#trunks x pan
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Feeling nostalgic to return to the fandoms where I was a writer/reader. Now I want to write about some again and start writing about others.
Especially, TrunksxPan and Harmony/Tomione. I hope I like the actress they will cast as Hermione, Emma Watson is a Outstanding for me.
#rivetra#shingeki no kyojin#mimato#digimon#harry x hermione#tomione#harry potter#trunks x pan#dragon ball
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Trunks is 14 years older than Pan. Mai is over 3 years older than Trunks’s mom. So which ship has the biggest age gap?
Beginning of Dragon Ball
★ Mai: 19
★ Bulma: 16
End of Dragon Ball Z
★ Trunks: 18
★ Pan: 4
Start of Dragon Ball GT (I don’t know why they reduced Trunks’s and Pan’s age gap by 5 years. Making him only 9 years older than her now. But, I’ll always prefer GT over Super. So, I’m not going to question it and just roll with it.)
★ Trunks: 23
★ Pan: 14
P.S — Naruto Gaiden, Boruto and Dragon Ball Super are non-existent to me.
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GT was pretty bad, but it wasn’t absolutely horrible, so I’ll give it that much. I just think that I should rewrite it…
Goku doesn’t get turned into a kid, because that storyline messed with me a little. But he does go and tell Bulma that they have a year before the Black Star Dragon Balls destroy the planet.
Maybe Pan still boards the ship, but what if Goku doesn’t have time to get on board before they blast off? Goten (since GT was supposed to stand for Goten and Trunks) actually gets to go in this version, and is on the ladder leading up to the entryway just as Pan presses “blast off”. He scrambles up into the ship and both he and Trunks scold Pan for not listening to her parents.
And since I’M rewriting this, I want to include Truten because I love my gay Sayain boys. So in my head, and like I’ve said a few times before on this blog, I think they get together in their teens, and in GT, they’re in their early twenties. So they’re already together, but I don’t think they’re married quite yet.
Pan is always acting like she doesn’t know them, because since her parents aren’t there to embarrass her, Trunks and Goten take it upon themselves to do so.
Some of the episodes would be different because they don’t make sense, but the one(s) I’m really looking forward to are the ones with that big blue whisker guy that can predict when an earthquake hits. I can’t remember his name rn but I’ll get there.
Anyway, those episodes have to be my favorite ones just because of the “you have to dress up like a bride and pretend to marry him so she doesn’t have to! Also because she has the Dragon Ball and we need it”. I found that hilarious. And Goten being there to witness Trunks having to do that I feel would make it even better.
“Aw, maybe you should wear that at our wedding.”
“Piss off, Goten.”
Maybe it makes more sense if Goten did it but I still think it would be funnier if it were Trunks.
Yeah, GT was pretty awful. But that’s what we got fanfiction for, amiright
#goten would be losing his mind being on a ship with his boyfriend and niece for a year#we’re not even worried about trunks goten having to put up with their asses would make us feel so much worse for him#dragon ball gt#trunks briefs#son goten#pan#truten#trunks x goten
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#mai dragon ball#dragon ball super#mai dragon ball super#dragon ball#mai chan#trunks x mai#son pan#pan dragon ball#bra briefs#dragon ball super super hero
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Dragon Ball Ships Week 2023 (2) - Day 4: Beach/Swimming Pool
Days: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]
Title: Reconnecting
Pairing: Pan/Uub with minor Bulla/Goten
Characters: Son Pan, Bulla Briefs, Marron, Son Goten, Trunks Briefs and Uub
Summary: Pan and Uub decide to go to the same pool and a meeting is inevitable.
Do not repost, claim to be your own work or use it without perrmission.
Cross-posted on AO3
It was a typical summer day, though the inhabitants of West City and cities nearby were suffering from a massive heatwave.
“It’s so freaking hot today that even the air-conditioning doesn’t seem to be working and cool the heat down.” Bulla Briefs was lying down on her bed, cooling herself down with a fan.
“I know.” Pan replied, from the floor. “I feel like I’m gonna melt any second. Not even ice is helping today.”
“Hey, why don’t we go to a swimming pool?” Marron suggested and both girls looked at her. She seemed to be the one that didn’t mind the excessive heat that much.
“That’s a great idea, Marron!” Bulla exclaimed, sitting down. “I’m in.”
“I like it, but it’s gonna be crowded. It’s the kind of place everyone goes to when the weather is like this.”
“It’s true, but honestly who cares about this? At this point I’m down for anything to help me cool down.”
“Alright then, let’s go!”
****
Pan couldn’t help but feel a little upset at the fact Bulla and Marron drew attention from some guys on the street. It also made her roll her eyes at their stupidity and lack of common sense. Not that she thought she wasn’t pretty or anything like that, but her two best friends effortlessly became the center of attention anywhere they went. With a long silent sigh, she shook her head and tried to push such thoughts away.
“Pan, is everything okay?” Marron asked in her usual soft voice as she gently waved her hand in front of her friend’s eyes.
“Huh? Yes, I’m sorry.” She quickly smiled at her. “I was just spacing out for a moment. Nothing to worry about.”
“If you say so.” The blonde replied, but didn’t seem convinced in the slightest.
****
The public swimming pool was crowded, but not like the girls thought it would be. Still, it was quite hard for them to find a good spot. Pan laid down on her towel and decided to listen to some music while Goten and Trunks didn’t arrive, which didn’t take long.
“Hi, girls.” Goten said cheerfully and then bent over, removing Pan’s earphones. She had her eyes closed, so she didn’t notice their arrivals. “It’s not cool to listen to music when other people are around.”
“Bite me.” She took a deep breath. “I know, I just didn’t want to deal with guys looking at Bulla and Marron and ignoring me.”
“Why would they ignore you, Panny?” He sat down next to her. “You’re just as pretty as them.”
“Of course you’d say that, you’re my uncle.”
“No.” He touched her knee and gave it a light squeeze. “I’m saying this because it’s true. It makes me sad you’d even think that about yourself.”
“I don’t think I’m ugly, uncle Goten.” She sat up and looked at her feet. “It’s just that they draw more attention from guys than me. And honestly, why wouldn’t they?”
“That’s stupid, Pan. Yeah, they’re pretty, but you are too. You’re pretty your own way and shouldn’t compare to them. I’m sure there are guys out there who’d love to date you.”
“I suppose so.” She shrugged; her tone still skeptical.
Goten moved to sit beside his niece. “I know so. And who knows? You might as well find someone here today.”
She bit her lower lip. “Uncle Goten, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, Panny, you can ask me anything.”
“Please, don’t call me Panny. It’s embarrassing now.”
“Sorry, I can’t do it, Panny.” He teased her with a grin.
“Ugh.” She pressed her palm against her face, but was smiling as well.
“What do you want to ask?”
“Have you ever messed up with someone so badly you don’t know if you can ever make it up to them?”
“I believe you can always make it up to anyone. Unless you committed a crime or did something very bad, everything can be solved with a heart to heart conversation. You just have to be honest with yourself.”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“Well, then you did everything you could. It’s not on you anymore. But if you mean something to this person, they will understand and forgive you.” Goten assured her. “I honestly don’t see why they wouldn’t. You’re a wonderful person, Pan. And I’m proud and happy for this fierce and beautiful woman you’re becoming.”
“Thank you so much, uncle Goten. It means a lot.”
“Of course, Panny.” He hugged her. “You deserve to be happy.”
The sun was shining at its full force and about two thirds of the people in the swimming pool were actually in the water. The rest was getting tanned on their towels.
“Come on, Pan!” Goten said from the pool. “The water is really nice, you should get in.”
“In a little bit.”
“Okay, but you’re missing out.”
“Hey, Goten.” Trunks approached him. “Isn’t that your father’s pupil over there?”
“Where?” He looked around and grinned. “Yes, that’s right! It’s Uub. Hey, Uub!”
The young man blushed heavily upon hearing his name being called and seeing who had done it.
“Come here, join us!”
Pan felt her heart racing and her cheeks blushing heavily when she heard his name. She thought she would go unnoticed, but there was someone paying full attention to her.
“Pan, why are you blushing?”
“What are you talking about, Bulla?” She screamed, drawing some attention to herself. Her face was blushing even more, but she didn’t really care. “I’m not blushing.”
“Yes, you are!” Bulla insisted. “You have a crush on someone!”
“I do not! And can you please keep it down?” Pan pleaded. “I don’t want to be the center of a scene here.”
“Fine.” The blue haired woman backed down, but Pan knew quite well she wasn’t going to let it go. She also knew she wouldn’t fall for that. But for the time being, she had to avoid talking to Uub.
Bulla turned around and looked into Goten’s black eyes intently. He looked back at her and placed his hands on her hips.
“What are you thinking?”
“What if we set Pan up with Uub?”
“Bulla, I really don’t think it’s a good idea. She’s old enough, she’s capable of finding her own dates.”
“I know, but I thought maybe we could help her. You know, give her a push.”
“Uh, I’m not sure.” He squeezed her hips very lightly. “You know as well as I do that Pan doesn’t like that. In fact, no one does.”
“You have a point.” Bulla ran her hands through her boyfriend’s bare and wet chest.
“Whatever happens, she deal with it the best way she can.”
“I know…” She bit her lower lip and looked up at him again. “But she’s your niece, you know? Don’t you wanna help her?”
“Please, don’t go there.” Goten said firmly. “Of course I wanna help her, but only she can decide who’s suitable for herself or not. It’s not our place to do it.”
“Great, so we can come up with a plan to set them up.” She grinned.
“Bulla, did you hear what I just said?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “We’re gonna give them a push and let them work it out afterwards.”
“That’s not what…” Goten sighed in frustration. He was aware it was pointless to knock some sense into Bulla sometimes.
****
Pan spied the hall, to make sure she wouldn’t run into Uub. Not that she didn’t want to see him, but she didn’t wanna risk bumping into someone else if she was talking to him. She also didn’t know what to say if she ever ran into him by accident. It would be a very awkward moment. She couldn’t help but think he was avoiding her just as much, and she didn’t blame him at all. As soon as she made sure it was safe and walked out of the changing room, she collided with him.
“Hey.”
“Hi.” He blushed a little when he looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”
“It’s okay.” She assured him. “I didn’t see you as well.”
“Right.”
“So how have you been?” Pan asked, breaking eye contact with him. “It’s been a while since…”
“Yeah.” Uub interrupted her, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “I’ve been good. Still training with your grandfather from time to time.”
“I can see that.” The young woman felt her cheeks blushing heavily after checking his well-toned chest. That made the boy blush even more.
“What about you? How have you been?”
“I’ve been good too. You know, busy with college.”
“I get it.”
“Yeah.”
“Well…” Uub quickly glanced towards the pool and then back at her. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Wait!” In an impulse, she reached out and grabbed his wrist. “I think we should talk.”
“Pan, I don’t think we have anything to talk about anymore.”
“Right.” She let go of him. “If that’s what you think.”
“That’s how you made it seem last time we saw each other.”
“What?” The brunette woman was taken aback with his statement. “Is that how you saw it?”
“Was there any other way to see it? You left me.”
“Okay…” She bit her lower lip and looked around, to make sure they were still alone. “I want to explain myself, so can we go somewhere quieter?”
“Pan, I still think we don’t have anything to talk about anymore.”
“But I do. Please.”
Uub looked into her piercing black eyes and took a deep breath, defeated. “Alright.”
The two friends walked into a coffee shop nearby about fifteen minutes later. Pan sighed with relief after realizing neither Goten nor her friends were day, making it a safe place for them, at least for the time being.
“You can order anything you want, it’s on me.”
“You don’t have to pay for me as a way to make it up.”
“I didn’t…” Pan stopped talking when she looked at him and saw his expression. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
“So…” She began, uncertain. “As I said earlier, I want to explain myself.”
She paused and looked into his eyes, as if she was expecting him to say something before proceeding. But no words came out of his mouth. She bit her lower lip and took a few more seconds before speaking again.
“Okay, so… it’s not what you think.”
“You already said that.”
“Right.” She pressed her palms together nervously. “I wasn’t ready.”
“Is that your excuse? You could’ve just said it.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You did a great job on that.”
Pan didn’t like where the conversation was going, but she knew she couldn’t say anything. He had every right to be upset and hurt.
“I’m sorry.” She said eventually. “I know that saying I didn’t mean to hurt you won’t make anything better.”
“No, it won’t.” He replied. “You’re the first person I know who reacts badly to ‘I love you’.”
“In my defense, you took me by surprise. I didn’t know how to react, since we never really talked about being in love with each other.”
“And running away like that was the solution you found.” The tone of his voice was as sharp as a knife.
“I don’t know what else to say. I panicked, okay? I’m aware that it hurt you, and I’d take it back if I could. I regret it everyday, trust me.”
“I find it very hard to believe.”
“I can’t change the past.” Pan stretched her arms and touched his hands tentatively, just to see how he would react. Much to her surprise, he didn’t take them away. That gave her the push she needed to keep going. “We’ve known each other for so long. I can’t imagine my life – or myself, for that matter – without you anymore. And I really don’t want to.”
“What does that mean though?”
“It means that I’m sorry about what I did and if you let me, I want to make up for all the hurt I’ve caused.”
“Hmmm.” Uub replied very calmly, which caused Pan to begin to lose her temper. “How exactly?”
“I don’t want to run from my feelings anymore.” She took a sip of her drink. “I want to make us official.”
He narrowed his eyes, feeling very suspicious. “Right.”
“I thought you’d be happy about it.”
“It’s hard to believe anything you say now, to be honest.”
“I mean it.” The brunette girl stood up and grabbed his arm, pulling him up as well. “I want to be with you. And I want to tell everyone about it. No more hiding.”
“Still not really convinced.” The boy said, and Pan could tell his walls were beginning to come down. She was definitely going to use that in her favor.
“What if I do this?” She stood on her toes and wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling his head towards her for a kiss.
He resisted at first, but quickly let his defenses down. She seized the opportunity to wrap her other arm around him and smiled when she felt his around her waist, pressing her body against his. They pulled away from each other eventually and let their foreheads touch.
“What about that?” She asked. “Is that enough to convince you?”
“I think so.” He couldn’t help but grin. “That’s more than enough for me.”
“Come on.” Pan took him by the hand. “We gotta tell everyone.”
****
“There she is!” Bulla shouted when Pan walked into the swimming pool place again. She let out a piercing scream when she noticed she was holding hands with Uub. “Oh my God!! Marron, do you see this?”
“I do.” The blonde nodded. “But you don’t need to be so loud. It can be embarrass them, and we don’t want that.”
“I’m just happy Pan found someone! You two make a beautiful couple.”
“Thank you.” Pan blushed and looked at her uncle, who was standing behind Bulla and had his arms around her. He gave her a subtle and warm smile.
“It’s true, you really do.” Marron echoed the bluenette. “I had no idea you two were seeing each other.”
“Yeah, it’s a long story.” The young woman blushed even more, while Uub rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “What matters is that we’re here now.”
“That’s really nice and all, but I still want to know how you two got together.”
“Bulla.” Goten softly called her out and she bent to her right, to look at him.
“You don’t wanna know?”
“I think it’s something private. They will share it if they want to. If they don’t, it’s okay too.”
“You wanna know!” She pressed her finger against his chest. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“I think it’s time for us to go home.” Marron intervened, in an attempt to help her childhood friend.
****
Goten looked over his shoulder when the group was making their way to the Capsule Corp and saw Pan was the last one on the sidewalk, so he purposely started walking slower to catch up with her.
“So... Uub, huh?” He put his left arm around her shoulders.
“Yeah…” She blushed again and looked down to hide it from him.
“Hey, you don’t have to be embarrassed with it. There’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I know.” She finally looked at him. “You were right, by the way. Everything can be solved with a heart to heart conversation.”
“I told you. So he’s the guy you were talking about by the pool?”
“Yes.” She confirmed. “It’s quite a long story, to be honest.”
“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”
“Maybe one day I will.”
“No pressure at all.” Goten squeezed her shoulder lightly. “Do your parents know about it?”
“Not yet.” Pan bit her lower lip. “But I was wondering if you could be there when I do.”
“Of course. I’d be happy to.”
#DBShipsWeek2023#DBShipsWeek#Son Pan#Pan#Bulla Briefs#Bulla#Bra Briefs#Marron#Son Goten#Goten#Trunks Briefs#Trunks#Uub#Puub#Pan x Uub#Dragon Ball GT#DBGT#Fanfiction#Fanfic
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Lol I thought this was super funny
So~ I had to draw it as Truten~
#incorrect fandom quotes#dbz#dbs#bra briefs#bra#bulla briefs#bulla#dbz pan#dbs pan#pan#son goten#goten x trunks#trunks x goten#goten#trunks briefs#trunks#truten#inkd draws
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(cringing...) Alright everyone, page 1 is here!
Oh and just so you all know, this is trunks x mai | goten x marron (2018) comic.
Cover | Page 1 | Page 2 | Page 3 | Page 4 | Page 5 | Page 6 | Page 7 | Page 8 | Page 9 | Page 10 | Page 11 | Page 12 | Page 13 | Page 14 | Page 15 | Page 16 |
#dragonball#dragon ball#Dragon Ball Z#DragonballZ#dragon ball gt#dragon ball super#dragon ball art#old comic#trunks#trunks briefs#trunksxmai#trumai#son goten#goten#marron x goten#goten x marron#marron#marten#Son Pan#pan#uub#majin uub#bulla#bulla briefs#so cringy#my artwork#munchkinkittyhams#munchkinkh#munchkin_kh#munchkin kh
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I think I’d be sort of interesting if, for like an alternate ending where Luke is alive and doesn’t betray camp, Luke when he’s older decides to visit his mother but with diyonius reader
the house on a hill
a ‘partners in crime’ alternate universe installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader
alternate universe masterpost
words: 663
summary: alternate universe - driving up to mom’s for the weekend & some sweet domesticity - luke castellan x dionysus!reader
a/n: this was a cute lil way to clear my head! send more luke x trouble asks??
(posted 1/28/23 unbetad)
written in reference to this blurb
—
Your head bumps against the car window as you jolt awake.
“About time that you woke up, babe,” Luke grins, his eyes still on the road. Blinking slowly, you look around at the trees blurring together as you stare out the window, recognizing where you are. The two of you were driving up from your apartment in Brooklyn, finally going to see his mom for the weekend. With graduation steadily approaching in the next few months, there was a lot to think about.
“How long was I out?” you groan, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. The sun is setting now, and a blue “Welcome to Connecticut! We’re Full of Surprises!” sign whizzes past the passenger window.
“Just an hour, but I got a little lonely,” Luke hums, rubbing circles on your thigh while his other hand is on the wheel. You lace your fingers with his own, watching him yawn. You can tell he needs this, and with all the time your dad drags you back to Montauk for ‘consults’, it’d be nice to get a dose of normal for once.
“Poor baby.”
Laughter spills out of you like a melody as you crack open the still-cold redbull in the cupholder, and he can’t help but admire your side profile as you take big sips. He’s so in love with you, and this weekend will be perfect. It has to be.
“Mmm, want some?”
Your boyfriend takes a sip, smiling when he hears you singing along to a Taylor Swift song. As you hold up an imaginary microphone for him to warble into, the distance to his childhood home gets smaller and smaller, until you spot the white picket fence of the property and squeal in excitement.
“Hurry up, I wanna see your mom!” you giggle, stomping your feet onto the car floor as he drives up the grassy path and honks loudly.
“Hey, I thought I was your favorite Castellan, trouble…” Luke says and his voice trails off when he sees his mom peeking through the kitchen window, waving at you.
“Whatever you say, angelface.”
You almost hop out of the car and run up the steps to hug her, gentle hands pulling you into a feeling of comfort only mothers can give.
“Hi Ms. Castellan!”
“Oh honey, I told you May is fine, or Mom. You’re already my favorite kid!” she grins, her smile exactly like her son’s, and the both of you turn to hear Luke grumbling as he pops the trunk to get your bags.
“Hi mommy,” Luke chuckles, bumping your hip to push you into the house as he kisses May’s cheek, “Stop being so obvious, you’re gonna spoil my surprise!”
His hands fumble with the bags as he props a knee up to readjust his hold on your backpack and May’s hands reach out to help him.
“No, it’s okay, I got it, I got it…”
May catches the ring box that falls out of Luke’s back pocket, holding it to her chest with a knowing smile.
“You’re always gonna need some help, whether you admit it or not, my love.” She tucks the box into the pocket of his flannel shirt, patting it before she pinches his cheek.
“Luckily, you have a woman like her. Bless her heart for what you’ll put her through,” May says laughing at his scrunched-up expression.
“Guess I’m just scared she’ll say no.”
Luke sighs, looking at her like she holds the answers to the world.
“She’ll be crazy if she says no,” she reasons, and they both listen to you setting the table in the dining room.
“No, she’ll be crazy if she says yes. That’s why I want to marry her,” he snorts, bringing the bags in through the doorway.
“Um, mom? I think the cookies are burning!” you call out, sounding panicked.
The weight of the box in his pocket feels heavy, but his heart has never felt so light and sure of what’s to come.
—
(pictures are not representative of reader's appearance and gender, simply added visuals for funsies)
luke taglist (struck out won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @targaryenluvs @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @b0ok-lover
#made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse#luke castellan x dionysus!reader#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan x reader fanfic#pjo imagine#percy jackon and the olympians#percy series#percy jackson and the olympians#🪽
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Heart of the Sea
Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader
Genre: angst, romance, adventure, pirate!au, royalty!au
Content Warnings: weapons, graphic depictions of violence, blood, mentions of drowning, prostitution, depictions of parental abuse, torture, drugging, alcohol, death, eventual smut, unhealthy relationship dynamics/toxicity, they're pirates and not the peter pan silly goofy kind.
reader warnings: reader has breasts, long hair but i try not to describe more than length, she/her pronouns, and referred to as "princess"
Length: ~22k
Note: ITS FINALLY HERE!! longest fic I've ever written. my pride and joy. this is a dark fic and i tried to make the warnings as clear as possible. the romance is a slow burn. please do not interact if you may be triggered! take care of yourself first!
extra warning: MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY! You will be hard blocked!
read more here
Old Friends
Salt water on the stale air caresses your senses awake, rousing you from your deep slumber as the gentle rocking of the tide tempts you to return to its depths. In the belly of the ship, only the gentle flame of an oil lantern hanging from the ceiling illuminates the dark closet you call your room. Just wide enough that your palms lay flat against each wall when your arms are extended, deep enough to hang a hammock for restless dozes through the night.
Something is wrong.
A ship full of thieves, criminals, and other degenerates never quiets to an eerie silence such as this. The lap of the ocean at the wooden sides of the vessel drowns most noise but she seldom comes away with a clean sweep like she does currently.
Something is very very wrong.
Twisting out of the hammock, your feet hit the floor with a slash. The black oily surface of water reflects in the dim light, consuming the entirety of your boots, soaking up to the middle of your shins. A quick survey of your space shows your only possession, a small leather trunk, bobbing in the corner.
The real prizes decorate your figure. Daggers tucked in their sheaths, littering their usual hiding places: one tucked under each cuff of your shirt, the largest one strapped to your thigh, one in the lining of each boot, and several strapped to the leather belt across your chest. Your revolver sits on your hip, golden neck polished, loaded like you left it before dozing off.
The door to this room is one of the few that sits less than an inch off the ground. Meaning the water in here is likely nothing compared to what's beyond the thick piece of wood. You need to get out of here. Out of this room and out to the deck.
Steadying yourself, you plant your feet in a fighting stance, preparing for the force that will race in once the door opens. Barely a turn of the knob, a click of the latch and the door is blown wide; smacking into the wall behind as the sea rushes in, informing you that the water beyond is up to your thigh as it threatens to knock you off your feet.
The worn wood of the threshold threatens to rip your nails as you hold on for dear life. If you fall into the flood, it's over. You won’t be able to get back up, crushed under the weight of the ocean’s will. It's the first thing you learn on a ship: the sea takes and takes and she doesn’t return what she’s claimed no matter how much you plead. And if you do get away, she’ll come to collect eventually.
Arms straining and thighs burning, you force forward against the onslaught. By the time you exit the confines of your room , the water is at your chest. Caressing your collar bones, lapping at your neck like a crude noose. The jostle of your movement claps waves into your face.
I’ve got you now. The sea whispers. Finally ran out of borrowed time, little bird.
Salt water burns your nose with each bob of your head as you work towards the stairs leading up and out. The tang floods your mouth, pooling in the back of your throat; choking you, silencing your scream for help.
Give up. The seductive voice purrs in your ear. Come to me. Let me give you oblivion.
When the ocean finds home in your lungs, you let her take what she’s owed.
A knife to the throat is a less than friendly way to greet your second but Wonwoo should have expected it. His mistake for standing too close to wake his captain.
Wild eyes stare up at him, cataloging his features as the cool metal point pinches his airway. Sharp eyes, firm mouth, scar from temple to chin. He doesn’t flinch as you press a little firmer, forcing the dagger into the pale skin of his neck. Finally, safe triggers in your head.
Still, it takes a few seconds before your muscles relax enough to let you retract the small piece of steel.
“You’re needed on the deck.”
A shuddered breath is all the response he gets before you wave him out.
Wonwoo refuses to move, pointed gaze burning yours.
“Handle it.” You bark.
“Told me not to make deals in your name.”
That peaks your interest.
“Who is it?”
“Stragglers from a sinking ship.” He reports. “Seokmin pulled them from the wreckage.”
“Of course he did.”
If Wonwoo was a stupider man he’d mistake the exasperation in your tone for fondness. But he’s not. If Seokmin was less valuable then his ass would have been at the bottom of the sea months ago. But the strikes against him are stacking higher and higher, and your goodwill is running out.
Today, you’re in one of your better moods. Seokmin will probably end up back in the wreckage with the sorry sailors he saved if none of them prove to be of any use. That is, if you let them take a breath after finding out just who exactly is standing above you.
“What colors?”
Their allegiance. The flag had been long gone by the time the three men were pulled from the chilly depths. But the brands on their necks tell it just the same. A circle with a vertical line through the middle.
“Krakens.”
You're out of your bed and up the stairs before Wonwoo can blink.
Face cold as the winter wind that screams from the north, you hone in on your target the second you're in the daylight. Seokmin doesn’t see it coming as you round on him. The brass knuckles swirling around your fingers rips a sizable gash across his cheek as the crack of your hand rings out, silencing your audience.
He falls to his knees as his own hands move to protect his face, a pained “Fuck!” leaving his lips.
“You’re lucky I don't shoot you!” You spit, lips curled and teeth bared.
Garnet blood dripping from his chin to the wooden planks only furthers your disdain for the man in front of you. The gun on your hip sings like a siren but you have bigger problems to deal with. Seokmin won’t get the bullet with his name engraved on it today but tonight he should pray to whatever powers be that it finds another target first.
Whirling to the three strangers backed against the main mast, you eye them up and down. Wonwoo was right to wake you, because looking you in the eye with a shit eating grin is the demon you’ve been avoiding for years. The reason for your nightmares. The reason for the lump of hardened charcoal where a beating heart should be.
“Miss me?” he smirks.
In a flash, the revolver is in your hand. The shot hits dead center of the scant inches between his feet, smoke rising from the hole embedded in the surface of the deck. Whisps still rise from the muzzle of the gun as you cock the second bullet and raise your arm to aim for his heart.
His cocky facade slips for a fraction of a second, but it pulls the infamous bloodthirsty smile to your lips.
“You’re a dead man, Jeonghan.”
The hesitant rap at the door rips your attention away from the creased parchment sprawled across your desk. Tallies of loots, debts, bribes, and more litter the ledger in tight neat script; providing nothing more than a swelling vein throbbing across your temple.
“Come in.” You beckon, eyes glued to your ledger.
Tracking his movements in your peripheral, Seokmin’s entire presence screams terror. He doesn’t dare look up when he cracks the door to your office open, barely enough for him to slip inside. Even the click of the latch is silent as he shuts it, releasing the twisted knob once it’s back home; attempting to make himself as small as possible, like a mouse trying to escape a snake’s nest. He knows it’s judgment day and he’s been found wanting. The weight of his sentence hangs around his heart where he just might find a bullet in the next few minutes.
“Sit.”
He isn’t a horrible crew member. Bad pirate? Absolutely. But he’s loyal as they come, works hard as anyone else with something to prove to the world.
Seokmin was a farmer's son. One of several and the last in line to inherit any crumb of wealth his family could ever offer. At least that's what he told everyone. On the Hydra, a person’s story was their own. You didn’t care who they were before they inked their loyalty onto the base of their skull, just that no one would come for them with a debt to settle while aboard your ship.
The farm hardened his body but his heart was soft as wax under a flame. In spite of the obvious flaw, it’s why he’s the best at collecting information. Pure face and a familiar warmth, naivety rolling off him in waves. A few cheap secrets swimming out his mouth, misinformed beliefs regarding the way the world worked spoken a little too loud and viola! Some fool would step up to the plate to correct him, spilling their guts on the table just before Seokmin’s knife spilled them on the floor.
Despite what he cost you in sanity, he’d been worth his weight in gold when it came to finding leads on loose lips. Sometimes even loose legs. The women at brothels adamantly refused to take the coin you padded his pocket with. Always sending him back hours later than expected with the familiar jingle of a full purse and an unmistakable swagger in his step. You swear the velvet pocket is sometimes heavier than when it left.
You deliberately drag your gaze up to Seokmin’s face, unhurried in pace, blinking lazily, almost sleepy. Jaw relaxed, and shoulders loose; your entire posture screams threat. Each of your crew needed a different captain when it came to reprimands. Soonyoung, eager to please and prove, suffered most with silent dismissals. Jihoon, the rare times he earned your ire, only responded to direct threats.
Seokmin’s master and executioner was guilt.
“Do you know how Wonwoo got his scar?”
Schooling your face into a neutral expression, you wait for his response. Providing nothing, refusing to allow him comfort in this moment.
Seokmin doesn’t raise his gaze from his worn leather boots as he mumbles, “No.”
“It was my fault.” You share, picking your nails as the weight of your admission settles. “I thought I was helping a kid escape some cons. Told her she could follow us to town but after that, she was on her own. Turns out she was leading us into a deathtrap. One of her little gang took a swing at Wonwoo’s face and almost took his eye with him. Luckily, Wonwoo got him first.”
Apparently, this was one of the rare instances Seokmin had the sense to stay quiet.
“He’d thought it was a bad idea, but I tried to help her anyway. Didn’t listen to his advice that some things need to be left to the fates.”
Standing from your desk, you snag the bottle of whiskey resting on the cluttered bookshelf behind you. One of the few luxuries you afford yourself. Pouring two glasses, you slide one across your desk to the frightened man before continuing.
“I didn’t listen, and he got hurt.” Your tone so sharp it bites with blood stained teeth. “Wonwoo almost lost his eye, Min. Tell me, what kind of shooter would he be with one eye?”
“Not a very useful one?”
“Just about as useful as a spy you’d be without your tongue.”
Seokmin’s pale face balks at the implication. Hands wringing in his lap, you think he might piss himself.
“I’m not in the business of charity so I say this once: pull another stunt like you did today, and I’ll have Shua make you wish I killed you this morning.” Sitting back into the ancient leather chair, you jut your chin hauntingly. “Understand?”
“Yes, captain.”
“Get out.”
The door clicks shut before your next breath.
Your head drops with a heavy thud against the wooden trim of your seat, eyes sliding shut. Holding the stretch of your lungs as you inhale, attempting to do the same to the stiff muscles corded around your shoulders as a squeak alerts you to a new presence.
“That went well.”
You don’t have the patience for Wonwoo's taunting tonight.
Sprawling in the now abandoned chair, he leisurely sips at Seokmin’s untouched glass of amber liquor before speaking again..
“I didn't almost lose my eye.”
“I fail to see how that's of importance.”
“Too many rumors flying around means someone will eventually ask for the truth.”
“Do let me know when they approach you, I’d pay good money to watch you stutter your way through the story.”
In truth, Wonwoo’s trademark scar came as the result of too much lager and a very short pier. You both were still fresh as spring lambs to the cruel world beyond the high walls of the marble palace, but quickly figured that anything you could use to your advantage needed exhaustion. The rumors you’ve stirred up around the jagged silver mark spanning half his face granted him a reputation beyond the edges of the ship, carried further by those who managed to escape your wrath.
Legends across the seas of the Viper’s second painted a terrifying character. Wonwoo’s quiet nature and intimidating features served to fan the flames further. He was mean with a blade, even meaner with a gun. Only those with a deathwish knowingly went toe to toe with him. Those unfortunate enough to cross his mark were dead before they could even hear the cock of the pistol.
When Wonwoo doesn’t answer, you continue. “If anything, you should be thanking me.”
“Oh?”
“How many fights have you gotten in since I started telling people your scar was because you made a deal with a daemon?”
“Several.”
“Which is certainly less than otherwise.”
“Certainly.”
“And I don’t even get a thank you.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” He grovels, cocking his head forward.
“I’m not in the mood for your poor humor.”
“You seemed to be generous with Seokmin.”
Knocking back the remnants of your cup before pouring another drink, you respond. “When he fucks up and I let Shua cut him to a million pieces he’ll see generous as I am, I’m good on my threats.”
That’s why they called you the Viper. Lethal. Calculating. Even when things don’t appear to be in your favor, luck seems to find you as a friend. Everything could be a lesson or another method for you to strengthen your alliances.
Even Seokmin’s fatal mistake of pulling Jeonghan on board would serve a purpose.
“Speaking of threats. What are we doing with those Krakens?”
“Eager to take a swing?” You jest, ignoring the sheen clinging to his lips.
“I have no interest in hearing them screaming at all hours for the next week. Kill Jeonghan, dump the other two and let the sharks claim them.”
“But then Jeonghan won’t see how we greet old friends. The other two are insurance.”
There isn’t enough time in the universe for you to deal Jeonghan what you owe him. The hunger to see him suffer would have terrified you in a past life. Even the hit on Seokmin this morning came with a swallowed trickle of sympathy after your rage cooled to a smolder, but no room for regret on the sea. Strike first and strike hard. You’ll pay for it all in the end and guilt wouldn’t spare you.
But what grows in you now isn’t concerned with what you’ll face on the other side of the light. The poison you’ve collected in your veins for years pleads for the chance to fruit in his blood and stop his cold heart.
“You think he cares that much?”
“He’s captain, they’re his crew.”
“So you’d squirm if Seokmin got under the knife?”
“Ask me in a few days.”
Silence finds the space between you like a familiar companion. Wonwoo is the last piece of home you have. You’d grown up together, run away together. Found each other again and again, no matter how long you ended up separated. A friend like him was difficult to come by when everyone had a price. Wonwoo’s turned out to be too high to ever hang you out to dry, and you the same.
“Tell Jihoon I want us at port by midday tomorrow.”
A humorless breath leaves his nose, “Oh, he’ll be thrilled.”
“I don’t pay him to be happy, I pay him to get my ship where I want it to go.”
You’re snappier than usual. The fury you feed in front of the crew protects you from the whispers and speculations. You’d won the vote fair and square when your processor had been ousted, a man nothing more than a relic from the old days, lazy and more than willing to let others do his dirty work while he soaked in riches. You’d sewed patches of discontent after years spent aboard, earning favors and friends along the way, mastering every job to be done on the once dingy ship.
Tentative friendships were easily gained, but respect? Respect was on the bidding block everyday. It wasn’t enough to stain your hands whenever needed; the price for respect was razored words and padded pockets.
Unfortunately, Wonwoo earned his fair share of both.
“When we get to the pier, we’re dropping Chan.”
“What?” Now anger heats his tongue.
“He’s not making progress.”
“Guns take time.”
“I've got enough mediocre gunslingers, I don’t need another.” Your focus is on the parchment again, searching for the cost the youngest member of your crew is having you foot. “He’s wasting ammunition and gunpowder as if it falls from the sky.”
“No.”
Occasionally Wonwoo argued with you, pressed you to see different perspectives but rarely did he disagree completely. Even more rare was flat out refusal.
“Pardon?”
“We’re not dropping Chan. He’s better than Vernon, and better than I was when I’d been doing it as long as he has.”
Your eyes slink to his, slow and purposeful. A lioness toying with her prey, gaze sharp as the knife you raised to his throat earlier that morning. Head tilting to the side, you open your mouth with a venomous smile.
“So when he catches up, I drop you?”
The threat is empty as the decanter perched on your desk, but there is always a sliver of Wonwoo’s heart that freezes at the possibility you’ll make good on it.
“You’ll never drop me.”
“After today, I might.”
The charade drops in an instant. Eyes closing once again, you scrub your face until stars burst against the black backdrop of your lids.
Nights like these rip open the place in your mind that rains endless questions. What if you remained in your little piece of the world? What if you accepted the frilly dress and silly parties? Allowed your father to make your marriage match as he saw fit for his own gains, a marriage to the cold Duke of Nas-Shost’s son or one of the brutish princes of Uspar. Perhaps you’d only be subjected to the violence of one man rather than dozens. Certainly there'd be less blood, fewer scars climbing your body like grotesque ivy. The warm arms of lavish life would embrace you, dull your mind till you were pliant as your peers. Produce babe after babe for whatever loveless man you’d been bound to, allowing nannies and wet nurses to care for your children while you indulged in cards and gossip like your mother.
Destined to be a mirror image of her dreamy smiles and distant eyes. A glance at your mother’s face showed her spirit miles away, blissful nothingness constantly clouded her features. Perhaps it was her own method of surviving your father.
She mindlessly prattled in the few hours you spent with her as a child, typically spewing tattles of the neighbors and other society ladies as if it was of great importance. Laughing at her own quips and snarks that you couldn’t quite grasp the humor of. Only one conversation of substance ever occurred amongst dainty tea cups and porcelain plates of biscuits and cake.
During one of the numerous lessons with your pious governess, Madam Atina, a hunched woman with a face like an old leather satchel; she’d hauntingly informed you everyone was born in the world with a cardinal flaw sealed in their soul. You’d run right to your mother, sharing the new knowledge with electrifying excitement. Her jeweled fingers brushed your hair as you sat in her lap, recalling the seven faults like it was an examination.
Your governess is right. She smiled.
What’s father’s? Pride. And yours? Envy. And me? You, my little bird, were born greedy as they come.
Barely seven at the time, you squealed as her fingers tickled your ribs, joyously unaware she bared your deepest secret so easily. But now, you understood why she always had a heavier hand in your upbringing than she had in your older sisters’.
From the moment you left the womb, you’d wanted. Even with every luxury available, any whim granted, you’d always been greedy for a different sort of satisfaction. A different life. What use was having anything if you needed the approval of another to get it? Even as a child you’d resented the way your father had the final say on your mother’s choices. On your sisters’. On yours.
Imagination taking you to the stables every morning, pulling the shy stable boy from his chores to appease your need for a new identity. Finding freedom in the far edges of the palace gardens, pretending you were soldiers on the front line between roses, using the bushes as cover before shooting make believe pistols at a fictitious enemy. Or two warring monarchs set to duel, branches becoming gilded swords as the day lilies provided their rapt attention. Sometimes you played pirates, forcing each other to walk the plank before breaking into maniacal giggles at the ridiculous accents you donned by the crystal lake.
The garden’s behind the estate remained a stage until your mother had you moved out of the nursery at twelve and into a private room down the hall to prepare you for balls and parties. New lady’s maids combed your hair up and tailored the hem of your dress down to brush the ground, signaling to everyone in court you were now of age. And then you were tasked with mastering a new kind of performance. The type that ends with your hands, neck, and crown covered in diamonds and your name on a contract to the highest bidder.
You and Wonwoo didn’t play anymore after that.
But now, even as misery loomed like a cloud over your head, at least you were alive with the knowledge that you created your own destiny. Now, the entire world is your stage, the gods your audience.
Wonwoo crosses to the door with a few long strides, the shuffle of his feet intentional to alert you to his movement.
“Make sure Hoshi checks on Seokmin. Don’t need his face getting infected.” You mumble into your glass, attention on the flame jumping from the black candle to the left of your desk. “And no food for our guests.”
“How long?”
“Three days, longer if they start fighting. Only enough water for them to stay alive.”
Wonwoo’s exit is silent but his absence prickles the back of your neck, threatening to rip you to shreds. You try to focus on the pop and crack of the fire burning in the hearth across the room. How your throat burns raw with another swig of booze. Even the habitual press of your thumb across the silken abalone handle of your revolver does nothing to numb the world inside your head.
Waves crash below the windows of your office as you cut through the endless sea, pounding surf singing their nightly hymn of the souls you’ve banished from this world. The haunting tune echoes louder with the knowledge that their master is shackled in the belly of your ship. An atonal ballad filled with the ghostly rattle of the chains crossed around his wrists and throat.
Ventparsk
Sunlight glares from the vast waves, the harsh beams attempting to blind you, as an infinite blue sky supplies nary a cloud of reprieve from its brutal warmth. You’d never speak ill of a scarce blessing such as the weather of today. Glittering open sea as far as the eye could see, not a single blip in sight save for the dark mountain rising from the horizon.
Your crew has stripped their torsos down to their scarred and inked skin, only keeping the dignity of pants as they trudge back and forth below your watch from the quarterdeck. Braving the threat of a scarlett backside rather than risk fainting over the sides of the ship and into the depths. The roughspun linen of your undershirt tears across your skin as wind breathes and snaps into the white sails above, propelling the vessel closer to the crowded harbor of Ventparsk.
Weeks at sea had depleted the stock of provisions and riled the crew. Only so much entertainment to be had when surrounded by nothing but endless ocean and air. Even you found the monotony of the days tiresome despite the never ending responsibilities of being captain. Drinking and merriment kept everyone content enough, card games as well before Soonyoung inevitably ran his mouth directly into someone’s fists. He might have maintained a tight ship under your command but when everyone gathered at night to loosen their limbs and cheer their minds, a hit on Soonyoung was fair play. Sometimes encouraged.
But the typical vices were no longer keeping their grumbles quelled. The gash on Seokmin’s cheek only fanned the flames higher. It was understood why you dealt him that hand, but their fondness for the newer member of your crew bred unconscious resentment. You’re not a physician but even you knew if you let the disease of discontent fester, it’ll kill the entire body.
The cure was simple enough. A few days wreaking havoc across dank gambling dens, cramped taverns, and numerous brothels in the great pleasure city would easily alleviate the tension rankling on board. Ventparsk opens its doors like an old friend to anyone with a few coins in their purse and your latest voyage ensured each of your crew would be welcomed like an emperor.
Ventparsk marina is a hodgepodge of every style ship and boat imaginable. Steel military ships from the cold north of Uspar tower above humble longships no doubt belonging to eastern traders of Truyso. Even oared ships from the dark days speckle through the thick rows of docks, Proera’s trademark. Your ship resembles one of the military fleet from Nas-Shost, swift and agile unlike the large square-rigged ships flying the blue and silver of the Islearain navy visible on the opposite end of the marina.
A cacophony of colors sail high above. The privateers and pirates aren’t stupid enough to announce their colors so boldly, but the armies foam at the mouth for a chance to intimidate the easily impressed. Amongst the other sheets flying in the wind, you recognize ally as well as foe. The sullen gray of the Usparian army here, a sheet rich maroon from Proera’s northern waters there. A rare flash of orange announces the Gulls, a band of Shostian mercenaries, are a long way from home. Even the maroon flag of the Seven Sirens flies high. If the Krakens had a ship to sail, the royal purple complete with a white circle and vertical slash would snap in the wind above all others. Cockiness bordering on stupidity, a bold challenge to anyone willing to follow them out of the harbor borders. But that tacky piece of cotton had been returned to the depths of the sea, finally resting where a Leviathan belongs.
The lush green flag with a golden ouroboros is hidden in the navigation room of the Hydra, far away from any prying eyes that may look your way. Men may be eager to have a public pissing contest, but you appreciated the fine art of minding your own business. The element of surprise and stealth could never be undervalued, only underappreciated.
The hodgepodge of pirate crews, merchants, and soldiers neighboring one another along the decrepit docks only exist in the assumed neutrality of the city. If you’re caught fighting in Ventparsk, breaking the delicate truce that exists within its borders, there is no trial. Your entire crew is sentenced to hang as gull food above the gate that separates the docks from the city; staked with an iron rod through one end and out the other. And anyone is willing to sell out those that defy the rules, eager to abide by the code for the guarantee of a good time without the cold sweat of a knife to the back.
After securing the Hydra, a portly man with watery eyes and a thick mustache waddles aboard. The worn olive green of his wrinkled uniform means he’s the customs master of this section of the marina.
He sidles up to Wonwoo, assuming his status of captain based on who can say what. Frustration lights a flame to simmer your blood, but it's better this way. The old men who run the ports won’t respond to a female captain, and if they do they’ll rip you off before finding a reason to banish you back to the open water.
“Cargo?”
“Nothing to sell.”
“Crew?”
“20.”
“Captives?”
“No, sir.”
“What’s the purpose of your visit?”
Wonwoo gives a lazy charming smile, “Just some men looking to enjoy the unique pleasures your lovely city has to offer.”
“Seems like you have something already on board.”
The desire to send a bullet through his skull swells riots but you reign her in. Last thing you need is to get your crew barred from the island city. Wonwoo would kill you himself.
Ignoring his comment, Wonwoo tosses the bag of coins at the officer. The old man fumbles to catch them but his assistant, a nimble tawny skinned boy who can’t be more than eleven, snags the jumbling coins before they hit the deck. In silence, they count and mark the toll in their book before smiling at the crew.
“Welcome to Ventparsk.”
You’ve tasked Wonwoo and his first mate, Seungkwan, with stocking up at the trading post. The younger man could barter with anyone and you only trust Wonwoo with the extra store of coins. It’ll take them the better part of the day to haul the crates down the docks and oversee the other crew organize them in the hold.
The night crew remains on board, dozing in hammocks strung between heavy cannons below deck in the berth to avoid the blaring sun. Jihoon remains on the quarterdeck, straw hat tucked low to cover his eyes; content to stay in his corner of the ship while others explore, never one to be tempted by the pleasure houses or bidding halls. The rest of the crew looks at him with pity for not lacking the desire to hand over his time to the intoxicating pulse of the city, but you know better.
Back home, Jihoon has a lady. He hasn’t seen her in years but sends her a stiff share of his wage at the end of every job. The few letters he’s received during his time on your ship are kept in a wooden cigar box tucked under scrolls of parchment in the navigation room just above your own quarters. You’re only aware because the box was stashed with an abandoned codex you’d needed regarding the islands dappling the eastern waters of Truyso. In haste, the small wooden trunk clunked to the floor, spilling several envelopes stamped with a teal wax seal. Skimming the first few words of swirling script, the woman was rather…descriptive in how much she missed him. Jihoon chose that moment to shuffle into the space, fuming as you gapped over his private collection of personalized smut.
Leaving the treasure of your heart in his capable hands, you stride through the rusted iron gate welcoming you to the much tamer southern district of Ventparsk.
Rickety buildings line the streets, each advertising their services. Thick crowds bubble out of rowdy taverns and into the street, patrons unashamed to imbibe so heavily under the midday sun. The mismatched symphony of music pouring from open windows and crevices in the slats to greet them, seduce them back inside. Scantily clad brothel workers curl around banisters and press out windows, beckoning customers with a curl of a finger and twitch of the lips. The independents work hard to lure those with less pocket change to the shaded alleyways for a quick tryst against the dirty walls. Perched on the corners of cross streets, conmen rob those stupid enough to get tangled in their cheap card tricks.
The kid pressing past you barely makes it a foot before you snatch their wrist in an iron grip. Whipping the little pickpocket back to your person, you twist their arm at an angle that’ll force it to break if they so much as breathe the wrong way. Anyone looking, and no one does, will see a dotting sister ushering their younger sibling through the crush of the crowd.
“Where I’m from, thieves lose their hands.” You snarl down at the grubby face glaring up at you.
“I didn’t take anything!” She cries, voice thick with faux tears under the tattered hood of her cloak.
Your other hand reaches into her pocket to retrieve the polished silver dagger usually kept strapped to your side, flicking it into view between you. The cheap piece of steel was worth next to nothing. Best way to keep your coin is to let a thief think they bested you by giving them an easy target, too hard to resist.
“Liars lose their tongues.”
The fury at being caught brands her features. She’s barely skin and bones, moth eaten velvet cloak weighing more than her but blazing in her eyes is fire. The same fire that burned in your own as you learned the ways of the streets when you’d first left the cushion of your father’s kingdom.
If you rat her out to the city guard she’ll be used as fish food. Or worse, one of the brothels will bid on her bond.
“Next time you wanna lift something, think about why it’s so easy before letting your hands get sticky.”
Retching her hand away, you brush her to the side, refusing to look at her face as you slip back into the crowd. She’ll find the coin you slipped in her pocket quick enough.
Each room of the Lion’s Den is draped in tacky swatches of gold and all variations of red. In this particular keep, a plush mattress is perched in front of the blazing fireplace. The garnet velvet bedspread trimmed with gold tassels clashes with the blush pillow cases, both jarring against the white oak bed frame and sheets of pale silk floating down from the bars. But the design of the room interests Wonwoo far less than the woman who inhabits it.
“How’s our little friend?” Yeseul calls over her shoulder.
She’s perched at her vanity, using the light of an oil lantern to carefully fix the greasy smudges of red staining her lips. Wonwoo isn’t sure why she’s bothering with it. He’s paid for the entire night, she might as well remove wretched stuff. Laying back in the satin sheets of her bed, he lets one arm prop up his head as he watches the woman he’s visited for years tsk over her reflection. The swirl of smokey incense hazing her figure.
Yeseul was a few years older than he, versed in the ways of the world and determined to educate the once bright eyed boy he’d been. She’d imparted him with the knowledge of how to pleasure a woman even though he’d only fallen into bed with one other person. Taught the value of secrets in this world. Most importantly, Yeseul was the one who let Wonwoo know that the desire and devotion he feels towards Y/N was love, not just friendship.
“As pleasant as a spring breeze.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Wonwoo.”
“That gunk doesn’t suit you either but I settle for it.”
“You don’t pay enough for me to remove it.”
“And that’s my fault? You try to send me back with half every time I visit.”
“You’re more of a friend than a customer at this point.”
“You’re growing soft.”
“Mingyu says the same.”
“He wrote you?”
“Bribed a guard to get a letter out. Probably had to bribe him to write it too since he never learned to read.”
Wonwoo doesn’t ask if Mingyu will get out of the Iron Isle. Even with the guarantee of a fair trial, it takes years, sometimes decades. More men die waiting than in the gallows at the base of the prison.
Yeseul isn’t a fool but she is a romantic. Consumed too many novels where ill suited love wins over all and anyone can be together if they just believe it. All wrapped up in a couple hundred pages. Her way of dealing with the ugly truths of the world. Yeseul is chained to the Lion’s Den the same way her lover is chained in prison. The same way Wonwoo’s heart will always be chained to his princess. Useless in hoping to be free.
“But she’s well?”
“A stretch of the word but I guess as content as she can be.”
“So you still haven’t told her.”
“If I was, do you think she’d allow me to run to your bed?”
“With how quiet you were earlier, I assumed it went poorly.”
“It would go poorly. Especially now.”
“Perhaps it's best to give her time.”
Wonwoo knows time isn’t what she needs. The only hope for anything beyond swift rejection would be a miracle performed by the gods themselves. If he were a smarter man, a stronger man, he’d stay away. Wouldn’t submit himself to the torture of her presence, her trust and reliance. But he’s not. Wonwoo is weak in all the ways it matters when it comes to Y/N. Ever since she walked into the stables when they’d both were barely knee high and demanded he submit himself to her friendship. He’s listened to every command since.
Few things in the world were certain but the one constant Wonwoo relied on was the sure way to lose Y/N was giving himself permission to want. Want her the way he has since they were teenagers, running away from curses of her father and his servitude and towards the unknown. Since she’d pulled him down into the hay in that dilapidated barn after too many swigs of the wine swiped from a merchant stall. Wonwoo never saw the smile she’d flashed him that night again. Bright and hopeful, a little shy as he covered her mouth with his own. Now the only stretch of Y/N’s lips carried a coldness, the gleam of teeth sadistic and sinister.
Hope is a fragile thing. Like a blooming spring flower just before the last frost, or a house of cards. Delicate. It has no place in this world he’s landed in. So Wonwoo doesn’t let himself hope for a chance to be free of the love in his heart. Accepts that in this life, there was never a chance for him to have Y/N the way he wants. Because the way he wants her fundamentally opposes who she is.
So Wonwoo allows himself the memories of before. Before they became Serpents, matching stains of ink at the base of their skulls. Before Jeonghan snatched her away; the scars marring her body nothing compared to what he’d done to her mind. Before Y/N found her way back, to him, to the crew, to the world of the living.
Memories of the palace and her uncanny talent for finding him wherever he was on the grounds. The way she snatched him away from whatever task he’d been charged with to play her silly games, allowing him to be a boy instead of an indenture. How she snuck into the servants quarters and into his bed the night Jeonghan finally came to visit the kingdom. When she called him her friend for the first time. When she’d let Wonwoo hold her to his chest, warming them both against the frigid air after laying each other bare.
“Time won’t change anything.”
Wonwoo can never have anything more than what he has now. So he settles his heart at Y/N’s feet, and lets his body find distraction in another.
Always privy to his moods, Yeseul crosses back to where he lies. Perching herself in his lap, her ebony robe splits open to show the creamy skin of her stomach, the soft swell of her breast peeking out from behind honey waves of her hair, long neck split with the ruby choker all girls at this pleasure house wear.
Maybe in another life, Wonwoo would still be a stablehand. In that life, Y/N would have married Jeonghan and the childhood friendship between a stable boy and the youngest princess of Iaslera was nothing but forgotten memories.
Yeseul’s finger traces from his lips to his chin, following the dip of his scar to his ear. It had taken him years to stop flinching when someone touched it, the sting of that rusted blade still haunting him. When her nail scrapes the hollow of his throat, Wonwoo shivers for an entirely new reason.
Flipping her beneath him, Yeseul’s flit of laughter tickles Wonwoo’s lips as he claims her mouth.
“Another.” You beckon the woman behind the mahogany counter, tilting your empty cup her way.
“What’s a lady like you doing in a place like this?” A disconnected voice murmurs too close to your ear, a waft of booze and snuff slipping around your cheek.
Rolling your eyes, the same dagger the orphan girl tried to claim is in your hand and pressed to the soft wood in a second. The presence behind you disappears when it catches the lantern light.
The Twin Star is one of the better taverns in this part of the city. Drinks are cheap enough, other patrons keep their heads down and the barmaids tend to turn a blind eye when one needs to implement less than friendly means to ward off drunkards.
“Keep it up and I’ll have to cut you off.” Inri snarks but fills your cup with brandy all the same.
“You’re a cruel woman.” You mutter, cradling the cool glass to your chest.
“They say the same about you.”
“I’m flattered.” you mumble with a mock salute, loopy smile splitting your mouth.
She leaves you with a sigh. You’ve been here all afternoon, hoping to drown your dread at the bottom of a bottle. So far, you’re failing.
For the first time in years, you have no desire to return to your beloved vessel. The warm fondness for the Hydra replaced with frigid unease. A drunken stupor is the perfect excuse not to go back, at least for the night. Even with the unbending laws of the island, an unaccompanied woman roaming the streets of Ventparsk was unlikely to make ten paces before she ended up pushed into an alley. One under the influence of several hefty pours of whiskey might make five if she’s lucky.
“There’s my favorite captain.”
You’re in no mood for company. Soonyoung must have been born under unlucky stars.
“Can a woman not enjoy a drink in peace?”
He’s in the chair next to you before you can object, signaling Inri to bring him a glass as well.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you this drunk before.”
“What are you doing here, Hosh?”
Soonyoung has the courtesy to look bashful. Just down the street is the theater you know he favors, the Temple, with dark mahogany walls and swaths of dark blue silk curtains hiding what takes place beyond the doors. The shanty building housed dozens of artists, dancers, and singers. Acrobats and fire tamers. Entertainers and actors. He had been one of them before you'd lured him away with promises of adventure and riches unknown to a poor merchant’s son. Everytime you stop at the isle he walks right back home to greet his brothers and sisters.
“In the neighborhood.”
“Your family?”
“My ma is finally speaking to me.” He lights up. “Something about a fortune teller telling her to let go of old grudges or some other nonsense. But my sister is starting to do high ropes without a net! And my younger brother, San, he’s gotten better with the knife throwing and—
Soonyoung continues to ramble as you tuck your smile into your cup. At least one person has a good relationship with their family. If someone asked, you couldn’t confidently say which of your sisters were still breathing; only aware your mother and father were alive from the whispers of Iaslerian merchants complaining about royal levies to pay for the queen’s jewels.
“One of the younger kids showed me some slight of hand with a coin and it looked alot like the ones we lifted from those traders in Uspar.”
Swallowing a mouth full of liquor you stay quiet. The little bastard just had to be one of Soonyoung’s kin because why not? The gods had a strange sense of humor.
“Strange.”
“I thought so too. Probably just a coincidence.”
“Probably.”
“Would my captain do me the honor of escorting her back to the ship?”
Pointedly ignoring the knowing smile Soonyoung flashes, you take the arm he offers.
Nightmares
The three days in Ventparsk pass quickly. More booze, a tumble with a nameless man at the Winter Garden, and enough snuff to kill a horse provides a blissful mindless haze. You even managed a quick scrub down at one of the bath houses. Soaking in the heated tub for hours, muscles loose and pliant from the herbal steam and hot stones. Jeonghan’s rotting body in the moldy damp brig of the Hydra is nearly forgotten.
Nearly.
Dreams always have a way of reminding us of the realities we wish to forget.
“You’re a dead man, Jeonghan.”
The bullet is screaming to make a home in between his ribs. Every muscle in your body pleading for the same. Sink the shot in Jeonghan’s heart and be free from him forever.
“Take them to the brig.” You instruct Jun.
“Never could just get on with it, could you?”
The next sound from Jeonghan’s mouth is a shrill scream as blood gushes from his thigh. It swirls with the sea water still dripping from his soaked clothes, scarlett inking through the growing puddle, opaque tendrils soaking into the wood.
“Shua’s gonna have fun with you.”
Finally skating on the waves of the vast ocean, you descend into hell.
The consuming stench of stagnant water and mold invades your nostrils as you transverse through the cargo hold to reach the brig. A rat squeaks as it scurries past, looking for its next meal no doubt. You loathe this part of the ship. Too deep, not enough exits, no clear path up and out. Just another gift courtesy of Jeonghan.
Three bodies hang from their hands, bound up and over their heads, feet barely brushing the ground as the sway with rhythm of the tide. Burlap bags obscure their faces but you know which lithe form belongs to him.
Shua sits at his desk, a collection of mismatched knives organized in neat lines like soldiers prepared for battle on one side. Jars of different poisons clink against one another in the wooden tray in the middle, the rainbow array of liquids each lapping at the sides of the vial for the chance to escape. On the far corner rests crude torture devices he’s collected over the years. Thorned strips of leather, several cat-o-nine-tails, and a lump of metal looking like a fruit with a knob attached at the narrow end.
The entire aura of Joshua’s corner of the ship screams anguish. A slaughterhouse for those unfortunate enough to stumble his way. It’s why no one visits him of their own volition. Not that he seems to mind, more than content to study the ways of the body than talk to one.
You take a seat across from the man dangling in the center of the room, nodding to Joshua to remove the sack from Jeonghan’s head.
Dark circles shadow his bloodshot eyes, cheeks sullen and pale, chapped lips bleeding. Nearly four days on board without food and possibly longer before they were rescued from the hunk of drift wood they’d been floating on while waiting to die has certainly done a number on him. You’d ordered Shua to provide the barest sips of water, just enough to keep them on this side of consciousness.
A metal goblet brushes against Jeonghan’s lips, urging him to tip his head back and swallow the cool liquid. Gulping down the contents without a thought, Shua refills it as fast as he can from a crystal pitcher. After a few shuddering breaths, another full cup is brought to his mouth and he downs it as well.
Idiot.
When Jeonghan eyes finally adjust to the pale light of the solitary lantern illuminating the cramped space, he sees you. Raising your chin, you know he won’t resist the opportunity to try and knock you down a peg despite his compromised position.
“Just couldn’t stay away.”
Joshua busies himself with arranging the necessary odds and ends on an empty wooden tray. He’s meticulous in his grisly craft, hands sure and perfunctory. The jostle of metal fills the room as he sets down the curated set on a stool next where you sit.
Not deigning to respond, you simply flash a sweet smile. The kind of smile a girl throws a man she wants something from, woefully out of place in the dark room you're standing in. But that’s precisely what throws Jeonghan off.
Standing, you snag one of the smaller double sided blades glimmering like a prized jewel amongst the collection. The ring at the bottom sits loosely around your pointer finger as you spin it round and round. Your steps are slow and calculated as you circle him, surveying his form from head to toe. Jeonghan is smart enough to try and keep his eyes on you but the metal collar around his neck prevents him from turning his head as you round him. Someone had the sense to remove his shirt before tying him up. Even if the shirt he came with was tattered to gossamer shreds, the fabric would find a use somewhere amongst the crew.
A clammy sheen glosses his dull skin, the ring of red around his bound wrists blistered and raw. Curls of dark hair stick to Jeonghan’s forehead and the column of his neck, matted to his scalp with sea water, sweat, and blood. A spray of dark bruises along his ribs are slowly healing, no doubt from whatever destroyed his ship. They labor his breath, his chest barely moving with the shallow swallows of air. The dark stain of blood is dried near black around the hole in his left thigh.
As you stand back in front of him, toe to toe, your gazes meet. Frigid steel tip of the dagger dips into the valley of his throat before you trace it down his sternum to the soft flesh of his belly. Muscles twitch as he clenches away from the sharp bite of the blade, freezing his breath to avoid pressing into it.
Slowly blinking you don’t turn away as you ask, “Shua, how long did you say it takes for the draught to take effect?”
“At least a few minutes, but on an empty stomach much less. He should already be feeling it start to kick in.”
“Do you Jeonghan?” Digging the knife in the soft flesh just above his naval, “Can you feel it?”
Shua had explained the effects when he brought the vial to your office. An oily concentration of some exotic herb from the deepest reaches of the Proera, tasteless with only the faintest smell of damp earth. Typically used as a mild sedative, fond amongst those looking to see beyond the veil of reality and into the curtain between worlds. But a heavy enough dose tortures whoever ingests it with terrifying visions, nightmares come to life. Not fatal in the slightest but after the walls melt and the person in front of you turns into a demon, one might wish it was. Unknowingly, Jeonghan took a large enough dose to incapacitate a third of your crew.
An emotion you never imagined he felt takes root on his face. Eyes wild as he focuses on the copper cup now sitting at the corner of Shua’s desk, before they flash back to yours. You can see his brain turning, attempting to decipher what you’ve slipped him, how long he has before entering the unknown.
Jeonghan’s shuddering breath puffs against your cheeks, a small whiff of the herbaceous tincture carried along it. His feet roughly scrape against the floor as he tries to maintain his footing, chains around his wrist and neck relaxing for a moment before pulling taunt again as his damaged leg buckles under his weight.
Jeonghan quakes with the effort to remain quiet. Even with poison flooding his veins, he clings to years of training to resist succumbing fright. But nothing has prepared him for this.
A crack in the facade spreads soon enough. Broken pleas force past gnarled lips, chest heaving as he struggles to inhale. Soon he’s nothing more than a child lost in a crowd. Frantic, panicked, desperate.
Horror consumes his face, the whites of his eyes visible as his eyebrows arch to his hairline, mouth opening to scream. Air rushes from his lungs as he wails, thrashing in his shackles without concern for the way the bitter metal rips into the flesh of his wrists and neck.
You’ve already pocketed the knife that was pressed into his stomach. No satisfaction in killing him when he’s out of his mind, but watching him descend into madness will bring its own pleasure.
“What the fuck did you do to me?”
Turning to return to your seat, he screams again, “What did you give me?”
Jeonghan’s voice is shredded and raw already.
In the corner, Shua is rapt with macabre attention. Carefully jotting down notes in his journal for later examination. If one person on the crew terrified you it was the fawn eyed man sitting next to you. Being handy with a weapon was nothing when someone knew how to destroy your spirit by barely lifting a finger, dead before you knew what happened.
You observe as Jeonghan’s expression grows distant. Fear festers along the surface, bubbling under his skin. Muscles flex and twitch painfully. Ugly fat beads well in Jeonghan’s eyes to spill down his cheeks, wads of snot dripping from his nose. Splotchy red patches bloom across his pale skin, fevered flesh prickled with goosebumps. The rusted shackles bite into his skin again and again as he attempts to shake free, nearly strangling himself in his effort. Silent pleas for relief, for mercy from whatever phantom of his subconscious haunts him now.
The two other men in the back of the room thrash in their chains as well, bashing their skulls back and forth to cast off the hoods over their heads. Frenzied as their brave captain’s curdled screams pierce their ears.
The nightmares chasing Jeonghan follow you up to your room that night.
“My little bird tried to leave the nest, did she?” Your father snarls.
The piece of cloth tied around your head doesn’t allow you to answer beyond muffled groans as you struggle.
“Perhaps I should teach you what happens when a bird leaves its cage.”
“Captain!”
You wake with a gasp, the sound of gunfire and cannons shaking your core. Jun stands in your doorway, soaked to his skin with soot covering half his face.
“Captain, we’re under attack!”
The deck is a flurry of activity. Bodies running to and fro, some headed below for the gun deck to return fire. Walls of water pour from the sky, obscuring the view beyond the corners of your ship. In the distance, flashes of light from cannons on the ship attacking yours is the only indicator of a presence beyond the moon and tide. They’re running diagonal to your port side, that much is clear. The mainsail is shredded to pieces over head, damp canvas whipping from cruel winds. The Hydra won’t outrun the ship attacking, the only end is to fight.
Scrambling to the quarterdeck, you join Jihoon at the wheel. He does his best to steer clear of enemy range, careful to maintain momentum you can’t afford to lose.
“Cut the wheel!”
“Are you crazy?”
“They’ve got too much speed, they can’t turn. Cut the damn wheel!”
Jihoon launches the wheel clockwise, shifting the rudders to turn starboard. The attacking vessel continues their path straight, unable to correct in time to cut you off as you slip behind them. But a second too late you both realize another ship lies in wait.
The second enemy ship attacks from behind, capitalizing on the attention monopolized by the first ship. The crew launches grappling hooks tangling around the Hydra’s rigging for them to swing aboard. They flood the deck like ants emerging from their hill, easily out numbering your crew.
You pick off two swiftly, bullets wedged deep in their skulls the second their feet land on the quarter deck. Rain stings your eyes, blurring your surroundings. Friend and foe indecipherable as you jump to the fray on the main deck.
Chaos runs free as blows are exchanged back and forth. It’s impossible to tell in the crowd of bodies who has fallen and who remains below deck to continue cannon fire.
Wonwoo and Soonyoung are back to back, facing off against five enemy fighters. Soonyoung nimbly dodges the swords aimed at his throat, returning his own killing blows with incredible fluidity. Charges of gunpowder sting the air as Wonwoo deals his own damage, sinking the shells into hearts and bellies before moving to the next.
Whipping around, you catch sight of Seokmin pinned down against the main mast, a giant of a man exhausting him with a sword. On reflex, you duck under a swinging arm as you charge forward. Sinking your dagger between the oaf’s shoulder blades you drag down with all your strength, ripping through the muscles tethered to his spine. The scorching gush of blood slips between your fingers, freeing the handle from your grip. Kicking out a leg, you land your foot along the back of his knee and bring him down. Over his head your eyes meet Seokmin’s. You barely catch the flash of horror on his face before the crack of a fist lands against your temple.
Blood and rain and sea water soaks the deck, nearly sending Wonwoo to his knees. The wretch of death fills his nose, sulfurous gunpowder and bile sharpening his mind. He’s surrounded on all sides, the glint of steel flashing as lightning splits the sky. The teeth of a sword split his side open from the bottom of his ribs to his navel. Wonwoo can tell the damage won’t kill him but he’ll have a hell of a time recovering. The sting only dulled by the rush of a fight flooding his veins.
Soonyoung is on his left, picking off enemies one by one, dodging the most damning blows and weaponizing their momentum to his benefit. Wonwoo would stop to watch if he wasn’t busy preserving his own life.
Pushing his way to the center of the ship, he spots the door below deck fly open; Jeonghan and the other two prisoners ushered out by a small group armed to their teeth. In the same second, Wonwoo locates Y/N in his periphery; just in time to watch her crumple from a cheap punch to her head.
Rage thunders through Wonwoo’s veins. In a flurry, he cuts his way to the main mast, prepared to kill whoever he needs to. Seokmin rips his knife out of the person who knocked Y/N out but another of the enemy crew manages to drag her body over to the side where their ship is latched to the Hydra. They rush to get her aboard their ship, sensing the change in tide of the fight behind them.
Clearly they’d been hoping to have the entire ordeal dealt with swiftly, not prepared for the force the Serpents are capable of. Minghao is already working to cut the ship away from the Hydra, nimble feet carrying him along the thin bulwark as he slashes the ropes snaring them.
Jeonghan and his cellmates are already securely on the opposite side of the gangplank, but the man holding Y/N’s body hasn’t crossed yet. If Wonwoo can provide enough of a delay, then Jihoon can get the Hydra back to the open sea.
In this moment, Wonwoo decides to commit the most ill-considered act of bravery he’s ever mustered. Launching himself on to the enemy ship, he lands with a thud on their deck, guns blazing. He’s able to pick off one, two, four crew members before they realize what’s happening. Bodies dropping to the floor around him in quick succession.
A final shot rings out before his ammunition runs dry and he switches to his dual swords strapped to his back. Wonwoo swings in wide arches, forcing his opponents back and away from the side of the ship to avoid the tips of his blades. Using the brief reprieve, he turns to kick the plank away, sending it to the crevice between ships just in time for Jihoon to tear free. Leaving his captain and her captor on the Hydra, and Wonwoo marooned with the enemy.
Saying a silent prayer, Wonwoo turns back to the crowd of what are no doubt Krakens, only managing to sink his sword's edge into one more before he’s overwhelmed.
A Tale of Two Ships
The Leviathan
“Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonwoo,” Jeonghan says, shaking his head. “Always running to save the princess, aren’t you?”
Standing before him, Jeonghan resembles a rotten pile of horse shite. Y/N’s torture strung him out, made him weak and unstable. Wonwoo watched the strain in his muscles, the moisture on his brow, the labor of his breath. Fresh, angry halos circle his neck and wrists, blisters drying and scabbing to an ugly assembly of yellows and browns.
With his hands shackled above his head and his feet chained to the floor, Wonwoo attempts to calm his breathing. Jeonghan wants him worked up, wants him to slip and play right into his hand.
“What she sees in you is beyond me. Bastard stable boy, with nothing to his name except a whore mother and drunk father.”
In four beats, hold four beats, out four beats, hold another four. Repeat.
“She’d sell your soul the second it became advantageous for her. You know that, right?”
In four beats, hold four beats, out four beats, hold another four. Repeat.
Wonwoo desperately tries to zone in on the lantern, to let his mind wander in the vast recesses of emptiness. Anything to spare him from the lies Jeonghan spews.
“I know you love her. Pathetic how obvious it is, Wonwoo. Reminds me of a story actually. Once upon a time, there was a stable boy who fell in love with a princess. Now the princess was clever and made the stable boy believe they were equals, friends even. Can you believe that?”
Jeonghan rounds to face Wonwoo, a sickening smirk spoiling his face.
“She knew the stable boy cared for her and would do whatever he could to protect her. So when it was time for her to stop playing make believe, she let the stable boy take her punishment. She let him die for her and the princess never lost a second to sleep. Because the princess, no matter how she sullied herself, knew he wasn’t worth the dirt under her fingernails.”
In an effort to stay quiet, Wonwoo grinds his teeth so hard they are on the verge of shattering.
The defiant tilt to Wonwoo’s chin sends a flash of fury across the shorter man’s face before a serpentine smile curls on his lips.
“You don’t need to speak, stable boy.” Plucking a knife from his belt, Jeonghan flashes it into Wonwoo’s view. “But you will scream.”
And Wonwoo does.
The Hydra
Crowded around the large oak table of the Hydra’s navigation room, Jihoon, Soonyoung, Jun, and you spread over the atlas of the world. Attempting to decipher what Jeonghan’s plan for Wonwoo proves to be more difficult than anticipated. Even more so when you refuse to provide details on why Jeonghan would stage such an elaborate effort to capture you.
Your crew knows he’s disavowed and wanted by the Atterast, Nas-Shost’s military. They know you’re the reason why but you’d carefully smothered any true details of how you and Wonwoo were involved. Rumors of Jeonghan being a disgruntled lover, while half true, were enough to satiate their curiosity.
“He hates Wonwoo but he hates me more. If his desire is to torture me then he’ll leave Wonwoo alive somewhere I’ll never get him.”
“Iron Isle?”
“Do you think he plans to have himself arrested too?”
“Nas-Shost is unstable. Would he take advantage of that?”
“They’ll kill him before he speaks.”
“He’s in no shape to attempt crossing to Uspar or Truyso.”
“What about Iaslera?”
Iaslera.
Jeonghan isn’t a fool but he is ambitious and vindictive. If your father promised him something in exchange for his original target then Iaslera is a likely place for him to go. And Jeonghan knows you’ll fall right into his hands.
The knife you’ve been spinning into the wood grain digs a fraction deeper.
“How many days till Iaslera?” You ask.
“With the damage…at least five.” Jihoon breaths.
“Five?”
“At least. And that’s assuming it’ll only take us three to patch the hole in the sail and get it rigged again.”
Five days. Wonwoo will be Jeonghan’s captive for five days.
“Set course for Iaslera.” You bark, “And I want every spare hand helping patch that hole!”
The days of skidding across the ocean proved fruitful. If you didn’t keep yourself busy then a rut would wear into the wooden planks of your office from the endless pacing.
If Jeonghan is truly in your father’s court then you owe the crew an explanation of what exactly the Pearl Palace of Iaslera holds. You were no artist, but luck shined on you once again with Minghao. Even the barest memories regarding the servant’s quarters or the stables were included. He sketched every detail, every crevice you could remember with shocking clarity. Reworking sections over and over until the proportions equaled out. Finally, the drawings resembled your home.
Home.
No, not exactly home. Maybe when you’d been a child, when the pearl and silver tiara felt like magic instead of a lead weight; eager to spend days lounging in the library, mind lost to far off lands and tall tales; riding along the familiar beaches, outpacing your chaperone; hiding in the gardens with Wonwoo, playing whatever new game your imagination supplied you two with.
Iaslera was the place you grew up, but the sandy shores and rolling hills only held beauty, not familiarly, the sleek marble walls bearing no warmth or fondness. It wasn’t the place you longed for when out at sea or deep inland.
Home is the worn wood and white sails of the Hydra. Home is your mismatched crew of criminals, ex-soldiers, circus performers, and farmhands. Home is a stable boy who has been by your side since you decided Iasleria was home no longer.
Hours spent in the navigation room, your best fighters and strategists circled on either side of the heavy table, scanning the map detailing each floor of the palace.
“What do you know about the guard rotation?”
“Nothing. Princess, remember?”
“Hard to forget. Can’t believe we didn’t realize before.”
“The way you strut about the deck did always seem particularly royal.” Jun scratches his chin, as if picturing you flouncing about with a tiara on your head.
“Would you like to know what princesses do when they’re angry?”
“Huff their nose in the air?” Soonyoung laughs.
“Maybe if I didn’t have a gun.”
“The guards.” Jihoon reminds.
“I don’t know. My father knows we’re coming and he’s cocky. He’ll probably let us walk right in and assume we’re weak.”
“Sounds like an idiot.”
“So if we walk right in, what do we do?”
“Kill them.” Enea offers from her end of the table.
“If he hasn’t killed Wonwoo already he could have him hidden.”
“If he’s cocky enough to let us walk through the front door, do you really think he’d go through the trouble? He obviously isn’t thinking you have a chance of walking back out.”
“We probably don’t.” You say solemnly.
“What?”
“Best case scenario, my father dies and we walk away wanted by the throne. Most realistic outcome is I’m captured. If that happens, you grab Wonwoo and leave me behind.”
More than a few voices protest as the room descends into yelling.
“I’m your captain and you will listen!” You roar, silencing any objects with a swat of your hand. “Either we all die or I do. I will not pull you into this mess.”
“Not to seem uncaring but do you honestly believe we want to deal with Wonwoo with you not here?”
“He’ll be fine.” You assure.
Wonwoo would have to be whether he liked it or not.
“He won’t.”
“The month the Krakens had you? Wonwoo shot me. Twice.”
“He got into a brawl with Soonyoung.”
“He didn’t talk for two weeks.”
“We leave with both of you. Or we die trying.”
“No one is dying for me! This isn’t some silly brawl in a washed out tavern or a rival crew we’re ambushing. My father is capable of suffering worse than anything you can imagine.” You pause, nearly choking on the horror twisting out of your stomach as you remember the king's most egregious acts. “When I was a child, I spoke out of turn at dinner once. Would you like to know what my punishment was?” Circling your gaze around the room. “He put a poker into the fire until it glowed red—”
“He hit you with it?” Seokmin opens his mouth in horror.
“No,” you swallow, “He couldn’t do anything that might leave a mark in case it made us…undesirable. We had servants assigned to take our beatings while we watched. I was five, and so was she. He hit her across the face with that poker. When I cried, he did it again. When I screamed, he hit her harder. Even if he can’t touch me, he will make sure someone suffers and I watch. I will not damn any of you to the cruelty he’s simmered on in the past ten years. Am I clear?”
The wooden door claps shut as you exit without waiting for their response.
The King of Iaslera
Wonwoo doesn’t remember summers in Iaslera being so cold. Perhaps the bloody purple bruises blooming like a grotesque garden across his flesh have made him susceptible to the biting chill clogging the air. Or maybe the blood coating the inside of his mouth and nose. Or the cold dig of gray stone in his side.
He recognizes the damp dungeons of the king’s palace from the guards uniform, pale blue smocks with a silver lotus blossom embroidered on the back. They haven’t chained him to rings jutting from the floors or walls. Unnecessary given that Wonwoo’s right shoulder is dislocated and his ankle is broken, jutting his foot out at an awkward angle. Even if the planets aligned and the gods blessed an escape, he wouldn’t make it three paces before collapsing onto the ground.
Wonwoo doesn’t have enough knowledge of anatomy to set his shattered bones, likely to do more harm than good if he makes it out of this cell to see another day. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to Shua’s ramblings on the intricacies of the human body when he had the chance.
But he knows his arm can be saved.
The webbed pain coming from his shoulder is familiar enough. When Wonwoo turned thirteen he’d been assigned with helping break a new stallion for the captain of the guards. The stable master only let Wonwoo watch from the fence of the ring, eyes locked on the magnificent midnight steed. Proving to be a fatal mistake when the horse, Balius, charged right at Wonwoo, knocking him off the fence, down to the hard ground below. Once wind returned to his lungs, Wonwoo got a taste for the pain of a dislocated joint for the first time.
It'd happened twice since. Once thanks to the same dock he owed his scar, and another courtesy of the first time Jeonghan tracked Y/N across the waves to Uspar. Wonwoo knows what he has to do, but he craves to postpone the inevitable until the last possible moment.
The guards patrol in front of his cell every time the clock in the palace yard gives a large chime to signal the top of the hour. Shuffling to the bars on his bum, he uses his good foot to push himself across the weathered stone of his cell, before leaning his damaged arm between the thick shafts of iron.
Folding the bottom of his shirt between his teeth, Wonwoo prepares for the sear of pain. Even the faint memory of agony shoots gooseflesh down his spine. No matter how many times he’d done this, tears stung his eyes for hours till the pain sent him into a dark abyss.
Wonwoo knows if he screams, the guards will come running and eagerly dole more damage. A deep breath to corral any rogue shout that may escape his throat, and then he gives a sharp twist at his middle till he hears the sickening pop! A hefty grunt escapes into the fabric as fat pearls well in Wonwoo’s eyes, leaving clean streaks down his filthy face. Vomit rises in his throat as his vision blackens and whisps float through the haze. The surging throb curdles through his blood in time with his pulse as it rushes through his veins to every inch of his body.
The pain eclipses any of the other injuries he’s sustained so far but he tries to count his breaths, sucking in four beats and trembling out another four. His jaw feels as if it might break from how hard his teeth clench, fighting to keep the groans of agony on his tongue at bay.
Folding in on himself, Wonwoo attempts to focus on how he will survive. At least he has the advantage of secrecy on his side. Perhaps he can get in a surprise swing if it comes down to it. Wonwoo won’t die without a fight. He’s come too far.
“I brought you the boy, now give me what you promised.”
“Our deal was for you to bring my disgraceful daughter, not some pathetic peasant.”
“If he is here, she will come.”
“You better pray to the gods she does, boy. Because if she doesn’t, I will show you there are worse punishments than death.”
Two days pass before a soul outside of the guards visits Wonwoo’s cell. A fever claimed him yesterday, sending his body into a fit of chills and muddling his brain. The thin fabric of his bloodied shirt and trousers stick to his clammy figure like a second skin. Wonwoo figures it’s finally gone for the kill when Y/N appears in front of the bars. Back in the finery of court, gown and jewels pristine. Hair tamed on top of her head in a style Wonwoo knows she hated, beautiful face weathered with age.
No it wasn’t Y/N. It was her mother, Queen Demetria.
Wonwoo had no quarrel with the Queen. She’d been as powerless against the king as everyone else. But even in her limited ability, she’d cared for him and his plight. When his parents dumped him at the palace gates as an infant and allowed him to find refuge within its walls. Tasked a maid, Miss Ele, with his care. When he turned five, Wonwoo was brought back in front of the queen. He remembers how the queen asked him his name, told him it was the name of a boy who would grow into a strong man. And she let him stay, working in the stables to earn his keep.
There were worse fates for orphans.
With great effort he tips his head in a bow, nearly toppling over as his balance abandons him. “Your Majesty.”
“Is she alive?”
“I—”
“Please, is she alive?”
“Yes.” Wonwoo breathes. If Y/N was dead he’d like to think he’d feel it somewhere in his gut.
“What is she like?”
Wonwoo isn’t sure what to tell her. Few things are as solid as his loyalty to Y/N. But he owes the Queen his life. If she hadn’t been there, he'd have been dead long before he’d met her daughter.
“She’s,” he pauses, trying to figure what he can say without telling too much. His mind working at half speed under the fever, thick as molasses. “She’s incredible.”
The Queen gives him a watery smile, prodding him to continue.
“She’s brave, and smart. And she looks just like you. She’s a lot like you actually.”
“Really?” She swallows thickly.
“She tries to be like the king, but she… She’s…”
Good? Wonwoo knew the extensive lists of crimes and cruelties Y/N committed, the unknowns easily assumed. Good was a stretch but she wasn’t bad. She fell somewhere in between, beyond an easy answer. It's the only way to describe the princess turned pirate. A low bar to say she hadn’t been as cruel as she could have been but it's true. She’d done horrible things but at her core she was as good as someone in her position could be. Like a flame. Able to burn down villages if left unchecked, but eager to keep a freezing family warm if given the opportunity. Fire burns because that's its nature, but you can’t damn candle for the crimes of the pyre.
“I remember when you were brought here, Wonwoo. Just a baby. I’d still been carrying my daughter at the time. And I knew once Y/N came, she’d find you. A mother just knows.” The clamor of keys tickles his ears. “Your mother asked me to protect you and I promised the gods I would. She risked her life to save her child. She inspires me to do the same.”
The door to his cell swings open, ear splitting as rusted metal scraps against stone.
“I can’t walk,” Wonwoo pants. “they broke my ankle.”
The Queen pauses at the sight of his foot and Wonwoo can’t help but stare at her. The furrow of her eyebrows and twist of her lips remind him of her daughter.
“I have several guards that are loyal to me, not the king. I’ll try to have one fetch you and help you through the tunnels.”
“I don’t know where I’ll go after.”
“Even when she was little my daughter had a talent for finding you. I’m sure she’ll be here to collect you soon enough.”
“Thank you.”
“I should be thanking you, Wonwoo. You’ve taken care of Y/N all this time.”
“She makes it easy.”
“Love has a peculiar way of doing that, doesn’t it?”
Before he can say anything else, she’s turned to exit down the same hallway she’d come, heels echoing as she goes.
Jeonghan paces in front of the cell like a tiger circles its cage, like he is the one trapped inside and not Wonwoo. His hair is disheveled, eyes wild, tension stringing his muscles tight. Agitation consumes Jeonghan, even Wonwoo’s infection riddled mind can see it.
The sting of vomit and other refuse in the corner of Wonwoo’s accommodations stains the air. This morning, his urine was tinged pink. The sliver of hope of seeing anything beyond these walls ever again left when the Queen turned her back to him yesterday. No guards came to help him. Only ones providing small buckets of water for him to clean himself and drink from.
“She’s going to let you die in here.”
No reply. Not that Wonwoo has the energy to open his mouth, let alone goad the man. Let him drive himself mad for all Wonwoo cares.
“It was supposed to be her!” Jeonghan’s nostrils flare as he presses his face between the bars. His hands shake as they squeeze around the biting steel. “You ruined everything, you stupid piece of filth!”
The pieces of the mysterious puzzle click. Perhaps its infection induced delirium but Wonwoo finally understands why Jeonghan despises him so.
Jeonghan hates Wonwoo because he has what Jeonghan can’t get. No matter which way Jeonghan tried to rub his unworthiness in his face, she didn’t want him. Y/N chose Wonwoo, or that's what Jeonghan believes. A peasant-born bastard beat the son of a Duke. In Jeonghan’s world it was unimaginable.
In Wonwoo’s world, it's unimaginable too.
He can’t help but laugh. Scratchy and unpleasant given his condition but full bellied laughter fills his mouth, splitting the silence of the dungeon.
“You think it’s funny? You’re going to die here and no one is going to care.”
Snorting around caked blood and snot, Wonwoo’s hysteria continues at Jeonghan’s words. Wonwoo is laughing at his own funeral. Wildly inappropriate, but the irony of the gods sends him into a fit.
Jeonghan turns to the guards, furious at Wonwoo’s inability to respond to his attempts to instigate a fight. “Move him to the throne room, the King is waiting.”
The guards manhandling him upright might have hurt if Wonwoo’s body wasn’t begging for death. He’s slipping away into the recesses of his mind, barely able to snag the thread of reality that continues to unravel before him as he giggles manically. The jostle of his ankle sends bile to his mouth, acrid burn flooding his tongue.
Spots paint his vision, the movement fatiguing him quickly. His head lulls to and fro, muscles retired as they carry Wonwoo out of the dungeon and through the palace. Wonwoo’s eyes refuse to open, but he can listen. Every footstep thuds like a pulse, whispered words coming to him as if he’s deep underwater. A sharp gasp greets him when the guards finally pause.
The crack of his skull on marble is the last thing Wonwoo registers before he returns to darkness.
Onyx skies weep as a small dingy enters the harbor of Amesstino, welcoming the long lost princess home after years of separation as angry waves attempt to claim her for the tide.
Disguised as a gang of traders, you and your crew silently dock and flee the tiny craft. Thick sheets of rain provide plenty of cover to sneak to the palace unseen. No one speaks, crashes of thunder shaking the earth and bolts of lightning splitting the sky. Even the wind whips against your body, lashing at your back. The gods are angry.
Your fury is more dangerous.
The King anticipates your arrival, welcoming you with abandoned guard posts and open gates. You walk through the front door with baited breath, not even a servant ghosts through the empty quartz hallways.
Several pairs of eyes take in the finery that is the Iaslerian palace. As if sculpted from a single piece of white marble, smooth ornate columns support the massive structure, free from any blemishes or ware. Pale blue tapestries embroidered with silver lotus blossoms hang from the ceiling in even rows like icicles. Exactly the same as the day you left, frozen in time, eagerly awaiting your return.
Imposing silver doors seal off the throne room, gleaming like two teeth waiting to bite. Their thickness prevents any sound from breaking free, leaving you woefully unprepared for what will greet you on the other side.
A single beat of breath passes before your crew heaves the doors open to meet your maker.
Guns cocked and teeth bare, your eyes quickly scan the throne room. In the center, your father lazes in his throne, eyes alight with cruel mirth. Your mother is poised next to him, mouth wide in shock, face pale as if she’d seen a ghost. Guards line the walls, swords drawn; tense for a fight.
But the heap sprawled to the right of the lotus emblem on the floor stops heart. The familiar mop of hair inkling across the braided silver and blue veins of the seal. His chest doesn’t move, almost unrecognizable through bloody bruises swelling half his face.
Denial shrouds your mind. Wonwoo isn't dead. You’d feel it. In your gut, in your heart. Somewhere, you’d feel his soul leave this world and escape to the next.
“I gave you the princess, now give me back my title!” Jeonghan demands, emerging from the line of guards to the left.
“You’re as much of a fool as your father Jeonghan! Did you truly believe I’d let you roam Iaslera? You ruined any chance to return to civility when you took that brand on your neck!”
“You said—”
“Silence!” Carnos bellows, voice echoing between the walls. “My dear daughter has finally returned.” he smiles, “I wish to welcome her back.”
Your breath stutters in your lungs. You’ve had countless knives to your throat, guns to your back, brawled with the rowdiest of thieves and criminals. But the bravery curling around your edges shrinks back in the face of your father.
Suddenly you're five again watching Dirce cowering on the floor, with a bloody welt across her face. Helpless as your father unleashes the monster that lurks under his skin. It’s all your fault. Your greed. Your pride. Your envy. No one is to blame but yourself.
“You wanted me here.” You manage to steel your voice. “ He’s of no use now. Let him go and I’ll do whatever you want.”
If your father wants your submission, to see you beg, you’ll do it. He can break you if it means your crew will be left whole.
“What I want is for you to finally learn your place. And you will, in due time. But first, you’ll watch your little bastard lose his head.”
“No!”
“Be silent!” He demands, guards taking a threatening step forward. “You insolent little bitch! You thought you could escape me? I am a King! You are nothing. Less than nothing. You couldn’t even escape that pathetic excuse of a pirate on your own! You needed a peasant to—”
A gunshot rings through the room. A hole in the king's chest releases a trickle of blood down his front, staining the creamy linen shirt. King Carnos shakes as he dips his chin, mouth open in shock as he realizes he’s been shot.
The smoking revolver in Jeonghan’s hand quivers, his eyes wide at what he’s done.
An eerie smile creeps across your father’s face, blood staining his teeth. His last words are indecipherable as he chokes on the next rush through his mouth.
Not even a mouse squeaks to break the fragile silence hanging in the air, bodies frozen to the floor as the great King of Iaslera falls.
Then chaos explodes.
Your mother wails as she registers what's happened, guards rushing in an attempt to aid the king.
Every muscle in your body screams to flee but your mind keeps you on your knees. The king is dead. Your father is dead. Mouth slack, you shiver as death brushes past you, her chilled hand resting briefly on your shoulder before she steps forward to claim his soul. The once faint whispers of the sea trickling into your ears again. I’ll collect you eventually, princess. But not tonight. Death will have to wait once more for you to trail behind her.
Soonyoung drags you by your armpits, screaming something in your face that you can’t hear, the ring of the bullet replaying over and over; as if you’re under the waves and life is happening far above on the surface. Wonwoo’s limp body still rests in the corner, face bruised and caked with flaking patches of deep maroon.
Everything rushes you at once.
“Come on Y/N!”
“Wonwoo, get Wonwoo!” You shriek hysterically over Soonyoung’s shoulder as he pushes you out.
“We’ve got to get back to the boat!”
“Please!” You beg, voice horse as tears streak your face.
Hand iron tight around your wrist, Soonyoung doesn’t let you break from his grip. You barely make out Jun and Jihoon carrying a third body before you’re outside and nearly falling down the cliff to the shore.
Seokmin fights to keep his hold on the dingy as it batters against the sand. You and Soonyoung are the first to make it. Minutes pass by as you watch the remaining members of your crew fly down the stairs, slowed with the added weight of another. You can’t breathe.
Jihoon hauls Wonwoo into the ship first, followed by himself and the other men.
Nothing else matters, just the weak rise of his chest. It’s the tether your sanity latches on as you return to the sea.
Dreams
In the liminal space between life and the abyss, Wonwoo dreams.
He dreams, and he remembers.
The first time Wonwoo meets the princess, he discovers she’s insufferable.
The little girl glides his way, the self-righteous air of importance swirling her stiff shoulders. “What is your name?”
Wonwoo just gives her a slow blink, she’s woefully out of place amongst the smells and sounds of the stable.
Turning to the older woman, the snobby girl asks, “Is he simple?”
“I’m not simple!” Wonwoo objects.
“Then what is your name? You have one don’t you? Or do you prefer I call you ‘stable boy’?”
“My name is Wonwoo.”
“Nice to meet you.” She says, nose high in the air as she extends her hand.
Wonwoo hesitates before shaking it like he’s watched the older men do when they settle a deal.
“No!” She objects, snatching her palm away. “You don’t shake a lady’s hand.”
Her scolding confuses him, twisting his face.
“You do know what a lady is?”
“Of course I do!” He stomps. “You’re just a girl!”
“Ladies are girls, you idiot!”
An older woman steps in, “Ma’am, your horse is ready.”
Huffing indignantly, the little girl twirls to flounce to the other side of the stables. She walks as if the ground only exists to rise and meet her foot with each step. The princess is headed where the caramel colored mare that bit Wonwoo two days ago waits. Figures. Crazy horse for a crazy girl.
—
“Would you like to play with me?”
“I have chores.”
“They can wait until after we play.”
“Go on, son.” urges the older groomsman Wonwoo assists. “I’ll take care of your stalls.”
His eyes shift as he stammers for another excuse. Play with the crazy girl? He’d rather shovel the entire stable twice over.
Wonwoo doesn’t get the chance to speak before she snagged his wrist, pulling him towards the wide entrance. “Come on!”
Once tucked away in a secluded corner of the garden, both panting, Wonwoo looks at her. She looks about his age, only an inch shorter than he is at seven years old. Wisps of loose hair float around her face with a few tiny braids and twists pinned here and there. Delicate threads of silver intertwined throughout. Her dress is simple stormy blue but the fabric clearly indicates it isn't a hand me down like all his torn and patched clothes are.
“Do you know how to play soldiers?”
“Yes?”
“Teach me.”
“Huh?”
“My sisters don’t know how and when I ask the boys in court they won’t play with me.”
Wonwoo spends the rest of the afternoon running around the garden with Y/N. She’s decided they’re nations are at war, and this is the final battle.
“Yield!” She cries.
“Never!”
“Your majesty! What are you doing?” The shrill voice of an older maid rings out. “Young ladies do not roll in the dirt with servants! Certainly not princesses!”
The wrinkly woman grabs Y/N’s wrist, shooting a glare at Wonwoo.
“And you! Don’t you have chores that need finishing?” The maid spits before whipping around towards the palace.
The little princess mouths a silent apology over her shoulder, remorseful round eyes only leaving Wonwoo when she’s dragged behind a hedge.
“No way to behave! Your governess will have my head when she sees you…”
—
“Do you like burnt sugar cake?”
Wonwoo continues to ignore any effort for conversation, focusing on raking the new hay he’s laid down in the stall. Now that he’s twelve he’s given more responsibilities than just tossing the soiled hay into a cart.
“How long will you be angry with me?”
More silence. It’s the only thing Wonwoo can control in the unbalanced dynamic between himself and the youngest princess of the court. If she wished, she could command him to do whatever she wanted, the threat of whips at his back. But she allows Wonwoo to be angry. To be silent. She’s sat and mopped for the past two hours, huffing and sighing as Wonwoo refused to acknowledge her bids for attention. He ducks into the next stall and begins the same repetitive steps he has all morning, allowing the sweat on his brow and pull of his body to dull his mind.
What business was it to the princess that he couldn’t read?
When he exits, he finds the piece of confection wrapped in a silk handkerchief on the wall of the stall, Y/N nowhere to be seen.
The stables aren’t warmed with her presence again. Wonwoo never admits to missing it.
—
“I’m going for a ride!”
“My lady, Muriel has oyspox and there is no one else to escort you.” A stammering maid attempts to placate the fuming princess.
“If my mare is not saddled this instant I will take someone’s head!”
“You cannot ride without accompaniment!”
“He will escort me.”
Wonwoo knows she’s referring to him without looking away from the saddle he’s rigging onto one of the guard’s horses. A rambunctious sandy colt named Athos with a penchant to buck at strangers. He’s one of Wonwoo’s favorites.
“Ma’am, he is a stablehand!”
“Which is of no concern to me.” The rich timber of her voice is decidedly royal. “He will be my escort and that is final.”
Handing over the reins of the stallion to another servant, Wonwoo sets towards the tack room for the appropriate gear. The dark leather saddle and matching bridle is in perfect condition despite going years without use. Wonwoo would know, he’s the one charged with oiling them.
The familiar caramel colored mare is clearly excited for a ride, baying over the door to her stall. Wonwoo can’t stop the grin from spreading to his lips. Over the years, Kalsta had become as familiar as the back of his hand, only nipping his shirt when he refuses her a treat.
Once Kalsta and another stone gray mare are prepared, the fuming princess mounts her and dashes from the stable. Her hair blasting behind her as she pushes into a dead sprint across the hills leading to the coastline below the cliff housing the dazzling white palace.
Wonwoo’s eyes roll, but follows nevertheless; careful to remain several paces behind, even when the horses tire to a trot. From this distance, Wonwoo catches a few muttered words about some royal from the next continent over the crashing waves.
“If you were to marry a girl, wouldn’t you care to know more about her than which season she prefers?”
It takes Wonwoo a moment to realize she’s finally addressing him directly. When he does, he fumbles for an appropriate answer.
“I–,” he stammers, “I don’t know. I guess.”
“Then it is of no coincidence if you disagree with her about other more important topics?”
“Such as?”
“Such as… well I’m not quite sure but certainly there are more important things than my preferences in tea.”
“Surely there is, Your Grace.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“A humble servant would never mock their sovereign.”
“Humility is a virtue you lack in spades, Wonwoo.”
The grin pulling at the corners of his lips wins the tug of war with his mind. “Ahh, so she does remember me.”
Rolling her eyes, the first smile Wonwoo has seen all afternoon blooms on her face. “Of course I remember you. A girl never forgets the first boy she beats up.”
“You didn’t beat me up!”
Her warm chuckle brightens the atmosphere despite the nipping autumn breeze.
“So you’re to be married?”
“If my father has his way, yes.”
“What’s he like?”
“My father?”
“No, the prince you’ve been mumbling about.”
“He’s not a prince, he’s the son of a duke in Nas-Shost.” Y/N picks at the seam of the saddle. “We’ve been engaged since I was twelve, but I’m not sure what he’s like. We’ve only written a few letters.”
“A few letters since you were twelve?”
“Marriage wasn’t as looming when I was a child.”
“And you haven’t learned anything about him in all that time?”
“He tries to charm me but I find it quite dull.”
“Picky princess.”
“Is it so wrong to want a man of some substance?”
“Like what?”
Wonwoo hadn’t thought much about marriage at all. He’d caught a few of the younger maids staring at him when he worked without his shirt on but paid them no mind. No one ever gave him reason enough to think of anything more than some lighthearted touching. He was barely sixteen after all.
“I don’t know. His words tell me nothing about who he is or what he enjoys. Only that he is an incorrigible flirt who takes interest in trivial matters of taste.”
“You don’t want a man who charms you?”
“I want a man who has meaning beyond a made up title.”
“‘Made up title’,” he rolls the words around his mouth. “I believe that borders on treason.”
“Does it count if I’m referring to myself?”
Wonwoo continues to ride with you in silence, this time matching your pace.
—
Wonwoo wakes to whispers of his name, urgent calls for him to break the delicate surface of dreams. He fights a shout when he finds Y/N hovering over him, hand covering his mouth. Brushing it aside, he throws his gaze around the tiny space of his quarters before returning to her.
She’s cloaked in a gauzy dressing gown, the thin cream cotton of her nightgown peeking out between the deep blue lapels where the soft skin of her chest disappears; bedraggled tendrils of hair curled around her shoulder. The gentle flicker of candlelight casts her face in a hazy glow, flame reflecting in the dark center of her eyes. The princess is in his room, perched on the side of his bed, face inches from his own. Wonwoo must still be dreaming.
“He’s here.”
Wonwoo’s brain is thick as cold honey, the day in the stables more grueling with the additional horses the king’s guest brought. “What?”
“Jeonghan. He’s here.”
“And you’ve come to my room to tell me this?” Wonwoo turns his back towards her and closes his eyes.
“He’s horrible.”
Her admission gives Wonwoo pause. Glancing over his shoulder, he catches a wet trail of tears glossing Y/N’s face, chin tucking to her chest to hide her visage amongst her hair. Pitiful whimpers spill from her lips. Wonwoo nearly chokes when she throws herself into his chest, hot beads streaming onto his bare skin as the walls of control crumble.
“He’s awful, Woo.”
Wonwoo has never navigated such an emotional response from Y/N, from any woman really. When they’d been children, she’d stomp her foot and storm away when upset. Or sometimes tackle him to the dirt and pin him under her till he apologized and begged for mercy. He’s completely out of his depth..
Remembering how his mother would comfort him, Wonwoo lifts a hand to stroke the top of her head. A fresh round of tears erupt, shaking her against him. A loud bawl escapes Y/N, freezing Wonwoo’s blood. He cannot get caught with the princess in his bed. Not in this state; thin cover pooling around his waist, his chest bare and her’s barely covered by thin scraps of fabric. Both states of dress were courtesy of Iaslera’s brutal summers. But a coincidence wouldn’t save his sorry hide if another servant walked in.
“Y/N,” Wonwoo whispers gently. “It will be okay.”
The lie does nothing to stifle her sobs.
Trying again, “It will be fine, I promise.”
Wonwoo has never been a master of words.
“It won’t!” She shudders. “He’s awful, and rude. And he looks at me like nothing more than some prized horse.”
“They’ve only arrived today. Surely he cannot be that bad already.”
“He’s exactly like my father.”
Y/N’s father. Less of a man and more of a waking nightmare. Wonwoo barely interacted with him but the King’s reputation was well known across the kingdom.
Any words of comfort die in his chest. There’s nothing Wonwoo can do. That anyone can do.
“I wish I’d never been born.”
If Wonwoo had been born in her position, he’d wish the same thing.
“You’ve always wanted to see Nas-Shost.”
“How wonderful it will be from the confines of a palace.”
“Perhaps he’ll allow you to travel. You said the King hardly visits the Queen since you came about.”
“So I’m to pray he takes up a mistress after he’s had his fill of me?”
Telltale signs of her fury take root. Huffed breath and shaking hands, a husky scoff punctuating each sentence. Perhaps anger is better than sorrow. Wonwoo has placated her many times when the princesses' temper emerged. This would be no different.
“I’d pray he takes up several, then he’d be too busy to bother you, and let you do as you please.”
“I’d do as I please anyway. He’s barely a duke and I’m a princess.”
“Yes, as you’ve reminded everyone with every breath you take.”
“Jeonghan is the one who acts like his title is of importance! ‘Future Duke’ this and ‘when I am Duke’ that. He squawks like a bird.”
“You’re not quite dazzling to be around either so he might bore quickly.”
“I could have you arrested for speaking ill of the royal family.”
“And what do you plan to tell the guards, your highness?” Wonwoo smirks. “That you forced yourself into my chambers past midnight for some gossip and found yourself offended?”
Wide eyes glace down to his naked chest, jumping to her own as she pulls her dressing gown around herself tighter. The apples of her cheeks warm enticingly as she realizes the precarious position she’s arranged them in, still half in Wonwoo’s lap, perched between his legs.
As if burned, you jump away from his bed to the wall only a foot away. “I—. I didn’t, it isn’t.”
“Isn’t what, princess?”
A pause before indignation takes flight. “You truly are insufferable!” She quietly shouts. Spinning to exit his room with a dramatic sigh.
—
“I wish for a ride.”
“I’m occupied, ma’am.”
“Well make yourself un-occupied.”
“Her Majesty wishes it, so it will be.”
“How I hate when you call me that.”
“What would Her Royal Highness prefer?”
“For you to shut your trap!”
“Such foul words from a lady.”
“I have several more for you if my horse isn’t ready soon.”
“Your Highness, would you mind if I accompany you for your ride?
“I prefer to go alone.”
“You’re going with the stable hand.”
“It’s required that I have a chaperone. Since he’s a servant, he doesn’t count as company.”
Wonwoo tries not to take offense to the subtle insult to his station. He knows she doesn’t mean what she says but the words resemble the same ones he’s heard from other, less friendly, lips many times before.
“I see. Well, I hope to speak with you when you return.”
“Of course, Jeonghan.”
—
“You want to what?”
“Leave. Go somewhere else. Anywhere else.”
“And just how do you expect to do that? You’ve never left these grounds.”
“That’s a lie! I visited Anlehm when I was thirteen!”
“With a royal escort! A girl on the road by herself is completely different.”
“I won’t be alone.”
“And who will join you?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“Please keep up Wonwoo, we don’t have much time to discuss.”
“Why me?”
“You are the only person in the world I trust.”
She speaks as if the admission is little more than declaring the day's weather, but the weight rests heavy on his shoulders. The only person the princess of Iaslera trusts is a bastard stable boy with nothing to his name.
“And as such, I will need your assistance.”
“I’ve never left the palace.”
“But you understand peasant things like money.”
It’s not a slight, simply the truth.
“So I am nothing more than a guard for you?”
“Of course not, you’re my friend.”
Friend. Friends with the princess. Gods help him.
“A friend would tell you your plan is madness.”
“And you?”
“You’ll do it anyway.”
“You know me well.”
“If we’re caught, I’ll hang.”
“Then we won’t get caught.”
“Because it is as easy as that.”
“‘If her majesty wishes, so it will be.’ Remember?”
“So it will be.”
—
“What do you know about sex?”
Wonwoo chokes on the large bite of apple he’d been munching on. “Pardon?”
Rolling to her side next to him under the shade of the lush fruit tree, Y/N starts again. “Sex. What do you know about it?”
“I— This isn’t an appropriate conversation for a lady.”
“Well I’m no longer a lady, considering I’ve run away with a servant. I’m thoroughly disavowed from the crown. No need to worry about corrupting me.”
Corrupting her. Him corrupting Y/N.
Oh.
The thoughts were already there, smothered by his own guilt of imaging his friend in that way. Wonwoo suddenly pictures the first time Y/N wore trousers, the roughspun fabric hugging her rolling hips as she glided by. Worse, she didn’t even realize what she was doing, having his tongue nearly hung out of his mouth like a panting dog. And now she’s asking him about sex? Perhaps leaving the palace was a bad idea.
“It's something people do to pass the time.”
“I know what it is, Wonwoo. What is it like?”
“I don’t know. Probably like kissing I suppose.”
“And what's that like?”
“You’ve never?”
“Princess, remember?”
“Well it’s…sort of wet? And feels nice. It’s hard to explain.”
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me what kissing is like.”
—
“Wonwoo.”
“Yes?”
“You’re really quite handsome. Do you know that?”
The burn of whiskey on an empty stomach loosens even the lips of royalty, it seems.
“High compliment coming from a princess.”
“I’m not a princess.”
Y/N huffs, stumbling back into the mound of hay Wonwoo collected for sleeping. Fall looms on the horizon and the chill of the evening air requires sharing the ratty blanket. Wonwoo would happily sleep in his own pile but her disposition after a cold night left much to be desired.
“You’ll always be a princess. You still walk like a princess, talk like one, even order me about like we never left the palace.”
“I do not order you around!”
Shrilling his voice in mockery, he does his best impression of what he dubs her ‘princess voice.’ “Wonwoo, fetch us breakfast. Wonwoo, teach me to fish. Wonwoo, show me how to use a knife.”
“Well you listen so well it’d be a shame to waste a talent.”
A pause.
“I like when you order me about.”
Perhaps he’s indulged too much as well.
“Wonwoo.”
“Yes?”
“Will you teach me about kissing now?
That night, Wonwoo teaches you everything he knows. He also learns sex is much more than passing time.
The Edge
Dark. Wonwoo registers darkness and warmth first. As his soul slowly returns to his body he realizes he’s laying down in a cot, the unmistakable sway of the sea rocks him to consciousness. And then, Wonwoo realizes he hurts.
A sharp pounding echoes through his bones in time with his weak pulse. Each breath stretching his lungs to the point they feel as if they’ll shred. One of his eyes is swollen shut and the other waters uncontrollably under the pain.
A squeeze around his hand anchors his attention. Using whatever reserve of strength he has left, he tries to squeeze back.
“Wonwoo?”
The voice is familiar, buttery smoothness pleasant to his ears. Wonwoo hopes the Voice will continue saying his name. Maybe it will lull him back to sleep and away from his torment.
“Wonwoo?”
How lovely the Voice is. Perhaps he is still dreaming, the smooth slide of a warm palm against his forehead comforts him before the roughness of a damp cloth wipes at his brow.
A pause before the Voice removes what Wonwoo assumes is her hand. He calls on the reserve of strength again to protest, coughing a weak groan into the space above him.
“You’re awake!” She says, as if it's some marvel.
When she dives into his chest, Wonwoo nearly screams. His ribs protest her weight, his lungs on the verge of collapse. But on his skin he feels her hot wet tears, her nose digging into his breastbone. Even her lips brush against the sensitive flesh as she cries his name over and over. The desire to wrap his arms around her is quelled by protesting muscles. It feels as if he’s wading through wet sand.
She must sense his pain because she removes herself from his person and coos for him to sleep, raking her fingers across his scalp gently as something foul and oily slips between his lips. Sleep, what a wonderful idea.
The shallow rise and fall of Wonwoo’s chest has been the subject of your attention for three days. A part of you fears that the moment you look away it will stop.
He’d woken for the first time in the early hours of the morning a few days ago, the sun barely rising from his bed beneath the horizon as Wonwoo breached consciousness. Shua lectured on and on regarding the significance of rest to healing. Better for Wonwoo to sleep fitfully than wake in agony. But the more frequent he broke the surface of slumber the more anxious you became.
A brief shift of your focus to the vial of murky sedative Shua left for you to administer gives Wonwoo enough time to wake with a heart wrenching groan.
“Shhh,” you coo, settling the cool cloth back on his forehead. “You’re alright.”
“Y/N?” Wonwoo mumbles, eyes firmly shut but his eyes moving rapidly behind his lids.
“I’m here.”
You move your free hand to his own on the side of the bed, thumb stroking the backs of his fingers in an attempt to sooth him.
“Princess.” he slurs.
The pained sobs you’ve released quietly over the past few days return, watering your entangled hands as you rest your forehead against them.
Even in death, your father still torments you.
Wonwoo becomes fully sentient after a week. Weak from hunger and dehydration, but alive. Shua fusses over him at all hours like a mother hen, mixing vials and brewing all types of teas to speed his recovery along. Luckily, with all of the commotion from the crew to see Wonwoo with their own eyes, you’ve been able to fade to the shadows.
Taking the wheel yourself gives Jihoon a chance to descend below deck. Or offering Soonyoung the opportunity to share a meal with Wonwoo as you man the rigging. Anything to stay away from the room next to your own.
Somehow Wonwoo awake and aware is worse.
But only so many distractions exist in such a small space as your ship. The crew begins to brush aside your offers of assistance, urging you to have time with Wonwoo now that he’s healing. You’re at the end of your rope when Seungkwan informs you of Wonwoo’s request to see you.
You can feel Wonwoo’s eyes watching you in the corner of his room, your own tracing the whorls in the wood grain of the floors, walls, and ceiling.
You break the silence first, “Are you angry with me?”
“When have I ever been angry with you?”
“I’m angry with myself.”
“That’s why you’re you and I’m me. I chose to go on his ship.”
“It’s my fault he was here in the first place!”
“Do you think I’m incapable of making my own choices?”
“I’ve never,”
“If given the same chance, I’d do it again. I don’t regret it.”
“I—”
Wonwoo cuts you off before you can protest. “Why have you been avoiding me?”
This is the start of the conversation you’ve been running from.
“I haven’t.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
He’s right. And rather than continue to lie, your feet carry you out the door and back in the safety of your office.
Two more days pass before you gather enough courage to brave him again. You’ve never been afraid of Wonwoo; never shied away from his presence. Even after tense moments, having him around was a comfort and he indulged your desire to ignore whatever bubbled between you two. But not anymore. Wonwoo is demanding answers you don’t have to questions you're terrified of asking.
He sleeps thanks to the sedative Shua slipped in his tea before re-sewing some of the garish stitches along his ribs.
Resting in the chair next to the top of his bed, your eyes catalog his features. Even through the swelling and bruises, Wonwoo’s still handsome. From the sharp tilt of his jaw to the gentle pout of his lips, even his scar warms your heart as he dozes. It's hard to settle the panic hanging over your shoulder, a swirling mass of fear and dread.
So lost in your own mind, you don’t realize his good eye is open and glaring straight at you.
“You’re back.”
Jumping at the rasp of his voice, you launch to your feet. “I was just leaving.”
“Of course you were.” He scoffs.
The venom in his tone freezes you as your fist clenches around the doorknob.
He continues, “I asked Jihoon to take us to Ventparsk. I’m going to find a new crew.”
“What?” You’re trembling.
“You don’t want me here.”
“I never said that!”
“You don’t have to! You can’t even look at me without running in the other direction!”
Wonwoo just stares. He’s patient in the worst ways and the injuries littered across his face obscure any emotions he may be experiencing himself.
“I don’t know how to do this, Woo.”
“You’re too scared to try.”
“Maybe I am! But if I’m a coward, what does that make you?”
“A fool.” he spits. “I can’t pretend to not feel for you. Not anymore. If you truly do not want me then I’ll make it easier for the both of us and allow you freedom from any guilt.”
What can you say? The man you’ve bound yourself to in mind, body, and spirit, who has risked his life for you more times than you can count, is willing to walk away for your comfort; unconsciously taking half your heart with him. The idea saps the oxygen out of your lungs. You without Wonwoo. Like a flower without the sun. The sky without stars. Ocean without a tide.
Wonwoo has never asked, only allowed you to take endlessly. Perhaps it’s time you give something to him.
Tears are welling in your eyes before you can speak. “I don’t want you to go.” Shaking your head, your voice breaks as you cry like the little girl you were so long ago. “Don’t go.” Quivering like a leaf in a storm you beg. “Please.”
Through the blur of tears you can make out Wonwoo attempting to rise out of his cot. The extensive wounds and injuries make it a Herculean effort, causing him to nearly topple to the floor before you approach him. Strong arms tangle around you as you bury your face into his neck, pleading for him to stay.
“I don’t know what else to do.” He whispers into your hair.
You continue to bawl, plagued by images of your lonely figure, missing the better half of your soul. The only steady presence in your life, the one person who played witness to your weakest moments. Months of separation at the hands of fate were child’s play considering the bleak future Wonwoo suggested. Nothing sacrificed or gained would be worth the pain if he isn’t there to share it with you.
“Please.”
“You’re being selfish.”
“If this makes me selfish then yes I’m selfish! I’m selfish and I’m cruel because I can’t imagine a world where we separate. Please!”
“You’ll make do.”
“No I won’t.”
“So you ask me to stay by your side, knowing how I feel, and do what? Ignore it? Pretend it doesn’t exist?”
“When have I ever asked you not to feel?”
“When have I asked you for anything? Any wish or whim in my power I do. Why can’t you try?”
“I do not know how.”
“That’s a lie.”
“What do you want me to say?” Your voice cuts like glass, tears of sadness transforming into tears of frustration.
“I want you to tell me the truth!”
“I am! I have no idea what any of this means!” Your back up and pacing, hands nearly ripping your hair out in an attempt to ground yourself. “I thought you were dead Wonwoo. I thought my father killed you! And for a moment it felt like I died too.”
“And you don’t think that means something?”
“My apologies that I’m not able to write sonnets about feelings I don’t understand!”
“You refuse to even try. I nearly died and you can’t even stand to be in the same room as me!”
“Because it’s my fault! I decided to leave the palace! I decided to pull you into my mess! How can you even look at me?”
“Because I love you.” His eyes burn. “For years, I’ve loved you and I tried not to but—” Wonwoo swallows roughly. “It’s become something I live with.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Because telling you served what purpose? You had one of the crew tortured and tossed overboard because he guessed we rolled around in some hay when we were children. Didn’t inspire confidence you’d be receptive to the idea!”
“So you decided for me?”
“Impossible as it might be, please attempt to consider how I felt.”
“And now I’m selfish? You decide to keep secrets and it’s somehow my fault?”
“Then it's my fault for not being brave enough to face your rejection?”
“I wouldn’t—. I haven’t rejected you.” You blink. “It’s terrifying. Want you the way I do. I can’t think, I couldn’t breathe until you woke up. What happens to me if I let myself have you, and you disappear?”
“I would nev—“
“What if someone comes for you again and this time they do kill you? When I saw your face at the palace, I felt…” Another hot wave of tears emerges. “I couldn’t do anything. All I saw was you. I begged my father to kill me so I wouldn’t have to live without you.”
Silence.
“Did it feel like no matter how many breaths you took there wasn’t enough air? Like you were drowning on dry land?”
“Yes—“
“Like the sun fell out of the sky and the tides stopped? Because that’s how I felt. When Jeonghan took you. My body was here but my soul was with you.”
Of course the one person who understands you is Wonwoo. He sees and he knows. And for all his claims that words aren’t his strength, he gives you courage.
“I wasn’t raised to understand this. My mother told me the most I could hope for with a man was friendship, maybe fondness. Love isn’t a privilege I’d learned to understand.”
A pregnant pause passes.
“Then we learn together.”
Sitting back on the cot, you allow the warmth of Wonwoo’s calloused palm resting on the knobs of your spine to calm you. Sniffling pathetically, you listen to his heart drum in his chest. It reminds you all the times you pressed against him for warmth when you first ran away. The beat of his heart lulling you to rest better than any lullaby your nanny sang in the nursery.
Wonwoo breaks the delicate silence shrouding his room.
“A liar and a coward. What a pair we make.” He chuckles, humor in the irony.
Releasing your own puff of air, you hesitate before asking.
“What do we do about it?”
“About what?”
“These… feelings.”
“I don’t know.”
From all the stories you read as a child, confessions of love and wanting meant joy and happiness. But in its stead is something like sorrow, a firm pain of a crossroads without a clue where either path led.
“Wonwoo?”
He hums.
“What do you want to do about it?”
Wonwoo is silent as he ponders.
“Right now, I want to hold you.”
Moments pass as you trace shapes along his chest, careful to avoid the bandages crossing over his shoulder. The pressure of his lips against the crown of your skull turns your head up.
Wonwoo’s face is soft, staring at you with undeserved fondness. The same way he did that night in the barn, the same way he has always done in private when he thinks you aren’t looking. If Wonwoo is brave enough to tell you, then you owe him the same.
Tracing his features with your fingers, you carefully avoid the wounds still dappling his face. Starting at the temple where his scar begins, you follow it to the plush of his lips, the skin chap under your touch. Before following the loop of his nose and the curve of his brow.
“I love you.”
Your whispered admission floats in the air above your heads.
Wonwoo shuts his eyes and lets you do as you please, leaving a gentle kiss to the pad of your pointer finger as it returns to his mouth.
The smooth slide leaves you craving the contact across your own mouth. Rising up, you gently brush your lips across his. Barely a ghost of flesh but Wonwoo chases the contact. Lips slip against one another, soft passes filled with tender longing.
One the next stroke, you suck his lower lip between your teeth and allow the tip of your tongue to trace it. You faintly register the copper taste of blood and the salt of the sea. The drag must ignite something in his blood because Wonwoo attempts to twist you underneath him before he yelps in pain.
“Stop! You’ll tear your stitches!”
“Damn the stitches,” he grits, claiming your mouth again.
Carefully maneuvering out of his reach, you break the kiss as you rise from his cot. A genuine smile of joy returning to your face after years of drought.
“When you’re better,” you whisper.
“You’d have us wait?”
“I’d rather have you when your face no longer resembles the wrong side of a horse.”
He fails to make a grab for your sleeve, huffing as he rests back into the mattress. “I thought I charmed you with more than my looks.”
“Unfortunately, I’m quite shallow.”
“There should be an old scarf in my desk drawer, perhaps that can be of use?”
“Woo,” you gently coo. “You can’t even sit up straight.”
“I believe that’s a matter of opinion.”
You chuckle. “When you’re well enough, I’ll lock us in here for as long as you wish.”
The simmering displeasure is clear on his face. Wonwoo isn’t angry with you. He’s angry with his injuries. With Jeonghan and your dead father. With the fates.
“As long as I wish?”
Humming in agreement as you rest one knee onto the bed, you lean over his form before whispering.
“You should try and listen to Shua so I don’t have to wait much longer.”
“Fine.”
“It’s a deal.”
Three months.
Three months of silently mourning the death of your father in the dead of night, when you’re safe from prying eyes and your mind wanders free. You hardly knew him, he was as much of a stranger as a merchant you stumbled passed in a busy market. Guilt whispered across your mind as each tear slipped down your face. Mourning the man who terrorized a nation and his family, who paid for your execution, who tortured Wonwoo.
Three months of Wonwoo downing every greasy concoction and bitter remedy Shua prescribes. One month for the bruises to yellow and fade into memory, for his cuts to scab and scar. Two months for his shoulder to cease its insistent throb. Two months of keeping his body firmly planted in his cot until he’s cleared to rise with the assistance of a mahogany cane courtesy of Jihoon. Another month of hobbling along the deck, relearning his center of gravity under the threat of toppling into the sea.
Ninety two days of heated gazes and longing brushes of hands in passing, conversations littered with double entendres verging on obscenity. More whispered confessions and declarations. Twenty four nights of you visiting his room under the cover of the moon, sitting by his side, clasping his hand while he slept fitfully, administering more oily sedative when the nightmares chase him awake and one night he pulls you down beside him. Then seventy two mornings blinking wake, curled against one another under the thin sheets like you had all those years ago, whispering promises in the gentle dawn.
The first night Wonwoo shuffles across the deck without the assistance of the familiar piece of wood, you nearly take him against the main mast. Instead, you settle for pulling him to your cabin as the oil lantern begins to burn low, when the eyelids of the crew droop from exhaustion and their heads turn away in consideration.
A choked groan leaves your throat as his hips settle between your thighs, molding together so tightly there’s no deciphering where you end and Wonwoo begins. Mouths refuse to separate as you roll against one another, a cacophony of breathless whimpers and husky moans blending between lips.
Your bodies burn with the inferno of a pyre, every hair stands on edge like lightning is about to strike a hair width away. There’s no air to breath, but the space you’ve descended into thankfully requires none. Only you and Wonwoo exist, not time or the sea or the stars.
“Say it again,” he whispers into your mouth.
“I love you!” You gasp back, eager to seal the words with another suck of his tongue.
Calloused hands palm your chest, breasts heavy and full, nipples growing to stiff peaks as deft fingers brush and pluck. Wonwoo laps at the smooth dip between before latching onto one, nipping and sucking as you writhe in the sheets, thrashing wildly against him. Your own hands make busy twisting and pulling his hair, nails scraping against the dip of his neck and across his broad shoulders.
“Again.” Wonwoo bites into your skin, punctuated with another harsh curl of his hips into yours, so deep he’s in your lungs.
Sobbing your reply, eyes closing as your forehead presses to his, you nearly choke on air as he drives into you again and again.
“I love you.”
“Again.” He pants desperately.
“Wonu!” You keen, back of your head pressing into the pillows as your chest collapses from his precarious rhythm. Streams of light rupture across your vision, tension swelling in your veins and ripping you apart.
“Love you, I love you,” He mutters like a prayer into the crease of your shoulder, face buried in your neck as he snatches your wrist, twining your fingers with his next to your head, grip so tight nails sting into the back of each other's hand.
Another prayer of his name rips from your throat, cannoning Wonwoo into a frenzy. He pummels into you with such force the crown of your skull knocks into the headboard. His hips stutter as he finds his release, filling you with his seed as he cries your own name into your lips.
Stuttered breaths settle for a moment.
“Again, Woo.”
He eagerly follows your orders, just as he’s always done.
Epilogue
Once upon a time, an unlikely friendship between a princess and a stable boy bloomed in the gardens of a king’s palace. The stable boy followed the princess wherever she decided to go, and the princess knew that if she ever needed to turn back, the stable boy would welcome her with open arms. Even when age led her to the other side of this life like an old friend, the stable boy couldn’t help but follow. Though he was eager to return to her side once more, the princess had remained behind to welcome him with a smile when he walked over the hill.
Some say that when the moon dips below the horizon of the sea each day, it's the princess returning to the warmth of her lover's embrace. Always destined to find one another in each life, never to be kept apart, no matter what came between.
#svthub#svt x reader#svt imagines#svt fanfic#svt wonwoo#svt jeonghan#svt angst#seventeen fanfic#jeonghan x reader#jeonghan angst#wonwoo x reader#wonwoo angst#seventeen angst#svt#wonwoo smut#🫡 highvern
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by the grit of sandpaper {chapter 3}
Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader
Chapter Summary: With the overnight patrol behind you, it's now time for your annual leave from the roster altogether. But Joel doesn't know that and you're hesitant to tell him, feeling like it would be the best for you two to get some distance. But as with all things involving the man, it was hard to keep the distance.
Word Count: 7.2k
Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, illusions to past death, illusions to past trauma, blood, hurtful language, town gossip, rumors, negative feelings, pining, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, slight angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, two (2} instances of joel miller gently touching reader, intentional flirting, unintentional flirting, talk of pregnancy, casual intimacy, urges to kiss joel miller get their own warning, sexual content, masturbation (f and m), yearning, protective joel, tommy is a scheming lil brother and we love him for it, fluff, this is so unbelievably soft, reader is described as smaller than joel (bc c'mon), reader has a commonly used nickname but no assigned name, joel and reader pov
A/N: i'm not really back in wake of some bad comments and confrontational haters, but love y'all ♡
ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi
A knock on your door the next morning caught you bundled up and out in the backyard, the sound echoing throughout your empty house. It was small: a simple one with a larger than average kitchen, a living room, one bathroom across the hall from the bedroom, and a laundry / mudroom with a deep utility sink and a few cabinets of storage. It’s where you kept the tools for the garden, where you washed and prepped everything you managed to grow before moving it into the kitchen space. But you were on the modest back porch, a cup of steaming coffee cooling in the early morning air as you looked out at the trees that took up a good chunk of the large area.
Dragging your eyes from the one that looked like it was about at the end of its life, a large crack running down through the trunk, you heeded the knock at the early hour. Knowing it could only be one of four people.
“Was worried I woke you for a moment, you sleep okay?” Maria greeted you as she waddled past you and moved into the kitchen. She spied the other cups worth of contents in the coffee maker and sighed in longing. The scent of it heavy in the air, mixed with cinnamon you were apt to put in with the grounds before brewing. But her sigh turned into a delighted hum as she shifted her attention to the cooling pan atop the stove and moved closer to inspect the baked goods settled on it.
“Probably not much better than you, momma. How you feelin’?” You slid a plate to her as she began to pick pieces off from one of the flaky breakfast hand pies you had made. She placed the one she had begun eating along with another before following you to the large table that ran through the middle of the room. Setting it down and pulling out the chair for her, you helped her to lower into it. With a caressing touch to her swollen belly, permission given from her months ago, you began to set up a kettle for some tea.
“Big.” She stuffed a large bite into her mouth, eyes fluttering at the taste of the filling. Crumbs of the flaky crust sticking to the front of her shirt, jacket having been shrugged off. “Olive, these are fantastic. Is there anything in here I shouldn’t be eating?”
“I wouldn’t have let ya get your hands on it if that were the case. Just bacon and onion jam, eggs, a little bit of milk, and a whole bunch of thyme. Nothing too bad.”
“Nothing too bad, my ass. You should totally make these for the mess hall on your next shift.”
Another knock on the front door stole the words from your mouth and you looked to the woman who all of a sudden had great interest in picking the crumbs from where they had fallen.
“Maria, what is this?”
“Can’t I call on a fellow morning bird without ulterior motives?”
“You could, but you didn’t this time around. I don’t get many visitors so I wonder who you- Oh! Good mor-morning, Joel.” Surprise overtook you as you were suddenly face to face with the man over the threshold of your front door. He was bundled up as well, though his hair was wet, slicked back and shining in the early morning sun peeking over the mountains.
“I just figured we could all chat about the Teton route.” Maria’s voice carried from the kitchen. But it didn’t break the stare you could feel as Joel’s eyes took in the apron you had thrown on earlier.
“Mornin’.” He rumbled, a hand reaching out from within his jacket pocket to swipe at your cheek. His touch burned, but you were frozen in place at such a forward action so early in the day. Lips parting as you tried to pull in a breath but you were sure all you managed to do was huff out what air was already in your lungs. “You got a lil flour or somethin’.”
“O-oh, um, thank you.” His hand lingered, the back of his knuckle dragged down your cheek and then the finger curled around the neckline, tugging slightly. Nerves sparkling as you felt the warmth from his hand so close to your neck, you could only swallow as his eyes finally met yours with a playful grin displaying that damned, endearing dimple normally hidden in his scruff.
“Never seen you so homey before, it’s a good look on you.” His voice was tipped low, just for you and you felt your stomach lurch. When you didn’t say anything, just continued to stand there caught like a fly in his trap, he chuckled and asked if you were going to let him inside. It was then you realized he had inched closer, crowding you in the doorway, with his hand still around the strap of fabric over your neck.
“Oh! Of cour-course, I’m so sorry. It must be the early hour taking my manners.” But you knew he wouldn’t believe that for a second, he knew you were a morning person. Something you had revealed to him on patrol. Just like he had revealed to you that he took any opportunity to sleep in, apt to hit snooze an embarrassing about of times if the sound even reached him. You had both laughed at the polarizing tendencies, ribbing each other about it throughout the day. It had been a good one, free of the underlying…tension of whatever had shifted when you had pressed your lips to his injuries. Something you would take back if it meant cutting the undercurrent of whatever had befallen your interactions.
“There’s, um, breakfast hand pies and one last serving of coffee,” You spoke as you turned your back on him and went to retrieve your own mug from the porch.
After the shuffle of greetings, of ushering Joel to take a seat at the table. You plated up two of the hand pies and poured the last of the coffee for him, setting it down in front of him with a small smile before fetching the whistling kettle and preparing a cup of tea for Maria who was already a bite into her second pastry.
“Now, the horse you two lost.”
Joel made a surprised sound, mouth biting into one of the pastries on his plate.
“It was my fault.” You rushed out before Joel could even respond around his mouthful. His eyes flicked to you across the table where you had finally taken a seat, watching as you willingly took the blame for the unfortunate event. “I wasn’t quick enough taking down the Infected that were coming at us. Two of them had set their sights on her, with all the noise she was making while another went after Joel on the ground.”
“And there was no use of anything other than the shotgun?”
“That’s correct.”
“Joel, do you agree with her synopsis?”
“Yes. She acted fast, but there was no way Kiana was gonna make it back, she had been freaking out the second they came outta the tree line, most likely would’ve run off.”
“She always was easy to spook, that’s why she was designated as your horse, calmed her down and got her to focus.” It made sense, Joel was a very level headed person, capable of gently focusing someone should their minds or attention wander.
“I wish every incident discussion was this lovely. No arguing, good food, people who don’t want to go around in circles. You two are truly one of the best pairs we have on the roster.” Maria stirred in a bit more honey into her tea, taking a sip as she looked you both over.
A nervous laugh bubbled up from you as you dug into your own pastry, unaware of them sharing a look.
“This is amazing,” Joel offered, reaching for the kitchen towel folded atop the table to clean his hands off. “You should make these your next shift at the mess hall.”
“I just told her that, imagine the buzz they would cause.”
“They’re not all that special.” You muttered, shoulders rising as you felt rather put on the spot.
“This filling, these onions? It had to have taken a lot of concentration to reduce them down so soft but not mushy. Take the credit where it’s due.” Joel hummed his agreement as he reached for his mug.
“You’re off patrol this week and next, to do your annual thing.” Tommy announced as he sat beside you, his tray thudding against the top of the table, laden down with food from this mornings offerings.
“I can still patrol and get what I have to done.” You didn’t look up from the notebook you were writing in, trying to map out the way you were going to turn the harvest of the olive trees in your backyard into. If you were being honest, patrol twice a week wasn’t so bad with the added allure of Joel Miller. But it would be hard to juggle it paired with the time of year. Every autumn you took out your dirtiest, most ratty pair of overalls and got to work picking the fruit from the trees. Taking your time to sort them, wash them, turn them into oil and pickle some of the others. It was just you, hands aching at the end of the day from spending it all at your kitchen table with various tools. But you wouldn’t trade it for the world.
The kitchen was your happy place. Even after the end of the world. Or maybe in spite of it.
But this year, you didn’t want to miss out on patrol, normally taking the two weeks off to sort everything out and give all your attention to the gift of fruiting trees. Even if…you felt like it would be good for you to get some space from the man you felt in every other thought. The past two weeks had yielded quiet patrols, just the passing of a thermos between hands. You were sure you had overstepped a line by pressing your lips to his face, lost in the moment of adrenaline and want after those Infected had tried to turn you both.
His eyes were heavy on you when he thought you weren’t looking, but searching for what you didn’t have the faintest clue. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to bring it up and let you down gently. Tell you that he hadn’t appreciated your affections that way. Whatever went on behind that handsome, rugged face you hadn’t a clue.
“We both know that’s a mighty lie,” He stuffed an overfull spoon of grits into his mouth, humming around it as he pointed the utensil at you. “Didn’t you say this would be the last year for one of them?”
Sighing, you set the pencil you had been writing with down. Trading it for the cup of coffee in front of you.
“Unfortunately, the trunk spilt when we had those winds come through in February. I’m surprised it bloomed any fruit to be honest.”
“It’s a fighter, like it’s caretaker.”
“Oh hush, tryna flatter me.”
“Don’t you know it.” He winked, cheeky smile growing wider underneath his mustache as his eyes caught sight of something over your shoulder. You were about to turn to see what had him so delighted when a pair of hands placed a tray right next to you. The burly form of Joel huffed as he settled into the seat beside you.
“Mornin’.” He greeted, placing plate of toast in front of you, his hand momentarily brushing against yours before he dug into his own food. You felt heat bloom up your neck and across your cheeks as Tommy feigned a cough to cover up a snicker. Joel leveled an unimpressed stare at the man, an eyebrow cocked and a warning in his eyes. You pretended not to see it, busy slathering a piece of the gifted toast with some butter left out on the tables for the breakfast service.
“Good mornin’, brother.” Tommy lilted, face lit up with something you were hesitant of. Scheming, the man was scheming, up to absolutely no good. And you had a hunch it involved not only you but the man beside you. Taking a bite of the toast, you noticed the way his face twitched before he started whatever he was up to. “How are you today?”
“Fuck off, Tommy.” The older man didn’t even look up from his plate, knowing from years of experience that his brother was aiming a mischievous look his way. “I gotta list a mile long of stuff to do this week and next, don’t have time for whatever else you’ve taken on.”
“That’s a shame,” He took another heaping bite, chewing it thoughtfully as he looked between you both, taking in the way neither of you were willing to look at the other. “Sorry, Olive. Looks like you’ve gotta fell that tree on your own.”
“That’s okay. I’m a big girl, did it the year before last and I’ll do it again this time around.” You downed the last two gulps of your coffee. Gathering up your notebook, you shoved out of your chair and stood, preparing to walk away. But he scrambled, quick on his feet and determined. Joel glanced at you, a parting nod the only indication from him.
“Well, seeing as you’ll be off patrol the next two weeks, that should give you enough time to take care of it.”
“Tommy!” You whirled around on your heel, eyes wide. You hadn’t wanted Joel find out this way, from his trouble making little brother with you right beside him.
“What’s he talkin’ about?” Joel turned with a loaded fork halfway to his mouth. Forgotten in wake of the sudden news. He looked taken off guard, shock coloring his features as he looked to you for answers.
“Didn’t she tell you, brother?” Tommy set his own fork down, tray nearly empty now. “Olive always takes this time of year off to tend to the trees. Harvest and make that lovely oil you see everywhere around town.”
“That’s yours?” His eyes danced around the mess hall, taking in the incriminating glass jars atop every other table. The light green contents revealing the literal fruits of your labor. The hours you would spend hunched over your own kitchen table working away on ensuring everything was perfect. He looked down to the warm plate of food in front of him, the roasted potato hash and scrambled eggs. “You’re the reason the town has cooking oil?”
“Yes, it is.” Feeling pleasure flutter at his impressed tone, you knew your voice had taken on a breathy quality. If Tommy’s growing grin was any indication, his teeth sparkling as he watched the two of you across from him. Joel had turned completely in his chair to face you, while you had pivoted your body in his direction. Both of you undoubtedly drawn to each other even in the most casual of ways.
“What are you gonna do with the wood? Didn’t you burn it and mix the ashes into the soil last time?”
“Yes, I did.” You gripped the notebook tight, fingers aching from the pressure. “It helped to reduce the acidity of the soil and ward off slugs from targeting the blooms once spring came around.”
“Well, uh, I can come by and lend a hand. If you needed it, but I don’t want to intrude if you’ve got it all under control.” Joel ran a wide palm over the back of his head, fingers brushing through the curls as he offered his help in a round about way. Something you suspected Tommy had anticipated. It took you a second to process his words, remembering the feel of his hair tangled around your own fingers. It had been soft despite a days’ worth of travel and an overnight stint atop a dusty mattress. You wondered how he cared for it, what it looked like slicked back fresh from the shower, water dripping from the ends of it and-
“Oh, that’s okay!” You shuffled on your feet, shaking the rather intrusive thoughts and not wanting to burden the man with another task. “You just said you’ve got a lot to do, don’t want to add to it.”
“I could shuffle a few things around, clear up an afternoon to come help ya out.” He insisted, something smoldering in his dark eyes. His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he regarded you carefully, as if he had noticed the lingering gaze on his movement. He shifted to pull that damned little note pad of his own from his back pocket and flipped it open. Looking over the long list penciled on the page.
“No, no, it’s okay, really. You don’t have to do that, Joel.” You waved your own notebook at him, hoping he realized you kind of wanted the space from him. Kind of needed it, actually. To get the image of his softened face out of your head and the ability to look at him without feeling a jolt of desire strike through your body. Space would probably be good, would allow you to reign everything in and be better equipped to ride alongside him once again. The lines had begun to blur and they needed to be defined.
“It’s no problem, I can-“
“It’s really okay, I can handle it. But uh- th-thanks for the offer.” You scurried away before he could add your name to the list among his other tasks. “More important stuff to tend to than a me-measly tree.”
“I really don’t’-“
“I’ve got it.” You called over your shoulder, leaving the two men to their breakfast.
The second you were walking through the door, Joel rounded on the younger man. The shit-eating smirk was securely in place among his brother’s features across the table. Irking Joel further.
“Shut up.”
“Oh brother, you got it bad.”
“Shut up, Tommy.”
“C’mon, she could really use the help. It’s just her.”
“No one offers to pitch in? The other women with personal gardens all help each other out.”
“It’s the age gap. Olive’s about a decade or so younger than them.”
Joel contemplated his brother’s words, thinking back on the thinly veiled disdain Marsha had voiced to him the last time he had been tending to the woman’s home. He knew you were younger, but he hadn’t anticipated it causing any problems with the rest of the settlements occupants just how it wasn’t the cause of any between you and him. At least, not any real problems. Age was just a number nowadays, if you were alive, you were alive. If you weren’t well, you weren’t. Friendships and connections blooming between people regardless of age and backgrounds in abundance as people clung to what they could in order to survive.
“Does anybody ever…talk about her to you?”
Shifting from annoying little brother to something more serious, Tommy looked over his brother as he chewed the bite he had just taken.
“What do you mean?”
“Marsha seemed to insinuate that Olive is common topic of discussion.”
“Marsha doesn’t like Olive. Never has.” Tommy scowled, stabbing at a chunk of potato rather harshly.
“Does it have to do with the patrol you won’t tell me about?”
“…yeah.” Tommy was suddenly very interested in the rest of his food, ignoring the look he could feel Joel pinning him with from across the table.
“Tommy.”
“Her old patrol partner was someone she showed up with, when we first brought her here. He and Marsha’s daughter got on quickly, were engaged within a year and planning on havin’ a kid or two.”
Joel was silent as he picked at his food. Marsha’s daughter, Millie, didn’t have any kids or a husband that he knew of. The two women sharing a home close to his.
“They blame her for what happened.”
“What did happen?”
“Joel, you’ve gotta ask your girl that. It’s not my place to give details.”
“She’s not my girl.”
“But you want her to be, c’mon, I can see it plain as day.”
“We are not talking about this.”
“I think she likes you back. But it’s hard to tell since she doesn’t get a lot of interaction around town aside from when she’s trading or cookin’.”
“She don’t like me like that. We’re just…friendly.”
It wasn’t friendly the way Joel took advantage of any reason to touch you. From soothing minor injuries, to brushing his fingers over yours as he passed you something, to brushing things you tended to smear along your cheek. Just to hear the hitch of your breath and to witness the way your eyes widened. It wasn’t friendly the way you were the last thing he thought of at night and the first thing he thought of when he woke up. It wasn’t friendly the way his gaze lingered on you while out on patrol or when he caught sight of you around town.
It wasn’t friendly the way he spent hours in his workspace sketching out designs and carving into wood in the hopes that you would enjoy what he was creating.
It wasn’t friendly the way he didn’t engage with you for worry of making you nervous, like he noticed he had begun to do. Stuttering every other word around him and others in a habit he couldn’t figure out was his fault or something you were just prone to do. It wasn’t friendly how he wanted to see if it was just him that caused it, wanted to see how quickly words would fail you completely if he were to focus his attention on you in a more than friendly way…
But his brother didn’t know anything about that.
Never one to miss out on the chance for a slow morning, you allowed yourself to wake up naturally.
The sun was just beginning its descent from the highest point in the sky, peeking in through the drawn blinds of your bedroom.
Your body was warm underneath the covers, sleep making your mind take the sensation and let it influence your dreams.
A large body hovered over you, looming like the mountains around the settlement. Protective, a sight to behold at any time of day, as steady as the day turns to night. But the body was so much closer, pressing your back down into the mattress, making your head spin with the heady feel of it.
Thump, thump, thump.
Heart beating hard as pleasure coursed through your veins, brought to life by the feeling of fingers smoothing over your skin. Trailing down over your belly button and through course hair to find your slick folds. Delving between them, parting them, caressing over your fluttering core and then in, producing an obscene sound as they filled you up. Another set of fingers gentle nudging that little bundle of nerves to light your body up even further, heat encompassing you, suffocating you as they quickened their pace.
Thump, thump, thump.
Your heartbeat was harsh in your ears, roaring loud and with a jolt, you realized it wasn’t your heart. It was the sound of someone knocking on your front door.
Eyes flying open, the phantom sensations of being pinned down, of thick fingers caressing the most intimate parts of your body, of the rasped-out nickname in a voice that wasn’t real were ripped from you. You were alone in your bed, your hands the only ones bringing you pleasure.
“Olive?” The faint call of that deep voice your mind had tried to convince you was whispering sweet nothings in your ear was down the hall and on the other side of your front door.
What was Joel Miller doing calling on you in the middle of the day, effectively splashing a bucket of cold water over you as you realized you had been fantasizing about him as you touched yourself.
Embarrassment and guilt squashed the pleasure that had been consuming you, lingering tingles making it hard to clear the fog of your sleep hazed mind. Throwing on the robe hanging on the back of your bedroom door, you took a deep breath to steady yourself before approaching the door he knocked on again.
He must’ve been preparing to walk off when you swung your door open, his back to you and a hand on rubbing on the back of his neck. He turned back at the sound, eyes taking in the disheveled form you were sure you made in your doorway. It was the afternoon, and here you were in a robe and hardly anything else, being pulled from your bed.
“Oh, hey- you were sleeping.” His eyes quickly averted, a hand waving at you as a blush crept up along the apples of his cheeks. You wondered what had him so flustered, his hands clenching and unclenching just below the sleeves of his jacket.
“I should’ve been up already, it’s okay.” You said quietly, taking in the bulk of him on your small stoop. It was a little disorienting, mind imagining him and now being faced with him so close. “D-did you need-“
“Was coming by to see if you needed any help with taking down that tree Tommy mentioned.”
You fell silent at the way he cut you off, his words low like your own, as if he was frustrated.
“Cause if you did all you had to do was ask.”
“I-I didn’t want to add to your list, that little notepad is always so full of-“
“I offered too and you said no. But you’re not even doing what you took the time off for.”
“Excuse me?” You leaned back from him, worry and your own annoyance flaring. Just because you took one morning to yourself didn’t mean you were shirking your responsibilities. His words hitting too close to the wound that everyone else’s had dug close to your heart.
“You take the time off every year, which you didn’t tell me about. Tommy blurted it out to get some sort of satisfaction out of your miscommunication and you’re not even taking care of the trees.”
“Joel-“
“You know what, just, never mind. I’m heading around back to take care of it for you. Go back to bed.”
And then he was stomping down the steps and rounding the side of your house. The gate creaking open to signal his entrance to your backyard.
“Well, excuse the fuck outta me, Mr. Miller.” You mumbled as you shut the front door and moved back to the bedroom. Dressing in a ratty pair of jeans and a long-stained t-shirt in a rush. Putting up your hair as you walked into the back room to retrieve the axe he would need for the work he took it upon himself to do.
It was hard not to stare, your eyes glued to the man as he expertly wielded the axe and chopped down the damaged olive tree. He had shrugged off his flannel after trimming it of the few branches that stretched from the trunk, leaving him in just the t-shirt he donned underneath. A crisp white that displayed the sweat on the small of his back and between his broad shoulders. A crisp white that displayed the bulge of his biceps as he worked. A crisp white that fell just over his waist and billowed up to catch on the spiral top of his notepad peeking out from his back pocket. A crip white that now displayed his rather toned backside to you free from obstruction…
Shaking your head, you continued to pick the fruit from the others. There were three rows of about ten trees, the one you were worried about in the middle of it all. Your movements made you feel like you were slowly circling around him, honing in on the man taking out whatever frustrations he had on the plant. Until everything was gathered, and you retired back inside as the sun beat down what little warmth it still had this late in the season.
The fruit was already washed in the utility sink, resting in strainers set over ratty towels to dry atop the long table in the middle of the room. A record played in the living room, soft guitar and brass filling the space.
Sighing, you poured yourself a few fingers of whisky and then a few into a second glass as you heard the thud of the axe being set against the wall in the back room and steps heading your way.
“Joel, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how.” You offered one of the glasses to him, taking in the way he swiped at his sweating forehead with the back of his arm.
“I know…I’m-I shouldn’t have come at you like that. I’m sorry too.” His fingers brushed yours as he took the peace offering. But he didn’t drink until you lifted your own glass and clinked it to his. “Just…wanted there to be a reason why you weren’t by my side for a little bit.”
Stepping forward to run a hand down from his shoulder to elbow in a comforting move, you motioned him to follow you.
Through the hours of the afternoon and into the evening, you explained the difference between the colors of the fruit. The flavor profiles of each, of how you always sorted even portions of the harvest out for oil, for pickling, for the raw fruit to be shared with the town. You walked him through the process of turning a small batch into a paste, straining it over and over again to produce the oil. Two pairs of hands slick with it as he helped you after he had asked how you managed to do it.
He had asked of your knowledge, prompting you to admit that it was all learned since arriving here and being assigned to the house with the trees in the backyard. That it hadn’t been something you carried with you beforehand. You asked after his woodworking, how it had turned into crafting small figurines.
And he answered much the same as you. Learned skills to help deal with and adapt to the slower way of life Jackson allowed you both to lead.
“You left one on the table.” His voice was right behind you, having followed you into the backroom. You turned to look at him over your shoulder before going back to placing the jars in your hand into a battered plastic crate. One was for the pickled and general olives, while another was for the oil you would make once the distraction of Joel Miller was gone from your kitchen. The only evidence of such from today’s activities in his hand.
“Oh, that one’s for you.”
“I couldn’t, you need it for trade. Everythin’ helps.”
“I insist, it’ll be good to have in your kitchen.”
“It’s just gonna sit there on the counter beside the stove.”
“Well, take it. Just in case.” You whispered. Noticing how close he had gotten in an attempt to hand the jar to you. He was close enough to smell the way the olive leaves had permeated his clothing. The perfume of the freshly chopped wood stained his skin in a heady way. You felt the counter dig into your hips, having unconsciously backed into it beside the deep sink.
“In case of what, sweetheart?” He lowered his voice to a raspy whisper, tongue peeking between his lips as he took in the way you had a smudge of dirt under your eye in the warm light of your kitchen bleeding into the backroom. His gaze snapped to his hand as you bravely tangled your fingers with his own. Feeling your lips curl into a playful smile, you leaned up and whispered into his ear.
“The food critic decides to play personal chef.”
Oh, he liked that. If the widening of his pupils was any indication, the way his breath caught in his throat and he swallowed as he pulled back a little to look over your face.
He leaned in to press a cautious kiss to your cheek, knowing there was no bruise or cut to disguise his move as anything other than the blatant want for it. The soft scratch of his mustache lighting you up.
Your breath fanned out across his face, skin prickling along his body at the warmth of it bouncing back to you. A small huff the only noise coming from you. His eyes flicked up to capture yours, and you felt your heart lurch. He was so handsome, his lips looked so plush and pink this close. There was no way he could’ve missed the way you had glanced down at them, how you were thinking of feeling them pressed to your skin in other places, of the way you pulled your own bottom one between your teeth at the thought.
He leaned in, sharing breath with you, his nose brushing against yours before-
The needle of the record player scratching across vinyl startled you both, jolting in response to the harsh noise breaking the bubble of tension surrounding you both. Your hands had flown up to grip his shoulders tight while his arms had wrapped around your back and pulled you to him. Heart thundering for a completely different reason now, you cast your eyes over his shoulder toward to the record player.
With nervous laughter you stepped away from the man and set about lifting it from the still spinning record. His eyes are on you as you replace the record with another, setting it up to play and then turning back around to him. Your heart still thumping in your chest as you watch him hold tight to the jar in his hand and dip his head to you in a departing bow.
He made sure it was well into the evening before enlisting Tommy’s help. The forlorn way you had looked at the pieces of the tree once it was no longer standing proud among the others had stirred an idea in his mind. He was going to take the thickest part of the trunk, because he wasn’t stealing it away. No. He was going to return it to you once he had cut it into slabs and let it dry. He was going to return it to you in the form of a cutting board, crafted from the beloved trees in your care and in honor of the namesake you’d adapted.
But it had to be perfect. He would practice on other planks and cuts of wood until he was able to craft one that would be good enough for you. Setting his mind and heart on the endeavor.
Once he was back home with the trunk set in room set up as his workspace, stepping out of the shower and collapsing into the bed, he let a lazy smile overtake him.
He may be tired, exhausted beyond his limits. But he wouldn’t have traded his afternoon with you for all the restful sleep in the world.
He couldn’t get the feeling of your lips against his skin out of his mind. The gentle pressure of them grazing over his injuries, the gentle pressure against the patch in his beard he had never been fond of until that moment.
“Fuck,” He groaned out, palm tight around his aching cock. He had woken up thinking of your lips on more of his body, trailing over his skin in sucking kisses, tongue laving at every inch. He had been leaking and hard, his hand around himself before he had even come to complete consciousness.
The very real image of you stood in your doorway clad in nothing but your robe, the way the swell of your breasts was visible with the way you must’ve thrown it on to answer his knocking. The way your eyes were cloudy, slowly clearing and your face slightly flushed, as if you had just been- he groaned deep from within his chest. It had looked like you had just been deep in the throes of pleasure, body overwhelmed with it and torn away by his calling on you. Hair mused and breath a little too quick, he wondered what you sounded like. Would you whimper softly or moan out loudly, would you be shy and cover your face with your arms or would you scramble for any purchase as it raced through your body, swelling up to consume you.
He pumped his hand slowly now, reveling in the feeling stirring low in his gut. The strikes of pleasure moving through him as he recalled the way you had felt against him as you both rode back on your horse.
The way your hip had felt in his hands as he had tried to steady himself. His mind taking the thought and running with it, the imagining the way he would grip you from behind. You down on your hands and knees, legs parted to make room for him to fit between them, thrust against you as deep as he could, your keening-
He choked on his own breath as the sheer force of his release hit him, sudden and overwhelming. Spurts of pearlescent cum coating his hand and dripping over his knuckles.
Euphoria filling him up with satisfaction, his body humming with it until the guilt slammed into him.
He just fucked his fist to the thought of you. His patrol partner. His…friend. The woman he couldn’t get out of his mind even if his life depended on it.
Catching his breath, he looked out the window across from his bed. Stars glittering at him through the curtains as if they know all the dirty things that had just run through his mind, sharing in his secrets.
The only small blessing of his complete lack of self-control and oversight is that he doesn’t have to ride alongside you today on patrol.
“I’ve got the first batch of the season,” You announced as you walked through the doors of the small makeshift market. It was right along the main street, a few fronts down from the mess hall and the Tipsy Bison.
“Oh, lovely!” The man at the back counter praised, clearing a space atop it for you to put down the delivery.
“Marsha.” You nodded toward her in greeting, uncomfortable with the way her eyes had followed you through the few aisles after letting the man go over the contents of the crate. Another nod to her daughter, standing right beside her with a small wicker basket full of root vegetables. “I’ve got a jar in there for you, with the garlic you managed to salvage from the garden.”
She didn’t say anything, looking for all the world like her voice had been stolen from her. A small nudge from her daughter jostled her and she seemed to find it.
“Thank you, Olive. That was…very sweet of you to think of me.”
“Of course, anything to be of help.”
“Yes, of course.” She repeated your words, trailing off as she noticed a figure across the street. Her eyes tracked their movement but when you turned to see what had caught her attention there was no one there. Suddenly she was speaking your actual name and it roused your nerves to life. “You…do so much for the town, I just wanted you to know that we all appreciate the time you take each year to handle the harvest.”
“O-oh, well, um, thank you, Marsha. That’s very k-kind of you to say.”
“Momma,” Millie whispered, taking ahold of the older woman’s arm. Something in her voice you couldn’t quite get a read on. Taking that as your queue to cut off the rather awkward interaction, you waved at them and began to head back up to the counter to collect the items you had requested in exchange for the crate of jars. Your ears were strained, trying to catch the hushed words the women shared behind your back. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I realized how…unfairly we speak about her. Someone convinced me to apologize to her.”
“She doesn’t deserve apologies, she’s the reason-“
“Millie, we need to work on moving past that. It’s been five years now. We can all live alongside each other with the understanding of what happened.”
“No, momma, you may be ready to forgive her but I’m not. She got my Aiden and I’m not going to let her drag down Joel too.”
“He was the one who told me to be nicer to her, just trying to appease the lovely man.”
Any good feelings of a successful harvest and two weeks of working countless hours to jar, pickle, and transform the fruit from your trees vanished. The awkward yet positive sentiment from one of your more…complicated social connections going down with it at Millie’s angered words. You tried to muster up a smile for the man at the counter, taking the crate back from him with the trade items but you weren’t sure if you were able to. Not turning to look at the women, you exited the shop and made your way straight back home despite the list of errands in your pocket.
Of course Joel had caught wind of the way people spoke of you.
Heard it from Marsha herself, the source of all your troubles despite having done everything in your power to counteract the bad you had brought down on the town with your incompetence. He had put his own reputation at stake by sticking up for you and you only hoped it didn’t affect the way he was received. He was so important to the town, achieving far more than you in what he provided and brought in his skill set.
You didn’t want him to feel even a fraction of what you did as you navigated life here in the settlement. The pitying looks cast your way, the whispered words of what people felt entitled enough to voice, the way you seemed to only be good for one thing and it was the crop in the backyard of the house you had been assigned by pure circumstance.
The crate thudded atop the table where you thrust it harshly, frustration controlling your movements as you moved through the small house back to your room. Shucking off and resisting the urge to hurl your boots toward the closet you sighed as you felt tears prickle your eyes. They rolled hot down your cheeks as you curled up in the covers and gave up on what was supposed to be a good day.
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#dev writes#fic: by the grit of sandpaper#tlou#tlou fanfic#the last of us#the last of us fanfic#joel miller#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#jackson! joel miller#joel miller series#tlou fic#tlou fanfiction#angst#pining#carpenter joel miller#artisan joel miller#woodworker joel miller#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fandom#ao3#archive of our own#soft joel miller
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trunk dexting with pan and dhil (x)
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𝙁𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙥
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
Pairing: Emo!Anakin x Reader
(enemies to friends to lovers)
PART 1
✧˖° A/N: this will include y/n (i’m new to tumblr and never see people referring to a y/n but idk i came from Wattpad 😭), this is basically just Sam Monroe with Anakin’s clinginess and and backstory (modern), this is my first fanfic so pls excuse me if it’s horrible 🙏😓
ੈ✩‧₊˚
𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒’𝗌 “𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗉”, 𝗎𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝖾𝗋.
“Y/N!”
She hears her mother call, groaning as she trips over her feet while slipping on some pj shorts.
“Comingggg!” She yells back, grabbing her phone and earbuds before tumbling down the stairs messily.
She grabs her bag she packed the night before-probably the only part of the trip she had panned ahead-as her earbuds and phone hang off of her arms uncomfortably.
her mom clears her throat with a glare, motioning to a woman sitting nearby with a gentle smile. Y/n assumes this was the friend her mother had told her about, so she try’s not to spill everything out of her arms as she clumsily introduces herself.
“Hello i’m-“ The woman cuts her off calmly. “i know who you are, dear. your mother has told me many great things about you.” The woman nods her head. Y/n, feeling silly in the kind woman’s presence, smiled back. “Right, sorry.” Y/n stuttered out.
“You’re Shmi, correct?” She asked, trying to rekindle the conversation. “Yes, mother of Anakin.” She introduced. Anakin? She didn’t hear anything about an Anakin. She dosen’t have to energy or confidence to mention it as she just politely greets Shmi, exchanging more kind words before she stumbles out the door.
Y/n gets to the car, blasting her music as she pops open the trunk while moving her hips to the music. She throws her things in, grabbing a energy drink and blanket out of her bag for the trip.
She walks over to the back door, swinging it open only to be met with a blue haired boy. They both looked a bit surprised to see each other, y/n more than the mystery man.
“Who are you??”
They both ask in sync, their tone of voice annoyed and confused. “Wait.. are you Y/n?” The boy asked, looking her up and down.
“Yeah? What about it?” She asked catiously, trying to sound intimidating. The boy just laughs, slipping on his headphones before shutting the door in her face. Rude much?!
She then realized that the boy was most likely Anakin, annoyed she’d have to sit in the car with him for seven hours on top of sharing a room with him for two weeks. Oh god, she won’t make it.
✧˖° sorry this was short! i have like 3 other drafts so if this gets decent attention ill start updating it regularly. i have a lot of cute but angsty stuff planned for this series if i continue so lmk if you’d like me to continue!
#anakin skywalker#anakin x reader#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin x you#star wars#sam monroe#sam monroe x reader#sam monroe x you#fanfic#enemies to lovers#anakin skywalker x you#anakin smut#anakin fanfiction#modern anakin skywalker#starwars au#star wars anakin#hayden christensen x reader#x reader#hayden christensen#darth vader x reader#darth vader#hayden christensen x you
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Lucifer Morningstar x Married Y/n morning routine🪭🤍
I only made this cause I didn’t see much to suffice my delulusions enough with Luci pookie, to keep scrolling and keep on reading so here I am making kind of a [SMUT/SUGGESTIVE] scenario + soft too ykyk cause he’s literally such a sweetheart.
~~~~~<<<<>>>>>~~~~~~~~
As per usual waking up in the bedroom chambers with your husband Lucifer next to you while holding onto your waist. Rubbing your eyes you tried moving his arms off of you gently to get change before feeling a slight tug on the edge of your nightgown-
“Honey, stay for a little while…we have allll the time to stay in bed..” - Lucifer says in a drowsy manner while keeping his slim fingers onto your hips pulling you a little back to his chest once more.
“I ought to get up already there’s stuff I have to do mi amor..~” - You said while running your hand through his blonde hair before sliding down to his cheek caressing it, rather adorable while he had such a sleepy face eyes blinking slowly each.
Lucifer sighed before sitting up “Be a dear for me and stay in that nightgown for me then pretty please, you look ravishing in it. So I’d be delighted if you stayed in it for the rest hm”
[As the time passes by - while you stayed in the attire he was pleased while staying close to you, he was clingy even when your cooking breakfast was a bit of a distraction..]
“Heavens you always look so stunning..” - Lucifer says giving you showers of sweet talks near your ear cooing while you cooked holding a pan with eggs in it.
Before then his hand was on your thigh before lifting the rim of your nightgown a bit to caress your rear a bit made you shiver a little from the sudden action as he put his head in the crook of your neck softly licking a little..
“Lucifer it’s quite a little early for this, no~..? Didn’t you had enough last night” - you said while trying to concentrate into making breakfast
“Nonsense, the fun doesn’t have to end from last night. We could keep continuing from that night activity if you’d like? — yknow”
. . . “Where’d I plowed yah real hard to the point you passed out.” - Lucifer says nonchalantly and calmly to you twirling the edges of your hair while waiting for your response.
You flushed a bit crimson red on your cheeks visibly before sighing, his offer was tempting since he was quite good under the sheets no denying that. Before then you accepted either way before turning off the stove.
~~~~~<<<<<>>>>>~~~~~~~
Lucifer had you bend over a bit letting you adjust and hold onto the kitchen counter before you could hear the rustling of his pants dropping a bit.
“Sweetie, I’m going to need you to calm your nerves a little mkay..” he said while holding your hips but waiting for you to give him the go before caressing your hips and giving you a small soft kiss onto the cheek for comfort
“Don’t worry just like last time relax it won’t hurt just breathe in and out a little.” - Lucifer continues to sweet talk you whispering in your ear while slowly putting his ‘trunk’ into your entrance trying to make it less painful when entering.
Before then he gave a slow pace moving his hips back n forth while holding onto you and sliding his hands to your hips to the rear once more squeezing a little while watching you whimper and hold onto the counter.
While waiting for you to adjust for a couple of minutes he’d start going a little more hard and fast having you against the counter while pulling it in and out. Still trying to make you comfortable while caressing you as he holds onto your front stomach feeling the bump.
“Atta girl, I love being inside of you…you got this..”
-Lucifer would keep on banging you against the kitchen counter before making you climax.
Before you’d thought he’d pull out in the first round. He’d just stay in for a little while before getting the urge for another…the morning would be just spent for a couple more rounds before you could even eat some breakfast which got cold already.
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Pt 3 - Always.
Theodore Nott x Reader
Pt 2 here
Summary: The one where the anticipated week long holiday between the friendship group turns into a certified nightmare. Alternatively: You accidentally end up rooming with Theodore.
A/N: WE’VE ENTERED THE HOLIDAY PART AND I CANT WAIT FOR WHERE THIS IS GOING TO GO WOOOOHHH
I promise the angst will eventually subside (eventually.)
REQUESTS ARE OPEN
Songs: I know you - Faye Webster
I wait for you - Alex G
By some miracle, you had all managed to get through the weeks leading up to the summer holidays and were due to travel to Pansy’s family home today. The monotony of pouring over books, frantically rummaging through essays you had written on scrolls of parchment looking for your notes had finally paid off, and exams were done. Pansy had been raving on and on about just how beautiful the quaint villa was (which seemed to be a bit of a juxtaposition) , and how they'd all have a great time. Whilst you did look forward to it, you were reminded of who would be there.
Theodore.
After that conversation in the library, things had gone from worse to even worse. In some cruel twist of fate, you seemed to see Theodore everywhere now, yet his increased presence seemed only to solidify just how much of a gap there was between the two of you.
Spending a week together both seemed terrifying and cruelly humorous. A kind of plot from a shitty rom-com, though you doubted it would turn out for the better.
The once lively (arguably messy) dorm room you shared with Pansy was now barren and bare, your belongings packed away as you waited for Pansy to finish…
Tapping the walls?
“Pans, what on earth are you doing?” You ask, and she continues knocking on random places on the wall, letting out a groan of frustration.
“I swear I had it hidden somewhere! I refuse to let some snotty little 6th-year find it.” She grumbles.
“What the fuck are you looking for? Maybe if you told me it would be a bit easier.” You respond exasperatedly, nearing your wits ends.
“My weed! I kept a stash hidden somewhere when we first came but I've been leeching off Enzo! Now I can't find it!” She huffs, throwing her arms up exasperatedly. You roll your eyes and resist the urge to slap her upside the back of her head.
“You idiot, I packed that away.” You snap, and she furrows her brows.
“What? When?” She says, and you begin to wonder whether you should even bother.
“Merlin Pansy, is your memory that bad? You asked me to take it.” You chide. Her look of confusion merges into a sheepish smile.
“Oh… Thanks!” She says, beaming as she slings her bag over her shoulder.
You resist the urge to roll your eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time as you lug your bags downstairs.
“Finally.” Draco proclaimed, ushering the attention of the group as they looked up to see you and Pansy descending. Blaise immediately goes over to take Pansy's suitcase, and she looks up at him with a bashful smile.
Woah.
What?
You raise a brow, a small smirk tugging at your lips. Lorenzo comes over to help you with your trunks, and he leans closer to you.
“You're seeing it too, right? Smitten with one another.” He whispers.
“Since when? She was flirting with Belby about a week or so ago.” you say, raising a brown.
“Exactly. Notice how Blaise wasn't there? He left for a reason.” Lorenzo gushes, as though you both were 12 and at a sleepover. You giggle lightly.
“Wanna bet on when they'll get together?” You offer, and Lorenzo nods.
“Easy. They're both too damn stubborn to confess so I bet it’ll be after the trip.” He says.
You let out a loud laugh, and they all turn to look at you and Lorenzo. Pansy raises a brow, but you're looking elsewhere. Theodore looks over at you, and how Lorenzo is leaning close to you. He has to tear his eyes away, and he swallows harshly.
It was incredible how one person could change your mood so quickly.
Stupid, really, just how much one person could affect you. You clear your throat and turn back to Lorenzo.
“I bet they'll get together during the trip. 5 Galleons?” You ask, holding out your hand. Lorenzo eyes you suspiciously, then shakes your hand.
“Deal.” He says, and a wicked grin graces your face.
“Great. That means I can do this then.” You say, walking over to Pansy and Blaise.
“Pans, can you be a dear for me? I want to room with Lorenzo, so can you room with Blaise instead please?” You plead.
Blaise raises a brow and Pansy looks at you with a pointed glare
You were helping her (and perhaps yourself).
“Isn’t Loren-” Blaise starts but you quickly cut him off.
“Please, pansy?” You say, your voice strained. You really wanted those 5 galleons. Pansy is nervous but somehow also, you can tell she’s excited. You're probing her onwards, and with a shy smile (Once again, so out of character for her), she accepts.
“Alright- only if you don't mind, Blaise?” She says, looking up at him.
He grins as he looks down at her and you watch the two with an amused look on your face.
Hopeless, really. You give it a day or two before they're together.
“Of course.” He agreed.
Damn, you were good. With a cheeky grin, you turn back to Lorenzo and wiggle your eyebrows. You had the win in the bag. You leave the two and walk back to Lorenzo, grinning as you approach him.
“Don't hate the player, hate the game” You brag, and Lorenzo has to suppress a smile.
“Good Job. You forgot one thing though, sweetheart. I’m sharing a room with Mattheo.” Lorenzo quips, and your expression drops.
“What? Pansy said-” You protest, and Lorenzo laughed.
“Yeah, originally I was sharing a room with Draco. But Draco demanded his own room because he refused to share and Mattheo ended up with me instead.” He continues.
It takes a second for the gears in your head to turn, and then you realise.
If there are 4 bedrooms, and Blaise and Pansy are in one, Mattheo and Lorenzo in the other, Draco on his own in the third, that leaves you and...
Theodore.
You were going to strangle the life out of the greasy blonde-haired git. Damn him and his scrawny little princess ass.
You suddenly feel very sick. Perhaps you should stay in Hogwarts. Summer with Snape sounds riveting now, doesn't it?
You take a deep breath, trying to hide your disappointment, but Lorenzo sees right through you and bursts into laughter.
"Looks like the game just got a whole lot more interesting, huh?" he teases, patting you on the back. You shoot him a mock glare, but inside, you're already plotting how you’ll get through this.
May the heavens above help you.
As you stood outside the, admittedly stunning villa, you began to wonder whether you could brave sleeping outdoors for a week. The old French villa stands gracefully amidst lush gardens and towering trees, exuding an air of timeless elegance. Its weathered façade is adorned with intricate wrought-iron balconies and climbing vines. A cobbled pathway leads to an arched entrance adorned with a rustic wooden door. The entrance is flanked by tall windows with faded shutters, each window framed by ornate carvings that add a touch of sophistication.
As you step inside, the foyer unfolds, grand and established. A winding staircase leads upwards, and you can't even begin to imagine how damn expensive this place was.
The rooms are filled with antique furniture and large windows adorned with heavy curtains that allow dappled sunlight to filter through, casting a warm glow on the Persian rugs that cover the floor.
Nevermind. You could tolerate it.
The group of you stand in the foyer, looking around.
“Well shit…” Mattheo murmurs under his breath, looking around. You agree with him. You couldn't even begin to comprehend how wealthy your friends were. It felt almost alienating, somehow. The rest of them seemed accustomed to such luxuries, it seemed only Mattheo and yourself weren't.
“Right. There are two en suites and two regular rooms. Blaise and I will have the first ensuite, and You and Theodore get the other. It's all the way on the top floor.” Pnays says, and you nod, insides churning at the reminder of having to share a room with Theodore. You don't even turn to look at him.
“How come you two get en suites?” Mattheo complains, and Pansy turns to him, rolling her eyes.
“Because you dimwit, we need privacy for changing. We can't exactly just strip naked in front of Blaise and Theodore.” Pansy pointed out, motioning between yourself and her.
You loved Pansy, you really did, but why did she have to word it like that? You groan internally, shaking your head.
“I'm sure they'll be doing it anyway..” Lorenzo mumbles to you, and you snicker as you look over at Blaise and Pansy. Agreeing to meet downstairs in an hour to order food, you all make your way up to your respective rooms.
You hurl your suitcase up the steps, hyper-aware of Theodore walking just behind you. You climb up the first set of stairs and look up. A solid three more sets to go.
What the hell? 4 floors and 4 bedrooms? What kind of architectural fuck up was this? It seemed now like you had bricks in your bag because the task of getting up those remaining three flights of stairs seemed near impossible.
You pulled out of your mini crisis embarrassingly quick as fingers brushed against yours. You spin around, spotting Theodore. He's reaching down for your bag, and he looks up, eyes meeting yours.
You hated him.
You loved him.
You loathed him.
You didn't know which one mattered more.
“Let me take it.” He offers, clearing his throat, and suddenly you've lost the ability to speak.
You nod in agreement, too caught off guard by the unexpected gesture to form coherent words. Theodore effortlessly lifts the suitcase as if it were weightless, and you watch the play of muscles beneath his shirt as he ascends the staircase with ease.
You berate yourself for being so shameless.
You follow him, trying to shake off the strange mix of emotions swirling within you. Your thoughts are a whirlwind as you reach the landing, now standing just outside the door of your shared room.
"Thanks," you manage to mumble, avoiding eye contact as Theodore sets your suitcase down inside the room. He nods in acknowledgement, his expression unreadable.
As you enter the room, you're greeted by a quaint and cosy little room. Luckily, there are two separate beds, though they are pushed together to form one larger one. You'll be sure to move them apart.
Theodore clears his throat, breaking the silence. "I guess this is our room for the trip," he remarks, a half-smile playing on his lips.
"Yeah," you reply, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. The air between you two is charged with unspoken tension, and the weight of the realisation settles in. Fate, it seems, had a peculiar sense of humour.
"Listen, about earlier," Theodore starts, his gaze searching yours, but you cut him off swiftly.
“Don’t. There's nothing to talk about.” You say, brushing past him as you walk into the room. You have your back faced to him, face bright red as you begin unpacking, actions more forceful than you intended them to be.
Theodore remains silent for a moment, respecting your need for space. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you as you unpack, each movement deliberate and almost aggressive.
You hear Theodore take a deep breath behind you, and then he speaks, his voice breaking, tinged with an underlying vulnerability. "Please. Just, look at me." He pleads.
You clench your jaw, your hands gripping the edges of your suitcase. You turn around, meeting his gaze with a steely expression.
You swear your heart breaks. He’s frowning, and he looks on the verge of tears.
Stupid. This was so, so stupid.
“Look. Nothing is going on. Nothing happened, ok? I'm fine.” You say, though it's a blatant lie. You grab your sweater and book, considering pushing past him again on your way out as you speak.
You don't want to carry on like this. It hurt.
“Yeah, sure," Theodore replies, his voice now strained and forced into an artificial calm. "Nothing happened."
You want to believe it, to believe that you can bury the complicated mess of emotions that surged to the surface earlier. As you step into the hallway, you take a deep breath, plastering a fake smile on your face.
Theodore follows suit, and together you make your way downstairs to join the others. The air is thick with tension, but the group seems oblivious, immersed in arguments over food.
Pansy looks at you curiously, her keen eyes noting the shift in dynamics, but she chooses not to pry. Blaise seems absorbed in his thoughts, Lorenzo is engaged in animated conversation with Mattheo, and Draco appears indifferent to the subtle changes in the atmosphere.
No one notices anything, and you're very convinced it's because nothing really existed in the first place. You walk over to where Matteho is sitting on the sofa and take a seat next to him. He wraps an arm around you, drawing you in close as he continues speaking to Lorenzo.
“Hey, stimp.” Mattheo says, rubbing your arm as he looks down at you.
Sidenote: The nickname stimp originated from when Pansy had gone through a phase of calling everyone ‘stink’. You had no idea what she was saying and thought she was calling everyone stimp. You were relentlessly tormented by the group for thinking so, and it's stuck since then (courtesy of Mattheo.)
“Hey.” You mumble into his chest. He chuckles, fiddling with your hair lightly as he goes back to his conversation with Lorenzo.
Your mind (as it so often did) lingers back to Theodore. Your stomach aches because of it.
He's a tempest, a tempest that lingers in the recesses of your soul, tearing through the tranquillity with an unrelenting force.
You're weary, though these past few days with Theodore have made you constantly feel that way. You become tuned out from the conversations of your friends, feeling oddly like a spectator.
Your eyes grow heavy, and whether it's to your dismay or relief, you fall asleep with Theodore on your mind.
You could have sworn you fell asleep in the living room, curled into Mattheo. So when your eyes flicker open, and you're blinking wearily, sitting up in your bed, you're heavily disoriented.
A sleepy groan escapes your lips as you gingerly sit up, looking around. Theodore is lying in his bed, and you're very quickly aware of the fact that he separated them.
His eyes flicker over to yours at the sound of you stirring, a book loosely held in his hands.
Your eyes flicker down to the cover of the book and you're surprised at how quickly you feel sick again. It was getting rather tiring, really.
How long was he reading for? Was he thinking of you as he read? Did he read and look over at you?
“I saved some food for you.” He says after a beat. He looks at you, as though he wants to say more, and you see the conflict in his mind. He looks back down, and you feel slightly disappointed.
“Thanks.” You croak quietly, gingerly slipping out of bed. You sit on the edge for a second, back facing Theodore as you orient yourself for a bit before you slide on some slippers. You yawn and get up, tossing the covers back as you make your way downstairs. You blindly grope the walls as you warily descend the stairs in the pitch-black darkness, praying you didn't send yourself tumbling down.
Your fingers brush against a light switch and you let out a small sigh of relief as you flick the lights on.
God, how late was it?
You finally manage to stumble into the kitchen, the warm lights illuminating the otherwise barren place. The house is silent, and you assume it must be very late, judging by the way your friends (who almost exclusively lived between the hours of 11:00 - 02:00) were not awake. You shouldn't be eating at this time, especially because you planned to sleep right after, but you were starving and hadn't eaten prior.
You open what you assume to be the fridge (because god forbid rich people be like the rest of us and have normal-looking things), and see two small containers and a pizza box. You're impressed Draco (who though incredibly slender seemed to have the appetite of a growing giant) hadn't eaten it yet. You open the pizza box first and feel immediately better when you see the order. It's exactly what you like, there's garlic butter on the crust, and olives on every slice. There are tomatoes but it's on the side because you hate cooked tomatoes, and there's your favourite sauce as well (Blaise almost cried bloody murder when he saw you dipping your pizza in mayo a few years ago. You swore it was good.)
With a small smile on your face, you peer into the other two containers. One is full of strawberries, and your mouth waters.
You absolutely adored strawberries, and these looked plump and fresh, a far cry from the sad little things you'd get in Hogsmeade, on rare occasions. You can't resist biting into one and letting out a small groan of satisfaction as you do.
This had to be what heaven felt like, surely. You swore these alone could make you ascend. You pull out the container and snack on some, looking up as you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. Pansy yawns as she saunters into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. She's evidently sleepy, reaching for a glass of water as she speaks.
“You're finally up.” She mumbles groggily, leaning against the counter.
You nod.
“Woke up a few minutes ago. Thank you for ordering some pizza for me. You got it spot on.” You say with a small smile, and Pansy dismisses you with a small flick of her hand, as she sets the glass down.
“Oh no no, it wasn't me. We all ordered some sushi because Blaise knew a place. Theodore went out and got all that for you. He disappeared for like three bloody hours and we thought he got kidnapped or something. Turns out it’s very hard to find a good pizza place here.” Pansy says.
You blink in surprise at Pansy’s revelation. You have to stop yourself from dropping your jaw because you couldn't deal with her question right now, especially because…
What the fuck?
Why? How?
Why?
You can barely comprehend Theodore could remember all those things about you. Little things that you yourself wouldn't even notice. By the looks of it even your closest friend, Pansy, didn't even know that.
He went out of his way to get that for you?
It's an odd mixture of emotions — appreciation, confusion, and a tinge of frustration. Frustration because he was being so damn confusing. Ignoring you but then knowing everything about you. Not talking to you and then confessing he's been searching for you in everything he does. Remaining distant but doing things that made your heart flutter and guilt flood your being.
Pansy is watching you intently, ever observant. She gives you a once over, eyebrows furrowing ever so lightly.
“Night then.” She says, turning back to go to her room.
Even Pansy, who was ever known for being careless and prying, knew right now that this was something that went so much further than her best friend having a silly crush on someone. She didn’t need to know the history between you and Theodore to know this was something serious, and her reserved and understanding behaviour only seemed to scare you more. You remain staring off for a second as she retreats before you close the container, slipping it back into the fridge
(You'd hex Draco's teeth onto his toes if he dared to touch them.)
You make your way back up to your room, and by the time you enter Theodore is no longer reading, rather he's asleep in his bed.
His bedside lamp is off, but yours is on. You look at him for a second, and you're grateful that he's asleep because you didn't know what to say, or how to face him. You quietly retreat into the bathroom, washing your face and brushing your teeth before slipping back into the bedroom. You slip under the covers of your bed, tugging the blanket over you as you sink into the infuriatingly comfy mattress (How you'd be able to find sleep again back at Hogwarts after this, you never knew. This made your dorm bed feel like you were sleeping on a slab of concrete. If this home isn't being used by Pansy and her family till the holiday, you seriously considered breaking in and living here in the meantime.)
You and Theo are sleeping on opposite sides of the room, backs facing away from one another. Your bed is facing the window, which you're glad about because you couldn't sleep otherwise. A small voice in your mind questions if that was Theodore’s doing as well.
The silence is broken as you speak, words you only dare to utter because Theodore is asleep.
“Thank you.” You whisper, quietly.
Silence follows, and you let out a small breath because, of course, there's silence, Theodore is asleep. You find your own eyes drifting shut very quickly, slipping away into sleep.
You feel as though you're sinking, and you can't tell if it's because you're tired or spiralling.
In the quiet darkness, you find yourself teetering on the cusp of sleep. You're in that nearly there phase, where you feel simultaneously weightless and heavy. You're half-conscious, dreams blurring the line of reality. You're drifting away, and you swear you hear a whisper, gentle and barely audible in a voice that sounds very similar to Theodore.
"Always."
@camille-1019
#harry potter#slytherin#slytherin boys#tom riddle#theo#theodore nott x you#theodore nott x y/n#theodore nott angst#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott fic#lorenzo berkshire#slytherin boys fic#draco malfoy#mattheo riddle#pansy parkinson
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A New Kind of Love: Summer Before Fall Bonus Chapter
Genre: Non-Idol college au, slight enemies to lovers/friends with benefits to lovers, angst, romance, drama
Pairing: Minho x F!Reader
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,962
A/N: This includes a flashback of Minho seeing Y/n for the first time. This is not a particularly exciting chapter, but something I had been wanting to get out before publishing the final chapter. Sorry if this is boring!
A New Kind of Love: Summer Before Fall Bonus Chapter
Prev | Next
August 2023
Minho and his roommates were a mix of freshman to juniors and some of them had lived in the house since last school year. The guy that used to live in the basement apartment had graduated so the landlord naturally put the room up for rent last Spring. A few people had checked out the place, but nothing really panned out. While everyone was away for the summer, you met up with the landlord to tour the apartment. Feeling desperate for a change and in need of a new place asap, you immediately agreed to let the space. The boys had gotten word that someone would be moving in and were naturally curious who had taken over the vacant apartment. They assumed it would be another guy. The boys had not been expecting you.
Minho wraps a fitted sheet around his mattress as he tries to finish making his bed. He was the last to return to campus and decided to do a deep clean before the new semester started. He shakes out his comforter, flicking it into the air. As the comforter slowly settles onto the bed, his attention is drawn away by noise outside. He walks over to his window and sees a small moving truck parking to the side of the house. An older man steps out, walking around to the back of the truck to slide open the trunk door. Another car pulls up behind him shortly after. You and an older woman exit the car to meet who Minho presumes is your Father. He can’t really get a good look at his new neighbor as the summer sun is blocking his view.
Feeling a little too nosy, he decides to grab some of the mugs he’d let collect in a corner downstairs to wash. The kitchen sink window faces the side of the house that the basement apartment entrance is on. While Minho waits for the water to warm up, he notices the parents look to be bickering about something. You just stand there, arms crossed, watching the pair. Finally interceding, your parents seem to come to a truce and get back to unpacking the vehicles. Minho watches as you run back to the apartment, rushing down the stairs and into the basement. Your parents follow in tow and disappear inside. You return a few moments later.
"Hey, Dad. I’m gonna grab my suitcase from the trunk. I’ll be right back,” you shout.
Minho finally gets a proper look at you. You’re wearing jean shorts and a sports tank top. Nothing particularly special, but Minho thinks you could wear a paper bag and it would still look amazing. Now he is suddenly imagining you wearing nothing at all. He accidentally drops the soapy mug he was poorly washing into the sink and curses. When he looks back up you’re grabbing something from the trunk of the car. You look like you’re struggling. Minho considers going outside to help you, but his legs seem to have locked in place. His heart is drumming loudly in his ears. Luckily, your Dad comes out just in time before you’re crushed by the jigsaw of boxes you compacted into the trunk.
“Careful, Mija,” your Dad says as he takes down a few boxes to help you dislodge your bag.
“Thanks.” You nod and pull out the suitcase you had been struggling to get out.
Minho looks over your form as you roll the suitcase back towards the apartment, his jaw going slack. He is so distracted by you that he misses Chris walk in. Chris stops as he notices something outside has captured Minho’s attention. He’s unsure if it’s something pleasing or horrific, but whatever it is, his friend is completely lost to it. Chris finally comes up to Minho’s side and places a gentle hand on his shoulder, startling him from his thoughts.
“아 깜짝이야!” Minho turns around quickly, clutching his chest.
Chris puts up both his hands. “Whoa, there. You good, mate?”
“Yeah…sorry.” Minho takes a moment to recover his composure. “What’s up?”
“I just wanted to see if you would be down for pizza tonight.”
“Sure.” Minho leans against the kitchen counter throwing the sponge into the sink. Chris is about to say something when Jeongin interrupts him.
“Hyung, we’re getting pizza?!” the young boy asks eagerly.
Chris turns his attention to Jeongin. “Yeah, what kind do you want?”
“Cheese, pineapple, and black olives please.” The hyungs look at each other then back at their youngest with intense concern. “What?” Jeongin just blinks, not understanding their expression of disapproval.
“Pineapple? On pizza? 진짜로?” Chris can’t fathom the combination.
“미쳤어,” Minho says as he walks past the confused maknae.
“What?! It’s delicious!” Jeongin follows after Minho, attempting to explain why his combination of flavors is superior to any other kind of topping combination.
Chris steps in front of the kitchen sink and looks out the window to see what had held Minho’s attention earlier. Right on cue, you walk into view. He looks back at Minho in the living room, arching his eyebrow. Minho is currently teasing Jeongin, telling the rest of the roommates about his preferred choice in toppings. The room erupts into equal parts laughter and disgust. Chris hears you shout something outside which pulls his gaze back to you. Minho was not one to have his attention diverted easily by women. In fact, Chris was pretty certain he’d never even seen his friend genuinely like someone romantically. He shakes his head and sighs as he anticipates the trouble you would inevitably cause his devil bunny.
When Minho notices that Chris has left the kitchen, he heads back in to resume cleaning dishes…and hopefully to steal another glance at you. At the same time you happen to look up at the kitchen window and Minho quickly ducks. He waits a few moments before taking a peek once again. You were now facing the street. Sweat was starting to drip down your chest so you gathered your hair into your palm and started fanning yourself. Minho licks his lips subconsciously as he looks over every detail of your features. The sun now hits you just right and Minho thinks he’s either hallucinating or looking at an actual angel. A knot forms within his stomach and he tries to gulp, but his throat has become dry. Minho chastises his behavior. He’s a grown ass man, not a teenager who can’t control his hormones. He doesn’t need any distractions right now so he tells himself it would be best to avoid you for as long as possible.
-
Later that evening Minho notices the moving truck is gone so he steps outside for a smoke. He’s about to pull out a cigarette when a man approaches him.
“Hi!” the older man greets him cheerily. Minho quickly puts his pack away and turns to face him.
“Oh, hi.” Minho says quietly as he dips his head for a quick bow. The man is tall, a bit intimidating looks-wise, but seems friendly enough.
“I’m Gregory.” Your Dad sticks his hand out to Minho.
“Minho.” The boy smiles as he takes hold of your Dad’s hand.
“Minho, eh? You must be one of my daughter’s neighbors?”
“Yes, sir.” Minho starts to feel his palms sweat for some reason.
Your Dad puts his hands on his hips looking around the home’s property to soak it in, while nodding to himself. Minho stands awkwardly in silence, shifting on his feet. Gregory finally speaks. “She’s a good girl.” He looks back to Minho whose eyes are probably bugging. “My daughter. She’s a good student too. Shouldn’t give you any problems.” Minho continues to smile, unsure of what to say back. He wasn’t really a parents kind of guy.
“Well, I’ll get out of your hair then. It was nice to meet you, son.” He pats Minho on the back a little too hard, sending Minho slightly forward. “Take care of our girl!”
“Uh, yes, sir. Will do.” Minho gives a salute and cringes at his gesture. Gregory laughs as he leaves Minho and heads over to the car. Minho decides to walk back inside the house completely forgetting why he even went out in the first place. He just desperately needed to end this interaction. You get a small glimpse of the boy your Dad was speaking with before he disappears into the house, but not enough to fully see his face. You run after your Dad to help him continue unloading the vehicle.
“Who was that?” you ask as you grab a box.
“Just one of your upstair neighbors. He seemed nice.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I told him that if anything happens to you I’ll send your mother’s family after him and his roommates.” You nearly drop the box in your hand as you stare at your father, mouth agape.
“Please tell me you’re joking.” Your Dad ignores you, intentionally teasing you and you groan in response. The sun is finally starting to set, washing everything in a pink and orangey glow. You stop walking to look up at the house placing the box on your hip. There are some shadows moving behind the reflective windows and nerves suddenly spread through you as you think about having to meet everyone at some point. You wonder what type of people you’ll be sharing this old house with.
May 2024
Minho leaves his last class of the day and stops by a vending machine to grab a drink. Jisung is supposed to meet up with him momentarily to walk home together. As he takes a sip he spots you across the way coming out of the English building. It looks like you’re talking to some classmates. He watches the way your eyes crinkle as you laugh at whatever joke the guy to your left just made. Minho scoffs and rolls his eyes assuming the guy is trying to impress you. He angrily takes another swig of his sugary drink. You say goodbye to your friends and unintentionally head in Minho’s direction. Your entire demeanor shifts and your smile is quickly replaced with a frown. Minho doesn’t make an effort to hide and instead locks eyes with you.
The two of you continue staring at each other, both parties waiting for someone to make a move. Minho can’t bring himself to budge because he knows exactly what he’ll do if he does. He can tell you’re internally debating the same so he decides to make the choice for you. Minho shakes his head signaling to not come any further. Your shoulders slump and you can feel the prick of tears behind your eyes. Jisung interrupts the uncomfortable moment when he throws an arm around Minho and greets him. He follows his hyung’s gaze and sees you. Jisung waves at you enthusiastically and smiles. His smile always had a way of warming your heart, but in this instance it just made you even more sad. You return the wave, but barely smile back. Minho turns away in the direction of home, leaving Jisung to look back and forth between the two of you before finally sighing. He shrugs and shakes his head giving you one last wave before following the older boy. Minho forces himself to keep his eyes forward and not look back to see how hurt you might look.
Minho wasn’t someone to chase women, they usually came to him. It was just a fact. He didn’t really do relationships. Not because of commitment issues or bad past breakups. It was mostly because outside of schoolwork he was always busy dancing at the studio in his free time so he resigned himself to flings. They filled his needs, at least until they suddenly didn’t. Until he met you.
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#Lee Know#Lee Minho#Stray Kids#Weareapackofstrays#lee know x reader#lee minho x reader#stray kids x reader#stray kids smut#lee know smut#lee know fic#lee know fanfic#lee Minho smut#stray kids fanfic#stray kids fic#lee Minho fic#skz smut#skz fanfic#skz x reader#skz lee know#Spotify
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Road Trip
Flufftober, October 1st.
Vampire female Salvatore reader x Hope Mikaelson
Summary: Lizzie and Josie set you and Hope up on a road trip, knowing the wherewitch (unactivated vampire side) has had a massive crush on you since she was nine.
Reader goes to the school only to look out for the twins and to throw insults at Alaric, otherwise, you wouldn't be there. You don't actually do any work...or go to any classes either or teach any classes since you got turned at 21. You're also there to look out for Hope, as per request from Klaus before he died. Considering you and Stefan are the only ones in Mystic Falls he actually liked and secretly cared about.
Warnings: swearing,
a/n: Even though it's basically irrelevant to this fic, Stefan is alive and no one took any cure. And Damon never gave his car to the twins - this one kinda is, idk. And the other side was never destroyed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hope stares at you as you're reading Peter Pan, across the library. "Subtle" Lizzie says from behind her.
"Did you know, she's reread that book three times already this year" Hope says, aware of how stalkerish she sounds. "So the girl likes Peter Pan, she probably met the author in the fifties when it came out." Lizzie shrugs, smirking at her frenemie
"It came out in 1911 actually, and there's nothing saying I can't read a book more than once" You look up from the book and over to them.
Hope immediately blushes, knowing you were listening to their conversation. She pulls Lizzie out of the library with her quickly. "You knew she could hear us, didn't you?" Hope whisper yelled to the siphoner.
"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. It's so obvious you like her!" Lizzie explains, whisper yelling back. She walks up to her and Josie's room, leaving Hope standing there embarrassed.
Lizzie walks into her and Josie's room. "That's it, I can't take it anymore. We need to get Hope to admit her feelings to y/n before my head explodes!" Lizzie exclaims. "Finally, let's do this" Josie stands up from her desk. She walks over to Lizzie's bed, where they start planning.
"Lizzie, why did I have to pack a bag?" Hope asks her, duffle bag slung over her shoulder. "You'll see" Lizzie smiles as she leads Hope over to Damon's car, that which is here without his knowledge, thanks to you.
Josie walks towards them, also with a bag slung over her shoulder. "Are we going on a trip or something?" Hope asks, confused.
"Well, we aren't," Josie tells her and points to herself and her twin. She drops the bag on top of the trunk.
"Where exactly did you need us to go again?" You ask eyebrow raised. You have the keys to the Camaro in your hand.
"Oh, right, here" Lizzie hands you a map with a location circled in black marker.
Hope's eyes widen slightly, figuring out that she and you are going to be on a road trip. Together. Alone. She wants to kill Lizzie and Josie right now, she groans in her head. She already knows somehow she's going to make an utter fool of herself. Why did she get out of bed this morning, why? she thinks before zoning back into the conversation taking place.
"A campsite? In Atlanta?" You ask with an eyebrow raised. "Yep, mhm" Lizzie nods her head.
"You know, if I could tell when you were lying when you were a child, I still can, right?" You cross your arms.
Lizzie and Josie share a surprised look before quickly leaving. "Love you, auntie y/n" Josie says before slipping into the school with her sister. You roll your eyes playfully at her way of trying to be cute so you don't hunt them down and lecture them later.
"..We don't have to go if you don't feel like it" Hope hesitates before speaking. "No, it's fine. Besides, you and I both need some time away from this damn place. I can tell. Plus I don't know how much longer I can take having to see Ric's face every day." You unlock the car, and open the trunk, placing the bag Josie packed for you in it. Hope softly chuckles at the last part you said as she also places her bag in the car.
"Okay, Atlanta here we come," You say once you're both inside the car and you start the ignition.
The radio plays as Hope looks out the window, watching as everything seems to fly by as you're driving. It's been around three hours since you guys left. Hope's calmed down a bit, knowing all she has to do is make it through the next 2-3 days at most and then her secret is still all safe.
However, it doesn't help that you look absolutely beautiful as your eyes concentrate on the road and your fingers sometimes lightly tap along to the song playing. She's been trying her hardest to not just flat-out stare at you for the past two hours. You're wearing a black fitted v-neck top, dark wash jeans, and a leather jacket. And she can't stop thinking about how good the outfit looks on you.
By hour four, you pull over into a gas station. You're not stupid, you know exactly why the twins set you and Hope on a road trip. You've known for a while about how the youngest Mikaelson has a crush on you. Now you could always just confront her and all that, but you're not going to make it that easy. You're seeing how long it'll take until she finally spills it out to you.
You've been smirking on the inside most of the drive, noticing the not-so-hidden looks and eyeing Hope's been doing.
"Why don't you go pick out a couple snacks while I fill up the tank" You smile. You pull your wallet out of your pocket and hand her a twenty dollar bill. "Y-yeah, okay" she grasps onto the bill and walks into the small store.
Once you pay for the gas with your card, Hope is back in the car, a bag of snacks in her lap. She stopped in the bathroom there, making sure her face wasn't bright red from blushing. The good thing is her cheeks were only slightly flushed, so wasn't as bad as she thought she looked.
You guys munch on the snacks for the next leg. Hope soon realized that having something in her mouth to constantly chew on is settling her nerves a bit. Thank god she got a pack of gum at the counter before paying.
"You look glum...Wanna know a secret that your father and my brother would most definitely kill me for if they find out I told you about it?" You look over to her at a stop light. Why are there so many stoplights here? You guys are the only ones on the road for petes sake.
"Really? Yeah" Hope looks up at you, her eyes widened. Before you spoke, she was staring at her shoes with an expressionless face.
"Well, Chicago, 1920's, Nik and Stefan were close. Too close it seemed to me, so I did some investigating one night. Let's just say when I broke into Stef's apartment because he wouldn't give me a key, my precious eyes were traumatized. There I saw, my baby brother and my good friend, Nik, naked on his bed in the middle of a hook-up sesh" You tell her, you smile seeing the disgust on her face.
"You just told your friend- enemie's? daughter about him and your brother having sex! Why?!" She exclaims, a disgusted look on her face.
"Because you said yes you wanted to know something" You smirked, happy to see her no longer glum. "I thought you meant something like, I don't know, an embarrassing story where they were drunk and had a stupid conversation, not a- wait, were they like...together?" Hope broke off from her sentence.
"Ah, now I was hoping you'd ask that, this will tell you all you need. Probably in a more censored way," you reach into the backseat and pull out a worn-out leatherbound journal. "My baby bro's journal, doesn't know I have it, so keep it on the hush and don't tell anyone." You wink at her. "I nicked it from him when Klaus came to town to sacrifice Elena. Such a dork, even when he was humanity-less, he still freakin wrote in a diary" You playfully roll her eyes and her the old diary.
"Do I even want to know how much blackmail you have against basically everyone?" She asks you, opening the diary. "Oh, sweetie, you don't even want to know who and how much" you chuckle.
Hope immediately feels butterflies in her stomach when you call her 'sweetie'. It slowly falters off though, "Wait, do you have anything on me?" She asks, alarm on her face.
"Hmm, good question" You pretend to think for a second before pulling off a very damon-impersonating smirk.
"I'll make sure not to get on your bad side then" Hope says. "Good idea, your uncle didn't do a very good job with that. Oh what am I saying, he still doesn't. If you're ever pissed at him and something to hold over his head, I've got you."
"You know uncle Kol?"
"Yep, we crossed paths in 1872 and just stuck together since then, even when Nik decided to dagger him for a century," you tell her. "And when he died...twice" you both chuckle at the way you held off on the dying part.
"He's never mentioned he knows you," Hope tells you, not remembering her uncle ever bringing your name up.
"Has he ever mentioned a 'she-devil' or 'crazy scary woman'?" You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah, a bunch" she tilts her head. "Then he has, wow, so rude of him to never actually say my name and just those disgusting ones," You tell her in a joking tone.
"That makes so much sense," Hope says, earning her a flick to her thigh from you.
"Uh-huh, I bet it does" You smirk at her gasp. "We'll be there in forty-five minutes, so you might want to read that or I can give you a very detailed version instead," You tell her, turning without signaling because you guys are the only ones on the road. still.
"No thanks...I thought we had another two hours left?" She started reading until your info fully sunk into her mind.
"I mean we should, but I have no mind for speed limits, and we'll get there before dark. That means no bears or coyotes to sneak up on us in the dark." "What?!" she looks alarmed again.
"Just kidding, there's no bears or coyotes within 10 miles of the campsite unless it changed in the past year" you reassure her. "Oh, okay, thank god" she lets out a relieved breath, continuing on the page she was on.
Hope looks up from the page she's on as you park the car in a clearing beside a massive pine tree. "There are things in here that a daughter should never know about her father and ex-lover? best friend? friends with benefits? I don't know, but it's gross" She puts the diary on the backseat where you grabbed it from earlier.
"I'm surprised you made it that far, honestly" You chuckle, getting out of the car.
Hope follows you to the trunk and pulls out her bag. "So where exactly are we going in here?" She asks as you sling your bag over your shoulder.
"A site that was abandoned twenty years ago and no one has visited besides me. I never thought there were any bad reasons to tell my wonderful nieces, but they for some reason want us here, so I'll just go along with it" You answer her question.
Hope's stomach fills with butterflies again, knowing that she and you are going to be the only ones here. She watches where she's going, not wanting to trip and then you probably going to ask her if she's alright and then she'll most definitely say the stupidest answer, and then you'll probably figure out her huge crush on you. How is it that her mind can rant like this whenever she's around you, is her question.
Hope's eyes widen when she looks at the place you guys stop at. It's a beautiful clearing with no trees littering the circle and the clear sky shining down. There's a river a couple hundred meters forward and it just seems so peaceful.
"This looks amazing" She finally says. You chuckle at her ogled state, "Yeah it does, there's a barrier around us that'll only allow people I want in here. So there are no enemies and now only five others know about it, you, Josie, Lizzie, Kol, and Katherine" You explain, and motion for her to place her duffle bag down on the log, beside your bag.
"That's so cool," she says, looking around again. "How long are we staying here again?" she asks.
"Maybe like two or three days before heading back if that's alright with you," you say while pulling a tent to assemble out of your bag. "That sounds good" Hope smiles, walking back over to you.
"I hope you don't mind sleeping in the same tent, it's the only one I have that's not broken, thanks to my brothers, but it's fairly big" You lead her to around the middle of the site and start taking all the pieces out of it's bag.
"N-no, I don't mind" on the inside, she's screaming. This is literally too good to be true. She going to be sleeping in the same tent with you, for three nights at least. She's literally jumping up and down on the inside, she's so happy. No way her overthinking is going to stop her from feeling joy, not at this moment at least.
You smirk to yourself, knowing exactly what's going on in Hope's head, maybe she'll realize that it's okay to tell you about her crush during this time before Josie and Lizzie plan another surprise trip or plan for you two.
You build the tent, giving Hope instructions for some parts considering this is her first time building one. It's up and ready not even fifteen minutes later, all the pegs hammered into the ground and all the zippers working.
"And we're done before sunset, good job us" You give her a high five. You guys bring your things into the tent and set up the two sleeping bags that were in your bags because Josie packed them both in your bag. Probably so Hope wouldn't get too suspicious before leaving.
It's been two days, you guys are leaving tomorrow. And Hope can't even count the number of times she just wanted to go up to you and kiss you. But her self-consciousness stops her before she gets up to do it. every. single. time.
Not this time though. They can go fuck off while I go make a stupid decision, but it'll hopefully be worth it, Hope fights with herself. She stands up as best she can in the tent and walks over to where you're sketching.
You look up at her, but before you can utter a word, Hope goes on her knees and presses her lips to yours. She pulls away, eyes widened.
Hope cannot believe she just let herself do that. How stupid can she be?!
"I- uh, s-sorry. I have no idea what I was thinking" She goes to stand up, but you pull her back to you and bring her into a soft yet passionate kiss.
"You knew exaclty what you were doing. And I'm glad you did. It may have taken you a while, but you did and I'm proud of you, and I might just also have a huge crush on you too" You tell her everything going on in her scrambling mind.
"You do?" She asks, shocked. "One hundred percent" you smirk.
It takes her a second to realize, "Wait, you knew I had a crush on you this entire time and just let me almost make a fool of myself countless times over the years?"
"Pretty much, yeah" You nod with a faux thinking face.
"I guess it's worth it though" She mumbles, looking up at you this time. "Yeah, I strongly agree. Why don't you try being my girlfriend to find out for yourself though" You set your sketchpad and pencil down and place a hand on her thigh.
"Really? Yes!" she smiles, lighting up her face.
You bring her into another kiss, and it ends with you both doing absolutely nothing for the rest of the day besides cuddling and you telling her embarrassing and some disgusting (she thinks at least) stories about her family and yours and some of the mystic falls gang.
There's no doubt that Klaus is watching from the other side and sighing as his daughter falls for you even more. At least he doesn't despise you, and you never tried to kill him. You better not corrupt his sweet daughter too fast, he thinks, knowing it's bound to happen, just hopefully not all at once.
#hope mikaelson#cute hope#flufftober#hope mikaelson x female reader#hope mikaelson x fem reader#hope mikaelson x salvatore reader#salvatore reader#hope mikaelson x reader#hope marshall#salvatore sister reader#cute#fluff#imagines#fanfic#writing#josie saltzman#lizzie saltzman#klaus mikaelson#stefan salvatore#klefan#klefan happened in this universe#no one can tell me otherwise#thevampirediaries#comfort#legacies#theoriginals
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