#|Bird Bird: Alcoholic Edition|

[belokhvostikova]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | An apology is definitely at hand, and Eddie cements it when he drunkenly appears at your house despite your clear disdain.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, descriptions of depression, self-deprecating thoughts, alcohol consumption, driving while intoxicated, mentions of neglectful parents, mentions of childhood abuse, mentions of domestic abuse, brief allusions to eating disorders, and brief mentions of predatory behavior.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | So sorry for the confusion, I was simply updating the color scheme of this chapter when an error was found in my tag list, which I had to edit. I had to remove the tag list, but everyone who was already in the list or asked to be will still continue to be tagged as new chapters are released.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

You stayed in your bedroom. Not studying. Not reading. Not eating. Barely even moving. The concavity of teals and pastels with trinkets and knick-knacks that constituted the room you found solace in for the last twelve years of your life had swallowed you whole. The bookcase. The vanity. The dying plants begging for life in a personified reflection to your state. Your knees. Your fingers. Your sullen face in the smudged mirror. You listened to the sounds around you. The cars. The birds. The buzzing bees of the blistering spring. So lively, not you. Your father, the whirring indication of the coffee machine that kept him alive, the clearing of his throat, and the crinkle of his newspaper, as if he didn’t proclaim the nastiest words of failure and disappointment against the child he fathered neglectfully. But you had everything—food, a roof, money—who were you to complain, right? Your bladder is full, it hurts, yet you don’t dare to move. You suck in a breath, forgetting to do so innately. Everything has become manual. Your breathing, your thinking, your will.

You’re eighteen, a senior in high school, and you want to go to college. Which one? The farthest one. You’re merely a girl, a teenage girl, a teenage girl deemed a slut because you were nice to a boy. Nothing more, nothing less. Until the next day, where you would be deduced to a whore, because that was the inevitable step for a teenage girl who was nice to a boy. And that’s all you think of. All you repeat. Because you don’t want to remember more. You just want to wait. For what? You don’t know. So you think, you sit, and you wait. Just waiting until there’s nothing more to wait for.

Maybe when you learn to let go, you’ll finally be free. 

-

Perhaps it was the jocular facet of Wayne Munson’s personality that humored the struggling reality of his life, or maybe it was as superficial as he liked to quip an occasional joke here or there, either way, the same teasing line declaring his rambunctious nephew to be the cause of his exceeding aging—the one that always got a good chuckle out of his buddies while sharing a beer or a shy giggle from the tired waitress who worked the overnight shift just to serve him his coffee in the early hours of the morning—was vastly proving to be a coping mechanism, because Wayne Munson swore he could feel a new wrinkle brandishing his forehead as his nephew was on the verge of getting suspended… and failing… and arrested. 

Eddie Munson truly did age the poor man into oblivion. 

“…Twenty-two tardies, fourteen absences, thirteen detentions…”

Wayne briefly freed the indented grays of his head from one of his many beloved trucker hats before securing it back on. His calloused fingers splayed against his stressed eyebrows at an attempt to alleviate the impending pain with a heavy sigh. It was midday. He should be resting for his coming shift at the plant. But here he was, having a parent meeting with the principal for his twenty-year-old boy.

“…Persistent insubordination, frequent public outbursts, and repeated offense of inappropriate comments made against staff…”

That one made Eddie giggle. Oh, Mrs. O’Donell.

“Okay, okay,” Wayne politely interjected with a tight-lipped smile, “I think I get the picture here.”

Principal Higgins scoffed incredulously, as he dropped the particularly heavy file of Eddie’s extensive high school record. “Respectfully, I don’t think you do, sir.” Eddie rolled his eyes, as he apathetically slumped in the chair. “Your nephew has been tormenting the sanctity of my establishment for six years, six years, sir, and he’s in for a seventh after assaulting a fellow student on school grounds!”

“Oh, please, Carver deserved it-”

“Ed.” Wayne gritted with sternness. 

“Mr. Munson, I specifically warned you of the potential consequences of another detention or suspension, and you went ahead and disobeyed my word! Now, charges are being threatened! This is monstrous! Vile, even! Blasphemous-”

“I told you, that jockstrap deserved it!” Eddie sat up to defend his stance, blatantly ignoring his uncle's plea to calm down. “Why aren’t you getting him in trouble, huh?! He’s the one that started all this shit! Going around and spreading lies about Y/N!”

And maybe this is when Eddie should have shut up, because the way Principal Higgins eyes bulged at the revelation honestly kinda freaked Eddie out a bit. 

“Ms. Y/L/N?!” Higgins spit odiously. “This is about Ms. Y/L/N?!”

Wayne blinked between both men. “Who’s Y/N Y/L/N?”

The poor man’s presence had long been disregarded. Once again, this had been extrapolated into a battle between Higgins and Munson, a long six year war that seemed to have no ending. And you, well, you fell victim in the crossfire, left unaided, to die, vulnerable to the vultures of Hawkins High that got to pick you apart free of consequences. Because that was human nature for a small town that capitalized the American Dream with infiltrations of conservatism and conformity for the need to prioritize normalcy. And Eddie Munson was not normal, therefore you were not normal. Because you took his fucking picture. 

“In my years of administration, I have never, and I mean never, have had this much havoc from two students!” It became quite astounding how much a single vein could protrude from a reddening forehead of a forty-seven-year-old man. 

“This isn’t her fault!” Eddie burdened to emphasize. “Why are you always blaming her?! You used to love parading her achievements around as if they were yours, and now that she’s friends with me,” you weren’t friends with him, “you suddenly got your little feelings hurt?! You’re unbelievable!” Eddie sneered with a heavy breath and condescending laugh. 

Now, Higgins had been far too familiar with Eddie’s bite, but the abrupt revelation had the man searching for words that would excuse his exaggerating behavior. “I-I, uh, well, I… t-this- this isn’t about Ms. Y/L/N, this is about you, Mr. Munson, and what you did!”

Wayne had reached his wits end, “Alright, alr-”

“What? Rightfully put Carver in his place? Yeah, I did-”

“Alright.” Wayne’s jaw was heavy with tension as a stern scrape of his teeth was gritted to end the commotion. “Look, I truly do not have the time to be doin’ this, so we’re gonna run this quickly.” He sighed with a hand massaging his stubble. “I’ll have Ed apologize.”

Eddie made his annoyance evident with a loud groan and scoff, as he waved his uncle off. 

“But,” Wayne interjected, knowing his nephew would spew out more words that would worsen his consequence, “you said it yourself, sir, that Ed’s been “disrupting” your school for a couple years now, so I don’t think another repeated year would do anyone any good. Right?”

“I- I… well, I, uh, I suppose so…” Higgins mumbled. 

“Perfect.” Wayne perched out of his chair with a groan from his aching back. “I think a… sincere, heartfelt apology will teach my boy a valuable lesson here.” He patted Eddie on the shoulder before yanking on his denim vest to pull him from his seat. “So, no detention, no suspension, that way Ed will get to graduate, he’ll be out of your hair, and all’s good in life.”

“I, well, I think we’re being a little too lenient-”

Wayne shoved his working hand in front of Higgins. “I appreciate your understanding, and I’m glad we were able to come to a consensus.” Dumbfoundedly, Higgins shook the man’s hand trying to process everything. “Now, I’ll get in touch with the other boy’s parents, hopefully talk them out of charges, and Ed and I will have a long talk as to why we shouldn’t hit people. Right, Ed?”

“U-um, uh, yeah- yes, sir, I’m so sorry.” Eddie nodded, faux guilt casting his face, as he pressed his lips in and threw his round eyes of disappointment to the ground. 

“Well, then” Wayne sighed, “I better get going, sleep’s not gonna catch itself.”

“Mr. Munson, uh, sir-”

“Again, thank you for understanding.” Wayne shoved Eddie past the office door, before sending a polite wave to Higgins, left speechless and open-mouthed, yet no protest could be formulated, as the Munson men were out quick with a slam to the door.

Upon reaching the empty halls of the school, Wayne wondered how ethical it would be to lean against the cold, metal lockers and light a cigarette, because he had no willpower to wait until he was outside. Wayne Munson loved Eddie, he truly did. It may not have been affectionately shown for the majority of his guardianship, but it was there; through every cracked joke, every greasy late-night dinner shared, and every moment when he would miss work, because Eddie always waited last minute to finish the algebra homework that he knew he struggled with, and Wayne was there to help. 

But parenthood, itself, was a troubling journey, and when abruptly placed onto a man who had no desire to ever have kids of his own, it became devastatingly unfathomable. It became worse when the kid in question knew nothing but abuse, no hugs no kisses, simply fists and swears to condition his mind with the wrongful notions as to how to express his emotions. It was grueling. 

Wayne cleared his throat. “Ed.”

“I know, I know,” Eddie was quick to explain, “but I swear, it really wasn’t my fault.” His eyes pleaded to avoid the wave of disappointment he knew he brought to everyone in Hawkins. 

“Boy, if this Carver kid and that girl, Y/N, are giving you trouble-”

“No, no, she’s not!” Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat, and huffed. “I-I mean, he is, yeah, but it’s nothing I’m not used to, so it doesn’t matter. But her, she, uh, she didn’t- I, fuck, look this is all stupid! He’s stupid, she’s stupid- I, no, she’s not stupid-”

“Eddie.” Wayne was seeing the younger boy Eddie had once been. Struggling with emotions, struggling with words, unable to process and formulate because he was scared. 

“She fucking hates me, alright!” Eddie heaved. “All of this is stupid, and it doesn’t matter, because she fucking hates me! And I can’t even blame her, because I’m an awful fucking person!”

“You’re not awful-”

“I am!��� Eddie sighed to catch his breath. “C’mon, Wayne, you know I am. I nearly fucking failed for the third time in a row, because I have no self-control and apparently no fucking emotional intelligence, and now I may end up getting arrested in the middle of the fucking school day. And she fucking hates me, Wayne, she hates me!”

The quietness of the hall became deafening after Eddie’s tangent. He knew his uncle didn’t understand half of what he just uttered, but it sure as hell felt good getting it off his chest. And by now, a cigarette was looking real good to the older gentleman. 

“I- shit, I’m sorry, just forget all of that.” Eddie groaned, a tense hand running through his tangled hair.

“No, no,” Wayne shook his head, “say what you need to say. It’ll do you some good.”

Eddie suspired. “Look, Jason was saying some really gross shit about Y/N that wasn’t true, and the only reason why they said all that shit was because she added me- uh, Hellfire to the yearbook.” Wayne raised an eyebrow. “I know, don’t give me that look, like I said, this is all fucking stupid. Anyways, I felt bad, he was literally causing a scene in the middle of lunch, and well, I punched him-”

“Well, see, you’re not an awful person.” Wayne pointed. 

“You didn’t let me finish.” Eddie, now highlighted with genuine guilt, casted down to the floor. “When she first took our picture, I kinda yelled at her, because I thought she was just being some two-faced cheerleader, which she wasn’t, but, uh, after the whole cafeteria scene, well, she told me to just leave her alone, and um, I got defensive and called her… a sl- look, I just really fucked up, alright.”

Wayne puffed out a big breath of air. “Okay.” He really didn’t remember high school being this cursory, granted it was over thirty years ago for him. “Uh, well, did you at least apologize to her?” He truly didn’t know how else to approach this problem. 

“Well, no, she got suspended yesterday because of the whole yearbook thing. Highly doubt I’ll get a chance.”

“Well, make a chance.” Wayne waved off simply.

“What?”

“You care that much about what she thinks of you, make the chance happen. Don’t just sit around, do something. And if you really don’t care, then just let it go and focus on graduating and not getting in trouble.” Wayne pulled out his pack of Camels. “Either way, I need sleep and you need to get to class.”

“It’s lunch time.”

“Then eat.” Wayne sighed, as he began walking away. “Just stay out of trouble, because there’s only so many free car repairs I’m willing to offer in order to keep your ass out of jail, boy.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.”

-

“I can’t believe this! I totally don’t look like this!” Dustin shrieked. “This is a terrible angle! And I specifically told the guy to get my good side!”

Mike laughed with a mouth full of greasy pizza. “You look like the orcs from our campaign.”

“Who looks like the orcs from our campaign?” Eddie announced his arrival, as he took a seat at the head of the table. 

“Dustin!” Gareth guffawed. 

“But, hey, if you really wanna feel better, take a look at Stanley Godwin who literally sneezed in the middle of his picture.” Jeff stole the yearbook from Dustin’s grabby hands. “Poor kid and his sinuses.”

But before Jeff could thumb through to find the sneezing sophomore, Eddie had forcefully yanked the brand new book from his friend. “Where the hell did you get this?!”

“I bought it.” Dustin answered. “The Yearbook Committee is already selling them. But, if you want my advice, don’t bother asking Nancy for a family discount.”

“You’re not family.” Mike sneered with a playful shove.

And in true Dustin Henderson fashion, the boy audibly gasped. “Have the last ten years meant nothing to you?”

“Is our picture still in here?” Eddie interrupted. 

“Yup!” Gareth smirked. “Front and center.”

Eddie flipped through the extracurriculars, filtering through the numerous clubs before his eyes bestowed upon their photo. There they were. All of them. Their faces and names representing the Hellfire title. 

“Hey, how’d the meeting with Higgins go?” Jeff snapped Eddie’s attention. “Your uncle dish one out to ya?”

“Uh, no, actually.” Eddie signed. “Got let off the hook.”

“Wait, Higgins isn’t suspending you?” Mike questioned, and Eddie merely shook his head in confirmation. 

“Wow, you’d think punching his precious star athlete would get you expelled.” Dustin laughed. “I mean, even Y/N got suspended for something less. Wish she was here, so I could thank her for the photo.” 

Your name had sparked something within Eddie. He quickly turned the pages to reach the senior class of 1986, and flipped until he found your face. Your fucking beautiful face. So pretty and proper, dressed in your best clothing, pearls shining around your neck, eyes glinting with perfection. You were perfect. Perfect. Down to the last minute detail. Your teeth, your lips, your skin.

Make a chance.

Eddie tore the page with much fervor in mind. 

“Hey, what the hell?!” Dustin whined. “That cost me forty-five bucks!”

“Sorry, kid.” Eddie muttered, as he stood from his chair, stuffing the torn page into the leather pocket of his worn jacket. 

“Where are you going?” Jeff catechized. “We’re in the middle of lunch.”

“To find Chrissy Cunningham.”

-

Chrissy Cunningham was a lot harder to find than Eddie had expected. She had been in the same lunch period with him for the entirety of the semester, but the one instance he actually needed to speak to her, she wasn’t sitting with the gaggle of cheerleaders and jocks that claimed the best seats in the lunchroom. The girls’ bathroom had been his best option, now he obviously didn’t enter, but after he begrudgingly called out her name through the doorway, he felt like a creep and left rather quickly. The gym was his backup, but after peering through the small windows of the double doors, all he saw was Coach Monaghan loudly instructing scrawny freshmen through enervating suicide drills for the sake of physical education. And the health room was no luck, as the guidance counselor was enforcing teaching the importance of abstinence to a group of girls—only girls—for the sake of sexual education. More like purity culture. Eddie was running out of luck. His watch indicated the mere five minutes he had left before he’d be obligated to endure Mrs. O’Donell. But, by the grace of whatever god may or may not be out there, Eddie caught sight of the strawberry blonde sitting alone upon the writhing wood of an old picnic table just outside of the cafeteria. He walked all around, just for her to be a couple yards from where he originally was. Sometimes Eddie could only scoff at himself. 

Appearing to be caught up in her own world, Eddie’s heavy footsteps went unnoticed, until he materialized into her peripheral, a startled shriek making him surrender with hands up in the air. 

“Woah, hey, sorry.” He raucously chuckled, looking around to make sure no one could fabricate some false story of harassment against a cheerleader. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

But his words brought no ease to her- clearly, it was just yesterday she was cleaning up her boyfriend’s lip, because of Eddie. “I, uh, I- well, if it’s alright with you, I, um, liked to talk- well, ask you for something.” He softly assured, as she eyed him timidly. 

“Um, a-about what?” Her voice could barely be picked up by the breeze of the afternoon. 

Eddie took it as an invitation to sit down across from her with a tight-lipped smile. It was awkward. He took notice of her uneaten lunch, merely picked apart but not savored—well, as savored as school lunch could be. “So, uh, what brings you out here?” Perhaps an attempt at conversation with someone he never even spoke to was too bad of an idea, but he simply chose the politeness path, as he ask was pretty hefty. “Finally got tired of Jessica’s big mouth?” He laughed.

Chrissy didn’t. Jessica had made a comment, one that sounded too much like her mother’s own words. 

So when Chrissy sadly shrugged, he dropped the small talk and diverted the conversation. 

“Okay, look, I’m just gonna be up front.” Eddie sighed. “I need you to give me Y/N’s phone number and address.”

Her thinly groomed eyebrows creased her forehead in confusion. “Um, what?”

“Look, it’s a simple ask, alright, I just need her phone number and address.”

“No, I hear you, Eddie, I just- well, I just don’t know if she would want me to-”

“No, and I understand that, I just really need to talk to her.” Eddie pleaded. “And obviously I can’t do that at school.” Chrissy stayed quiet with contemplation. “C’mon, you guys are friends- or were friends, right? I really just want to make it up to her after all the bullshit she’s been through. Us being partially at fault because of it, y’know.”

Chrissy’s guilty round eyes met his. “I just don’t want her to hate me more.” she whispered. 

Eddie’s mouth fell slightly agape, not knowing how to comfort. See, lying and saying all was good and merry between you and Chrissy in order to get what he wanted would have been his first solution—the asshole way of thinking. But being that Eddie being an asshole was the start of all your misery in the first place, he fought the urge to choose the easy way out and rubbed his face with agony. 

“Yeah, no, I, uh, get it.” He huffed. “And if it’s any consolation, she fucking hates me, too. Probably more than she hates you.” He smiled. And luckily, a sadden smile curled her lips, which was a start. “And I mean, rightfully so, we were jackasses to her.” He laughed.

“I should have stuck up for her.” Chrissy sighed. “She always has for me. I mean, she’s been my best friend for four years. But Jason, he just gets so far into this idea of what people will say and think, and he doesn’t want me or him hurting from others' judgment.”

“So you judged her instead?” He couldn’t really be one to speak on the morals of virtue, as he judged, too.

“I know, it’s so stupid.” She dropped her head into her palms with shame. “And I’m not trying to excuse it, I just want her to know I’m so sorry, but I haven’t had the courage to tell her.” She groaned. “Plus, her dad is really strict and really hard on her to be so successful, that I doubt he’ll want me over after she got suspended.”

Chrissy drowned with dejection. Four years of the purest bond between young girls had been cemented into a cascade of hateful rumors and a lack of clear discernment that severed their loving connection that persevered them through the pinnacle of teenage years. As naive fourteen-year-olds, you both had stolen the locked up booze from your father’s office, and cheered one another on as you took a sip, to ensure you both appeared to know what you were doing when you arrived to Bradly Leminski’s party. Turns out, you both had accidentally drank too much in the comfort of your bedroom and missed out. You’d even watched giddily, as Jason Carver asked Chrissy out, after you ran him through the basis of what she loves, because he was determined to get her on a date. But through the woes of boys and high school parties, you’d both been there for one another through the deepest of tribulations, like when Chrissy called you bawling, because her mother’s words manipulated the way she saw herself in the beautiful dress she’d been so excited to wear for the winter formal. Or when she held you tightly after saving you from the harsh grasp of a senior, Jimmy Saunters, who forcefully shoved multiple shots of tequila down your throat, and attempted to drag you into his friend’s bedroom when you were merely a baby freshman. 

Her comfort had saved you, just as yours did to her.

“Well, I mean, you can’t just not try.” Eddie reasoned. “Look, I fucking hate that she hates me, and I want to at least try to apologize to her, too, which is why I at least need her number and address, please. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you, too, whenever you get the chance.”

The school bell that Eddie had been all too familiar with screeched for the coming of class, and he jumped in hurry. “C’mon, Chrissy, please, you gotta help me out here.” The desperation became palpable. Chrissy turned and watched numerous students flood into the halls through the glass doors of the building. Caving in quickly, she rummaged through her backpack for a pink pen she’d nearly worn through after the excessive notes from her third period. But she simply grabbed Eddie’s jacket sleeve, and utilized the back of his veiny hand as a canvas for her information. 

He’d ache his neck with a contorted twist of his head to watch the fading ink print what he wanted. A seven digit number lined the back of his hands, a small smile consuming his face, but then Chrissy started capping her pen away. “W-wait, uh, her address, too.”

“Um…”

“Please, I swear, if she asks, I won’t say it was you.” Eddie rushed.

Chrissy sighed, before quickly scribbling the number and street name of your home. Eddie cursed under his breath. “Christ, Pinecrest Acres? I got hired to mow some dude’s lawn in that neighborhood one summer, and some prick called the cops on me for trespassing.” He scoffed, and poor Chrissy didn’t know how to respond at the irrelevance of his news besides with an awkward chuckle. “But, anyways, thank you. I’ll, uh, leave you to it.” Eddie saluted, as he headed towards the door.

But then he abruptly turned. “Wait! Uh, tell your boyfriend I’m sorry for the, uh, whole, y’know…” And Eddie laughed, as he mimicked the shocking punch that loosened Jason Carver’s front teeth. 

The entire reason why he hadn’t showed up to school that day. 

“Um, don’t you want to tell him yourself?” Chrissy sweetly proffered. “I���m sure it’ll mean more.”

Eddie could roll his eyes. It was Jason Carver. Nothing Eddie did could mean shit to him.

He winced with a hiss. “Yeah, see, I totally would,” no, he wouldn’t, “but since he’s not here, and you’re the next best thing, I trust that you’ll pass on the message for me.” He smiled so sickly, Chrissy couldn’t see the drenching lies of his words.

“Oh, okay.” She agreed. 

“Oh!” Eddie perked. “If Higgin’s asks, I totally did apologize to Carver, okay?” Well, maybe there was still a little asshole left in Eddie, but at least he wasn’t actively hurting anyone. Yet.

“Uh, o-okay.” She hesitantly smiled.

“Thanks, Chrissy.” He lifted his balled fist to bump with hers. It was telling of the fact that Eddie Munson had little interactions with girls his own age- or any girls for that matter. But she hesitantly bumped him back, nonetheless. “Y’know, you’re a really cool person, you should get better friends.” He affirmed, before waving a goodbye.

“Th-thanks.” She meekly watched him enter the school building. 

While uncomfortable at first, the overall start of the budding friendship between Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie Munson was one to look forward to. While they evidently had nothing in common, it was quite comical actually, they could find reassurance in one another that improvements needed to be made within themselves in order to speak to the one person they both genuinely cared for. You. They at least had that in common. And luckily for Eddie, in six hours, Chrissy Cunningham would confide to Jason Carver to drop any potential charges, and he would listen, because he loved her. 

-

“Fuck.” Eddie mumbled under his breath. He shook the nerves from his hands, and rolled his neck in preparation. “C’mon, you can do this.”

“So, uh,” Wayne snapped Eddie’s attention. His uncle was staring at him circumspectly, as he shrugged on his jacket, “you preparin’ for a marathon, or somethin’?”

“What?” Eddie blinked through his messy bangs. “No, I’m about to make a phone call.”

“Right.” Wayne cleared his throat, studying the newfound nervousness of his nephew’s demeanor, which he hadn’t seen in- well, ever. “Ima head out to work, see ya tomorrow morning.” It was clear Eddie was waiting for his uncle to leave, as Wayne caught sight of how quickly Eddie grabbed the handle of the phone as Wayne, himself, grabbed the doorknob. “Is this about that Y/N girl?”

Eddie’s shoulder’s dropped. “Shouldn’t you be heading off to work by now?”

“Alright, alright,” Wayne mumbled, “just askin’. Be sure to eat dinner.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it, Ed. Eat.” 

Eddie, in fact, did not eat. 

In order to not succumb to the nauseating feeling that was churning in the pit of his tummy, he came to the concurrence that a cold beer would extenuate the ferment that made his heart skip a beat every ten seconds. Now, in typical sense, Eddie had consumed enough beer in his lifetime, that a single one shouldn’t have affected him to the extent at which this one did. But see, Eddie didn’t listen to the wise words of Wayne Munson, and his gurgling, empty stomach rocked him to the edge of tipsiness far quicker than he was used to. 

And before he knew it, his cold fingertips were jamming the buttons to the sequence of Chrissy’s faded pink handwriting, and soon it began ringing- shit, the phone was ringing! Eddie began panicking in place, wavering between hanging up and bringing the phone back to his ear. He hadn’t even planned out what he would say to you. Well, he technically did, it was all that he could think about for the entire day, but each idea seemed unworthy to the standards you deserved, so he’d move on to the next thought, but then suddenly every thought was determined unfit by Eddie. Should he apologize? Fuck, of course, he should apologize, but for what first? Calling you a miserable bitch? An attention-seeking slut? Making a scene in the cafeteria? Yelling in your face? Making you cry? Jesus Christ, thinking it out loud, why on Earth would you ever accept his apology?! He should just hang up before it’s too late-

“Hello?”

Eddie Munson’s knees buckled.

He carelessly gripped the edge of his wooden table, and slowly steadied himself into the chair below. He should speak, but no words were coming out. His knuckle flew into his mouth, where his teeth brandished the tender skin with harsh indents. It was painful, but he couldn’t stop. 

You spoke so featherly soft, too delicate for his usual orotund tone. The one he’d use to berate you. “Um, hello?”

“H-Hi…” He pierced out, immediately cringing at the sudden loudness he uncontrollably spoke in. “It’s, uh- well, it’s me, um… Eddie.”

It was dead quiet for what felt like an eternity. 

No word, no squeak, no air. You were obviously holding your breath, and the mere thought was tearing at Eddie’s heart. “Please.” It came out so weak. “Please, Eddie, I don’t wanna start anything.” 

His stomach dropped, and his hands shook with how scared you sounded. You were scared of him. In the couple of instances he interacted with you, he scared you. Because to you, he brought harm. It may not have been physical, but it was detrimental, nonetheless. And you were scared. He was becoming the sole person he did not want to become, because he knew what it was like to be scared. 

“No, no, sweetheart,” he let out a shaky sigh, “I’m not gonna do anything. I promise.” He wanted to profusely vomit. It was the same words his dad had uttered to his bruised mom in order to sweet talk her out of leaving.

“I told you to leave me alone, Eddie.” You choked quietly. It was dinner. Your father was downstairs enjoying his takeout. Not yours. He stopped caring to ask the minute you refused to leave your bedroom. “I don’t even care how you got my number, but I need you to not call-”

“No, I know, sweetheart, but I really just need to talk to you.” His knuckles were casting white upon the tight grip he clutched the phone, as his lips brushed the bottom speaker in whispers. His other hand began insistently picking at the old wood of the kitchen table. Wayne would have a word with him about that. “I- what I did, I really need to tell that I’m sorry, because I truly am sor-”

“Eddie,” You gently interrupted, no energy to scream at him like your mind was begging you to do, “I don’t want your apology.” You sniffled. “If it really meant that much to you, you would have never done it to begin with, because I- I would have never done this to you. I would have never done this to you.”

His eyes clenched shut to mitigate the profound stinging of his eyes from the welling of tears his heart was urging to spill for you. He knew the probability of you accepting his apology was low, but his mother always seemed to accept his father’s after he sweet talked his way out of a domestic abuse charge. This is what was supposed to happen, right? You should be loving his words and running to forgive him, right? It was what he saw. It was what he experienced. It was what he was conditioned to believe. But you weren’t his mother. And he’d desperately do anything to not be his father. Yet everyday, the image in the mirror was sneering back that sickening smile that destroyed Eddie’s childhood. So you weren’t going to run in his arms. You were going to stand your ground, just like he wished his mother had done to his father. 

“Please, sweetheart.” A gritted through his tense jaw, as a tear stained his reddening cheek. “Please.”

“I don’t want anything to do with you, Eddie.” There was no admonish to your words, in fact, you were so demure, holding back tears of your own, because he knew the ugly truth that you were well aware of the fact that if you screamed, he’d scream. And you’d, once again, be scared. “Just let me be, please. I don’t want you near me.”

The buzzing of the cutting line shot his bullet in his heart.

Your voice was gone, and yet, the phone stayed glued to his ear in hopes that he was just imagining it all. You didn’t hang up. You were still on the line. You would take back your words. You would accept his apology. But your euphonious voice never appeared again, and Eddie aggressively slammed the phone back on the hook with a grunt of frustration. The heel of his palms stabbed into his weeping eyes, as his shoulders assertively shook with every choke of his tightening breath. Rejection, heartache, vexation, and patheticism rampaged his mind from any calamity, and before he knew it, the characteristics he so badly hated about himself were being proffered up to the surface of his being. 

In truth, this was the scary aspect of Eddie Munson that resembled the harm he was verbally and physically ingrained with as a tragic child who knew of no hope. All rationale was gone, and wrongful devotion rooted in his deepest fear of being neglected with disregard had overtook his judgment. Standing with all fury, his finger’s strained through the excessive flexing of joints before his balled fist broke through the drywall of his trailer. His knuckles split with blood, but it felt deserving to him. Who was Eddie Munson without the infliction of pain? Absolutely nobody, he affirmed in his mind. He was meant to suffer. 

Chest heaving, beads of sweat pebbled his forehead, and the fridge door broke open. His truculent, battered hand grappled onto the torn yokes of the remaining three beers, hauling them, as his other hand reached for the keys to his van.

Eddie Munson was about to cause more harm. 

-

“Please, jus hol’ on f’me…” His drenched lips slurred with beer, as his hand crushed the empty can he haphazardly threw into the passenger seat, where his growing collection stacked. 

In the grand scheme of things, Eddie knew he was attesting to the predisposition of his role in this town, but he couldn’t help it. A lowlife, criminal, an irascible danger to society. Would you actually accept him? No, you wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t blame you. But he couldn’t stand the pre-conceived notion he’d confirmed about himself to you, and he was in desperation to speak to you. Unfortunately, Eddie had panicked, and this was happening in the ugliest, most horrifying and sinister state he’d ever been in. And you would see it all.

As lucky as one can be under the influence while driving, the cracked roads had fortunately been desolate, as nuclear families gathered around their pristine tables to lavish in the draining emotional labor of home cooked meals by their underappreciated wives. He rejected all red lights and street signs, stampeding through neighborhoods, drifting past turns, and steadily accelerating until he’d approached the spotlighted sign of Pinecrest Acres. The affluence—actually the beer and sharp curves—made his stomach turn in disgust. The aristocrats of Hawkins housed together, where they frolicked with no worries in the prolific assortment of two-stories, pool houses, parterres, and vintage cars, all while the struggling families of Forest Hills had to huddle with worn blankets to survive the blistering winters of Indiana. Ronald Reagan’s conservatism sure had an ascendancy on this place. He came to an abrupt stop after his headlights reflected the engraved 630 of your mailbox. “6… 3… 0 Pinecrest fucking Acres.” He mumbled.  

His tire ran over the curb of your street before he pulled the keys from the ignition. For a second, he stopped. His breathing was becoming suffocating, as his chest fervently raised with each depth of an inhale. His hand found the door handle faster than his mind could process, and soon he was stumbling on inebriated legs to the front lawn of your house. Honestly, if your dad had found him, he would have shot him, but the man had driven himself into bed after downing the entirety of his rum. 

Eddie’s eyes scaled the height of the house. “Fuck me.” Maybe he shouldn’t have chugged four beers. He cleared his throat. His joints echoed in a rhythmic sequence of pops, as he pressed and twisted his fingers to loosen up. A guttural groan escaped as his neck was next, snapping it left to right to ease out any crooks. His breaths stammered in unprecedented waverness, as his ears ached through the thudding sounds of his beating heart that seemed to be amplified in his mind. Jaw ticking. Hands shaking. Mouth dried. Body sweating. What the hell were you going to do when he’d shown up without your consent? In fact, you explicitly said to leave you alone. “Shit, shit, shit.” Eddie wanted to cry. Should he knock? No, your dad would call the cops. Would you call the cops? He sure as hell would if a drunk man harassed his yard. 

But then, his stomach sank to his ass. 

The one room that had been illuminated by the glowing overhead light had accentuated your silhouette. You. It was fucking you. In your room. Where you stayed, where you studied, where you slept, where you’d been crying and chose stoicism to numb the pain of everything around. But everything had happened quickly, and soon, you were gone with a sharp close of your curtains. 

Eddie’s legs began working without thought, and he’d swiftly aligned himself with the window to your room, tramping the trimmed garden of crumpled rose bushes beneath his dirty sneakers. Your house had been complemented by the standing trellis that had been wrapped by vines of delicate nature. If there was any sign of either moving forward or leaving, the intricate trimming of your house perfectly starting where your trellis ended meaning Eddie had leeway to make it to your window, meaning Eddie’s intoxicated mind saw it was a passage to see you. “Jus do it f’her, do it f’her…” Regrettably, the rational part of his brain had fallen under the influence, which was screaming at him to just leave you alone. 

As stealthy as a drunk man could, Eddie prayed the trellis could hold his weight, as he began scaling the flimsy wood against your wall. All he could think about was you. Every step was for you. Every splinter was for you. Every stumble was for you. Yet his clouded judgment could not process the fact that you didn’t want any of this. But the bottom of his shoe was already scuffing the white trimming of your house, and he was hoisting himself to stand upon the hipped edge roof. Crouched and begging his intoxication didn’t drop him from the second story, he quietly approached the dormer of your window. 

His fingertips gently caressed the glass with great scrutiny. It was now just dawning on him as to what he’s just done. The danger he’s put himself and others in. The disrespect he’s inflicted upon you. The hurt. The knock was soft, barely comprehensible. You had ignored it, there was always noise. You tightly cuddled a bundle of your duvet, sinking yourself into the wallow of your bed in hopes of willing yourself to a serious need of sleep. But the noise continued. More apparent. More concerning. 

You jolted at the clearest indication of a set of knocks cascading against your window. 

Your heart began racing beyond compare, as the noise followed just outside. It was night, no one should be coming to your house, let alone your window at 9:27 p.m. And the one man you should have had full reliance on was currently passed out in his locked bedroom, where you knew awakening him would lead to a revile of the burden you’d become in his life. He said it when you were nine, and he’d freely say it again if you gave him a headache from his usual hangover. 

But suddenly, the trembling of your body succumbed when you heard it. 

“H-hello…”

Blindsided by the simple greeting, you stumbled out of bed with stupefaction that he would actually show up. Eddie. You ran to your window, swinging the curtains open to reveal him. Round, reddened eyes oozing with plead, as his hand pressed against your window. His heart sank at the look of disgust that his face garnered from you. He hated it. He hates your disheveled hair, your bagging pajamas, your wobbling lip. He hates you. He hates how perfect you were. Why the fuck were you so fucking perfect? 

You made out the shaky “please” that left his mouth. 

Opening the window swiftly, the cold breeze of the night engulfed you, as he helped you lift. “What are you doing here?!” You were quick to spit with spite.

“I-I,” upon seeing you, his eyes had an instant reaction to start welling for the shit he was putting you through, because he knew what he was wreaking was pure havoc in the normalcy of your life, “I just really needed to t-talk to you.” He managed to choke out.

His hot breath hit you like a truck, proffering memories of what a humid house party smelt like. “Are you drunk right now?!” He could only shamefully nod with closed eyes. “And you drove here?!” Another disgrace to his character. “Are you insane?!”

“M’so sorry… M’so fucking sorry, please, I-I jus- I jus-”

“You could have hurt somebody, Eddie!” Though whispered, it carried all the beratement of your anger. “You could have killed yourself!”

“I know!” He wailed with guilt. “I jus- I feel like m’losing my mind, because I need to fucking fix what I did. What I did to you! M’so sorry.” Your hands caught your head in anguish. You hated him, every being in your body wanted to shout at him, and yet, your heart was tormenting at the state he was in. And you fucking hated that you couldn’t hate him how you wanted- how you deserved. “M’sorry, I-I can leave and I swear I won-” 

“You’re not fucking leaving like this, Eddie, you’re gonna get hurt.” You began tearing in frustration.

“Nonono, p-please don’t cry-”

He tried to reach out to you, but you slapped his comforting hands away, forcing him to lose his balance, before you had to steady him yourself. “You’re just saying that because you know you’re the cause.” You mumbled far too low for his drunk brain to process, while you held a tight grip around his wrist.

At an attempt to pull him in, his heavy, limp body contorted trying to bypass your window alcove, brandishing it with the streaks of his dirty shoes, and it took all your strength to stumble him onto your bed with a huff. Having him sit in place, you kneeled in front of him to get a good look at his face through the peering moonlight. He looked beyond exhausted, a testament to the agony of contrition he’s been eaten by for what he’s done to you. His eyes wholly swollen with irritation and tears that stained his flushed cheeks, as everything around him felt like it was burning hot. You couldn’t yell at him. At this state, ambushing him with an onslaught of curses and shouts would only project him into a disposition of vindication in order to protect himself. And that side of Eddie Munson was scary.

“Eddie,” you sighed, as his hanging head managed to meet your round eyes and quivering lips. “You cannot do this again. Do you hear me? You’re scaring me.” He vehemently shook his head, as his hands were quick to cover his face with shame to shield from the embarrassment he was consumed by. You pulled his arms away. “No, Eddie, I need you to say it; that you won’t do this to me again.”

“I-I… I won’t do this to you a-again- m’sorry. I won’t touch you, I promise, M’not my dad.” He sobbed. 

You sighed in defeat. “What- why would you even do this in the first place? What are you talking about?” You pleaded to understand, as tears constricted your eyes. 

There’s so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t know where to start. “I fucking need to fix what I did to you. I didn’t mean it, any of the shit I said to you. Being around is just so nice that I get afraid. I don’t want to lose you… a-as a friend, because- because nice things don’t happen to me, and I don’t know what I would do if I lost-” His breath had caught up to him, making him retch on nothing but tears and snot.

“Breathe, okay, Eddie, just breathe.” You quietly instructed, as he endeavored to follow suit. Your hands softly took hold of his, trying to ameliorate the violent shakes of his stiffening body, fingers delicately locking to find solace within his. And he held back so tightly. 

“Nobody- nobody’s ever cared like you have.” He whimpered. 

“So why treat me like this?” You mewled, sinking your teeth to discontinue the incoming sobs that stung your throat. 

“Because I don’t fucking deserve you-” You were quick to immediately shush him, as your father was merely a couple doors down. “Sorry, but I can’t fucking like you, Y/N.” He murmured through a quivering lip. His mind was spewing his feelings, the one he so badly wanted to ignore, but alas, his intoxicated state was regrettably telling all. “I can’t, it hurts too much. Knowing- knowing you don’t belong with me, I-I can’t fucking hold you, hug you, I c-can’t.”

“Eddie, you could have just talked to me.” You softly cried.

“No.” He looked so terrified. “I can’t fucking hear you ignore me. I-I know you don’t like me-”

“You don’t know that-”

“Fucking look at me, Y/N.” He bawled. “Look at what I’m doing to you. You don’t fucking deserve this. M’not a good person. I hurt you. I fucking hurt you.”

“I just wished you would have given me a chance, and talked to me, Eddie.” You squeezed his hands.

“No, I don’t want to burden you.” He cried with heavy breaths. “There’s things I wanna say to you- do with you, but I should just be letting you live free from me. No one cares about what I have to say, and you know it.” He begged for you to get it. “All that bullshit about communication doesn’t mean anything when it comes to me. No one wants to hear me. No one wants me.”

Your heart shattered at the revelation because it was beyond the definitions of truth. From childhood, Eddie Munson knew he was nothing if not a punching bag to his father, a therapist to his mother, an obligation to his uncle, and a burden to everyone. It became unwarrantedly embedded into a six-year-old boy and vandalized into his twenty-year-old self. He recognized it. Everyone affirmed it. 

You raked your hands from his hold, choosing to sit next to him on your bed, where your arms inundated him into a hug he had not received in years. The last close touch given to Eddie Munson left him weeping with a broken nose. He immediately fell into your embrace, shoving his head in the comfort of your neck, where his cries only amplified with the desperation of being touched lovingly. Your own tears had dampened his unruly head of hair, as you caved into him. His heavy arms constricted you tightly. 

At this moment, you were not scared of Eddie Munson. You’d seen his reasoning and you understood. Not excused, but understood. A lot of people had simply scared him first.

“I hear you, Eddie. I want to keep hearing you.”

-

“Eddie?” You whispered into his curls.

It’d been an hour of nonstop wails of distress, years of pent up emotions, and the realization that his being could be accepted. Even if it was just for tonight. His eyes had endured a rollercoaster of feelings, and they soon gave up on holding him awake. You didn’t move. He didn’t move. A tight hug that was necessary for both of you after heavy stoicism from neglect in your own unique ways. 

You caressed his head. “Eddie?”

He was out. You let out a shaky breath of relief. Carefully maneuvering his body, you gently laid his head onto your pillow, prying his strong arms from your waist where they refused to let go, bunching the fabric of your sweater. But you managed to escape his needy hold. Huffing lightly, you carried his legs onto your bed, deciding to let his shoes dirty your clean blankets. His arms had subconsciously gotten comfortable, splaying out against your mattress, where he fell into deep relaxation in comparison to the lumpy bed he’d succumb to back home. You took sight of the fading ink across his hand, your information decorating his alabaster skin with the all too familiar pink of Chrissy Cunningham’s pen. You wondered how the hell that conversation had gone down. You tenderly eased his arms from the malaise of his jacket, bringing the denim and leather infused with cheap cologne and cigarettes up to your nose. It was Eddie. Soothing the beloved jacket against the back of your desk chair, a small paper had dropped from the nearly torn pocket. Reaching out, you picked up the torn page from Dustin Henderson’s yearbook.

Though, no other student could be seen. It was ripped haphazardly to only focus on your picture. 

You.

Eddie Munson had now seen you, as you had now seen him. 

Softly placing the photo back, you rummaged through your closet to retrieve another set of duvets and blankets, where you preciously placed them onto the floor of your bedroom. Your bed had now been stolen, but you weren’t complaining—that much, at least. You’d quietly taken another pillow from your bed, placing it onto your newfound cushion of the floor. There was a reason why you shoved this particular blanket into the closet, it made your skin itch uncomfortably, but you’d withstand the terrible material of the woven covers if it meant that Eddie could get the peace he needed. 

Because if Eddie was okay, you’d be okay. 

Because similarly to Eddie, who were you if not catering to the needs of others in order to keep sanity in your life. You just wanted stability. True stability. 

Cuddling into your blankets, you heard the snores of the past out man next to you. You sighed. In the mere three days of knowing Eddie Munson, you accepted the emotional labor that came with his damaged self. But that was okay. Because Eddie Munson seemed ready to do the same for you. Accept you.

But how willing were you to tolerate the impulsivity of Eddie Munson who knew nothing of stability?

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | Again, there was an error in my tag list, which led me to removing it. Luckily, it’s been a couple days, so I believe most who wished to be tagged already read this chapter. My tag list will continue, I just simply had to remove it for this chapter in particular. I’m terribly sorry for any confusion.

[itsbeeble]

Take My Soul, Take My Heart

SUMMARY: Seonghwa is a monster, this he knows. He is a monster, but he just can't help the obsession he has with love. You have taken his soul, staked your claim on his heart, and now he wants all of you

GENRE: smut, angst

PAIRING: pirate!Park Seonghwa x afab!reader

WC: 6,571

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST: @winterchimez @juyeonszn @flwoie

FIC TAGLIST: @sanaxo-o

18+ MDNI AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

WARNINGS: jesus christ yall im wishing you luck with this fic fr, lots of plot, violence (like a lot), many mentions of blood, weapons (knives, swords, guns), threats, swearing, alcohol, seonghwa is lowkey obsessed with love, Seonghwa and reader are both a bit psychotic, they kill a man (actually many men), bad depictions of pirates arrrrghhhhh, manipulation, murder, mentions of brothels, actually there are some scenes in a brothel so yeah, p in v sex, marking, oral (f and m receiving), poorly done dirty talk i fear, unprotected sex (please wrap it irl), this is actually kind of vile, mayhaps future hongjoong x reader but who knows, not edited so pls lmk if i forgot anything or if anything looks dumb as hell

A/N: HEYYYYYYY how y'all doinggggggg. thank you to @deobienthusiast for beta reading this IT TOOK ME SO LONG BUT RAAAHHHHHHH SHE HELPED MEEEEE. I've been wanting to do a pirate fic for so long but i never got around to it BUT HERE WE AREEEE PLEASE ENJOY AND REBLOG IF YOU LIKED IT PLSPLSPLS

Seonghwa learned a long time ago that love was nearly impossible with his life style. 

No matter his charms, no matter his will, no matter how he fucked, no one would stay. Not once they found out who he was, what he’s done. The crimes he’s committed are enough to sway those that he swore he would protect as he worshipped them under the light of the moon, above the swaying waves. Love, however, is nothing to him compared to the power he feels when on the ocean.

It was a choice hat he made a long time ago. A promise, really, that he made to Hongjoong the moment he’d stepped onto the wooden planks of the Blue Bird. He gave up the idea of love when he first drew a blade, when he felt the first drops of blood hit his skin and stain his clothing. The blood of men and women who threatened his crew, who threatened his lovers, who threatened him. He’d grown accustomed to the metallic stench, to the warmth of the red liquid against his skin. He practically bathed in it, relished in the feeling of it. 

Seonghwa doesn’t understand it, this feeling in his chest. This burning to be worshipped and loved. He cannot comprehend the longing, the desire in his stomach and in his heart. The longing that never leaves, lingering at the corner of his mind and at the tip of his tongue. Love is nothing compared to the power he feels with the weight of a blade in his hand, the metal of a gun at his hip. Love is a hindrance, love is nothing compared to the feeling of his weapon cutting through the air, through the flesh and bone of those who wrong him.

Seonghwa is soaked in blood still as he steps off the ship, his boots leaving wet footprints against the dock. Had the color of his clothing not been violently stained in the color, it could have been mistaken for the salty water that pushes and pulls against the rocky cliffs around him. A shoulder brushes against his, a hand pressing back against his chest to stop him in his tracks as Hongjoond looks up at him. That stern look is in his eye, one that the first mate had grown used to over the years.

“You know what we’re here for,” the captain’s voice is raspy. “Do us all a favor and don’t get distracted by any…side quests, if you will.”

Seonghwa’s tongue runs over his teeth, his shoulders rolling back and one of his hands coming to rest on the hilt of his sword. 

“When do I ever get distracted?” Hongjoong’s eyes are weary with travel, flicking from Seonghwa’s head down to his toes.

“Not what I meant, Hwa.”

“He means,” Wooyoung comes from behind the two, squeezing between them and throwing his arms around their shoulders. “Don’t fuck anyone. You know it never ends well for either party.” 

Seonghwa’s lip curls at the younger crew member’s words but he manages to hold his tongue. 

“Leave the man alone, Wooyoung.” San chides, pulling the cook back by the collar. “It’s not his fault he becomes blind when it comes to women.” Both men laugh, and Hongjoong folds his hands behind his back. 

“And this is funny to you two because…?” the captain’s eyebrow arches, his eyes glittering with a warning. 

“Well, I mean,” San stands a bit straighter. “Shouldn’t he know by now that ‘love’ doesn’t work with our lifestyle? Women find us, they fuck, take a bit of gold, and run off or try to kill us before the sun rises. Sometimes both at the same time. Love isn’t something that works with us. We’re blind to it, or it is blind to us.” 

Seonghwa pushes Wooyoung off his shoulder, his lips drawn into a thin line. Suddenly the bloody clothing that clings to his body burn like fire, uncomfortable and scratchy. 

“I have things to do,” he states with an eerie calmness. “I’ll be back by sundown.”

You take notice of the man the moment he steps into the tavern. Maybe it was his delicate features. Maybe it was the way the tavern went quiet with something similar to awe or fear or both. 

Or maybe it was the blood staining his clothing and dripping onto your freshly cleaned fucking floor.

You can barely hold your tongue as he approaches your counter, your jaw ticking and your eyes narrowed. His own, like that of a fox, are darting from person to person as if measuring how long it would take to strike them down. In a bar full of pirates, he is one of few that came alone. 

When his eyes land on you, he straightens his spine. I am powerful, I am a god, fear me. His body language is screaming the words, but you’re screaming right back.

One wrong fucking move and I’ll have your ass on the ground with a bullet between those pretty eyes before you can blink.

His lips twitch up into a smirk, yours deepen into a scowl.

“You got blood on my floor.” 

“I apologize.” 

“You don’t sound genuine.” 

He leans against the counter, eyes searching yours curiously. A glove-covered hand slides a gold coin toward you, your heart jolts. 

“I am sorry.”

“Apology accepted, gorgeous.” Your painted red lips curl into a delighted smile as you snatch up the coin before curious hands wandered a bit too close. “What can I get for you?”

“Mead, any will do.” His eyes seem to be searching you, sizing you up, and his tongue runs over his teeth. You do as he says, all too aware of his eyes watching you and staring you up and down. You weren’t a fool. You knew of your…features and what drew customers in. Men, women, you couldn’t care less so long as it got you what you wanted. Gold. Silver. Fuck, even copper would do sometimes. There was hardly a level you wouldn’t stoop to if it meant paying back your debt. 

You turn back to him, a mug of honey wine in one hand. He still watches you, curious and unashamedd of how how examines you. You let him, knowing deep down that you were doing precisely the same in order to ignore the man under your counter. 

“Anything else, gorgeous?” You lean forward, tongue dancing across your red lips. He watches the motion and smiles coyly. 

“Information.”

You kiss your teeth, arms folding on the counter as you watch him glance around the bar. “On?”

“A man going by the name of Socha.” 

Your body stills, fingers curling into tight fists. You feel eyes burning into your skull, and the gun barrel pressing into your hip grows tighter.

“I know of no one by that name.” 

The man searches your gaze, and you can’t find yourself wanting to look away. You want so desperately to scream out. He’s here, you want to tell him, there is a gun against my hip and a room filled with his crew all around you. Help me!

“Are you sure?” The man leans closer to you, tilting his head and bringing his lips close to your ear. “There’s a reward in it for you if you tell me where he is.”

“I know of no one by that name.” You repeat. “I would greatly appreciate it if you left my bar now, sir.”

He pulls back from you, pursing his lips briefly before returning to the malicious smirk. “If you change your mind, find Seonghwa on the Blue Bird.”

You don’t move a muscle until the door he entered through is shut. The tavern returns to its original volume, and the gun against your hip lowers. Your fists unfurl, and the gold coin hits the ground. 

Socha rises from beneath your counter, lips spread in a vile grin and a stench that makes you want to gag. 

“Maybe you’ll be useful after all, barkeep.” He leans in close to you, raising his gun to brush stray hair out of your face. Your throat tightens and your eyes squeeze shut, every muscle in your body screaming to run. “Loyalty isn’t something we take lightly on the Skylark.”

“I understand,” you choke out, praying to anyone who might listen that the gun leaves your temple. “Thank you for the…opportunity to prove my worth.”

Seonghwa doesn’t appreciate liars.

He also doesn’t appreciate the fact that the captain of the Skylark had decided to take an innocent woman hostage at his favorite bar in his favorite city. 

It was obvious what had been happening. Sure, it was typical for a port city to be filled to the brim with pirates, especially at the local taverns. What wasn’t typical was for the tavern to be filled to the brim with pirates wearing clothing the color of drying blood, a symbol that the Skylark crew had taken in the early days when Socha spilled blood across the ocean for miles and miles, his clothing stained so dark it looked black. 

He wasn’t stupid. He saw the fear sparking in your eyes the moment he said Socha’s name. Now it was time for him to wait for you to come to him. 

“You seem so sure that this barkeep will show her face.” Yeosang sits on the steps leading to the upper deck, twirling a curved blade between his fingers.

“She was terrified. Socha was there. Whether she wants to or not, she’ll be on this ship tonight with information we need.” 

Seonghwa leans against the railing, steadying himself against the waves that crash against the side of the ship. He’d changed out of the bloodstained clothing hours ago, washed the dried liquid off of his skin and let it run into the ocean. The sun is beginning to set, casting a golden light against his face that he soaks in with delight. The warmth of these last rays clings to him, and it’s when the sun has finally set below the horizon that he accepts that you will not be coming to the ship this night. 

“Maybe you need to do a bit more convincing than just giving a woman gold,” Yunho stomps up the stairs from the lower deck, a crate in his hands and a grin on his lips. “Maybe that’ll get you something in a brothel, but that was a woman working in a tavern. She knows better.”

“Shut up, Yunho.” Seonghwa spits out, whirling on his feet and stalking toward the gangway with burning ears and a boiling hot temper. 

He was pissed. He had truly believed that you’d show up. Was Socha still holding you in that tavern? Were you afraid of him? Were you afraid of what might happen if the captain found out? Were you loyal to the Skylark?

Seonghwa huffs, his hand finding the hilt of his sword again as he makes his way into the port city. It’s busier now that the sun is down, the streets crowded and filled with vendors of all sorts. Weaponsmiths, farmers, beggars, thieves. The streets became alive with everyone under the stars. It made it more difficult to maneuver quickly and quietly, but Seonghwa knew that he would only draw attention to himself if he moved any faster than he was. 

A delicate hand grabs his elbow and faster than the brothel worker could blink, there’s a dagger against her throat and her back is against the wall. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted with shock. Seonghwa drops the blade just as fast as he’d drawn it, his eyes lit with annoyance. 

“Care for a step inside?” Her tone, despite her previous shock, was sultry and enough to draw almost any many in. 

“I am not interested in what you have to offer.” Seonghwa begins to pull away, but her grip tightens. Her eyes are desperate now, and Seonghwa allows himself to pause.

“I believe you will be very interested to know that someone has paid good money to speak to you,” she speaks quickly, tugging at his arm to guide him to the door. “Please. Step inside. They will guide you to where you need to be.”

Against all that tells him to turn the other way and run, Seunghwa listens to the woman. She steps to the side, that seductive look plastered back onto her face as she guides him and other patrons into the building. 

The stench of sex is heavy in the air. It’s thick and nearly overwhelming his senses. Or, perhaps, it is the burning incense that overwhelms him. The smoke provides a haze, distracting him from the naked bodies all around him. Scattered across th4e ground, in chairs, on tables, in rooms that are only covered by a loose, sheer cloth overe the doorway. He avoids looking at anyone he can, but then his eyes find you. 

You’re tucked away in the corner farthest from him, your eyes watching his every move. His head tilts, tracing your body with his eyes. Nearly bare like the women around you, covered only by a shear cloth seemingly lined with gold. You tilt your head up, practically beckoning him toward you.

He follows you, putting up no fight against the primal urges inside of him that tell him to pin you against the wall and take you right there. 

His steps, careful and calculated, weave through the bodies on the floor, following you into the darkest corners of the brothel. You don’t let him get close, no matter how he chases you. It’s like a game to you, and you’re winning. Seonghwa lets it happen. 

“I’m sure you understand why I brought you here,” you murmur, your voice hardly louder than the sexual noises around you. A private room in the very back of the building and secured by a wooden door. “I had to speak to you where we could be…private, able to speak freely.” 

Seonghwa, for a long moment, doesn’t say a word. He watches the way your hips sway with every step, watches how you bend forward to light each candle. 

“You said you wanted information,” you speak again, coming to stand directly in front of him. Your breasts brush against his ribcage, your hands reaching for his. “I’m prepared to give you it.”

“In exchange for a quick fuck?” He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head at you. You only smirk.

“I had to bring you somewhere logical. Pirates love brothels almost as much as they love my bar. Besides, if anyone comes stomping in here, at least they’ll get a good show, won’t they?” 

You push Seonghwa towards the large fur-covered mattress with more force than he’d expected. He stumbles back, letting himself fall back until his spine meets fur. You’re quick to crawl over him, sheer fabric coming loose and allowing your breasts to come free. 

“Why are you looking for Socha?” You ask him, hips rolling down against his. Seonghwa stifles a groan, relishing in the feeling of your grinding hips and the way your nails digging into his chest. His hands grip the flesh of your thighs, squeezing tight enough to leave marks. 

“Why was he in your bar?” the pirate counters, eyes drooping in a lust filled haze. You click your tongue leaning down and nipping at the lobe of his ear. 

“I asked a question first.” Your lips trail kisses down his neck, a trail of red lipstick following you, and Seonghwa feels air brush against his chest as you undo the buttons of his shirt. “Answer me, gorgeous.”

“He has something of mine,” he says, annoyingly calm given the circumstances you have him in. “I want it back.”

You roll your hips down with more force, leaning back to admire his sculpted body. You shouldn’t be shocked. He’s a pirate after all. One with a gorgeous face, gorgeous body, and you’d be willing to bet his cock is equally as perfect. Your mouth waters at the thought, your body sliding back so you have easy access to his cock. 

“What does he have?”

Seonghwa sits up, leaning back on his hands as you work at his pants. A lazy smirk is plastered on his face, one that has your stomach churning and pussy dripping with need. 

“Ah ah ah,” he tuts. “My turn to ask a question.”

His hips lift as you start pulling his pants down, exposing his half-hard cock to your eyes in the dim candlelight. 

“Ask away, gorgeous.” Your hands inch forward, reaching for his cock in an act of near desperation. 

“Why was Socha and his crew in your bar?” Seonghwa watches as you wrap a hand around him, a breath of air hissing out of him as you stroke him gently up and down. Your eyes lock with his as you lean down to spit on his cock, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from losing his composure. 

You shrug at his question, letting a bit more spit drip from your mouth as you pump his now fully erect cock. “They wanted drinks, I suppose.”

“Bullshit and you know it.” Seonghwa grunts, letting his head roll back. You smirk, letting your free hand slip down to cup his balls. 

“Tell you what,” you dip your head down and place a kiss to his tip. “Let me please you, and if you aren’t satisfied I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“And if I’m satisfied?” He asks, reaching a hand to tangle his fingers in your hair.

“You take me with you out of this godforsaken city.” 

Seonghwa’s breath, for the first time, stills. He searches your eyes for something, anything to tell him what might be happening. 

“You…you want to come with…with me?” 

He’s confused. Why on Earth would someone like you want to come with him? “You have a life here. People who care about you, guaranteed safety. Why would you—”

“I have nothing here.” You spit out, leaning up to look him in the eyes. “I have misery and shame and misfortune. I do not care that I will not be safe with you.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Then we will make the choice later.” You kiss him gently, leaving him aching for more of you. “Let me satisfy your needs, Seonghwa.” Your hand pushes at his chest, urging him to lay back. 

“I don’t even know your name,” Seonghwa’s head hits a pillow, letting his gaze settle on the ceiling above him. 

“Do you need to?” He can feel your lips trailing down his chest, nipping at his skin and leaving marks he knows will not go away. 

“It would be nice to know who I’m speaking to.” Who I’m fucking.

“I suppose,” your lips touch his hip, right beside a trail of hair, and he can feel the way they curl into a grin. “You can call me Y/N.” 

Seonghwa can’t get a response out before your lips are wrapping around his cock. His fingers curl into the furs beneath him, fighting the urge to buck his hips into your mouth and force you to take as deep as you can. You could probably handle it, but he knows he needs to exercise restraint for himself if anything. 

Your nails dig into his thighs, leaving little red crescents in his golden skin as you take him. He can feel your throat constricting around his cock, trying desperately not to gag as his tip hits the back of your throat. Your tongue runs along the underside of his shaft as you pull yourself off of him, kitten licking the tip before taking him all the way back down again. Your nose presses against his pelvis, and Seonghwa can feel tears hitting his skin. Or, perhaps, it’s spit dripping out of the corners of your mouth as you hollow your cheeks and swallow around him. 

Finally a pitiful groan is pulled from his lips. 

Deep and gravelly as if he’d been holding it in for far longer than his body wanted him to. Your eyes peer up at him, your tongue laving at his balls and your hand pumping up and down while your mouth is occupied. Seonghwa’s hips jolt, little drops of precum leaking from his tip in an endless stream. His back arches as your mouth returns to his aching cock, your pace fast and harsh as you swallow around him and suck as you pull back up, urging him to cum faster. 

His back arches off the bed, his jaw drop and hollow moans pouring from his lips. One of his hands finds your hair, holding you in place as he begins to piston his hips up. Your eyes widen, your hands flailing briefly to find purchase on something, anything to keep you somewhat upright. You’re gagging now, unable to help it as Seonghwa’s cock punches the back of your throat. 

You like it, though. You like how rough he is with you, the way he lets himself lose control and become blinded by his own pleasure. His hands yank at the strands of your hair, and a moan escapes you. The vibrations run down his cock, and suddenly Seonghwa’s hips stutter and thick, white hot liquid is spurting down your throat. You try pulling off of him, the liquid coming out too quickly for you to keep up with, but Seonghwa forces you back down, forces you to take all of it down his throat.

“That’s it,” he coos, breathless and mocking. “Take it all. Take everything I’m giving you.” The snide comments pull a whimper out of you, and you allow yourself to relax just enough to swallow all of his cum. 

When he finally releases you and allows you to pull off, there’s droplets of cum running down your chin. Your cheeks are burning, your chest rising and falling rapidly, and you’re pretty sure your hair is a knotted, uncontrollable mess. 

He’s smirking down at you. I am powerful, I am a god, fear me.

You raise yourself up, slotting your lips against his. You are powerful. I am not afraid of you.

“Are you satisfied, then?” You murmur, letting one hand come up to cup the back of his neck, the other slipping down to soothe the ache in your dripping pussy. Seonghwa kisses his teeth.

“You think my cock down your throat is enough to satisfy me, darling?” Your breath hitches at the vile nature of his words. It isn’t as if you hadn’t heard that before, however he says it so…condescendingly. As if you were a fool to assume that he would be done with you just yet. 

“Are you not…satisfied?” 

“I’ll make you a deal, darling,” The tip of a blade rests under your chin and your stomach churns, however it isn’t with fear. No…this is something else entirely. This is…lust? No…it burns too sweet to be lust. “Take me to Socha, kill him yourself, and fuck me in his bed while my captain kills the rest of his crew, and then I’ll be satisfied. Do we have a deal?”

“Will you let me come with you?” Your eyes gleam, and Seonghwa jerks your head up to kiss you. ‘Kiss’ being a very loose term. With his blade against your throat, he shoves his tongue into your mouth, and you push yours against him just as hard. Teeth clash, biting at each othe harshly in a motion that’ll leave you both bruised and bleeding. 

“I’ll let you come with me.” 

You weren’t expecting them to trust you. Hell, you half expected to be shot dead the moment you stepped onto the Blue Bird. Hongjoong stairs you down with curiosity and doubt in his gaze, but he says nothing as the crew argues over whether or not to trust you and your word. Or, rather, Seonghwa’s word. 

“You think we can trust her?” Mingi is eyeing you up and down, his lips curled into a sneer. “She’s a barkeep, she’ll say anything for some gold and a quick fuck.” 

You bare your teeth right back at him. “Is that not what a pirate is? Roaming the seas and sticking their cocks into the first hole they see and grabbing as much gold and ale as they can carry?” 

Mingi is far larger than you are, but you are not afraid. You cannot be afraid if you wish to be on this ship for the rest of your days. You cannot be afraid of the men Seonghwa sails with and commands. 

“And what of Seonghwa?” Jongho, the quiet one in the corner, chimes in. “Do we not trust him? Right hand of our captain, are you doubting that he has our best interest in his mind?”

“I think that he slept with the first person he saw and immediately became blind to reality.” Mingi snaps back. “How long before this one leaves you? How long before you decide you’re sick of her and throw her overboard?”

Your heart drops to your stomach and your head whips to look up at Seonghwa who has gone still beside you.

“What is he talking about, Seonghwa?” Your hand pulls from his, but he grabs it right back.

“He is speaking nonsense,” he snaps, eyes glaring at Mingi. “I know exactly what I am doing. I know who I can and cannot trust. She is loyal to us, not to anyone else.”

“And you got all that from having your cock down her—”

“Enough!” Hongjoong’s voice rises over the others. All it takes is that one word for all to go quiet, their gazes on him as he rises from his seat on the table. “Seonghwa is my right hand, if he says that this woman is to be trusted then she will be trusted by us!”

“But—” Mingi tries to argue but a pair of dagger-like eyes hone in on him. 

“Do you want to be on slop duty?” Mingi’s face goes green and the eyes are trained back on you. “And you— are you so certain that you want to join us?”

“I am certain, Captain,” you tell him, dipping your head into a nod. “I have never wanted anything more.”

“Then it’s settled,” Hongjoong declares. “We kill Socha at sunset tomorrow.”

There’s an odd sense of safety that you feel while you approach the Skylark. You can hear the chatter of the crew from the edge of the gangway, but you know that a crew of your own is watching and waiting for your signal. 

Your signal, of course, being Socha’s body being dumping into the harbor. 

“Hey! Look who it is!” 

A hand clamps down onto your shoulder and you grimace at the first mate’s disgusting smile. 

“Little miss barkeep came to pay us a visit!” The crew erupts into cheers, some calling for a drink and some calling for you to give them a show. Bile rises in your throat at the sounds they make. Suddenly the blade up your sleeve feels a lot lighter in your hand. “How can we help you, little miss?”

“I need to speak with Socha.” Your voice holds steady, thankfully. 

“Socha isn’t expecting you today.” The first mate clicks his tongue. “I’ll take a message.”

“This is urgent,” you argue. “I have information on the Blue Bird’s crew.” 

The first mate barks out a laugh, throwing his head back as he bellows. The crew joins him, and your cheeks begin to heat up. 

“You think we give a fuck about that measly little crew?” The first mate cries.

“What are those dumb fucks going to do to a crew of 80 men?” Someone across the deck cries. “We have ten to their one, they can try but they won’t fucking get past the gangway.”

“Now, now gentlemen.” A deeper, gravelly voice to your right grabs everyone’s attention. Socha leans against a railing closest to his cabin, lip curled at you in what looks like disguswt. “The little miss has information for us! We should hear her out.”

“Socha,” you breathe out andhe clicks his tongue. 

“I don’t believe we have rewarded you yet for your…loyalty, have we?” He’s five steps from you, almost close enough to stab him. His hand reaches for you, and you take it. Two steps, only a bit too far from the edge of the ship. 

“Can we…can we speak a bit more privately?” You look at him through your eyelashes, lips pushed out just a bit. “It’s a little loud out here.”

“Of course, little miss.” Socha’s hand on the small of your back makes you want to light someone on fire. It disgusts you, and the bile begins to rise in your stomach again as he guides you to his quarters. He lets you in first, keeping his eyes on your swaying hips the entire time.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, you spin around to face him. 

He’s one step away.

The knife in your sleeves drops into your palm.

You raise your blade to strike him.

A gunshot.

Both of you go silent, your bodies going still. There’s something wet soaking your skirts, you stumble back. Your eyes raise to the man behind Socha.

The captain hits the ground, blood pooling around him. Blood stains your cheeks and your white shirt. 

There’s commotion outside the cabin. 

“I had it handled, Seonghwa.” Your eyes narrow, and your lover barks out a laugh.

“I know, darling. But he would have shot you the moment he saw that blade.” A body hits the door, wood beginning to splinter as Seonghwa takes the two steps he needs to reach you. Blood soaks the bottoms of his boots, but neither of you care. His hands come to cup your cheeks, blood smearing across your skin as he brushes over your cheekbones with his thumbs. 

“You did wonderfully, my love.” He murmurs, and you find yourself beaming. “I think, however, you still have part of your deal to hold up to.”

“His cabin is a bit far,” your lips are brushing his and you lift your head just a bit to try and kiss him but he tuts at you.

“A deal is a deal, my love. I will not be fucking you near a dead body.” His nose curls and he kicks Socha out of the way. 

“Fine. Have it your way, gorgeous.” 

You take his hand in your own, swinging the door of the captain’s quarters open to reveal the end of a blood bath. Hongjoong is watching from the upper deck as the other six members of his crew dump bodies into the harbor. You catch his eye as you move through the masses and down to Socha’s cabin and he gives you a small nod. 

You did well.

I know I did. You keep your head high, a proud smirk on your lips before you disappear with Seonghwa hot on your heels. 

Seonghwa’s lips are hot on your neck, his hands dancing over your body grabbing at everything they can. Airy moans pull from your lips, an addicting sound that has Seonghwa afraid that you may be a siren. He cannot get enough of you, cannot pull away even if he tried. 

In the center of the room, the two of you stand bare and ready for each other. A pile of clothes surrounds you, a bed behind you and a desk covered in papers in front of you. 

“You’re fucking addicting,” Seonghwa growls, grabbing at your hair and yanking your head back to bare your neck for him. “Fuck, I can’t get enough of you.” 

You can’t respond, hands shaking as they grab at Seonghwa just as harshly as he’d grabbed you. Your nails scratch down his chest, his back. Into his hips to try and force him closer to your body, but he keeps himself just out of your reach. 

“Mingi was right,” Seonghwa grunts as he spins you around, pinning you against the desk and throwing everything that was on it to the side to make way for you. He shoves you back, pinning your shoulders against it. “I became blind to reality the moment I saw you in that fucking tavern. Addicted to you the moment you spoke to me.”

His lips reattach to your skin, making their way down your throat, past the valley of your breasts and down to your navel. His hands grip the flesh your thighs, forcing your thighs apart to make way for him. You’re dripping for him, you can feel the liquid pooling at your center, dripping down your thighs and onto the desk below you. 

“Fuck, I will never go a day without looking at this pretty pussy.” 

Seonghwa’s hand rubs against your folds, spreading them and rubbing your slick around for a moment before pulling back.

Smack!

The sting is almost unbearable, your back arching as you wail and Seonghwa’s hand cracks down on your pussy once more. 

“So pretty for me, love when I get rough, hm?” You can barely hear him. Hell, you don’t think he can hear himself in this lust filled haze. “You’ve taken my soul, taken my heart from its confines. You have to pay for that, you know?” 

You whine when his lips touch your cunt for the first time. Soft at first, kitten licks and little kisses against your clit that quickly become harsh sucks and nips that have your back arching and legs thrashing over his shoulders. It’s easy for him to pin your body down, making heat growing in your stomach as he eats you like a man starved. His long tongue dips into you, digging in as far as it can go before Seonghwa drags it up to swirl around your clit, drawing figure-eights with the tip of it and making your body writhe before he repeats the process. 

A knot begins to form in the pit of your stomach, and you cry and beg for Seonghwa to please please please, faster, more more, god please. Fat tears roll down your cheeks as he focuses his attention on your puffy clit, digging his tongue into it and listening to the way you scream his name. Your back arches one final time before you’re coming undone beneath him, your body quivering and your hole clenching repeatedly. Your hands find purchase in his dark hair, yanking at the strands for some semblance of a grasp on reality. 

You don’t get long to recover before Seonghwa is flipping you over and pinning you down again, face down against the desk. You can practically smell your own cum, and you try to push yourself up just a little bit. 

“You’re not trying to get up, are you?” Seonghwa’s lips are right next to your ear. “You know what to say if you want me stop, darling.” His lips nip at your ear and you whine desperately, finally caving and letting your arms drop. “Good girl.”

His hands rub against the backs of your legs, massaging them gently before spreading them open once more. 

“You ready for me?” His hand traces along your dripping folds, waiting patiently for your response. 

“Please, Seonghwa,” you whine. “Please fuck me!” 

So he does. 

The stretch burns as he pushes in, but he’s quick to soothe you, kissing your shoulders and down your spine so, so gently compared to what you know he’s going to do to you. Your walls clamp down on him like a vice, trying desperately to push him out but pull him in at the same time. 

“So tight,” he groans, biting into your back as he finally sheathes himself inside of you completely, engulfed by the warmth of your walls and somewhat reluctant to pull out again. “Fuck, you feel so good around me, darling.”

“Hwa,” you moan out, hands clawing at the desk as you try to push back against him, trying to get him deeper inside of you. “Please, please move!” 

His hips begin moving before you can finish your statement. He sets a fast, brutal pace, each thrust punching the air out of you and leaving you wailing his name. You scramble to find purchase on the edges of the desk, holding tightly so as to not slide off. Seonghwa grabs at your shoulder with one hand, the other gripping your hip as he slams his hips against yours. His cock reaches places you never believe one could, brushing against a spot inside of you that has your vision going white with pleasure, your hiccuped moans becoming nearly silent screams. The knot inside of you draws tight again, and Seonghwa is practically throwing you over the edge as your body seizes up once more.

“Fuck,” he grunts out. “Cumming again already?”

“I— I can—can’t help it!” You hiccup. “Feel—feels so—so good!”

“Yeah, I bet it does,” Seonghwa grunts, letting his head fall back and his jaw fall open as your fluttering walls force him closer to the edge than he wants to be. “Fuck, don’t wanna cum yet but this pussy feels too good.”

His body folds over yours, one of his hands slipping down to find your clit. Cries of overstimulation pull from your lips, your body shaking as he continues to rail you into the desk. Seonghwa’s hips begin to stutter, and the moment he feels your walls flutter around his for the final time, he’s cumming. He breathing is ragged, quiet whines pulled from his lips as your pussy clenches around his cock. 

You can barely move as he pulls out of you, your body covering in sweat and cum. Seonghwa runs a hand over his face, catching his breath and brushing his hair back. 

“You alright?” He crouches near your face, tracing a finger along your cheekbone while you recover. “Here, let me help you.” 

Seonghwa is quick to lift you up, shushing you when you whine, and carries you over to a surprisingly luscious bed. He sits against the wall, your body curling into his as you both recover. The steady rocking of the waves against the ship seems to calm you, your breathing evening out until you’re fast asleep in his lap. 

He’s almost asleep himself until the door of the captain’s cabin swings open and Hongjoong barges in. 

The captain’s eyes fall to you briefly, and Seonghwa swears he can see his tongue running over his lip before Hongjoong’s eyes are back on the right hand. 

“We gotta get going, soldiers from the upper city are on their way down to find out why there’s bodies in the water.”

Your body stirs, eyes fluttering open quietly and Seonghwa grins. 

His heart and soul belongs to you now. You, the first and only one to not run from the monster he’d become. 

“And so it begins.” 

© itsbeeble. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[bluesylveon2]

Ortho vs a Teenage Girl and a 5-year-old Prince

Summary: When Ortho's hard work of trying to set up the Prefect with his brother is about to go down the drain by two kids. Disaster ensues! initial post

Notes: This is my first time writng for Twisted Wonderland so I hope that you enjoy! I used Yuu but this can be read as a x Reader too! Yuu/reader is a female!

Word Count: 4835

Disclaimer: I do not own Twisted Wonderland and its characters. Those belong to Aniplex, Walt Disney Japan, and Yana Toboso.

Warnings: possible ooc characters, not beta read, slight book 6 spoilers, references to the yasamina and sunset savanna events, irl references, Lilia wanting to be a grandpa, and some alcohol mentioned (Papa Crewel drinking wine)

Edit 7/31: sequel announcement post here! Now with Lilia vs Eric Venue, Marja, and Dylla!!

Family Day is the one day in Night Raven College when families are invited to tour the campus or visit their loved ones. The event itself was big since most students come from well-off families. However, sometimes some parents were too busy to show up, which was okay. One example is Idia and Ortho's parents. Both siblings didn't mind them not showing up. Idia preferred playing video games in his room but not Ortho. Ortho had a different plan involving the Ramshackle Prefect, Yuu. The Prefect has to be the toughest girl Ortho has ever met. Ortho has never met a girl who can defeat six overblots (one of them was his brother), wrangle a cat monster, and deal with Crowley's (bs) demanding jobs. 

Now Ortho was not dumb. He might be more human-like, but he could sense how much his brother's heart races when the Prefect talks to him or how his hair turns slightly pink when they play video games together. Ortho thinks Idia's feelings towards the Prefect grew after she and a few others broke into the Island of Woe to save their friends. Sadly, Idia has never acted on his feelings and prefers to stay on the sidelines and admire Yuu from afar. 

On the other hand, Ortho was not having it. He can see just how happy his brother is around Yuu. Plus, Ortho would gladly accept her as his sister-in-law. It's like hitting two birds with one stone!

Ortho made it his mission to mention his brother whenever he hung out with the Prefect. It can range from "Big Brother made a new invention" or "Big Brother wants to play a new game with you!" If Ortho can have some of Idia's friends play video games with him, he can surely set Yuu up with his brother. 

Of course, the Fates must have heard him and introduced two rivals during the school's annual Family Day. 

Who are his rivals? A teenage girl and a 5-year-old prince. 

---

Rival 1: Najma Viper

Ortho hummed as he glided down the hall of different families, searching for the Prefect. Luckily he had the whole day to put his plan in motion since his parents could not attend today's event, and Idia stayed in his room. According to Ace, who took Grim so they could prank his older brother, Yuu was handling different errands assigned by Crowley for Family Day. What would be the perfect way to spend Family Day with a (potential) sister by helping her and inviting her over to hang out with his Big Brother?

Ortho turned around a corner but stopped when he saw the Prefect occupied with a young girl. He moved closer to get a better look. 

"Jamil is very talented. He is smart, can cook, sing, and is a great dancer! You should see how happy he gets when he dances. He is the perfect guy!" The girl exclaimed with excitement in her eyes. 

Ortho froze. Jamil? The perfect guy? What in the Twisted Wonderland was going on here? He had a bad feeling about this. 

"He would be a great boyfriend for you. You should've seen how he kept staring at you when you visited the Scalding Sands," the girl adds, causing Yuu to blush. 

Ortho felt as if Tartarus froze over. "NO!" He suddenly yelled and flew out of his hiding spot.

Yuu and the other girl turn to Ortho. 

"No?" 

"I mean, no way! Jamil is so cool!" Ortho said in an attempt to save himself. Yuu and the girl both smile, causing Ortho to kick himself internally. He should be hyping his brother up, not Jamil! Ortho turned to the other girl. "I'm sorry. Let me introduce myself. Hi, I'm Ortho Shroud, a first-year, and Yuu's friend," he extended a hand to her. 

The girl shook his hand and had a pleasant smile on her face. "Hi Ortho, I'm Jamil's sister, Najma." Najma seemed kind, but Ortho was not buying it. If Ortho knew anything about Jamil, Najma must be good at hiding her true feelings. "Say, Ortho, since you seem to know my brother, would you agree that he is talented?"

"I guess I can agree with you there," Ortho said while reflecting on Jamil's performance at the VDC.

Najma's eyes furrow slightly, "You guess?" She turned to Yuu, "What do you think, Yuu? Don't you think that he is talented? Or handsome? Or both?" she smirked.

Yuu hesitantly laughed, "Well-" her eyes scanned the hall until she spotted a familiar mop of white hair. "Kalim!"

Kalim turned to the trio and smiled brightly, "Yuu! Najma! Ortho! What are you all doing here?"

"Just catching up," Najma replied instantly and turned to Kalim with a devious look, "Say, Kalim, what do you think are my brother's best features?

Kalim hummed in thought before responding. "Well, he is a good dancer, can cook, and is very strong! He once told me he is as strong as ten men!" 

"Whoa," Yuu replied with awe, and Najma smiled proudly. 

"Give Big Brother a day, and he can be stronger than one hundred men with an invention," Ortho muttered. The others were too busy to notice Ortho float off to search for his brother. Jamil may be talented, but his Big Brother is that and more! He had to drag him out of his room first to show it. 

Ortho was at the Mirror Chamber when he noticed someone enter from Scarabia's door. He saw the frantic look on Jamil's face and made his way to him.

"Jamil! How are you?'

"Fine," the boy replied, searching the room for something or someone.

"Are you looking for someone?" Ortho asked and innocently tilted his head to the side. 

"In fact, yes. I'm looking for Kalim and my little sister, Najma. She looks a little bit like me but shorter."

"Oh, that was your sister! I saw her with Kalim earlier! They were talking to Yuu, nearby one of the first-year classrooms. I can lead the way for you if you want." Vil would be proud of his acting skills if he could see him now.

"Great Sevens, those two," Jamil sighed out of relief. "Please."

The two trek through the school with Orthro leading. Jamil could not see the glee in the boy's eyes. If he removed Najma from the picture, he could have Yuu all to himself and use the time to praise his Big Brother! Ortho mentally high-fives himself for the genius plan.

"Jamil is also really good at basketball. You should have seen when he made the winning shot against RSA," Kalim's voice echoed, causing Jamil to walk faster. 

"NAJMA! KALIM!" Jamil called out once they were in his sight. "Stop annoying the Prefect. We need to get back to Scarabia for the party."

Najma's face lights up with an idea, "We can invite Yuu!"

Jamil rolled his eyes and grabbed the two by the back of their shirts, "No, this party is for both our parents and Kalim's siblings. We will be late if we do not leave right now." Jamil stopped his scolding and turned to Yuu. "I'm so sorry about them, Prefect. I don't want them to interrupt your day."

Yuu laughed, "It's alright. They were telling me some things about you."

Jamil's eyes widen in horror, "WHAT?" 

"I didn't know you once faced a hundred bad guys with swords before."

Jamil turned to the duo in his hands, then Yuu, then back at them again. His face became red as Riddle's hair as the seconds passed, "We are leaving!"

"But Jamil!" Kalim and Najma whine.

"NO BUTS! We are leaving before you feed Yuu more lies," He dragged the two down the hall and back to Scarabia.

"None of that were lies though!" Kalim's voice echoed.

"I've see the way you look at her and it is sad to watch. You needed the help anyway!" Najma added.

"No, I don't!" Jamil replied. The trio's voices became quieter until they were out of sight. 

Ortho and Yuu stood in silence. After some time passed, Ortho glanced over at Yuu.

"Big Sister, based on the changes in your heart, I can tell you are feeling sad. Is something wrong?" Ortho asked and noticed the sad look on the Prefect's face. The Prefect's eyes widen from getting caught. 

"Yeah. It's just…watching Jamil and Najma interact reminds me of my younger siblings back home. Sometimes I feel lonely watching everyone interact with their families." 

"How many siblings do you have?'

"A younger brother and a younger sister. You know, Ortho, you remind me of my little brother." Yuu smiled and ruffled Ortho's hair. Ortho's eyes became bright with joy.

"Thank you, Big Sister. You might feel lonely now, but most people here consider you family. For example, Ace and Deuce."

Yuu laughed, the corners of her mouth turning upward slightly. "They are like brothers to me, always getting into trouble but loveable at the same time."

"See!"

"I can't forget the Ramshackle ghosts, the rest of the Heartslabyul guys, and the professors!"

"Yeah, so you may miss your family sad, but you still have people around you who consider you their own. You won't be lonely until Crowley finds you a way home!"

Yuu smiled, "You're right, Ortho. Come here." she opened her arms to him in a hug that Ortho immediately flew to. "Thank you, Ortho, for cheering me up." She lets go of the boy and looks around the hallway. "By the way, where is Idia? I haven't seen him all day."

"Oh!" Ortho replied, unaware of the pitter-patter of the child's feet getting louder and louder. "He wanted me to tell you about the new Star Rogue game that just came out. Big Brother wants you to"

"Auntie Yuu!"

----

Rival 2: Cheka Kingscholar

Ortho wished that kicking a 5-year-old kid across the island would not be a high-risk thing to do. His parents had already dealt with the damage caused by him and his big brother on the Island of Woe. The last thing his parents need is to deal with the royal family of Sunset Savanna.

Still, Ortho has got to be one of the few people who can say one of his rivals is a kindergartener. A child, for crying out loud! An annoying child who has been clinging to the Prefect, talking her ear off about how great his Unca Leona is, and is using his big brown eyes (that reminded Ortho of the toddler's eyes from a popular babysitter's anime Idia loves) to increase his cuteness by 100%.

"Give me five seconds, and I can increase my cuteness by 1000%. Big Brother recently installed a program to do that," Ortho muttered to himself while glaring at the newest addition to the group. He could use that feature to his advantage. Still, the child will not give him the opportunity by choosing to wrap himself around her waist and staying there like a koala. 

"Cheka! What are you doing here, and where are your attendants? Yuu frantically asked and looked around for them. The last thing she wanted to do was get on the royal family's bad side. 

"I couldn't wait to see you, Auntie, so I left them all behind! Hee hee!"

Yuu's mouth opened from shock. "we need to find them right away!"

Cheka didn't share the same feelings as Yuu and instead just laughed it off, "We could find Unca instead. Did you know that he is very cool and strong? He has so many friends that we all played together once. He even made me fly!"

Yuu could only respond in a confused tone. Ortho felt his patience run thin from the young prince. 

"I'm sorry, Prince Cheka, but Yuu is busy right now." Ortho tried to pry the cub off Yuu, but Cheka refused to let go. He could try to use more force, but it can lead to a torn uniform and an unhappy Professor Crewel. 

Ortho's words fly past Cheka's ears, "Not now! This is an emergency!" the young prince turned and glared at Ortho.

Oh, he is going down! Give him a few seconds, and he could blast the child out of existence!

"An emergency?" Yuu asked, unaware of Ortho's hair looking Idia's when he gets angry. 

"You must marry my Unca because he loves you and wants to be with you forever!"

Yuu laughed and moved her arms around to carry Cheka, "Did your Uncle tell you that?" she asked while imaging the grumpy lion down on one knee and asking her to marry him. 

Cheka nodded his head so fast. "Of course! He wants you to be his princess! If you marry him, then you can be my Auntie. Then we can all spend each day playing!"

Ortho, who was starting to get annoyed, immediately butted in, "Big Sister! If you do that, then your other family will miss you! Big Brother will miss you too!"

Cheka glared at Ortho again. He turned to Yuu and increased his cuteness by pouting his lips, "Unca Leona loves you, Auntie! He can die from heartbreak if you're not with him!"

Ortho rolled his eyes, "Your uncle won't die."

"You don't know that! You're the only one who can make him happy! Auntie, Unca Leona is so sad without you! We can't let Unca cry!"

Yuu hesitantly laughed, "I'm pretty sure your Uncle has other things that make him happy."

"But would you consider marrying him to make him happier?" Cheka asks, his eyes glistening with tears. Ortho rolled his eyes again. 

"I think we are too young to get married?"

"In the future, then?"

Ortho had enough. "That's it! Prince Cheka, Big Sister is busy right now, and she needs to go." He flew over and grabbed one of Yuu's arms to pull her away. 

Cheka leaped out of Yuu's remaining arm and grabbed it to pull, "No, she is going with me!"

"No, she needs to see my big brother!" pull.

"No, she must see my Unca! He will cry if he never sees her." pull.

"He. Will. Not. Die!" pull.

"Well, I bet my Unca is cooler than your brother. He can drive his car through land and sea*!" pull.

"Oh yeah? Well, my brother can take apart a blastcycle, customize it with a functional value, AND drive it!" pull.

"Oh yeah? My brother can fly a flying carpet! That takes a lot of skill to master." Najma added, materializing out of nowhere after she escaped from her brother. She pulled Ortho and Cheka's hands off of Yuu and glared at them.

Ortho groaned, "Not you again!"

The three began to argue about which of their family members was better and left Yuu off to the side.  

Yuu's arms were now sore from all the pulling, and she could feel a headache forming. Despite this, Yuu could not stop a small smile from forming on her face. She blinked once and saw her younger siblings arguing instead of her friends. The argument was both cute and an annoying thing to watch. 

 "ENOUGH!" Yuu yelled, causing everyone to stop arguing. "You all need to stop arguing because it is not helping me pick a side."

"Exactly. You three are causing a ruckus on school grounds," A stern voice added. Everyone turned around to find Professor Crewel glaring at them. Najma and Cheka tremble from the professor's gaze. "You pups need to apologize to Yuu for the incoming headache and disrupting the school."

Ortho, Najma, and Cheka give each other a look and nod, "We're sorry, Big Sister/Yuu/Auntie."

Yuu smiled, kneeled, and opened her arms for a hug. "I forgive you," she says, and the three children join in on the group hug. Crewel smiled at the sight before clearing his throat to get their attention.

"Yuu, can you help me sort the potions in my office?" He asked and tapped his pointer three times against his palm. 

"Of course," she stood up. "You three be good now," Yuu ruffled the children's hair and headed towards Crewel's office. 

Crewel turned towards Ortho, "Shroud. I want you to bring these two back to their respective dorms. You can help guide them back."

Ortho sighed, "Yes sir," he replied, looked at the other two, and flew off towards the Mirror Chamber. "My brother is the coolest, though," he whispered to himself, but Cheka, having enhanced hearing, heard it all.

"My Unca is cooler plus 100."

Najma rolled her eyes, "You mean times 100? Anyways, my brother is cooler times 1000."

The three could not help the laugh escaping their lips. They will cease fire for now. The winner can be chosen another day. 

----

"-uu. Yuu." Crewel called out and shook Yuu's body to wake her up. 

Yuu groaned but opened her eyes to the bright light of Crewel's office. Her body was on his red leather couch, Grim snuggled beside her, and his thick coat acted as her blanket. 

"You need to wake up. The sun has already set, and I want you to get some sleep tonight," Crewel said softly and stood up to walk to his desk. The campus sounded quiet except for the crickets chirping outside. 

Ah, so Family Day is over. 

"When did Grim show up?" Yuu asks through a yawn. She sits up, picks up Grim, and places him on her lap.

"About an hour ago. He was already knocked out when Trappola brought him here," Crewel picked up a neatly wrapped box on his desk and walked back to the Prefect. "These are for you." Yuu grabbed the box and immediately opened it. Inside was an assortment of cookies and chocolates that looked too expensive for Yuu. "Since your actual family is not here for Family Day, I wanted to give you this to celebrate it. Feel free to share it with your friends,"

Yuu could feel tears forming. She used to feel alone after she crashed the entrance ceremony, but not anymore. Yuu now has people who love her despite the possibility of her leaving. She appreciates all he does as someone she views as a father figure in Twisted Wonderland. Crewel's gift may not be as grand as her whole family showing up, but the small things count. 

"Thank you so much," she placed Grim and the gift down and stood up to hug the man. 

Crewel smiled, "You're welcome, Yuu." he pulled away. "Now get some rest, or else you might give the Pomefiore students a heart attack if you show up with eyebags."

Yuu laughed, "Of course," she grabbed Grim, the box, and headed out the door. Yuu smiled at her memories from today as she walked back to Ramshackle. She enjoyed reuniting with Najma and Cheka despite their arguing with Ortho over who she should hang out with. 

Why were they so persistent about it? Yuu thought to herself when it suddenly hit her.

"I forgot about Idia!" Yuu exclaimed. Her movement caused Grim to mumble something in his sleep. Yuu tucked Grim over her shoulder and ran toward the Mirror Chamber when she saw the guy in question heading her way. 

"Idia!" Yuu called out with glee. It had been a long day for her, so seeing him made her smile. "Where have you been all day? I wanted to hang out with you."

Idia blushed and started sweating, "Y-you did? I was in my room since my parents did not show up today. I was actuallywaitingonyousowecouldplaythisnewgametogether." Idia mumbled the last part so fast that Yuu could not understand it. 

"I'm sorry. I missed the last part?" 

"I said I was waiting for you to play the new Star Rogue together. I asked Ortho to get you, but he returned without you."

Yuu laughed nervously, "Ah, that. Yeah, a lot of stuff happened, and Ortho was busy." She replied, unaware of Idia's increasing heartbeat caused by the Prefect's adorable laugh. 

Idia imagined there was a meter beside him, and it kept growing every time the Prefect did something cute (read: that is a lot of things). There's a limit that could cause it to explode. 

Idia avoided Yuu's stare by looking at the fancy box in the girl's hands. His eyes lit up in excitement. "Where did you get the sweets from?"

Yuu smiled. "Professor Crewel!" Saying his name made his earlier words replay in her mind. Suddenly, her face lit up like she had an idea. "Hey, Idia. Why don't you and Ortho come over to Rhamshakle for a sleepover? We can play Star Rogue and eat these sweets together."

Cue the meter beside Idia, exploding into a million pieces. Now Idia was red, frozen, and unsure about what to do. 

Yuu waved a hand across Idia's face. "Hey, are you okay?"

"YES!" Idia squeaked out and cleared his throat. "I mean, yeah. I don't mind having a sleepover at Ramshackle tonight."

Yuu squealed from excitement. "Yay!" She jumped with glee. Suddenly, she tucked the candy box under one arm, used her other arm to grab Idia's shoulder, and tiptoed to kiss his cheek. 

Idia.exe has stopped working. Oh yeah, Idia was VERY red now, and his hair turned a bright shade of pink. 

Is this how the MC feels when they get kissed by a love interest? Idia thought to himself like he was in an otome game. He could see the intimacy meter between him and Yuu go up.

"I'm so excited! I will go ahead and set up the lounge. You can grab Ortho and whatever else we need for the sleepover. We can meet up in my dorm after we get everything."

"S-s-sounds good," Idia gave a tiny thumbs up, which was the best he could do then. 

"See you then!" Yuu called out and headed back towards Ramshackle with a pep in her step. Once Yuu was out of sight, Idia pulled out his tablet to connect to Ortho. 

"Hello, Big Brother! Do you need something?" 

Idia could not articulate anything. First, his crush invited him to her dorm, and then she kissed him. The Prefecf actually KISSED HIM on the cheek. 

"THEPREFECTKISSEDME!!" 

"What? Did you say that Big Sister kissed you?"

"Just on the cheek, but it still counts! The UR character actually took an interest in boring old me! Ortho, I need you to get things for our sleepover with the Prefect…."

Ortho chose to not listen to his brother rambling. All he could hear was that he was victorious. 

"Oh, Big Brother," Ortho smiled after Idia was done. "I am so happy for you."

Score: Ortho: +1, Najma: 0, Cheka: 0

----

Earlier in Savanaclaw: 

"UNCA!!!!" Cheka yelled as he barged into Leona's room, left the door open, and pounced on Leona's stomach. Leona let out an 'oof' and glared at his nephew. He sat up, let his blankets fall, and allowed Cheka to sit on his lap.

"Why are you in my room? You're interrupting my nap." 

"You need to marry Yuu, or you could die!" Cheka exclaimed while jumping on Leona's body.

Leona rolled his eyes, "I will not die, kid."

Cheka stopped jumping and leaned toward Leona's face, "You don't know that, so you need my help to impress her!"

Leona pushed Cheka's face away, "Look, furball, I do not need any help to impress Yuu. She can take one look at me and realize that is all she needs." Leona was too prideful to say it aloud, but he grew to like the herbivore. Has she been clueless to him affections her? Yes but he refuses to ask his nephew, of all people, for help.

Cheka blinked and stared at his uncle's face, "You need more than that, Unca!"

Leona groaned in annoyance. Cheka was too stubborn not to give up, and Leona was tired. Leona contemplated his next step when he heard familiar footsteps approaching his door. 

Ah, it is about time for Ruggie to come to pick up his laundry. 

"Hey, Leona! You better have your laundry somewhat neat." His voice called out, slowly getting louder as he got closer.

Leona grabbed the back of Cheka's shirt, "Hey Cheka, I'll let you help me if we play a game first."

Cheka's eyes lite up in glee, "Oh! What game?"

As Ruggie walked into Leona's doorway, Leona picked up Cheka and threw him at Ruggie's face.

"What the" Ruggie exclaimed and managed to catch the laughing Cheka. Leona quickly jumped up and walked to his balcony. 

"I'll leave him to you. Don't go looking for me." Leona called back. 

"Hey!" Ruggie runs after him, but it is too late. Leona already jumped off and gracefully landed on the ground. He walked out, leaving Ruggie and Cheka alone in the dorm room.

Cheka turned to Ruggie with a bright grin, "Let's do it again!"

Ruggie could only sigh. This will be a long day.

Bonus: 

"Father, when you said there was an emergency, I did not think makeup would be the reason." Silver's legs started to feel numb as Lilia rubbed some eyeshadow on his eyelids. Earlier, Lilia was adding different makeup powders to the boy's face, so he had to resist the urge to sneeze. 

"Hush, Silver! Master Lilia requires us to sit here for hours getting for…what is it for actually?" Sebek's face contoured in confusion despite his eyes being closed for his eyeshadow. 

"Fufufu the Prefect needs to be starstruck by your looks that she will say yes if either of you asks for her hand in marriage."

"MARRIAGE?!" Silver and Sebek exclaimed at the same time, their eyes opening wide. Sebek's scream caused some of the photos on Malleus' wall to shake. 

"Hush, you two. You will ruin the hard work I spent hours on." Lilia replied and threw some glitter at his son's faces as a finishing touch. Malleus opened his eyes and glanced at Lilia.

"I understand why you want to dress up and use makeup to impress the Child of Man, but are three people required for this?" 

"Of course! The more people, the better, and I need only one of you to succeed. Now look at yourselves." Lilia stepped away so the trio could look at themselves in the mirror. "Do you or do you not feel bonita?"

The trio gave each other a confused look. None of them heard of that word before. Lilia may have picked up some of Rook's weird language.

"We feel bonita?" They replied, sounding more like a question than a statement. Lilia clapped his hands together and smiled brightly. He heard about the multitude of people with similar goals as him. He needed to act fast, or else it would be too late. If there's one thing the fae learned from his gamer friend, Gloomurai, is that otome games have multiple suitors for the MC. From Lilia's perspective, throwing all three of his sons into the competition for Yuu's heart would lead to a good ending for him. Lilia finished his plan by walking over to the vanity and handing them all a ring box. 

"Wonderful because you look bonita!" Despite his small stature, the man stood behind his sons and pushed them out the door. "Now go and woo the Prefect! Don't return until I see a ring on her finger and a promise of future grandchildren!" Lilia called out before slamming the door in their faces. 

The trio stared silently at the door, trying to understand what had happened. Luckily, Malleus decided to break the awkward atmosphere.

"Now what?"

Additional Rivals: Malleus, Silver, and Sebek

---

Professor Crewel cannot believe he is saying this, but he understands Professor Trein's stress in raising children. Who knew that caring for (more like adopting) a magicless human would attract so many mutts to her? Crewel had to admit that his daughter was beautiful (thanks to his hard work), but couldn't it have been from someone who was not as horrible as them? The man could only count a few decent guys with one hand, but they were not enough for his pup. His pup deserved the best. 

Crewel sat on his sofa and snacked some crackers topped with raisin butter. Earlier, he had to save his pup from a group of children using their secret code. Then, he saw the older Shroud boy speak to his daughter as she walked back to Ramshackle.

The man sighed. He opened his wine fridge to grab a bottle of red wine, a glass from the cabinet behind him, and poured himself a drink. Whoever his pup picks better be the right one for her. Until then, he will watch the lovesick mutts fight each other for her attention. Crewel swirled the red wine around and drank it all in one go. He could feel the stress already forming from the imaginary image of the mutts fighting on school property, Crowley barging into classrooms, and the overblots were already making a dent in the school's budget. Teenage boys and property damage would make it even worse. 

Crewel eyed the bottle one more time before making a decision. He may need a stronger drink. 

©: This story belongs to bluesylveon2. Do not modify or republish

Sorry for the wait but the fic is now here! I hope that yall enjoyed it :)

* - the "sea" Cheka is referring to is a giant puddle Leona drove through during his Sunset Savanna event card vignette

Taglist: @nanograms, @krispyenthusiastkitten, @strawberrycaramelcapybara, @mochiclouds, @kitty-page, @fancyhawk45, @xxoomiii, @kiyoyachisimp, @arisdelssy, @rainbowcake1212, @forgwater, @justyoureverydaytwstsimp, @savanaclaw1996, @shrimpsterprefect, @that-creepy-girl-000, @penguinmilo, @tingerines, @julessketchbook, @i-am-the-avatar-of-idiocy, @booming-spam, @nekanecorvus, @glacticrose, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @imakeeggswet, @hatshroom, @lunarapple, @simp-simp-no-mi, @the-hearteater, @aroseyhyena, @vitaniangel-blog, @nxyll34, @everettelz

[trashmouth-richie]

older! eddie x fem! reader

summary: when your bf skips town /‘s you can’t pay your rent, you put on your best outfit and knock on your landlord’s door begging for forgiveness

@eddiemunsons-missingnipple for the Eddie edit

w/c: 3.8k

t/w: 18+ ONLY —heavy smut, degrading, hair pulling, mouth fucking, choking, edging, switch!, daddy!kink

He was an asshole to extraordinary proportions. A life full of mold covered lemons would do that to a person. You were nervous, to approach him. But something told you he’d hear you out— listen to you. Maybe even be sympathetic to your pleads.

Yeah right.

As if he were made of anything but pure hatred. Toxicity swirled in his veins, his poisoned skin covered by decades worth of tattoos; all dark and sharp edged.

His peppered scruff balanced out his naturally soft eyes. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. A scowl that would make any resident of Forest Hills Trailer Park think twice about crossing. But you were left with no choice. When Trey had ditched town with the human bicycle Chrissy Cunningham, you were short on rent. Bills were tight, and you often ate in the dark, or by candle light. Anything to save a bit of money.

And that’s what led you here. Standing at your landlord’s door. Putting on an extra swipe of lipgloss, making sure to curl your hair, and wear a low cut tank top, the only push up bra you owned, and some cheap lashes from the mall— you knocked politely on the sun faded door. Hoping for some sort of a miracle that Mr. Munson would take pity on you.

One knock. Nothing.

Another. Still nothing.

It’s not until you are slapping your hand into the door that a voice behind you startles you nearly out of your too short skirt.

“What’d’ya need?” He’s covered in motor oil and grease, standing below you on the dirt and sparse grass covered ground, wiping his hands on a once red rag, a ring of sweat around his white tank top, bandana wrapped around his head, cigarette hanging gingerly from his slack lips.

He remembers the day you had moved in, it was freezing cold in early February. All by yourself, moving things one at a time in a shitty old Buick he hadn’t seen around since his high school days. He wanted to offer his help, something he didn’t give to anyone. But something about the way you smiled as he showed you around the dingy shithole of a trailer, voicing your opinions on what could be spruced up, made him hate you a little bit less.

Everyone in the park knew not to bother Eddie. He was a grumpy, mean son of a bitch and his patience was rail fucking thin. The Johnson’s dog went missing? No shit, he was the one who called animal control to come and pick it up, fucker had fleas and probably rabies. Can I paint the kitchen? Fuck no. The sink isn’t working at lot 8. Call a mechanic. And just for the annoyance he upped their rent $100.

Seeing you on his steps, dressed like that, sparkly tits, and your bra showing through your tank top had his dick twitching in his pants. Of course you were a smoke show, and he was honestly surprised to hear that ol’ what’s his face ran out on you with Chrissy Cuntingham. Her shit had been rode hard and put away wet more times that could be accounted for. Bitch still wore her homecoming tiara and had her green and orange pom poms in the back window of her car— despite the fact that graduation was more than 25 years ago. Worse than an alleycat, and smelling like one, Chrissy mostly kept herself busy by buying the minors alcohol or showing her many “party tricks” to the bachelors of the park. Sitting on his porch, smoking a joint like he did every night, Eddie took note of the black jeep that showed up every Thursday outside trailer 6, a graying head of suave douche boy hair could only be one person, Jason Carver.

He took note that your trailer, right next to his, was full of screaming and yelling when your boyfriend was home. A noise all too familiar in the trailer park, bouncing off Eddie’s ears like birds chirping.

But when he was gone? The window to your bedroom would be cracked open ever so slightly, propped open with the soft cover of Stephen King’s IT. The kitten purr of a vibrator and your delicate moans sang out to him. A siren amongst lonely fishermen, calling out to them in song of entrapment only to eat their souls, bodies never found amongst the dark sea bed. At first he thought it was wrong to listen, wrong to hear your pleasuring yourself, but he had sworn he heard his name on your lips, more than once. Fisting his cock angrily to your voice, your wet mouth, swollen lips from him sucking on them, pretty little pussy aching for him. He didn’t need playboys anymore when he had your face to imagine. And imagine he had.

What would your sweet pussy look like wrapped around his cock? Would you swallow his load down your throat if he asked, demanded you to? Sweet thing like you wouldn’t have to worry about anything if you were his. The choked laugh after he finishes all over his hand makes him shake his head at the idea. He didn’t know your age, old enough to be on your own but definitely not 45 like he was. Visions of your sugar plum tits bouncing in his face as you rode him on the itchy couch in his living room, lulled him to sleep most nights.

He saw a peek of a tattoo on your side when you were hanging clothes on the line. Your body drove him in, his eyes melting around your curves, the swell of your ass in the jean cut off shorts you wore. When you saw him staring you waved him over, a devilish grin on your lips, a wanting sparkle in your eye.

He knew your type, trouble. And oh fuck the trouble he would love to be in. He’d never volunteered to fix anyone's appliances. But your silky saccharine voice had him calling a mechanic in a few days time, would have been sooner if he could have tore his eyes away from your tanned legs, but he kept those extra days all to himself, whimpering at night with a sore cock your name on his breath. It had been seven months of you living next door, your vibrator turned on like clockwork every day your boyfriend left for work.

And now here you are. Looking at him with “fuck me” eyes and a glossy smile on your lips. Those same lips purring out pleasantries about how fuck face left you and you were needing an extension on rent. The swell of the summer sun hit your cheeks, making you glow like some love sick angel on his steps. He was fucked. And soon— you would be too.

“So what?” He tried to gamble, tried to keep his hard facade, “an extension and then what’s next? You’re gonna tell all your little friends that I give hand outs to the needy? Oh no doll, not today.”

He pushes his way around you and into his trailer, the pungent smell of too strong incense burns your nostrils as you hold the door from him shutting it.

“Please, Mr. Muns—.”

“Eddie,” he grumbles.

“Eddie, please— I’m begging you,” the glimmer of a tear welling in your eyes, your voice dipping low into an almost whisper as you made your way inside, shutting the door behind your back and feeling around for the lock, “I’ll do anything.”

Eyes dripping of sex appeal and lust, you tip your tongue to the center of your top lip, eyeing his tightened jeans and you swear you see his dick twitch beneath the stretched denim.

Cock at full alert he shakes his head, his head dipped low and eyeing you up and down, lip bit between his teeth. A low groan in his throat, he talks in a gritting whisper, “Don’t start something you can’t finish sweetheart.”

“Oh I plan on finishing, big boy,” you hum walking towards him, devilish grin planted on your lips, “I don’t think we’ll have a problem with that, will we daddy?”

Fuck. Not even touching you yet and Eddie is rock hard, he could probably cum if you asked him to. Thanking a higher power that he wasn’t twenty anymore, he’s got years of stamina built under his worn leather belt. “You’re about to write a check your ass can’t cash doll, you sure this is what you want?”

“stop talking,” you breath, inches from his lips, he can taste the peach flavored lipgloss on his tongue, “and fuck me.”

Not needing any more of an okay than that, Eddie turns you around in a swift motion, a gasp escapes your lungs and he catches you before you stumble over your heels. He drags your hips down into him, your ass round and luscious on his stiffened length. He rips the neck of your tank top open exposing the mountainous swell of your chest and your cheap K-Mart bra. Pinching your laced nipples between his rough fingers, he rolls them like joints as his hot mouth assaults your neck, painting you, he sucks bruises into your neck, licking them better with tiny flicks of his satanic tongue and ending in a bite, marking you as his.

Pushing your ass into him you can feel his cock. His achingly girthy length has you soaking your panties, dripping wet just for him. His smokey smell is mixed with sweat as you angle your neck back against his shoulder, moaning into him as he sucks like a vampire into your neck. His stubble rubbing against your skin.

“Eddie,” you moan breathless into the humid air of his trailer.

He groans, your body pushed tight against him has his head spinning, drunk off your touch. Grabbing your skirt and yanking upward. Dripping in anticipation, your panties could be wrung out, your arousal pooling from the center and beading slowly to the ground. He hisses and hums when his finger first skates along the slick of your panties with a schlick, “fuck, all this for me doll?” He’s playing now, his thick fingers moving in lazy circles around your clit, your creamy pussy clenching desperately on nothing, you nod with a whimper.

“You gonna make all those pretty little noises I hear from your window once that dumbass you let fuck you leaves the house every day? Hmm? Didn’t think I could hear did you?” His cocky bravado kicks his cock up on your ass, sending a moan through your body as you rub deeper into him.

Quite the opposite actually

Purring into his neck you lick the expanse of skin he’s showcasing. Blowing hot on the slicked spit from your tongue, you rotate your hips to angle his fingers better on your clit, the sensitivity rolling like an electric current through your veins.

“I did it on purpose,” you confess breathlessly as Eddie’s fingers stop. “Watching you stare at me for months, I knew you’d touch yourself over me.”

Eddie groans gutturally twisting your body into the front door, back hitting the broken shades with a thud. In milliseconds he is on you, hot tongue lapping up your neck and biting with enough force to break skin. No time to be patient to have you undress for him, he shoves your skirt up tipping your panties clean off. Your exposed pussy shuddering with his blown breath on your slick core. His devilish eager tongue expertly licks and teases your clit. Humming with each jerk of your body as the sensitivity makes you squirm. Tongue wiggling inside of you like an eel, your hands are gripping his hair for dear life, yanking at the roots like you’re pulling weeds. Your thigh is on his shoulder, the leg on the ground begins to shake as your first orgasm rips like a tidal wave through you. Head thrown back against the door, moaning loud enough for the entire park to hear— you don’t care.

Your noises stir Eddie’s arousal even more. Whimpering as he grip him impossibly tighter he a broken, “fuck,” into your folds as he goes back for seconds, “you’re gonna get me into trouble, pussy so fucking sweet.” His lips are wet, your arrival shining like pretty lipgloss allover hos chin and lips. Already spent from the teasing and the damn breaking, Eddie hikes you up over his shoulder, your bare volumtuous ass bouncing with every step. He throws you onto a king sized bed, unmade and reeking of weed. Rolling papers on the night stand along with several lighters you aren’t given much time before Eddie kicks his jeans off, boxer briefs do him justice as his cock jumps to his belly when he unthreads his legs from them. Pearly beads of pre cup drip from the thick head.

Eddie leans forward and places a thick hand on your neck, your vision blurs and returns with each grip he threatens and releases his teeth biting your lips, slow drops of blood seep from his bites, he licks the wounds clean.

“Havent used rubbers since the 80’s and I won’t, so are you on the pill or are we ending this right now?”

“Pill,” you warble, chords of your neck strained against his hand.

“Thatta girl,” he praises, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, “I’m gonna fill you up full with my cum you’ll be leaking it out for hours.. maybe days.”

Tears sting your eyes at the thought of his glorious pearly cum deep in your walls painting them pretty, “please daddy, I need it.”

Eddie grins, “so needy baby, you want this cock?” he asks, flicking it through your folds, a noise resembling macaroni and cheese is blasts from your core, he groans deep, “so fucking wet,” his lip is almost bit in half with how he’s trying to hide his excitement, “I’m gonna wreck this sweet pussy so you won’t be able to walk home.”

Whimpering like a bitch in heat, Eddie flips you over, angles your ass up, slapping each cheek hard enough a red hand print sized welt develops almost immediately, he pushes all of himself into you, bottoming out as you moan and cry thanking God in your head as you’re split open, a welcomed pain. Spit soaks his sheets from your mouth when he pulls out, “oh you can take it, honey, don’t fucking quit on me.”

“I’m n—,” gasping loudly when he spits harshly on your ass. Rubbing his thumb against the pink button. The new sensation brings color to your closed eyes, stars and shapes of all size float in your closed mind, your pussy clenched harder around Eddie as you whine his name.

“Yeah?” Eddie moans, “told you daddy would take care of you, that needle dick can’t make you feel like this can he?”

you try to choke out a ‘no’ but no noise comes out, your head is thrown back violently as Eddie grabs your hair in one hand and pounds mercilessly into you.

Eddie is grunting with each slap of his heavy sack against your clit, “this is what you came here for right? Bad girl can’t pay her rent so she came to fuck the owner in exchange?” His taunting only makes you wetter, makes you clench his harder as you come undone for the second time. Screaming his name until you’re breathless. Panting and sweating like you ran a marathon. He gives you one more deep thrust of his hips and watches you fall forward.

“Look at the mess you made you little whore,” Eddie spits, venom laced words on that glory filled tongue, as he drags you by your hair to look at his soaked cock, “lick it up, want you to know how fucking sweet you taste.”

Eddie flips you over like a rag doll, positioning you the way he wants. Head dangling off the mattress, Eddie groans as he jams his cock into your throat, holding it there and choking you simultaneously. He reached to the night stand and grabs a black small vibrator placing it on your clit. The vibrations make you moan and choke around his length and against his hand. Eyelids fluttering shut you’re positive you can’t breathe, just when you’re about to pass out he brings you back, letting you breathe for a few seconds, chuckling to himself as you enter the hazy bliss of intoxicating euphoria. Your body convulses under his. Begging for a third orgasm, you can taste the earthy tang of your release and Eddie’s pre cum mix on your tongue.

His girth fills your throat completely, barely leaving room for your own tongue in your mouth. He’s dripping sweat onto your own body you can feel it slip from your belly button down into the curve of your neck. Eddie's hair is swaying in conjuncture with his hips slamming home against your face. Using your mouth like his own fist has you soaking the sheets, clit over stimulated, a deep bruise settling inside the soft silk of your velvet folds. A bruise you’d wear proudly for weeks to come.

Slapping your face as you gag lightly, mind steadily focusing on the jerking of your legs and the vibrating pulse of your cunt. Eddie shushes you reassuring you, tauntingly “someone too big for their britches huh? Work through it, sweetheart— that’s it, fuck good girl,” he chokes a whimper down his own throat as your tongue swirls around him. “Christ, swallowing what I give you, such a good girl for daddy.” Eddie thrusts one more deep cant of his hips into your mouth groaning deeply when you hollow your cheeks. Letting you breathe freely.

“You like that? Like me using you like a worthless fucking toy?” Eddie lifts you up to his face by your hair, kissing your lips delicately, you nod and whimper as he harshly sucks and nips at your neck leaving purpling marks in his wake.

Unabashedly you scratch your long nails into his chest, leaving your own mark on him as he groans against your skin. “My turn,” you whisper as you crawl into a standing position in front of him. Kissing him sweetly and pulling his bottom lip between your teeth, he whimpers at your touch. A tantalizing smile radiates across your lips. Eddie Munson a switch? Who knew? Pushing his shoulders backwards he falls on the bed, curtains of curls cascade around him and his face is turned up in shock then to a satanic grin.

Wiggling your tight skirt down your body you stand in only your heels.

“Fuck, you are a goddess.” Eddie groans, stroking his thick length in slow rhythmic motions as he stares at your body shamelessly, you climb towards him on his messy sheets between his legs your poor abused throat sore and bruised from his animalistic fucking.

His chest is littered with tattoos both old and new, faded and blown out lines mixed amongst sharp edged fresh ones stark against his pale skin. Blistering red lines decorate him from your nails earlier. Knees on either side of his hips you slot your pussy lips against his needy thick cock, sliding forward and back again, your hands on his chest for leverage. Leaning up on his elbows and moving you both backwards so he can rest his back against the headboard, he scants forward to kiss you but you push his forehead away dumbly.

Tsking and using few words to speak with a hoarse voice you whisper, “no touching.” Grinding your hips down into him, pocketing his cock in your slick folds like a sword in a sheath, you lick a stripe up his neck and land at this ear, your pretty moans singing to him like a demon seeking a naive victim. His hips jump with each roll of your own, desperate for relief he whimpers and whines as he’s close and you retreat. Starting all over again. After the third go around his bangs are stuck to his forehead, cheeks warm with a frustrated, worked up blush as you edge him again and again.

“Mmm’ fuck that’s a good cock daddy,” you moan as you come hard on his cock again making a mess yet again, he groans as you milk him for all he’s worth, your creamy pussy clenching against him, and your denial of his release is too much for him. “you wanna come for me?”

Eddie nods in spent anticipation, practically tearing up from being so worked up and being able to release himself. “Please— I can’t,” he groans, as you start grinding on him again, only this time you give in, hugging him in a pinky sheath of gummy walls and slick floors. “Christ,” he melts as you bounce atop his cock, dragging your hips backward and forward helping him hit the spot you so desperately craved from him. His thick hands are on your hips moving you to his liking, a pebbled nipple in his mouth makes you cry out his name as he pumps into you holding you still.

He slaps your ass, “I’m gonna come, shit, fuck!” He hums your name as hot ropes of his thick release coats your walls and floods out you don’t stop riding him, coaxing every last drop out of him until he’s hissing through his teeth as his softened length falls out of you, hot, reddened and aching.

Eddie pulls you to him, kissing your neck and scooting you both down the bed. “Think you’re my favorite tenant,” he laughs as you lay motionless on top of him, both breathing heavily.

“Jesus, I’d hope so, but maybe Miss Richard’s comes over here to get some money knocked off her rent,” you tease, tracing circles into his spotty chest hair, “heard she’s real pretty in her nightgown, just gotta be careful of her poligrip.”

He laughs again, smacking your ass, “you’re a fuckin’ brat y’know that?”

“And you’re a filthy fucker, quite the pair I’d say,” you spit before biting his chest.

Eddie yanks you by your hair to look you in the eyes, “not every day a pretty baby like you comes knocking on my door to rattle my cage and get free rent. But I’d like if you came over more often, that attitude needs adjusting.”

“oh really?” you question, hand under your chin like you’re bored as you roll your eyes, “and your old ass is gonna be the one to tame me huh?”

You spend a greater part of the night bent over Eddie’s knee, his studded belt in his hand as he whips you again and again. Tears spill from your eyes, and coat his thighs. Eddie’s sadistic ass only grins, a joint hanging limply from his lips, shushing you softly, “don’t cry honey, I told you your ass wouldn’t be able to cash that check.”

-

-

👅 I’m gonna go touch grass now

[soulrph]

chaotic unhinged lines from 2022-2023 (prompt edition).

basically in 2021 i made a list of prompts inspired by lines in tiktok videos and instagram reels that made me laugh so hard i cried! and now i have returned with another list! these may provide an alarmingly clear image of what my sense of humor is (aka broken) but i figure a little levity is always a good thing! more prompts are forthcoming, but in the mean time: bon appetit!

knowledge has always chased you, but you've always been faster.

no... no, that was mango apathy juice. from the farmer's market.

of all these people, you are the one i understand the least. i want to get to know you better, but like, not that much better.

i-i will CHEW YOUR MEAT!! WHAT are you doing?!

ooooh god, no, you wouldn't be long getting frostbit!

you are evil. like a hobbit.

WHY MUST YOU FAIL ME SO OFTEN?!?!!?

i have had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it.

AHEM!! fill my cup.

may god ignore you like you ignored my greetings.

i will avenge you mister van gogh.

call off work bestie, we need you to solve a murder. here's fifteen dollars.

you're not in love. you may think you are, you dumb fuck, but you're not.

go ahead and put the ranch away.

sadly, "hopefully" doth butter no parsnips.

forget school, i want to be an italian sandwich.

you shouldn't skip work, you are a lawyer and he is a hamster.

you can stop roleplaying now. you're free.

her coupon game was so fucking raw.

i'm sorry guys... he's making a salad.

you could get a straight guy here if you learned to make a good pasta. i'll teach you how to make a risotto that'll get you married and out of my basement.

hey, do you want me to get together a plate of roast beef and hide it in our room so we can have night meats?

it's not the most ethical thing in the world, but in a pinch you can hand off a cursed object to basically any baby.

no, children, you're wrong. once upon a time, there was a piece of wood.

and i'm not saying she deserved it, but i am saying that god's timing is always riiiiight.

hydrate or die-drate, ya DICK!

why did the monkey fall out of the tree? because it was DEAD.

new york city is a fictional place written up by someone with a sinister mind and a knack for comedy.

this is grindr my guy.

wait, i didn't finish teaching you the difference between human and wolf anatomy.

it's time to tell your grandmother that she was wrong. do not be afraid.

vanilla vodka... you fucking child.

without ash to rise from, a phoenix would just be a bird getting up.

you are fucking alive. do what you want.

why are you cradling me like a baby, friend? this isn't how guys of my generation hang out.

i hope a hedgehog shits in your cereal, you difficult person.

you know, i am not as mean as i would like to be. and i think people should appreciate that more.

see, i am not a kangaroo.

well, i'd like to help, but... you see... not as much as i'd like not to.

rest in peace you fucking onion fairy.

when god sings with all his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir?

i fight for a seat in heaven, every. single. day.

map maker? can you find me somewhere on the map where this big man thinks he's the king?

you bald-headed demon...

so... there are 24 million pigs in australia... and 24 million people... so if you ever feel lonely, there's like, a pig out there that's sort of your cosmic twin.

remember, alcohol is god's apology for making us self-aware.

i'm straight!! stop CONFUSING me!!!!!

you guys want something to eat? because... i know we'll die if we don't eat.

he is a BIBLICALLY gorgeous man. i wanna feed him grapes. i wanna fan him with the frond of a date palm from the forests of Lebanon. i wanna find the alabaster vial of perfume oil that one woman broke for jesus and comb it through his hair. like... he's stressing me OUT.

i'm not sad! i'm freaking HUNGRY!

maybe, if we wait a little bit longer, a fuck will fall into my hand, and i can give it to you.

it's not my fault you thought you lived in this IKEA.

let's leave my mother out of this.

jason may kill people but he's not bad enough to kick a dog.

i run for LUMP!

oh no, i'm all out of caring, baby!

you don't think it mcbe that way... but it mcdo.

what is this enticing bowl of white?

serious question, do his nipples sparkle?

what in the reese's peanut butter fuck is going on here?

if your parents don't buy it, stop loving them!

i just hope you know just how much you've decreased productivity today.

that was poetry at its FINEST.

and if you let that motherfucker shenan ONCE, you best believe they're gonna shenanIGAN!

may god bless the dinosaur that died to make the fossil fuel that was treated to become petrol in the car that took her mom to the hospital to give birth to her.

that's modern milk for ya. what a time to be alive.

you have attachment issues. please fix it.

remember when people had secrets? we should bring that back.

the moon landing was an elaborate marriage proposal.

i don't like the cobra chicken.

i didn't know eggs were this expensive? it's time to lay my own, i fear.

so you're saying the reason i don't have a girlfriend is because i'm not a big enough threat yet.

god gave him a top lip, that's why he's so powerful.

it's a common mistake, but frankenstein was actually the author.

i finally got a pocket-sized diary!!! also i don't get the concept of life.

if a beautiful woman disagrees with me, i will immediately change my view. i've no principles.

how did you all end up married to such boiled potatoes?

if so much as one tear drops from their eye... i will slap you back into your mum.

you are ringing a phone that does not like to be rung.

look how Dr. doofenschmirtz had a fucked up childhood but didn't project his trauma onto his teenage daughter. he projected it onto a platypus.

it is mathematically impossible for you to get a wedgie.

i'm breaking up with you. i love you, it's just... i don't think you could protect me from a mummy.

if you can't do fractions....... you will fucking die.

that's right; in the year 1791, all of our bottoms were killed in a Big Bottom Massacre.

people always assume i'm mean. like CAN you BELIEVE THAT CRAP?! like WHAT would make you think i'm MEAN?! I'M THE NICEST PERSON ON THE PLANET!

the chocolate milk is strikingly overpriced and at the same time very easy to steal; another of god's little tests.

someone's gotta tell the waiter that i ordered mashed 'taters and it sure as shit ain't gonna be me.

if i had a week i couldn't list all the reasons that wouldn't work.

[quefish77]

Ineffable Kinktober 2024!

The Ineffable Kinktober list is here!

Don't forget, this isn't a challenge, do as many or as few as you are inspired to!

Art, fic, interpretive dance, sculpture, pipe-cleaners if so inclined ...

Post here! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Ineffable_Kinktober_2024/profile

Graphic text: (I'm not changing the twitter bird icon, screw that BS!)

1. Wings 2. Virginity 3. Authority 4. True form/Eldritch 5. Piercings/Tattoos 6. Spanking 7. Role Play 8. Halos 9. Micro/Macro 10. ​Rescue 11. ​​Horns/Tails 12. ​Medical 13. Somnophilia​ 14. ​Glory Hole/Anonymous 15. ‘I hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me’ 16. Clothing/Tartan 17. Knife/Swordplay 18. ​Sex to Music (Queen Edition) 19. Inebriation (Drugs/Alcohol) 20. The Bentley 21. Hidden (eg: Under the Table) 22. Laughing/Tickling 23. Masturbation 24. Danger/Helplessness 25. Feeding/Food Play 26. Praise/Degradation 27. Nipple Play 28. Cuckold 29. Gags/Ballgags 30. Toys 31. Creator's Choice

[yoonia]

Ever A Never After: Act 2 (2)

⟶ Chapter Summary | Some say fate can be a cruel thing. Yet you never knew how true it was until fate played a hand in your bad luck. Merely moments before your happily ever after, you are suddenly sent out to a weird place. A different world. You wonder if this is a test from fate to see if you are truly deserving of your happy ending, or if perhaps fate wants to show you something else. Something that fate wishes you to learn before you can finally move on to take the next step towards your happiness.

⟶ Title | Ever a Never After (adaptation from Enchanted movie) ⟶ Pairings | Jungkook x female reader; Seokjin x female reader ⟶ Genre | Strangers to lovers!au, Fairy tale retelling!au, Rom-com ⟶ Word count | 16,755 words ⟶ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; slow burn, mentions of curses, black magic, misunderstandings, alcohol mention. ⟶ Author’s note | As you may have heard, I had to take a break due to grief, so this took a while to finish editing. Still roughly edited because I couldn’t postpone posting this part a lot longer, but I hope you can still enjoy this. 

⟶ Story Masterlist: Ever A Never After | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢

⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Feedback | Ko-fi | Music companion

⟶ Special Taglist: Ever A Never After

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 2. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡 𝔚𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔐𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔠

The first thing you feel when you wake up is the abundance of warmth. 

A similar kind of warmth that usually welcomes you each time you embrace the morning. 

But something is missing. There is no breeze flowing through the window. Not a sound of birds chirping or leaves rustling with the wind. And there is no sound of your grandmother moving downstairs, humming or muttering to herself as she lists the things she needs to do for the day. 

You wish to wake up completely, to see what is wrong. Perhaps the weather is terrible this morning that everything has become so quiet. But your body is weighed down with exhaustion rolling through your body, and your eyes are too heavy for you to open. For the first time, you find no desire to leave your bed, opting to give in to the strong desire to go back to sleep and cuddle deeper into the comforting warmth. 

But then the soreness comes. You can feel it all over you—from your ankles, up to your legs, your back—before the pounding in your head starts. 

“Ow—” You reach up, touching your temple and pressing at the pulsing pain. By moving, you feel the weight of a blanket covering your body and the tight bodice of your dress pressing on your skin. 

You try to stretch, hoping to push away this heavy weariness and force yourself to wake up. Only to find yourself rolling off the bed and falling on the floor with a hard thump. 

“Oh, dear!” 

With a groan, you push yourself up the floor and blink the sleep out of your eyes. And yet, looking around only makes you feel even more confused. 

“Where,” you whisper to yourself as you glance around, “where am I?”

You start to panic. Because this place looks nothing like your bedroom. Pushing away the blanket, you slowly rise to your feet to have a better look around the room. The place that you slept on seems to be the small daybed attached to the window. The curtains are drawn close, but there are still some streaks of sunlight coming through the seams. 

Being so close to the window and covered in a blanket would explain why you were woken up feeling so warm. Looking down, you see yourself in your wedding dress. Seeing how the white has changed colours—something in the mix of grey and muddy beige, thanks to all the dirt, dust, and grime you had gotten on yourself the day before—and the tattered hem looking worse under the lights, everything starts coming back to you again. 

Oh, that’s right, you muse to yourself as you fall back down on the daybed. This is his house. 

Your saviour. 

That was what you called him after he caught you from that replica of the castle. The replica which held no magic at all, unlike the castle which held more magic than you have ever encountered throughout your whole life. You doubt there is even any magic here—perhaps except for the metal carriages that you saw driving down the roads without horses and the lights that came from the buildings and towers you saw last night. 

You look down and wiggle your toes. The pretty heels that you worn for the wedding had been soiled so badly and your ankles were strained with over-tiredness that it took Ah-ri’s help to get it off your feet. Your cheeks grow warm as you recall how the little girl fussed over them, and then how she nearly cried when she saw how swollen your feet had become, making you feel embarrassed just thinking about it.

Accepting your new reality, you look around once again, taking in the room. There is not much furniture placed here, but the bedroom looks luxurious and cosy, and it makes you feel safe. Aside from the daybed, there is a bed right in front of you—which you have apparently missed when you first came into the room. It seems bigger than the bed that you have at home, covered in fresh sheets in the colour of soft pink. The wooden frame and the bedrest are painted white, unlike your bed at home which is made of oak and left without any paint. Two bedside tables are set on either side of the bed, each one adorned with small lamps that were left unlit. You are curious to see their odd shapes, even more so when you realise that they don’t resemble any of the oil lamps you have normally seen at home. 

There are two doors attached to the room. One was the door from which you entered the room, while the other, a much smaller one which is left ajar, shows you the inside of an empty closet. Glancing at the bed, you find a pile of clothes placed on top of it. They are quite strange looking, you realise, as you take a look closer. Not a dress nor a shirt, but two pieces of clothing items that feel soft under the tips of your fingers when you reach out to touch them. 

The change of clothes, you wonder with a smile, recalling what your saviour said about providing you with something to change into once you are out of your ruined dress. I suppose I fell asleep last night before changing.

And your saviour had chosen to let you rest. Could it have been your saviour who left the blanket behind? To keep you warm, perhaps? 

Imagining the kind man who smiled at you warmly last night when he welcomed you into his home makes your heart flutter. The warmth that you felt when you woke up returns, only it feels softer, growing from inside your chest before expanding all over your body. 

Unfolding the clothes, you simply tilt your head, not sure how you are going to change out of this tight dress and into these—confusing-looking pieces of clothing. Thinking about how to get out of the dress only reminds you of the morning when you first had to put it on. You had the help of your grandmother and your little friends to be able to put on this dress properly without ruining the delicate details on the skirt and the trails. 

Sighing to yourself, you decide not to wallow in regret or sadness, and choose to embrace your day instead. 

After laying out the pieces of clothing—the top, the bottom trousers, and the fluffy towel—on the bed, you return to the window, opening the curtains to allow more sunlight in and get a view of the outside world. 

Everything looks different in the morning compared to the night before. The bright, sparkling lights are no longer visible, but there are still colourful ornaments that appear in some places, and you can finally get to see the beach more clearly. Everything aside from the beachside and the ocean looks like nothing more but tiny dots from the distance, but it is such an amazing sight to see, as you don’t normally get to see the widespread ocean and its glowing white sand back home as much as you wanted to. 

The sun is bright and warm, with no trace of the rain which had fallen during the toughest time you had to endure. 

At least the rain was quite refreshing, you wonder as you recall feeling as if everything that was unsettling you the other day—the fear of not being able to return home, feeling lost and powerless after finding yourself stranded in a strange land—all melted the moment you felt the rain drops falling all over you.

You smile at the thought of breathing in the scents of fresh soil and damp leaves that you often find through the forest or drifting into your bedroom after rainfalls, and you cannot help but think about the comfort that you often find from it. 

A spark of idea comes to your mind right away. Maybe if I can just—

Finding the lock on the window, you unlatch it and pry the window open, allowing the morning breeze to come in. You hope that breathing in the fresh air might help you feel more refreshed. But you immediately find that you have made the wrong decision, as taking in a deep breath only causes you to have a coughing fit. 

“Oh, my!” you gasp, taking a step back to get away from the foul air. The air you breathed is too dry, filled with dust and smoke and not a single hint of the fresh air that you would normally enjoy in the morning. It takes a while before you get used to it, before you finally smell the ocean breeze that is beginning to drift in. 

“Well, I suppose things are a bit—different here,” you muse with a sigh, noticing how sparse the trees are around the house.

Furrowing your brows, you notice how restricted it feels to be in your dress, the fabric has been growing heavier as it has gotten dirty, and your body feels to be covered in grime. The warm breeze isn’t helping either, as it only escalates the discomfort that you are feeling. You feel the desire to strip out of the dress to feel better, yet you doubt that you can get out of the dress on your own. 

Once again, your mind wanders to your little friends. Your companions and loyal helpers who would always come to help whenever you are in need. 

“Is there someone you can call—?” 

You recall what your saviour said last night about calling someone from home. You only realise now that you haven’t even tried calling to see if it would work at all. Trying to be positive despite your circumstances, you look up to the sky and wonder if your voice can reach someone from back home—your animal friends from the forest, perhaps—so they will be able to know where you are. 

You have done it once when you sang in the forest one day and birds came to you, answering your call and singing along to your song. 

Won’t it happen again now, if you try it? 

“Maybe if I sing something loud and sincere enough, then the little birds will be able to hear me. Maybe they will hear my call,” you wonder out loud, reassuring yourself before doubt ever has the chance to sink in. “That’s right. Let’s try it. It won’t hurt to try and call them.” 

Taking a deep inhale of breath, avoiding to breathe in the smoke and dust this time, you muster some energy to sing, calling your lovely friends that might be able to help. With your heart beating in your chest, hope blooming, you begin to sing. 

“Good morning, friends, it's a brand new day…

With friends beside us, we’ll find our way…”

Wind blows, warmth filters through the window, the faint sound of the waves reaches you, yet there is nothing else returning your song. 

“Together we’ll share the morning light…

Hand in hand, everything feels right…”

You refuse to give up, believing that all you ever need is patience. Perhaps if your friends won’t be able to hear you, some new friends would, and they can help you find a way to solve your problems, to help you find the way back home. 

“Good morning, good morning, the day’s begun…

Together we’ll shine, our hearts as one…”

The loud sound of a horn from one of those metallic carriages blares through the air, shocking you, sending you falling back to the daybed. Your heart is still racing as you sit there in silence, hearing the faint sound of the carriage driving down the road below. You wait for a moment longer, drowning in silence. 

Then another moment passes, and you still hear no answer to your song. 

“I knew it. Nobody can hear me calling them from here,” you murmur to yourself, having no choice but to accept reality. 

They say magic is so powerful that it can reach anyone no matter the obstacle. But your magic clearly has no power here. Your voice and your song cannot reach anyone—far and near—to give you the answer you need. 

You look up at the sky with despair. A day has passed until you encounter a new morning, and you are still stranded in this strange land. Still with no sign or hope that you might be able to return home. 

Leaning back in the daybed, you rest against the window as any hope you ever had begins to wither. The breath you exhale is soft. Weary. Lonely.

You miss the sounds of the forest—the birdsongs echoing through the thickets welcoming the rise of mornings, the loud chitters coming from your little forest friends as they greet you at the start of the day, the rustling leaves and swaying branches at the first morning breeze, and the soft humming voice of your grandmother as she paces out into the garden to tend to her flowers and crops. 

Here, the sound of waves coming from the fair distance is calming, yet it still feels foreign to your ears. And there are too many other foreign sounds that your mind is having a hard time processing still; the voices from the crowd of people in the streets and the beach not too far away that are too loud this early in the morning; the rumbling sounds of the metal carriages going up and down the cobalt-grey roads, always accompanied by those god-awful sounds of horns blowing through the soiled air. 

A wince comes from you when another sound of a horn blows through the morning from somewhere far away, followed by shouts and bellows of laughter. A reminder of how strange this place is. Thinking about it makes you feel so hollow inside.

You miss your forest friends.

You miss your grandmother.

You miss home.

And when you close your eyes, you realise how much you miss seeing the Prince. And it scares you to realise that you are having a hard time remembering the beautiful smile that he gave you the last time you met.

Shaking your head, you refuse to lose hope. There might still be a chance for you to find your way home, slim though it may seem. 

Opening your eyes, you look out into the distance, at the ocean that is glowing under the sun. In silence, you promise yourself to hold on to the last sliver of hope that you feel as tightly as you can, refusing to give up so easily. 

You promise yourself that you will find a way home. Back home to your family. Back to your Prince. 

To your happily ever after. 

Downstairs, Ah-ri has been humming her own tune as she is helping her father prepare breakfast. At the sound of your voice, she immediately stops—both the singing, and the little hands that have been working to mix the pancake batter—and looks up with a gasp. 

“Did you hear that, Daddy?” She turns to Seokjin, smiling wide. “The Princess is singing.” 

Seokjin stops to listen, and sure enough, he can hear the faint sound of someone singing from upstairs. Creasing his brows, Seokjin quickly recognises it as your voice and begins wondering if this is another quirky thing of yours. To be singing about the morning when you had just woken up. 

Shaking his head, Seokjin silently chastises himself for bringing this upon himself. He only sighs and forces a smile as he turns away from the coffee machine to look at his daughter. “I hear it. Why don’t you stay here and I’ll go check on our guest to see if she’s ready for breakfast?” 

“But I want to see,” Ah-ri complains, pouting. She knows that she can easily melt Seokjin’s heart when she does this, but he forces himself to ignore it for once and shakes his head. 

“You can have her sing for you later,” he convinces Ah-ri and strokes her hair when she begins sulking. “Besides, you have some work to do, don’t you?” He points at the mixing bowl in her hands and says, “Keep mixing the batter so we can have the pancake done soon.”  

“Fine,” she says, huffing. “But remember, you promised.” 

“I promise,” Seokjin says with a chuckle. He playfully ruffles Ah-ri’s hair to tease her before heading up the stairs, following the sound of your voice that is slowly beginning to make him feel warm inside, for reasons he cannot understand. 

Soon, the singing stops. He can faintly hear you murmuring to yourself, and he doesn’t have to see you to know that your singing didn’t help you feel ecstatic about the morning. 

Standing by the door, Seokjin comes to a halt. He suddenly feels hesitant to knock. It doesn’t even matter if this is his home, and you are simply a guest. He can sense that you are having a moment and he hates having to break it. 

But Ah-ri is waiting downstairs, and he knows that she will be hungry soon. And if he wants to hear the full story from you, this will be the right time to pry it out of you. If cannot do it himself, then perhaps Ah-ri would be able to do it later once she sees you. He has noticed how you seem to have a soft spot for his daughter so quickly right after you met her, so he knows that he can put that to his advantage. 

Noticing the silence in the room, Seokjin takes a deep breath, counts to three, and then knocks the door gently. “Hello? Is everything okay?” 

He hears a faint sigh from the other side of the door before your voice is heard. “Yes, everything is fine.” 

Soft, small, and delicate. Seokjin has never heard such a voice, and he never felt such a strong urge to protect and calm someone so badly as he does now upon hearing such a voice. He shakes his head and laughs at himself, wondering how it is possible for him to care for someone so much, when he had just met you. 

Clearing his throat, he calls out when you make no move to open the door for him. “Can I come in?” 

“Oh,” you sound surprised. He hears shuffling voices from the room, followed by a soft thud, just as you answer, “Yes, of course. Please, come on.” 

Seokjin carefully opens the door and finds you sitting—on the floor. The skirt of your dress are outspread around you, making it seem as if you are drowning in the fabric. The flustered look you are showing tells him more than he needs to know.

“Why are you on the floor?” he asks, stiffing a chuckle, picturing how you must have slipped or tripped in your own dress when you tried to open the door for him. 

“Oh, nothing,” you nervously laugh, “Just relaxing and enjoying the morning.” 

“I see,” he says, nodding. His eyes find the pile of clothes he left on the bed. All stretched out over the still made-up bed. “You’ve found the clothes,” he says as he reaches out, offering his hand to help you back up to your feet. You mutter a soft, “Thank you,” before he asks again, “Do you have a problem changing out of that dress?” 

You look startled, and Seokjin cannot resist the smile on his face. “I have a daughter who loves wearing princess dresses every now and then, so I know how hard it is to get out of them. Especially one as intricate as the one you’re wearing.” 

You look away with a shy smile but slowly nod. “Yes, I was, but I think I can figure it out somehow.” Looking down at yourself, at your tattered dress, you visibly grimace. “Forgive me for looking unpresentable, I am not quite myself at the moment.” 

Seokjin nods. “Would you like to take a bath first? Ah-ri and I are preparing breakfast downstairs. It’s our—we always have breakfast together in the morning and I was going to ask you to join us, but you can take your time to clean up first so you’ll feel more comfortable.” 

“Yes, please,” you answer with a relieved sigh. “I can’t even remember the last time I had a proper meal, or have any kind of food at all,” you muse with a chuckle, which only worries Seokjin further. “But I do feel like I must clean up before getting any food. It wouldn’t be proper of me to join you and the little princess if I am in such a mess.” 

Seokjin’s lips curl to a smile. “There’s a joint bathroom in this floor, and it’s small, so you’ll be sharing with my daughter. Is that all right with you?” 

“That would be lovely.” 

Nodding, Seokjin reaches down to help carry your change of clothes for you and guides you out of the bedroom. The bathroom is right across the corridor, lodged between the stairs leading to the upper floor and Ah-ri’s bedroom.

“Here you go,” Seokjin says as he opens the door to the small bathroom, ushering you in. 

He stays at the doorway as you step inside the bathroom, eyes wide as you take a look around. 

As you stand at the center of the room, the bathroom almost looks like a tight squeeze. Your wedding dress and your entire presence taking up the space in Seokjin’s eyes, something that he finds amusing. He follows your gaze, trying to see the room through your eyes.

The light beige coloured tiles on the center wall used to make this room feel vibrant, a vintage look that made it appear fancy in his less than humble home. Against your white dress—despite it being soiled and slightly losing its perfection—the colour on the wall looks muted and dull. 

On your right, stands the narrow shower box. The tainted glass door is fairly new, recently replaced from the old vintage one that came with the house when Seokjin first bought the place. Right next to it is the small, old-fashioned tub, standing on claw feet rising from the floor; the only piece that remained from the place, only because Ah-ri has grown fond of it. 

The size is enough to fit the little girl, hopefully until she is a teenager, but not big enough to fit the entire length of his body. Looking at it now, he worries that it might be a bit too tight fit for you should you need to lie in it to relax. Probably just enough for you to sit in with your knees tucked to your chest, which Seokjin cannot imagine it to be comfortable for you. 

The sink is on your left, standing from one wall to the other. A white porcelain sink over a wooden cabinet, with jars and bottles of beauty products that Ah-ri has always insisted to keep in stock for unexpected guests. Your gaze rises to the mirror above the sink—the circular fixture with a golden frame, one that Seokjin found in a vintage shop to fill the room with—and a sharp gasp leaves your lips. 

“Oh, my,” you cry out, looking pained at the sight of your own reflection. 

“Why? What’s wrong?” 

“I—oh ,dear.” You start to panic and look away. “Forgive me, Sir. I wasn’t aware that I’ve been looking so improper. This is—oh, heavens, how embarrassing.” 

Biting his smile, Seokjin breathes a sigh of relief. He had, for a moment, thought that you may have seen something so awful, or feel pained. It might sound bad to laugh, yet he is thankful that you are simply shocked after looking at what kind of state you have been in. 

“It’s fine. Anyone else would’ve been in the same condition if they had experienced what you’ve been through. You said it yourself that it was a long day yesterday,” Seokjin reassures you, until you visible grow more relax. “Take your time to wash up. I’m sure you’ll feel better once you get all those dirt and grime off your skin.” 

Your eyes follow him as Seokjin moves to place your change of clothes by the sink, before you turn to look at the bathtub across the room. Seeing that you appear wary, Seokjin feels bad. “The bath is small in here, but you can use my bathroom if you want to use it and soak in, it’s in—” 

You cut him with a wave of your hand. “No, that is quite all right. Just as long as I can clean up. I’ve already given you too much trouble, I don’t want to intrude.” Brushing your hands down your skirt, you gently add, “I don’t think it would be proper of me to lie in a bath and soak on my first day, especially when I am to be expected on your breakfast table.” 

“It’s fine, really,” Seokjin says with a smile. “But if you insist, then you can use the shower to wash up for now.” 

“The shower?” You raise your eyebrows, and it takes Seokjin a moment before realising that you may not have a standing shower where you are from. 

“Oh, let me help you,” Seokjin carefully slips inside and opens the shower box. “Here, this is the shower, and you can clean up right here. Let me show you how you can get the water running. I’ve set it up to get the water warm right away, but you can turn it to cold or hot this way,” he says, before he gently explains to you the way to use the shower tap, twisting the tap one way to the other so you can have an idea what to do with it. 

He steps back once he is done so you can slip inside. “You can use the products by the sink if you need to. My daughter always reminds me to stack them up in case her aunts or uncles come by.” 

You turn to the sink table, looking up at the mirror. Though you are no longer looking at yourself with wide, terrified eyes, there is still a strain in your gaze. A weary look that worries Seokjin further. He wishes to take it away, but he knows that this is all that he can do for you to help. 

“This place,” you ask with a soft voice, “This isn’t Andalasia, is it?” Your voice cracks, and Seokjin feels as if there is a crack inside his chest that is forming just as deep as your pain when he hears it. He sees it in your eyes when you look up at him to ask, “What did you call this place again?” 

“LA,” Seokjin says, his voice faltering when he sees the light in your eyes growing dim. Dimmer. With more shadows filling your gaze. “Los Angeles”—he clears his throat—”and to answer your question, no, this isn’t Andalasia, and the place that you’re looking for may not have come from anywhere near where we are.” 

“I see,” you whisper, and Seokjin can almost see some tears forming at the corner of your eyes. He opens his mouth and takes a step forward, falling prey to the urge to comfort you, to calm you, to heal, anything, when Ah-ri’s voice drifts across the house from the kitchen.

“Daddy! The batter is ready,” she shouts from the kitchen downstairs, “should I heat up the pan? Do you want me to start making the pancakes?” 

Seokjin grimaces. You blink, and the shadow of your tears fades when you smile softly at the sound of his little girl. He sighs in relief. 

“I should go and check on her before she burns our breakfast,” Seokjin says with a nervous chuckle, stepping outside of the bathroom. But his footsteps feel heavy, almost as if his own body is fighting against him, refusing to leave you be. “I take it you can deal with everything from here? Or should I get Ah-ri up here to help you get out of that?” 

You look at him for a moment, confused, as if you have no idea what he is talking about—or perhaps you are still stuck in the sad thought bothering you after accepting that you are far from home—until your hands fall on your skirt. “Oh, that’s right,” you softly gasp, a soft giggle slips out of you as you shyly look up to him. “That’s quite all right, I think I should figure this out myself. I shouldn’t trouble you or the little princess for such a small thing. But thank you for offering, and thank you so much for your help.” 

Seokjin nods, lips curling up to a smile, relieved and reassured after hearing the sound of your soft laughter. “Come down the stairs once you’re ready and join us for breakfast.” 

“The princess is taking so long.”  

Ah-ri has been glancing back at the clock for a while now, ever since Seokjin heard the sound of water running from the bathroom upstairs. The little girl has insisted on waiting for you to come down before diving into her meal, yet Seokjin can tell that she is growing impatient. Pouting, Ah-ri crosses her arms over her chest and glares at her father. “Are you sure you did well showing her around the bathroom?”

Surprised, Seokjin starts laughing, which only makes the girl pout even more. Shaking his head, he finds himself amazed at how the girl always acts as if she is older than her age. He cannot help but find this adorable, but he would never dare say it to her face. Not when she’s acting as if she’s taking control. Like an adult would. 

“Of course, I did, sweetheart,” he says, as he crosses his own arms to mimic the little girl, challenging her, “Are you trying to teach your Dad how to treat the guest?” 

“You didn’t even want to take her home last night,” Ah-ri complains, scoffing, “if you did a good job hosting the princess, then why is she not coming down yet? The meal is getting cold, and I want to listen to her stories.” 

Seokjin lets out a chuckle as he points at Ah-ri’s plate which she prepared herself, filled with pancakes and slices of strawberries and honey on top—her favourite meal. “I told you to start eating if you’re hungry. You didn’t have to wait.” 

“But I want to eat with the princess,” the girl whines, and Seokjin has no other choice but to give in.

Seokjin takes another sip of his coffee before rising from his seat, “Why don’t I go up there and see if she’s ready for breakfast?” He picks up an empty plate and hands it over to the girl. “You stay here and plate the food for our special guest, okay?” 

“’Kay!” 

Soon, the sulking girl is busy setting up a plate of breakfast for you, with a wide grin on her face and soft humming of a tune coming out of her lips. It sounds a bit similar to what you were singing earlier when Seokjin heard you got up, and he wonders if it’s something that you or Ah-ri had heard once from one of those Disney remake movies. 

He is halfway up the stairs when the doorbell rings, echoing through his home. 

“Damn it,” he groans. Just who in their right mind would come knocking this early in the morning? He wonders. And on the weekends too? 

Before he gets to turn back and head towards the door, he hears the quick stomping downstairs as Ah-ri runs across the ground floor while shouting loudly, “It’s okay, Daddy. I’ll get it!” 

Seokjin doesn’t respond and continues to walk up the stairs. He notices that the shower has stopped running, but the bathroom door is still closed shut. There is a faint shadow of white mist from the hot shower still slipping out of the bottom of the door, so he knows that you are probably still there. 

He gently knocks just as he hears Ah-ri opening the front door. The muted sound of her voice talking to whoever was on the other side of it fades to the background when he hears soft shuffling sounds coming from inside the bathroom. 

This seems familiar, he wonders to himself as he recalls this morning incident. “______? Are you still in there? Do you need any help?” 

Another shuffling is heard, before your muffled voice calls out. “No, I’m okay. I’ll be right out.” 

The next thing he hears is the sound of your footsteps, and for some reason, he begins expecting the sound of a thud, anything that may indicate you falling. Again. Smiling, he steps back from the door just as it opens and you emerge from the bathroom. 

The mix of floral scent of the shampoo and the bath soap you used hits him straight in the face that he becomes flustered, barely coherent enough to speak. “Hey, how was the shower?” 

Your wide smile appears at the sound of his voice. “Oh, it was marvellous,” you excitedly share as you walk closer to him, “The water felt nice. You have no idea how good it feels to—” 

Just as you are rushing towards him, the length of the sweatpants you are now wearing—one that Seokjin realises to late to be too long for you—stretches down, causing you to trip over when the tips of your toes get stuck on the hem. “Oh, goodness!” 

Out of instinct, Seokjin immediately rushes to catch you, only for him to fall back. The air is kicked out of his chest as he falls on his back, a deep grunt leaves his mouth when he is hit by your body weight when you fall on top of him. 

“I’m so sorry!” you gasp. You try to push yourself up, but Seokjin’s hands find your waist when he feels you falling backward, stopping you before you get hurt. Opening his eyes, he becomes more aware of the situation; how you are now straddling over his stomach, with your legs parted on either side of him; your palms pressing on his chest; your hair falling down, framing your face; his hands resting easily on your waist. 

Something about this situation feels compromising, yet his mind is having trouble processing over the shock that his body grows still. The sound of his rapid heartbeat is so loud, drowning the sound of footsteps rushing up the stairs until someone screams across the hallway.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Seokjin turns his head, and grits his teeth. Standing at the end of the hallway is Kira, his girlfriend who has gone missing for the past 24 hours. Her eyes are glaring, her face growing red with rage, and he knows that he has a lot of explaining to do. 

A lot of it.

You close your eyes, trying to shut everything down. 

And when it doesn’t work, you try to shut your ears. But the noises are too loud. The wall standing between you and the two people shouting at each other in the other room barely helps drown the noises, and your hands aren’t doing much to help either. 

“Princess, are you okay?” 

A small voice tries to pierce through your thoughts, through your senses that are working hard to block the noises. 

There are so many things in this place—this new world—that are completely new to you. So many, that your mind is struggling to protect you from them. You cannot see what is happening in the other room, but the voice of your kind saviour has suddenly changed. He still sounds calm and gentle, but his voice has grown tight and tense, just like one of those times when Poppy got stuck between small branches while she was up to pluck some apples for you and your grandmother.

Annoyance. 

Yes, that was the word that she used to describe it. She said most little animals feel that way when they are in peril, or when a larger animal comes to them bringing danger and instilling fear. 

But the lady who came earlier when you tripped and fell—causing your saviour to fall back when he was trying to catch your fall—reminds you of something else. Her voice is loud, enough to hurt your ears, just like those dark-cloaked figures you saw back when you were a little girl, slipping into the crowd with Nana to watch an incident which happened downtown. You remember watching those figures speaking with loud voices, screaming, as they were dragged in by the Queen’s knights into Castle Andalasia to be punished for eternity. 

“Bad witches hurt your parents. You best stay away from them.” 

A cold shiver runs through your body, just as your mind is shaken by a part of your childhood memory which you had somehow forgotten. You feel like running, only that you have no idea where to run to. 

“Is everything okay, Princess?” Ah-ri asks again, and her small voice finally breaks through to you, shutting everything completely. 

You blink, and all the bad images fade, replaced with the little girl’s pretty face and her wide eyes. “Oh.” A soft gasp leaves your lips, realising too late that you have made the little princess worried about you. After your fall, Seokjin asked you to wait for him in the dining room with Ah-ri while he tends to his guest, yet you have been feeling too disturbed to be speaking to the girl and acting like good company. It makes you feel guilty, so you quickly muster a smile. 

“Yes”—you nervously laugh—”I’m quite all right.” 

Ah-ri looks at you without a word. It is quite obvious that the little girl doesn’t believe you. Her eyes are filled with worry, until realisation seems to dawn on her when the noises echoing through the house begin to subside and she finally understands. Looking over her shoulder, Ah-ri lets out a deep sigh. “Daddy is always mad when Kira is here.” 

Mad? You look at Ah-ri, unable to understand the word. What does that mean? 

But hearing the word only brings up a different memory from when you were little. You can almost hear Nana’s voice from back then, when she apologetically said, “I’m not mad at you, my sweet angel.”

You never understood the expression and what it meant, and you cannot even remember why your grandmother would say something like that. But any thought of the past fades when silence suddenly falls in the house. The air quickly changes when Seokjin and the lady stop talking. It feels peaceful enough to make you feel calmer, allowing you to breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Is Kira a friend?” 

Ah-ri furrows her brows and shakes her head. “She’s not my friend. Daddy calls her ‘a special friend’ but I know that it means she’s his girlfriend, even if he won’t admit it.” 

“A—special friend?” 

The little girl nods. “Yes, that’s what—” 

The sound of footsteps coming closer to the dining room cuts her off. You turn as Seokjin enters the room, the lady—his guest—walking close behind. She is looking down when she enters, partially hiding her face, yet you can still see the frown on her face—a look that makes you feel uncomfortable—which fades the moment she lifts her face. 

“I’m sorry to keep your girls waiting,” Seokjin apologises the moment he arrives. His kind smile remains the same, even when he looks slightly exhausted. “_______, I’m sorry. You must’ve been surprised. This is Kira. She didn’t mean to yell at you earlier.” 

The lady who is with him, Kira, throws a quick glance at Seokjin with a sharp look that brings back a cold shiver on your skin. Worrying that it might frighten Seokjin or the little girl, you immediately rise from your seat and offer your hand to her. Something tells you that you should start apologising so you can fix the situation.  

“Hello, my name is ______. I’m sorry for all of this. I truly never meant to intrude, but I promise I’m not here to cause any trouble,” you nervously explain. Kira doesn’t show much reaction until you carefully add, “Mr. Seokjin here is only helping until I can find my way home. I promise it won’t be long. I do have a wedding to get back to.” 

Kira’s eyes grow wide at the mention of a wedding. She opens her mouth to speak, only to have Ah-ri interrupt her by saying, “_______ is my guest, Aunt Kira.”

The look in Kira’s eyes softens when she looks at Ah-ri, and it remains that way when she looks at you. “Right. That’s fine. Jin explained to me everything and, um—” She turns to Ah-ri. “Ari,” she gently says, with a cooing tone that people normally use to speak to a baby, which draws Ah-ri’s brows to crease deeply. “I’m so sorry I missed your recital yesterday. I came bearing gifts and hoping that maybe I could make it up to you with an ice cream date. What do you say?” 

You look down as Kira reaches out, handing out some gifts which you failed to notice earlier; a small bouquet of white flowers; a small box that carries a sweet scent, like chocolate; and a small bundle wrapped in red paper. Ah-ri looks hesitant and glances at her father before finally accepting the gifts. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs softly as she takes the small trinkets in her tiny hands. “I think I want to stay home with ________,” she says, her eyes flicking towards you. “But thank you for the flowers.” 

Kira looks a bit sad, making you feel even more guilty. Before you can do anything to cheer her up, Seokjin seems to notice and gently rubs Kira’s back. “Why don’t you stay and join us for breakfast?” Seokjin offers her, and for a moment, Kira appears to be considering it. 

“That’s okay. I was actually planning to invite you guys for breakfast, and then get ice cream with Ari later,” Kira explains with a smile. “I was also hoping that you can join me and my friends today. They’ll be around for a few days and I offered them a tour—” 

“That’s so sudden,” Seokjin quickly says, his voice reminds you of the ‘annoyance’ you felt from him earlier. “You can see that I have a guest and it would be hard to find someone to watch Ari so suddenly. On the weekend, no less. You’re not expecting her to join you and your friends, are you?” Seokjin shakes his head. “You should know no by now that making sudden plans like this doesn’t always work.” 

Kira suddenly bursts out laughing. “Don’t hate people for knowing how to have fun,” she teases Seokjin, yet there is something in her voice that makes you tense. It quickly disappears when the lady exhales deeply. “I better go,” she says, turning to Ah-ri. “I’ll see you Monday when I drive you to school?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Ah-ri mutters, barely loud enough for everyone to hear, but it doesn’t seem to matter for Kira as she already has her focus on you. 

“I guess we’ll see each other again?” 

“Oh, yes. Perhaps,” you try to say, only for Kira not to notice as she is already turning on her heels.

“No need to walk me out. I know my way,” she says without looking over her shoulder, and everyone can only look on as she continues making her way to the front door.  

Seokjin shakes his head, again, and you wonder why he keeps looking more and more exhausted as time passes. “I’m sorry for showing you such an unpleasant sight so early in the morning.” He gives you a small smile. “Come, let’s have breakfast. I hope you like pancakes and waffles. Those are Ari’s favourites.” 

You glance at Ah-ri as she finishes putting away the gifts that she received and setting them up on a cabinet nearby. “I’m up for anything that the little princess helped make.” 

Your words seem to cheer the little girl, who immediately takes your hand and starts pulling back to your seat. “Do you like fruit or berries? I asked Daddy to buy some strawberries yesterday, and—”  

Seokjin stands in the hall between the dining room and the foyer, feeling like his entire body, mind, and soul are being split into two. Never before had he ever felt this exhausted. Never once had he ever experienced anything that would make him feel like losing his strength and wishing that he could shut everything down at the same time. 

Not even the long hours he spent working at the firm, either handling tough clients or delving into difficult cases, has ever made him feel so drained.    

He watches Ah-ri pulling you away, back to the dining table. Her cheerful voice as she rambles on about the breakfast that she helped make fills the room, yet his mind keeps replaying the argument he had with Kira just moments ago. 

“Are you fucking cheating on me?” 

Was it really wrong for Seokjin to laugh the moment he heard such an accusation? 

He wanted to remain calm, knowing that there was no point for him to respond with anger. But it was so hard to think clearly when he was still vexed after Kira bailed on them last night.

“Cheating? Me?” he had responded once he pulled Kira away, preventing Ah-ri from hearing her cursing and yelling, something that he already expected Kira would do. And the last thing he wanted was to fight right in front of his little girl and their guest. “That’s rich coming from someone who went missing without any news for the past 24 hours.” 

“Why are you turning this on me?” 

“Where were you?” 

It felt like talking to a wall, or a volcano, he really couldn’t decide which, when his question only led to a more explosive reaction from Kira. It was a miracle that he was able to remain calm through it all. Barely, but at the very least, he was able to keep his voice down. He couldn’t stop the surging anger, however, so his voice remained tense the entire time he kept responding to Kira. 

And the explanation she gave him did nothing to alleviate his exasperation. It only made things worse. 

“Our office is hosting a group of independent artists from Europe, as you very well know—” 

Seokjin didn’t enjoy hearing the mocking tone in her voice. And yes, he very well knew what was going on. He knew that the production house that Kira is working on is currently hosting guests from Europe; stage artists who are performing their work here in LA through the whole season. He knew because Kira wouldn’t stop talking about them ever since they arrived here a month ago. He shouldn’t have been surprised to know that these ‘guests’ of hers would be the reason she was cancelling their plan. 

It wouldn’t be the first. But at least she had always remembered to let him know about it before she did instead of ditching on him and ghosting them the way she did yesterday. 

“They wanted to watch some shows while they’re on cooldown Friday night, so we took them to watch a musical, then we went to watch a live show at the club—”

Seokjin could already tell where this was going before she even continued, “We went drinking after, and one of the artists said he wanted to see other parts of LA, so when Alex”—she mentioned her co-worker, the one that Seokjin has always felt to be some kind of a nuisance—”mentioned that he has a villa on Catalina Island and offered to take everyone there with his boat. We crashed at Alex’s place after and went first thing in the morning. I guess I passed out during the night after drinking, and—”  

Seokjin cannot remember what went through his head at the time other than finding this entire situation ridiculous. 

This? She broke her promise and avoided my calls and messages for this? 

He let out an incredulous laugh instead of yelling back at her, even when he already felt like he was about to explode himself. 

“What? Are you going to accuse me of cheating now? Because if you’re going to—” 

He almost screamed then. But he was so angry that he barely reacted at all. There was a moment when he nearly said that the possibility of her cheating didn’t matter to him. He didn’t even care if she did. Because there was only one thing that mattered to him at that moment. 

“You broke your promise to Ari.” The moment those words were said, Kira’s ire seemed to cool down. As if she finally remembered where she went wrong. 

“At which part during your hosting your guests, getting drunk, agreeing to join them boating and going to the island, and crashing at your friend’s place for the night, did you ever think or remember about the promise you made to me and Ari? By which point did it ever occur to you to call or message us to cancel or at least tell me that you were alive?” Kira said nothing to defend or to explain herself. But at least she had the decency to show a bit of shame. “And you were the one who insisted to try and bond with her before I even agreed to get her involved between us.” 

Just as he was seeing the fight leaving Kira the moment she heard his questions, his own fight declined. 

Thinking about it now, Seokjin realises why he feels so drained. 

Kira has always been more free-spirited than he ever was, and that was what had drawn him to her in the first place. Where Seokjin was meticulous and strict, Kira has always been more spontaneous. She always had new ideas to try, finding new things to do and jump into. Before, Seokjin would always envy her for being able to be so free, when he constantly felt like he was living under a restraint that kept him from enjoying the world. When his reality kept him from enjoying life. 

Being with Kira had taught him how to let loose once in a while, to have fun, to experience something new. And he loved having her in his life for that reason.   

Now, however, her spontaneous acts have become the source of his frustration. This wouldn’t be the first time for her to disappear without news because she decided to go someplace or do something completely unplanned, or for her to change her mind after making a decision, and it has been getting hard for Seokjin to keep up. 

It is beginning to feel as if they are going at a different pace, heading towards different paths, that he is bound to remain at one place while she would go all over the place. 

This was what came across his mind during the fight, when he suddenly realised that things hadn’t been the same between both of them. It hadn’t been for a while, but he was just too stubborn to see it.

“I didn’t—” Seokjin remembers her muttering those words. Only those words. “I’m sorry.” 

“Daddy, your coffee is getting cold, you know.” 

Ah-ri’s voice snaps him out of it. As if he is doused by cool water, the bleakness of the situation is lifted, his mind is cleared, and all he sees is his little girl. To see her smile and laughter, and her wide, glowing eyes as she excitedly explains to you about the food that she prepared for you. She looks proud of herself the moment you praise her for helping in the kitchen, which only pushes her to brag even more.

Seeing this thaws everything inside him; his cold rage, his weariness, and the dreadful conversation which he still needs to have with his wayward partner. 

Chuckling softly, Seokjin shakes everything away, putting the fight, Kira, and the questions he still has about his relationship to the back burner as he joins his little girl and her mysterious princess at the breakfast table before they can start the day. 

Meanwhile, back in Andalasia…

Sir Noah feels uneasy. He hadn’t been truly pleased about this whole conundrum. Hating to be at the center of it, shackled with the secrets that he is required to keep, Sir Noah feels like his entire world is slowly slipping out of his control. 

He debates with his own conscious as he watches Prince Jungkook walking back and forth in the war room. With a gaze so distant, his brows furrowed, and his lips curled to a frown, Prince Jungkook shows him an emotion that is rare for someone like him to display. An emotion much alike to the Queen’s when she is displeased. 

But Sir Noah knows exactly why the Prince is acting in such a way, so he cannot fault him for doing so. 

Prince Jungkook is worrying about the maiden who disappeared. 

All morning, the Prince fusses over not having done everything ‘right’ by the maiden, and has been wondering what may have gotten wrong or if there was a possibility that the maiden has been kidnapped. 

Merely a day has passed since the failed wedding. Yesterday, the Prince had waited for hours at the wedding venue for the maiden, and Sir Noah had to do all he could not to make a slip and reveal the truth. Not even when the Prince had waited until nightfall came and the maiden was still absent from her own wedding. 

“Y-your Highness,” Sir Noah carefully calls out to the Prince. “Please, my Prince. You need to rest.” 

“Rest? How could I possibly rest? My bride has gone missing!” 

Sir Noah winces. The Prince has never once raised his voice at his aides and knights, no matter how frustrated he feels. But now he seems stiff, his voice sounds strained and desperate. It would be lying if Sir Noah try to claim that the guilt isn’t eating him up from the inside. 

He thought the Prince would easily move on. After all, had they not only met each other the day before? Had they not agree to marry only because of the myth, the stories, the tale that was told about princes and damsels and the true love’s kiss? 

The prince could have gotten with anyone he wanted. A princess from the southern island who had once led her tribe to find miracles, for example. Or the ice princess who was known to defeat her own curse up north and fought for her family. Anyone other than the damsel that the Queen had—for some unknown reason—the most disdain towards. 

But Prince Jungkook has only been troubled ever since the maiden disappeared. He has been restless. So much so that the prince is skipping meals and missing his sword fighting practices. Sir Noah isn’t sure if the prince has had the chance to sleep at all ever since the maiden’s sudden disappearance, as many of the guards reported seeing Prince Jungkook walking back and forth between the main castle and the now vacant wedding venue in the gardens. 

Prince Jungkook suddenly comes to a halt. His eyes fall on the map of Andalasia that has been set up on the table standing at the center of the room. For one second, the prince makes no move. He makes no sound, yet his gaze sharpens as if he is thinking deeply, and then something inside him snaps. 

Without a word, Jungkook turns away from the table and marches towards the door. 

“Your Highness, wait! Where are you going?” Sir Noah calls for him as his prince walks out of the war room in quick, long strides. The old royal aide tries to catch up, quickly losing his breath as they reach the corridor on the side of the castle leading towards the courtyard. 

“I need to find her. I must search for her until I find her,” Jungkook insists as he continues walking. Sir Noah has no clue where the prince is heading to, yet the steady footsteps of the prince echoes through the walls with no sign of stopping. 

“Where would you go to look for her? How? You can’t possibly spend the night looking for her out there. The Queen is also expecting you for dinner, and—”  

Jungkook stops and makes a sharp turn to face Sir Noah. “I will search through the entire realm, if I must! And yes, I will not stop even if the sun only comes the next week.” The deep inhale of breath that the prince takes after he speaks feels heavy, and his voice trembles when he speaks again, “What kind of groom or husband would I be if I am not out there looking for my betrothed?” 

The guilt that Sir Noah has felt for the whole day seems to be piercing deeper in his chest. He feels powerless against it, but he knows that he cannot give in and allow the prince to leave the castle. Not if the aide wants to keep his head on his shoulders. “Forgive me for overstepping, Your Highness. But we have sent knights to search through the castle properties, the land, even through the forest to find the maiden, so—” 

Jungkook throws his arms in frustration. “Then do tell, Sir Noah. Where is she now? Why have they not find her yet if they have been searching thoroughly as you said they have?” 

“But my Prince, it has only been a day.” 

Jungkook cuts him off with a scoff. “A day too long. She could be out there, lost, scared. She could be harmed.” Jungkook exhales a deep breath, trying to calm down so he can think. But his mind refuses to think. Too filled with worry about his missing bride. “We don’t even know if she’s been kidnapped. What if she had fallen prey to the wrong kinds of people?” 

“Your Highness, I can assure you—” 

“What? What will you do to assure me?” Jungkook’s voice softens. Though not because he is calmer, only because he is exhausted. “I will not be reassured until I have my bride back.” 

“What if—” Sir Noah tries to speak, hesitant at first, but his need to stop the prince from leaving the castle—from defying the Queen—pushes him to speak his thoughts. “What if the maiden had chosen to run away? Perhaps she had a change of mind. Not even her guests, families, or her little friends ever came to the wedding, so what’s to say that she hadn’t told everyone that she was reconsidering about marrying the Prince—” 

Jungkook marches back to Sir Noah as he hears all this. Then he shows Sir Noah a part of him that he had never once shown before. A side of the prince that had never existed, now unleashed at the accusation thrown against his bride as he reaches out and grabs Sir Noah’s collar and pulls roughly at him. 

“If you claim to know me at all, you would do well not to say such atrocity right at my face, Sir Noah,” he threatens the royal aide, who is now shaking in fear in Jungkook’s hands. “I know that she will never leave without any notice. Not without news. Not like this.” 

“Uh, I—” Sir Noah gasps in his shock, “Y-Your Highness—” 

Realising what he has done, Jungkook quickly releases Sir Noah. The older man stumbles backwards, his legs failing to hold his weight. Prince Jungkook glares at Sir Noah with his jaw clenched, stealing the royal aide’s voice when the sight leaves him completely speechless, overtaken by fear. 

With a deep exhale of breath, Jungkook turns away, dismissing the royal aide without looking over his shoulder. “I need some fresh air. Leave me be. Tell my mother that I won’t be joining her for dinner tonight.” 

“B-but, Your Highness—” Sir Noah tries to stop Prince Jungkook, only to fail, as the prince has already stepped out of the corridor and is now heading towards the courtyard. Sir Noah has no other choice but to give up. “Understood.” 

Sir Noah stays in the side corridor for a moment longer, watching Prince Jungkook walk across the courtyard until he disappears between the tall hedges leading towards the royal garden. Once the prince is out of sight, instead of feeling relieved, the weight of his conscience refuses to go away. 

Shaking his head, Sir Noah turns to make his way to the Queen’s chamber. He needs to report to the Queen about the prince’s reaction and inquire what needs to be done. 

Just as he steps away from the ledge, a tree growing nearby begins to sway. The sound of rustling leaves breaks the silence before falling to the ground. 

Sir Noah looks up to see if there is an animal passing by, disrupting the trees and making the branches shake, only to see the swaying of leaves coming to halt. He can still hear leaves rustling from some other trees nearby and the lower bushes just as the cold breeze of the evening flows around him, making him shiver.

Hmmm, seems like autumn is coming early this time of year, he simply muses, ignoring the sudden disruption. 

As he continues his journey into the main castle, the little shadow that has been hiding behind the swaying leaves begins to move again. The sound of tiny paws scattering across the castle wall can be faintly heard under the sound of the flowing breeze as the shadow begins to race across the garden, chasing the sulking prince. 

The evening breeze welcomes Jungkook as he walks across the courtyard. 

The temperature has dropped significantly the moment the sun is gone, yet Jungkook doesn’t mind it. With his coat hanging somewhere in the war room, he welcomes the cold touching his skin. 

It helps only little to distract himself from the thoughts running through his mind. From the guilt and sorrow that keep clawing at him, and from continuously questioning himself what he could have done differently to prevent this tragedy from happening. 

He has no idea what prompted him to walk out into the dark courtyard. 

Jungkook had only wanted to get away. He needed to clear his thoughts, and—just like the excuse he used to get away from Sir Noah—a breath of fresh air. Perhaps then, he would be able to find some peace of mind and figure out what he needs to do to get his bride back.

And yet, the storm inside his head refuses to settle. 

In fact, it only seems to be escalating. The accusation that Sir Noah has thrown at him is beginning to take root, even if the bigger part of himself is in denial.

Because the maiden, his bride, his princess, would never have run away. He believes so in his heart, as he knows well enough just how much you were looking forward to the big day. Just as much as he was.  

No, she couldn’t have run away. Something foul must have happened. 

This is the thought that has been running through Jungkook’s mind ever since you failed to show up at the wedding venue. No matter how long he waited, and waited, without any sign of you coming through the pathway decorated in scattered white petals and blooming daisies, he still believes that you wouldn’t have left him without any explanation, without news nor a reason. 

Lost in his thoughts and wonderings, Jungkook finds himself walking towards the Annex building right across the courtyard. The building that was supposed to house you and your little friends during the wedding preparation. The building where the palace maids spent hours waiting, hoping to help prepare you for the ceremony, only for you to never arrive. 

Jungkook walks toward the small patch of garden at the side of the building, finding a wooden bench where he can rest. From here, he raises his head, looking over the balcony on the upper floor, where your preparation room is situated. The room is now left unattended and unoccupied, as the only person who was supposed to be using it on the morning of the wedding never came. 

But the bitter thought of your absence isn’t the reason why his chest feels tight as he looks up on the empty balcony. The reason for his pain is his memory, as it takes him back to the night before, to make him think of another balcony that he was looking at before everything fell apart. 

The balcony in front of him looks nothing like the small balcony right outside of your bedroom. As he looks up to the vacant area above his head, the only thing he sees is the modest and quaint balcony at the heart of the Amaranth Forest, with you standing against the bannister as you sang to him a song to celebrate your coming nuptial. 

The cold weather bit into his skin as Jungkook raced through the night, leading his horse through the Amaranth Forest until he finally reached your humble abode. 

Jungkook already knew by then that the castle must have sent news to you and your family about the Queen’s blessing, yet he was still eager to bring the news directly to you. He wanted to share his joy and happiness, the excitement of being able to marry the woman of his dreams, and for the magic of the true love’s kiss that he was about to share with you the next day. 

By the time the prince got to your home, the place was quiet. The only light he could see was coming from your window, where he could hear the soft humming sound of a tune reverberating through the night. 

She is still awake, he pleasantly wondered. 

Jumping off his magnificent horse, Jungkook bent down to pick up a handful of small gravels as a means to grab your attention without unnecessarily alerting anyone else around or mistakenly disturbing someone—namely your grandmother—from slumber. He contemplated for a moment before he began tossing them against your window. One at a time. Until he finally caught your attention. 

“It’s me, Princess,” he called out to you then with a whisper, once he noticed some movements happening from beyond the drawn curtains. 

He saw you peeking from between the curtains, gasping at the sight of him, before the window was unlatched and out you went to the balcony to see him. 

“My Prince,” you greeted him with a gasp, your eyes filled with joy that Jungkook felt the urge to celebrate. 

“I’ve come to see you, Princess,” Jungkook nearly shouted, to which you quickly hushed him to quiet. 

“I know, Your Highness,” you whispered to him then. “But please, keep it down. My grandmother has fallen asleep just moments ago.”

Jungkook nodded and immediately lowered his voice. “Are you busy preparing for tomorrow?” 

Your smile widened, and Jungkook could tell how genuinely happy you were when you said, “Yes, I am.” 

“So the news have come to you about the Queen’s blessing.” 

“That the Queen has approved of our marriage? Yes, it has,” you let him know with a grateful smile. “A royal knight came to us in the afternoon, bringing news of the Queen’s approval and the wedding that has been set to happen tomorrow before noon.” He heard a sigh coming out of your lips. The sound was filled with wonder and disbelief, and it touched him deeply in the chest. “It feels so soon. Even my grandmother was in complete shock.” 

“And how about your grandmother?” Jungkook asked you when he recalled meeting your grandmother earlier that day to ask for her blessing. While your grandmother was surprised to hear his intention of marrying you, she was definitely not expecting to hear the wedding to happen so suddenly. “She hasn’t changed her mind about giving her blessing for us, has she?” 

You quickly began shaking your head, much to his pleasure. “No, she hasn’t. But seeing the royal knight and hearing the good news from Her Majesty the Queen has reassured her. Nana even helped me with the dress until a moment ago when I sent her back to her chambers.” 

Jungkook couldn’t help but smile, feeling the excitement and joy of seeing you in a wedding dress so soon. “I cannot wait to see you in your dress.” 

You made a humming sound that Jungkook perceived as a giggle, only that it had a tune to it, as if you were humming a delightful song. “And I cannot wait to wear it for you tomorrow.” 

Silence fell between you as you both relished the moment of joy. 

“This is so romantic. For the prince himself to come and visit me late at night,” you had murmured then with a sigh, and right at that moment, Jungkook had promised himself to never forget the emotions rushing through his chest; the pride and gratitude he felt for being the reason you were smiling; and the excitement he felt for tomorrow. 

“To hear you say such a thing will only pressure me into making sure that tomorrow will be perfect.” 

The soft sound of your laughter made everything brighter for Jungkook. “I know you will make it perfect.” 

“You have such high faith in me, Princess,” Jungkook said, shaking his head. When he looked up, he saw you leaning against the bannister, your chin propped on top of your hands. Tilting your head, you seemed to be deep in thoughts, even when your gaze remained on him. “What are you thinking about?” 

“I’m thinking about”—a dreamy sigh came out of your lips—”our true love’s kiss.” 

“Really, now?” 

“Yes! It’s making me happy that I just want to”—you started clapping your hands—”I just want to sing!”

Seeing your excitement put a smile on Jungkook’s face. “Then sing, Princess. Let me listen to your voice so I can sleep well tonight.” Jungkook laughed as you started dancing on your small balcony, humming softly to a tune and singing joyfully about your true love’s kiss. 

“In the still of the night, when the stars softly shine,

A spell whispers secrets to hearts like mine.”

Your voice was like magic. It touched a deep part of Jungkook which caused him to hum along with your tune as if he knew every rhythm, every beat, every word. 

“Through forests enchanted, where wild roses grow,

You searched for my heart, though the path was unknown.”

As you continued, the forest began to sway. Every rustle of leaves became a rhythm to accompany your song. A music, a tune, to which you kept swaying along as the breeze began flowing around you and Jungkook. 

“Now our worlds collide, in this moment of grace,

One kiss will erase every trace of the maze.

So kiss me, my love, let the story begin.”

Lured by your enchanting voice, Jungkook joined you and began to sing along. 

“True love's kiss, like a spark from the skies,

It awakens the soul, with a tender surprise.

One touch of your lips, and the darkness will part,

For your kiss is the key that unlocks my heart.

True love's kiss, in this moment divine,

Is the magic that says you'll forever be mine.”

Jungkook closes his eyes, drowning the lovely tune that he sang together with you that night before it could lead him into feeling even more despair. Still, he cannot help but hum the tune as he reminisces that wonderful moment he spent with you before he had to race back to the castle and allow you a moment to rest. 

Besides, he had also feared that the magic of your voice would break away his restraint, causing him to leap over to the balcony and give you the kiss that he desperately wanted. One that he dreamed of. When he saw the look in your eyes once the song ended, he knew then that he wouldn’t be able to resist. 

There was a glow in your eyes which caught his attention that night. 

It reminded him of the moonlight, of its magnificent beauty that he had often seen shining through the warm nights of summer. There was a wonderful spark rising in his chest when he saw it in your gaze; the blissful happiness that seemed to be reaching out into his heart and soul. At that moment, Jungkook had imagined seeing the same glow the next day, when he was supposed to take your hand and recite his vows before sharing the true love’s kiss with you. 

He never expected what was supposed to be the happiest day in his life—and yours—would fall apart the way it did. 

All the years he spent training to fight against evil and sharpening his swordsmanship skills seem fruitless now. For years, he had done all he could to make himself worthy of his title as the Crown Prince. From fighting monsters and demons, encountering evil witches and dark mages to prevent them from entering the land and exploiting the people, to winning fights and protecting the people of the kingdom with his sword. But never before had he ever felt so helpless, so powerless, all because he failed to protect the one person who matters to him the most. 

Jungkook is still overcome with regret for not picking you up himself on the morning of the wedding day like he had intended to. If only he hadn’t been so strict in following the old tradition of not seeing the bride before the wedding, he would’ve been able to make sure that you would arrive safely at the castle. 

But when Queen Mother had made him promise not to break tradition for the sake of the ceremony, Jungkook never thought to refuse and simply followed everything she taught him to do. He never thought that having faith in the servants and the knights would cause him to lose a bride. 

There has to be a way, he wonders to himself, trying to work his brain into thinking of a solution. There must be some kind of magic that would—

With a jolt, Jungkook rises from the bench when he suddenly realises. Magic is one of the sources of power that exists here in Andalasia. So why hasn’t he thought about using it to find you?  

Jungkook starts pulling at his hair as he thinks this through, realising soon the reason why magic had never been a possibility for him to even consider. 

Jungkook had never been so adept with magic. Not since he was a child. 

Ever since he was a young boy, Jungkook has always been more interested in learning how to fight, how to wield a sword, and to follow the footsteps of the princes written in tale books who protected their princesses and queens with their swords instead of spells. And now, he regrets all the years he could have used to learn magic from the Queen. 

Yes, that’s it, he wonders with a newfound hope. Perhaps Mother will be able to use her magic to help find her. 

With this thought giving him a new sliver of hope, Jungkook starts to make his way back to the main castle and requests a moment with the Queen, to ask her for a favour in finding his missing maiden. Until he hears rough rustling sounds of leaves, causing him to halt. 

This sound has been occupying the garden for a while now, he realises, yet he paid no mind to it, thinking it to be the evening breeze shaking the trees and bushes around him.

But as he looks on towards the nearest rosebush growing alongside the pathway, he notices that the breeze may not be the reason behind these sounds. He takes a step closer, just as the leaves before him are parted, and a small face peeks through the opening. 

“Your Highness?” A small voice speaks, and it takes Jungkook a moment to realise that the face—and the voice—belongs to a squirrel. 

A familiar-looking squirrel. 

“You!” He exclaims when he recognises her. He bends down to his knees, greeting the little thing with a smile. “It’s you! The squirrel who accompanied _______ in the forest. What are you doing here in the dark?” 

The squirrel starts waving her paws frantically. Panic is written on her face as she glances around her. “Sshh—please not so loud, my Prince,” she cautiously begs the prince. “You cannot tell anyone that I am here.” 

“What? But why?” Jungkook asks, “Why are you here?” 

The poor thing looks hesitant for a moment. “My name is Poppy, and yes, I am friends with ______ and we met in Amaranth Forest.” Jungkook still remembers the day quite well and nods as he listens. 

“It’s ______, my Prince. I heard what the other man, that Sir Whatshisname, said”—she says with a growl—”about my dear friend, and you must know that he was undoubtedly mistaken.” The more she speaks, the more the squirrel appears angry. Unwilling to accept the accusations being thrown by Sir Noah about her friend.

It doesn’t take long before Jungkook realises the reason why. “Blossom never ran away, my Prince, and I am quite concerned that she might have gotten hurt.”

Jungkook’s eyes grow wide. “What do you mean?” 

A breeze passes through the bushes, rustling leaves and swaying branches cause the squirrel to jump, surprised, until she takes one quick glance around the area and realises that there is no danger coming. But the same cannot be said about your fate. Wherever you might be. 

“She might be in danger as we speak, so we must hurry.” 

Furrowing his brows, Jungkook leans closer to be able to listen more. “What do you know? Tell me everything.”  

Poppy’s eyes burn with tears, overcome with relief. She didn’t expect that Prince Jungkook would be willing to listen to her. But she feels glad that she took the chance. 

After what happened on the day of the wedding, when she and the others were tricked by the vile and queer-looking Sir Whatshisname, Poppy has been wary about trusting anyone from the castle. She was so enraged that she truly believed that the entire royal family and its squires had set up a trap when they first took you into the castle. 

However, in her mission to find out what actually happened and who might have been responsible, Poppy had spent the entire afternoon watching the prince from a distance, and she can now see that his distress upon his failure of finding you seems genuine. 

Surely, the man who seems to have spent his day and night searching for you—and is looking as if he is in dire need of sleep for thinking about you—wouldn’t be the one responsible of your disappearance. 

Looking at the ground around her, Poppy settles on a small fallen branch as a tool to help her describe everything that had happened. Because words from a tiny creature like herself wouldn’t be enough. 

Using the branch, Poppy begins to carve the ground, sketching out images as she relays to the prince all the events she witnessed leading to your disappearance. 

Poppy draws their arrival; with you in your wedding dress arriving in the carriage and your little friends accompanying you; Sir Noah welcoming you at the gate. Then she tells him about Sir Noah separating you from the others, promising to have knights and servants coming to help you prepare, before sending Poppy and the others to the wrong side of the property and kicking everyone out of the castle. 

She hears Jungkook’s breath hitching at this part, a crease forming between his brows, yet Poppy continues. 

When Poppy tells him about the part where she managed to climb up the castle walls to see you standing in front of a fountain, Jungkook’s entire body tenses. “She was at the old fountain?” 

Poppy cocks her heard. “So you know about the fountain, my Prince?”

Jungkook quickly shakes his head. “Surely, I would. The magic fountain had been there for as long as I lived. The water comes out from the massive rock hidden behind the grove of trees growing against the castle walls, it used to cause massive flooding on that part of the castle, yet the water wouldn’t stop flowing. Once it was found that the spring contained magic, the Queen built a fountain around the spring to contain the water,” the prince explains, “But the place is restricted. Only those who are permitted or given the spell to enter through the restriction can find it.” 

Poppy is confused. “Well, Blossom didn’t go there alone. I saw someone with her.” 

“Who was it?” 

Poppy begins to draw the old hag who was there with you. Unfortunately, she only witnessed everything from the distance, so all she can give the prince is the vague description of the old, mysterious hag; with her slightly hunched back, a dirty worn-out cloak that covered her entire body, and the curly strands of silver hair framing her face. 

Poppy also adds the hag’s slightly disfigured face, with her sharp nose and curved lips, and pointed cheeks, yet she cannot recall the eyes, except that they were dark and slightly wicked that they still give her the chills thinking about it now. 

“This is all I can give you, my Prince. I was too far away, so I cannot be sure if I was seeing things right. When I finally reached the fountain, your bride was gone and there was no trace of the old hag anywhere.” 

“How odd,” he muses, almost to himself as he is lost in thoughts. 

“Your Highness? Is there something—”

Poppy’s words are cut off when she hears footsteps coming down the pathway. Prince Jungkook doesn’t notice it yet, but her body is frozen, and the urge to flee the place is clawing at her from within. 

The incident from before, when she was tricked by the prince’s trusted man—Sir Unfriendlylooking—and then kicked out of the castle flashes through her mind that she immediately begins to tremble. 

The prince starts to speak, only to be interrupted by the deep voices of their intruders. 

“Your Highness, are you there?” 

“Prince Jungkook, is everything all right?” 

Poppy’s fear is lifted when she realises that neither of those voices comes from the scary royal aide from before. Yet her body is still tense, and her mind simply goes into a survival mode as she begins to plan out ways to run away. 

As Prince Jungkook recognises the voices of his knights, he rises to his feet to answer them. Immediately, Poppy jumps to grab the hem of his trousers to stop him. “Wait, Your Highness!” 

“What’s wrong? They’re my knights. Are you afraid of them?” 

“I—” She stammers as she clutches the small branch to her chest. “I should probably go. I can’t be seen here by anyone. I had to struggle to find my way into the castle, so they’ll kick me out if they see me, for sure. Please, Your Highness, promise me you’ll look for ________ and bring her home to us.” 

Poppy isn’t sure that the prince is going to let her leave, when he doesn’t say anything. He merely gives her an odd look, as if suddenly feeling suspicious with the way the squirrel is acting. Maybe she shouldn’t worry too much, seeing that whoever is standing on the other side of these bushes may not be connected to the old man that frightens her so. Yet she still cannot risk it. She wouldn’t. 

Thankfully, Prince Jungkook seems to notice her need to flee and think nothing more of it. 

“I still need some more information, and I might need your help,” he simply says to her. “Find me here in the morning. We’ll do well to work together to find your friend Blossom, my bride, but if you must go, then you should go for now and rest. I’ll handle the rest from here.” 

Poppy feels hopeful, but it doesn’t stop her from worrying about the risk that she will have to take for coming back to the castle again. “But, Prince—” 

“Go, I’ll wait for you here. I promise.” 

Something in the prince’s gaze makes her want to believe him. So she does. With a nod, Poppy promises both to herself and the prince that she will come back the moment the sun rises so they could work together to start searching for you. 

Right as the footsteps keep drawing nearer, Poppy slips away between the bushes and back into the night, making her way back home so she can report back to her friends and your grandmother who are waiting for news. 

Jungkook watches the squirrel make her escape through the bushes, and he continues to watch until he sees her faint shadow disappearing up the trees growing near the outer wall of the castle. 

As he watches her go, Jungkook begins to wonder why the squirrel would be so jumpy and tense, only because of the knights coming. He thinks back about her words, but nothing seems to make sense. His eyes find the rough sketches on the ground, and he takes the time to memorise each one of them the best he can.

He doesn’t want to believe that one of the wedding guests has done something foul to harm you and cause you to disappear on the wedding day. He also cannot think of any reason why someone would try to sabotage the royal wedding. 

Prince Jungkook remains silent for a moment as he studies the rough sketch of the person that Poppy claims to have been there with you to look at the fountain. He wonders what might have happened to you next. Surely, if you had simply drowned in the fountain, the knights would have found you when Jungkook ordered them to search through every corner of the castle, leaving not an inch of the property overlooked. 

Unless something else has stopped the knights from getting close to the fountain, or that whoever took you had done their best to hide any clues or trails. 

But why must they lure you to the fountain, risking the possibility of them getting caught, being so close to the wedding venue? 

What could have happened after? 

While Jungkook tries to think of any possible scenario that you may have encountered, the knights emerge through the pathway, coming to a sudden halt as they see their prince standing in the dark, all by himself. 

“Forgive us for interrupting your private time, Your Highness. We were sent by the Queen’s advisor to find you,” one of the knights greets him with a bow.

“That’s quite all right. I am on my way to see the Queen, after all.” 

The knights’ eyes grow wide. “I am afraid the Queen is—” The knights look at each other, looking unsure, which only makes Jungkook believe that there is something more about this whole situation that seems uncanny. That perhaps the squirrel—Poppy—had some real reason why she feared getting caught that she trembled simply for hearing some knights coming to them. 

“Her Majesty has locked herself in her chambers after dinnertime. The Queen’s advisor is currently with Her Majesty for a private discussion about some issues regarding the kingdom, but he had specifically requested that we bring you back before the night grows too late, just to make sure that you are safe.”

Don’t you mean to make sure that I have not—and will not—escaped from the castle unnoticed? 

Jungkook can only wonder about this with disdain, though he has no way of sharing his thoughts out loud. No way of confirming that Sir Noah has probably ordered to keep the prince hostage in his own castle.  

“Is that so?” he asks. Feeling bitter and uneasy, Jungkook takes one last look at the sketch of the possible suspect behind your disappearance, before turning to the knights. “Well then, why don’t you walk me back and inform Sir Noah to send the servants for my dinner.” 

The knights appear to be relieved, as if grateful that the prince agrees to go with them willingly. “Very well, Your Highness.” 

“After you,” Jungkook instructs the guards to walk ahead. As he makes his way to follow the guards, Jungkook steals a glance over his shoulder to make sure that his new little accomplice has managed to escape, completely unnoticed by the guards. Having someone on his side gives him a new hope, reassuring him to try all he might to be able to find you and bring you back home. 

Unlike the garden, where the air is fresh and chilly and the breeze is flowing nicely between the swaying trees, the air in the Queen’s sitting chamber feels hot and stifling. Invisible tension seems to have risen, causing the air in the room to feel dense, so much so that Sir Noah feels as if he is suffocating. 

His royal suit—which he has always felt to be one of the most comfortable suits that he has ever owned—suddenly feels too tight on his skin. He fights the urge to loosen up the tie wrapping around his collar or to open the suit jacket to let some coolness in. He barely has any courage to move at all, when the Queen is in deep concentration as she is working on her magic. 

Standing still in front of the small, black fountain placed at the heart of the chamber—the Queen’s talisman, which instils fear in Sir Noah’s person each time he feels its magic manifesting—Queen Rosalyne chants a few lines of cryptic spells, rousing the surface of the water to bubble and ripple. This remains only for a short moment, until the spell ends. Green mist is formed once the water calms down. 

Immediately, the tension in the air is lifted, and Sir Noah can finally breathe normally again. 

Only the relief doesn’t last. As the Queen finishes with her spell, casting magic across the land for the purpose of the kingdom, she takes a seat on her high-back chair and turns her attention to Sir Noah. 

“What is your business here?” she asks, as she reaches out to pick a decanter and pours an amber liquid drink into her glass. 

“Pardon this humble servant for disturbing you in”—he looks over to the calming fountain, not completely sure what the Queen was actually doing with her magic—”your, um—royal business, my Queen. But it’s Prince Jungkook that I am worried about. The Prince—” He stops to take a deep breath, preparing himself to take a blow as he continues, “His Highness wants to, has been planning and is about to initiate, the search for the maiden. His bride.” 

Queen Rosalyne’s hand comes to a halt, her fingers tightening around the crystal decanter when she hisses, “The Prince wants to do—what?” 

“He, um—Forgive me, Your Majesty, but—” Sir Noah swallows hard to calm his nerves. ”His Highness is planning to look for the maiden. He insists on it.”

The Queen’s jaw clenches, right before she swings her hand down, the decanter hitting the table with a loud thud, causing Sir Noah to jump on his feet. “And where exactly is he planning to look for her?” 

“We, uh—we don’t know yet, but His Highness has been searching through the castle for hints.” Sir Noah speaks while wringing his hands together. “He, uh—he has also been spending the entire afternoon to dusk in the war room, trying to figure out a way to track down his bride.”

Her eyes widening, Queen Rosalyne rises from her seat and turns back to the fountain. She casts a different spell, causing the fading green mist to thicken over the water. But the movement seems too slow, and the Queen grows impatient that she quickly waves her hand over the fountain, cancelling the spell. 

“The spell is too small,” she complains. “This won’t do.” 

She immediately turns, the back of her robe billowing behind her as she rushes out of her chamber. Sir Noah has no idea what to do. His feet don’t seem to want to move, frozen at the sight of the Queen’s anger, until Queen Rosalyne’s voice snaps him out of it when she yells, “What are you doing standing there? Come!” 

Sir Noah quickly follows the Queen, shadowing her close by as she walks out of the castle through the small hidden door right behind the chamber and into the pathway leading to the royal garden. The royal aide continues to look around as he walks right behind the Queen. Seeing nothing but stillness in the garden, he is relieved that he had at least thought of sending out the guards to retrieve the prince when he rushed to see the Queen. 

He can only hope for the guards to make it in time to bring the prince back into the castle so he won’t see them rushing into the garden, nor for him to see where they are heading.  

Just as he expected, Queen Rosalyne makes her way towards the old, magic fountain at the far end of the royal garden. The crystal-like water that never seems to stop falling appears to glow under the moonlight, sparkling like diamond and ice, enthralling to look at, but too dangerous to touch. Under the waterfall, the surface of the pool is calm and steady. The water is so clear that it almost serves as a mirror, reflecting perfectly the night sky, the stars sparkling above his head appear in the water like tiny diamonds scattering all over the dark background. 

Just yesterday, Sir Noah stood here with the Queen. Green mist covered the ground as Queen Rosalyne cast off the spell disguising her looks, and there were ripples spreading through the surface of the water, right where you went under.  

Once again, the Queen begins to chant her spell, drawing more ripples and bubbles on the calm water, rousing her magic until a faint white mist rises from the fountain. 

As the water once again turns calm, the white mist spreads to the corner of the pool, and the Queen’s voice fades to quiet at the end of her spell, Sir Noah knows that the magic has manifested in the fountain. 

Sir Noah takes a hard look at the Queen in her silence. He takes in the grey strands threading her darker hair, the permanent furrow between her brows that seems to have gotten deeper the more she looks on through the fountain. He has no idea what kind of vision the Queen could possibly be seeing from the water spell. 

He wishes that he could see it, but the Queen has gestured for him to stand at a fair distance where he wouldn’t be able to get a clear sight of the divination that the Queen’s spell has summoned. 

Whatever it is, Sir Noah can sense that it will only bring trouble. A part of him wishes that the maiden will be safe, no matter where she has ended up, but there is a bigger part of him that wishes to remain loyal to the Queen. To protect her with all his might and do whatever the Queen needs him to. 

Just the way he has spent many years serving her with everything he has. 

That is why, the moment the Queen speaks, he feels nothing more but pure disappointment when she says, “Leave.” 

Hiding his sullen heart, Sir Noah bows his farewell to the Queen. “Your Majesty.” 

The spell that Queen Rosalyne had cast on this magic fountain was meant to send you away. Far away to the alter-world where you would be lost without any way to return home. 

The alter-world. A world without magic. Sending you away to the alter-world was meant to keep you away from Jungkook. It meant to put you in a place where no magic spells could work to help you find your way home.

The Queen had hoped that sending you off to the land with no magic would weaken you. That it would leave you with no hope, feeling lost and defeated, as you are confined in the other world. For you to be left with no other choice but to carry on with despair, while you are soon forgotten by everyone in Andalasia. 

Forgotten by her son, the Crown Prince. 

Separated by infinite space, the time in the alter-world works differently from how time progresses in Andalasia. It might take time for the prince to forget about you, but surely, with how much faster time progresses in the alter-world, you should have grown weak and miserable. The loss of hope should have broken your soul into pieces, that by the time the prince—if he ever gets to it, and it looks like the prince is already beginning to—manages to find his way to the alter-world to find you, there should be no chance for the two of you to reconcile. 

But why—

“Why does she look happy?” Queen Rosalyne seethes as she continues to watch the vision unfold from one scene to the next. She sees you struggling in the dark for a short time, only for everything to rapidly change, your fate turning around just as your soul only begins crumbling.  

The Queen moves her hand over the pool to get a clearer look at your life in the alter-world, everything that has happened so far after your fall. But the more she sees, the more she feels rage. 

“She’s supposed to be miserable and lost, not having a good time,” she snarls as she watches you sitting at the dinner table instead of stranded at a deserted road or abandoned hill, singing and laughing with a child—a little girl—who is hanging to every word you are saying, and a man sitting on the other end of the table. 

“Has she found another love?”

The Queen had failed to predict such possibilities to happen; either for the prince to be so adamant in finding a way to get to you or the chances that you may have found a replacement for the prince within the timeline that you are gone. 

This cannot happen, the Queen curses and wonders to herself as she paces back and forth around the fountain, thinking deeply about what she must do to change this. I will not allow it. 

If only the circumstances had been different, the Queen would have been elated to think that you have moved on rather quickly from the Crown Prince. That the curse she has cast to send you away has prevented you from sharing your true love’s kiss with Jungkook. 

But the truth is, it wouldn’t matter whether or not Jungkook will be the one sharing your true love’s kiss. 

As told by many tales, the true love’s kiss can break any kind of curse. 

Jungkook can have his kiss with anyone in the kingdom and the Queen will have no problem about it happening. As long as it is not with you. Because your happiness will be the end of everything. 

Your true love’s kiss will break the curse. 

The curse that has been placed ever since a long, long time ago by the evil Queen, and it will change everything should it be broken. Queen Rosalyne will lose everything that she holds dear should that ever happen. She will lose her throne, her kingdom, and everything that she has built for so long. Everything that she has put her heart and soul into, with many sacrifices made along the way.  

“I must stop it,” the Queen vows to herself, knowing what needs to be done. “I must stop her from finding her happily ever after. Before it would be too late.”  

⟶ Author’s Note | Originally commissioned by @pinkbtsarmy | Thank you for reading!

— © Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. unsolicited translations are not allowed.

[ellieshyperfixations]

X-Men HCS Pt.2

This is with X-Men ‘97 in mind!

(Hurricane Helen Knocked out my power for a week edition! 😜)

Logan gets just straight black, coffee, the strongest the shop has.

Jubilee gets the sweetest, most diabetes inducing, would kill a Victorian man, coffee to ever exist.

She also is disgusted by Logan’s coffee, she took a sip once and hated it so much she gagged.

Also, Ororo hates coffee and is 100% a tea person.

Kurt cannot and will not sit normally. He has fallen out of chairs multiple times due to “sitting” in too weird positions.

Logan is a cat person. I will not explain.

After moving to the X-Mansion, Rogue saw snow for the first time there (It’s in NY, if I remember correctly?) and literally sat at the window staring in awe at it since it literally NEVER snows in the South

Gambit also was in a bit of awe, but not as much as Rogue.

He put a rock in a snowball and left it somewhere.

Jean doesn’t even need to use her telepathy, she just always knows when someone is planning to do something they know they shouldn’t so she just stares at them like “😐” .

Scott refuses to buy anything made from real leather or fur, only faux.

Beast gets hot very easily due to his fur, cause of this it’s like 60°F in the lab.

^^ Kurt is also in the same boat but less so. He HATES summer.

Beast and Kurt both hate summer because it’s hot and makes them sweat so their fur/fuzz gets all wet and makes them look like a porcupine-cat.

Charles leaves food & water out for the local stray cats and dogs. He also has like 8 bird feeders around the property (Birds.)

Ororo loves this (^^) and will sometimes sit on a bench and watch the birds. Birds have landed on her due to how still she goes sometimes.

Gambit never learned how to ride a bike without training wheels, just out of spite.

Beast hates alcohol.

Jean tans the best and easiest out of everyone, in the summer she has the nicest natural tan and it’s both impressive and irritating.

Logan grunts and growls obvs, but also lets out these weird kinda purrs? It sounds like if a cat smoked a pack a day for years, it’s a raspy quiet purr.

Rogue has a scar on her knee from some accident when she was kid (She changes her story every time, intentionally.)

Magneto, despite his mutation involving metal, is actually really good at wood-working.

Scott cannot fall asleep without some kind of white noise. HEAVY rain sounds is his fav.

Kurt is dyslexic.

Jean absolutely loves fall and all the “basic girl” things about it. Pumpkin spice, sweaters, etc (BTW THERES NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT AND ANYONE WHO SAYS OTHERWISE IS JUST A JERK WHO HATES FUN.)

Gambit would own a pair of Ugg’s.

[sim0nril3y]

First Meeting

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader

Scenario: Being dragged out for the night with friends Simon find himself desperately trying to be alone when a girl with a broken shoe stumble across him.

Note: Set in 2014

Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), briefs mentions of abuse, mentions of smoking, mentions of alcohol, suggestive conversation, mentions of age gap, derogatory comments. Note: I made this an OC rather than a Reader because she has her own backstory and family and dreams that may not align with the whole Reader aspect of writing. If you guys do want something like that let me know and I'll see if I can work something out.

30-08-2020 Edit: I’ve updated this fanfic to be a reader rather than OC.

Returning from deployment never really changed for Simon. It wasn’t something he ever enjoyed. There was something about the regiment of the forces that grounded him, something about the strict timelines and regulations. None of that mattered back home. It wasn’t like he could speak to his "friends" about the trauma of being away in war-torn countries. It wasn’t like they even asked; they knew better.

Occasionally on nights out Simon would get asked the rude question of his death tally. He’d simply brush off the question. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he had a reasonable answer to it anymore. No, instead he would pretend like he didn’t hear as other friends chastised for even asking that sick question. Why was it sick? Did they not think of him as a killer? Maybe that tainted their idyllic persona of the perfect solider. Simon knew that war was disgusting and bloody and each time he took another life a little bit of his own chipped away too.

Stand outside he brought a cigarette to his lips, inhaling slowly and just enjoying the cold winter air. “Bollocks…” A voice slipped from beside him, glancing over his shoulder to see the slight frame of a woman bent down trying to repair the band of her high-heel. As always, he stayed quiet, used to just observing and not interrupting the flow. “Need some help, sweetheart~” A drunk came stumbling in her direction.

In an instant she shot to her feet, stumbling in her broken heel as you turned to face the offending man. “Oh-” “Gonna catch y’death out here, sweetheart. Specially in that little dress…” He commented and Simon gave himself a moment to take in your outfit, it was particularly short from a night-out in January, not that any of the other birds were dressed any different. “Why don’t we get a taxi back to my flat.” He offered and Simon saw the way your shoulders seemed to tense at the suggestion. “Oi…” His voice began before his brain registered that this was a poor idea. “Fuck off and leave her alone.”

“The fuck you think you are?” Came a drunken drawl back in his direction. “Think I’m gonna be your problem if you don’t leave her alone.” He rose then, towering over the two of them you, double both your weight, double both your size. “Pshh… fuckin’ have the slag…” Drunkenly he turned and stumbled back into the club. “Thanks…” Your voice was small as you tilted your had up to make eye-contact. “S’nothing…” Then turning he moved back to where he was sitting.

“Mind if I join you?” Your voice was quiet, flasing a packet of cigarettes in his direction. “Not gonna stop you.” Simon answered with a short shrug. “Fuckin’ shoe…” You grumbled under your breath before joining him delicately, sitting close enough that it looked friendly but far enough away to give him plenty of space. It a light voice your informed him your name. It was pretty. It suited you. The way your voice cut through the cold air, warm personality shining even on this night.

Simon didn’t reply, simply continued to smoke his cigarette in the quiet whilst you lit up your own beside him. “Y’even old enough to be in there?” Suddenly you looked at him before snickering. “Turned 21 months ago.” You announced proudly. “Even got my ID to prove it.” Fuck, you was young. 9 years younger than him, in fact. Whilst he was being beaten and abused by his sick father you was just coming into this world. Fuck, don’t think about any of that. “So, do I get to know your name? Gonna have to tell the story of how a dashing smoker saved me from a weirdo.”

Dashing? Were you flirting with him? You… were way out of his league. Jesus, why was you even paying him any mind when you could go home with practically any lad in there. Why did that sentiment bother him so much? “Simon.” He ground out finally, putting a firm stop to his inner monologue. “Nice name.” “No, it’s not. Just a name.” He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. “Don’t be stupid.” He watched the way your pretty face contorted into a smile and then fell into a fit of giggles. It was fucking bliss. The way that you laughed. It was almost fucking musical, or at least it was to Simon’s ears. “Nice fuckin’ name…” He repeated shaking his head. “Kid, you’ve got to work on technique a bit.” Then shaking his head as he took another long drag of his cigarette.

“Well, maybe you could help with that…” Your voice was suggestive and inquisitive, putting the question out there loosely enough that he could see it as a joke or an invitation. “M’sure there are plenty boys your age that could help with that.” There was finality to his tone that even you could sense. Jesus, you were 21 by your own confession. You was so fresh and new to the dating scene. He, on the other hand, was just beginning his 30s, though his years of service made him feel a lot older. There was no way he could just fuck around with a girl like you. It wouldn’t fair.

Sensing his apprehension you simply shrugged your shoulders, as carefree as ever and then muttered. “Maybe~” Nabbing a nearby empty cigarette packet and jotting down your details onto the card before sliding it in his direction. “Guess if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

A flurry of girls stumbled from the club, surrounding her in a moment in a loud chatter of excitement. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” “C’mon, next club~” “Who is that?” “What happened to your shoe?” The questions buzzed around his mind and you kept his gaze until whisked away by her friends. “Fuckin’ hell…” Cursing under his breath as he inspected the packet between his fingers, taking the final drag of his cigarette and then flicking it aside.

Masterlist | Ask | 28-08-2023

[wonustars]

Rain or Shine Cafe (Teaser)

Ⱄ pairing: kwon soonyoung x f!reader Ⱄ wordcount: ~10k or less (this teaser: 2.6k) Ⱄ genre: fluff, cafe coworkers au, suggestive

Ⱄ reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated ♡! tumblr is based on reblogs not likes, and they help writers like me to get better reach. thank you!

Ⱄ summary: with no umbrella in hand on a rainy day, you felt like your life couldn’t get any worse. losing your glasses while it’s pouring cats and dogs, well maybe your life really was the worst. thankfully a faceless stranger was there to pick up your glasses and hand you his umbrella. you weren’t able to ever thank him for his act of kindness, but the sweet memory stays with you for awhile. soonyoung was in need of a new job and on the first day of his interview he stumbles across a blind stranger with no umbrella, and no glasses. he didn’t think too much about the stranger then, not until his first day of work at Rain or Shine Cafe.

Ⱄ tags/warnings: cafe coworkers!soonyoung and reader, dancer!soonyoung, reader wears glasses, set in vancouver canada, they develop feelings quickly, reader is a little type a, mentions of other svt members, mentions of alcohol, hoshi tiger agenda is very present (more tags when the actual fic is posted)

Ⱄ note: this is a teaser for my fic for the @svthub world tour collab!! thank you to the admins who are sosoosoooo creative because i love this concept sm!! i hope you all look forward to this fic because i adore their little love story sm ♡. if you want to be tagged when the fic is posted please leave a comment or send me an ask! (ps: teaser is not that edited so sorry in advanced) - see you soonest, anna ♡.

Today was one of those days. The birds don’t sing at your wake, the sun doesn’t shine as bright. You weren’t sure what had been the catalyst to such a terrible day; maybe it was forgetting your umbrella, or losing your glasses under the gloomy sky, or the rain that pitter-pattered against the pavement and mocked your misfortune.

It wasn’t until a faceless stranger entered your blurred field of vision, offering their umbrella and picking up your glasses. Before you could even thank them for their help, they whisked away so quickly it was like they were a figment of your imagination. 

That small kind gesture had stuck with you for days, wondering if you would ever be able to meet them again. You desperately wished you were able to see what they looked like, but from the softness of their voice, to their gentle touch, you had a feeling that their personality is just the same. 

˚∗˖⁺⑅ ˖⁺⑅˖◛

Working a shift at Rain or Shine Cafe is always the highlight of your day, especially after spending so many hectic hours at your university. The cafe was always serene, the customers were kind, and you liked how calming it would get once the Vancouver rain started to pour in. The droplets hitting the glass windows in a rhythmic pattern that could probably put you to sleep if you allow. 

Rain or shine cafe was like your little safe haven from the busy city and university town. Working the evenings while your boss, Seokmin, would cover the mornings. It definitely was a little bit complicated with only the two of you, but you didn’t mind. You liked being the only person during your shift, it meant that you were practically your own boss. 

It wasn’t until the day that Seokmin decided it was time for a new hire, your safe space seemingly turned upside down. 

“Y/n, I’ve hired a new person, you’ll have to train them okay?” Seokmin informs you the moment you clock in. 

Giving him a defeated sigh, you knew it was time for a new coworker to join you. Although you hate the idea, you felt bad at how hard Seokmin works in the mornings, and on the rare occasions when you’re sick, evenings as well. 

“I don’t know Seokmin… are you sure I should be the one training them?” your tone wavers, if anything the owner would be able to do a better job than you at the training the new hire. 

“What! You’ll do great, you’re my best employee after all,” he gives you a reassuring pat on your shoulder. 

With furrowed brows, your eyes bore holes into his back as he heads back to his office. 

“I’m your only employee!” you shout back while he can still hear you. 

The idea of having to train a new person after spending so much time finding your own rhythm while working at the cafe doesn’t particularly thrill you. With many many prayers to the universe, you just hope they aren’t a pain in the ass to deal with. 

˚∗˖⁺⑅ ˖⁺⑅˖◛

Soonyoung wasn’t sure what to expect on his first day, and he was especially nervous because he’s never worked at a cafe before. Although his coordination is great when it comes to dancing, he isn’t so confident in his coffee making skills. 

The moment he walked through the door, he saw your face shining against the afternoon sun, his heart beating so fast he thought he might have to go to the doctor for a serious case of heart palpitations. He can’t help but curse at himself silently, knowing that he was going to be extra nervous because of his extremely pretty coworker. 

As he approaches you he starts to feel a sense of familiarity bubbling at the bottom of his stomach. Wondering if he’s seen you around before, but he quickly scratches that idea knowing that there's millions of people living in the Greater Vancouver area. 

Clearing his throat he tries to get your attention as you delicately refill the pastry shelf with almond croissants and bagels. Your eyes turn towards the figure in front of the counter, assuming it’s another student from the university wanting to order. 

“U-uh hi,” Soonyoung blurts out, his pillowy cheeks turning red under your gaze. 

“Hi, what can I get for you?” you ask him, trying to ignore the awkwardness between you two. 

“Oh! I-I’m not here to order, I’m the new hire?” He tries to explain, but you can tell he feels a little unsure about being here at the cafe. 

“Oh. Soonyoung right?” 

“Yeah, that’s me, but uh- you can call me Hoshi,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his head. 

The words ‘play it cool’ keep repeating in his mind as he continues to talk to you, not wanting to make a bad first impression with his gorgeous new coworker. 

“Ah, I see, Hoshi,” you say apprehensively while nodding your head, yeah i’m not calling him that, you think to yourself. 

Seokmin told you that the new hire would be coming in for his first shift today, but he didn’t mention anything other than that. 

From first glance Soonyoung wasn’t the type of person you expected Seokmin to hire. His dark clothing, bright blond hair and piercings along his ears didn’t scream “barista”. The aura around him screamed men’s fashion influencer just from the way he dresses. Although his clothes were casual you could tell there was still thought put into his outfit, from the baggy dark wash jeans to his graphic tee and earrings. 

“How about you come around the counter and clock in so we can get started,” you add as you finish placing the pastries into the display shelf. 

Scratching the back of his head he walks over only to hover behind you, a meek expression washes over his face. 

You turn to him with a quizzical eyebrow, not sure as to why he’s just standing there like a lost child in a supermarket. 

“H-how exactly do you clock in?” Soonyoung mumbles while twiddling his thumbs. 

“Seokmin didn’t show you where to clock in?” You question him. 

There was a part of you that has a feeling that you might have to teach him every little thing around the cafe. When Seokmin told you the new hire was coming in today, you were hoping that they would at least have a little bit of background knowledge. 

“U-uh no he pretty much hired me on the spot and told me to come in today,” he mutters, feeling a little embarrassed by your judgement, “this is actually my first job ever.” 

“Ever?” 

“Yeah, so I’m not sure why he even hired me, but I needed a job so I didn’t turn it down,” he continues, the blush on his soft cheeks becoming more apparent. 

You sigh deeply, this shift is going to feel a lot longer than you initially thought. Knowing it’s his first job means that you’ll have to train him a little slower. As you walk to show him where to clock in you silently pray that he’s a fast learner. 

Soonyoung can tell that you’re not excited to train him, and he feels bad that he doesn’t have the experience to be good at his job right away. But he’s determined to learn quickly, not wanting to disappoint you or Seokmin. 

He spent most of his time in university being able to pay for his expenses from his dance scholarship and the little money he was given from his parents, but unfortunately it wasn’t enough to fund his trip for him and his dance troupe’s upcoming competition. 

They had entered a national competition taking place in Seattle and although the commute is only a two hour road trip, there were so many other fees that he couldn’t afford unless he found a way to earn money. Plus if he wanted to fund both his dance trip and tiger collection, it was either he get a job near his school or he would have to resort to selling feet pics online. But getting a job at the cafe seemed like the safer and more logical option. 

“Well now that you’ve clocked in, this is your apron and the tag that Seokmin made you,” you inform him while handing him his things. 

Soonyoung doesn’t say a word, only nodding while listening to you explain how everything works at the cafe. 

“First we need you to learn all the drinks that we serve,” you explain, pushing the double doors that lead back to the main room of the building. 

“Okay, I can do that, it can’t be that hard right?”  Hoshi shrugs, trying his best to act nonchalant to mask his nervousness. 

…

“Wait-No! That’s wrong,” your voice raises in panic as you watch Soonyoung put a fresh shot of espresso into the plastic to-go cup. 

Freezing, his eyes go wide as his mouth forms an ‘O’ shape as you start to scramble with panic. The plastic starting to shrivel from the heat of the coffee. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know it would melt!” he exclaims, pouring the contents into the sink. 

It had been an hour of teaching Soonyoung how to make the drinks that were on the cafe menu, and he had somehow made a mistake every single step of the way. Thankfully today is a slower day in the cafe, allowing Soonyoung to observe your routine on serving customers. 

“It’s fine, how about we take a break and I'll show you how to use the oven to heat the pastries,” you sigh with defeat. 

Soonyoung’s face drops a little because he knows that he’s disappointed you. He wishes that he was good at his job the same way he is with dancing but his naturally good coordination and reflexes can only take him so far. 

“If a customer asks for a pastry they can have the option for them to be toasted in the oven, you just need to use the tongs and place them onto the rack,” you explain, demonstrating the steps that you would usually take, “then you don’t want to set the timer for more than twenty seconds or it’ll burn.” 

Soonyoung nods along, trying to follow your instructions closely, but he can’t help get distracted by your features. Your hair tied up, glasses perched on your nose as you try to concentrate. He knows that it’s important to pay attention but he can’t help but feel attracted to you. There was a certain familiarity to you that he couldn’t seem to pinpoint. He hasn’t felt like this about someone he just met ever, and it’s not helping that you’re the one teaching him how to do his job properly. 

If he could stare at you during his whole shift instead of actually working, he would. 

“Does everything make sense so far?” you pull him out of his thoughts, staring at him expectantly. 

“Yeah, the pastry stuff seems like the most simple thing so far,” he comments, watching you put the croissant into a bag to eat after you’re off work. 

“How about we go back to making more test drinks? Just so you can get the hang of it,” you offer, wanting him to get more practice just in case it’s a busy day the next time he comes in for a shift. 

“Sure, you’re a great teacher by the way, I’m just new to all this,” he comforts you. 

“Thanks, and don’t worry too much, you’ll get better with time,” you pat his shoulder. 

You give him a smile of gratitude. The past few hours had you doubting your knowledge, patience, and teaching skills all at the same time. But his words of reassurance make you feel him warm inside. 

The way Soonyoung’s cheeks puff as he smiles makes you giggle. There was something about his soft features that makes him so endearing, which makes you feel a little bad for raising your voice at him earlier while he was trying to learn. 

Sure, he’s not the smartest when it comes to working at a cafe, but you have faith that he’ll be able to learn as time goes by. From the looks of it, Soonyoung seems determined to do better, that or he’s faking it. Either way, you owe it to Seokmin to show him everything you know.

Ⱄ a/n: i hope you enjoyed the teaser!! lmk what you think :)

[miriani-lavellan]

Some interesting little tidbits about the world that are gleaned from Mementos found: It looks like there's already an almost full list here.

After the Exalted March against the Dalish, the Antivan crows signed some kind of treaty or agreement promising to take action if another march against the elves was going to take place. It seems they did 'stand with the Dales' in some form.

The Crow mementos in general seem to indicate when they realised the influence they had, they also began to discuss how they should use that influence, and the responsibilities they had.

When an archdemon is slain, the Grey Wardens recover a fang to keep as a trophy.

The Wardens keep a record called The Book of Ashes to record not the dead, but the Wardens who survived the Blights.

Scrying exists to tell the contents of certain containers or the function of certain magical items.

The Shadow Dragons disguise their manifestos and propaganda as spellbooks, in the hope the Venatori will pick them up and read them without realising what they are, and thus have their mind changed.

The Wardens wear blue because it's a local dye available in the Anderfels - I think we can probably say 'Anderfels Azure' is derived from Brona's Bloom. Poetic, as it's one of 'the first to fade when blight emerges' and that they mell of warm honey and rainy spring mornings—things the blight forgets.' The uniform is a reminder of what the Blight takes, and a hope for its return all the same.

Antivans typically have coffee (with or without an alcoholic addition) after dinner.

The Antivan Crows might once have been the Antivan Ravens. Both birds appear in early motifs, until finally crows won out.

Somehow, Blackwall's carved rocking griffon (or one of them) found its way into the Dellamorte estate.

Early post-Veil writings are found in a source called 'The Days of Death,' in which an ordinary elf records the realities of mortality, and grapples with the new need for food and shelter. Other early writings indicate they were attempting to map their new home.

One of the ways Kal-Sharok survived the Blight was by abandoning the caste system.

There's a scandalous... hit piece? book on the Inquisition, called 'Inquisition Exposed.' It's illustrated. Edit: My bad, it's smut. It's just smut.

In Nevarra, it's popular to give children coming of age a gift of necromantic, allegorical illustrations.

During the Storm Age in Nevarra, there was a trend of artists mixing their own blood into the paints. They were discouraged by the Watches as it kept leading to works of art getting possessed.

There's an undead thief making troubled around Nevarra City known as the 'half-made bandit'. He escaped from an anatomy class.

A Cassandra mention when considering the funeral of a Nevarran prelate.

Some spirits prefer possessing inanimate objects over the living.

Emphasising the Mourn Watch and the Mortalitasi in general's complex relationship with the Chantry, once a (probably possessed) Chasind shaman ended up sheltering with them.

Ancient Qunari did not have horses.

There seems to be, or have been, an element of ancestor worship in Qunari religion.

[averagepolarexpeditionenjoyer]

sex enjoyers poll part 2!!!! My bad for not putting Blanky on the first one, apparently there’s a cuntiness limit we hit last time 😔😔

personally I would want to fuck Francis Crozier when he was better but if I couldn’t… I’d fuck him again but when he’s going through the alcoholism withdrawals so I can sensually nurse him back to health like a baby bird except he’s a sad sweaty man (..Jopson…. I get it now….)

[hwaightme]

Feel alive

(masterlist) (taglist)

🌑 pairing: strictland!seonghwa x gn!singer!reader 🌑 genre: fluff, angst, dystopian, sci-fi, noir, music, lovers to enemies to lovers 🌑 summary: after escaping the confines of prestige academy you find yourself singing at 'morpheus' - an underground bar and club for strictland outcasts. except this reality, too, crumbles before you. your fate is again in the hands of the same man, and you are forced to ask yourself: what does it mean to 'feel alive'? 🌑 wordcount: 9.5k total 🌑 warnings/tags: semi-edited, authoritarian regime (strictland/z/universe z), lore-inspired, guns/gunshots, implied attack on club, implied violence, crime, alcohol/drinking, implied organised criminal networks, discussions about death/murder/execution, nihilism/existentialism, 'bout as dark as the diary entries, long lost lovers, starcrossed, hope, blue bird, jazz, uprisings 🌑 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🌑 a/n: noir hwa, ateez synthwave song quartet, and lore ponderings. hope you enjoyed <3 any notes, reblogs, comments, asks are always welcome! much love!

The lights dimmed, and it was as if the jazz bar never existed in the first place. The worn seats occupied by drunks who liked to pretend they had taste, sofas in the far corner reserved for big shots and well-established scum with pretty young accessories on either arm, the bar that sold everything under the rays of the dying sun and evil moon, it all disappeared with the dawn of the spotlight falling upon your alluring silhouette. A simple, yet elegant sleek black dress with a hint of shimmer that graced your curves seemed to shine in the glimmering illumination. The delicate silver accessories were stars in the hypnotising sky, the allure of an unreachable universe becoming overwhelming as your hands glided over the length of the microphone to find purchase on the stand. The music, starting from a low rumble, was an echo of the abyss surrounding you, manifested only at the softest inhale. After what could have been the drums and trumpet, or could have been the heavens announcing the beautiful singer’s presence finished their spontaneous introduction, Seonghwa had the pleasure of forgetting his purpose, at least for as long as the song lasted. He could drift into a sultry paradise, seduced by what had to be a siren’s call, and regard the customers of the Morpheus bar with something less than loathing.

As soon as he cleared the last of the russet coloured drink he had ordered in one gulp and set the glass down on the bar, shutting his eyes momentarily to focus on the warmth of the alcohol running down his throat, Seonghwa found the fingers of his right hand softly drumming out the song in accompaniment, each digit hitting one note, another, again and again. Back in the day, it had not been often that his visits to the bar occurred at the same time as the one and only Y/N’s performances, but when they did, he swore he could see the smog clear and tomorrow become a certainty. The music consumed him whole and even though he knew down to the second when the magic would be extinguished, a part of him still retained the hope that the spell would never be broken. Not when the only encore he could guarantee for himself was another torturous raid on an establishment such as this one, or another feverish witch hunt for those who had regained their ability to feel and to think freely. All in the name of a faceless leader who even Seonghwa himself had only met a handful of times despite being in a high ranking position of Guardian Inspector - above the standard white-clad machines, above the so-called officials clad in military uniform, he was in charge of ‘keeping civil hands clean’. At what cost? Perhaps his own emotions were the price.

The dark-haired man caught himself wondering how many people in this bar could enjoy themselves to the fullest. How many of these poor unfortunate souls that succumbed to the rush for easy money and easy love were true followers of hedonism, and were spending their days in an enviable bliss? Biting his lower lip, Seonghwa regarded his surroundings with a subtle scorn. He was well aware that he was to blame for it all too; The regime, to retain the ultimate, unwavering control over the citizens, even those who wholeheartedly believed they were well-hidden from the authoritarian judgement, was a supplier of one of the many pleasures after all - toying with people's weakness before the formidable seven sins only to lead them into full submission. The Strictland government, despite propagating ‘human emotion being a disease’ had anything anyone could ever desire, and Seonghwa was one of the many agents to guarantee long term partnerships, addiction to the illusion of a better life, and most importantly, stability and security for the people who had taken him in all that time ago when no one else would, and had given him a chance. 

While he was the bringer of demise, the counter of profits drenched in crushing dread and the hand of twisted and subjective justice, at the same time, Seonghwa believed that it gave him all the more right to judge the society he was a part of. After all, he was not the one being fooled. Inevitably, his glimmering orbs settled back on the singer’s gently swaying form as they broke into the chorus, and nearly shuddered as your gaze, from languid, half-lidded but oh so appealing eyes, met his, only for a split second but it was as if hellfire itself embraced him and greeted him like an old lover. Each lyric - a personal address as you moved along at a sensual pace, the song smoother than the most expensive silk. He smirked to himself as he caught his ponderings accelerating uncontrollably, attempting to squash them under a sober, calculating fist. You were no fool either. An entertainer, measuring out each attack like a venomous serpent, not threatened, seeking fun in the reveal of vulnerability of your listeners - each one believed that you existed for them and them alone, and in the hypnotic state added bill after bill to their already hefty tips in the hopes that at least some would reach you, and you would give them that beautiful smile, maybe something more. Truly, a shame that the owner of Morpheus owed the regime a lot more than all the tips, so-called donations and what, compared to the rest of the money, was "honest" earnings all combined. The Captain of the Inspectors in charge of this little project had gotten a little too nice as of late, at least that was what Seonghwa had concluded, but it was not him who was going to pay for it, naturally.

Twisting his head, Seonghwa took note of the familiar faces that appeared at the entrance to Morpheus to join the rest of the Inspectors that were posing as regular customers, cleverly dispersed among the filth that reeked of dependence. Of course, dependence on what the regime was selling. There was no other way about it. Nodding the two men a curt hello, Seonghwa let his eyes trace back a swift path to the magnificent performance. He paid attention to how your dainty earrings glinted even in the lowered light, and how, with every subtle movement, he could see the gorgeous dress tighten just a little around your body. You were so out of place in this scene, an angel in the darkest pits of hell, a little bird struggling against the wiring of a cage, curling inwards, growing smaller until the last flutter of the wings. As he was caught up in admiring your beautiful style, grace, and listening to your sweet, warm tone, one of the two newcomers, a fellow brother in governmental salvation to Seonghwa, tapped him lightly on the shoulder and occupied the seat beside him.

“As flashy as ever, Woo. Might as well tattoo ‘trouble’ on your forehead,” he motioned towards his not so inconspicuous suit that made him look more like a mafioso rather than an average joe. Seonghwa had to admit, however, that the outfit looked too damn good on him, but this was going to be just one of those things he was to take to his grave. The man did not need his ego fed any more than what the ladies he finds as company for the less busy nights not hounded by the lower ranking Guardians provide.

“I’d carve a pretty smile on that face. Not even a hello?”

“Hi San,” Seonghwa deadpanned, looking past his friend who he noted had tied his hair into a low ponytail, and right at the other half of his duo. Wooyoung and San, two peas in a pod, and probably the last people one would ever wish to see if they were in trouble with any of the Inspectors.

“Aren’t you mean today… what, pretty star over there didn’t give you attention?” Wooyoung retorted with a smirk creeping onto his lips. With a raise of an eyebrow and a shake of the head, Seonghwa dismissed any thoughts of peace that he had been imagining, settling back to regular business.

Rolling his shoulders back, he let the scene come and envelop him. It was no coincidence that so many of the Inspectors had gathered, especially with Wooyoung and San now closing in the arrivals. It did not take a genius to guess that Captain had changed his terms, and this was no longer going to be an ordinary shakeout for money or customary information gathering from the owner of Morpheus. The owner had stalled for far too long, had strayed from ‘good practices’ of a loyal rat, and it was time to set an example for others. Disease was the human emotion, and this bar was a breeding ground for thought crime, was it not?. Lowly, lonely creatures who gathered here were all examples of where society had gone astray from the perfect vision Z had put forward, at least… most were. Those who had forgotten the meaning of feeling despite having regained the ability, those, to Seonghwa, were the true vermin. He regarded the few gathered who were most definitely not meant to be part of this story. A middle aged, haggard man with flushed cheeks and what had to be his fifth glass of the cheapest liquor on the menu. Some bigshot from another town who he recalled some of the Inspectors in charge of patrolling the area identifying this morning - no ties, no money, just a lot of ambition that was to amount to nothing. A few lowlives here and there who were faceless, in shades of grey. All not meant to be here, and yet by some stroke of fate, here they were to remain. Finally, he drifted back to the main act, still at the centre of the stage, the sole luminance among the tainted - those who had no hope in making Seonghwa feel anything but numbness. You were the only one working here. Earning your meagre pay - he had discreetly checked the bar’s balance books when the old man behind the counter was too distracted to care for a person of his kind strolling into his office that was concealed in a dark corridor. It was shameful how you were still in this far less than grand establishment, sharing your angelic vocals, despite obviously not having any compensation nor appreciation of your efforts. Perhaps the moments on stage were the only time when you felt alive; the thought would not leave Seonghwa. After much investigation playing pretend, he was confident in his conclusion: you had not changed.

You were on the tattered poster plastered up outside - the one and only, shows every Friday night. Perceive and behold the spectacular ethereal being as you sang songs that spun threads out of a spectator’s very soul, blood trickling from the cracks in their shattered form turning to gold. You sang their… his pain, promised him his glory, soothed and comforted him. Seonghwa was well aware that you were the sole reason that he had shifted his visits to Morpheus to this particular day of the week and monitored the illegal location so closely, otherwise, your face would never grace his corrupt, bleak vision. You did not deserve to go with the rest. When breaking free, one was not supposed to fall into another trap, and yet, here you were. You were not meant to be here, littering the ground that you stood on as the last of the gunpowder would settle on your perfect skin, your long, alluring eyelashes. The onyx-haired man felt a shift within himself as he mused the outcome of the unspoken plans - by the way in which Wooyoung leaned back onto the counter, a grin dancing on his features and by the way San was acting particularly kindhearted to the lonely staff who was rushing about, struggling to keep up with the visitors’ habits, he knew that tonight, they were not planning on hearing any cries for mercy. They were here to complete a mission for a higher purpose. And that mission was far from the sweet music which he had loved his whole life, and finally found again.

“They’re not supposed to be here.” he mumbled, his voice obscured by yours, echoing across and elevating to a sensual culmination.

“Aren’t we all? We’ve got to do what we’ve got to do. Think of them as a sculpture or something if it makes things easier,” Wooyoung took out a rolled up bill to put between his lips - a habit that he had formed after a few too many hits on the back of his head by San, an interesting approach to make a man quit smoking. He called it ‘smoking capitalism’, earning quite a few chuckles from the Inspectors, Seonghwa included. 

“So say someone’s going to scope the ring to clean it up a bit, would you let them hit our favourite auntie?” he asked, referring to the friendly cleaner who was probably the only one in the entire city who did not bat an eye at the violent matches that Wooyoung managed under the wraps for the regime, instead cooing over the fighters he brokered for and giving the men an extra helping of her home-cooked delicacies. In many ways, she was a mother figure for the Guardian Inspectors, despite her being at risk, every day, of being taken to the Red Humans should one of them be in a ‘different kind of mood’ on an arbitrary morning.

“Definitely not. But this singer. Who are they to you?”

“A pawn.”

“A pawn?”

“Mhm. I can pawn them in for rewards.”

“Suppose they are pretty enough, if that’s what you’re thinking of…”

“Goodness, take the pimp out of the bordello but can’t take the bordello out of the pimp. That business was shut a while back for you, no?” with a groan, Seonghwa retaliated at Wooyoung’s rather out of pocket suggestions. Over the many years of serving Z in not so ethical ways, the man had tried on a few too many hats and seen a few too many hats to retain even a sliver of compassion towards anyone except those closest. It was understandable. Odd, but understandable.

“Kidding. But for real though, what’s the use?” Wooyoung bit down on the bill softly, gaze following San who had moved towards a couple of underlings that had gathered in a booth off to the side, towards the far corner of the bar. Clearly, he was checking if they had read the room.

“Say, isn’t it Captain’s niece’s birthday soon? We don’t exactly have a musical act to hand since…” Seonghwa trailed off, knowing that Wooyoung knew what incident he was referring to, involving an accusatory phrase, a short temper and a very professional shot from a sniper rifle from the boss’s office window into the temple of a figure that was storming away from one of the many Inspector accommodations. Another one to fertilise the soil with.

“Smart. I’ll give it to ya. If you sort the business out before showtime, pretty thing’s all yours.” Wooyoung responded, patting his side where, underneath his shirt, Seonghwa knew was a holstered pistol. Pushing himself away from the counter he stood up, adjusting his long, leather coat and glove. It was not that he had a particular preference, but ever since entering the new life upon being pardoned for feeling, a life where he had to say found a home, he could not help but wish to always look just that little bit more put together, even if only to appear loyal. 

“Cheers. I’ll get them a nice candle-lit dinner to soften them up and then inform Cap’,” sounding purposefully sarcastic, Seonghwa mumbled under his nose, well aware that this was not a method that had ever been in use. One glower and curt phrase had always been enough - the rest was simply the heart’s doing masked by odd humour. 

“Awh, look at you, how sweet and lovely. What a darling,” Wooyoung teased, sending Seonghwa a wink. The music was fading away, the last notes landing on his ears, marking every moment.

“One more word and you’ll be the main course.” with his index finger he poked the centre of his fellow Inspector’s chest in threat, maintaining a cold expression.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m going to be roasting out here tonight, so make it hot with pretty thing.”

“Filth,” the taller man spat, knowing that attempting to counter his friend was nearly impossible - out of all the people he knew only Captain could fully round him in, and even then Wooyoung had a smile on his face, much to Seonghwa’s confusion.

“It’s not me who is with the heart eyes.”

“I just saw an opportunity,” playing with the leather piece that buttoned up to protect his neck, he eyed you, waiting for you to finish. Unknown to you, you did not have much time left before your very life would be placed on a scale and thoughtlessly pushed to lose against the weight of usual Strictland business. Such was the violent, catastrophic illusion of order, such was the structure that had been Seonghwa’s twisted saving grace. He was going to be doing you a favour by taking you away, won’t he? Either way, you would be out of work, and he was helping you with a little job search from one of the highest payers - chivalrous and kind hearted, that was who he was. How else could the Inspectors form any partnerships and feast on forbidden fruit otherwise? Who was he kidding - a soul like you was not meant for a life like this. But he had to try. He needed time to think. 

“Sure. Sure. An opportunity to grab the gorgeous star for yourself.”

“Oh shut up will you?” snapping, Seonghwa were desperately trying to cut the conversation short, seeing the window for him to make a beeline for the edge of the stage, towards which you promptly setting off after finishing your set, and receiving a dismal lack of applause - what else would he expect from the crowd gathered in Morpheus? Especially when the stench of iron and the final judgement was mere minutes away from materialising.

“You know that’s not my style.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be good. Hope you did not block my mustang,” throwing one last comment behind him, the solemn man was off, only barely catching Wooyoung’s half-hearted response.

“Have I ever…” 

The mission was simple. Since he was dismissed from the less than pleasant task of wiping out the bar, considering that two more senior Inspectors had made their appearance and were clearly more in the know of what was brewing, Seonghwa had only a couple of minutes before all freedom would cease to exist. And then, no heaven could bestow mercy upon neither him, nor the beauty he had come here to save for no logical reason, instead relying on some hazy version of hope and nostalgia. He had parked his ink black ride around the block - out of sight for unwanted eyes, and perfectly positioned for getaways just like this. If you could catch the Inspector’s drift, that was. One could only pray that the dazzler on stage was just as dazzling when it came to reading between the lines. He had perhaps even less than the estimated time to explain himself before Wooyoung and San would call the owner over to get the real evening show started. Time was ticking along with the skyrocketing pace of his heart as he stopped you on your tracks with a slightly outstretched leg, only to move forward and cast a shadow over you.

It was difficult to remain level-headed when, even at such proximity, in the normally less than flattering lighting, you were nothing short of a deity. Something out of fairy tales, stories of royalty or angels in kingdoms far far away, those that were not supposed to exist. But here was one, staring right into his eyes with your beautiful expressive orbs, as deep as the history that Seonghwa had raced here to try and reignite. A universe in your irises, an all-consuming black hole in your pupils, beckoning Seonghwa, leading him into a stupor before he stuffed his hands into his pockets, bringing himself out of the momentary trance by force. Time was not on his side, and he knew that it would never be unless he kept on running.

“Lovely song, that was.”

“Indeed. ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ is one of my favourites. Did you enjoy the performance?” Your speaking voice was different, of course, but nonetheless struck that stunning familiar chord within Seonghwa, one that should never see the light of day if he were to remain how he had to be. It was terrifying, how he was ready to let go of his resurrected image as an Inspector for a chance to turn the past into the present. 

You were polite. The features of your alluring face were hinting at a genuine interest, an appreciation of every movement, every breath you were taking. Though, in Seonghwa’s own line of work, particularly in the stage of undercover investigation, this was simply the usual. Show a smile, bat the eyelashes, make business, disappear. Genuine interest was an artform, but even if you were indeed expressing it in the way with which he was familiar, it felt so natural that he almost wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe this daydream who had come to change the colours of his occasional Fridays, his hunts for those straying from what Z had deemed ‘right’, leaving glimmers of memory to last him through the weeks when he had to be numb to life itself until he could come and see you again. It did not mean much to you, most likely. You were strangers in your respective new lives, and had Captain not made the decision to teach the owner of Morpheus a lethal lesson, you would have remained that way. Drifting together for a few hours, remaining distant, and drifting apart again. A forever flowing story that was to rekindle a starcrossed ‘once upon a time’ but never have that sought after resolution. A dream that reminded Seonghwa of why his unlikely survival was a blessing. As your eyes revealed a hopefulness, a plea for praise, Seonghwa gave you a soft smile.

“Of course.”

“I look forward to seeing you, you know.”

“O-oh?” Seonghwa could barely contain his surprise, the previously cool demeanour cracking into a raised eyebrow. Could you remember?

“Yes! You always sit at the bar, second stool from the left. And order… what is it… a brandy, right?”

He would be lying if he were to say he was not surprised by your suddenly chipper attitude. Almost like you were a kid who entered a candy shop for the first time to see all of your favourite treats, you excitedly revealed to Seonghwa your observations. While it was endearing to see, the shuffling behind him, along with the idea that he was not the only one intently observing left the Inspector with a sense of unease, nearly throwing him off from the initial goal that motivated him to brave talking to you in the first place.

“In…deed?”

The singer, who was previously an astounding yet distant figure captivating all who cared to look even once, rapidly transitioned into someone who he almost found endearing, the keeper of far too many qualities that cemented the rightness of his decision. You were not meant to be here, he repeated to himself. Mutters around the bar were getting louder, and as the rest of the musicians filed out of the main hall and crammed into a tiny room off to the side, in Seonghwa’s peripherals he noted San’s steady, seemingly innocent amble between the scuffed round tables and equally unpleasantly antique chairs.

“You are the only one who listens, so, how could I not notice? Actually, I wanted to talk to you properly, or at least say thank you but didn’t want to impose.”

As much as he wanted to sink into the warmth of your words and allow you to recognise him on your own accord, the rippling commotion that was finally rearing its ugly head spurred him on and struck his heart with an icy, calculating mace. He had a minute tops, knowing Wooyoung’s love for never counting down to zero before beginning.

“Well, let’s talk. Outside,” The black-clad man tried to walk off, aiming for the dark corridor at the end of which was the fire exit, but when you did not move, rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking I could buy you a drink-”

“Cute. Another time though,” seeing the tinge of disappointment in your gaze was new, and entirely unexpected, but gave Seonghwa plenty of leeway to sway you into following him, “since you watched me enough, I bet you can guess who I am. Or, what I do for work. Right?” 

A steely glare, leaving nothing open to interpretation. For additional evidence, he demonstratively adjusted his coat, loosening the belt he had tied around his waist to reveal a leather holster, discreet, gun always within reach. Attentive to detail as ever, you took note of the inconspicuous design of the pistol before he let it disappear once again under the fabric - in this city, there were few who had access to any form of weaponry, the items being so highly regulated by the government that it was nearly impossible to purchase or get licensing. Your mind began to list off options; Seonghwa clearly was neither a standard Android Guardian due to the lack of mandatory uniform, nor a scruffy criminal whom you had gotten used to over the time that had passed, nor part of the police force, nor a Class 2 Prestige Academy student. It only left an answer that shook you to the core. Of course, it was not that you did not hold the assumption in your heart. As a matter of fact, you had previously assumed that you were used to greeting people from different walks of life, all gathered in the same place, at the same time for what you wanted to believe was a ‘good time’. That was what drove you to live the life that you were living. Exist in this space, despite your pay and your security almost always not being enough, but you would give even that up if that meant you could keep your freedom.

Seonghwa was effortlessly graceful, determined in every step and gesture, not a single movement wasted. In a sense, it was as if he had purposefully learned and memorised the most efficient adjustments of the body, letting himself metamorphose into a lithe, agile animal. It was terrific, and terrifying, how at any moment he could pounce, and you would never know when until it was too late. For this hint of a reason, you decided to follow the man’s unspoken command, only whispering an airy inquiry after the other musicians, which he coldly dismissed:

“You need a better band anyways.”

---

The gravity of the situation only began to settle in when the biting breeze outside of the stuffy bar hit you, seeking opportunity to tousle your locks. The strands that had managed to fall over your face were trembling, the only sign revealing your suppressed distress as the last of Morpheus's dusk-like illumination was shut from your vision with a confident slam. Your eyes widened as you watched the Inspector, or in other words, your personal grim reaper, flip a lock on the door - previously thought to be inaccessible to anyone except the owner, done so masterfully as though he were the one who had installed it in the first place. An exit, a saving grace for innocents inside, turned into a dead end - more symbolic than one would ever initially assume. He trailed up the length of his arm stopping for a moment at the material that covered his shoulder, listening to leather hit leather. Seonghwa could only find calculated resolve within himself. This was the usual for him, and that after weighing all the options, he had logically come to the conclusion that the demise of the people inside was indeed the most attractive option.

As you heard the first shot resound inside of Morpheus, you shuddered, but did not dare stop following the man in the trench coat as he strode on ahead, hands remaining in his pockets. To any onlooker it would seem that he was relaxed as ever, out for a late night walk in a neighbourhood he knew better than he knew himself. Breath in, breath out; you were trying to remind yourself of the simple act, focusing harder than you had ever done during your performances. Imagining your diaphragm stretching, letting the lungs take in as much air as possible and-

Another shot. Breath knocked from you, balance off kilter, you desperately wanted to run. Anywhere. Maybe you should have stayed, not picked up on the subtle offer of your life being spared. In that way you would not have to live with the guilt of not having said anything to your fellow bandmates, not having said thank you to the owner for… what was there to thank anyone for? Out of habit, you lifted a hand to brush over your ear, echoes of the time when you had first felt emotion rippling across your body, making you shiver. You were all fools misled by hope for a brighter tomorrow in a world that was permanently overcast. Where did this running lead you? Where did your wistful song guide you? Back into the arms of the apocalypse - broad-shouldered with hair the colour of ink, the last thing you would see before disappearing for good. At least you should thank your former so-called colleagues for the information about the common demise. Tears welled up in your eyes as you obeyed the lean man’s orders and practically toppled into the black vehicle parked by the Morpheus, a lonesome yelp masked by the gunfire and indecipherable orders. 

You had no idea where he was taking you, and you did not dare ask. The man reminded you of all you had been trained to avoid in your new life, a threat, a weapon, a soldier. His gloved right hand remained resting beside the gearshift, while his left coldly gripped the steering wheel. Not a single one of his muscles appeared to be relaxed, and not a single movement had a semblance to anything natural. An automaton in the driver’s seat, you wanted to feel comforted by the idea that you were the only one truly human in the car, for the idea that someone as brutal as a Guardian Inspector could be conscious or decisive was too strong of an agony. 

At the same time, in the moments where the Inspector turned his head to check the surroundings, you noted something familiar. He dashed past the blue, purple and aquamarine signs that lined the streets of the district you had learned to love, himself turning into a painting. Be it in the angles that formulated his stern face, or in the elegance that he was unable to conceal, the past crawled out of a long-forgotten cavern in your psyche and gnawed at your nerves, just out of reach of realisation. Perhaps in another time, you had known him. Perhaps in one of the banned art pieces, you had seen him. At the same time, this could not be the first Guardian Inspector you had encountered - they were all similar enough in demeanour, so what was another face? Equally as entitled, above the law. Above a runaway like you. You were vermin. The enemy. A traitor to the Academy, to Strictland, to Z himself. Or so you were told. The only thing that could be different about this Inspector, was that he could be your last.

A sharp stabbing sensation spread from your temples and what had to be through your skull, jabbing into bone and into the cerebellum. Nauseous, you shut your eyes and clutched your head in a futile attempt to seek some form of relief. The car roared, and a sudden stench of rubber and concrete penetrated through every crevice, choking your senses and making you taste the acrid pollution. One turn, another, your organs were being jolted back and forth as the monstrous engine urged on by none other than the embodiment of oblivion dragged the car across eternal misery of long-abandoned districts.

“Oh goodness…” a feeble whisper left your lips. You reached out to grab hold of the door handle, peering at the grooves to find at least something to focus on. His vision was swimming in your eyes, etchings of your surroundings morphing into repressed memories. 

A boy marching beside you to class, head held at the angle commanded to all academy students. A young man, dressed in all white with black locks parted in the middle. A solemn stare, unreadable, though not fully blank as it should be. But at the same time, how could you, another student of Prestige, detect that something was not quite right? Since when could you feel? You lifted your head cautiously to try peeking at the Inspector again, but he was frozen. Only the abrupt tightening of his gloved hand around the steering wheel and a determined turn reminded you that he was not quite an automaton. 

“I must be dreaming…” you blinked away a teary blur, and clenched onto your dress for the remainder of the journey, feverishly recounting whatever lyrics you could. Your little safe haven, your precious prayers to the arts - truth which you had discovered after abandoning everything you could have been.

Your hand moved on instinct to the side of your head, feeling for what once had been the hub of your consciousness. A chip that made you feel right at home, heartless, but with a purpose. Forty years of education, an eternity to serve something greater than you; clear goals, a mission for your generation and many that would come after you. Hand in hand, you were soldiers of a catastrophically closed-minded society; at the time, however, you could not be ‘happier’. Or rather, more numb. Because you did not know of negative nor positive, you could not experience either, and so remained in a stable equilibrium, just as the superpower of this forlorn land had instructed. Disease was the human emotion. You were ‘healthy’. Until that boy appeared in your life, and revealed himself to you.

Bright-eyed, hopeful, excited. So unlike anyone. And against better judgement, you let the inklings of curiosity drip over your heart, and the beginnings of affection take flight. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, a smile brighter than the sun, a soothing mellifluous voice, vowing to you that you could build another life together. A life much more beautiful than one constructed with deception and hollow propaganda. What could a little tap of a breaker do to you? Apparently, it could change your destiny. 

As you massaged your temples, you locked gazes with the man in front of you, but met the boy from your past in the mirror. That same worry, knotted eyebrows, concern and care so evident you could touch it if your fingers grazed his cheek. You could not move, even when he turned back to the road, and continued to stare at the rear view mirror in the hopes of seeing your daydream again. You had to be wrong. This had to be you hallucinating. You must be just… afraid. Out of your mind. And so you were recalling one of the few times when you thought the world could do you no harm. 

“Get out,” a command. As cold as steel. The engine was still roaring in your ears, despite the surroundings having gone dead silent.

A click. The doors unlocked. You could run if you wanted to. Though you were fully aware that the action would shorten your lifespan to a mere few seconds. You remained seated, gaze falling onto your lap, and listened to the painful succession of sounds that led the man to open your door, and roughly grab your upper arm.

“I said, get out,” you followed him like a rag doll, knowing that any attempts to resist would put you into even more danger. At the same time, even though the Inspector was obviously attempting to instil terror and a twisted respect for him, he could not face you. Consciously he made an effort to barely raise his lashes, thus keeping his scrutiny concealed. Reading through his hesitation was easy enough.

He could not keep his hand on you for a second longer after you stood up straight, darting away as though you were an open flame. The man cleared his throat and locked the car, before gesturing towards an abandoned building that loomed over the gravelly opening where you had completed your journey. Comically, it reminded you of Prestige, even though the latter was of much larger proportions and possessed a more unique shape. Perhaps it was the fact that this block, what used to be an apartment building, was crumbling, made you think of the academy’s inner workings. Rotting away. The cogs in the machine tearing each other apart.

This might be your end or your beginning, you were not sure which one. With an astounding loyalty, you let yourself be guided into the long-forgotten cement fortress, up exposed stairs with metal railings, past walls left bare, illuminated by an exposed moonlight, laying down a carpet of silver. It was oddly easy to think that life was beautiful when it was likely going to be taken away from you. The walk was silent, and the longer it lasted, the more at peace you felt. The odd step rang out and echoed like the gunshots you had heard, so surreal that you could barely believe it. It must have been a joke. Fireworks, or someone just being a little boisterous. Morpheus had seen so many colours of Z’s regime, it could not disappear now… oh who were you kidding. It was done for. You little version of an escape. Your space to feel.

As you made sneaky glances at the Inspector to your right, who not so ceremoniously had loosened his coat’s belt once more to have easy access to his gun, you could not help but think of the boy. You had followed his advice, made a run for it while he had been taken away by the Red Humans. Two youngsters who betrayed the regime. But who was truly free? The one who had been exterminated, or the one who had to live in fear, but at least felt the ruthless emotion?

The enigmatic man slowed down, and so did you. He made a turn, so did you, acting as his shadow. You were certain that you were probably breathing at the same rate. An empty hallway, lined with equally empty rooms and destroyed apartments. From a humble abode to rubble, you could see the horrific vistas of the district, and the drop to the cold ground below. No wall, no security, no certainty. It was only you and your fate in the form of a man who seemed to possess too much of a likeness to the keeper of your fragile adoration.

The Inspector walked in front and turned to face you. You froze, burning under his scrutiny. Eyes like scalding cold ice, assessing you, condemning you. Your best listener, now listening to your terrified heart. For what could be the last time, you felt alive. As the man reached into his pocket, you prepared for the worst, however, he only motioned with his head for you to follow him. Confused, you obeyed, finding yourself in a more secluded corner of the floor, one which had remotely retained the appearance of an actual room. Stuck in the same few seconds, there were no further commands from the Inspector, causing your mind to wander, and lips to move on their own accord:

“I should not be here.”

“Neither should I,” he deadpanned, though his choice of words was unsettling. Wasn’t he on a mission?

“I should be dead,” you persisted.

“I should have more blood on my hands.”

A pause. You were in shock, pointlessly clinging onto your own upper arms, stuck in a false embrace. Like prey that had been cornered, you were beyond the point of trusting survival instincts. You simply wanted for the interaction, or dare you say, interrogation, to be over, so you could be given away to the Red Humans, to whatever the afterlife had to offer, in peace. If you were to be melted, then so be it. If your departure were to be short and sweet, so be it. But a little question in your head still remained, a persistent worm which you decided to unleash given your hopeless circumstances:

“Then why-”

“It is pointless to ask when there is no answer,” the man answered coldly, not sparing you a glance as he picked at a filthy off-white tulle which covered a blown out window - now just a frame, with his gloved hand, glaring at the pitiful greyness outside the abandoned building before wiping the hand off with a handkerchief produced out of the pocket into which he had stuffed his hand.

A few steps separated you, but you knew better than to try and make a run for it – the man was armed, and you assumed that the gun you spotted was not the only weapon in his arsenal. He was menacing, unpredictable, and very dangerous. Alongside that, as much as you hated to admit, but the Inspectors were nothing short of extraordinary when it came to their expertise and training. Unlike Android Guardians, they were the leading forces, capable of high-risk decision making and unparalleled critical thinking. If you were to try to describe them, you always ended up thinking of chess. That was what they were playing whenever they were out in the field.

In fact, it was for this exact reason that you were concerned about this Inspector’s behaviour – it was out of line. Inefficient. Sub-optimal. You wondered if this was a new strategy or there was a higher plan; there were so many possibilities that your head could start spinning. You dug your fingers into rapidly cooling flesh, waking yourself up from the distressed rumination. What was the Inspector going to do to you? You had followed his demands so far, and weren’t putting up a fight - what more could he want?

He was unreadable. Gestures unpredictable, expression stoic, he regarded you with an air of superiority characteristic of people from his class. Serpent-like and calculating eyes, regal nose, facial structure reminiscent of a statue, plush perfectly shaped lips – all were a nod to his upbringing, you bet. He did not feel real. Reminiscent of automatons that the regime sometimes used in place of regular Guardians during high-volume riots, he was what one would call the ‘ideal specimen’. Down to the strand of wavy hair that fell on his face, he was a beautiful painting of your worst nightmare. Life had been unkind to you, you decided. It only showed you something prettier than the night lights when it was the last thing you would see.

The man stepped towards you, and your eyelids slammed shut automatically. You did not wish to see your death. The sound of leather against leather, the tied coat belt, the creaking of ancient rotten wood planks under lacquered ankle boots. He must be getting ready to end you. Were you too high profile to be lying with the other bodies in the club? Were you more dangerous in the Inspector’s view, being a singer, or as one could say a ‘spreader’ of inappropriate entertainment. Was this treason? Terrorism? You were not sure – the sentence changed more than the weather. But were you an enemy? With confidence, you had to answer with a Yes. Having escaped the regime, and according to those who had helped you regain some parts of your past self, having had a part in the uprising within Prestige Academy, you were the worst kind of citizen of Strictland. Disobedient, unchanging, and influential. You were waiting for the cocking of a pistol, for cool metal to hit your head, and for the world to go even darker as you collapsed on to the floorboards. The man had to be taking out his gun. He must have taken you away from the raid to be particularly ruthless. A sadist? Maybe. You had no time to judge.

You felt the fabric of your shimmering dress under your fingertips, and imagined you were preparing for a show of a lifetime. You counted your inhales and exhales like you would do before a performance, and conjured an audience in your mind. More rustling, another step. He, that boy, no, young man, was in the audience. Still in the Prestige Academy uniform, but the chip was long gone. He was giving you an encouraging smile eager to hear what you had achieved in your time away from the academy. Leather caressed your hand and you flinched, comforted only by how cautious the action was. Hand turned to raise your palm to the omniscient skies, your illusions combined with reality - what was Seonghwa to give to you?

Funny, how in critical moments, the mind could give you what you had longed to forget. Seonghwa. His name tasted sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. A fine wine, dizzying, addictive. A handsome, talented student who had the future ahead of him, only to throw it away for the taste of something more ‘real’ in his eyes. Something cold was being pressed into your palm, reminiscent of a large bullet or a device your fingers could remember before your mind. Your eyes shot open and were met with a dream and a nightmare. Finally, it hit you. Behind the Inspector’s facade, a mask crafted by years of experience and brutality, was the same boy, who, just like now, pressed a breaker into your palm.

“Wake up.”

Your gaze fell to the intricate metal handiwork, spotting the carving of an ‘A’ contained in a circle right at the base. The taste of anarchy, an uprising, revolution, a hope for something better flowing through a tragic story you two had written. At last, it had a resolution, and you were more than content with who was holding the lethal pen. You stared at the breaker. The very thing that brought you out of an eternal somnolence, submission to a regime. You had woken up then, and never could sleep.

“Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer… the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune…” you lifted your head once more, staring into Seonghwa’s softened eyes. He had matured, his features having become siren-like, dangerous, seductive. Befitting his character. You smiled sadly, “...or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and, by opposing end them?” He remained quiet, as if he was the one waiting for you to decide your own destiny, “Shakespeare. Hamlet. Ever read it? Or do they not let you?”

“I-” he cleared his throat, concealing a pang of nervousness, “I am familiar with his work.”

“Mm, isn’t that a criminal offence?”

“What is?”

“Reading work exploring human emotion… sounds like treason to me.”

“Reading does not imply sympathising.”

“But you do.”

Again, a heavy pause. Seonghwa rocked from one foot to another one time, another - an old habit? Or an attempt to convince you that he was at least a fraction the same?

“I… I do not,” before you could scowl, he continued, “‘Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once’. I am more partial to this way of thinking.”

“Ah, the irony of it all.”

Your hand formed a fist around the device, and you kept on searching for fragments of the man you loved inside of the new Seonghwa before you. In flashes, you spotted glimmers of gold, feeble hints for something that could be concealed in the depths of his soul. 

“So, are you going to make me a valiant person?”

“What?” 

“Wasn’t that what you were supposed to be doing?” feeling a little more brave, you taunted him, wishing to see what his limit was. Whether he was lying to you just to set you at ease and make his job easier. So he could see one final sense of betrayal in your pupils.

“We are already dead, Y/N.”

---

Music. A universal language. The biggest risk for a community that someone wanted to silence. So you hummed one song after another, head leaning against Seonghwa’s shoulder as you sat on the concrete floor, in the corner of the room that was barely holding itself together. Bathed in silver light, you shared with him the luxury of reminiscing, mourned what had been lost only to have the feeling be replaced by a budding desire to wish upon anything at all.

Seonghwa might have lied to many of the Inspectors, and was in danger of facing a fate worse than extermination, but at least he did not lie to you. And because he did not lie to you, you were here; you were real. He could have the pleasure of having you beside him, wrapped up in his leather coat; your dress was not exactly ‘inhospitable conditions’ material, as pretty and befitting as it was. You were refusing to let go of the breaker as though it was the tether to a more sunny past, not that Seonghwa would ever dare pry it out of your hands. So long as you could keep singing for him forever. Even when music were to cease existing, and when the sky would fall down, he would still hear your voice. How many times had he visited Morpheus in secret, outside of his official inspections and scouting missions? How quickly had he transferred into a field role just for the chance to find you? How had he managed to remain alive even though his sentence had been supposedly set in stone, and he was still feeling? With each question, the answer grew blurrier and blurrier, until it no longer existed. Perhaps this was a manifestation of destiny. You were supposed to meet again after so much turmoil, so you did. Curious.

“What song do you like?” your voice, sleepy, serene, cut through his ruminations. Seonghwa looked down and to his side, meeting a gentle gaze. 

“What song do you want to sing?”

“Mm, no that’s not an answer,” you snaked your hands around his arm and pulled him closer. 

“But I like everything you sing. Because you sing it.”

“Sweet, but I’m at a loss.”

“Then let’s be quiet. Together. For as long as we can.”

“There’s not too long left, is there?”

Your question was rhetorical. Both you and Seonghwa were aware of it. Time in Strictland was not governed by the individual but by an unforgiving system. A person, or perhaps a symbol, holding the clock with an iron grip and making the hands fly faster and faster until a second was an impossible measure. Involuntarily, he sighed, causing wisps of steam to escape his lips and rise to the exposed armature of the floor above. With cooling temperatures came the cooling heart, and it was difficult to tell what it was that you loved. What was it that made you feel alive?

“You know, they gave me a choice,” Seonghwa began. There was no reason why he should be telling you about what had happened to him, but the sombre atmosphere seemed to bode well for a confession. You did not interrupt, choosing to remain passive, resigned, “either die for what I believe in, or admit I was wrong.”

“Funny how they gave you a choice,” the infamous ‘they’. The Guardians, the regime, the enemy. Now turned into a friend. Interesting how life changed.

“Definitely was not what I expected.”

“You sure they didn’t say ‘sike’ at any point and you just got lucky?”

“I don’t think they can miss,” a simple, but sharp fact. You bit your lower lip, “...anyways. You can probably guess what I chose to do. The only caveat is that I admitted I was wrong… for a different thing.”

“Do tell.”

“I was wrong for putting you in danger, Y/N.”

“Nothing we could do about that. We were two fools in love.”

Seonghwa detangled himself from you, only to grasp your free hand in his, place the other on your thigh and meet you face to face. Misty-eyed, his rationality was growing frantic, and you knew that at any moment he could snap, and only the clearing night knew what would happen then.

“But I was the one to jolt you out of a peaceful existence. I was selfish-” After years of doubting himself, sinking into a destructive illusion where he would march alongside others like a machine, he was breathing. Much to his regret, it was a sensation far too sweet and heavenly, worth every revolution and rebellion.

“I don’t regret it.”

“...What?”

“I would put this thing to my head time and time again if I had to,” you raised the breaker to eye level, attempting to get at least a smile or a chuckle out of Seonghwa. Much to your dismay, it did the opposite. You would be lying if you were to proclaim you were euphoric. 

“I- I’m… Y/N I’m so sorry…” you shook your head and pulled him in, until his exhales and inhales were tickling your neck. Hunched over you like a black-clad shield, Seonghwa was unmoving. Eyes darting down, you spotted that he had taken the pistol out of the holster, and upon a second glance to where he had been sitting, you noted its lonely presence, tucked away with debris and gravel.

“You are alive. And clearly still care enough to remember me. That’s your apology. And your punishment,” in a soothing gesture, you ran your fingers through his hair, cautiously at first, then turning your ministrations continuous, measured out when Seonghwa sat back down on the concrete, only this time nuzzled into you. 

“Sorry…” he forced out, choking up.

The moon counted down the time while lazily passing over the building. You were at a crossroads. In haste, Seonghwa had told you of the opportunity to serve the Guardian Inspectors, being a private entertainer of sorts, but he knew you would refuse. Fast. Becoming one’s own enemy was the one thing you would not follow Seonghwa into doing. And that is why he admired you. You were strong. You were truly alive. A bird soaring in the skies in spite of the risks of being hunted, being shot. Simply for the feeling of the wind under your wings, to be closer to the stars and to sing your song loud and clear, every note a celestial blessing. 

“Blue bird…”

“Hm?”

“I think I have an idea… if you are willing to go into hiding, that is.”

“Planning uprisings are we?”

“Oh they’ve been long in the works, my love. It is part of my job to close my eyes when necessary, and when convenient.”

“Are you about to be wrong again?”

“Maybe. Or very, very right. Depends on how the song sounds to you.”

---

Walking down the corridors of the headquarters, hands behind his back and appearance pristine, Seonghwa was nothing short of a model Inspector. Low ranking employees cowered before him and bowed, while his immediate colleague Wooyoung smirked, attempting to hook any information out. 

“So… where'd the pretty star go?”

Silently, Seonghwa handed him a slip recording the disposal of an ‘unnamed entity’.

“ Oh… well that’s harsh. What did they do, reject you?”

“Apparently once gone so far astray, one cannot be changed. I had to do what was best for the regime.”

“Such an example for others. Wow. Almost too good to be true, Park. Well, I’ll be reporting that the extermination and cleanup of Morpheus was successful.”

“You do that.”

While Wooyoung turned the corner, Seonghwa continued to walk straight down the metal corridor, eyes locked onto the very end. Morpheus was no longer, indeed. But your song was still ringing in his ears, and no doubt, there would be a time when it would resound over the many speakers planted all across Strictland.

Blue skies smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies do I see

Bluebirds singing a song

Nothing but bluebirds all day long

Never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you're in love, my how they fly

Blue days, all of them gone

Nothing but blue skies from now on

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[jaxfromthatcircus]

Hey, it's me and this is my blog

SO guess what? I found acess to one of those funky computers that Caine keeps in secret... And made this! Isn't it cool? Eh, not like I have anything better to do anyways.

So I guess you people from the interneet can send me some cool asks about how things are going here, I just won't spill secrets okay?

...Who am I kidding, of course I will.

Warnings!

Be aware that the person behind this blog IS AN ADULT and so is the character, mod is 19 and Jax is 22. Do NOT send me anything sexual if you're a minor. This blog may contain sexual or suggestive jokes and is considered 16+.

Be mindful that this blog is both based in canon AND headcanons, so some stuff might not be completely "in character". If you see something that you dislike, remember that the character IS an asshole but also the mod's just having fun with it lol don't need to harass anyone because of a silly gag.

This blog may contain mentions of drug and alcohol use as well as heavy topics like mental breakdowns, panic, and similar. Suicidal topics will be kept to a minimum but may always happen, so viewer discretion is advised.

Meet the crew!

You can check out other blogs that I mainly interact with here! Amazing masterlist by yours @ask-abstracted-kaufmo truly, go give em some love!!

Why did you not answer me?

If I did not answer your ask yet, there might be a reason:

- I'm sleeping or working

- I am searching for a more appropriate answer to the question (if it relates to canon stuff)

- There was an exactly same ask sooner so I'm killing two birds with one stone

- I'm editing an image for the ask

- I'm not following the order or the asks for a funny reason

- Too many asks, mod is sorry for this one-

- Update March 24: hhhh not great era, I'm sorry if I may take long but managing life has been crazy rn

The children!

So far we have 9 kid anons that Jax is caring for

That doesn't mean you can't make your own silly anons to interact too, bring your ocs, it's fine! This is just a list of adopted children.

[Last update on 22/04/2024]

So far, we got:

cool anon

foreheadkisser

clown

lav

sleepy

strawberry

patchwork

pastel

phoenix

Roleplaying

"This is how Jax talks! Hi darlin' ;)"

This is how we're gona describe actions and anything that is not to be said out loud.

[mod coffee: and this is how yours truly, mod coffee, will appear here once in a while! hello ;) ]

Extras!

Other blogs also ran by me are @jaxrabbitoid-thehuman, @dogday-shines-bright and @ask-theredcrown check it out if you feel like it!

I made a mod blog where you can reach out to me! It's @mod-coffee-is-here!

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by @mochie85 divider by @fictive-sl0th <3

Summary: It's been a long time coming... But now the day for you and Loki to say 'Yes' and enter the bond of marriage has finally arrived. A covenant for eternity.

Chapter Five - An Otherworldly Celebartion

Warnings for this Chapter: fluff, alcohol? Partying, tooth-rotting fluff and so so much romance

Word Count: 5,9k

a/n: Let's get this party started! 🥳 Next chapter will be already the final one - which is kinda crazy... What a journey this has been... And you better fasten your seatbelts for next week, because it's getting hot! 🔥

This chapter's shout outs: Huge thanks again to @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 for the beautiful party edition of the wedding dress! Thank you, @muddyorbsblr for chosing Loki's suit and Thor's outfits! Another thanks to my flower girl, @fictive-sl0th ! @lokisgoodgirl & @mochie85 made a wonderful team in planning the party entertainment - thank you so much! Just like @lokiforever & @brokenpoetliz - thank you for this location as well! @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic is the DJ - thank you, friend! And of course @aagn360 for designing the wedding cake! Thank you!

💍 Chapter Four °☆• Chapter Six 💍

Baby Fever Masterlist °☆• A Covenant for Eternity Masterlist (coming soon!)

Rose petals rained down on you and Loki, as you walked hand in hand on the white carpet towards the awaiting carriage. Everybody was lined up at the way; cheering and smiling, all the while throwing the beautiful flowers your way.

Before it was time for celebrations, you and Loki would tend to another Midgardian wedding tradition... The release of white doves.

Behind the emerald green curtains at the end of the aisle, three big cages with doves awaited you. In two of them was only one dove; in the third quite a few more.

Once everyone had gathered around you, Loki and the animals; one of the royal keepers stepped forward to guide you through this beautiful tradition. He opened one cage and gently grabbed the bird; handing the stunning creature over to Loki, who took it just as gently in his hands. Then he showed you how to hold your dove.

"There you go, your majesty." Majesty... You almost fainted at the words of the young keeper. This was all still a bit surreal for you... "She's very kind, but you have to be careful with her wings. If you hurt her, she might pick after you," the Æsir instructed you, just like he instructed Loki. You nodded. "Alright. Thank you." Carefully he handed you over the dove and you took her carefully - not to hurt her in your hands. The keeper nodded at you, "Whenever your majesties are ready, just throw them gently up in the air and let go. They'll fly away." and took a bow; stepping aside.

All eyes were once again, of course, on you and the prince. You exchanged a look with your husband- husband... sounded very surreal in your head as well, and he nodded. "On three, my love?" "On three." Loki gave you a nod as well and started the countdown. "One, two, three!"

On three, both you and him threw the doves gently in the air and let go; watching the beautiful animals fly away into the sunny autumn sky. Then you immediately went to the third big cage and released the other white doves together; opening up the cage. They followed the other two birds; accompanied by claps and cheers of the people around you. Family, friends, colleagues - and the royal staff... Maids, guards, servants, cooks, the keepers - basically everybody who worked in the palace. You had been adamant that they all were invited to the ceremony as a thankyou for all the hard work they performed for this wedding.

After everyone had watched the doves flying away and the cages had been removed, you and Loki got awashed with congratulations left and right. Thor was the first. He had just pushed his way to the front. "Brother!" The blond god called out - and before Loki could even react, he found himself in a bone crushing hug. "I'm so indescribably happy for you and Lady Y/N! Congratulations!" Loki could only wince in return; the hug being definitely a bit too tight.

Once Thor let go of him, your husband had taken a few very deep breaths first. You just tried to hold back the giggle bubbling up in the back of your throat. "Thank you, brother," Loki almost panted. "But if you ever hug me that tight again, I am going to stab you." Thor smiled brighter than a Cheshire cat; slapping a meaty hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "I do love you as well, Loki."

While Thor congratulated you, Jane did the same to Loki.

Odin was next, of course, being his father and your father-in-law. The royal family had the privilege to congratulate the newlyweds first, for sure, therefore was Frigga following after her husband.

"Loki..." She smiled brightly; blinking away a few tears and cupping her son's cheeks despite his horned helmet. "I am so very proud of you. My little boy, married. I cannot quite believe it yet. I am beyond happy." Loki smiled back at his mother; a tear escaping his eyes. He gently took her hands in his and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. "Thank you, mother. Without you, I would've never gotten this far. I love you." Frigga moved to tightly hug her son. "And I love you."

You watched from the sidelines with tears in your eyes as well. You loved the bond Loki and his mother shared. It was beautiful.

Then Frigga turned to you; hands cupping your cheeks as well. "Y/N... Congratulations. I'm honoured to call you my daughter-in-law now. I am grateful for you. I truly am. You showed Loki what he needed the most... Love. Appreciation. Acceptance." She placed a motherly kiss on your forehead. "Thank you."

You didn't even know what to answer; being utterly overwhelmed by her words and speechless. So instead, you wrapped Frigga up in a hug. Sometimes gestures said more than words ever could.

All your friends and colleagues were next; including Natasha and, of course, Nick.

"Congrats, kid," Nick said with a smile and embraced you as well. "I'm happy for ya. Even though I would've chosen someone else and not exactly a war criminal, but hey... Love is strange, right?" You knew that he was teasing you, so you played along. "Noted, boss. In my next life I marry America's ass, not Asgard's ass." A hearty laugh left the older man's lips, who had exchanged his signature black coat for a black tux. "I take you by the word."

After everyone had congratulated you both, it was time to head back to the palace. While the royal staff was already on the way back, in order to start some last minute preparations (and especially to cook), at least ten open carriages waited for you and your guests to transport you back. They were beautifully decorated with white lilies and roses - fit for a wedding.

You and Loki took a seat in the very first carriage, of course; sitting beside each other. The god immediately reached for your hand and intertwined your fingers. You looked up at him; smiling. A gesture which he returned.

Once everyone has found a place in the carriages and was seated, the caravan started to move. This time, though, you took a different road. Not the one through the nature and woods of Asgard, no. The other one, which led through the city and heart of the realm. It was tradition for a royal bridal couple to make their appearance in front of their people. And so, Loki and you - just like Jane and Thor when they had gotten married, settled for a little parade through the city.

The Æsir were welcomed to go on the streets and stand by the sidelines to watch the royal wedding caravan make it's way to the palace. Since you had already liked this at your brother-in-law's wedding, you asked Loki if this could be done at yours and his wedding as well... He agreed happily. Besides, it was tradition. Plus, it allowed you and Loki a few minutes of some privacy, before you'd reach the city...

"Are you warm enough, my love?" Your husband asked; while making sure that the white cloak was draped neatly over your almost bare shoulders and arms. You nodded, "Yes, I'm good, thank you." and gave him a smile; placing your hand on his leather clad thigh. An offer the god couldn't resist. He took you hand immediately in his and started to caress the soft skin on the back of your hand with his thumb.

A few beats of silence passed, until a soft laugh from Loki cut through the air. "Darling, can you believe this? Because I can't. We are married now. Married. This is our wedding. It's happening right now in this very moment." You shook your head; squeezing his hand. "I can't, babe. It feels like a dream." "Indeed," Loki said and turned his head to look at you; deep blue eyes gazing into yours.

It almost took your breath away.

Then he lifted his free hand and cupped your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. "A dream I never want to wake up from," he whispered and before you could even answer, were his soft lips on yours; kissing you with so much tenderness and love.

You practically had no other choice than to melt into the kiss.

"I love you," you breathed against his lips; unable to resist kissing him a few more times. "I love you even more."

At this point, you and Loki had to watch out that the harmless kiss it started with, didn't turn into a makeout session - which tended to happen quite fast, when your man is called Loki Laufeyson...

"Babe..." You gasped; palm on his chest and gently pressing him back. "W-We have to stop this. The city-" "I know," Loki interrupted you; thumb caressing the apple of your cheek. Then he turned to face the path to your feet; nodding ahead. "Look." You followed his gaze; witnessing how the sun already sunk deeper in the Asgardian sky. Days were shorter now here as well and soon the night would settle over the realm.

"Wow... It's beautiful." "Yes, it is. One of the reasons why I love autumns on Asgard." You just smiled at Loki and rested your head against his shoulder.

The minutes you had in silence did you and Loki definitely good, but then you got thrown right back into the wedding fever which had engulfed the whole city. Hundreds of people were on the streets and cheering for you and Loki; celebrating this wonderful event with you. It was overwhelming - in the best way possible. You waved left and right; giving each and everyone a smile. The warmth, love and acceptance the people - your people were giving you didn't fail to warm your heart.

And Loki's as well...

You could see it in his oceanic blues. He was overwhelmed and certainly didn't anticipate that so many Æsir would go on the streets... For him. Probably for the first time in years - centuries, he felt truly accepted and above all... loved.

Arrived at the palace, the carriage came to an halt. Loki was the first to get off and like the gentleman he was, he stepped around and helped you down the three little steps. "May I help you, my darling wife?" The word 'wife' out of the god's mouth sent a pleasant, tingling shiver down your spine.

You smiled brightly and laid your hand into his; gladly taking the offer. "Very kind of you, dear husband." Loki couldn't help but smile proudly and helped you to dismount the carriage.

While your guests arrived at the palace and got led into the throne room by the guards and the king and queen in person, you and Loki had vanished into his personal chambers; accompanied by a few maids in order to get changed for the festivities.

You exchanged your pompous ceremony dress for a similar version. It allowed you to move more freely and was certainly better for dancing and partying.

Your husband changed from his ceremonial armour into a wedding suit - a Midgardian homage. Plus, a suit was also more suitable for a party than an armour.

All that was missing on his perfectly fitting outfit was the boutonnière. You took it from the little table where one of the maids had placed it and made your way to Loki, who was in the other room; currently standing in front of the mirror and tying the golden tie around his neck. You smiled; walking up to him and gently pinned the boutonnière on his emerald green suit jacket.

Loki looked at you with a smile; watching your fingers work. "There you go. Perfect." He took your hand in his; brushing his lips over the back of your hand, before his eyes took in your 'new' look.

"My love, you are beyond beautiful. Nothing less than a goddess." You smiled and blushed; free hand searching for his. "So are you. The most handsome man I've ever seen."

Your husband answered nothing; instead dipped his head to kiss you softly and slowly, but intimately.

"We should join our guest and welcome them properly." He nodded in agreement, even though the god would love to just keep you for himself in here for the rest of the day. "We should, darling." A last kiss was shared, before you made your way together to the throne room.

Once you and Loki's return was announced - in the most royal way, of course, the big, golden doors to the throne room got opened for you to step inside. Again you felt all eyes on you, but this time you weren't alone. Unlike you, Loki was used to this - kind of. Therefore, he immediately felt your nervosity and gave the hand which rested in his a reassuring and comforting squeeze.

Perhaps it wasn't all the people who made you nervous, though. Perhaps it was the welcoming speech the newlyweds had to held. Speaking in front of the Avengers or a group of SHIELD agents? No problem. Speaking in front of (royal) wedding guests? Turned out to be a problem. But to your sheer luck, you had Loki, who guided you through this...

"Dear friends, families and colleagues," Loki started, once the two of you had made your way up to the podium where Odin's throne stood, but today was converted into a stage on which the live band could play. "We wish to welcome you all and invite you to join us in celebrating our wedding." Loki's head turned to face you; gently urging you on to continue the little speech.

You took a deep breath, "Thank you for being a part of this. We are happy to share this wonderful moment in our life with you all." and felt how Loki softly squeezed your hand again. "Now, I think there's nothing left to say than enjoy the festivities, entertainment program and the other fun things you can find all around," you gestured to the French doors. "Oh, and... The buffet is open, just like the candy bar!"

And again sounded loud claps, cheers and even some whistles through the room. Happiness was all round; the atmosphere almost vibrating with positive energy. You exchanged another look with Loki; the both of you smiling brightly - and of course you couldn't let that chance slip and leaned in for a kiss, which your man returned happily.

For sure were the bride and groom the first ones to 'storm' the buffet and get some of the delicious Asgardian food the kitchen had prepared. After the two of you, Thor, Jane, Odin and Frigga followed and then the rest of the wedding party was allowed to get something to eat.

You took your place beside your husband at the beautifully decorated table. They were all circular with a capacity of eight guests per table - except the one at the top... 'The royal table,' on which you, Loki, Thor (Who had changed into a burgundy suit by now as well.), Frigga and Odin were seated. The five tables behind you were for all the other guests.

The tables itself were covered in fine Asgardian silk with green and golden bow ties. On top of each table was a bouquet with black roses; bordered with golden lace.

While eating, you had for the first time the chance to properly look around and take in how perfectly redecorated the usually empty throne room looked...

Stepping through the main doors, the six tables were almost right in front of you on left. On the right was another single table, but smaller; reserved for the wedding cake later. A few steps away was the 'food corner'. The candy bar and main buffet, together with the actual bar for cocktails and other delicious drinks. It was your idea to bring a candy bar to Asgard, since a lot of Æsir didn't even know what proper candy was!

The huge free space in between the bar and tables, and the 'stage' for the live band would be used as the dance floor.

Before your eyes travelled to the French doors, which led outside into the gardens, where fire bowls, bar tables, loungers and a photo-booth (One of your personal highlights.) awaited you, Loki and the guests, your eyes got stuck on another small table. A big, beautifully crafted box sat on top; filled to the brim with... You smiled. Batches. As far as you could tell. It had been Pepper's idea.

You focused your gaze on some of your guests; noticing that a few of them wore the batches already... Small, circular and pinned on to the suits and dresses. 'Team Bride' and 'Team Groom' was written on them, alongside some cute details of the wedding..

You didn't think Pepper would really do it, but she did, causing you to smile more.

You didn't notice how lost in thoughts and your surroundings you got; just picking at your food instead of eating, until you felt Loki's hand on yours. "Darling, is everything alright?" Concern swung in his voice. You blinked; falling back in the here and now.

"Yes, sure," you gave him a smile, "I was just a bit lost in thoughts and admired how beautiful all of this..." and gestured around. "...is." He nodded, "Once more I can only agree with you, my love." and lifted your hand up to his lips, in order to bestow a gentle kiss upon your knuckles.

"I love you." The three magic words just slipped past your lips. You couldn't hold them back. You wanted to shout it from the rooftops. "And I love you." Loki's eyes literally shone with love and adoration. The both of you exchanged a few short, but sweet kisses and continued to eat.

Your surroundings weren't the only thing you could properly take in for the first time... Your husband's hairstyle for example (What a shame!) - now that you saw his side profile; not concealed by his horns. It almost took your breath away.

Some of his raven curls were bound together into a bun, with quite a few curls still hanging loosely over his shoulders. The curls on his sides were braided into small plaits, which disembogued in his man bun.

You knew that it was a traditional hairstyle for Norse men on their wedding and Loki had told you about it, but to see him actually having it was entirely different, and you couldn't deny that it did things to you. He was breathtakingly gorgeous.

"You should take a picture, darling. It lasts longer," Loki suddenly spoke up; a mischievous smirk on his face. "Who says I won't?" You answered; referring of course to the photo-booth. The god only winked and gave you a smouldering look, which caused you to giggle like a schoolgirl.

Gods, you were so in love...

About an hour into the festivities, everybody had quenched their hunger. It was clearly noticeable. The conversations around you got louder and the candy bar plundered. From the corner of your eye, you saw how Odin and Frigga exchanged a look and a soft smile. Before knowing what was happening, the Allmother stood up and graciously made her way towards the podium, on which the live band played quietly in the background during dinner. At her sign, they stopped and parted ways for her, so she could step up to the microphone.

All Frigga had to do was to subtly clear her throat and all eyes were on her; the laughter and conversations dying down.

"Dear wedding guests, I'd like to sincerely welcome you to the festivities of this beautiful union of love," she started; spreading her arms in a welcoming gesture. "Now that dinner was served and everybody's hunger quenched, it is time for another wedding tradition... Midgardian and Asgardian." The smile on her lips widened. "The wedding dance!"

At the announcement, she received loud claps and cheers, while you felt the nervosity punching you straight in the face - again. Sure, you and Loki had practised every step at least a trillion times, but... That wasn't a training session. That was the main event.

"Y/N, Loki..." Frigga spoke to the both of you directly now through the microphone. "Would you do us the honour?"

I looked at Loki; seeing him smile brightly. He nodded at you and stood up; offering you his hand. "May I ask for this dance, my lady?" You couldn't suppress the small, excited and yet nervous giggle which left your lips. "Yes, my prince," you accepted - of course, and placed your hand in his.

Frigga left the 'stage' and gestured for everybody to stand and line up at the sidelines, Loki led you onto the dance floor.

"Are you ready, love?" Your husband whispered; making sure you were alright, while all the guests were still moving around. You nodded. "Y-Yes. Just nervous..." He gave you a reassuring smile. "We got this. Trust in my lead and enjoy this wonderful dance we are about to share." Again, you gave him a nod and smile.

Once you got the permission from the Allmother to begin, the both of you took a step back and got into position.

Loki crossed his arms formally behind is back and took a bow, while you curtsied. When the music started to play, Loki and you stepped closer to each other again and begun the Asgardian part of the wedding dance - which felt somehow taken straight out of a fairytale. It was elegant, noble and consisted of a lot of 'handwork', but not very much body contact.

The first steps were almost the same as the last; palm against palm and forearm against forearm, with the other arm neatly tucked behind your backs. In time with the music, you took steps to turn in a circle. Loki had taught you that it was important to maintain eye contact - so you tried to focus just on him and this dance.

You got more and more confident when the first minute of the song was over and everything had gone smoothly so far. It gave you enough boost to do what Loki told you... Trust in him and enjoy this.

Even the one lift in the dance failed to scare you like it always did before. Effortless, you placed your arm around Loki's shoulder, while his arm wrapped around your waist; lifting you up off the ground gently and slowly turned in a circle. Your eyes were not leaving the other's for even a second.

When the music picked up pace, you and Loki did the same. The dance moves got more rhythmic and powerful, but never lost its graciousness.

With the last beat of the music, the both of you got into the final position - but there was not much time to catch your breaths...

Since your wedding dance consisted of two parts, you merely had a few seconds, before the sounds of the chosen Midgardian song echoed through the big throne room; played of course by the live band.

'a thousand years' by Christina Perri.

Choosing this song was a hard, long process. You remembered discussing for hours with Loki. After all, this was an important decision and you had about ten songs in mind, which had been fitting for a wedding dance. It had to be something special. A song that represented your love for each other - and 'a thousand years' did...

At the first sounds of the piano, you felt how your husband's free hand came to rest on your waist; gently pulling you in closer. The hand which rested against yours shifted, so that he was holding your small one in his bigger palm.

In time with the rhythm of the song, you started the second part of your wedding dance... The waltz.

Loki led you over the marble floor; eyes locked on yours. You felt like floating. It was such an intimate dance - way more than the Asgardian one.

You were closer; almost chest to chest. You could feel Loki's breath against the skin on your face; his intoxicating scent hitting you full force. You never wanted to let go.

From time to time, the god twirled you gently in a circle - only to catch you seconds later with his strong arms. You could practically feel Loki's eternal love seeping through his hands and invading your body. You never wanted to miss it. Him.

By the end of the song, you had wound your hands around Loki's neck, while he had his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. Now you were really chest to chest. With the last sound, all the guests started to applaud and cheer, but for you it was just a rushing in your ears. A side noise. Your focus was fully directed on Loki - as his soft lips moved in sync against yours.

Unfortunately, the moment of intimacy didn't last long, since the band started to play the first 'proper' song of the evening, causing most of the guests to storm the dance floor all around you.

By now was the party in full swing. Everybody had obviously fun and was well entertained. Be it by the candy bar, dance music, photo-booth - or Scott, who roamed the tables as a magician. Loki wasn't very impressed about all that, but he at least thought that his colleague was a little bit funny. Scott though, was completely enthralled; had even changed from his normal suit into a magician costume. And of course - as it should be, you and Loki got the first performance...

"Okay, okay, now, Y/N... Draw a card!" You did as he told you and drew a card from stack. "Perfect! Don't show me the card, though. You can show it Lokes but not me." You nodded and happily showed Loki your card. The king of hearts.

"Now stick it back into the pile." You followed his command again. "Alrighty! Now..." Scott started and shuffled the cards. "You both can see that I am shuffling the cards. I have no idea which card you drew, but I believe..." He closed his eyes for a moment and drew a card from the pile as well. "...it's this one!" He turned it around - and you gasped. "The king of hearts. Am I right?" You nodded. "Oh my gosh, yes!" Scott beamed proudly, "Hurray!" and reached into his trouser pocket; throwing some confetti in the air. It rained down on you and Loki.

While you giggled excitedly and clapped, Loki just took a deep breath, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned closer to your ear. "You know, love, that trick isn't even difficult. All you do is- Oof..." You elbowed him in the side; signalling him to shut up. For good measure, you threw him a warning gaze. Scott was so proud of himself and put a lot of effort in this and you knew he loved to do it, so you didn't want Loki to make Scott sad. Plus, all the other guests loved him and had a lot of fun.

Now Loki was standing at the bar, slurping his drink. His gaze was, of course, lingering on you. He watched you on the dance floor, as you danced with Romanoff to a Midgardian song which he believed was called 'Riptide' from a man named Vance Joy - or so; laughing and visibly enjoying yourself.

The god smiled; feeling his heart pump pure love for you through his veins. But a sudden, rather harsh clap on the shoulder ripped his eyes away from you and he turned his body on the bar stool. Thor stood behind him in his impressive burgundy suit; ale in hand and smiling like a Cheshire cat.

"Ouch, brother..." Loki grumbled and rubbed his shoulder. "I've got ears, you know. You can just say my name instead of almost beating me up every time you wish to talk to me."

Thor didn't even seem to hear Loki's words, as he squeezed himself between the bar stool Loki sat on and the one to his left. "I am so proud and happy for you, Loki." The blond boomed and laid one arm around the raven haired man's shoulder. "Look around, brother. We are celebrating your wedding! I never thought this day would ever come and yet here we are..." The older prince pulled the younger closer; hugging him in a kind off awkward angle, but it was a hug nonetheless. "Look how far you've come. Not only have you reached the status to be called an Avenger, no, you are a husband now." Thor smiled brightly at his younger sibling. "I am proud of you, brother - truly. I am."

Loki felt that this affection of Thor was honest and pure in heart. He truly meant it - and Loki couldn't help himself but to smile and hug Thor as well.

"Thank you, brother. This means a lot to me. I know very well that I am not the best at showing you my affection and brotherly love, but know that it's there."

Thor chuckled, "I do love you, too, brother." and squeezed the raven haired man tighter; making it hard to breathe for Loki.

At some point, the younger god started to pat his brother's shoulder rather frantically. "Brother. Can't. Breathe."

That was the moment the blond noticed and he immediately loosened the bear hug. "Apologies, brother." His cheeks turned pink, and he clapped Loki a last time on his shoulder. "Now I won't bother you any longer. Keep admiring your lady. Besides, I have promised Jane to try out that funny photo carton thing. See you, brother."

As fast as Thor appeared, as fast vanished he again.

Loki emptied his drink and decided to make his way over to you...

You were still on the dance floor with Natasha; having fun just like the other people around you.

You saw your husband approaching the both of you and smiled brightly. "Hey, babe!" You almost shouted through the music; waving at him. Loki couldn't help but chuckle at your ridiculously sweet behaviour. You were happy - and that's what mattered to him. Your happiness was his glorious purpose.

"Miss Romanoff," the god addressed the Russian beauty politely; taking a bow. "May I steal my wife away from you?" Natasha giggled, "Only this one time, Laufeyson." and winked at him, before turning around and finding Tony to dance with instead.

You had watched the scenario with a smile on your lips. "You're a bad boy for just stealing me away, you know. The song isn't even over yet," you teased Loki; crossing your arms over your chest. But the god just shook his head; smirking wolfishly with mischief glimmering in his oceanic blues.

"Wrong, darling," he said; getting so close that he was able to wrap his arms loosely around your waist. "I only took back what is mine." With those words he literally yanked you towards him; causing you to stumble forward and literally crashing against his strong body. "Lokiii!" You giggled with both palms on his chest.

"Yes, princess?" He chuckled and started to sway you to the song. "It's the truth isn't it?" You just shook your head but couldn't stop yourself from standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. Just in that moment the music changed. The happy dance song turned into a rather sad, but powerful and especially catchy song... 'Won't Go Home Without You' by Maroon 5. One of your favourites. The live band definitely knew what they did and delivered an amazing performance.

As soon as you recognised the musical masterpiece, you pulled away from Loki's sinful lips and wiggled around in his embrace excitedly.

"On of your favourites, am I right?" You nodded with a bright smile and wrapped your arms around your husband's neck; starting to sway to the beat. "I love it!" Loki smiled and moved his palms to let them rest on your hips and joining you in your dance movements.

"Every night, you cry yourself to sleep; thinking, why does this happen to me? Why does every moment have to be so hard?" You started to sing the lyrics alongside the lead singer of the band; knowing it by heart. "Hard to believe that. It's not over tonight. Just give me one more chance to make it right. I may not make it through the night. I won't go home without you!"

Loki watched you with love and adoration in his eyes; totally enchanted by you and your beautifully happy nature. The god was so in love, he wasn't even able to put it in words.

"It′s not over tonight. Just give me one more chance to make it right. I may not make it through the night. I won't go home without you!" You kept on singing as Loki spun you in a circle, only to catch you in his arms mere seconds later.

"And I won't go home without you," you shook your head; singing. "And I won′t go home without you. And I won′t go home without you," you pointed at your husband; finger digging softly in his left pec.

"You won't go home without me, darling," Loki answered as the song ended; pulling you once again closer against his body. "You will never go home without me." You giggled. "I hope so."

The god's thumbs started to caress your sides. "I promise. I'll always be by your side. No matter what."

You smiled; feeling your heart speed up. "I love you," you breathed against his lips and kissed him again.

"I. Love. You. Too," Loki mumbled in between kisses; not letting go of you.

Later on, some servants rolled the absolutely deliciously looking cake into the room; crafted by the best pâtisserie in downtown New York. It was majestic; fitting for a royal wedding. The three-tier wedding cake was completely in white with beautiful gold decorations and flowers.

Together, you and Loki cut the cake and manoeuvred the first slice on a plate. Of course you shared the slice.

"And?" You asked your husband after you had fed him the first spoonful of cake. Loki hummed; munching on the delicacy. "It tastes heavenly," he stated, "Try it, love." and gave you a spoonful as well. It was the top cake, so the flavour of mint and chocolate hit your taste buds. "Mhm, yeah... It's okay." Loki pouted, "Just okay?" and you giggled. "Babe, you know that chocolate-mint wouldn't be my first pick." The god sighed dramatically. "It was worth a try..." You giggled again and took another bite. Loki smiled.

The other cakes were definitely more to your liking. Of course, you had to try all three. It was your wedding cake after all...

The party was in full swing for hours and hours. You probably had the best time of your life - as it should be.

After dancing, eating, drinking, taking several funny, sweet and romantic photos in the photo-booth and even playing some wedding games, it was time for you and your husband to call it a night.

It was way past midnight, when all your guests lined up and created an aisle for the two of you to walk through. Everybody held sparklers in their hands; waving you off into your wedding night. It was a magic moment.

I won't keep all the creative works from you this time either! 🤗

Tags: @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jaidenhawke @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @jennyggggrrr @multifandom-worlds @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @fictive-sl0th @herdetectivetheorist @chennqingg @hisredheadedgoddess28 @princess-ofthe-pages @km-ffluv @brokenpoetliz @huntedmusicgardenn @lokiforever @stupidthoughtsinwriting @loz-3 @jaguarthecat @icytrickster17 @eleniblue @yourfriendlyslytherinhc @kimanne723 @lou12346789 @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @smolvenger @isaidoop @lokisgoodgirl @lokisrealpurpous @aagn360 @cakesandtom @glitchquake @alexakeyloveloki (Continuing in the comments!)

[miraclewoozi]

HIGH FIDELITY, PT 2. -c.hs

getting back on the horse is hard, and failing to hit it off with the cute gamer guy you went for a drink with last night has the potential to be your love life’s last straw. but when up and coming rockstar VERNON unexpectedly canters into your life, you find yourself asking one very important question: do you have it in you to saddle up, one more time?

( PART ONE )

pair ; vernon x fem!reader.  content ; strangers to lovers.  up-and-coming musician!vernon x record store owner!reader.   fluff, angst, smut. (MINORS DNI). warnings ; drinking + alcohol is a big theme pretty much throughout. mentions of past relationship breakdowns. reader experiences a lot of stress, anxiety and feelings of doubt, reflected in self sabotage. mentions of sickness (acute). wc ; 12.2k ( ~38k total. ) disclaimer ; this fic was inspired by rob + liam in the series high fidelity and is therefore pretty influenced by the show. if you’ve watched it, you’ll probably see a lot of similarities! i just felt so drawn to vernon in this kind of role that i really wanted to try and put a spin on it. i do not claim that every idea behind this is original. notes ; been working on this one for a while. hope you enjoy it.<3

smut tags : making out. some groping. some 'first time together' shenanigans. oral (m rec) & ball sucking hehe. he has a big cock because i have an agenda to push. implied f rec oral. implied multiple rounds. PLEASE let me know if i’ve forgotten anything.

The clock on your bedside table reads somewhere between 4:00 and 5:00 in the morning when you resign from trying to fall asleep and force yourself to sit upright, fed up of tossing and turning between your now too-creased sheets, brain stuck in a foggy, hellish limbo. Your mind won’t shut down. Your body won’t rest. Birds are starting to chirp outside and you can hear them clear as whistles through the cheap window that doesn’t quite seal shut to your left. Your eyes squint in preparation as you reach for your lamp and flood the room in yellowish light, drawing your knees up to your chest. 

You’ve spent so much time in your own thoughts that you’ve begun to feel systemically unwell. Your stomach twists and aches, your eyes are so dry it hurts to even blink and there’s an ache behind them that started as an annoying throb, but has grown over the hours into a roaring flame. From the hairs on your head all the way down to your toes, you feel like you could burst. 

You wish you had it in you to cry. To let it out. Keeping this pent up is no doubt making you feel a hundred times worse, and you think it would be nice to feel something other than the endless swooping of the spiral you’re well and truly making your way down. Your alarms are going to go off in a few hours. I can’t let anyone see me like this, you think. I can’t work in this state. 

You throw ideas around in your head for a little while, thumbs tweaking over your phone as messages get typed, edited, deleted, and repeat. Part of you thinks maybe you could manage. Just tough it out and put on a brave face, because actually, what right do you have to be hiding away when you’re the one who ran out one of the nicest guys you’ve ever met? But you just know something will go wrong, even if you tell the boys that you need to camp out in the office for the day. When you need peace and quiet, you can never find it behind that creaky old door. When was the last time you got a full admin day without being called through to help with a problem or deal with a drama? And truly, the idea of facing the world right now makes you feel like you could be sick. 

Sick…

Could you—?

You’ve never enjoyed taking sick days, even on occasions where you’ve really needed them, when you’ve woken up feeling like you’re knocking at death’s door. Sometimes, you swear the guilt that it brings ends up making you feel ten times worse than whatever your ailment is doing to you in the first place. But your exhaustion lets impulse take hold and you’re already sending a message into your group chat with the boys before you can talk yourself out of it, biting the inside of your cheek as the little indicator pops up on your screen. Delivered. 

Well. You’re committed now, whether you like it or not. 

Not feeling so hot. I won’t be in today. Take it easy, I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Sorry. 

You pick your comforter up off the bed and wrap it around your shoulders like an extravagant, well-padded cape, trudging your way through the apartment until you’re stood, barefoot and cold, staring into the bright light of your refrigerator. Somehow in the seconds between pulling the handle and now, you’ve managed to forget what is what that you were hoping to find. More out of spite for how the bulbs are currently bleaching your retinas than because you want it, you pull the milk from its home in the cradle of the door and fix yourself a glass to take with you and put it on the coffee table back in your living room.

Without an ounce of grace, you throw yourself onto your couch: your head rests against the arm of the seat like you’re in the apartment of a sketchy therapist, and you’re wrapped up in your duvet as if it’s a sleeping bag, treating yourself to the luxury of a slightly different ceiling pattern to stare up at. And it could be the change of the room that finally manages to drag you under, or it could be the total fatigue of the emotional rollercoaster that has been your last twenty four hours…

But your glass of milk goes completely untouched as you eventually drift off, either way. 

Of course, it’s not for nearly long enough. Barely an hour after finally managing to fall asleep, your phone starts to vibrate harshly against your chest. You tap at the screen blindly, hoping to shut off what you assume is your alarm; when it’s still buzzing a few seconds later, you reluctantly open your eyes, fighting back a sob. It’s not your alarm – it’s an incoming call. Why would it be anything else?

“Hello?” You grumble, putting the phone on speaker and resting it on the couch cushion next to your head. The energy expenditure of holding the device up to your ear feels mammoth.

“Ohh, you sound terrible.” Seungkwan’s voice sounds more taunting than it does concerned, but you pin that down to a symptom of his over-familiarity. “You’re sick?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“I heard there was something going around,” Seungkwan tells you. Great, you think. Good to know. Now go away. “Yeah – one of my cousins… ah, what did she say…”

“Hey, man, I really-...”

“That’s it. She said she was love sick.”

You sigh so hard you think it’s a miracle you don’t pass out.  

“Don’t–”

“You better make sure Vernon gives you plenty of Vitamin D, today,” he harps on. “It’s quite the disease. I heard it can really–”

“Seungkwan!” You snap, finally, grabbing your phone and barking straight into the microphone. He doesn’t need to know that you’re stretching the truth to its absolute limit, but you certainly won’t let him keep believing that you’re calling out just to get laid. “Knock it off, okay? I’ve been awake all night.” 

(You suppose you should be glad that that much really is true.)

He falls silent, and you don’t know if he totally believes you, but a few breaths later, you hear his voice through the speaker again. He’s softer, this time. Quieter.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, hesitating a moment before he goes on. “Try to get some rest, all right? I’ll swing by after work and check in with some food, and… if you need anything, just text me?”

You’re immediately overcome with guilt at the sharp change in his demeanour, and it does nothing to settle the way your insides are writhing inside you. You clear your throat and pull your duvet up to cover your face, squeezing your eyes tightly shut. 

“I will,” you mumble. “I’m sorry – thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. You can hear the front door to his own apartment slam shut and his breaths pick up as he starts to rush down the stairwell of his building. “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.”

“Hey–” he rushes, before you can hang up the call. “Rest up. Run a bath, drink plenty. Love you.”

You cringe a little, but not enough to stop you from saying it back. Sort of. 

“Yeah. You too.”

Nobody could ever accuse Seungkwan of not being a man of his word. As irritating as he can sometimes be, as determined as he is to get on your every last nerve, you’ve never known him fail to come through on a promise. 

Not long after 6:30pm, you hear a series of knocks at the front door of your apartment. You’ve managed to squeeze in odd shifts of sleep throughout the day and though your head is still in a mess, you feel significantly less irritable than you were this morning. Cleaner, as well. One of your (several) naps took place in the bath, where you laid there and let the hot water draw some of the anxieties clean out of you to float towards the ceiling amongst the lavender-scented steam. 

In the knowledge that Seungkwan’s expectations of you are quite literally zero, you don’t bother to fix the one leg of your sweatpants that’s rolled up before you heave yourself off the couch and go to let him inside. He stands in the doorway with a bag of takeout food in each hand, all wind-flushed cheeks and that brilliant smile, and you feel like your stomach settles almost straight away when you see him.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, toeing off his shoes as he comes inside and lets the door close behind him. He sets the bags down on top of the small table by your front door and cups your face in both of his hands, squeezing your cheeks and frowning down at you. “You look awful.”

“Wow, thanks,” you huff, squirming to get out of his grip. “I was going to say I feel a little better, but…”

“You look exhausted,” Seungkwan clarifies, picking up the bags once more and following you through to your living room as you start to walk away from him. “I’m sorry about earlier, I didn’t realise you were actually… this bad…”

“This is doing wonders for my ego,” you grumble. “Keep it coming. Really.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

“No, no. By all means, continue to kick a girl while she’s down. Super classy.”

Your best friend flops down onto your couch with an exaggerated huff at your petulance. You curl up in the armchair instead, bringing your knees up beneath you. 

“Do you think it was something you ate?” He asks, refusing to give into your bickering and changing the subject matter instead. 

You shrug your shoulders at him. “I don’t-... I mean, it was more of a head… thing?” 

He sucks his front teeth. “What, like a migraine?”

“Sort of?” 

“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?” He asks. “You’ve had a migraine before. Was it that or not?”

“Well, it’s difficult to-... It wasn’t exactly…”

“Okay.” 

Seungkwan interrupts you as you hesitate again, swinging his legs off the couch and resting his elbows on his thighs, leaning as far towards you as he can while still remaining seated. He wrings his hands, plays with his fingers, lips drawn forward in a stern-looking pout. 

“I thought something was up this morning on the phone, but I didn’t wanna push it because you sounded mad. Now I know something’s wrong with you. What’s going on?”

You swallow hard and cross your arms over your chest, dropping your gaze away from Seungkwan’s very intense one. 

“Nothing,” you lie. 

“Bullshit.”

“Seungkwan!” 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, tipping his head forward and running his hands through his hair. He’s never been a coddler, always one to prefer the tough-love approach: it’s no surprise that he doesn’t appear any softer when he looks back at you. “But we both know that’s crap.”

You can feel your pulse starting to quicken the longer he stares you down. It’s as if he’s burning two great big holes into your head, laser-beams where his pupils ought to be. He’s the master of the hard stare, and you know he won’t move until he hears the truth. 

Maybe I should just tell him. Maybe it’ll help…

“Look, I don’t care how famous he thinks he’s gonna be, if Vernon upset you last night, I’ll kick his ass myself.”

And there are the alarm bells. In hindsight, maybe you should’ve seen this coming; it’s not that far of a reach, and given the few facts that he actually knows, you can’t blame Seungkwan for jumping to this conclusion. It’s quite effective in triggering you to speak up, too. (You think that maybe, this was on purpose. Attack where you’re likely to defend. He knows you like the back of his hand.) In an instant you’re sitting upright with your feet firmly on the floor and you’re shaking your head at him like a dog trying to get itself dry. 

“No, no, no, back it up,” you rush. “It’s nothing like that. He hasn’t done anyth-... God, it’s not him.”

“It better not be,” Seungkwan tells you. His voice still has that dark edge to it, and you’re not sure how exactly to stamp it out. “I’m serious. If he’s done anything-...”

“He hasn’t,” you say more firmly. After a couple slow breaths, you clasp your hands together, swallowing your pride. “The food’s gonna go cold. Go grab a couple glasses and-... whatever else from the kitchen—”

“Only if you tell me what’s happening,” he says, slowly pushing himself up to stand. 

You don’t assent with words, but you don’t have to. You look up at him and nod a couple of times and that’s all he needs. Seungkwan strides off through the doorway, leaving you to shakily exhale away the stress that is once again squeezing at your lungs.

Once the containers are laid out on the table, food is divided up, utensils are handed over and he’s poured you each out a glass of soda, Seungkwan sits back on the couch. He doesn’t prod you, or ask you again – he doesn’t need to. You know what he’s waiting for. Even so, he allows you a few mouthfuls of your dinner first: seeing as this is the first substantial thing you’ve eaten all day, you silently thank him for the generosity.

“All right,” you say, gulping down a few mouthfuls of your drink to re-lubricate your throat. “Okay. Fuck – you’re gonna wanna make yourself comfy for this.”

The only way he moves is to pick up one of the food cartons and settle it on his thigh. Oh, how you wish you were joking. But if he really doesn’t want to heed your warning…

“You know I went on that date the other week?” You ask, biting the inside of your cheek. Seungkwan nods at you, lifting a helping of noodles out of the carton.

“With the hitter and quitter,” he confirms. “I remember.”

“Right,” you say. “Well – okay, wait, no. That’s a bad start. He didn’t do anything either.”

“I mean…”

“Not the time.”

He lifts his free hand up in surrender and gestures for you to continue as he slurps his food into his mouth. You clear your throat, bouncing one leg so rapidly that the decorative candle holder on your mantelpiece starts to rattle. 

“So… it was before the date. I was on my way to the bar, walking down past-... that convenient store. You know the one Chan keeps going into ‘cause he’s got the hots for the person who works there on a Friday night? Yeah, I was walking down that way. Actually running on time for once, and-...” 

You falter, sucking a breath deep into your lungs. It causes your next words to come out more strained than they ought to. 

“I ran into Jaehyun...”

Seungkwan swallows just in time to prevent himself from choking on his mouthful of food, but his eyes still shoot wide and you think his chest convulses a little bit anyway. His is a name you haven’t mentioned in a while, but he clearly hasn’t forgotten who it belongs to.

Because, well… how could he ever forget? 

Your ex-partner. Jaehyun.

The ex-love-of-your-life, Jaehyun.

The man who asked you to marry him after three and a half years of dating only to leave you, heartbroken and alone, six months later because he wanted to travel the world and there was too much that you couldn’t bring yourself to leave behind, Jaehyun. 

How could Seungkwan forget when he had been one of the people who helped drag you through what was not only the worst break-up, but one of the worst times of your entire life? 

Aside from the other week, it’s been… nearly eighteen months since you saw him last. Almost a year since you let yourself talk about him. Even sitting in your own apartment with a box full of your favourite food in your hands, a sense of dread chills you from head to toe just going so far as to say his name. But you’ve started, now, so you might as well finish.

“…right outside that stupid fucking store.”

Your voice cracks when you say it and you hurry to set your dinner down on the floor to free up your shaking hands. You cup them over your mouth, closing your eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths. It helps enough for you to be able to continue, even if you still feel a bit like you’re drowning.

“I thought he…” Seungkwan starts, putting his own food down and slipping off the couch. He comes to sit on the arm of your chair and puts a hand around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “When did-...?”

“Yeah, uh… apparently he moved back a couple weeks ago,” you swallow, leaning into your friend’s embrace. 

Seungkwan looks down at you and you look up at him, all misty-eyed and drained. There’s more. He knows there is, but now he waits for you patiently, giving you all the time in the world to get through this and to let it out and to lean on him. He doesn’t butt in. The quiet feels worse than the talking. 

“He’s with someone now. They, uh— they met in Paris. Just over a year ago.”

Seungkwan finally dares to make a noise and breathes out heavily, so loud that it’s almost a groan. 

“Y/n,” he sighs, tightening his hold around you. “Shit – I’m so sorry,”

You shrug, staring across the room to where your record player sits on top of a low cabinet, lid open, table collecting dust. 

“For months, I sat here feeling… fucking, sorry for myself,” you say, barely above a whisper. You swallow around the lump in your throat and shake your head. “This whole time, refusing to get back on the horse ‘cause I thought maybe-... but he was-…”

The room goes quiet again as you lose the words you want to say and Seungkwan just rubs small circles against your arm. The problem is that you know this doesn’t explain why you called out of work today. It doesn’t explain what happened last night, and you’re not sure where to begin with that either. Especially seeing as the last time your best friends saw you and Vernon, the sparks flying between you were nigh-on visible. 

“I thought I was handling it, you know?” You sigh, leaning harder into Seungkwan’s soft sweatshirt. “Like… yeah — it hurt… but I was okay? I guess. And then Vernon fucking… kissed me last night—“

“He— what?”

“Hang on — no, he… I wanted him to.” You fumble with a thread hanging off the sleeve of your t-shirt as you talk. Why is this all so difficult? At the same time, why does it feel so juvenile to say out loud? “I just… I don’t know…”

Your wall clock tick, tick, ticks away in yet another painful fall of silence. 

“How bad was he?” Seungkwan asks when you struggle to elaborate. 

You assume this is an attempt to shatter the gloomy atmosphere and lighten your mood a tiny bit; it works, you suppose, because despite yourself, you laugh drily. Not without nudging your shoulder into his ribs, though. He deserves it, and you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that it does make you feel a little better.

“He wasn’t,” you groan. “Don’t—… you’re such an ass.” 

He pulls himself away from you at the sound of your laughter and moves to sit on the edge of your coffee table instead, careful not to disrupt any of your food while keeping himself close enough to you that he can hold both of your hands in his and soothe his thumbs over your palms.

“You freaked out on him, didn’t you?” 

He sees straight through you and truthfully, no part of you is surprised. No part of you tries to fight it, or reject his assumption, or even question why that’s the first explanation he leapt to. You just nod, looking to where your best friend’s fingers are currently the only things holding you together. 

“Ran out his apartment like the building was gonna burn down,” you sigh, still laughing but harshly now. He squeezes your hands gently, urging you to look up at him. You do, slowly. “It’s ruined everything.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Seungkwan tries, narrowing his eyes at you when you scoff your obvious disagreement. “No, seriously. Anyone can see the poor guy’s got it bad for you.”

“Even if that’s right, you didn’t see his face,” you say. “God, he isn’t gonna wanna look at me ever again.”

“Have you spoken to him today?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Maybe if you explain what happened–”

“Oh, sure,” you snort. “‘Hey, Vernon. Sorry for running out on you like a lunatic yesterday. I ran into my ex recently and when you kissed me, it reminded me of being with him and I got freaked out and had to dash. Hope you don’t mind.’ God.” 

You try to draw your hands back but Seungkwan just holds onto you tighter. “We’ll workshop it,” he says firmly. “Do you like him, or not?”

“Seungkwan–”

“That wasn’t an option.”

You scowl at him. “It’s not that easy.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“Yes,” you stress finally, groaning through it. “Yes – I do.”

Seungkwan’s face lights up for a second, his eyes sparkling, lips lifting. You’re half expecting him to say ‘I knew it’. Half expecting him to try and be all deep and philosophical and a little bit motherly, as he sometimes does, especially when you’re upset. He’s always been a sucker for a happy ending. But this isn’t a happy ending, you remind yourself, squaring your jaw. It’s past that, already. It isn’t going to happen, you just know it. 

“Stop being so fucking hard on yourself,” he tells you, squeezing your hands one last time before he lets go and moves back over to the couch so he can finish eating before his food goes cold. “If anyone can pull this off, it’s you.”

You’re not sure what’s in the air right now, but this has been one of the busiest weekends that you can remember. Both yesterday and today, almost as soon as the store opened, your first handful of customers came through. Apart from about an hour around lunchtime, you don’t think there have been any periods of time where you’ve not had someone milling around the shelves. It makes a nice change, really, from some of your weekend shifts – hours at a time where the dust starts to settle and hardly anyone disturbs the bell above the front door. But this means you’ve been in full customer-service mode basically all day, and you’re starting to feel exhausted from keeping up the persona.

Still. There’s only an hour or so left — you can push through, and when you get home, there’ll be a nice, hot bubble bath with your name written all over it.

The bell chimes again just as you finish serving a group of teenage girls. You watch them scurry away, excitedly giggling about their new albums and you look towards the door with a smile already plastered on, all ready to greet the new customer until your eyes lock with theirs.

A ‘hey, how’s it going?’ stops somewhere midway up your throat, a pathetic little ‘huh?’ sound escaping you in its place. You’re frozen all of a sudden; you and the man who just came in both stand perfectly still, staring at each other like a pair of bunnies in headlights. It takes you forever to register the strap wrapped around his fist, the purse that hangs just below his grip. My bag, you think to yourself, but the voice that narrates your thoughts is hushed for the first time ever, too. Everything in your head gets sucked away into a little vacuum. The only thing left is him.

“I-… thought you might want this back.” Vernon breaks the quiet first. Your throat runs dry. In a flash, the noise in your brain is as loud as it’s ever been and in amongst all the chaos of thoughts and questions and apologies, you can’t pick out the words you actually want to say. 

He slowly unravels the strap from around his hand and takes a few steps closer to you, inching towards the counter. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he hurries to assure you. Your heart aches for how reserved and nervous he looks. It doesn’t suit him. You hate it. “It’s okay. I’m… really sorry, about the other night. I didn’t mean to—” A deep breath. “I’ll see you around.”

Vernon lays your bag so delicately on the wooden surface that you could be forgiven for thinking he was handling an explosive. Then, he takes one, two, three steps back, before turning and heading to the exit.  

“Wait—” you call out to him, finding your voice at the most critical time, right as his fingers curl around the door handle. “Wait—, please.”

He spins back around to face you as you slip out from behind the desk. His left brow lifts higher than the right but otherwise, he gives nothing away. He doesn’t even say anything as he stands there, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. 

You swallow around the golf ball sized lump taking residence in your throat and clasp your hands together in front of you, wringing and twisting and accidentally popping one of your knuckles in the process. “I shouldn’t have run out on you like that. It wasn’t fair.”

Vernon chews this over in his mind but ultimately just shrugs his shoulders at you. What is there to say? He surely agrees, but he seems so adamant to ensure you don’t feel bad about it happening that he just… says nothing. Again. It’s kind of maddening, even if you fully get why. 

“No, I mean it,” you try again. “It wasn’t you. It’s nothing you did.”

“We really don’t have to do the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ thing,” Vernon offers, his cardboard-like posture softening. There’s even a little bit of a smile on his face, you think — but it’s not the kind of smile you’ve grown used to seeing on him. It doesn’t reach his eyes; he looks kind of like someone who has read their cards and accepted their fate. “Seriously. It’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” you stress, stepping closer to him again. You sigh deeply. There’s something almost relieving about the position you find yourself in. You suppose this really is crunch time; it’s now or never. “Can we… talk? About everything?”

“What? Here?” Vernon asks. 

You glance around the store, at the few people doing a very poor job of pretending to be minding their own business, and frown. He’s right. This isn’t the time, or the place. The problem is, you have a feeling that if you send him away, he may not decide to come back and listen to you. In his defence, why should he? He’s already done more than the decent thing and brought you back that which you abandoned in his apartment; several of your previous conquests would have shoved the bag and its contents either in the trash or the back of a closet somewhere. This is more than you could have hoped for. 

You hold a finger up to him and ask him to stay where he is, and though he looks a little bewildered at the gesture, he ultimately doesn’t move. You rush off out the back to the storeroom where you banished Chan an hour ago, on account of his raging hangover and your low tolerance for his whining about it; you’re genuinely surprised to find him working, and actually alphabetising the records you got in a few days ago like you asked him to.

“Hey. Can you do me a huge favour?” You ask, not announcing your arrival and subsequently scaring Chan out of his skin. He jolts as he hears your voice and claps a hand to his chest, exhaling hard. You don’t entertain his dramatics, though. There’s no time. “I need you to close today.”

“Huh?” He asks, still acting as if he’s trying to catch his breath. “I thought–”

“Please.” You wave him off, knowing he’s about to ask about the task you gave him. “We can look at this together tomorrow. You did great. It’s just an hour – is that okay?”

He chews the inside of his lip, almost looking disappointed. To be fair to him, he did look like he was in a groove when you appeared, but he doesn’t argue with you as he puts down the record in his hand and picks his phone up off the table to his right, silencing the catchy tune that was playing while he organised. 

“Of course it is,” he says, holding his hand out for your keys and starting to walk towards you. “Everything okay?”

“It-...” you start, faltering as you place the store keys in his waiting palm. Your default response was about to be ‘it’s fine’, but you’re trying harder these days to stop pretending, especially around him. So you swallow, nodding your head, flashing him a tight lipped smile. “I’m about to find out.”

“Oh? Is it…?”

A brief pause later, not before cringing at how predictable you’ve apparently become, you say, “yeah.”

Chan claps you on the shoulder as he skirts his way around you, leaning in to give you a sort of side-along hug on his way. You stretch your arm across his waist and pull him closer for a moment, trying to drive home how much you appreciate this. He doesn’t comment on the uncharacteristic display of affection, and you want to find out why, but Vernon isn’t going to wait around for you forever. 

“Go get him, tiger,” Chan whispers.

“I owe you, big time,” you promise. 

He winks at you before he disappears through the door and you follow him briefly, but as he does a round of checking in with your customers and making sure they don’t need any help, you hurry off to grab your jacket from the office.

Vernon is exactly where you left him when you come back out into the storefront, hands unmoved from where he stuffed them into his pockets earlier, rocking back and forth on his toes and looking around from wall to wall. You think perhaps he took your request slightly too literally and the fact that even his feet are in the same position as before you left is reminiscent of a puppy commanded to stay, but if anyone here is at liberty to start poking fun, you think that it certainly isn’t you. Instead of trying your luck, you lock the office door and walk up to him, returning his polite, yet slightly awkward smile.

“You’re not, like, super busy right now or anything, are you?” You ask him. 

His brows crease and his eyes shift side-to-side before they land back at you. He shakes his head.

“Did you maybe wanna… take a walk?” 

Vernon nods this time, still not moving or even pulling his hands out of his jeans. His elbows are locked out and the length of his arms means his shoulders are raised quite some way. He could not be more uncomfortable looking if he tried, but he doesn’t say no and nothing on his face gives away that he wants to reject your proposition, either, so you’re the one to take that tentative first step towards the door. When you do, he follows. 

You left the store at least ninety seconds ago and still, neither of you have said anything yet. Honestly, it’s taking all you’ve got not to just burst and let it all out; it’s building and building and your stomach feels tight, but it’s less of a knot and more like a tightly-coiled spring. His eyes are dipped to the ground, incredibly aware of every step he takes, in what you realise now are a gorgeous pair of platform boots tucked up beneath his baggy jeans. He’s at least an inch and a half taller than the last time you saw him. 

“Your friend,” Vernon starts finally, pausing before he continues.  “Is he always so… you know?”

“What did he say?” You ask, peeking over to him. Trust Chan to start getting —

He hurries to shake his head. “Nothing. He just… kept looking at me. In a weird way, like…”

“Like he knows something you don’t, and he’s not gonna tell you, but he wants you to know that he knows it anyway?” You supply.

“Yeah— exactly like that.”

“Mm. That’s just… Chan.”

“Huh.”

“It’s worse when they’re together,” you say. He breathes out a chuckle and you feel his elbow bump into your upper arm. The distance he put between you when you fell into step outside the store has reduced, you realise now; you’re not sure when, or if it was on purpose. Did he move closer once you started speaking? Was it just so he could hear you better? Or…

Either way, despite being side-by-side, he still feels a hundred miles away from you. This isn’t enough.

“You get used to them, though,” you add, trying to stay on track. “I swear.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Jokes aside, he still won’t look at you for longer than a few seconds, which tugs at something deep in your chest. Discomfort clings to you, and even if it does seem like you’re making some progress, you can still feel unease radiating off him. A cheap laugh at the expense of your friends who aren’t here to defend themselves won’t fix that which you took a wrecking ball to a few nights ago. This needs to be heartfelt and genuine, and more importantly it needs to come out right. 

But when you open your mouth to speak, still searching your brain for the right way to explain why you acted the way you did, there’s nothing. 

How wonderful would it be for the perfect explanation to just tumble from your lips calmly and evenly, and for it to make everything okay? But the reality is that your throat runs dry as petrol fumes make their way through your parted lips. You hold your tongue again just a second later, sighing quietly. 

You’re starting to feel like a lost cause when Vernon breaks the silence for you, again. He slows his steps to a halt when he eventually says, “so.”

“So,” you repeat, freezing mid-stride as you go completely tense. It’s like you’re staring into oblivion’s wide open mouth. “I-… don’t really know where to start. I’m sorry.”

“The beginning’s usually pretty good?” He offers.

You nod. “How much did you want to know?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with telling me.”

If anyone on this Earth deserves a medal for their patience, it’s Vernon. You still haven’t turned to face him yet, your eyes fixated on the traffic signal some fifty yards away from you and you’re pretty sure if someone poked you too hard, you’d shatter into a million tiny pieces. But, as impossible as it seems all the while you try to get your thoughts in a reasonable order, you manage to swallow your nerves. 

It’s crunch time. It’s now or never.

The explanation you give him is messy. Disjointed. But once you start, it becomes difficult to stop: you end up sparing very little detail and circle back on yourself no less than three times. You tell him about how you were engaged and about the breakup, the run-in, your shitty date, gesturing with your hands to emphasise the most important parts. When you start to move again, Vernon makes his steps bigger until he’s walking alongside you. He never interrupts you. He acknowledges every sentence when you pause for breath. Encourages you to keep going when you fall over your words. 

“… and—... I guess I just lost my head. But it wasn’t your fault.” You swallow hard before you continue, “I’m… really sorry.”

He nods slowly, taking his time to digest everything.

“Don’t be,” he says, lightly bumping into your side. It’s a very small reassurance that he’s not going to walk away, but it means much more to you than you’re sure he meant it to. “I get it.”

“I—”

“No, like. I get it.” 

“Yeah?” You ask, only understanding when you catch the very pointed look in his eyes. 

“For sure.”

Of course, it makes sense. Vernon’s young. Attractive. Nice. Talented. He must have been with people before. Hell, you think he surely leaves a trail of broken hearts everywhere he goes. He gets it. 

“We dated for like… five? Years. Her name was Nari,” he tells you. 

A few seconds later, you watch him start to shrug off his jacket on one side and expose one of his toned arms to you. You’re about to tell him he doesn’t need to air his dirty laundry out if he doesn’t want to when he twists at his elbow; you catch sight of a tattoo you remember having seen the night he wore that black singlet on stage. Two lily flowers blooming up the inside of his bicep. 

It’s so pretty. Intricate. The line work is beautiful, the petals shaded with hundreds of little dots. You wanted to ask about it that night, but you never found the right chance, and now—

Lily?

It takes you longer than you’re willing to admit to join the dots, but when the penny finally drops, so does your jaw. Vernon slides back into his sleeve with a big, entertained smile and a little shrug. 

“Mhm.”

“Oh my God?”

“I know.”

It’s not that you’re laughing, per se. This isn’t your baggage to laugh at, no matter how unbothered Vernon seems to be by what he’s just revealed. But you do rub your hand over your face and cover your lips, shaking your head in disbelief as a breath that contains the edges of a bemused chuckle escapes you. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, it appears to give him a boost to keep talking.

“I got that on our third anniversary,” he goes on to explain. “A couple years later… She called it quits. Turns out there was another guy. I thought about lasering it, but… apparently that hurts worse than getting the tattoo in the first place, so…”

“That’s…”

“It’s whatever,” Vernon says, shaking his head. “They’re my mom’s favourite flowers too. That’s what almost everyone else thinks it’s for.”

You haven’t looked back up at his face since the unveiling, not until now. When your eyes meet again, Vernon tilts his head in the direction you’re walking and continues down the street, spinning now so he’s walking backwards but still facing you. “I just mean... It’s okay. I get it.”

The moment you’ve caught up to him and you’re back by his side, he turns to face front, just in time to avoid a collision with a streetlamp. The lingering awkwardness starts to fade to nothing; you can see it in the way he holds himself, and you can feel it in the way you do, too. Everything relaxes. Your neck, your shoulders, your fists. It all ebbs away. 

“It really wasn’t anything you did,” you clarify once more. 

“So you keep telling me,” Vernon quips, tips of his ears turning pinker by the moment. “It’s okay, I swear. Do you want me to walk you home?”

You accept his offer and lead him down a side-street, picking up a completely unrelated conversation now to purify the air. Before you really know it (what was that everyone always said about time flying?), you come to a stop outside your building. Vernon’s sentence fades away when you stop moving; instead he stills, glancing sideways, and you nod confirmation at him with a lopsided smile. 

“This is me,” you say, reaching into your back pocket for your keys. “So…”

“So,” Vernon echoes, glancing around again. “Can I like, lay my cards out, real quick?”

You nod. 

“I like you.” He shrugs, now toying with the leather bracelet around his wrist. “Like, a lot. But…”

But. You feel like you should have seen this coming. But. But. Of course there’s a— 

“I’ve got some shows coming up out of town and I need to see some family, I’m not gonna be here from tomorrow for like, three weeks...”

Oh. 

Well. On one hand, it’s not what you thought. It’s not a flat-out rejection. It’s not a shut down. On the other? You bite the inside of your cheek and look at your hands, playing with your keys to keep them busy. Under any other lens, three weeks isn’t really a very long time at all. You’re pretty sure that the milk you bought yesterday is going to last longer than that. But three weeks… this early into things? 

That’s longer than you’ve even known him.  

“… and I thought, if you wanted — I could… take you out. When I get back. For real. Maybe.”

Oh.

“Like…?”

“Like… on a date,” he confirms, rubbing the back of his neck. “One where I’m not like… fresh off stage and all gross and shit.”

Relief replaces anxiety on both his face and yours when you let out a quiet laugh. 

“I’d really like that,” you say, twitching fingers suddenly still. “Yeah.”

“I’m not asking you to like, wait around, or anything,” he says as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, fumbles with it, and just barely manages to soften the fall with the toe of his boot before it lands screen-up on the concrete. “We’ll just see how it goes. And it gives you some time to… deal with things. Whatever you’ve gotta do.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest as he bends low to pick his phone back up, smoothing his thumb over the small scuff on the protective case. It seems remarkably undamaged otherwise. 

“And if you’re still interested, then…”

“Interested?” You ask with a small grin. 

“Aren’t you?” Vernon asks.

“I—...” You think about playing coy, but when he’s been so open with you about where his head’s at, it feels so silly and childish to bother pretending. That playful ‘I might be’ gets swallowed back. Instead – “Yeah. I am.”

“Cool. Then we’ll figure it out. At your pace, okay?” 

“Okay.”

He grabs his earphones out of his other pocket, slides one in, and is about to step back away from you when you do something you don’t really expect yourself to. Something you’ve never done to a man you can barely even say you’re ‘seeing’. You close the space between you and, as if to lock in your words, push forward onto your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you,” you say when you fall back down to your heels. If he wasn’t so dumbstruck, you feel like he’d be about to ask what you were thanking him for; as it stands though, he’s frozen, blushing, and the only reason you can tell he’s still alive is because he can’t stop blinking at you. “For… giving me another chance.”

He still can’t quite find his voice, so Vernon just shakes his head, clearing his throat. (No need, he wants to say.) Alas, his lips just open and close soundlessly.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” you supply for him. He takes in a deep, mind-clearing breath and nods his head.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

You see the apples of his cheeks lift as he presses his thumb against his phone screen and restarts whatever song he was listening to when he walked into your store. A brilliant smile consumes his face. It only grows as he turns away from you and walks off down the street. 

For a second, you think it’s all very smooth. Movie-like, even.

Then, he stumbles over a crack in the pavement. When he glances back to pray you didn’t watch it happen, he catches you snickering into your fist. He shakes his head and continues on, leaving you to fumble with your key in the lock before you finally let yourself inside.

You overslept. 

Sort of. You heard your alarm go off straight away but you might have snoozed it, and when you heard it sound for a second time, you turned it off completely, telling yourself that you just needed one more minute. You just wanted to rest your eyes for a few more seconds. There wasn’t any danger of you going back to sleep.

Twenty minutes later, you practically fell off your mattress in a panic when you realised that there had, in fact, been a big fucking danger. 

You were still able to wash up well and make it to work on time, but you had to sacrifice your morning coffee stop after seeing that the queue at the register was going to take too long. For years, you’ve refused to consider yourself to be the kind of person who relies heavily on a caffeine kick first thing in the morning, but today? It’s barely ten thirty and you’re seriously flagging: like you’ve never known what energy is, like you’ll never feel it again. 

(You blame the fact that when you first looked at your phone today before rolling back over, there was no ‘good morning :)’ text to entice you out of bed. But you’re trying really hard not to think about why that is, nor why it was such a deciding factor.)

So, when the bell above your shop door jingles and you’re forced to stand upright (a change your back doesn’t thank you for when it has to readjust from the previous hunched position you had adopted over the countertop), you groan quietly. Nonetheless, your tired eyes crease at the corners as you smile at whoever it is that’s come across the threshold.

After a second, your eyes refocus; when you can finally make out their features, it’s as if someone gives you a shot of adrenaline.

“Oh my God,” You say breathlessly, brushing your hair back and moving to stand up fully unsupported. “I thought you weren’t back until Friday?”

“Change of plans,” Vernon grins, scratching the back of his neck. “We drove through the night. I got home like… an hour ago.”

This is the first time you’ve ever seen him dressed down, and hell, does he look incredible. Gone are the ripped jeans, scuffed boots, the leather jackets and chunky rings. Grey sweatpants and an oversized white hoodie (alternatively: the brightest outfit you’ve witnessed him in thus far) drown him, blurring out his usually so distinct frame. You pin both of these things as the reasons you hardly recognised him when your eyes were refusing to cooperate. Paired with what Seungkwan would call ‘dad-sneakers’ and completed by messy hair and tired, soft eyes?

If you could jump his bones right here, right now… God, you would. 

“But hey, it’s nice to see you, too,” he adds facetiously.

“Quiet down,” you groan, fighting the urge to run over and envelop him in a hug. You’re not sure that he’d mind if you did, but you also don’t quite know if you’re ‘there’, yet. “Obviously it’s good to-...”

His arms, both of which have been stuck behind his back since he arrived, now move around to the front, revealing to you a takeout cup and a little brown box from the coffee shop down the street. 

“Oh, shit. It is so good to see you.”

Vernon laughs, coming closer until he can set them both down on the counter. “If it’s wrong, Seungkwan gave me your order, so.”

You start to wonder how on Earth your employee and your… Vernon managed to have this conversation without you knowing. Does Seungkwan have his number? Did they happen across each other on one of their socials? Did Vernon call into the store while you were out in the bathroom a little while ago and ask? But whatever happened, you quickly stop caring to find out: popping the lid off your cup, the aroma of your favourite coffee immediately fills your senses. It’s so overwhelming that you think you might start to cry.

“Oh my God. You’re the best,” you sigh, wrapping your fingers around the cup and taking a long sip, eyes rolling back into your head. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Vernon laughs, rolling up his sleeves before folding his toned forearms over his chest. “I got you a-... okay, they only had those gluten free brownies in, and I’ll be honest, I don’t know if they taste the same as the normal ones but… like, he said you hadn’t eaten today and I know you said you liked brownies before, — if you don’t like those ones, it’s okay! I can go back, it’s–”

He trails off, cheeks turning pink when you tilt your head to one side and feel your brow go soft. He asks, “why… are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re so cute,” you say, putting the cup down gently so as not to splash your drink all over the counter. 

“Huh?”

“You really didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” Vernon says, shaking his head. 

You almost definitely hear a floorboard creak and quiet shushing sound from just around the corner towards the back room. You don’t call out your eavesdropping friends for trying to listen in on your conversation, though: it barely even crosses your mind. Besides... you can’t take your eyes off Vernon, even if you wanted to. He looks so soft. Like he needs to sleep for a whole twenty four hours, and he must feel like it too, but he came here first. 

“So,” he starts, tapping his right thumb against the inside of his left elbow. (The reason why he came so quickly starts to become evident. He just couldn’t wait to ask.) “You don’t have to commit to anything right now…” The silver of one of his rings glints with every tiny movement. “…but, I was just wondering–”

Smiling at him over the top of your coffee cup, it feels like your heart could burst.

“I was just… wondering… if you’d thought any more about letting me take you out?”

You’ve been texting him almost every day since he left. He’s sent you a hundred and one pictures of statues and cool buildings and nice looking food and the sky, and far more animals than you think you’ve ever actually seen in real life. You’ve spoken to him about your strange customers. What’s going on with your friends. Sent him recommendations for songs that you discovered on obscure albums that you pulled out to play over the speakers. 

One night after one of his shows, he called you. He was a little bit drunk at the time, chilling in his hotel room with a pizza as he informed you that he’d snuck out of an after-party super early but couldn’t get to sleep. With an audible pout, he went on to confess that he was feeling kind of lonely, that he just wanted to hear your voice: one thing led to another and you stayed up talking to him until he passed out at nearly 4 o’clock in the morning.

To put it simply… 

“I’d still really like that,” you say. It’s incredible to you that you can see every one of his features brighten up. 

“Okay,” he breathes, unwinding his arms and pushing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants now instead. “Okay, cool. I’ll… text you later? We’ll figure something out?”

“All right,” you agree. “Now go rest up, okay?”

He laughs as he swears that he’ll go back home and get some sleep, and with that, Vernon takes his leave. You’re once again alone, but this time you have a drink that could only hope to make you feel as energised as he does, and a treat nowhere near as sweet as him. 

You aren’t complaining, though, and neither are the two men that miraculously reappear the moment the door closes again. 

The smile Vernon leaves on your face doesn’t falter for the rest of your day.

You suppose a big part of the reason you haven’t dated anyone in a while is because you can’t stand the ‘talking stage’. That weird little limbo where you’re never sure if it’s too early to make certain jokes, where you’re checking and second-guessing all your texts, where you can’t figure out if someone’s really into you or if they’re just blowing up your phone to pass the time. The awkward small talk. The ‘getting to know each other’ part. The ‘why haven’t they replied yet — was it something I said?’ anxiety. 

Thankfully, with Vernon, that’s not really something you have to worry about. 

While he was away, you learned that he’s the kind of guy who just spews random facts at you in the middle of his day and then forgets to check his messages for three hours. Sometimes those facts are interesting things about himself. Other times, you’ve known him to shoot you a text just to announce [ just found out tigers have striped skin as well as fur. wild ].

(On one such occasion, Chan caught you giggling at your phone in the middle of a quiet Thursday afternoon, zooming in on a picture of Vernon’s heart shaped birthmark. This put a swift end to checking your messages while you’re at work.)

[ btw, im allergic to peanuts ], he told you one evening. Completely unprompted, just after dinner time. You spilled half of your glass of juice down your front in panic when you put two and two together and scrambled to ask him if he was okay. [ near miss, dw about it! just felt important haha ], he replied, and your response was just a picture of your newly stained t-shirt and a request for him to never do that to you again. 

He can drive — at least, he has his licence — but he doesn’t have a car. He chooses public transport, and he tells you that it’s because he likes not having to worry about fuel prices and it’s ‘healing’ to zone out of reality on the train until he reaches his stop. He tells you that he came up with the melody and two verses of one of his favourite original songs on the bus to his parents house, and one time, he dropped a giant cockroach on a class field trip to the zoo because it tickled when it crawled over his palm and he didn’t like it. 

(You later discovered that this piece of information was triggered by the appearance of a large bug in his shower.)

Last night, as you settled into bed after a whole evening of back and forth, he told you that he has all five of the top scores at the piano game in the arcade downtown, and that he has an approximate 75% success rate on claw machines. When you replied saying you hadn’t been to an arcade in about two years, he was horrified. Enough to send 7 broken heart emojis back to back, as individual messages. [ shakespeare himself couldnt write a tragedy that sad ], he said. 

But, harrowed as he was by your admission, it did give him an idea. 

That idea is exactly how you end up standing side-by-side at a basketball shootout game on Friday night. It’s how he ends up winning one of those cute reversible octopuses — true enough, on a claw machine — which he gives to you immediately. It’s how you watch him hunch over a pinball machine for twenty five minutes before he loses his ball, how you end up tied after four games of air hockey, at which point he calls it quits while citing a ‘cramping hand’.

It’s also how you deliver his ass to him in not one, but two rounds of bowling.

“All right — all right,” Vernon laughs, holding both his hands up in defeat as your final ball takes out all ten pins at the end of the alley. “You made your point. Damn.”

You shrug your shoulders as you walk back in his direction, picking up your glass from the table and sipping your soda through your straw. 

(Though the arcade has an entire menu of cocktails, some of which you’ve never even heard of, the thought of navigating an evening alone with him under the influence of alcohol was totally unappealing after last time. Thankfully, Vernon agreed. You quietly think that being stone cold sober has made tonight even more enjoyable.)

“I told you,” you say when you finally sit down. He puts an arm around your shoulders straight away. Naturally, like it’s instinct. Like it’s a position he’s adopted a few hundred times before. “I’m undefeated.”

“We’ll see,” he says, tapping out a rhythm on the ball of your shoulder. “I still think you just got lucky.”

“So,” Vernon says once your leisurely stroll back lands you outside his place, kicking the toe of his left sneaker into the concrete. “What… are the chances that I get a do-over?”

You blink at him a few times, tilting your head. “What do you mean, a do-over?” 

Does he not think this went well? Gods, it’s probably the best first date you’ve ever had, but what on Earth else could he mean by that? Did you say something earlier, and not realise? Has he not had fun? What does he m–

“I got these new coffee beans,” he says. “While I was away — and I figured something out with the-… the machine? So— ”

Ah. There he is.

You smirk at him, patting the outside of his bicep and rolling your eyes. When you glance down, Vernon is pulling out his key, thumbing over the ridges down the one side. He reaches for the door, happy to take your teasing as confirmation that yes, you’ll come up. Yes, he gets his ‘do-over’...

…but leave it to you to fall for the world’s dorkiest rockstar. 

As he slips the key into his apartment door, there’s a steady pressure against the small of your back: the same one that’s been there ever since he gestured for you to step out of the elevator before him. One of his palms rests over the fabric of your t-shirt and you feel weirdly tingly because of it. He gently guides you inside once the door falls open and doesn’t move away when it’s locked again behind him. 

With an anticipatory shiver, you turn around to face him. You make a point to leave just a matter of inches between your chests. To have your eyes soft, patiently waiting.

Vernon’s hands are - for the first time ever - cold when his fingers hesitantly come up to either side of your face, tilting your head up so that he can see you better, unobstructed by any shadows. You gasp at the contrast between them and your flushed, warm cheeks. He swallows thickly at the sound.

“Is this… okay?” he asks, gaze darting between the space separating your eyes from your lips. “We can slow it down, if you want. I just—...”

Your own hands find home against his chest in response, fingers curling into the muscle beneath them. Not harshly, definitely not so much that it could hurt — just enough that it makes him puff himself up a little bigger. Enough to make him square his shoulders as he drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth. 

“Vernon,” you say quietly, pressing him backwards. Balling his t-shirt into your fists, you send him stumbling over his own feet before his shoulders find the wood of the front door. A quiet grunt escapes him on impact, but he just holds you closer. “Shut up ‘n’ kiss me. Please.”

Clumsiness aside, the moment he obediently ducks his head and presses his smiling mouth to yours, you feel weightless. Even when you tilt forward onto your toes to meet him halfway, it’s as if you’re not even touching the ground anymore: clouds beneath your feet have you floating. Everything about it is so very different from the last time.

It’s so much easier. Not just for you, either – you can feel it from him as well. Your collective baggage has been left out in the hall, barricading the door, shutting out the hesitation and nervousness and leaving you together, wholly alone, to just… be.

Vernon gets increasingly more brave as the seconds tick by. When you separate for air, his head tilts the other way, lips a little parted, hot breaths fanning over your skin as he meets you again, and again, and again. It’s the perfect give and take. Firm one second, waiting for you to chase him the next. The soft sounds he starts to make are amplified as his tongue presses against your bottom lip: he tests the waters, groaning into the heat of your mouth when you so happily invite him into it. He drinks you up for all you’re worth. 

One of your hands uncurls from his chest and moves up to his head instead, threading into his hair at the top of his neck. It feels just as soft as it’s always looked, sliding through your fingers. A gentle pull makes him whine. He draws away from you. His lips are pink and shine with the gloss you touched up in the elevator’s mirror, his lids are heavy, his pupils blown, and looking up at him feels like staring into the sun; you physically can’t keep your eyes open, but it’s so hard to look away. 

You tuck yourself into his neck as a compromise, laying gentle pecks everywhere you can reach. His aftershave leaves a bitter taste on your tongue as you touch the tip to a stretch of skin just beneath the harsh cut of his jawline, but the way he shudders and drops his hold down to your waist makes the sting in the back of your mouth all worth it. You only stop when one of his hands sinks lower still and he squeezes at your ass, making your eyes roll back.

He mistakes your surprise for hesitation, though.

“Is this… okay?” he asks, tipping his head back and pressing his crown into the door. Though he doesn’t withdraw his palm from your backside, he also doesn’t pinch at you again. You press your hips backwards, pushing into his touch to encourage him, with this green light he starts to knead at your cheek over the top of your skirt.

“You have no idea how hard it is to keep my hands to myself around you, do you?” You say, slipping one up the hem of his t-shirt as if to prove your point, splaying your fingers out over his stomach. 

He takes a shallow breath, hovering with it in his lungs, holding back from saying something. You get there before he can.

“I want you,” you say certainly, pulling back from where you’ve been nestled into his shoulder so that you can look him in the eyes again. He releases that breath and his face flushes when his eyes find yours, moving both of his hands back up to your waist, tightly gripping at you as if his life depends on it as he nods. 

“I just… I really don’t wanna mess this up,” he adds quietly. “I—”

When you kiss him again, hoping to further assure that you’re just as into this as he is, he reciprocates, sure. You can tell straight away that there’s a little less bite though — a stiffness to him. He doesn’t relax into you the same way he did a few minutes ago. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, falling back onto your heels. Is this because of the way things went last time, or are you going too fast for him? Selfishly, you hadn’t considered that could be a barrier. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want, you know that right? It’s okay.”

You make to step away from Vernon, unwinding your arms from around him to give him some space but he refuses to let you go too far. His hold on you is just as firm as ever.

“Trust me, I want to,” he says. “It’s just–...”

You stay silent, waiting for him to finish. He chews at his bottom lip, his blush deepening right in front of your eyes. To try and steady him, you lay one of your palms over each of his biceps, saying, “Whatever it is – it’s all right.”

“I just… haven’t been with anyone since…”

And when you laugh, it’s not at him (at least, not for the reason a fly on the wall might initially assume). You drop your forehead down onto the muscle of his chest, feeling his heart’s erratic rhythm underneath his clothes as you loop one arm back up around his neck.

“I thought you were about to tell me something awful,” you chide him through your giggles, lightly swatting at his shoulder. He starts to loosen up beneath you, his own body beginning to shake with laughter too. Those strong arms pull you flush against him, the gentle shift of his weight from one foot to another rocking you both side-to-side. “Like– like you were secretly married or you realised you didn’t actually like me, or something. Jesus.”

He stays quiet for another few seconds, but even without speaking, you can feel how he shakes his head above you. You look back up at his face and brush his hair out of his eyes, fingers lingering on his brow when you’re done.

“It’s okay,” you tell him for the third time. The last wisps of anxiety start to fade from his eyes, replaced with the same look he’s been wearing since he showed up at your apartment door earlier this evening. “I don’t care — I promise, I’ll go easy on you.”

The kiss that follows lands hard and with it, Vernon succeeds in wiping your brain empty. You can barely remember what you were even giggling about a few seconds later. 

“Don’t want you to go easy,” he insists against your lips. Then, he’s wallowing up your breathy sighs as he licks into your mouth again, pressing your tongue with his own, reminding you that he’s absolutely not incompetent, just rusty. 

When you make it into his bedroom, confessions and various articles of your clothing forgotten out in the hallway, you separate from each other long enough for you to be able to to lay one hand on his bare chest and push him down onto the mattress. He bounces on the foam and pushes up on one elbow, watching as you sink down to your knees and press kisses down his stomach while your hands deftly take care of the button on his jeans. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” You say to him as he lifts his hips up and lets you pull both his jeans and his boxers down in one sharp movement. 

“M’not gonna want you to,” he laughs breathlessly, pushing a hand through his hair as he kicks the remainder of his clothes all the way off and nudges them away to the side. “But yeah. Okay.”

He looks so pretty like this and you can’t help but think he’s even prettier when the first time you curl your fingers around his length, his jaw falls slack and his fingers curl into the bedding underneath him. You drink him in and he watches you do it; your mouth is watering, desperate to feel him press down on your tongue, and you feel a pull towards him that you’ve never felt towards anyone before. 

“God,” you whisper, shuffling on your knees to get a little closer. 

“Okay?” Vernon asks. He tilts his head to the side and you nod up at him.

“Just… had a feeling you’d be…” you trail off, tugging a few times to feel its thickness in your fingers. Why are you mesmerised by it, a little? What the hell has gotten into you? “But it’s actually bigger, and—”

He laughs quietly and falls back onto the bed, crossing an arm over his eyes. “Shut up,” he groans. 

“Yes, sir.”

You lean towards him and gather saliva on your tongue, dragging it from base to tip before closing your lips around the head. He gasps softly and holds onto his next breath, angling his head back further; you give a satisfied hum and slide a little further down. 

The glide is made smoother by the spit your tongue left behind and that which mixes with his pre-cum in your mouth. As you start to bob up and down, some dribbles out past your lips so you start to move your hand, too, smearing the mess all over his cock. When it bumps the back of your throat — and on assessment, you realise there’s daylight between your lips and your fist — you squeeze your eyes closed and whimper softly, holding him in place while you adjust before you can take him deeper. 

“Fuck— just like that,” he gasps out in a shattered groan when you start to move a little more fluidly, no longer too intimidated by your gag reflex preventing him from slipping down your throat. Your hand and your mouth work in tandem to get him riled. Every sound he makes feels like someone injects lust straight into your veins. When you look up at him from between your dewy lashes, you ponder that you’d watch him fall apart from this angle a hundred times a night forever and still not get bored. 

Your jaw starts to ache from the thickness of having him in your mouth and the way he’s restraining himself from fucking his hips up to meet you tells you that he’s too polite to ask you for more. You suck harshly one last time before pulling away with a ‘pop’, using only your hand to pump his length as you shift down to gently suck one of his balls into your mouth. 

The sound he makes is so fucking melodic. You think he’s made a similar one before when he lifts into a falsetto, and you’ve never felt more powerful than you do right now. Knowing you have someone with such a commanding presence eating out of your palm could really do something dangerous to your ego. It’s a bit of a miracle, therefore, that you recognise his desperate tapping at your shoulder, but the second you feel it you settle back from him, looking up at his impossibly tense abs and his blissed-out face.

You catch on quickly and feel your features split into a grin at the realisation. When it takes him a second, you know it’s because he’s still trying to remember the mechanisms it takes to breathe. Bless his heart. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, pushing himself to sit upright and running a hand through his hair. “It-… fuck, that was so…”

“What happened to ‘I don’t want you to go easy’ huh?” you tease, resting your chin on the top of his left thigh, grinning up at him. 

“I’m gonna come if you keep going like that,” he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief at himself. “And trust me — I want to, but…” He swallows hard. “Not yet.”

You nod slowly up at him, starting to get up off the floor. You stop in your tracks when he says, “I’ve gotta taste you first. Please.”

Maybe it speaks too much to the quality of some of your previous lovers, but his desperation takes you a bit by surprise. You blink at him, ignoring how your thighs burn with the position you’ve frozen in. 

“If— that’s okay?” He adds. “I’ve… been thinking about it? A lot. Especially since-”

“Shut up,” you breathe, finally standing all the way up. He shuffles back further onto the bed and you quickly move to straddle across his hips, one hand coming up to hold his jaw in place when you’re in place. “Of course it’s okay.”

You lean in for an impossibly needy kiss, only breaking away when you physically can’t breathe anymore. Vernon’s eyes flutter open at the same time as yours do and as you reach behind yourself with one hand to unclasp your bra, he looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.  

(He tells you that you are no fewer than three times before you fall asleep a few hours later.)

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! as always, likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are so so appreciated. there's approx a scene and a half left for part 3 and then we're all done with this baby! stay tuned for that, coming soon.<3 p.s. no i will not apologise to jaehyun, this is what he gets for making me feel insane. thanks !