. There is not a single reasonable explanation to tell Toji about why you’re practically naked whilst in the same room with his delinquent son.

Megumi throws the pillow onto the ground and lies on the floor uncomfortably to make it look like he dozed off there.

And the door swings open.

Your heart is pounding, adrenaline through the roof and into space as you can feel Toji’s presence in the doorway. You can hear the sound of his nostrils sniffing. And you can only hope to whoever is listening that he isn’t picking up on the all too recognisable smell of sex. But he looks down at Megumi, unable to believe that you have both managed to spend extended time in a room together without screaming.

“What the fuck, Megs?”

© 2023 fuwushiguro

#megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #megumi angst #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #fushiguro megumi angst #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro smut #megumi fushiguro x you #yuji itadori #yuuji itadori #yuji itadori x you #yuji x y/n #itadori yuji smut #yuji itadori x reader #tw cheating #tw drugs

[fromforeigntofamiliarity]

Can you do a shelby brother reader story, reader is older than John but younger than Tommy. The plot happens when the garrison exploded the reader was in the private room at the back of the garrison when it exploded. The other shlby brothers struggle to hurry and get him untrapped from under the ruble with reader's injuries. Good amount of angst and some fluff if possible

Warning: Grief, depression, drinking, PTSD, suicide, angst

Request: Yes!

Y/N Shelby threw back another glass of whisky as he sat in the snug of the bar all alone. The rest of the family were still at the funeral of Freddie Thorne, Y/N's best friend. 

Y/N and Freddie had always been close growing up and that didn't change during or after the war, nor was it an issue when Freddie had asked him to be a witness to his marriage to his sister Ada, it just meant that now they were brother by law. 

He couldn't bring himself to watch as his brother was put in the ground, so I resided to getting blackout drunk at The Garrison.

Picking up the bottle and pouring another drink Y/N let out a sigh hoping that this amount would be the one to drown out the sadness that attempted to consume him. 

Lifting the glass it barley touched his lips before everything went black. 

*-*-*

"Hey, you waiting for a kiss or do you want to get up sleeping beauty?" Freddie asked looking down at his friend. Sitting up Y/N takes a look around to see the dirt walls of the tunnels. 

"Freddie." Y/N said looking at his friend standing in front of him. "What are you doing here? How are you here?" 

"I thing that's my question, yeah?" Freddie asked with a smirk. "I didn't think I would be seeing you for a long time, not that it's not good to see you." He joked. 

"It's good to see you too." Y/N replied leaning forward to wrap the man in a hug. 

"You look like shit." They both say at the same time before breaking into laughter.

"You smell like a pub." Freddie said scrunching his nose and lightly punching Y/N's shoulder. "Come on brother I know we said we'd do everything together but don't tell me you followed me to the grave." 

"I can't say it didn't cross my mind." Y/N admitted as the look of disappointment crossed Freddie's face. "But I have no idea how I got here, where ever here is. Is this hell?" 

Freddie burst into laughter at the assumption, they both predicted that the sins of their lives would lead them straight to hell.

"No, surprisingly I was up north until you decided to get yourself in this predicament." Freddie informed laughing once again at the look of shock Y/N displayed. "Yeah, who would have thought? Me in heaven?"

"Wow they let any old riff raff in that joint." Y/N joked receiving another punch. "So where are we then?" 

"It's somewhere in between." Freddie informed getting serious.

"Between what?" 

"Everything, but more specifically, life and death." He answered looking into Y/N eyes. "A place not many people get the chance to be, so that you can make a choice not many get to make. So you need to choose carfu-"

"I'm not going back Fred-."

"Yes you are!" 

"There is nothing there for me Freddie."

"Nothing there for you?" Freddie asked angrily grabbing the collar of his shirt. "You have a family. brothers, your sister, your nephew....my son. Do you know how many people would kill for this chance? What I would give to be in your shoes? To kiss my wife, raise my son. No no you're going back. You're going to live your life and I'm not gonna see you for a long long time." Freddie shouted tears in his eyes. 

"And the next time I do see you," He continued. "Your gonna tell me about them...about Karl and Ada, about whatever women or man you con into loving you, about your children and their children after that. I don't want to hear anything else from you until them." Freddie says letting Y/N go.

'Hey!' 

'Y/N, where are you?'

'Y/N get up. Wake up.'

"What the hell is that?" Y/N ask looking around for the source of the voice. 

"I'm that means it's time for you to make a decision." Freddie informed. "But I think we both know what the answer is. I know we used to say that death is easy, but being away from the people I love is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. So when it your time and we see each other again brother....we'll have all the time in the world." 

*-*-*

"Y/N!" Tommy yelled shaking his brother. "Wake up."

Tommy didn't react much when he found out that the pub had been blown up, after all he had been the one to do it, but he felt his heart drop after Finn informed that he had seen you going towards the pub before after the funeral. 

The Shelby family rushed to the destroyed remains of The Garrison, immediately digging around the rubble for the missing member. 

It had been John who had found Y/N buried under so wood and alerted the other as he began removing the charred building remains until they were able to haul his body out.

"Come on wake up." Tommy said tapping his face.

"Oh thank god." Polly sighed out as she watched her nephew's eyes begin to open. 

"Freddie?" Y/N asked looking up at his brother in confusion. 

"No, you're home now." Tommy corrected pulling his little brother into a hug. "You're home now."

#masterlist #peaky blinder x reader #peakyblindersimagine #peaky blinders masterlist #tommy shelby #freddie thorne #shelby!reader #male!shelby!reader #john shelby #Finn shelby #polly grey #peaky blinder request

[missvelvetsstuff]

Just a Number

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader meets Bucky at a party and the attraction is more than either one of them wants to resist. Of course nothing is ever that simple.

Notes: Since most stories are younger readers I felt like having a more mature reader could be a nice change of pace. Especially since I'm creeping up on senior discounts and want to believe Bucky could fall in love with someone like me.

I try to keep my readers description vague but, as always, she's female, tall and this one is obviously 40+

Chapter 10

Warnings: swearing, vague sex talk, angst

"John's dead"

Olivia's words rang in her head and her imagination immediately concluded that something had happened to James since they were on the same mission and his phone call had been abruptly disconnected.

Dawn was finally able to get Olivia calmed down and Y/N took the letter she had been waving around. It wasn't as bad as Olivia sobbed but it wasn't good. John was MIA, the letter didn't mention Bucky or Sam.

The two of them sat on the couch while Y/N poured drinks for them. She downed hers and refilled the glass before setting the bottle on the table, giving them their drinks and sitting down.

"So this doesn't say he's dead, he's just MIA. Which isn't great but there's still hope." Y/N offered, trying to sound positive even though her chest was tight and her stomach tied in knots.

Olivia was calming down and looked over at her "That's what Val said but I don't know if I can trust her."

Dawn looked at her questioningly "Val? Who's Val?"

Olivia shrugged "She approached John after his court martial. Said she would have work for him but didn't really clarify. She works for some govt agency, I'm not sure which and has a crazy long name that I can't remember." Olivia sighed "She told me to be strong and not to lose hope but I...." She held back a sob. "I don't know how to live without him. How do you do it, Y/N? I mean without Mike?"

Y/N shrugged "You just keep going, sometimes you have to lie to yourself and pretend you're ok. I had Dawn and if this does turn out to be the worst, you have us. You can stay in Jessie's old room tonite and as long as you need."

Olivia nodded "Thank you. I would like to stay, at least for tonite."

Dawn smiled softly at her "We're your sisters and will do whatever we can. For now, lets just take things one day at a time."

One day turned into a week, then two until over a month had passed with no news at all.

Jessie visited a few times a week to keep Olivia company while Y/N and Dawn worked. Her dog, Luna, was very comforting and made Olivia wish for a pet of her own but John hated animals and forbade it.

Michael came by a couple of times during the day but was careful to be gone before his mother returned, his anger at himself combined with the shame over how he had treated his mother prevented him from reaching out and apologizing.

On a Saturday, a couple of weeks after the letter, Dawn and Y/N went to the shelter and adopted a pair of pit mix puppies, brothers. One was black with dark eyes and immediately bonded to Y/N. The other was tawny with gold eyes and took to Dawn almost as quickly. During the day they kept Olivia company but at night they came alive when their two favorite people returned home.

One evening about 6 weeks after the letter there was a knock on the door. Y/N excused herself from dinner and hurried to answer it, hoping that John or Bucky had returned, or that Michael had come to his senses.

She wasn't that lucky. Instead it was Sam looking tense and she could see the concern on his face. He looked haggard with circles under his eyes and a scraggly beard.

"Sam! We didn't expect to see you here. Please come in we're just finishing dinner. Would you like something to drink? Have you eaten yet?"

Sam shook his head "I'm fine, thank you. I need to talk to you and I heard John's wife is staying here and-"

Before he could finish he was almost knocked down by the dogs who had grown quickly and were very affectionate with people their alpha moms were comfortable with. He chuckled at their antics.

Once the dogs had thoroughly inspected him they went to lay on their pillow and he was able to talk again. Dawn and Olivia had finished cleaning up from dinner and came to see what the commotion was about. When she saw Sam, Olivia felt her eyes tearing up and started shaking her head, assuming it was bad news.

Sam tried to soothe her speaking softly "Hey, it's alright Olivia. Is it ok if I call you Olivia?"

She nodded silently

Sam sat on the couch "I'm not supposed to be here but I wanted to let you know that it's not as bad as it might seem and you shouldn't lose hope." He looked at Olivia and then to Y/N "Both of you. Please keep the faith and know I'm doing everything I can. I'm sorry I can't say any more about it. Take care of yourselves."

Before any of them could ask any questions he quickly stood and excused himself, leaving Olivia and Y/N staring at the door he left through.

The next day while Y/N was at work, Peppers receptionist, Brittany, called to let her know she had a visitor.

Y/N felt her nerves flare, she wasn't expecting anyone today but she told Brittany to send them in.

Y/N stood to greet a well dressed, petite woman with dark hair.

The woman spoke first "I'm Contessa Valentina Allegra deFontaine but you can call me Val. I need a moment of your time."

Y/N looked at her, appraising her, for a moment "Why do I have the feeling that you aren't really asking?" Shrugging, she waved at the chairs in front of her desk. "Have a seat, Val. Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, water?"

Val shook her head Y/N sat down.

Y/N waited for Val to say something while Val looked around her office before sitting. Y/N sighed, she had too much to do. "How can I help you?"

Val finally spoke but not about her reason for being there "The short blond in the pictures, that's your adopted sister Dawn Walker? And the others are your kids, Michael and Jessica? You have a beautiful family, shame about their father. We saw a few cases like his, people materializing in dangerous places. Very sad."

She paused but started back up before Y/N could reply "I'm surprised there aren't any pictures of James, or the two of you. John made it sound like you were attached at the hip."

She looked at Y/N knowingly "I get the feeling that there's some jealousy issues there, unhealthy for siblings, adopted or not."

Y/N finally had it "OK, I get it, you know all about me and my family, my life. I'm appropriately scared so can you just get to the point. What is this all about?"

Val tutted at her "No, no dear, oh no, I'm not trying to frighten you. I have large, well armed men for that. I'm just letting you know that I know all about you so, no point in trying to keep secrets."

She stood and started pacing the room before speaking again

"We have someone in common. You're closer to him than I am but I also have a vested interest in Sargeant Barnes. I think you can help me with that."

Y/N's face hardened "I haven't spoken to James in weeks so don't know how I could help you with him. Honestly I'm not sure I would help you if I knew anything. He has had enough people messing with him and I won't be one of them."

Val smiled as she sat down "I knew you were a woman of integrity, a lot of kids who lose their parents young go the other way. Protecting him even after those horrible pictures." She gave Y/N a look that seemed to be trying to convey sympathy but seemed more pained than anything else.

"I want you to know I had nothing to do with that mess. That Sharon is just bad news around attractive men but I need her too. For now." She chuckled darkly then shook her head and smiled at Y/N.

"But that's not why I'm here. I work for the US government and we need James' cooperation on a project I'm working on. I think your encouragement would go a long way for him, make it easier for him to make the right choice."

Y/N shook her head "I think you're overestimating my relationship with James. We've only seen each other a handful of times. We haven't even had any kind of contact in over a month. Then there's those pictures. He's obviously not that into me."

Val kept swinging and missing that sympathetic look on her face "Based on what I've heard, I don't think thats true. Regardless, if you do see or speak to him I need you to try to encourage him to take my offer. I'll make sure to keep you and your family safe if he does."

Y/N gasped and her eyes grew wide "Was that a threat? James better do what you say or you'll hurt my family? Who the Hell are you?"

Val smirked "No, of course it wasn't a threat. Goodness, you watch too many movies. Just keep me in mind when you see him. I think you'll be good for him and I'm never wrong." She quickly stood "Lovely meeting you, I'm sure I'll see you again."

Y/N sat at her desk, speechless and bewildered, trying to figure out what just happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On another continent, Bucky was sitting alone in a tiny motel room looking over a map to figure out where John and Sharon might have disappeared to. He wasn't convinced that they weren't intentionally evading him as opposed to being hurt or taken by some bad guys but he wasn't going to just leave them behind without trying to figure it out. He might hate both of them but they were his team, if you could call it that, and he knew better than to leave anyone behind.

The next morning he heard from a couple of old contacts in the area and he was almost sure that he had found the Power Broker. He went to the compound where they were supposed to be located and watched the activity until nightfall when everything looked quiet. He found a way in and crept through the site until he reached what looked like the main house.

He heard crying that sounded like Sharon and picked the lock to get it. As soon as he opened the door he could hear softer moans and the room smelled like sweat and sex. The noises stopped but John kept thrusting into her, under a blanket thank goodness, as she spoke.

"Well Bucky? Aren't you coming in? There is plenty of room if you want to join us." Sharon giggled "Have you figured it out yet?"

Bucky shook his head, looking away from them. "What that you'll fuck anyone and he's no better?"

Sharon laughed again "Don't be a prude and no, that's not it."

John groaned loudly and stilled, laughing "Sharon is the fucking Power Broker stupid."

He moved away from her and pulled a pair of sweats up as he stood. "I can't believe you were some fantastic spy and assassin but couldn't work that out." He shook his head "So much for the Winter Soldier"

Bucky shook his head "I'm not him anymore."

John stepped up to get in his face. "Obviously. You should retire if this is all too much for you. Wouldn't want you to get hurt or anything."

He gently pushed Bucky back, away from Sharon. "Keep your hands off, Sharon's mine. I let you have a taste and that's all you get."

Bucky shook his head in disgust "I have no interest in Sharon. Or you for that matter. If I'd known that you two were safe I would have headed home ages ago. So I'll just get out of your hair."

He turned to walk away but John grabbed his right arm. "Sorry Barnes but we're not done with you yet, I-."

Before John could finish his statement Bucky pulled out of his grip and punched him with everything he had and again until he knocked John to the ground.

Bucky towered over John, breathing heavily "I don't care, I'm done with you."

John looked over fearfully, holding his jaw "No, you can't go. I have someone who needs to talk to you."

Bucky gave John his best murder glare "Well, where are they?" His left hand whirred as he clenched it.

A woman's voice came from the balcony "I'm right here Sargent Barnes." She was petite with dark hair and reached out to shake his hand "I'm Val, nice meeting you but I will have to ask you to back off from Walker. I need him too."

Bucky shook his head "Val who? Who do you work for?"

"Contessa Valentina Allegra deFontaine but you can call me Val. I work for the U.S. just like you."

He scoffed "What do you want from me?"

"I'm helping president Ross put together a team. Like the Avengers but without the laws and rules that constricted them. People like you and your friend John over there who have dubious histories. Some familiar faces from the Red Room as well. We need you on that team."

Bucky looked at her confused. "Ross isn't president, the election isn't until November. Besides, I'm not much of a team player."

Val laughed "You worked pretty well with Wilson. Besides, it doesn't matter what excuses you come up with you will be on that team." She grabbed his left hand and looked over the prosthetic "This thing is beautiful, by the way. The Wakandan's were really holding out on us."

And sighed "Look, if you don't agree to join our team, we'll create a situation that demands your pardon be revoked and your new residence is the Raft. Then you'll never see your little girlfriend again. I don't think either of you would like that very much."

She turned to John "Would you please stop fucking every woman who comes within 10 feet of you? Selling you as the all American hero who made a terrible mistake doesn't work if you're cheating on your wife. And Sharon? Find someone else who can recreate the serum, before the election instead of wasting your energy on every slightly attractive man you meet."

Val turned to leave "I'll give you a week to decide Sarge. Don't disappoint me."

Bucky watched her walk out, more confused than ever.

@supraveng @cjand10 @440mxs-wife @kandis-mom @dtba-grey81 @calwitch @ozwriterchick

Chapter 11

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #angst with a happy ending #just a number #james bucky barnes x y/n #older reader #bucky barnes x female reader

[escapetheshark]

Lost in Paradise (Nanami x fem!reader) 18+ smut; angst

Pairing: Nanami Kento x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst; strangers to lovers

Words: 5,300

CW: adult language; explicit sexual themes

Summary: You're in Tokyo for your sister's wedding and not having a good time until you meet the tall handsome stranger.

Masterlist | Ko-fi

The bright bustling blinding lights of the city render me dumbfounded, for one. It feels like watching a film, simultaneously in slow motion and sped up. The noise is deafening and comforting at the same time, like your favourite song played awfully loud at a bar in a town you've never visited before. Nothing makes sense but everything comes together in a cacophony of blood rushing through tired veins and arteries. Glass clicks, people chat away over the music that plays through speakers, some pop tunes from the top charts. Faces, faces and more faces emerge, re-emergence and disappear, all of them the same, yet all of them so different, each of them telling its own story, thousands of stories I will never know. And they will never know mine either. The joys of being unknown...!

It's getting late , I muse as I take one last sip of the weak beer in front of me, searching the crowd for something. Something . I don't even know what. Something familiar, something cosy. But the search is in vain. There's a large group of men in suits and ties that appear to be a lot more intoxicated than one should be at this hour. A pair of awkward lovers sharing what seems like a first date. Yet another group - of foreigners this time, loud Americans celebrating something. And then there is me, sitting alone, watching attentively as everyone else's lives unfold right in front of my eyes and my own is stagnant. I better be going now.

*

"Did you enjoy your evening stroll? Where did you go?"

"Nowhere," I blurt out, "just some bar in Shibuya."

"Met anyone interesting," she inquired, winking, a very small tinge of disdain in her voice. "Shibuya is a haven for rich businessmen, you know?"

"Yeah, that seemed to be the theme," I shrugged, uninterested and aggravated by my sister’s insistence. "You need to stop trying to set me up with anyone that breathes."

"Well, I'm trying to help." Her condescending tone, disguised as genuine concern, made my stomach turn in pure disgust. "You're thirty years old and still single!"

There it was again, the condescending tone she had mastered over the years, something she had learned from mum. Even her voice sounded nearly the same. She had also inherited our mother's beauty, which had earned her all those trophies growing up.

"I'm fine with being single," I shrugged once more, trying not to physically roll my eyes. I heard her half mutter whatever under her breath as she took an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it.

"Well, I'll make sure to sit you next to some hot bachelor at the dinner party."

As much as I would have loved to retaliate, shout at her to leave me alone and be content with her perfect life, I couldn't bring myself to speak up, not in her home, in front of her soon-to-be husband as he slowly ate his rice porridge, completely ignoring the discussion at hand. He was a calm man, barely spoke a word, perhaps out of shyness or an unshakable desire to not be perceived - a stark contrast from my obnoxious, extroverted sister. How they came to be, I will never understand. Opposites attract, or whatever they say. She finished her apple and moved on to a cup of black coffee, completely ignoring the full table her fiancé had set for us: bread, jams, peanut butter, chocolate and hazelnut spread... Something about needing to lose a couple of kilos to fit in her wedding dress. I absentmindedly grabbed a slice of toasted Hokkaido milk bread and slathered salted butter all over it, earning a bashful little smile from my brother-in-law, proud of his northern Japanese dairy heritage. He told my sister she looked perfect as she was and there was no need to diet so much, but she was quick to shrug him off. Before I could witness any further domesticity, the man got up, pecked her lips and left the house in a hurry, leaving the both of us in awkward silence.

“Any plans for the day?”

“I hear Roppongi Hills is nice,” I half-sighed, taking a sip of my coffee. “I might go check that out.”

“Don’t forget about the rehearsal dinner tonight, at six,” she reminded me, even though I hadn’t forgotten at all. How could I forget about something she constantly mentioned? “Don’t be late and wear something decent, his parents will be there.”

“Yes, sir,” I mocked, rolling my eyes in disdain. The tone of her voice when she spoke to me always sounded so crude, so uninterested, like a queen addressing her subordinates. She’s always been the pretty one, the overachiever, getting married at twenty-five to a rich banker and living in a gorgeous flat in central Tokyo while I did nothing but mope around, single and fat and eating whipped cream straight from the can on a Friday night. I had forgotten how miserable my existence should make me feel until I arrived at my sister's beautiful two-bedroom apartment two miles away from Roppongi Hills, where she lived with her kind and loving and filthy rich almost-husband who worshipped her like the goddess she’s always thought she was. Should I hate myself a bit more?

*

Warm hues bathed the city as I made my way towards the restaurant, walking slowly and taking in the scenery of vibrant fleeting lights, concrete jungle where some dreams are made and some come to die. A small crowd gathered around an unassuming entrance, decorated with traditional Japanese paper lanterns - which I learned are called chochin . Looking at the GPS, it seemed like the small wooden door really was the restaurant my sister had picked for her first rehearsal dinner (first of a few, apparently, all of which I’d have to attend). I scanned the small crowd for any kind of familiar face and soon, the realisation hit me that I was very underdressed for the occasion in my simple black flared jumpsuit, black moccasins and the small white Dior bag my sister had given me for my birthday years ago, just to remind me that she’s well off. On most other occasions, my outfit could be considered put together but, next to all these people sporting intricate dresses, perfectly tailored suits and stilettos, I looked like an 18-year-old in their first job interview. Panic settled in as I approached them, their voices distant as if my head was being held underwater. I stood awkwardly near the thirty or so people, trying not to mingle, my eyes searching for my sister or her fiancé, but not finding them. Instead, a low male voice made itself clear right behind me. 

“I take it you’re the bride’s sister,” he said. I slowly turned around to find a tall man with distinct blonde hair smiling calmly. “We’ll be seated soon.”

“Oh hello. Yes, that’s me,” I offered a lopsided grin, feeling my stomach turn in hunger but also in discomfort. “I feel like she didn’t tell me anything about this dinner although I’ve been hearing about it for months.”

A small old man slid the bamboo door open and guided all of us inside his little restaurant, cosy yet very expensive-looking. I imagined the tables had been rearranged to accommodate our event, as well as the decorations which seemed a bit too bridal for a regular upscale restaurant. Each of the six tables was decorated with a gorgeous flower arrangement, porcelain dishes and bamboo chopsticks neatly set up on the table. It seemed odd that such a homely place was chosen for a posh wedding-related dinner but, knowing my sister, this little family restaurant was probably one of the most expensive places in Tokyo. Near each of the plates rested a name card, so I went around and searched for mine, with my name written in the Roman alphabet and, underneath it, in katakana. I took my seat and noticed that, to my left, was the man I had met just five minutes prior at the entrance, his place card reading Kento Nanami. Our eyes met once more but, this time, I spared him more than a quick glance. His hair, under the dim warm light of the restaurant, seemed to be a very natural shade of blonde and his eyes, hooded and hazel, had an interesting shape to them. He was a handsome man, I thought to myself, observing the way his large veiny hands rested atop the table, his fingers moving slightly in restrained nervousness.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” he chuckled. I didn’t have time to respond as my sister and her fiancé made their somewhat dramatic entrance, causing the entire room to gasp as I rolled my eyes in annoyance. The couple sat side by side at the top of my table, his parents across from myself and Nanami. 

“Could be worse,” I whispered to the blonde man, receiving a gentle kick to my leg in response as he shushed me with his facial expression only. I couldn’t help but exhale sharply, containing my laughter. 

There was sushi, sashimi and several Japanese delicacies I had never even heard of, all of it exquisite and fresh. The plum wine ended up being a favourite and I could feel my head become heavier with each glass, one more bit of food down in a semi-fruitless attempt at staying fully awake and in charge of my body. Time went by in a daze and, somehow, I blinked once and most tables were empty, except for my own. Instinctively, I glanced over to my left, seeing the tall man sip on something - booze? Water? My sister, her fiancé and his parents shared a quiet conversation as Nanami checked his phone. I figured my absence wouldn’t be felt and wordlessly excused myself to use the lavatory, the sudden cold air reminding me that sobriety was long gone. Sometime between the fifth and eighth glass of the saccharine plum wine, my brain had become foggy. 

“I don’t think your sister would approve of this behaviour, miss.” I turned around, cigarette dangling between my lips and lighter in hand, to find Nanami standing there, in all his six feet glory, hair and suit immaculate, as he took a long puff of his own fag. 

“You’re one to talk,” my words came out slurred and not as cool as I had planned in my head. Still, he let out a heartfelt chuckle. Maybe it was the booze, but the bass in his voice vibrated through my core. “Is she still sucking up to the in-laws?”

“I believe so,” he shrugged before puffing out the smoke. “You don’t seem to be close.”

 “Yeah, we’re not,” I sighed, taking another drag of my cigarette, swallowing the smoke, my eyes darting up to the night sky. There was far too much light pollution to be able to see the stars but, on the other hand, Nanami was right there looking beautiful and tall. Maybe it’s the booze, but I would definitely - 

“You should go home,” his voice interrupted my ungodly thoughts, thankfully. 

“I’d love to, but my ride doesn’t seem too keen.”

“It’s a twenty-minute walk, you’ll be fine,” he replied, taking a couple of steps towards the main street. Incredulous, I followed behind him, mostly out of curiosity and drunkenness. It had become significantly colder and I shuddered, goosebumps all over my exposed arms. Like a true gentleman, Kento simply draped his jacket over my shoulders and continued leading the way through streets I vaguely recognised. “I’ve messaged your sister, she knows you’re safe.”

“Aren’t you a gentleman?” My legs had started to give out and I nearly collapsed but, luckily, I found myself being led inside the house. “Goooood niiiight.” 

I felt myself drift off as if floating on a particularly puffy cloud and the next time I opened my eyes, my head felt twice its size. Has the sun always been this bright? The smell of bacon that would normally cause me to salivate, this time felt vomit-inducing and I was on the verge of exploding right there, on the luxurious leather sofa in my sister’s Tokyo apartment. Outside her ceiling-to-floor windows, the sun beamed gorgeously; yet, I couldn’t bring myself to appreciate it over the headache that had started to form in my temples, pulling all the way to the back of my head. Last night was a bit of a blur - something about rich people eating decadent food in a far too expensive restaurant, some kind of sweet alcohol, a tall blonde man… 

The following days all blurred together in a haze of wedding preparations, my sister raising her voice at people randomly, her fiancé apologising on her behalf, flowers and final touches on what was meant to be my sister’s big day, the best day of her life, her life-long princess dream. Thankfully, she had been so busy bossing people around and making florists cry that she barely had time to be unpleasant towards me. Even her fiancé, usually very calm and collected, had started to show signs of losing his mind a little. I often wondered what a man so gentle and soft-spoken could have seen in someone as entitled as my sister, but opposites seem to attract - at least in this case. I’d bitten my tongue more than once to avoid telling the man that he deserved better, he deserved someone who gave him less shit and wasn’t as cunty as my sister. But I’m sure he knows what he has to deal with and perhaps she’s a lot softer with him than she’s always been with me, who knows. Soon enough, however, I was being reminded of yet another rehearsal dinner - this time, a more important one - that was to take place right there, in the apartment, with just a handful of guests. Apparently, this was the last chance to make changes to catering or anything related to the reception, so both my sister and her fiancé seemed very on edge. I found it quite odd to be so shaken by a dinner party - a glorified dinner party. Still, it would give me another chance to mingle with the tall blonde man from the other day. Unfortunately, the memories of the previous rehearsal dinner had started to trickle back in and I was starting to think he wouldn’t want to be anywhere near me.

“Try wearing something decent this time,” my sister told me as I ate my lunch, which she had skipped yet again (“My last dress fitting is fast approaching and I really need to fit!”) Sure, the jumpsuit wasn’t the classiest thing in the world, but I didn’t think it looked bad at all…! But as she became more and more aggravated, I thought I’d make a bit of an effort to not piss her off. “And you’re not drinking.”

“Yes, mother,” I sighed in annoyance, rolling my eyes to the back of my head so hard I saw a glimpse of my brain. “Will do.”

Upstaging my sister would be more of a mistake than not looking good enough but I managed to pick out a dusty rose sheath dress with a V-neck, not too deep to avoid showing too much cleavage (which would certainly upstage my sister’s smaller breasts). I merely curled my hair a little, letting it drape down my shoulders and borrowed my sister’s makeup to create a simple look that would certainly be nowhere near as good as hers, given that she went to cosmetology school and all. Still, when looking at the final product in the mirror, I couldn’t help but feel cute - a feeling somewhat foreign to me, growing up as the fat and ugly older sister. Maybe the tall blonde man would even like the view. God, that’s so dumb , I laughed to myself before the doorbell rang. Soon enough, the small apartment (yet, bigger than most flats in the area) would be filled with chatter, smooth jazz background music and even laughter. His parents were there, elegant and poised as always, along with his older brother and the tall blonde man, whose name I’ve forgotten, most likely due to all the alcohol I ingested the last time I met him. Seeing his family and best friend sitting at the table like that, it hit me that my sister must have been incredibly lonely in her gilded Tokyo prison. All she had was her husband and some casual acquaintances from work - definitely people she could hang out with and have a few drinks, but not really close friends. She’d given up the familiar scent of home for a completely new city, a giant city where she knew nobody and everybody seemed so distant. Sure, she’s still awfully privileged but it must be tough… 

“Fancy seeing you here.”

If I had balls, they would have dropped five thousand feet upon hearing that familiar voice, enveloped by a warm, smoky scent with citrusy notes, so pleasant on my nostrils. And that face, equally as pleasant, smiling at me. I could have tried to keep my cool but I let my enthusiasm show with an ear-to-ear grin. Without warning, the man held my hand in his, lifting it up to his lips and giving it a gentle kiss, his hazel eyes on mine. Heat pooled at the apples of my cheeks, as well as other spots I shall not name. 

“It’s my pleasure,” I giggled like a schoolgirl. Before the interaction could go any further, we were being invited to take our seats at the table. A small thin man in a black chef’s coat served the food, which I imagined he prepared himself, careful to plate it beautifully and up to my sister’s insane standards. The food seemed never-ending, as well as the drinks. I did exercise caution, though, trying to avoid a catastrophe similar to the previous week’s.

Once again, I found myself outside accompanied by the blonde man - named Kento, as he reminded me. Both of us (mostly) sober, cigarette in hand, huffing and puffing in the balcony, overlooking the city lights. Inside, my sister and her newfound family seemed to be getting along. But none of that mattered when I had the most beautiful view: Kento. And well, Tokyo. 

“So, when are you going back home?”

Home , he said, as if I really have one. Of course, he probably just meant to ask when I’m flying back but, perhaps the little bit of alcohol I was allowed at dinner was taking its toll. Or perhaps, the mesmerising city lights made me feel more sentimental than I should have been feeling. It took me a moment to reply, but I finally came back from my quick joyride into my own mind and I shrugged: “I guess after the wedding when they go on honeymoon.”

He merely nodded, looking off into the distance at the hustle and bustle a dozen metres below our feet. A comfortable and warm silence took over as we gazed into the night sky, unable to see any stars, but imagining them was still fun.

“You know, where I’m from, you can see the entire galaxy when the sky is clear,” he suddenly broke the silence, his voice softer than before. I chuckled at how adorable he sounded, slightly out of character for such a well-dressed and pristine man.

“You’re not from Tokyo?”

“No,” he replied, his eyes still trained on the night sky. “I’m from a small town in Hokkaido.” I merely nodded, pretending I even knew where Hokkaido was, ashamed of myself for not knowing anything about my brother-in-law’s birthplace. “We’re famous for dairy products and milk bread.” The low chuckle he let out somehow hit right in my core and I looked up at him, his calm demeanour contrasting with his chiselled cheekbones and serious face. I found myself wondering if he’s always looked this serious. “My mother is from Denmark, but I’ve never been.”

“I guess that’s where the blonde hair comes from,” I absentmindedly commented, causing him to laugh. He looked at me for a moment and my knees wobbled a little. He’s very handsome , I thought to myself. But mostly, very real. Attainable, gentlemanly, soothing. His presence felt like a warm towel after swimming in the cold ocean. I remembered him mentioning he worked in an office and did some sort of boring, unimportant job that he hated and how that made him feel utterly useless in the grand scheme of things. Looking at him, though, so tall and proper, his suit immaculate and his hair so neat, I never would have guessed someone so put together could struggle so much. He has that in common with my sister.

Looking through the glass door back at the inside of the house, I could see the in-laws leaving, being sent off by my sister who looked incredibly worn out. Her fiancé slid the glass door open to greet me and Nanami, mentioning that they would go to bed early, “but feel free to stay up,” he said. Truth is, I didn’t want to go to bed, or anywhere else. I wanted to stay right there, on the balcony, with that man I had so recently met but had somehow stolen my heart. Perhaps it was just the loneliness washing over me like a tidal wave, but I truly was ready to give myself to this man, maybe too eager to just feel something real, something palpable. It’s been so long…

“I’m still lost here,” he sighed. “In this giant fucking city.”

“How long have you been here for?”

“About… five years?” 

Five years. Five years and he still feels lost. 

“She’s been here for five too, I think,” I commented, referring to my sister. “They met at some college party when he was studying abroad, even though she likes to pretend it was far classier than a drunken make-out session.”

He chuckled again, this time turning to face me, his face illuminated by the dim light coming from inside the apartment. I wondered if I should kiss him, even though we were both quite sober. He seemed to read my mind because, within a second, his lips hovered just above mine, his eyes closed. I wasn’t sure what to do - if I should just let myself go, just this once. However, when I was about to go for it, I felt his lips ghost over my neck instead.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Living a little,” he murmured in my ear, trailing gentle kisses down my neck and back up. “If you’ll allow me.” His kisses stopped so he could face me, his cheeks rosy. I don’t remember seeing him drink much besides a couple of glasses of wine.

“Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m just quite needy,” he smiled. “But maybe I should just go home.”

Watching him leave, my heart skipped a beat and I found myself tugging at his sleeve like a desperate little girl. I hated myself for it but, at the same time, my own neediness had started to eat me up alive. There was a gorgeous man in front of me, willing to share his heartbeat with mine, even if it was only a one-night thing. Who gives a shit? Live a little…!

“Please-”

“Please, what,” the smirk that adorned his beautiful face seemed almost devilish, paired with the hint of lust in his eyes. 

“I’ve been sleeping in my sister’s spare room,” I blurted out, incapable of making it any more straight to the point. “The bed is big enough…”

“Big enough for what?”

He seemed to be enjoying seeing me all flustered, shyly dancing around the subject at hand. Before I could come up with a reasonable answer to his question, an answer that seemed sensible and in no way inappropriate, his lips were brushing every so gently against my earlobe and his voice came as a soft whisper: “show me, then.”

To say that my heart was pounding in my chest was an understatement. It was rushing, crushing my ribs as it nearly exploded and imploded, Kento’s lips finally crashing into mine with the force of a rogue wave. It’s sloppy, almost too wet, too eager. Our teeth clash and I feel him laughing into my mouth before pulling away, his face flustered. He leans in again, his hand cupping my chin and, this time, the kiss is much more tender, less hungry, delivered with more expertise, as if he was trying to make up for the messy first kiss. I forgot where I was when I was and all I did was to be, to just exist in a state of nothing but bliss as Kento’s warm tongue enveloped my own and his fingers found their way around my skin, mapping it out with all the care in the world, just in case he gets lost in me. I didn’t think I would find anything in Tokyo but finding Kento was more than enough to satisfy my wanderlust. 

“Why are you so needy,” I teased as his mouth found its way around the supple skin of my neck, trailing open mouth kisses down to my collarbones. 

“It’s been a while,” he began, stopping his ministrations simply to look into my eyes with a longing I was barely familiar with. “Since I’ve felt anything other than despair.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t conjure up the right words as I saw his eyes fill with emotions. He kissed me again, and each kiss felt different from the previous one, but all of them felt filling, like a warm meal on a cold winter’s day. This man I barely knew somehow felt more welcoming than anything I’d experienced in Tokyo over the past couple of weeks - I was seen, I was heard, I was the centre of the world even for a minute. His nimble fingers found their way around the streets and alleys of my body, lingering in the best spots, no need for a guidebook. In the back of my mind, the thought that I’d probably never see this man again after the wedding bore holes into my soul, even if my body refused to acknowledge them. What poetic injustice to be so easily found only to be lost again…!

“Do you like that?”

I was saved from my depressing inner monologue by his soft voice whispering in my ear, coaxing me to moan gently, nodding quickly when his fingers curved a certain way into me. “M-more,” I pleaded and he was happy to oblige. Memories of less-than-stellar encounters with men as handsome as this one played in my head for a brief moment before I could really enjoy his ministrations, his free hand coming to press at my mouth in an attempt to keep me quiet. Everything he did brought nothing but pure euphoria. Yet, when I suggested returning the favour, he would simply mewl out next time… There will probably not be a next time, I cried to myself, but my cries got caught up in my throat when his lips pressed against mine once more, again and again, his body moulding into mine so perfectly they could have been made for one another. All of it was tender, gentle, loving as lovers do. It didn’t even occur to me that he would probably be gone in the morning, leaving me to wonder whether I just had a wonderful dream. 

Much to my dismay, I did wake up alone in a bed that seemed too immense, even though it was simply a double bed. However, before I could sulk at the thought of being left alone like some kind of bad hookup, like when I was nineteen, Kento walked into the room, already fully dressed in last night’s suit. 

“Your sister knows we both slept here but she thinks I slept on the sofa, so play along,” he chuckled, placing a kiss on my forehead. “Please call me.”

*

The date approached quicker than I had expected and things became chaotic amidst final preparations for the most important day of my sister’s life, according to her. She was so caught up in the rush of it all that she didn’t even ask about Kento, she barely spoke to me about anything that wasn’t her wedding - which is understandable, I thought. I would occasionally sneak out to meet up with Kento at some hole in the wall pub where we would drink a little, talk a little, kiss a little. But right when I had started to accustom myself with this new routine of seeing him every other day or so, kissing in some dark place for a while until we were separated by our own responsibilities and speaking via text message during the day - it all came to an end. The wedding day was my last chance to spend time with him before I had my flight back home. 

“You two seem to have hit it off,” my sister laughed, a little bit tipsy, the strap of her white dress falling down her shoulder. I fixed it for her with a smile on my face, realising that no matter how bitchy she gets, she’s my own flesh and all the bad blood between us seemed to boil down to mostly being pitted against one another from an early age: by our own family members, friends, people around us in general. But none of that mattered, not when she looked stunning, glowing, celebrating the love I never realised she had in her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I felt my face heat up, looking down at the way her dress flowed down her tall body. “Kento is just a nice guy.”

“If you say so,” she laughed, her face rosy, eyes wide, like that time when we were kids when we found the key to the box where our parents hid all the sweets. “I’ve known Kento for years now and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile as much.”

Curiosity getting the best of me, I peeked over my shoulder to see the man standing next to the buffet table, picking up a mini éclair and smiling like an idiot. A gorgeous idiot. An overwhelming sense of calm washed over me and I had to fight the tears from rolling down my face. Happy tears, tears of a cosmic joy I don’t think I’ve ever experienced. It’s as if the entirety of my life, all its ups and downs, all the pain was floating in a pool of salt and sage and, for once, I could allow myself some feelings. And boy, did I have a lot of those…!

“I love you, you stupid slut.” On hearing those words, the tears I had been doing such a good job at keeping at bay just gained a life of their own as I embraced my sister tightly. “I love you too, you idiot whore,” I laughed, her boobs pressing so hard against my chest I thought she was going to burst. Maybe she did, maybe she burst with love on that day. And honestly, so did I. Kento and I shared our last kiss and, before I knew it, I was on a plane back home, my bag full of memories, party favours from the wedding, cheap Japan souvenirs and Kento’s shirt he had given me as a parting gift. Everything felt different like the world had gained new weird colours I’d never seen before - colours that didn’t seem to fade even in the darkness. So many faces around me, so many stories, even here in my hometown, far smaller than Tokyo. All these stories I would never know and some of them were meant to tangle with mine.

#nanami x you #nanami smut #nanami fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagine #jjk smut

[bobfloydsbabe]

LINGER | rhett abbott x oc | chapter 2

two: something in the air

SUMMARY: Rhett Abbott is stuck. He rides bulls, works on his family’s ranch, and probably drinks more than what’s good for him. 

Lou Kinney is aimless. She never stays in one place for long, driving from state to state, and picking up odd jobs along the way.

So when she shows up in Wabang, Rhett’s life tumbles into free fall and Lou’s not sure she trusts herself to catch him. But maybe these two lost souls find exactly what they didn’t know they were looking for: each other.

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WARNINGS: angst, bull riding inaccuracies, horses/ranching inaccuracies, i don't understand american culture but i try.

WORD COUNT: 3k

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special thanks to @wkndwlff for helping me name some side characters, being a reference point to everything about the show, and for listening to me rant about this for hours on end. You're a darling!

He comes home to a dark and quiet house. There’s a candle burning in the windowsill that his Ma must’ve forgotten before going to bed. He blows it out for her, engulfing the house in blackness.

He drags his feet up the stairs, the scraping of his boots on the wooden floors sounding like a marching drum in the darkness. He shouldn’t. His Ma always told him to lift his feet, but they’re all asleep so it won’t bother them.

Not that he cares. He’s usually too drunk to see straight.

Not tonight, though.

He walks into the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror. His Ma’s been complaining about his hair for a while, but he likes it longer. It makes him look older, and it curls at the nape. The girls seem to like that there’s something to tug on and he likes it when they do.

He brushes his teeth slowly, pacing as much as the small bathroom will allow.

He spits the toothpaste out, watching as it disappears down the drain with the water. His eyes return to the reflection in the mirror, and it’s a sad sight staring back at him.

He always meant to get out of Wabang. Maybe go to college, get a degree, make something of himself that didn’t involve the ranch or his family. Make a name for himself somewhere no one knows him or expects anything from him. But all he sees now is a guy who rides bulls to win his father’s love, who’s always played second fiddle to his brother, who’s a good-for-nothing cowboy.

He turns the faucet back on and splashes water in his face, trying to wash away the pathetic boy in the mirror.

He closes his eyes and imagines getting out, but he only allows himself the indulgence for a few seconds before he turns the water off and shakes his head. The only person he can’t bear to leave behind is Amy.

When he walks back to his room, he lifts his feet. It’s only midnight, after all. Once inside, he toes off his boots, gets undressed, and falls into bed. The bedframe creaks and complains as he adjusts on the shitty mattress that should probably have been replaced a decade ago.

Placing a hand behind his head, he stares at the ceiling. He listens to the sounds of the land that surrounds him. A horse whinnying in the stables, a sleepy cough from someone in the house, the hallway clock ticking away outside his door.

His thoughts turn to Lou. She’s an outsider, yet somehow, she fits right in as if she’s been here the whole time. She knows this life. She knows ranching; she knows about bull-riding; she knows how to make small-town people, like Patty and Old Man Arthur, smile and laugh. She puts people at ease in a way only someone who’s familiar with towns like this does.

Beyond that, and the fact that she has a dog, he knows nothing about her. He doesn’t even know the color of her eyes, but he thinks they’re dark. Probably brown.

He turns on his side, the good one where his shoulder doesn’t hurt, and closes his eyes. He thinks it’ll be a while, considering he’s not drunk, but sleep takes him almost immediately.

He wakes up well-rested but sore. His shoulder is still achy and stiff, but it’s a lot more manageable, and his lack of a hangover probably has something to do with it, too.

Only his Ma is up when he comes downstairs freshly showered and dressed for the day. He pretends not to notice the shocked look on her face and appreciates that she doesn’t comment on it.

She pours coffee into a mug and hands it to him. “Thanks,” he mutters and sits at the dining table.

She leans against the kitchen counter, looking at him with skeptical eyes. “When did you get in?”

“Around midnight.”

She smiles into her coffee cup, and Rhett swears he hasn’t seen that directed at him in months.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she replies, but the smile doesn’t fade. “You just don’t smell like a distillery for once.”

“I can swim in a whiskey barrel if that helps.”

His mother laughs, and the sound bounces off the walls, filling the room with lightness. Her face has been etched with seriousness for far too long, and watching her smile sends relief flooding through his system.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs tears his attention away. Perry stops at the bottom of the stairs, watching his brother and mother in the kitchen making jokes and laughing. Rhett knows it’s a foreign sight.

“Mornin’,” Perry says, eyes slightly narrowed.

Rhett hums in response just as Amy slips under Perry’s arm and bolts for a seat at the table. Ma kisses her cheek, placing a plate of toast in front of her she tears into immediately.

Rhett ruffles her hair, and she shakes him off with a playful look on her face. Those big eyes shine with innocence and if he could bottle it up, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“Is Dad already out there?” Perry asks, as if their father hasn’t been up at the crack of dawn all his life.

Rhett shakes his head and rises from his seat, snatching a small corner of toast off Amy’s plate.

“Hey!” she protests. “Get your own.”

Royal sends him to the south pasture to check the fences. He rides along the fence, his breath comes out in a puff of hazy smoke, and enjoys the warmth of the morning sun on his face.

An unexpected sound pulls his attention. He turns his head towards it and spots Lou in the distance. She’s on horseback, Stetson on her head, and her dog running alongside her.

They make eye contact, and Rhett raises his hand in a small wave. He wants to approach, talk to her again, hear her laugh and finally determine the true color of her eyes.

She decides for him as she guides her horse, a beautiful red one with soulful eyes, towards him. Her dog falls behind, sizing him up, and Rhett has never felt more under the microscope than under the watchful eye of the black and white dog.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she says once he’s in earshot, smile wide and friendly on her face. It makes her look younger.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

Once they’re right in front of each other, he can finally tell that her eyes are brown. Deep, like the desert on the darkest night of the year. Stunning.

They ride alongside each other for a while in comfortable silence, only a fence separating them. Hooves heavy on the wet ground from a bygone rainfall he missed during his long sleep, and the jiggle of the collar on Lou’s dog as it runs ahead of the horses.

“What’s his name?” Rhett asks, mostly because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Denver,” she replies, a small smile on her face again. “I call him Denny most of the time, though.”

The dog halts at the sound of his name, looking over his shoulder at Lou and Rhett. She whistles, a different tone to the one he heard the first time he saw her, and the dog keeps going.

“You riding this Friday?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Gotta do well if I want to move up.”

It’s been on the books for weeks and yet he’s surprised she knows about it. It’s a local event, but it counts towards his score to get the regional competition.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” she replies, and she sounds so confident he almost believes it, too. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Better.”

Up ahead, Denver barks at what appears to be a stick on the ground, making Lou shake her head at him with a breathy chuckle. “Silly dog,” she mutters.

Silence stretches between them again, but it’s comfortable. He doesn’t feel the need to fill it this time. He feels Blazer’s muscles move with every step he takes, listens to hooves hitting the ground softly, Denver’s collar jiggle, and somehow the air in Wabang doesn’t feel so stifling.

Maybe he’s imagining it, though. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“You coming to the rodeo?”

He turns his head to Lou, his ears burning hot at the question he’s just asked. He expects to see a smile on her face, but her mouth is in a straight line, jaw clenched, and she’s fiddling with a loose stitch on the reins in her hands.

“I don’t know,” she finally says, barely perceptible shake of her head. “Haven’t been to one in years.”

Rhett hums. He watches as she keeps fiddling with the reins, similar to the way she picked at the label on her beer bottle last night until it was gone. Nothing but a pile of tattered paper on the counter.

“Amy’ll be there,” he tells her. “I’m sure she’d be happy to see you.”

It’s a long shot, and a cheap one at that, but he can’t help it. Something tells him it’s important she comes to the rodeo, to see him ride, and maybe even cheer for him.

“Hunter has been begging me to go,” Lou says with a ghost of a smile back on her face. Barely there but present, and his chest feels lighter. If he’s not mistaken, Hunter is the younger of the two Taylor boys.

“Now you have to go,” he says. In the distance, Denver comes to a halt and waits for them to catch up. 

“You think so?”

He grins. “I know so.”

She chuckles as she checks her wristwatch. “I have to head back,” she tells him and whistles in yet another tone that makes Denver come running to her. “I have a new client arriving in 10 minutes.”

“Yeah, alright,” he mutters.

He watches her gently pull the reins away from the fence, and her mare obediently follows the command. Lou softly kicks her heels into the horse’s rounded belly, making it set into a trot.

“See you around,” she shouts over her shoulder, waving a hand in the air.

Rhett’s eyes follow her retreating figure until she’s out of sight, swallowed by the fog that’s finally lifting, making way for bright and clear day.

The day of the rodeo rolls around a few days later. Humidity hangs in the air, with dark autumn clouds looming, threatening the possibility of a good ride for him. He silently prays for the rain to hold off until later.

Royal talks about Rhett’s stats and how many points he needs to move up as they walk towards the area for riders. Amy skips ahead of them, Perry not far behind, and his Ma seems to have gone off somewhere on her own.

“You’ll need to last those eight seconds tonight,” Royal says.

Rhett grunts as way of a reply, but his mind is miles away. There’s something different about tonight that’s setting him on edge, but it’s not the nerves he usually experiences before a ride.

Royal leaves him to get ready on his own. Rhett pulls his chaps on, secures them, grabs his gloves and safety vest, and goes to the fence to watch his opponents ride. The bulls seem wild tonight, bucking more than he’s seen any of them do in a while.

A coordinator calls his name, letting him know it’s time to get to the chute.

He slips the vest over his shoulders and as he’s securing the velcro straps on his side, Lou appears in his periphery. He’s close enough to the edge of the area reserved for riders that she can come to him, only separated by a rope.

“You came,” he says.

“Yeah,” she agrees, looking over her shoulder towards the stands. “Hunter is very convincing.”

“You should find Amy,” he tells her. “She keeps begging my brother to take her to Oak Creek for a lesson.”

The sound of Lou’s quiet laugh bounces around his chest and settles in his stomach. He can’t help the corners of his mouth turning upward.

“She’s more than welcome,” Lou says. “I just wanted to wish you good luck.”

He cocks his head slightly, eyes trained on hers. “Yeah?” She nods. “Thank you.”

The coordinator calls him again, and when he makes eye contact with him over his shoulder, Rhett knows he can’t push it any further. He looks back at Lou, and opens his mouth to say something, but she beats him to it.

“You got this,” she says, reaching up to his hat, taking hold of the brim. His breath hitches, thinking she’s going to take it off him, but she just adjusts it. Heat rushes to his cheeks.

Her hands fall back at her side as she meets his eyes. Rhett barely hears the announcer on the loudspeaker saying he’s next because the only thing that exists is him and the woman with the soft smile in front of him.

“I gotta go,” he says eventually, not sure how long has actually passed.

Lou nods, wishes him one final good luck, and turns around, heading towards the stands to rejoin the Taylors.

He weaves in and out of people and trailers to get to his chute. He tapes the glove to his hand before climbing up the ramp, easing himself down onto the bull where he wraps the rope tightly around his hand, taking deep breaths as he does. The black bull writhes in the chute, ready to buck him off as soon as he gives the go ahead.

He gives the nod of approval and the door springs open. His bad shoulder aches as he’s thrown around, but he holds on with all he’s got. Eight seconds feels like a lifetime when you’re on a bull.

He hits the sand with a thud loud enough that he can hear it over the crowd cheering, the announcer’s voice ringing in the air, and the stomping of the bull he just got tossed from.

He flexes his fingers inside the gloves before pressing his palms flat against the ground. He pushes himself up, slowly getting to his feet until he’s standing at his full height, eyes flicking towards the raging bull as it’s wrangled into a pen behind the ring. It was a mean one tonight.

He rolls his shoulders as he looks at the scoreboard, finding his name at the top. He did good, but there are more riders after him, so it’s still not a done deal. He could use the money, though. The points, too.

As he climbs over the fence to get out of the ring, his eyes turn to the stands where he sees his family still cheering for him, and he lifts his hand in a wave. Say what you will about Rhett’s family, but at least they show up at his competitions and roots for him.

The rest of the riders are halfway decent, and by the end of the night, Rhett is in second place. That new kid he can’t remember the name of beat him by the skin of his teeth, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Rhett’s still young, but it stings that this kid, who looks fresh out of high school, did better than him.

He joins up with his family, who all congratulate him. Royal gives him tips on how he can do better next time, but it sounds more like he’s reprimanding him like he did when he was ten.

Rhett knows the first prize money would have been better for the ranch, and he tries not to resent them for spending the money he’s earned by putting himself in harm’s way. Some days it’s easier said than done.

“I saw Miss Kinney,” Amy tells him, her eyes bright and smile wide. “She said I could come see her work.”

“That’s great,” he says, ruffling her hair. 

“You coming with us?” Cecilia asks, probably hoping he won’t go to the bar this time. He’s sure some part of her knows it’s a lost cause.

“Nah, I’m gonna stick around,” he says, and ignores the displeased look on his Ma’s face.

They say their goodbyes, and when they step out of the way, Lou is walking towards him. Her boots kick up dirt, her hands buried in the pockets of her jacket, and she’s taken her hair down so it frames her face.

“Hey,” he says when she gets close enough.

“I guess congratulations are in order,” she says, stopping in front of him. “Didn’t I say you could do it?”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “I didn’t win.”

“But you placed,” she points out as another rider walks past them toward the parking lot.

“You coming for a drink, Abbott?” He asks, walking backward until Rhett yells his agreement.

He turns his attention back to Lou, who’s pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and his eyes trail the movement of her hand.

“What do you say?”

She frowns, tilting her head to the side, and Rhett wants to smooth out the crinkle between her brows. “To what?”

“Wanna get a drink?”

She tilts her head further, but there’s a teasing smile at the corner of her mouth. “Only if you’re buying,” she says, spinning on her heel and starts walking towards the rows of trucks in the distance.

He shakes his head, a grin so wide it almost hurts. “Yes, ma’am,” he says and catches up to her in a few long strides.

“I carpooled with the Taylors here, so you’re driving, too.”

A/N: The next chapter is going to be all from Lou's perspective, so we get to know her a bit more. Thank you so much for reading, and don't forget to reblog if you liked it!

TAGLIST: @wkndwlff, @joaquinwhorres, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @chicomonks, @thedroneranger, @dhwanishah09, @callsign-cacti, @chickensarentcheap, @lt-bradshaw, @cherrycola27, @hismissharley13, @bradshawsbitch, @yanna-banana, @phoenixhalliwell, @rhettabbotts, @laracrofted, @everbizzare, @t-nd-rfoot, @callsign-joyride, @angelbabyyy99

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x oc #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott fic #lewis pullman #oc: lou kinney #outer range #otp: lou x rhett #fic: linger #chapter update #helenawrites #writtenbyme #mywriting #madebyme #still nervous as fuck to post this

[deejadabbles]

hi deeja! song for writing prompt: somebody else by the 1975!!

Send me a song and I'll write something for it's ~vibe~

My brain heard those first lyrics and went "Oh, pain and heart ache? Guess I'm going to put Echo through torture :) :) :)" Thank you for this, I think I actually needed to dive into some angst ;w;

Warnings for: just general heartbreak, past relationships, mentions of physical and emotional torture and explorations of trauma (takes place right after Echo's rescue), and no happy resolutions

Echo's head was still spinning.

After the harrowing escape from Skako Minor, his body was depleted, aching in a bone-deep emptiness he couldn't explain. His mind, his soul, felt like they were out of his body, hovering in empty space.

Hovering in that endless void of numbers and calculations.

"No, stop, don't go there. You're safe- you're out! Rex came back for you, Rex saved you! Everything was going to be okay."

That's the thought Echo forced into his mind. And it helped that Kix was there, by his side. The medic was a godsend. He hadn't needed to say anything, about the droids, about how feeling their cold metal on his skin made him want to scream and throw up and cry and shut down all the same time. Echo didn't need to explain, Kix had sent them out of the med bay immediately and it was only warm, human hands that examined him, that cared for him.

Even still, as he lay on the hospital bunk, he couldn't help but yearn for a certain pair of careful hands. Of loving hands. Hands that always knew how to soothe him.

"Kix," his voice barely sounded like his own, raw and sore, "I need a comm link."

The medic, who had been looking at his vitals like a hawk, met his eyes, "What's that?"

"I need to contact her, need to tell her I'm okay." 'Need to hear her voice, need to tell her I love her'

Something in the way Kix's face slid into something somber put him on high alert, like sensing a hidden enemy. Echo's body tensed as he watched Kix set his data pad aside. The look in the medic's eyes, the way he stepped towards Echo, it was like he was scared of spooking an injured tooka.

"I...don't think that's a good idea, vod."

"Why?" he didn't mean for it to come out like a growl, but there were a thousand different thoughts running through his head now. Were you okay? Was there some reason Kix didn't trust him to contact you? Was-

"Echo." Kix's tone was firm, but not unkind, and maker, the sadness and pity in his eyes made Echo want to scream. "Brother, you were gone for a long time."

'No.'

"We- everyone thought you were dead...."

'No!'

"...She thought you were dead, for a long time."

Ringing filled his ears, drowning out whatever Kix said next. His soul felt like it was drifting again, mind fading to black as realization bombarded him all at once.

Of course you had moved on. Why wouldn't you? Why would you hold on to a ghost? To a corpse?

Why would Echo be allowed any shred of his old life?

It was just another loss. Another thing they had taken from him. Another part of him that was sawed open and ripped from his person, like his limbs, his mind, his humanity.

After all this, how could he have hoped that he could still have you?

~*~

The Bad Batch was rarely on Coruscant, according to Hunter, but their ship was in need of repairs and here they were.

When Echo had mentioned a few adventures he and the 501st had at 79s, the others insisted they show him this spot, eager to unwind during their rare shore leave.

Echo was already a few drinks in when Crosshair goaded him into being the one to get their next round. "If that scomp limb doesn't get the barkeeps attention nothing will," he had said, eyeing the extremely crowded bar. Echo wanted to say Wrecker was sure to get more attention, but decided he'd take the chance to stretch his legs.

He was just in the middle of waving someone down when he saw it.

Echo would recognize that jacket anywhere, it was one of your favorite things in the world, your statement piece, and so distinctly you.

You.

You were on other side of the bar, and he felt like an idiot. How could he not think he'd run into you here? How could he have agreed to come when he knew this was your go to nightly spot?

How could he risk seeing you with him.

You were smiling, laughing at something he whispered into your ear, his arm wrapped around you warmly. You were smiling and laughing in the way Echo used to make you smile and laugh.

His body felt too tight all of the sudden, warm and sweaty and shaky, and before he knew it, Echo was bursting out the door, his body moving- running of its own accord.

Echo hadn't been aware enough to realize that you had spotted him too, not until he stopped in his tracks at the sound of your angelic voice.

Again he was moving as if someone else was controlling his body as he turned. There you were, backlit by the neon lights of the city, eyes wide, fist clenched over your heart, and your whole body was shaking.

You looked just as perfect as he remembered. More so, even.

"Echo," emotion broke the name in half when you said it, and Echo felt his body come alive. "Echo, is that really you?"

This was wrong, this was all wrong.

You were out of his reach, out of his life, gone. You were the past he couldn't wallow in. You were the love and touch and body he wasn't allowed to want. Your love and touch and body were somebody else's now.

And it wasn't fair of Echo to ruin that for you, or for that somebody else.

As much as it pained him, if you showed any signs that your heart was still his, Echo would break it, right here.

That's all he could do, for your sake, for his, and for that somebody else.

#this idea definitely got away from me! #blame it on me tapping into the angst I have planned for my Echo series #this would be kinda of a 'what if' alternate time line for that I guess lol #also I hope I got the vibe right?? the first part might not fit but I think I pulled it back with the second part #echo x reader #echo x you #tbb echo x reader #deeja writes

[regulus-blacks-lover]

The Better of Two Bad Options

From my prompt list: 17 and 30 - because they fit Reggie so well & the two prompts work so well together.

17. “I’m fine, honest.” “Let me see.” 

30. “You didn’t have to–” “I did.”

Summary: Regulus x Y/N. You find out that Regulus got the dark mark, because I love some good old Reggie angst.

Word count: 1,125

Regulus has been cold and distant ever since you and the rest of the Hogwarts students returned from the summer holiday. He barely wrote you over the break, and canceled the few plans the two of you had made. If he sees you in the great hall at meal times, he leaves the room quickly and all but vanishes by the time you make it out to the hallway.

Finally, after several weeks of always being a few paces short of catching up with him, you’re able to corner Regulus as he leaves a classroom.

“Regulus, what the f-” you begin, voice trembling with pent up rage, but you’re cut short when you see the look on his face. Emotionless and numbed out. It scares you. “Reg, hey, are you okay? Please talk to me, tell me what’s going on. I’m- I want to help.”

“Help?” He says flatly. His voice is hoarse from lack of use. “You can’t. You can’t help me.”

He’s not even looking at you. His hands are shaking slightly.

Voices echo throughout the hallway. A group of students walks by, just out of a lesson and on their way back to their common room. You notice Regulus’s brother Sirius is among them. He laughs loudly as he strides confidently by, not even giving Regulus so much as a glance.

The Black brothers had always been so different, but they’d always cared for one another, had always been close. What happened?

Your gaze falls back on Regulus. At the sight of Sirius, he’s shrunk into himself even further. He takes a step back, as if he might dart away at any moment. You can’t waste this opportunity to speak with him, especially since he’s been so avoidant. Without thinking, your hand darts out and grabs Regulus by the wrist. The sudden movement pushes his cloak sleeve up his arm slightly. You don’t want to believe what you think you see curled across his forearm.

For a moment, the two of you stand there, your eyes trained on his arm, his eyes scanning your face. Then you pull his arm closer to you, pushing the sleeve further up his arm. Your breath catches in your throat and he pulls his arm away from you like you’ve burned him.

“Regulus-” you begin, but you’re not sure what to say. The familiar rage you’ve been feeling towards him bubbles back up inside you. “Regulus,” you say again, voice stronger. “How could you do this? Why would you do this?”

He doesn’t meet your gaze. His face is void of emotion when he says, “You don’t understand.”

“You joined his forces, Regulus. Please tell me what about that I don’t understand. This is why you’ve been avoiding me ever since the summer holiday, isn’t it? Why you canceled our plans? This is why you look at me like I’m nothing whenever I see you?” Your voice had gotten louder with every word.

At this last question, Regulus’s eyes snap up to meet your furious ones. “No,” he says hastily, “No. I- Please, Y/N. I don’t- You’re not nothing to me.” It’s the first time he’s spoken to you like the Regulus you were used to.

“Then why...” you trail off, unable to speak due to your throat constricting with emotion.

He holds out his hand to you, and you take it, letting him pull you into an empty classroom. Once inside, you lean against a desk, watching him as he closes the door and then turns to face you.

“I didn’t want this, Y/N.” He began. “I would have picked a million other things, would have picked anything else, but-” he pauses, looking at you to judge your reaction. 

You try to keep your face neutral despite the anger still coursing through you. You’re afraid that if you seem too angry he won’t finish telling you what happened, and more than anything you want the truth.

“There were three of them. Death Eaters. My parents were gone, doing their usual summer travels. It was just me and Sirius at home. Just the two of us. He was upstairs. Sirius, I mean. I answered the door and in they came, the Death Eaters, wearing their cloaks and masks. They had their wands out, they didn’t leave me time to react. The biggest one pushed passed me and went for the stairs, up to where the bedrooms are. The others had me cornered. I didn’t have my wand on me, and all I could do was stand there. They said they’d been sent by Voldemort himself, to recruit me. When I refused, they gestured to the Death Eater on the stairs. Said that if I didn’t join their ranks, they’d force me to torture Sirius. They wanted me to use the Cruciatus Curse on him. They said if I joined, they’d leave him alone, he wouldn’t even have to join them.”

You listen to his story in silence. You feel sick. Regulus presses his lips together in an attempt to suppress his emotions.

“Reg, you didn’t have to-”

“I did.” He says firmly, not even letting you finish the statement.

You’re quiet for a long time, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. Finally, you reach for him. “Let me see.” You say quietly.

“I’m fine.” He says.

“Let me see.” You repeat, more firmly.

He crosses the room slowly and lets you push his sleeve all the way up his arm. You hadn’t noticed how red and irritated his skin was the first time you saw the dark mark, as if Regulus’s body was trying to reject it.

“Regulus.” You whisper, unable to think of anything else to say.

“I’m fine.” He says again, though this time he says it, his voice wavers.

“Sirius doesn’t know?” You ask, running your thumb across his irritated skin.

“Not all of it. He barely spoke to me after he found out. I can’t tell him. Can’t let him feel responsible.”

“And me?” You ask, not sure if you actually want to know the answer. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I could’ve helped you talk to Sirius, I would’ve understood, would’ve been there for you.”

“I know.” Regulus says. “I know that, and I couldn’t let you. Couldn’t bring myself to tell you because I knew you’d be kind to me and I wouldn’t be able to take it. I deserve Sirius’s hatred. I deserve your hatred.”

“No,” you say, taken aback. “Regulus... You were protecting someone you love. You did this to protect him. You don’t deserve to be hated. Please- please don’t hate yourself. Especially not for this.”

“Should I hate myself for a different reason?” Regulus asks, the smallest hint of a smile on his face.

#3 #regulus black #reg fic mine #marauders #regulus black x y/n #regulus black x reader #regulus #regulus black fic #marauders era #my writing

[foxymoxynoona]

To Kill A King (Chapter 13)

Banner and linebreaks by the talented @awrkives

Summary: What’s more charming than Prince Seokjin? Nothing, obviously. Except maybe the rotating palace guests who each smile and bow and charm in an attempt to hide their true motives. Fortunately Seokjin has a close circle of friends (well, servants) who watch his back and endure his humor and help him navigate the tumultuous seas of heartbreak, love, and an arranged marriage, not necessarily in that order. If only they had helped him keep a closer eye on his bride-to-be’s handmaiden, who arrives with her own agenda… or maybe it would have been better if he had noticed her less? One thing is certain as this royal drama of the heart plays out: there are many people competing to kill a king.

Main Pairing: Prince Seokjin x Female OC Genre: Historical Fantasy World, political conspiracy, romance Rating: 18+ Content Warnings & story tags: includes explicit sex (mxf, fxf), possibly graphic violence/injury later, love and sex triangles or uh quadrangles?, sort of e 2 l, sort of bodyguard trope, sort of arranged marriage, a lot of plotting murder (it’s literally in the title), maybe character death, grief, pining, angst, love, oral (f & m receiving), public sex, I don’t know everything yet as the story is long and still being written

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NOTE: check out the Character & Setting Cheat Sheet for a refresher on who’s who

Nasimiyu didn’t know how to feel other than smug. Word of Seokjin’s fight with Namjoon shot through the palace like the smell of fish. Nasimiyu couldn’t believe it at first. Seokjin? Throwing fists?! She saw Namjoon’s black eye on her way to the private dining room for supper –which Namjoon chose to take in his room– and Seokjin’s busted lip but still couldn’t believe it until King Dong-gun himself sank into his chair and laughed,

“Well. Who’d have thought this son would be brawling in the courtyard, eh?”

Beside him, Lady Zselyke turned up her nose and teased, with a trace of a smile, “I suppose he had to inherit something from you.”

“Besides my dashing good looks?”

“He looks more like his mother,” General Dong-suk mumbled around a forkful of food already buried in his mouth. Nasimiyu glanced at the man and quickly away, afraid of making eye contact. General Dong-suk’s reputation preceded him. The King’s younger brother was notorious for winning wars, no matter the cost, and while Nasimiyu didn’t know specifics, she did know her father thought he was both terrifying and genius. We’ll want him on our side, Prince Hamisi had said. Another reason we need to do this the right way. The last thing we need are losses along the border during the transition of power. Dong-suk is undefeatable. 

High praise from her father, who himself bragged a great deal about having the most peaceful principality in Marvono so that they had no need of war to begin with. Yet he clearly admired Dong-suk. She’d expected a scarred, muscular old soldier based on the things she’d heard and instead found herself breaking bread with a razor sharp man, crisp and clean and unemotional. It felt like he sucked the warmth from the air just by his presence. He was far, far more frightening in person than any of the people she’d met in those tavern backrooms could possibly understand. Hatred for this man had streamed from them like blood and sweat, stories of his depraved acts, his prolific use of torture to get answers, his scorched earth tactics for any boarder villages “harboring” soldiers from the other side –whether they knew it or not. Such stories had seemed impossible to pin onto one man’s shoulders, impossible to believe without some bigger outcry than a couple dozen angry youths shouting about it in Marvonese taverns, far from those borders and battles and truth.

And yet, she was glad Seokjin sat in between them. 

Nasimiyu supposed General Dong-suk had meant that as an insult to his brother, though it was a compliment to Seokjin and the beauty of his mother captured in portraits around the palace. Dong-gun laughed like he expected nothing differently from his brother and Seokjin buried his face in his food. 

Lady Zselyke smoothed it over with, “That he does, and there’s no harm in being good in the face and with an uppercut, eh?”

“What do you know about fighting, Aunt?” Seokjin asked her. Apparently this was also a joke that Nasimiyu didn’t get because Zselyke laughed fondly and waved her napkin at him.

“Oh stop. You know, I used to be right there to the side any time your father brawled, ready to clean up the mess afterwards.”

“You weren’t very good at it,” Dong-gun chuckled. “I had to learn my own way out of messes.”

“How can you say that?! I smoothed things over with your father so many times.”

“Ah, yes, with him, I suppose he was fond of you, he’d wait until you were out of sight to whip my backside so you wouldn’t be distressed.”

Nasimiyu couldn’t believe they were laughing about this, but they did. Except for General Dong-suk, who ate tidily but quickly, as if it had been weeks since his last feed but he had somewhere to be. 

“Sometimes it takes a firm hand,” he said, chasing a sip of wine. “Perhaps you needed firmer hands. Your boys did.”

Nasimiyu couldn’t help the stare out of the corner of her eye, curious how the king would take to such a jab at his parenting methods.

King Dong-gun’s voice seemed steelier as he countered, “I raised a fine soldier, didn’t I? And Seokjin will make a… king.”

“Thank you, father, I appreciate your bold, unflagging support,” Seokjin quipped and Nasimiyu wanted to kick him beneath the table but withheld. Did he really not know the right time to make a joke and the right time to abstain? No jokes could exist around that General uncle of his. 

But maybe he didn’t intend it as a joke; he didn’t have his usual bold smile as he lifted his own glass of wine. He kept blinking, like there was something in his eye. As soon as his wine glass was done, he shoveled food into his cheek like he, too, had somewhere to be. He didn’t look like a valiant champion, though earlier he’d strutted into dinner like he’d just been crowned one, and bowed low to Nasimiyu after she placed her hand in his. 

Never in a million years had Nasimiyu expected Seokjin to hear a complaint from her and go right to resolve the problem himself. A fist to Namjoon’s face! Damn, she wished she could have seen it. 

“A fine king such as yourself,” General Dong-suk said in a sharp voice that Nasimiyu saw made King Dong-gun stiffen. “He’ll go around throwing balls and punishing fops for fucking maids? Who cares? Take care of the problem or get over it, it’s a trivial matter and not something you should be brawling like a fresh pup about.”

Seokjin looked startled and rushed to clarify, “I assure you, the cause of the exchange is well in hand–”

“Maybe they’re both fucking the maid,” King Dong-gun suggested with a laugh, then quickly added, “My apologies, Princess. I forgot you were here, you’re so quiet tonight.”

“Just taking it all in,” she mumbled, but it was missed beneath Lady Zselyke insisting, “She has a sense of humor about it too, Dong-gun, don’t worry about her.” Nasimiyu saw the quickest flicker of Zselyke’s eyes in her direction but didn’t understand the meaning of it. And she most certainly would not have a sense of humor about Seokjin fucking any maid, particularly hers.

“I am confident he is not,” she said coolly, and smirked at Seokjin in the hopes people would see it and murmur. Seokjin gave her the smallest smile but it was like something pressed heavily down on him. She wished he would take more pride in his own fight!

“Besides, I think it’s admirable,” Lady Zselyke rushed on to cover Nasimiyu’s response. “When there’s an issue, you go right to solve it. No skulking around waiting for someone else to handle it or hope it will handle itself. It’s the proper way to deal with things, isn’t that right, Dong-suk?”

Honestly Nasimiyu couldn’t believe Zselyke had addressed him at all, much less so casually. She seemed to puff herself up further as Dong-suk looked at her, wine glass steady in his hand. Nasimiyu couldn’t decide whether it was stupid or admirable.

“I don’t believe you wish to hear how I deal with things,” Dong-suk said, looking away from Lady Zselyke like she no longer interested him in the least. He gestured brusquely to a servant to clear his plate away. 

King Dong-gun chuckled, “Here to tell me how you’d run things differently if it was your ass in my seat?”

“I don’t need to tell you,” General Dong-suk said, and didn’t look at his elder brother either. “There’s no point in wasting our breath, I don’t want your chair.”

“Yes, good, it’s molded to my ass.”

“And his will fit?” Dong-suk asked with a gesture towards Seokjin. Flippant. Unimpressed. With one sentence Nasimiyu understood precisely what uncle thought of nephew. Not that she had expected anything different. 

“I’ve already started my special diet to gain the weight,” Seokjin mumbled under his breath. Nasimiyu had never seen him so… wilted. He couldn’t even endorse his own jokes. Everyone else at the table ignored him.

Lady Zselyke sniffed, nose in the air, “King Dong-gun has done a fine job molding Seokjin into a prince who will rule well when the day comes, but that day will not be for a very, very long time.”

“You think so?” General Dong-suk asked evenly. Nasimiyu bit her lip in an effort not to react. She kept her head down, shocked to hear the brother of the king so brazenly suggest, “There are a dozen plots to take his head today alone and you think he will stay king for a very long time?”

“Dong-suk,” Zselyke scolded, her voice soft.

King Dong-gun rolled his eyes and laughed, “You exaggerate, little brother. Maybe four, maximum. I am not nearly terrible enough to warrant that many plots.” Something harder came into his voice as he added, “Not as terrible as you would have me be.”

“‘Terrible’ is a clever choice of word, old brother,” Dong-suk returned. “It can mean many things. To be feared, respected. That would keep you alive.”

“He’s a good king,” Zselyke argued. “The people–”

“The people,” Dong-suk laughed, cold and empty sounding. “The only good king to the people is a dead one. There is no wisdom in trying to be a good king for the people, they will always want something other than what you provide, and should they get it anyway, they will immediately want something else instead.”

“And yet here I sit,” Dong-gun said, and lifted his wine glass for a sip. 

Nasimiyu startled as something brushed her leg –Seokjin’s hand. He gave a look, but she wasn’t sure what he was trying to convey to her.

“Ignoring my warnings.”

“I heed your warnings,” Dong-gun argued. “The legitimate ones. We have the Destin rebellions under control–”

“It’s not Destin you should be worried about, they’re nothing, a ragtag band of nobodies. Embarrassments, every one of them.” 

“The whole principality?” Seokjin mumbled. He glanced over his shoulder, smiling, like he thought at least his footman or bodyguards would laugh, but he’d said it so quietly, probably they couldn’t even hear him. Seokjin was afraid, that seemed obvious, and Nasimiyu –despite feeling the same– found herself disappointed by him. This was his own uncle. Surely you should at least be brave against your own family? If you weren’t, who else could be?

His uncle only spared a disgusted flicker of his gaze and forged ahead, “It’s not Destin you should concern yourself with. Cut them off with one clean slice, it can be done in an hour.”

“And how many dead would it be?” King Dong-gun asked with a shake of his head.

“Numbers do not matter at a time like this. What number is order worth?”

“How many lives is my reign worth, do you mean?” King Dong-gun clarified, a nuance of language that clearly did not amuse Dong-suk. But Nasimiyu found herself briefly fascinated… was Dong-gun saying he would not take extreme measures to curb a rebellion because he did not consider the loss of lives worth it for a threat against his life? Was that really what he was saying? Nasimiyu was sure she must be misunderstanding, filling in blanks since the two of them argued about political things she only knew crumbs about. 

“I’d say at least five,” Seokjin said. And, further baffling to Nasimiyu, King Dong-gun burst into laughter.

“Come, son, at least ten!”

“Let’s call it seven.”

“Idiots,” Dong-suk sighed, letting his eyes close. “Every one of you, idiots.”

“And it’s already been two,” King Dong-gun said, smiling at his brother. But then the chuckle died away as his words caught up to everyone, maybe even himself. The smile remained but it looked more threatening than amused now. “I’ve lost a wife and a son, brother. You would have my other son?”

“I don’t want Seokjin on the lines,” Dong-suk scoffed. “I’ve seen him brawl. I’d take his fucking valet before I’d take him anywhere.”

“That is what it would cost me to give you the war you ask for. How could he face his people if he did not go to fight, as his brother did? And yet…”

Nasimiyu’s eyebrows raised. She glanced at Seokjin, her only near-ally in this, curious if he knew what war was being asked for. This was the first she had heard of war as a current event other than the unrest in Destin and maybe an occasional skirmish along the border in Therepin. 

“I don’t ask for a war but the means to stop one before it begins.”

Nasimiyu felt herself getting twisted up. It certainly sounded better to stop a war before it began. The ‘Therepin Border Skirmishes’ had happened during her lifetime but she had been young and shielded, raised on the far side of Yeonhalbi from the battles. Marvono sent soldiers but not too many, not anyone within reach of her. 

“You grow idle, brother,” King Dong-gun said, his knife scraping noisily against his plate as he cut his steak. “Without war, you have no purpose, is that how you feel? I can put you to other tasks.”

“Destin? You won’t let me do what needs to be done.”

“I’m handling Destin.”

“I am your general, I should handle it all.”

“A rather bothersome one,” King Dong-gun scoffed. “I can’t even eat the steak I requested just for you without you nipping my ear off about war this, death threat that. Your job is to end wars, not monger them. Get a wife or a hobby and stop trying to kindle unrest. If war erupts along the border–”

“I will have warned you!” General Dong-suk shouted and slammed his fist on the table. It was a sudden and explosive outburst after he’d maintained such tight composure. Steady. Menacing by subtlety, not volume. Now Nasimiyu suspected he could do both. “If you continue to ignore the threats along the border… Your people there suffer. Unrest grows. You grow fat and lazy in your capital by the sea and the people will come for you.”

“Find another way. That is my final word.”

“It may very well be, Dong-gun.” Dong-suk rose from the table and gave the king and Lady Zselyke both a withering stare, as if she’d had much to say in it. His gaze slid blindly over Seokjin, who clearly had no merit for Dong-suk. Nasimiyu leaned back, feeling the briefest moment of Dong-suk’s eyes on her –it couldn’t have been but a second. 

Perhaps Dong-gun saw it too, or maybe he had decided to try and drive the dismissal home further; he laughed, “Ah, did you meet Prince Hamisi on your way here, by chance? He’s gone south, I believe. I’ll be curious to hear what he reports about the people there and whether things are really as bad as you say. But I’m afraid you won’t find support for your war from him. He’ll laugh in your face before he sends soldiers from Marvono to die simply because you’re bored.”

“I’ve never met the man in my life and if he sells his daughter to this idiot family, I don’t care to.” 

The private dining room was perfectly silent for a solid minute in the wake of his departure. For that reason, Nasimiyu thought it a ridiculously dramatic exit –but he had totally cleared his plate in remarkable speed, so maybe his only purpose at dinner had been to quickly eat and try one more time to continue this argument he and his brother had clearly broken off earlier. Nasimiyu regretted not knowing more. If the borders were full of unrest again and it posed a threat to the crown, that would be her problem to solve someday, possibly someday soon. 

But it was also confusing because… well, her father hadn’t mentioned there was the risk of war along the border, nor rebellion from Yeonhalbian people. There was that remark her father had made, which Nasimiyu was proud of herself to recollect now, that he felt King Dong-gun’s ways of doing things led to the borders needing protecting, of also that he thought many people wanted King Dong-gun dead. Was that what General Dong-suk had meant…? It was annoying, feeling like she was short a few cards to understand what they were talking about. It further annoyed her that Lord Namjoon probably could have filled her in on everything and given her a reliable account of whether General Dong-suk really was as out of hand as rumor had it. 

She could ask Seokjin, of course. Of course. She wanted to laugh at the idea. Seokjin had his face down in his bowl of soup and couldn’t have looked less interested in discussing politics. She never got the sense he knew much about anything, despite getting to sit in council. He just took it for granted to know what they were talking about, even though the outcome of a dinner argument like this could change the future of Yeonhalbi. Even his own future! If war did happen, Seokjin would either have to go fight or rule as his father went to die instead. Dong-gun didn’t seem like the self-sacrificing type…

For a moment, war loomed up as a real thing, more than it had ever felt before. She’d thought of war as undesirable but sometimes a necessity, but never stopped to consider who made the call about whether it was necessary or not. Probably you decided which way –war or no war– would lead to fewer deaths and better long-term outcomes… but for whom? For the monarch wanting to maintain their crown? Or the people who lived in the warzone? 

War hadn’t touched Marvono since the uniting of Yeonhalbi. The nation to the north was quiet, peaceful, their relationship good with Marvono and the borders never contested –partially because they were a relation. Prince Hamisi had no sons to send to the Therepin Border Wars, even if he’d wanted to, and daughters were never expected to be soldiers. War didn’t hurt people like them. 

But Nasimiyu would have her own children someday, likely sons and daughters both. It would be honorable for her sons to serve in a necessary war, but how necessary would a war have to be for her to be willing to send them? 

Seokjin leaned close to her and said in what seemed to have been intended as a whisper, “Sorry about that. Family… you know how it is. I almost wish we’d go back to talking about my fight…”

“My family doesn’t have quite the… characters yours does,” Nasimiyu whispered back, aware that at least Lady Zselyke was listening closely to her. King Dong-gun had called his footman over and was telling him about some meeting he wanted to have the next day now, and also to let him know if Dong-suk left the palace at any point.

“No? No heated debates at dinner about who wants to kill you or what wars to wage?”

“No, never,” Nasimiyu said, and didn’t keep the wistfulness from her voice, though she knew she’d sounded critical a moment ago. She wanted to sound critical, because this had all seemed so inappropriate, but truthfully, she wanted in. She wanted to know. She wanted to be one of the ones having to make even those difficult decisions about what was right and how to help people best. She would have loved if her father included her in those debates around the dinner table –war, ethics, philosophy, danger, whatever! If he had, maybe she wouldn’t have felt compelled to seek it out herself –and she never would have met Dulce. 

“Ah, your father loves you more than mine,” Seokjin said loudly. “He wanted to protect you from it all.”

King Dong-gun shook his head and argued, “Why do you think we ate privately in here tonight? Sometimes you have to let the stink air out for a few days. I would have done you a disservice to hide the shit of ruling from you. Someday you’ll be the one fanning the stench out.”

“Not for a long time!” Lady Zselyke bubbled over, and downed the remnants of her wine. “Honestly, all this talk of death and war and–”

“There there, Zelly, don’t you worry about it. Suk and I will make up in a few hours. He knows I’ll never give my permission and I know that he manages to get it done another way and everything will be fine.”

“But if the borders really are unquiet–”

“They’re not. Ask Namjoon, wherever he’s sulked off to hide. Why don’t you ask him, Seokjin? While the two of you fix whatever this was?”

Seokjin’s brow lowered as he said, “That… isn’t likely to happen.”

“You don’t have to like him, but you do have to find a way to work with the people in position to best help you.”

“I don’t need his help. Not someone like him.”

“You’ll have to let go of this idea of liking people,” King Dong-gun continued. “It leaves you worried about whether people like you, and once you care about that, you’re damned.”

Seokjin gave his father a wide grin and promised, “Well I’m safe there, I’ve never worried about that.”

“Good. Because the rest of your life is going to be spent working with people you hate, and arguing with people you care for. You think you’re always going to see eye to eye with me? Or your advisors? Even your wife… her father… it’s harder to hold your ground with people like that but you have to.”

Seokjin looked stunned. Nasimiyu wasn’t sure why. At first Seokjin struggled to find the words, before he pressed, “You think I should stand my ground? You believe I’ll have the right way of things–”

“Well you’d better figure it out eventually,” King Dong-gun laughed and Seokjin visibly deflated. “Otherwise the people around you will figure it out for you, but no one except the king can ever see all there is to see. It’s your uncle’s job to ask for what he wants to get the job done in the easiest way, and it’s my job to tell him no, to get it done in the best way. Get good at telling people no, Seokjin. Zselyke, let’s go for a walk, I need to get some unkind words about my brother out of my mind.”

In only a moment, Nasimiyu and Seokjin were alone in the dining room, silent and still though neither touched another bite. 

Eventually Seokjin snorted, “Won’t it be a sight to see if my uncle has to answer to me someday? I know you’re thinking it. How in the world am I going to hold someone like that in line?” He shook his head and for a moment looked so sincere and open and casual –except this time instead of putting Nasimiyu off, she felt like he’d reached a hand out to her. Vulnerable, but in a good way. Like he’d gestured to his uncle and said this is a problem we’ll have to address as king and queen someday, how do you think we should do it?

“He’ll have to listen to us, or he’ll lose his head,” she suggested.

“Us,” Seokjin insisted and his grin grew. Nasimiyu’s eyes narrowed. But instead of saying exactly the wrong thing, which is what she expected, he nodded, “Yes, all right. You’ve managed your father, haven’t you? Is he anything like that? You’ll be an asset on the throne.”

Nasimiyu was not sure she had managed her father but insisted, “Of course I have. It’s wise of you to… to recognize that. That I would be an asset, I mean.” She paused. “Do you mean that?”

“That you would be an asset?”

“That you would have me by your side. In council or ruling or dealing with… problems,” she clarified. 

“The king always takes his queen into confidence–”

“I mean openly. Not a listening ear as you dress for bed but a partner in–”

Seokjin laughed and Nasimiyu bristled, but once again his words surprised her as he insisted, “I get the feeling I couldn’t keep you out if I tried, but I wouldn’t pick that fight. If you show a head for politics, at least that would make one of us.”

“Even though it would be breaking with tradition,” she said, standing because he did, trying to sound calm as a surge of energy bubbled in her chest. “If I did more than just plan balls and suppers and–”

“I hope life with me can be good for you, Nasimiyu. If you’d rather do this or that, it’s yours. I don’t care if you don’t want to plan balls. Zselyke can keep doing that since she likes it so much. If you want to be involved with council and hold court, we do that together, or you take it over, I sure don’t mind. Maybe we’ll actually be good at it all together. Yes, Jimin, I’m going in for the night, can you tell Drin I’m not sparring after all? I think I got my workout in today.”

“What are you going to do about Namjoon?” Nasimiyu asked before he could disappear.

Seokjin hesitated, then asked, “Well what do you think I should do? Did I do enough? My father thinks I need to just learn to work with him, but…” He sighed deeply and looked away. “A guy like that…”

“May be of use to us,” Nasimiyu decided. “I think you’ve done enough for now. Hopefully he will behave himself, and if not, we’ll send him away. Besides, he’d probably take Mindeulle with him but I’d like to keep her here.”

“I’m glad you’ve made friends with her.”

“I’m glad you took my complaint about Namjoon seriously,” she said, feeling benevolent. “Thank you, Seokjin.” He gave her an indecipherable look, chased away quickly by his typical smile.

“Always, my princess.”

Nasimiyu’s spirits lifted as she returned to her room, yanked back and forth between the fight for her sake and the appearance of this frightening possibly-war-criminal uncle, but then Seokjin’s easy acceptance of her value in ruling this country. It had never occurred to her that Seokjin might just… let her. Sure, it was possible he’d still be in the way. But… maybe not. There might be value in having the “true King” in the wings as she ruled, to keep the loyalty of those who actually did support the Kim line. Namjoon certainly wasn’t going to have that honor now. And while Nasimiyu wasn’t sure exactly how many children she planned on having –because honestly the whole ordeal sounded rather unpleasant and also frustrating because why couldn’t a queen rule on their own rather than worrying about heirs to take it from her– maybe she would enjoy having daughters. She’d never have to send them to war, and no one would expect her to turn the crown over to them simply because a male ruler took priority over a female one. And Seokjin was handsome; probably he would lend himself well to beautiful daughters. He might be a loving father and could see after their care while Nasimiyu ruled. And he had fought his cousin at the drop of a word from her, and he had been very good in bed.

For a moment she thought to invite him back into it. Why not? He’d done well and deserved a reward and so did she. But he had already gone, and she didn’t feel like chasing him down. She would just send for Dulce instead and let her earn her affection back.

Besides, she shouldn’t totally lose her head about Seokjin. She wasn’t sure she wanted to change their plans and keep him around… but maybe they ought to think more about this before they did anything so final as kill him. At least not yet… 

Although Nasimiyu recognized –and perhaps this made the potential change of plans both more and less appealing– her father would not abide by it. Could she tell her father no any more than Seokjin could his uncle?

Dulce had volunteered for the laundry that afternoon and stayed hidden when Nasimiyu sent for her after dinner –easy enough when Taehyung invited her along to the nearest tavern the staff liked to frequent. Probably the head maid and Nasimiyu would give her hell later but she wouldn’t regret the evening drinking and playing cards with Taehyung, Jimin, and several other staff who seemed to warm to her since Taehyung had her under wing. He seemed to charm people on first meeting. It was wild to Dulce that no one suspected he was royal –not that she believed royals were actually born better than anyone else, but if such a thing existed, he sure had it. Seokjin had the looks for it but he was too…

“Involved,” Jimin had sighed as they walked back to the palace together late in the night. Dulce had thought soft or foolish but involved seemed right as well. With quite a bit of alcohol now warming her blood, Dulce nodded at Jimin’s rant, his tongue loosened by a few shots too many. “What’s he doing throwing punches with Namjoon in the middle of the courtyard? He’s got other things to be worried about right now, like his wedding!” 

Jimin had not been there for the fight. He’d arrived late, too late to hear Seokjin shout at his cousin: Keep your fucking hands off Dulce!

She shuddered. Her name didn’t belong in the prince’s mouth. It always sounded wrong. His concern for her was misplaced. Her business was none of his. And while she didn’t know how the fuck he’d found out, she did not need some knight in velvet and jewels rallying to her defense. 

“Yeah,” she agreed, realizing Jimin was waiting for her to say something. 

“He’s so eager to impress your mistress though,” Jimin continued. “I worry he’d do anything for her at this point. At dinner it sounded like it all had something to do with Nasimiyu… she had a problem with Namjoon?”

So Jimin didn’t know.

“I don’t know,” Dulce admitted. “I wasn’t with her. I only showed up at the end of the fight.”

“With Taehyung.”

“Yeah.” 

“You two are getting… close.”

Dulce arched her eyebrow and asked, “Are we? Says… Taehyung?”

Jimin laughed and admitted, “I know him too well to trust anything he says. But last time he invited you along, you didn’t join and this time you did.”

“Last time was for a fuck, this was for a game of cards.”

“Yeah, beginner’s luck,” Jimin grumbled because he’d lost and badly. Dulce had won just enough to not seem suspicious, but the men had made a big fuss out of it, like she’d never played cards before, like she needed to be coddled. Because she was a woman. And apparently that made you less good at cards or something? They were all terrible; it was a challenge to lose.

“Everyone in this palace worries too much about who’s fucking who,” she told him, assuming he was trying to clumsily ask if she and Taehyung were fucking, or maybe if she wanted to fuck, or if fucking was off the table.

“Be nice, it’s all they have to do,” Jimin laughed. “It’s Priva! The capital of the world! Live in Priva –live in the palace of Priva– and enjoy infinite wealth, splendors out your ass, nonstop fun!” he shouted, his voice echoing around the empty yard as they crossed it.

Dulce tried not to smile at his drunk antics and gave him a friendly shove, scolding, “Be quiet, you’re a public nuisance.”

“Even the staff here live the life of dreams!”

“If you’re so miserable, leave.”

“I’m not miserable, I love my job. Taehyung’s the one shoveling horse shit, I just fluff collars and make sure the pets get fed and tell people the prince isn’t in his room when he’s got a comic he wants to read,” Jimin corrected. 

“Yes, sounds awful.”

“I know what awful is. I know I have it good,” Jimin corrected. “You have it good.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t you?”

“Sure,” Dulce said.

“Is the princess good to you? They say you can tell a lot about someone by how they treat their staff. What does it tell us about the princess, hm? Will she be a good queen, Dulce? What will the world look like when we’re shining the shoes of the people in charge?”

He was drunk and rambling and thinking big thoughts but Dulce wasn’t in the mood to follow. And certainly she would never get so drunk as to start spilling secrets, even Nasimiyu’s. Not only could she hold her liquor better than that, she’d never let herself drink that much. He laughed when she said nothing.

“Enigmatic Dulce.”

“Big word for a Destin.”

“Ha! Classist!”

“Paloman. I believe we’re beneath you in education so I’m punching up.”

“We’re trash people from trash principalities, it’s true,” Jimin sighed. “I don’t have much lost love for my homeland but Prince Seokjin will do right by them. He promised.”

“Hm.”

“He seems to like you, maybe he’ll be a good benefactor to Paloma too.”

“I’m not sure he could find it on a map.”

She hadn’t meant to say that part, but it set Jimin off in a peal of laughter that had him stumbling on the stairs. She felt obligated to see him to his room, which he made a big show of thanking her for, bowing low and kissing her hand, then giving her a gentle tug to see if she’d follow him into his private room. Because of course he got a private room, lucky ass. Why didn’t she get a private room?

But Dulce didn’t feel like fucking anyone right now. Sex would be a chore, despite Jimin’s good looks. The alcohol made her numb and there was too much drama and she was annoyed and not in the mood to be exposed in any way with anyone. 

So she declined, pinching Jimin’s ear when he pouted about it. She’d walked away before realizing at least she could have slept in his room, away from so many people. Maybe she ought to have taken him up on it but then “fallen asleep drunkenly” before they could get their clothes off.

This regret mixed with the others from the day, from the past few days, and she felt her spirits sink the further she walked from Jimin and his bright presence. Even his complaints seemed more like bragging and gratitude; he was dedicated to the Prince thoroughly, even when smashed. He belonged here.

Dulce got that bubbling feeling under her skin again, the same one that had made her freeze earlier when Seokjin had said that, making it clear she’d stupidly stepped into a trap without noticing. A feeling that, to be honest, she had been trying to ignore for a while now:

Get out of here.

The strains of that warning threaded through just about every encounter she’d had since she arrived here. She didn’t belong in this palace, with these people, with Nasimiyu, anywhere in sight of this Prince with the walking target on his forehead that he’d practically painted there himself. And what was she doing this all for, to protect a family who hadn’t even tried to find her when she left? No, why would they? All anyone cared about in her family was themself and their own interests. Everything she’d learned about her family as a child was just a lie. It was all a lie, all the good things in the world…

Realizing she was too tired and more than a little drunk and probably going to get in a fight with the other maids when she crept into the sleeping quarters, she took a detour to the kitchen instead. Might as well get some food and water to clear her mind.

It was so late the kitchens were actually quiet, which only happened for a couple hours in the middle of the night, and even then, there was no guarantee that no one would ring the bell with some midnight demand to rouse the overnight staff.

Perhaps that had happened because she heard voices deep in the kitchen, too muffled to make out until she drew close. The door to the outside swung shut as Yoongi turned to her, a bleary look to his eyes.

“Are you cooking?” she asked with confusion because there was no food out. 

“Just finished,” he said, gesturing to the dishes piled in the sinks, ready for the washers in the morning. “Did you come for food or company?”

“Food.”

“Had enough company already?” he pressed. “You smell like a tavern.”

“That is probably because I was in one.”

“Really? Didn’t take you for the going out type,” Yoongi mused, beginning to rummage. 

“I can find something, you don’t have to.”

“I don’t want you digging around, just sit.”

“I go out,” she belatedly answered. “Sometimes.” She watched his back as he found bread and butter and a bowl of small berries she wasn’t familiar with.

“Me too, when I’m avoiding someone.”

“Who said I was avoiding someone?”

“Were you?”

“What is that berry?”

“They’re called cloudberries,” he explained as she picked from the bowl to inspect. She’d never seen anything like the misshapen orange sphere before. “They’re imported.”

“Too expensive to feed a maid,” she pointed out before popping it into her mouth. She felt very comfortable with Yoongi right now. She didn’t want to but it couldn’t be helped. Sometimes it was lonely, never getting close to anyone. She couldn’t get close to him either but she could settle into a corner with him in a different way than she could with Nasimiyu or with Jimin or Taehyung and somehow all these little pieces of herself she showed in flashes to different because it was human nature to crave connection had to be enough.

No, it was enough!

She didn’t need more than that.

“The king won’t know and the prince won’t mind,” Yoongi assured her. 

“You might be surprised…” she mumbled. 

“Who are you avoiding?”

“No one,” she answered again, glare brief in Yoongi’s direction because he had fed her, after all. 

A thud against the outside wall made them both look over and Yoongi sighed.

“Does someone need you?”

“Are you avoiding… Namjoon?” Yoongi asked. Even before she could roll her eyes he pressed on in an almost deadpan voice, “Did he cause you harm or take advantage of you in any way that makes you feel unsafe?”

For a moment she just looked at him, not sure why the look or voice. He looked like someone had a dagger to his throat, forcing him to ask the question.

Then an idea came to her. She set the bread down before she’d even had a bite, and pushed away from the counter, marching over to the door that led to the outside and threw it open.

Prince Seokjin stood just outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed although he straightened immediately at the rush of the door.

She looked back at Yoongi and demanded, “Really? You’re voiceboxing for him? If you have a question, Prince Seokjin, you can ask it to my face.”

“I…” He looked startled and she belatedly recognized her own inappropriate intensity and familiarity. The alcohol might not make her divulge secrets, but there had been a lot of it, and it did make her a little…loose. Informal. Irritable. 

Just as quickly, he cleared his throat and asked with all the propriety of a lord asking a lady for a dance, “Did he hurt you?”

“No!” she scoffed and strode back into the kitchen to get her food. He followed, as she suspected he would.

“I don’t mean to offend you by asking the question–”

“You do offend me. Who I fuck is none of your business.”

He blinked rapidly, maybe at her language, and assured her, “Yes, I– yes, of course it’s not, but– except that I wanted to make sure–”

“You wanted to make sure,” she repeated, grabbing the hunk of bread. “So instead of asking me, you brawled in the courtyard and then shouted my name, associating me– spreading my private business–”

“I suspected he had– Nasimiyu told me– I only wanted to protect you,” he said, and recoiled as if he had tossed her a hot potato and suspected she would throw it back in his face.

“To protect me,” she repeated in utter disbelief.

“He’s a lord and you’re a… a maid.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I don’t mean it as an insult,” he hurried to say. “But it wouldn’t be the first time someone used their title to take advantage of a woman who– who might feel as if no one cares or that there is no justice to be had.”

“Noble of you. Do you run around fighting everyone who does such a thing? Before there is even a complaint from the woman?”

“I… well…” He clearly floundered for words and Dulce bit into the bread because she felt too loud herself and didn’t like it. She was furious, she realized about herself. She didn’t even fully understand why, except that this man had done something stupid and she was furious about it. “I don’t often have it brought to my attention,” he stammered out. “If I did, yes, of course I would defend any woman who needed it.”

“This one didn’t.”

“Well…”

“Not every woman is a damsel in distress.”

“Yes, certainly, of course not. And I’m no knight,” he offered, smiling with that supplicating grin like he hoped he could soothe her anger with a joke. 

“I don’t think a knight would shout a woman’s private affairs right in the middle of the courtyard–”

“What did you shout?” Yoongi asked, eyes going wide. “You didn’t mention that part.”

“I– well, you see, it was just– ah, you know how it goes when you have a fight and your blood is pumping and the nerves, maybe you don’t think through everything… I don’t know what I said, I don’t think it was important…”

“It was private,” she said, lowering her voice, lowering her eyes, playing into the very image of demure lady she realized he expected of her. Soft little sweet maid. Quiet. Unassuming. Violated.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just– I know him, and I don’t want him taking advantage of you– or anyone! But especially–” 

Yoongi coughed and pounded on his chest so Dulce didn’t hear what Seokjin said. 

“I mean that I’m sorry I said anything. I’m sorry I got involved in your affairs, it just never occurred to me that you would… I mean that you…”

“That I have sex?” she blurted out. “I do. I have sex. I’m not this blushing virgin maid you seem to think I am! You don’t have to come swooping in to fight off men for me.”

“Well I just– in the city that day, those men were bothering–”

“I could have taken care of them too! I don’t need your help!”

“Yes of course not,” he said, and pinched his cheek and turned away. “Of course you don’t. You um… you have feelings for him and it’s not my right to interfere–”

“Your idea of women is so…”

Yoongi held his hand up to her, an interruption that gave her just the pause she needed to realize she was saying too much. Expressing too much. She was just so mad that he of all people could so greatly misunderstand her. Underestimate her! And the infuriating thing was that she couldn’t actually even tell him the truth! That she’d been thinking of–

NO, not that truth! That she had murdered–

No, not that one either! That she could kill if she needed to, that she could defend herself–

“Sometimes women have sex for fun,” Yoongi informed Seokjin. “It doesn’t have to be profound.”

Seokjin’s face had turned a deep shade of scarlet, his ears practically emitting flames in the low light of the kitchen lamps, as he stammered, “Yes, of course, I know that. I just meant– I didn’t realize it was your way of passing the time– but that’s fine! I’m not here to judge. I just misunderstood but it was– it was a good faith mistake! I just want to make sure you feel safe and happy here. Namjoon is known to have– well there was this business before where he inserted himself into the wrong woman– I mean situation!” he cried. “Honestly the fight wasn’t even about you, we go way back, I’ve had problems with him and how he treats women for a long time.”

Yoongi swept crumbs from the counter where her abandoned bread sat hardening, and mumbled, “I don’t know, maybe he treats them well…”

“You aren’t helping here,” Seokjin said, the only thing he’d managed to say that didn’t sound like a stuttering, stumbling mess.

“I fed her, helpful,” Yoongi countered. “You overstepped, so just say you’re sorry and move on.”

“I’m sorry, move on,” Seokjin said, then covered his face and cried, “Fuck, I meant–” 

Dulce genuinely couldn’t believe this guy, so worked up about her anger that he clearly couldn’t think straight. She hated herself for wanting to laugh at what he’d said. It was funny, if he’d meant it as a joke. She hated how much she liked that he told jokes at the worst times. But she was furious with him! Mortified! Ashamed! How dare he say something funny right now!

“I would love to move on but now I might lose my job because of my private… happenings,” she said. Not entirely true, but not totally a lie, and she couldn’t let go of her anger so easily. 

“You won’t,” Seokjin said, as if he had any control of it. “There’s no way Nasimiyu would lose you over this. Just because you have terrible taste in men doesn’t mean–”

“Jin…” Yoongi mumbled.

“Well she deserves to know– you deserve to know he’s not a good man. Maybe it’s just sex, I don’t know, that’s your– that’s your own private affair, but you should know he’s not a good man so don’t expect anything good from him.”

“Stop worrying about me!”

“Yes, right, fine, I’ll just turn it off!” he said, throwing up his hands. “I’m sorry I tried to be a decent man.”

“You have bigger things to worry about than the sex life of a maid,” she huffed. “I didn’t ask for your help or your worry or your– your saving or whatever you thought you were doing!”

“Yes, I see that now. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. I’ll just mind my own business. Pretend I don’t even know you.”

“You don’t know me!” she pointed out. 

He didn’t say anything. Just threw his hands up and walked out the door of the kitchen into the yard. It enraged Dulce. She felt a nearly-impossible-to-ignore urge to chase after him and grab his arm because how dare he just walk off during an argument? Nearly, but not quite; she stopped herself because Yoongi was there, and the sight of him was enough to sober her the pinch she needed to realize she was behaving like a drunk lunatic. She never lost control like this. She never bickered like this! There was no point! Bickering gave someone else power over you. Needing to have the last word or prove a point or correct someone’s thinking meant you cared, and she didn’t have space to care –certainly not about what some stupid prince who was going to die anyway thought about her. Who gave a shit if he thought she was fucking around? Who gave a shit if he thought she was inexperienced and shy and helpless? Who gave a shit what he thought at all?

She’d shouted at him. She’d shown too much, cared too much, let her feelings take over in a way that made everything a thousand times more embarrassing. She’d shouted at the crown prince. And Yoongi had witnessed the whole thing.

Cover cover cover!

“I’m drunk,” she told Yoongi, not a lie. She let her eyes get really wide and asked, “Do you think he’ll have me thrown in prison for talking to him like–”

“If you want him to stop infantilizing you, you should stop it with the eyes,” Yoongi dismissed her with a gesture. 

“What?” She was genuinely surprised. No one had ever cut so sharply through that sort of thing with her before.

“Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re doing it on purpose.”

“Doing what on purpose?”

“Interfering.”

“Interfering with what?” she asked, her confusion genuine because what could he possibly mean by that?! Interfering with… “With the Prince and Lord Namjoon? It’s not a secret they hate each other but why would anything I do with Lord Namjoon have anything to do with the other? It was just alcohol-induced sex after the ball! Fucking isn’t always that deep!”

“Ah, he’d have a quip for that,” Yoongi snickered. Dulce didn’t know if that meant she’d managed to clear his suspicions that she was up to something. But honestly, to think she’d fucked Namjoon as a way to… to what? To piss off Nasimiyu, if anything!

“I don’t know what you’re accusing me of doing.”

“Nothing,” he said. “I don’t either. Why don’t you head off though? Take your bread. Damn, what a mess.”

“The crumbs?” she asked, knowing it wasn’t the crumbs, knowing that apparently he didn’t buy the innocent act. And Seokjin had bought it too much. And she was angry about him buying the very act she had fed him and for why? Because he’d believed it so much he was willing to fight a man about it? That couldn’t really truly actually be the reason he’d fought Namjoon and yet… 

She took her bread and the cloudberries and left, but the berries tasted too sweet right now, like they’d make her sick. 

The first person to ever fight for Dulce and it had to be him?

What a mess.

“He was on duty when he disappeared?” Dong-gun asked, looking down his nose at Jungkook as Seokjin stood by. Jungkook nodded, glancing at Seokjin for confirmation. The remaining three men of Seokjin’s bodyguard rotation stood by, with a space in between where Edmung ought to be. Five, five men who followed Seokjin around the clock, even stood outside to do nothing but wait when he slept or pissed or attended council. Even checked the washroom before he entered if it was outside his own chamber. And fuck him if he had bubble-guts or something and needed to spend some extra time in there, because they just stood there on the outside, waiting, knowing.

The guards had been assigned to him since that time he’d been just about assassinate years ago, but Seokjin didn’t complain about it anymore because the truth was he dodged them all the fucking time so it wasn’t too much of a burden. Jungkook wound up with an unfair balance of shifts because Jungkook was the one he was least inclined to dodge. But Alonzo, Muhtar, and Marks were old, annoying, judgmental, and never laughed at any of Seokjin’s jokes. He also  suspected they reported everything he said and did to his father –or would have if he did anything worthy of mention, good or bad. He didn’t trust them much, though he supposed they were good at their job. There hadn’t been any close calls since that hunting trip. It could also be that no one cared enough to try anymore. 

“Seokjin?”

“He was just gone,” Seokjin confirmed with a shrug. “I didn’t lose him on purpose. I don’t remember the last time I saw him.”

“It’s a window of two hours between when his rotation began and when Jungkook noticed he was missing,” Muhtar explained. That was a long time in which Seokjin couldn’t recall a single interaction with the man. Not that they usually interacted. He was sort of… annoying. A few years older than Jungkook, and he did laugh at Seokjin’s jokes sometimes, but he just took himself and his job so seriously. The older guards did too, but they were calmer about it. Sometimes Seokjin wanted to take Edmund by the shoulders and shake him and insist This isn’t an impressive assignment! The only person who ever tried to kill me was a crazy guy who thought I looked too much like my dead mother to live! He insisted he could talk to animals and that he controlled the boar he sent after me with his mind! He was nuts!

Damn, he hated to remember it. The immediate formation of his guard might make it appear as though his father was deeply concerned about the attempt, rather than embarrassed at his son’s incompetence. Seokho was off winning a war and Seokjin was nearly killed by a wild boar in the caves while holding a gun. He’d shot ducks before, he’d caught and cleaned his own fish, he wasn’t –as his father laughed and lectured for years to come– incapable of getting his hands dirty with the matters of life and death. Incapable of defending himself while his older brother was off fighting and killing people. 

The boar had nearly killed him. Gouged him in the side, knocked him off a cliff, and he’d hung there bleeding to death as Jungkook shot the boar in the head, shot the assassin in the leg from his perch in the trees, and pulled Seokjin up from the branch. At nineteen. Home on a brief leave from the military and allowed to hunt with them as a favor to his late father who’d died defending Dong-gun. A hero at nineteen while Seokjin couldn’t even shoot a boar that was about to kill him. 

He’d never said it, but sometimes Seokjin wondered if his father wished the boar had finished the job. Or that his sons had traded places, and it was Seokjin who’d died in the Therepin border skirmish two months later. He himself felt like that sometimes too. Not that he wanted to die –because actually there were many things he enjoyed in life– but that it wouldn’t be so bad to die because he didn’t really get to live much anyway. That’s how he felt sometimes. If he died, eh, maybe it was meant to be, and he’d done his best to wring enjoyment from his short life while he could. 

So he snuck into the city to enjoy himself. He broke away from his bodyguards so they wouldn’t watch him with those dull, judgmental, disappointed gazes, pretending not to but observing everything. Even Edmund, who acted like it was a great honor to be hired to guard the crown prince. It led him to wish the bodyguards weren’t there, to act like it, so that a man who dedicated his life to Seokjin’s safety disappeared and Seokjin couldn’t even say the last time he’d seen him.

“There’s been no body found?” King Dong-gun asked the head of palace security.

“No, sir.”

“Which means he could still be alive and talking,” Uncle Dong-suk pointed out, standing by the window. Seokjin was surprised his father had allowed his uncle into this meeting on palace security affairs after they’d fought nonstop since his uncle’s arrival, but maybe Uncle Dong-suk had just invited himself and his father simply hadn’t wanted to argue any more.

Seokjin shrugged, “He won’t have anything to talk about. He doesn’t go into council with me. I don’t have anything confidential in my rooms and he doesn’t go into them anyway.”

“Guards don’t have free access to all places in the palace,” the head of palace security insisted. “If Edmund was attempting to access anything important, the guards posted at those rooms would deny him entry.”

Marks –who, notably, had hired Edmund– insisted, “We have no reason to believe he was a traitor. It’s more likely he was captured and is loyal and innocent of wrong-doing.”

“Except for getting captured, leaving my son open to danger.”

“But how would he actually be captured in the middle of the palace while on duty?” Alonzo pointed out. “He wouldn’t go without a fight.”

“Unless he’s guilty is my point.”

“In which case he would probably leave while off duty,” Jungkook pointed out. “I don’t know how he was taken but I think he was, ser. Quickly and quietly.”

“Could this be related to the body found in the Princess’s bureau?” Muhtar suggested. 

“Should we double up bodyguards? Two at a time?”

“No,” Seokjin said quickly. “I’ll just be more aware of what’s around me.” No one had a comment on that, which he took poorly; they clearly didn’t think him capable of being aware of his surroundings, a low fucking bar. “We don’t even know what happened, I don’t see any reason to double up my guards, especially when I don’t even leave the palace. For all we know he went to help a cat and slipped over the sea wall or something…”

The debate went on. Ultimately Seokjin won about not increasing his bodyguard, but lost about increasing palace guards. Two attacks within the walls was two too many. The search for Edmund would continue, though without a single lead, it seemed as likely to be solved as the dead body in Nasimiyu’s bedroom.

Seokjin felt a headache coming on. Things seemed to be going from bad to worse. Everything had been so quiet and dull before Nasimiyu arrived and now he couldn’t keep up with it all. His father wanted to spend the afternoon holding court as a way to show there was nothing wrong, but intelligence had come in about another demonstration in Destin and Uncle Dong-suk wanted to “talk about it.” Which probably meant arguing with Dong-gun about whether he could take several hundred soldiers and just raze the principality to the ground. The more Seokjin learned about his uncle’s policies –both on and off the books– the more he feared his father had an absolute sadist running the military.

They won wars. Their borders were safe. But if the things he heard said about his uncle’s campaigns were true, how could his father possibly let the man be the top general of all Yeonhalbi’s military? Yet at the same time, he saw his father constantly checking his uncle, telling him no about this, no about that. Did they genuinely disagree? Did his uncle do those things anyway? Did his father feel like it just gave him plausible deniability?

Seokjin didn’t know what the truth was. He was scared to know more. All he knew for a fact was that his uncle was cruel, had frightened him since he was a child, beaten him plenty of times to instill that fear, and seemed incapable of joy or mercy. When Seokjin was king someday, Dong-suk would have to go. Surely there was a man who could run the armies for Yeonhalbi and not give off the impression, true or not, that he was committing war atrocities –or, what seemed to be his father’s latest accusation, lying about unrest simply to get permission for a war. If nothing else, Seokjin would need a general he could say no to, who would listen to that no. In this fictional world where suddenly Seokjin knew the right thing to do and just needed people to execute his grand plans.

But how were you supposed to know? As he sat through the debate about Destin –which had his father and uncle arguing so loudly he thought they’d come to blows– all Seokjin could think was, how are you supposed to know? How did you know which wars were worth fighting? How did you know which sacrifices were worth making? Which risks worth taking? It was one thing to refuse a doubled guard because it was his own life at risk; it was another entirely to debate whether the time had come to handle Destin with overwhelming violence or if they could afford to ignore the new alleged raids happening along the Therepin border. Those were Yeonhalbin lives being lost either path you took.

All Seokjin could think was that it was good there were adults handling these decisions. Adult who knew what to do. But did they? They had all differing opinions. And he was an adult! At twenty-nine, shouldn’t he have a clear idea of the right things to do, the proper choices to make? Seok-ho had died at thirty-one, but by twenty-nine he’d already been so sure of himself.

Seokjin couldn’t even manage to be friends with a maid. He’d been so sure he was finally doing the right thing for her, for women in general. Finally taking a stand against Namjoon and his greed. Nasimiyu seemed happy about it but Dulce… damn. Dulce had really put him in his place about it, in a way he’d never expected. He felt like shit about the whole thing –that he’d gotten it so wrong, that he’d insulted her without meaning to, and maybe worst of all, that she’d chosen Namjoon.

She’d chosen him.

It didn’t matter whether it was just sex or something more. Dulce tolerated Seokjin’s jokes and drank hot chocolate with him and tried his culinary masterpieces in the kitchen, but when it came to actual attraction, her eyes went right to Namjoon. Not that Seokjin expected Dulce would choose him or anything, but couldn’t it have been anyone but Namjoon? If she wanted “just sex” so badly? Yoongi was right there! Hell, Jimin and Taehyung had made it annoyingly obvious she was welcome to their dick, and Jungkook had slid right in at the ball–

Who was he kidding? Seokjin knew he’d sulk at least a little no matter who she chose. For reasons he was not particularly interested in analyzing, thank you very much. It wasn’t important. It wasn’t personal. Maybe he just respected her opinions, and would have liked for her to think highly of him. Maybe he’d like to be chosen by someone for once. No one ever chose him. Nasimiyu wasn’t even choosing him, she was just stuck with him.

For some reason, girls always chose Namjoon. 

He failed to wipe the scowl from his face as he crossed paths with Namjoon and Mindeulle in the hall. It was pure coincidence; he would have simply avoided making eye contact and hurried away. Instead his gaze just happened to narrow as he came face to face with both of them.

“You can’t be like this forever, please, Seokjin,” Mindeulle leapt into the middle. 

For once, Seokjin said nothing, because he wasn’t sure what to say. On one hand, he might owe Namjoon an apology. On the other hand, he meant what he’d said. In fact, he meant it even more now that Dulce had confirmed it was consensual. Looking at Namjoon’s dumb face and broad muscular body and incessant talking about intelligent and profound things and understanding now that this was what Dulce had been drawn to made feelings begin to boil again. So he kept his mouth shut. Because he could be intelligent and profound too and he thought Dulce knew that but apparently she didn’t like his kind of intelligent and profound, or at least not his face. And it didn’t matter because she was just the maid of his future wife but all the same. 

“It’s fine,” Namjoon mumbled and grabbed Mindeulle’s arm to drag her away.

“But–”

“I said it’s fine.”

Seokjin didn’t feel fine about any bit of it, and he didn’t appreciate Namjoon taking some kind of high road either. But all he could do was stride down the hall away from them, trying to look like he had not a single care in the world. He wanted to be that man again, the one who didn’t care, who didn’t worry, who just let himself be carried along by the inevitable and did his best because nothing more could be asked for. But ever since Nasimiyu had arrived, he’d been confronted again and again by all the ways his best was wrong or ridiculous or not good enough.

And now one of his bodyguards was either dead or betraying him. Personally, his money was on dead, but did he really know anyone? Anyone? Maybe Edmund had been tracking his movements or eavesdropping on things around the palace for months and just split because the time was right! That was better though. Otherwise a man had quietly died for him. It made him feel sick.

Seokjin needed out of here. He needed to get away from this place and people for a few days and decompress. Not Prince Seokjin, not Dong-gun’s leftover son, most certainly not the future king. He wanted to sit on a dinky little fishing boat and catch his own dinner and invent a new spice rub. He never got to go fishing these days. The most he managed was hiding away in his room and even that seemed impossible lately. His poor pets were suffering without him! Everything just felt too big and heavy.

Hands on his back made him jump and spin with a shout that Marks pretended not to see as Nasimiyu looked up at him with surprise. 

“Ah, you. Hey you,” he grinned at her, stumbling to match the energy that flowed just from her hands pressed against his chest and the curve of her lips.

“Nasimiyu. Your fiance. Remember me?”

“Yes, I think so,” he joked. “Um…” Her hand slid down his chest to tap his belt loop before she pulled her hands away. His mind tripped, confused by the openly fond way she looked at him now. Yes they’d had sex, but she seemed so different towards him than she had even before yesterday. 

“Are you rushing off to something important?” she asked him.

“No, leaving. Hoping to avoid anything else important today. Mundane activities only.”

“Oh. Hm. I had an idea, but it’s not very mundane.”

“Oh? Uh…” He looked up and down the hall but they were alone (except for Marks. Fucking Marks.) “What did you have in mind?” He figured he must be reading unintended flirtiness into her behavior and wasn’t disappointed by that fact. His mind was a million places at once right now and he did not feel up to the task of being a very good lover.

“I wanted to thank you. For taking me seriously yesterday.” She dropped her voice and clarified, “About Lord Namjoon and my maid.”

“Ah. Right. You don’t have to thank me. You’re to be my wife, of course I’ll take you seriously.” He gave her a serious nod to drive the point home.

“I know you’ve had to endure teasing about it. From your father and uncle.” Teasing wasn’t the word he’d use but it didn’t matter; he shrugged. “So let’s spend some time together.”

“Ah, I’m sorry Nasimiyu, I’m a little distracted this afternoon. I don’t have the energy to go out–”

“Not to go out, to stay in. Come on,” she said, taking his hand and tugging him along. He knew he must be misunderstanding, and truthfully he wanted to just go back to his room and be alone, but he also knew that Nasimiyu was being openly affectionate with him for the first time ever and he’d be an idiot not to encourage it. Wasn’t this what he had longed for –for years? His future bride tossing a coy smile over her shoulder and leading him by the hand to her bedroom? Shutting the door and the world outside and guiding his hands to the laces of her dress?

“Right now?” he asked with surprise.

“Something wrong? Do you have a schedule?”

“No. No, I just– I’m surprised. That’s all.” He wasn’t prepared for this, mentally. He willed himself to prepare as her clothing fell away –even though it felt all wrong. The sun was out. That had never occurred to him as something wrong for sex, but it’s what he blamed the wrongness on now. Or the stress of the day.

“Seokjin?”

“Sorry, I…” He almost told her that Edmund was missing but decided it was better not to frighten her. Not until he knew there was actually a reason to be frightened. “Just distracted. A lot on my mind today.”

“I don’t suppose your uncle had anything good to say today either, did he?” she asked. To his surprise, she didn’t seem angry about his confession or the delay. Her body was all feline grace as she walked, totally nude, to her vanity and removed her jewelry. “Just war war war, I supposed?”

“Yes. War war war.”

“I don’t like him,” she admitted, meeting his gaze through the mirror. She was beautiful. She was so beautiful. Why wasn’t his body responding to this beautiful woman standing so comfortably naked in front of him? 

“Me either.”

“I want him gone. As soon as possible,” Nasimiyu said.

Seokjin cracked a crooked grin and admitted, “I don’t make decisions like that.”

“Yet. Someday you will, when you’re king.”

“Yes, someday.”

“And we’ll get someone else to be our general then,” she said. “Right? Even my father would be better. Or maybe not my father, I don’t know, but someone we can trust not to– do you think the rumors about what he’s done are true?”

“I don’t know what rumors you’ve heard. I hope not. It’s making me cold; let’s not talk about him more while you’re naked. I don’t want those things to get crossed in my mind.”

“Yes, of course. But I just mean, you agree? That we’ll replace him?”

“It can be the very first thing we do someday.”

Nasimiyu turned back to him and took hold of the lapel of his jacket, all grins as she cooed, “Our first agreement for our future rule.”

“I hope we’ll agree on a lot more than that.”

“I’m sure we will. You’re far more reasonable than I initially thought. But right now, you seem overly burdened with your work today and taking care of that nonsense with Namjoon and my maid yesterday so let me take a load off your mind.”

“Uh… yes?” She nudged him backwards to the bed, unbuttoning his jacket and shirt, undoing his belt and pants.

“You just lay back and do exactly as I say and I think we can both be very happy.”

Seokjin would have been a fool not to go along with this, and so he lay back, and tried to will his mind clear. He was a lucky man. With a beautiful bride. The way she rode him felt good, so good, what more could he possibly ask for?

***

“Hang these in the closet,” Mirte told her, draping the gowns across Dulce’s arms. “No need to linger, you’re going on a cleaning shift after that.”

Dulce’s arms itched beneath the heavy silks and velvets and beadwork –totally the wrong clothing for a salty city like Priva– as she complained, “Can’t I take them in the morning?” She suspected Nasimiyu was in the room and wasn’t in the mood to see her. She’d managed to avoid her since their argument, and was even more convinced now that she ought to keep herself scarce, in case somehow Seokjin’s shout had reached Nasimiyu’s ears: Keep your fucking hands off Dulce! Dulce was a failure at her mission. The target shouldn’t know your name like that.

Her getting assigned to laundry and cleaning had Nasimiyu’s other maids delighted, since it was obvious Dulce had fallen out of favor. She didn’t care; she was glad for the distance. 

“She’s wearing the orange tomorrow, it must be hung in there tonight, do not question your orders,” Mirte scolded. Older, gray-haired, a total bitch ever since Princess Simisola had insisted Dulce be brought along as part of Nasimiyu’s household despite her obvious bumbling skills as a maid. If Mirte had half a brain she knew there was something suspicious about it, but apparently she had the other half that wanted to keep her job and life and so she had accepted this inconvenience without further question. But plenty of barbs towards Dulce. 

Fine, Dulce would hang the gowns and leave quickly, no matter what Nasimiyu might say or do. How like her to demand a specific dress for the next day. Who cared? Grab something from your dozens of gowns already hanging and don’t force a maid to run around the palace with your ridiculously expensive clothing when she’d rather do the laundry and get some rest. 

Dulce knocked at the door and paused a moment to make sure Nasimiyu didn’t shout at her to go away. It was normal for servants to slip in and out otherwise unnoticed. They weren’t important, after all, not people, just tools, pieces of furniture there to serve the house without question or notice. 

The guard had to pull the door for her to slip inside, which she couldn’t do quietly with so much fabric draped over her. She could barely see around herself, a veritable moving mountain, as she shuffled sideways so as not to bash her shins on any wayward furniture or drag the hems and have to wash them all over again.

Which meant her mind lagged without a visual and with her senses focused on safety. The moans didn’t register at first, the dull thud of a mattress. The masculine shout coincided with the moment her mind registered the sounds, wait a moment. Instinct made her twist quickly to see the source of the cry just as Prince Seokjin leapt from the bed, dragging a sheet around his waist and turning his back to her.

Nasimiyu looked lazily over her shoulder, the long curve of her body stretched across the bed. She looked neither bothered nor surprised to see Dulce, as if she looked right through her. Dulce couldn’t decide if this was cruelty on display, if Nasimiyu had engineered her to walk in on her and the Prince fucking, or if Nasimiyu only meant her cold indifference at this happenstance to be the barb.

“Ah, hi… Dulce…” Seokjin stammered, body curled away from her as if he could disappear, as if she might not notice he was nude except for the sheet. Mid-fuck. Flushed and sweaty. Dulce’s insides grated against each other, shredding. “Uh…”

Nasimiyu rolled her eyes and insisted, “Come back to bed, Seokjin, she’s just hanging my gowns.”

Cruel cruel cruel. It was one thing to have listened to Nasimiyu wax poetic about Seokjin’s cock, it was another to interrupt their lovemaking. Dulce turned her back to them, desperate to look as unbothered. She didn’t want to give Nasimiyu the satisfaction. It didn’t matter if this had been intentional. It seemed like a game Nasimiyu might play to get revenge about Namjoon, to prove to Dulce how replaceable she was, the make sure she understood that Nasimiyu was fucking someone else too. Her future husband. She had no way of knowing Dulce would feel more bothered by Seokjin’s naked, muscular back than the soft curves covering the sharp edges of Nasimiyu’s anger. Dulce snipped quickly, easily, at the cords connecting her to Nasimiyu, but tangled herself up confronted by the prince. Naked. Interrupted mid-fuck. An image that would never leave her mind now. He looked even taller out of his clothes. There was definition to his leanness she had not anticipated, lines of muscle along his arms and across his stomach. Knowing how he ate, how was his waist so thin? 

And he’d just had his cock in Nasimiyu, that one she raved about so eloquently.

Dulce said nothing and moved as quietly as she could, as if she could undo her presence. She shuffled into the closet and drew deep, trembling breaths to control herself. She was good at control. There was nothing remarkable here. Just a servant going about their business while their mistress lived her life. She hung the gowns quickly, nauseated by every brush of her hand against the fabric. How stupid, how ridiculous that people were born into such different lives like that. Because of the circumstances of her birth, here was Nasimiyu, a princess spending her evening stretched out beneath a prince. And Dulce hung her gowns, each one probably worth more than her family’s entire property, gowns which must be delivered tonight so that Nasimiyu could wear the one of her choosing tomorrow, even while the princess was busy being fucked by a prince. The prince. 

It took an eternity to hang the damn gowns. Probably the hems were wrinkling and she’d done a bad job but fuck everyone, Dulce didn’t care. She wasn’t a laundress. She wasn’t even a fucking maid. She was sick of this whole fucking place and the people in it and her reason for being here was irrevocably broken. Nasimiyu’s cruelty had turned towards her now and she wasn’t going to sit around and be her punching bag, a plaything. She’d leave tonight and never look back and Prince Hamisi could throw his tantrum. Maybe she’d even go back to her family and move them. Maybe Prince Hamisi was full of bluff and shit anyway. Maybe she’d kill Prince Hamisi, just for fun. 

She tried not to look at either of them as she left the room. Nasimiyu lay on her back, chest clearly pushed up, probably hoping Dulce would notice her tits, ever vain. Prince Seokjin sat on the edge of the bed, blanket still wrapped around his waist, back to both women and face cast down and away. His shoulders slumped miserably. Poor baby, had he lost his erection? Not an exhibitionist? Good luck keeping up with Nasimiyu if one maid walking through was enough to interrupt him. Most men wouldn’t stop. Some men would make eye contact and enjoy the audience. Half the noblemen were probably fucking their maids anyway. King Dong-gun had been after all. Had it started when the Queen’s handmaid walked through the room, just like this? Had it been a secret at first, or had the Queen extended her hand and asked Taehyung’s mother to join? Nasimiyu extended her hand and Dulce saw her smile out of the periphery, almost like she was going to suggest it.

But Prince Seokjin wasn’t his father. Dulce couldn’t imagine he’d agree to that, not if he couldn’t even keep fucking his wife while a piece of furniture brought in the laundry. 

Dulce was only too glad to close the door behind herself. The guards laughed and she realized they had known what they were letting her in to. They thought it was funny, a maid passing into a room where people were fucking. Everyone was a sick voyeur, was that it?

No, in another situation Dulce might have seen the humor. She might have rolled her eyes about the whole thing. Maybe in a different situation, she would have invited herself. That was the dark thought she wouldn’t let her mind entertain –a world in which she didn’t hate Nasimiyu, in which Nasimiyu wasn’t angry with her, in which she would be invited into that bed and–

No, she wouldn’t let that fantasy linger for even a moment! She wouldn’t think about what she would do, what Nasimiyu would do, what the prince might do in that situation. Never. Some thoughts were too destructive to think, and right now she was frazzled and shocked and…

…and distressed. She recognized the pounding of her heart but at least it was invisible to anyone who saw her as she charged through the hallways of the palace and headed for the gate down to the street. Her mind turned to the idea of sex as a defense, to strip away the emotion. Because there was emotion. There shouldn’t be emotion. But Dulce felt stabbed in a place harder to reach, harder to heal. Maybe impossible to heal. Nasimiyu and the prince were only doing what was normal and their right to do and yet she felt…

It was time to go. Right this moment. There was no one and nothing to stop her. All this time her chains had only been made of loyalty and blackmail, far too weak to hold her. She broke free of them and focused only on the soft taps of her shoes against the stone steps as she took to the staircase leading to the sea wall and away from this cursed place. 

The sea wall would be the most direct path through Priva. She’d calm down by the time she reached the far side of the city and think of what to do and where to go next. Obviously she couldn’t stay here, not even in a city this large, because she’d see them. She didn’t want to be anywhere near them. No Marvono. No Therepin. Sartia? Destin? Maybe Rinsk. Nothing ever fucking happened in Rinsk, but then it would be hard to find work. Maybe she really should go south, find mercenary work instead of assassin work. Drink her way through a lot of money and hack things to death until a blade caught up to her and silenced it all. It wasn’t like there was anything else holding her anywhere for any reason.

Dulce sat heavily on one of the benches looking over the dark sea and let the wave of emotions crest over her head and roll further along without her. It was too much. Living life several steps ahead of emotion left her unprepared for the way feelings tore at her now. She couldn’t name them, couldn’t understand them, just knew that they were there and they were drowning her and she couldn’t endure this. She didn’t want to feel like this. She gripped the edge of the bench and breathed the humid, warm air in deep and tried to sink into the dark waves below, tried to let the loud crash of them breaking against the rocks drown out everything. Tried to match her heartbeat to their steady cadence. It was slow. A large wave broke and then several smaller ones failed to match it until the next large one came along. The noise of it felt like ringing in her ears. 

For a long time she sat there, letting herself be rocked by the sound of the waves. How unfair that Priva had to be on the sea. She liked the sea, she had learned that while living here. There was a sea on the far side of Paloma but she’d never been there. Maybe she ought to. She could go to Sartia to stay by the sea but it would mean dealing with more nobles and frankly she felt on the verge of a murderous rage from which no noble was safe. 

No nobles lived in Paloma. The Paloma sea was colder though, she was pretty sure. Further north. There was something about the sticky heat of this sea that would linger with her. She’d never come here again but she was glad to take this moment and let this feeling drown out everything else. This was what she would try to remember of her time in Priva –not evenings in the kitchen, not an afternoon drinking hot chocolate in an expensive cafe in the city, not ballrooms and ballgowns or longing to join the sparring in the yard or any of it. Fuck this place and all the people here.

She felt the eyes on her later than she ought to have. In a moment she knew someone was watching her and had been for a while. For a brief moment she wondered if it was Nasimiyu or the Prince –more likely to be him because Nasimiyu wouldn’t patiently await acknowledgement, but less likely to be him because why would he come after her? 

Slowly she turned her head to identify who it was. Her hand slid into her skirt for her blade –not the one Nasimiyu had given her, the one she actually preferred– as a hooded figure stepped along the seawall towards her. The person seemed to shy away from the others walking past, leaving a wide berth between themself and the evening strollers. Dulce realized how effectively she had blocked everyone out. The seawall was a popular destination at this time of evening, with the sun only just set. An unlikely place for anyone to threaten her but not impossible.

The woman sat on the bench beside Dulce and shifted the hood of her cloak just enough for Dulce to see her face, soft and nervous and not the least bit threatening. It took a moment longer for her to place where she had seen this person before: in court weeks ago. King Dong-gun had thrown her child and he’d been hurt.

Dulce felt her stomach cramp with the certainty that she was about to learn something she did not want to know.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said by way of introduction. “I’ve been looking for a way to cross paths with you.”

“With me?”

“Yes. You see, I need to get a letter to the prince, and I can’t trust anyone to deliver it for me. You were kind before, when my child was injured, and you are in proximity to him. You serve his fiance, the Princess.”

“Anyone might deliver a letter,” Dulce pointed out. 

“I’ve been trying to catch you for a week,” the woman continued. “I need to be sure the letter gets to him, it’s very important. And… and I have to ask that you don’t read it. It’s for the prince’s eyes only. It’s very important.”

“What makes you think I won’t read the letter the way anyone might? Why me?”

The woman laughed, a sad laugh, and admitted, “I don’t know that. I have to take the risk. I’m desperate.” She held the letter out with a trembling hand. 

“What’s in the letter?”

“I can’t tell you.” The woman hesitated, then added, “I’m trying to keep my children safe. That’s all. I don’t know you and I know you don’t owe me anything, but I’m just a mother trying to keep her children safe.”

Dulce took the letter. She felt the woman’s close study as she tucked it into her pocket.

“I don’t know why you’d trust me,” Dulce admitted, “but I’ll deliver your letter.”

“When my child was hurt, you were the first to move to help.”

“My mistress helped. And the prince.”

“You were the first to move, I saw it. You were the only one to see us out afterwards and ask if my son was all right. You gave my children candy…” Dulce had. She’d swiped it from the kitchen on her way to find the women and her sons before they left the palace that day, hoping the gesture would loosen the woman’s lips and she could understand why King Dong-gun had reacted so strangely at the sight of her. The answer to her questions might very well be in that letter.

“That doesn’t make me a good person. Anyone could read your letter and sell your secrets.”

The woman nodded and closed her eyes. Everything about her seemed a breath away from shattering.

“I know that. I’m begging you not to.”

“I won’t,” Dulce found herself agreeing. “I’ll deliver your letter, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“When?”

“I can leave it in his room tonight,” Dulce suggested. He’s not in there anyway.

“No, no, please hand it to him. I can’t risk that he misses it.”

“All right, I’ll hand it to him tomorrow morning,” Dulce said. Maybe it was a lie. She hadn’t planned on going back to the palace. She’d see what was in the letter and then decide.

“Thank you.” The woman looked like she wanted to say more, her eyes watering and catching the silvery moonlight. She had a beautiful face. Sad, but beautiful. Instead she simply said, “Thank you,” again and then quickly departed.

Dulce didn’t love finding out the woman had been specifically trying to catch her, though in a way she could understand why. Small gestures could have big impacts. She didn’t think anyone had noticed Nasimiyu didn’t move when the child was hurt until Dulce did. Maybe everyone had.

The letter was burning a hole in her pocket now. She wanted to open it but not where the woman would see her, just in case she still watched. Sympathy for the woman cut through her own noisy emotions; curiosity managed the rest. At least it was only herself she had to manage. She couldn’t imagine trying to make it in this world with children. What a curse to have children whom you loved but born into a life in which you couldn’t protect them.

Dulce rose and returned to the palace, where she could be sure of finding a place to read the letter where the woman couldn’t see. The laundry was quiet at night, since the noise would wake the nobles in the nearby wing, so she went there and leaned against the wall to carefully pry up the seal with a candle and the blade of her knife. The fact that the woman had a seal already struck her as odd and she wished she knew anything about the symbol on it.

Inside, the message was simple: Please meet with me on the first day of the sunflower festival by the clock tower. It concerns your brother and the danger you are now in too. Hoya told me to say this if I needed your help: Hoya broke the blue vase.

Dulce read the message again and again and searched the paper but couldn’t make sense of it. This didn’t seem to be about her sons at all. Who was Hoya? Someone they both must have known, someone who had a secret message with Seokjin. It was curious. It made her curious. She liked to be on the knowing side of secrets. But more importantly, this woman seemed to know something about his dead brother and an implication of danger towards the Prince.

Was it about Nasimiyu’s plot? Probably not; Nasimiyu’s family had nothing to do with Seok-ho’s death. Probably there were other plots. Maybe it had to do with the missing bodyguard? Dulce was unsettled about the disappearance, even though it wasn’t any concern of hers. It wasn’t her fault if the prince got himself killed with weak security. Yes, it would lead to a failure of Nasimiyu’s plan but quite frankly, Dulce didn’t care about Nasimiyu’s plan anymore. She hated Nasimiyu. She hated the prince.

She didn’t hate the prince, she was just angry with him. For fucking Nasimiyu? No, no, yes, but no. For fighting Namjoon on her behalf. For making assumptions about her. For not seeing her through the disguise. It was all stupid. She wasn’t drunk but she didn’t want to look closer at it.

What if the brother mentioned was Taehyung, not Seok-ho?

She resealed the letter and shoved it back into her pocket, not sure whether to deliver it. Maybe if she didn’t, the prince would get killed and Nasimiyu’s plan would be ruined. 

But the prince would be killed.

But he was going to get killed anyway, no matter what.

But she didn’t want to be around to see it.

She went to her room. She’d grab her things and leave and decide at the last minute whether to deliver the letter. The servants’ dorms were mostly quiet at this time of night; she had only the faintest light to work by. She dragged out her bag and packed as quietly as she could. The last thing she needed was someone waking up and asking where she was going and why. Abandoning her post would bring some of them joy but they wouldn’t want her to get away without trouble.

She needed to lift her mattress to get a few things from beneath it –nothing valuable, because that was the most obvious place to look, but things that looked sentimental, so she’d look like a normal maid if anyone did snoop. A little hedgehog, for example. 

When she crouched to lift it though, she noticed a book sitting on the foot of her bed. Book four of the Kalamouche series. She knew who it was from the instant her fingers brushed the title. Who else would send her a copy of this book? She’d already read this one, but he didn’t know that because the last time it had briefly come up in the kitchen, she’d only admitted to reading two and three.

The note fell out as she opened the front cover: 

I’m sorry. 

Dulce felt an uncomfortable throb in her chest. I’m sorry.

For what?

When had he sent this here? It was him, she would have recognized his handwriting from the papers on his desk, he was the only one this made sense for. Even if it didn’t make sense. Was he sorry about fighting Namjoon? Or sorry for thinking she was some young, unsexed, innocent child? Or sorry for airing her affair in the middle of a courtyard for all to hear? 

Or sorry to be caught in bed with her mistress, his fiance?

It couldn’t be the last one. Really it couldn’t be any of them. What did he mean, sending her this stupid book with this stupid little unsigned note? A prince had no business apologizing to a maid. A prince had no business giving a gift to a maid. How dare he? How dare he act like this and be so stupid and make her so confused and make it so difficult for her to leave?

She couldn’t leave.

She slumped against her bed and closed her eyes, the book clutched in her lap alongside the hedgehog from that day in the city. Usually it was in her pocket but she had shoved it under the mattress after they’d argued in the kitchen, as a show of her anger that no one would see but herself. 

I’m sorry too, she allowed the words to form in her mind, the letter she would write if things were different. I’m sorry that I let myself get too close to you. I’m sorry that you were born into this life you don’t seem to want and that you will always be in danger for the rest of it. I’m sorry that you don’t get to wander the city and enjoy the mundane things in life the way you want to. I’m sorry that you are going to marry Nasimiyu and she will never be the woman you deserve. I’m sorry that you’re so stupid you’d fight your cousin for my honor or dignity or safety or whatever noble idea you had. I’m sorry that I am not who you think I am, I have lied to you every day I’ve been here, but I’m sorry that some truth snuck through too and you were tricked into believing that was all of me. I’m sorry that I came here to help you along to your death. I’m sorry that even though it won’t be me, someone else will do it instead, because you weren’t born with the venom and claws you need to survive.

But it won’t be me that does it.

She wished she could write a letter to Nasimiyu, too, but then it would give everything away. I’m sorry, Simi, but you are never going to be queen.

Dulce tucked the hedgehog back into her pocket, alongside the letter, alongside the other letters she had sewn into the foot of the mattress and now tugged free –the ones Seokjin had written to his betrothed. She wouldn’t read them. She didn’t want to. Instead she would sneak them back into his room tomorrow, and then she would give him the letter from the woman with the sons, and then she would find whatever it took to unequivocally expose Prince Hamisi and the Marvonese family’s treason to King Dong-gun and Prince Seokjin.

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#seokjin fics #kim seokjin ff #seokjin x oc #seokjin fic #prince jin #bts ff #bts fanfiction #kim seokjin fanfiction #kim seokjin fic #kim seokjin smut #kim seokjin x oc #seokjin x reader #kim seokjin e2l #arranged marriage #kim seokjin #royalty au #jin smut #jin fic #bts smut #jin x oc #jin e2l #tkak #to kill a king

[fearthetallman]

Krang Pie: Chapter 1

Summary: Mikey is trying to keep his family together since the krang invasion as they all deal with it their own way. He feels like they keep splitting apart and he's the only one who sees all the cracks. But when he finds a krang hiding away in his home, Mikey gets put to the test of just how far he's willing to go for family.

Warnings: family fights, some angst (nothing too bad since it's just the first chapter lol)

Chapter 1

It was a year and a half before Mikey saw the krang again. At the time, however, he hadn't realized it was the krang and instead assumed it was a very old piece of gum he just stepped in.

His brothers were all in the training room, constructing the biggest pillow fort they could. They had built pillow forts before but considering the mile long blueprints Donnie had drawn up, this was going to be the winner.

Donnie flipped his goggles up from his perch atop the ramp. "Looking good, fellas. Two more hours and we should have the first floor done. Leo, careful with those pillows. We don't want Dad knowing we ransacked the house to make this beauty."

"I'm always careful," Leo argued, five seconds before he almost collided into Raph.

Raph floundered for a second, the fort swaying before it settled back into place. Everyone gave a sigh of relief.

Leo placed his pillow down. "Okay, that one doesn't count. Donnie was distracting me."

Mikey was so glad everyone was getting along like this. Dad and April had gone on a weeklong trip to check out a possible resurgence of the Foot in London. He wasn't sure how his brothers would act this long together and with no buffer. But it looks like he worried for nothing. It almost felt like when they were younger. Before they became heroes and before…

"Mikey!"

Donnie calling down to him snapped him out of his trance. He saluted like a soldier to their captain. "Yes sir?"

"Fetch me the cushion from the armchair in the TV room. It's unnaturally squished and saggy shape is perfect to weigh the other pillows down in place."

Raph paused his carrying. "Wait, from Dad's chair? I don't think that's such a good idea, Donnie."

"Its inclusion was on page 35 of my Pillow Fort World Record Plan. I don't know why you'd be complaining about it now unless you hadn't read my manual."

Mikey felt the slightest pressure of tension in the air.

"If we mess up Dad's chair, he's not gonna leave us alone unsupervised until we're 50," Raph countered dropping his pillows to face Donnie more directly.

The tension grew stronger, tightening around Mikey's shell and stomach like an ill-fitting belt. Usually Raph wouldn't pick fights over something as silly as a cushion. But after the krang, his fuse had gotten shorter. It didn't take much to set him off into an argument or even a fistfight. Mikey hated both.

"Look guys, I'll be super careful and as soon as we're done, we'll put the cushion back. Dad will never know." Mikey also hated lying to his dad, but he had to pick the lesser of two evils.

Raph's voice was stern, but his shoulders were already relaxing. "Even if we're careful, Dad will know if it's out of place."

Mikey shook his phone like a magic charm. "I'll take a picture so we can put it back in the exact same place." He hurried off before either of them could argue more.

The TV room was pitch black. He fumbled for the switch a moment, a small bubble of panic thinking he couldn't find it and a monster was waiting to pounce. But his fingers connected and the lights blinked on. Dad's chair in the same place as always. It felt eerily silent with no one there, the TV switched off for the first time in years. He shook off the chills and reached out for the cushion.

Wait, picture first.

He unlocked his phone and waited for it to focus on the chair. Something shuffled. Mikey's head swung up. Nothing in the room moved. He was just spooking himself. The flash lit up and nearly blinded him as he took the picture. He forgot it had been on. Shutting it off, he took another picture.

Something scurried at the edge of his vision. His heart caught in his throat. Had he seen something or were his eyes playing tricks on him? But then he heard a rattling. A definitive noise coming from behind the TV. He knew without a doubt something was in here.

"Leo?" He crept closer. The TV felt ominous. "You'd better not be trying to scare me."

Leo hadn't tried to scare him in months. But it was the only explanation his terrified mind could generate.

He was so tense he was barely breathing. Why hadn't he brought his weapon with him? He was at the TV. All that was left to do was face whatever was behind there. He just had to check behind there and ignore his pounding heart and all the danger signals and every bad feeling telling him not to do this and--

He looked behind the TV. It was empty. His stress dissipated and he could breathe again. He needed to stop watching so many horror movies.

Thrilled he was not going to be murdered by a shadow monster, he trotted back in to everyone. "Guys, you're not going to believe--"

"Mikey, do you have the cushion? We're at a critical stage!" Donnie yelled down.

Raph held the fort in place, trembling underneath it's weight.

"Oh, right. Knew I forgot something."

He walked back in, light still on and much less scary now. Grabbing the pillow, he made his way to the fort.

SQUISH

He froze. Something warm and gooey was underneath his foot. Not a totally new sensation but definitely an unwelcome one. He inspected his foot, trying to figure out what leftover food this was.

It was pink and very slimey. Too solid to be melted ice cream. Too soft to be bubblegum. Maybe some kind of moldy chip dip?

As he stared at it, the goop slid. Something shifted inside of it. Out came a mouth. It had sharp teeth.

The mouth screamed.

Mikey screamed back and ran. The goop flew off his foot. His panic only mounted and he dashed into training room.

"Whoa, where's the fire?" Leo called.

"Behind me! There was a mouth! Screaming! Monster!"

"Mikey slow down, slow down!"

But his momentum was too great and he noticed he was going to crash too late. He slammed into Raph's stomach. The big turtle folded in on himself. The tower of pillows wobbled, then came crashing down.

Mikey always assumed that a bunch of cushions and pillows wouldn't hurt but seeing twenty of them hurtling towards him, he began to reconsider. Raph yelled and dove on top of him.

The world darkened as they avalanched before everything went quiet and still.

After a moment, his older brother shook the remnants of their fort off.

"Noooo!" Donnie cried, clutching a saggy pillow. "My world record!"

"And your irreplaceable family members, right?" Raph asked.

"Uh, yeah. You guys, too."

Raph held out his hand and helped Mikey to his feet. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm sorry our fort got ruined but--" The words froze in his mouth when he saw Leo picking up a cushion. Dad's cushion with a large gash running through it. They all turned back to see stuffing still caught on Raph's red elbow pad. Donnie broke the silence first.

"Aw, look what you did! That was Dad's favorite chair."

The tension erupted.

"Look what I did? You're the one who came up with the stupid idea to do this in the first place! If you had just listened to me everything would be fine!"

"It always has to be about you, doesn't it? Always your plans, your rules and your way. My idea was brilliant and you know it!"

"Guys! Please don't fight," Mikey said but he couldn't be heard over the arguing. His stomach started hurting and he felt like crying. Why did he have to be so stupid? He never should have been trusted with such an important task.

Before their fighting escalated to yelling, Leo dropped the cushion. It landed with a soft thud. They fell silent as they watched him.

"A pillow fort was a stupid idea, anyway." He walked away, not so much as slamming a door as he hid in his room.

When Mikey turned back, his brother's faces were as dismayed as he felt. Raph's gaze fell to the ground before he turned and talked specifically to Mikey.

"I'm going to get ready to go on patrol. Don't wait up for me."

And then it was only him and Donnie. Mikey picked up the cushion, staring hard at the gash as if his eyes could mend it. His brother watched him awkwardly.

He sucked in a breath before he spoke. "Listen, Mikey, we're not mad at you, okay?" He patted his younger brother's shoulder stiffly. "Raph is just a bonehead who likes nitpicking well intentioned and devastatingly handsome geniuses sometimes."

Mikey forced a smile. At least he was trying. "Yeah. I'm gonna be in my room for a bit."

And so, the unity between the brothers split in four different directions. Mikey felt like each one pulled his heart a different way.

***

Inside his room, he played music to try and make himself feel better. Unfortunately, he kept skipping to sad songs so he was only making himself feel worse.

Out of everyone's reaction, Leo's had hurt the most. Instead of lashing out like Donnie and Raph, he would shut down. No matter what anyone did, he wouldn't leave his shell. Mikey could figure out what was going in the others' head, but Leo was a blank slate. He had no idea what to do with him.

If he had been confiding in someone else, Mikey wouldn't be half as worried. But he wouldn't let anyone in. Wouldn't talk at all about the time in the prison dimension and abruptly changed subjects if anyone asked how he was doing. All Mikey knew was that he was still hurting.

If only he had some way to--

Something clattered to the floor. Mikey lifted one of the ears of his headphones. He expected more silence but saw a blur scurrying behind his desk. His heartbeat picked up. It was probably just a bug. A cockroach scurrying around his messy bedroom.

That made him feel worse.

There was more noise and Mikey knew he hadn't imagined it this time. He wished he could run to one of his brothers for help but the only one he could go to was Donnie and Donnie Didn't Deal with Bugs.

Reluctantly, he put down his headphones and grabbed his least beloved magazine. He inched towards the corner he last heard the sound from. Nothing moved. He rolled up the magazine, poking at clothes and discarded papers. A rogue memory of a beetle scuttling over his foot made him wish he wore shoes.

Another rustling. Behind his dresser. He leaned closer, trying to see behind the dark space of the dresser's shadow. It would be better if he struck first. He swallowed hard. Reached the magazine into the crevice.

Something flew out and landed on his face. He screamed.

"Get off get off get off!"

He smacked himself in the face with the magazine a couple times before realizing it was not going to let him go. His vision gone, he stumbled around his room, tripping and falling over boxes and books. He landed hard on stomach, knocking the wind out of himself. Finally, he reached up and grabbed onto his assailant, flinging it to the ground. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Like in his nightmares, a krang stood before him, glaring as though Mikey was the invader. Although in his nightmares, the krang usually wasn't the size of a cockroach.

It raised two of its tentacles in the air and yelled at him in a voice that sounded like it sucked on helium. "Foolish turtle! You thought you had defeated the krang but we have persevered. We shall kill your family and everyone you love for your insolence!"

Mikey couldn't help it. He laughed.

This only angered the krang further. "You dare mock me? I shall make you feel true pain!"

It slunk up to Mikey and bit him on the ankle. "Ow!" Even though it was tiny, it still had teeth.

He yanked it up into the air to stop it from biting him again. But he had to twist it and turn it upside down in his grip to avoid its reach. It writhed and growled like a naughty puppy.

"Listen, I met your other family, your big brothers and sister, but I can't say I'm scared of you." He had to hold back from calling it cute. Ugh, he was letting his guard down too much. It was still a krang.

"You impudent insect, I was the krang you met. When your blue turtle abandoned me in the prison dimension, I sent a piece of me back with him."

His stomach dropped. All good feelings sucked out of the room and into the krangs evil smile.

"Oh, you didn't know, did you? We krang are smart like that. Just a drop of my DNA hiding on his shell, that's all it took to sneak out. Usually Krang don't resort to such passive tactics but we do cover every possibility. I've been here this whole time, regenerating the rest of my body and waiting in the shadows until the time was right to--"

Mikey heard footsteps. He grabbed an empty bucket of paint and slammed it on top of the krang right as Raph walked in.

"You okay in here, Mikey? You’re looking pretty frazzled."

"No, everything's fine." Mikey was eternally grateful Donnie had soundproofed his room so Raph hadn’t heard him screaming. The bucket of paint tried moving and he sat down on top of it. "Just thought I saw a bug."

Raph stiffened. He hated bugs even more than Donnie. "Well, uh, tell me if you need any help."

He had picked a terrible time to come in. A minute earlier and Mikey would have loved the help. But he couldn't now that he knew what it was. "I will. No worries." He laughed an unconvincing laugh. He really hated lying.

Raph turned to leave but paused in the doorway. "I'm sorry for yelling earlier. I'm not upset at you, Mikey, I just… I still feel like I'm not in control sometimes. Like the krang could show up out of nowhere and use me again."

He wanted to scream but instead focused all his energy on forcing the paint can to stay down and not move.

"I know it's not rational but…" Raph trailed off, shaking his head. He looked back at Mikey and smiled. "None of us are mad at you, I promise." 

Any other time, Mikey would have jumped up and hugged him, shouting hallelujahs that his brother was opening up. But all he could do was ignore the hole the paint can was burning into his shell. "Thank you. I really appreciate that."

With another smile, Raph disappeared. Mikey slumped over. The paint can flew off and landed against the wall, crumpling as if someone crushed it.

“Finally!” the krang yelled, scuttling over to Mikey. “I can come kill y—”

He slammed it into the ground with his hand, squeezing it as if it was a stress toy. “You are not going to do anything. You may have had the advantage before, but you will not hurt us this time.” He could feel the tingle of his mystic power surging through his veins, preparing to—

“Mikey, get out here!” It was Donnie.

“What do you need?!”

“Just get out here and I’ll explain everything!”

Growling and grumbling, Mikey took the krang and threw it into his drawer, wedging a plastic magic wand (Leo’s, he should really return it) against the handle so it was locked. He took a couple breaths before going out there again, knowing he’d need to act as calm as he could. Mikey didn’t know much about the situation he was thrust in, but he did know one thing.

He couldn’t let his brothers find out about the krang.

[next]

#rottmnt #save rise of the tmnt #krang pie #rottmnt fic

[limetimo]

RAB FICS I READ (June pt 1)

With a thief to the gallows by zvzam james and regulus conspire to get regulus out, james wants regulus to come too

the golden king by maladaptivewriting my god so good, regulus wakes up in 1991 as an 11 yeard old and wows to protect harry. oh and also he's pretending to be sirius' son from france

this thing was a masterpiece by mraudersmoon wolfstar with background jegulus

Of Lies and Cowards by ItsYlva

I'll keep you safe by Fenrir13 regulus gets chomped by grayback, here comes Werewolf Tutor Moony! This one is SO. GOOD.

Hogwarts Knows Better, Brother Knows Best by ItsYlva hogwarts and regulus prevent sirius suicide

Leaving And Growing Up by Engie_Ivy some fuckery gets explained and wolfstar is good to sail again

You’re Not On Your Own, Kid by rsbarelle

Mauvais jour de cheveux by Xo_flower Minnie McG can't deal with the black brothers' spats today. somebody has to, tho.

and the memories were lost long ago (but at least you have beautiful ghosts) by effing_potato (Kingdom01) ghost regulus helps remus destroy horcruxes, raise harry and clear sirius' name. very good.

Thinking Of You by aithusarosekiller regulus/remus

what is dead may never die by sisyphusss kreacher saves regulus and takes him to wolfstar

It Might Have Been A Nightmare by AQuietThinker sirius finds out about regulus' sacrifice

Nadir by Ceruleanembers regulus refuses to die

The Filth by ScreamingFae roseStarChaserKiller office sexy times

The Gryffindor Sweater by Trex_patronus in the afterlife, everyone makes fun out of REgulus for wearing Sirius' gryffindor sweater to the cave

tell them i was happy (and my heart is broken) by BlueSundayCake regulus dies for a bit but has to deal with the consequences of his own actions. unfair

 Thing Like Stars in the Dark by toliveinthesky reguulus survives the cave but he's pretty chomped on and bedridden on sirus and remus' sofa. and there's also the matter of his muggleborn french girlfriend who just found out he's been using a fake name the whole time...

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by TakeSwimmingLessons pretty much your typical regulus runs away to alphard jegulus ensues fic

Nothing Fades Like the Light by Rollercoasterwords 1980s cowboys zombie outbreak jegulus wolfstar au. the angst is real and so delicious, happy ending.

Ice by soliloquy_dawn too hot for sex jegulily smut

Declared False Start by Wanderingdonut swimmer regulus

Dial Drunk by Wanderingdonut modern times brotherly angst

Maybe This Time (alternatively: once more, with feeling!) by ghostregulusfest, Wanderingdonut this is AMAZEBALLS!!!!! REGULUS BOSSES THE INFERI AND STARTS A TRAVELLING ACTING COMPANY

Pretty boy by soliloquy_dawn jegulus smut ft top reg in skirt

Dance of the Bacchantes by soliloquy_dawn aboverse sexy times

A Life Like This by ImpishTubist sirius, james and remus said bye-bye to the war and lived peacefully ever after. 23 years later they find out that Sirius' parents did the nasty and got him a much much much younger younger brother, who then nearly single-handedly ended the war and now he's here and wants to make friends. age diff Jegulus

Some Things Never Change by JBlackMalfoyRosier PWP sirius/regulus

This Spark Of Black That I Seem To Love by JBlackMalfoyRosier jegulus, rosekiller, starcahserrosekiller, sexy times and also some plot?

Aftercare by JBlackMalfoyRosier Regulus comes home from his top surgery and his bfs make him feel better

What Master Wants by odysseushatepage Kreacher/REgulus crack

Kreacher's glow-up by fr0gfairy1 Kreacher/REgulus crack

Sweet Dreams Are Made of This by Anonymous Kreacher/regulus getting married

Professor Black (WIP) by CLBoden AU where Snape is replaced with REgulus, it changes some things mostly general attitude

birch trees loom by AllLivesMatter CRYING SCREAMING LYING ON THE FLOOR Avengers/HP crossover, from Avengers 1 to Endgame, Refulus is Black Widow, Evan is captain america James is the hulk ect ect, prepate tissues and selfcare supplies before going it ♥♥♥♥♥

in the boughs of the fir-tree by AllLivesMatter more Evan's POV of the above re: his and reg's unfullfilled potential

Hurtin’ by Bunny17 sad jegulus cuddles

Regulus Black's Dating Guide for Beginners by altaiswrites fake-date your crush to real-dating, by Regulus Black, Regulus/Severus

t Runs in the Family by altaiswrites uncle alphard visiting the black brothers

Inescapable, I'm not even gonna try (And if I get burned, at least we were electrified) by RegulusBlackKinnieBecauseITooFearWater remus sirus and james having consensual kinky fun with regulus PWP

beg for divinity (in my breath) by grimstars jegulus PWP

Cruel Winds by BlueSundayCake regulus recruits severus for horcrux hunting

Innocence by SkyFireForever

Crownless King   by SigynNightmare this was a good one

Shattered sanctuary by Coriaria *DE mission goes wrong* Refulus and Severus: well fuck. maybe lily will save our bollocks? I think it was a good one but it's been a month

Brighten the Dark by skeptique for onbeinganangel regulus is bakk and harry has hots for him

#fic rec #regulus black #tired ill do the rest later

[coffeeaddictednymph]

I found stars in Hell

Regulus Black x Lupin!Reader

Hi! I post this little prolouge hope you guys gonna like it... This is the first time I'm posting my writing please if you find some mistakes just let me know, english is not my first language.

Warning: a bit angst, but I think that's all.

The war come fast most of us just started to live our life. Everybody afraid listening to the radio, searching the Daily Prophet, waiting for some letters anything about our friends, loved ones.

The Order works hard, seeking for information doing missions. Me and my brother also helped the the Order. Here we are waiting for a meeting just a few of us here yet, Remus really tense looking out for danger Sirius impatient too where the hell is the others. I heard a noise and wander away to find the source of the sounds, like footsteps.

Then it was dark like the weather warning us for danger. Death eaters come a lot of them I start to run back to the others. My mind is racing I should be back with my brother, and yet somehow they found out our New meeting spot. Everything is full of death eaters. I think about apperating away but I can't leave without Remus.

Spells and curses painting the surroundings I start to run it's too many around me to fight against them alone. I hear someone shout in the distance

-I go after her, go back to the others.-

Worry feel my whole body, I need to get back hoping the others got away safely. I don't want to die like this alone they won't hesitate I know. I hide behind an old oak tree the steps that's following me fading away, maybe he gave up... Try to control my breath with happy memories.

*Sitting under that tree near the Black Lake reading a book when someone comes near me making a shadow next to mine, I look up to find a Hufflepuff boy from my year.

-Hey. Sorry to bother you, our study session today... Erm can I call it off? - he asked he seems a bit nervous.

-Hi. If you want to sure, but why you wanna cancel? I though you need to pass from Herbology? - I asked him a but confused.

-Yeah I know, but finally that girl I like agreed to go on a date with me. Can we study tomorrow? I really need your tutoring. - he almost begged me.

-Okay tomorrow can work just please don't call it off again. Good luck with your date.- I smiled at him he looked so relieved. He hugged me out of nowhere amongst a lot of Thank yous. After he felt I felt someone behind me so I looked behind to find Regulus stand a few feet away.

-What was that?- he asked his face were stoic like always but his eyes showed a different emotion.

-Nothing, we're just rescheduled something. Why are you asking? -

-I just.. Nevermind he seemed so happy and you're mean so it was strange. -

-I'm not mean Black, you are!- he scoffed and sit next to me, I mimiced his scoff when I realized.

-Wait a bloody minute... Are you jealous Black? - that wicked smile must've beeb really knowing because he blushed slightly.

-Don't be ridiculous, why would I be jealous? - he asked defensivly. We're dating but keep it privet for our sake.

-Oh darling, you're the only storm cloud to me, I'm just tutoring him- I laughed so hard Regulus Black rarely show any emotion. He tried to be emotionless and just put his arm around me to make me stop. *

I missed Regulus, he vanished from my life not long before the war without a word. I peeked from my hiding spot, but yelped when I've been grabbed from behind.

-Don't you dare scream or you get both of us killed. - my attacker whispered in my ear.

-This voice familiar... Could it be him?

- Apparate us somewhere safe you don't want your brother dead right? - he threatens me, but doesn't sound convincing. I apparated to an orchard with a little cottage.

When we arrived I broke free from his grip I held my wand at him.

-I guess this is a lesson in not trusting people, right? Even if they mean everything to you... It is really you? - I couldn't hold my tears anymore as I watch him take of that dreadful mask. Regulus....

#regulus x reader #regulus black imagine #regulus black x lupin reader #remus lupin imagine #regulus black x fem!reader #regulus black fanfiction #first wizarding war #marauders era #harry potter marauders