#For the sake of politeness at least like. We are still here. We have been here.

[squatch-and-stretch]

Chapter 5

“We… we need a plan,” Stanford says after a while, once they’ve all pulled apart from their group huddle.

“Well,” Fiddleford says, standing up. “Here’s step one; I gotta get you boys all fixed up.”

“What?” Stanford glances at Stanley, then furrows his brows at Fiddleford. “I’m fine.”

“Your eye’s bleeding, hun.”

“That happens,” Stanford says, blinking a few times before angrily swiping at his face with the heel of his hand. “Just an unfortunate side effect of…”

“Let me get ya cleaned up, at least,” Fiddleford says gently once it was clear he didn’t intend to continue.

He moves over to the fridge and retrieves a bottle of water. He’d prefer to use the filtered water from outside, but after the night’s events, he was hesitant to let them out of his sight. He's hesitant to let himself out of their sight, afraid that without their eyes on him, without a direct plan of action, he’ll fall apart.

He's fine, Fiddleford tells himself as he retrieves a clean cloth from the nearby countertop. There's no blood on the counter where Stanford hit his head.

“Does your head hurt any?” Fiddleford asks, twisting the lid off the water and using it to wet the cloth.

“It’s felt better, but I don’t think I have a concussion, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Fiddleford says, flashing the light in his eyes again. His pupils dilate as expected, and are still as round as they should be. “Who’s the president?”

“Ronald Reagan, that bastard,” Stanford says quickly, clearly, and with audible contempt.

“Good,” Fiddleford reassures, reaching out to card his fingers through the hair around his temple. His hair is greasy and a bit sweaty, but not bloodied. “I didn’t break your cheek or anything?”

“You’re not that strong, Fiddleford,” Stanford says with a tired smile. “Bill just has bad balance.”

“And thank goodness for that,” Fiddleford says, gently ruffling his hair before pulling away to retrieve the wet cloth he left on the counter.

“I can handle this,” Stanford says, catching Fiddleford’s hand before it can reach his face. “Just… take care of Stanley?”

“I will,” Fiddleford agrees, reluctantly handing off the cloth.

“And, Fiddleford…?”

“Hm?”

“I… I really am sorry. For everything.”

Fiddleford sighs, turning away.

“I know you are, Ford.”

He retrieves another rag from the counter, and then has to dig through the cabinets for a bottle of antiseptic. He’ll admit, his organizational system could use some work, but he finds it eventually. He even keeps bandages in the same place, which he retrieves as well.

Fiddleford had taken a few bottles from the remains of what had once been a convenience store, figuring through context clues that it was some substance used to clean wounds. It stung like a motherfucker, but it had kept his arm from rotting off entirely.

Fiddleford soaks the cloth, and turns to Stanley, who has been watching the proceedings in polite silence from his place on the couch the whole time. He stiffens a bit once Fiddleford’s full attention is upon him.

“Take off your shirt,” Fiddleford instructs.

“Woah, Fidds, I didn’t know you were freaky like that,” Stanley jokes, but his smarmy smile is a bit strained. “You heard the guy, Sixer, you’d better clear out.”

“He is not propositioning you, you knucklehead,” Stanford snaps.

“Right, I’m sure he’d much rather fiddle Ford,” Stan’s grin widens. “Heyo! Haha!”

“What! What are you even—“ Stanford’s face flushes.

“Stanley,” Fiddleford cuts in firmly. “Stop goofing around, this is serious.”

“Yeesh, Fidds,” Stanley says, deflating. “I've had worse, I’ll be fine.”

“Just let me do this for ya, Stanley,” Fiddleford insists. “Infections can get real nasty, and I don’ know what I’d do with myself if I’d let ya get one under my care.”

The ‘let me take care of you for my sake, not your own’ was a tried and true method for Stanford, and it seemed to work on Stanley as well. He sags a little, letting out a belabored sigh before delicately taking his shirt off. It was a slow and visibly painful process as sweat stuck it to his skin and he tried to avoid jostling his shoulder, but it came off eventually.

Even in the dim light, Fiddleford could make out a multitude of scars across Stanley’s abdomen. Combined with the ones he’d already seen on his face and arms, they told a story of a life hard lived. Fiddleford knew that Stanley had been kicked out at seventeen– Stanford, as it turns out, was a very sad and very talkative drunk— but Stanford had always assumed his twin was doing fine for himself, so Fiddleford assumed the same.

Clearly, that wasn’t the case, but it also wasn’t the point.

“Sit down against the armrest, will ya?”

In a surprising display of obedience, Stanley folds his arms protectively around his middle and does so without complaint. One hand cups itself firmly over a jagged scar just above his hip, blocking it from view a little too late.

Fiddleford stations himself behind Stanley, taking in the wound. He recognizes the symbol burned into his shoulder, of course, had almost burnt himself against it a few times, but he’s not about to ask how it ended up branded so deeply into his shoulder of all things. Besides, that's hardly his biggest concern right now.

Whatever scabbing might have been present had been torn away by Stanford’s nails, leaving the wound open and agitated. There’s red scratch marks carving their way up his shoulder, but Fiddleford’s more worried about the reddened, swollen skin all around it; the beginning of cellulitis, Fiddleford reckons. Luckily, it only covers a small area, and the foul odor just comes from Stanley’s stained clothes, as far as he can tell.

It’s not too late. Ideally, Stanley would be taking some antibiotics orally, and maybe some painkillers too, but things haven’t been ideal in a long while.

“Alright buddy, keep your mouth closed, this is gonna hurt,” Fiddleford warns.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be fine, nerd,” Stanley says, waving a hand dismissively. “Nothing I haven’t felt before.”

“You worry me, Stanley,” Fiddleford notes. He wants to steady Stanley with a hand on his shoulder, but he doesn’t have a hand to spare. “Here goes…”

He starts at the top of his shoulder, wiping at the scratch marks Stanford’s nails left. They aren’t deep enough to draw blood, but they’ve broken skin enough to hurt as Fiddleford wipes them down. Stanley hisses through his teeth, but remains in place.

That is, until Fiddleford drags the cloth lower, down to the actual body of the burn. Stanley’s entire body jerks violently away, and Fiddleford himself flinches back from the sudden movement.

“Fuck!” Stanley grits out, folding forward over his legs, hands clenched into tight fists. “Son of a bitch, Fidds, what do they put in that stuff?”

“I don’ rightly know,” Fiddleford confesses apologetically. “All I know is that it does the trick, if you actually let me use it.”

“Easier said than done,” Stanley grumbles, eyeing Fiddleford over his shoulder. The hurt, the mistrust in his eyes stings a bit, but Fiddleford pushes it aside.

“I know, I know,” Fiddleford soothes, “maybe… Stanford, darlin’, could you hold Stanley still?”

Stanford looks over, eyes wide. His face is clean now, and he’d retrieved his glasses from the back of the couch at some point.

“Um,” Stanford sputters. “I… yes, I can do that.”

It’s clear to Fiddleford that he very much does not want to do so, but he obediently moves over to sit in front of Stanley. Awkwardly, he places one hand on Stanley’s uninjured shoulder and presses the other to his sternum. His gaze lingers on a scar near his armpit, just beside where Stanford placed his hand. It’s a burnt puncture wound, a bullet wound, worryingly close to his lungs. It takes him a moment to tear his eyes away to look up at Stanley’s face.

“I— is this okay?” Stanford asks, his tone uncharacteristically uncertain.

Stanley just rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t complain. Fiddleford gives Stanford what he hopes is a reassuring smile when he glances up at him.

“Ready?” Fiddleford asks softly. Stanford nods, while Stanley lets out a grunt of acknowledgment.

Fiddleford returns the cloth to Stanley’s shoulder. Stanley keens painfully, slamming his head down on Stanford’s shoulder as he grits his teeth and fists his hands into his shirt. Fiddleford winces, but wills his hand to remain steady as he forces himself to continue.

“Sorry, sorry,” Stanford mumbles frantically. Fiddleford understands the sentiment. Stanley just whimpers in response, shaking his head.

“Almost done, Stanley, hang in there,” Fiddleford murmurs soothingly.

He scrubs away at the last section of his wound, makes sure there’s no visible debris stuck within the burnt flesh, and then finally, mercifully, pulls away.

“Done, that’s it, I’m done, y’all right?” Fiddleford says, as steadily as he can.

He moves as far away as he can on instinct, nearly tripping over the tangle of blankets that make up Stanley’s bed before he slams his back into the counter. Stanford is staring at him, brows furrowed, but he can’t read his expression beyond ‘displeased’. Stanley doesn’t respond, just slumping weakly against his brother.

“I’ll— here.” Fiddleford drops the cloth in favor of the roll of bandages he’d retrieved earlier.

He's so reluctant to get close to the twins again that he contemplates just tossing it in the direction of the couch, but eventually he settles for getting just close enough to place it against the arm rest before backing away.

“You can take it from here, right, Stanford? Won’t be much help bandaging with only one hand, so I’m just gonna—“ Fiddleford jabs a finger towards the door behind him, “work on my prosthetic, or somethin’. Try ‘n’ figure out what to do next. I’ll see y'all in the morning, right? Maybe get some rest, if you can.”

All this is said as Fiddleford shakily backs out of the room. Neither of them say a word as Fiddleford exits the break room and slams the door behind him.

(Un)happy Reunion

Ford Pines & Stan Pines & Fiddleford McGucket | 3,143 words | Mystery Trio Through the Multiverse AU

Fiddleford reunites with Stanford and meets Stanley after 6 months alone in a post-apocalyptic city in some other dimension.

Chapter 1

see notes for future chapters!

If Fiddleford had to describe this world he’s spent the past 6 months in in a single word, he’d probably choose terrible. Other descriptors such as strange, horrible, post-apocalyptic, and dangerous also come to mind. Lately, though, he’s been putting a lot of thought into the word lonely.

There were intelligent species here, once. It’s clear in the almost-familiar design of this destroyed city, in the tattered books written in a language Fiddleford can’t make any sense of, in every little item he comes across. He even has an idea of what they looked like— he’s seen their art, their pictures, their mangled bodies— and Fiddleford has to wonder if Bill understood the cruel irony of sending him to a world that was once inhabited by pig people.

He wonders, sometimes, if he could have found a way to communicate with them, if any of them were left. Would his throat have been able to form the words of their language, or theirs his? Would they have tried to help him? Just being around another living creature that didn’t try to kill him on sight would be pretty nice right now.

Unfortunately, that’s never been what this planet has in store for him, and when he hears something move nearby, he knows it’s a threat.

It must be in the next alleyway, and it’s fairly big— most of the monsters Bill left here are. Fiddleford goes still, staring in the direction of the alleyway and listening for any other sign of movement. It’s quiet for a moment, until Fiddleford hears a loud crash and what sounds like hushed murmuring. So many things have sounded like human voices lately that he doesn’t put any stock into it, just dips into the nearest alleyway in an attempt to escape whatever is making that noise before it even knows he’s here.

It’s an attempt that fails immediately, as he crashes into a pile of shredded metal like an idiot. It slices through the worn fabric of his pants, but as far as he can tell it doesn’t reach skin. It does, however, make a very loud noise, and the not-voices go quiet.

“Son of a gun,” he allows himself to hiss, and he takes off down the alleyway without any further regard to the sound he’s making.

Something steps out in front of him, blocking his way. It’s taller than the previous inhabitants of this planet, but smaller than most of the monsters he’s encountered. It’s built a lot like a person, and not a particularly imposing one at that, so Fiddleford doesn’t slow his roll for a moment. He fishes a knife out of the tattered pocket of his lab coat, and slams his shoulder into the beast.

It cries out, still sounding a heck of a lot like a person as it hits the ground, breaking Fiddleford’s fall. He presses the knife to what should be its throat, and is almost surprised to find smooth, human-looking skin beneath his blade. It’s a familiar shade, even, and Fiddleford can’t help but let his eyes wander further up to its face—

“Stanford?” Fiddleford spits, downright baffled to see his big brown eyes looking up at him.

Stanford opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Fiddleford is being hauled off of him. Something has grabbed the back of his scarf and pulled it tight, tight enough that Fiddleford gags against the construction, tight enough that he’s reminded of Bill’s hand around him, crushing the breath from his lungs, and suddenly he’s being slammed against the brick wall of the alleyway and crushed between Bill’s uncaring fingers and—

“Stanley!”

That’s Stanford’s voice, he’d recognize it anywhere, but how is he here?

“Who the fuck—“

A voice, closer than Stanford’s, unfamiliar but definitely not Bill. It’s a person that’s holding him, and even if he’s struggling to breathe against the arm pressed to his throat, he can deal with a person.

Fiddleford kicks out, slamming his knee between the legs of his assailant.

“Son of a—!” he shouts, but he lets go of Fiddleford to stumble back.

“Stop! Stanley, this is Fiddleford! He’s the reason we’re here!” Stanford says, inserting himself between the two of them. “Well, he’s the reason I wanted to be here. You’re the reason you’re here and we don’t know how to get back.”

Yep, that insufferable holier-than-thou tone is definitely Stanford.

“I’m the reason you’re here?” Fiddleford chokes, rubbing his throat as he tries to regain his bearings. “It’s your fault I’m here!”

“I know that!” Stanford says, turning to Fiddleford.

Stanford looks about the same as he left him, beyond the dark circles under his eyes. Fiddleford knows the same can’t be said about himself.

“Listen, Fiddleford, I—“

“Save it, Stanford,” Fiddleford snaps, shaking his head as he turns towards the other man in the alleyway. “You must be Stanley?”

When Fiddleford first heard about Stanford’s twin, he imagined a carbon copy of his then-roommate. Stanley is not that. They’re nearly identical in the shapes of their faces, the texture and shade of their hair, the slope and color of their eyes, but the similarities end there. Put simply, Stanley looks like shit, with long, tangled hair, an unshaven face, and dark circles to rival Stanford’s, all wrapped up in a ratty jacket over an even rattier shirt. Even the way he holds himself is worrying, the way he’s hunched in on himself like a coiled spring, turned to the side like he’s keeping something just out of sight, eyes weary, teeth grit.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Stanley grumbles, and he draws himself even tighter. Even in conversation he’s locked on the defensive, and with the brief glimpse of an interaction between him and Stanford, Fiddleford can’t say he blames him.

“Nice ta meet ya, Stanley. I’d offer to shake your hand, but mine seems to be missin’,” Fiddleford greets. “Well, not missin’ exactly, I know where it is, but it ain’t doin’ me much good inside the stomach of some rottin’ monster.”

“Your arm!” Stanford exclaims belatedly.

He grabs for Fiddleford’s shoulder, but Fiddleford quickly smacks his hand away, a shudder running through his body at the phantom sensation of someone grabbing at what remains of his arm. He steps away, eyeing Ford wearily, almost expecting him to try again.

He doesn’t. He brings his hand back, tucking it to his chest for just a moment, hurt in his eyes. After a moment, he clears his throat, straightens up, and tucks his hands behind his back.

“I take it that’s a new development?” Stanley says, watching Fiddleford carefully. The matching scrutinizing gazes of both twins sets Fiddleford even further on edge.

“I would never have allowed such grievous injury to come to him under my care!” Stanford huffs, glaring at Stanley.

Fiddleford barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“And who’s god-forsaken vanity project brought me here, Stanford?”

“Easy, Fiddlesticks,” Stanley cuts in before Stanford can respond. “None of us are happy to be here, but he—“

Fiddleford raises his hand. “Shut yer yap.”

“Okay, rude—“

“I mean it, don’t ya hear that?” Fiddleford hisses. It’s barely audible, not like Stanford and Stanley’s rustling in a nearby alleyway. Something is moving through the main streets.

“I don’t hear shit, except some hillbilly interrupting me wh—“

“I hear it,” Stanford says, and Stanley throws his arms up in frustration.

Click-click, drag, click-click, click-click. Three functional limbs, one dragging along, moving at a gradual, unhurried pace. The time between each step suggests a step length of perhaps a meter. It’s large, too large for Fiddleford to deal with without his arm, but likely small enough to fit into this alleyway. Stanley seems pretty tough, and Stanford had somehow held his own for 6 years in Gravity Falls despite its many dangers, but he wasn’t about to trust either of them in a fight against whatever unknown beast was approaching.

“It’s coming from—“ Stanford whispers, and despite the low volume, Fiddleford cringes at the sound.

“I know,” Fiddleford snips quietly, “follow me.”

Fiddleford doesn’t bother to check if either of them listened— Stanford reacts well to confidence, and with any luck, Stanley would as well— before he’s slinking out of the alleyway, carefully watching his step this time.

“Come on, dumbass,” Stanley hisses, and Fiddleford spares them a glance. Both have moved to follow, but Stanford is hesitating, looking behind him even as Stanley grabs his arm and pulls him along behind him.

“I just want a look—“ Stanford mumbles, shaking Stanley’s hand off.

“This ain’t Gravity Falls, Stanford, an’ I won’t hesitate to leave you ‘n’ your brother for mincemeat if you don’t hurry yer asses up!”

Stanford immediately turns towards Fiddleford, eyes wide, mouth parted in shock. Fiddleford glares at him, lets him truly believe he means it (Fiddleford knows he wouldn’t leave Stanford or his brother, damn him) before he turns back around and continues on the way. This time, Stanford and Stanley follow without any further prompting, though Fiddleford hears what sounds like an amused snort from Stanley at Stanford’s sudden obedience.

[redversaillesrose]

I just think that if we are getting 2020’s Rockstar Lestat then tumblr could get a small shout out.

[mononijikayu]

wife — nanami kento.

“I don’t like the way they’re looking at you.” You whisper to him. “Let them, honey.” he said, his deep voice rich with certainty. “That’s all they can do.” He took your hand, calloused but gentle, and squeezed it just enough to send a rush of comfort through you. His thumb traced the side of your hand in a subtle, soothing gesture. The cool metal of his ring finger brushes against your skin with intent.  “They should know that I am exactly where I choose to be. I’m a married man, after all.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: romance, marriage, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, p to v sex, toilet sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (baby, honey), possesiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, if your partner isn't nanami kento then don't have him ladies, gents and non-binary friends;

WORD COUNT: 6.6k words.

NOTE: nanami kento won the poll, so here we are!!! its relatively shorter than the current style i have, but i hope you still like it. and yes, i added a spoiler for shoko and geto's sister (since shoko won #2 in the poll, she also gets a fic!!!). they are still together cause god knows they need love and care after all they have been through. anyway, i hope you all enjoy this!!! i love you all and see you in the next one <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

THIS WAS A RARE OPPORTUNITY.  You don’t like going to these high social events at all, not even outside Jujutsu society. You were a homebody, you adored having time to yourself. But you can’t ignore Gojo Satoru’s invitation. Even if you want to.

He’s been so good to your Kento and he’s always making sure that none of the old farts are making his life miserable. So you felt inclined to go. You felt inclined to play a little bit with this world. 

The grand hall of Gojo manor was resplendent, a wash of gold and white with shimmering drapes that caught the light of the crystal chandeliers overhead. Gojo Satoru was not thrilled to host the gathering. But since it was his duty as the Gojo clan head and he had to play nice with all these people — he gave in and threw the party.

Of course, he refused to make it exclusively a sorcerer only gathering. He wanted to ensure that it was open to everyone, even yourself. That in itself breaks tradition. More often than not, it was only sorcerers, especially those in the higher echelons of Jujutsu society, who were allowed to come and enjoy such liberties. 

But of course, Gojo Satoru was not such a man of tradition. He hated it, as much as your Kento. So, of course, to enjoy you and Kento’s company and to spite all these snobs, he made sure to invite you and everyone else.

You find that you’re at least enjoying the building’s architecture. You were a fan of architecture, in all forms and culture. You and your husband Kento shared that passion, more so when you both were in Denmark or when you both were in the countryside. 

Still, Gojo manor was not too bad. You marvel at the intricate carvings on the walls depicting centuries of legendary battles and heroics of history gone by. Each one was a reminder that this was not just a gathering but a showcase of the Jujutsu world's most powerful and influential. 

Sorcerers mingled, their robes embroidered with clan symbols and sigils that spoke of generations of power and prestige. Conversations buzzed with a mix of guarded politeness and subtle rivalry.

The room alive with an undercurrent of competition disguised as small talk. The sound of polite laughter mixed with the clink of glasses filled with aged sake, its delicate aroma weaving through the air like a ghost.

You stood near the buffet table, the scent of delicacies. Gojo Satoru did well with getting everything together for this, especially the food, all high quality — only the best of the Gojo clan head’s tastes. You both think the same in that exquisite taste. 

That certainly is why you were excited to taste everything. From the perfectly grilled yakitori, dainty bowls of ikura don, to the plates piled with fresh sashimi and brilliantly wrapped hamachi. They were all wafting around you. They were all perfect for you.

“I regret wearing this dress.” You tell yourself in a small mumble. “It’s too tight and I forgot Gojo likes good food like me. I thought he would have left it to his goons to decide the food menu…”

You were dressed in an elegant but simple gown, a deep navy blue that skimmed your figure without the drama of glittering embellishments or the boldness of vibrant silks. Compared to the ostentatious displays around you, it felt almost understated, but it was you.

You could hardly care about the fashions of Jujutsu society. You liked your fashion. And your husband did too. That was all that mattered. You adjusted the silver cuff on your wrist, a small but meaningful gift from Nanami, its cool weight reassuring against your skin.

You glanced around, eyes catching a few familiar faces. There was Nitta Akari from administration and management, gesturing animatedly as she spoke with her colleagues, her face flushed with excitement. Mei Mei stood nearby, her icy beauty undiminished by the cool smirk she wore. 

She held court as always, eyes sharp as a hawk’s as she listened, spoke, and effortlessly commanded the attention of everyone within earshot. Hell, there was Usami too — but he was surrounded by those vultures from the conservative factions. 

But most of the women were like the wives of powerful clan leaders. They represented their husbands, who thought it too boring to join the gathering or rather were abandoned by their husbands to do other things. 

Yet they were powerful women in their own right and they wanted you to know it. They wanted for you to see it, so badly. Their outfits elaborate displays of status, from the gold-threaded kimonos to the jewels woven into their hair.  Their makeup was meticulous, brows arched and lips painted in deep shades of crimson or plum. 

Most of them were interesting to gawk at. But you were certain they thought the same about you. Especially those specific women. It was those more haughty women, clan women under the big three who glanced your way with subtle, evaluating eyes.

You could feel their scrutiny as tangibly as the satin ribbons brushing your wrists. A fan fluttered as a woman whispered behind it, her gaze cutting sideways toward you. She looked as haughty and dry as her entire face.

“Do you think she really fits in here?” one murmured, just loud enough for the question to reach your ears.

“I heard she’s not even a sorcerer.” came the response, this time with a touch of incredulity. “Yet they let her come near our children, to teach them about a world they don’t dwell in. Pathetic waste of time!” 

You pretended not to hear, reaching for a skewer of yakitori to busy your hands. But your pulse quickened, not with embarrassment, but with the awareness of the reason behind their thinly veiled curiosity. They must have been Zenin women, perhaps married to the higher ranked men in Zenin Naobito’s circle. You felt bad for them, yet you also hated them. 

But you knew that wasn’t the case for their hatred of you. Not exactly. It wasn’t the fact that you were an outsider, a non-sorcerer working as a window at Jujutsu High, who taught mundane subjects like history and literature to the students. 

Nor was it that the students often liked you better, seeking your lessons as a respite from their harsher training. It was the reason these women whispered behind jeweled fans and exchanged glances tinged with envy: you were the much beloved wife of Nanami Kento, the stalwart, handsome, and sought-after grade one sorcerer.

From across the room, you caught sight of him. He stood among a small circle of colleagues, the sharp lines of his tailored suit a contrast to the flowing robes around him. His expression was as stoic as ever, but there was a small shift when he saw you, a softening in his gaze that no one else would notice. 

To everyone else, he was the unapproachable, severe sorcerer who never let his guard down. But you knew the way his bright eyes would close just slightly when he was tired, the low chuckle he reserved for evenings spent at home, the way his voice lowered when he told you stories of his youth.

“Good evening.” came a familiar voice that broke through your wandering thoughts. You turned to find Ieiri Shoko standing beside you, her expression one of relaxed amusement. 

She was dressed in an elegant black ensemble that perfectly complemented her laid-back demeanor, a glass of sake dangling effortlessly from her fingers. Her sharp eyes glimmered with mischief as she surveyed the room.

“Evening.” You greeted back at her, your lips sharply echoing into a smile. “Why are you alone? Where’s your darling at?”

“Oh, surrounded by those pathetic vultures.” She pointed at the table where she was talking with the Kyoto women, smiling brightly. “Ugh, I hate those freaks. I can’t believe she’s around them. They’re not even worth an ounce of her giggles.”

“Geto–san has to make good with people somehow.” You pointed out to her, humming. “Connections are just connections. But you’re her lover. It’s been some years. Breathe, Sho.”

She rolls her eyes, before smiling. “Yeah, yeah.”

“How have you been?”

“Good, as always.” Shoko retorts back, humming at you. “I just wish I had cigarettes. But she said if I tried to smoke tonight, she wouldn’t let me hit.”

You laugh at her bluntness. “I do the same to Kento too, but with his alcohol. You both have to be kept on a leash.”

 “Oh the things we do for love.” She sighed heavily before looking at the ones glaring at you both. It wasn’t hard to notice those clusters of sorcerer wives eyeing you with thinly veiled intentions. “You’re doing well against their scrutiny, I see.”

“Barely. But I do find myself enjoying it.” you admitted, a small laugh escaping despite the tension. Shoko’s company was always welcome; her nonchalance had a way of making everything seem less dire.

Shoko took a slow sip from her glass, savoring it like she savored every moment. She shifted her gaze to one of the wives, a woman with a crimson kimono embroidered so elaborately it looked more like a tapestry than a garment. The woman was whispering behind her fan, eyes darting toward you and Shoko with a practiced side glance.

“Ah, her again. I thought she wouldn’t be here after she got exposed for her affair.” Shoko said, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair. She leaned closer, voice low but biting. “Careful, she’s liable to sprain her neck with how much she’s been glaring. I heard last time she tried something that intense, she nearly fainted from holding her breath.”

You stifled a laugh, your shoulders shaking with barely contained mirth. Shoko’s dry humor was like a breath of fresh air, slicing through the tension with an effortless charm. The woman in the crimson kimono noticed your reaction and stiffened, her cheeks blooming with indignation.

“Let them look, let them whisper. Let them be jealous of you.” Shoko said, turning her eyes back to you. Her voice shifted to something more genuine, the mocking edge softening. “They’ll keep wondering because they can’t figure it out. You’re different, and they hate not understanding something. It’s their worst fear.”

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding, the knots in your chest loosening. Shoko’s words were more than just comfort; they were a reminder that your place here wasn’t defined by others’ perceptions but by your own truth and by the fact that Nanami stood beside you, unwavering.

“Thanks, Sho. I appreciate it a lot.” you said, voice steadying.

She gave a small shrug, the kind that said don’t make it a big deal. With another sip of sake, she nodded toward the buffet. “Now, let’s hope they restock the good tempura. If not, someone’s getting cursed tonight, and it won’t be me.”

She winked, then sauntered away, leaving you with a smile and the indelible impression that you weren’t as alone as you sometimes felt. Once she moved to the corner to see about the temperature, you could feel from the corner of your eye.

You saw the clan wives exchanging glances again. Their perfectly painted lips tightened just slightly as Nanami Kento, breaking from his group, made his way toward you, every step a quiet declaration.

“Is it true? She’s the one married to him?” another ignorant one whispered, leaning into a group of women whose gazes darted in your direction.

“Yes, the one with Nanami Kento, the number two of the first grade sorcerers.” another foolish one confirmed, unable to keep the hint of envy out of her voice. 

You turned slightly, pretending not to hear as you picked up a small plate of delicacies. You did not care for what they wanted to say about you. You were more focused on your desire to taste the dishes. The laughter and clinking glasses around you felt muted under the weight of the tension gathering nearby.

The whispers turned to sharp murmurs, punctuated by gasps and scandalized looks. But perhaps that bothered them even more, because they started making more comments.

“Who does she think she is, that no name wanna be?” The foolish one whispered, loud enough for people to hear her. But perhaps she does not realize she was not being discreet. 

The ignorant one scoffs in disbelief, shaking her head. “What a snob! How can Nanami-san be married to her?”

Shoko heard enough of it and turned around almost immediately from the dishes to the ladies. They jumped out of their seats. She rolls her eyes at them. It was as though she was just as annoyed as she was bored with them. 

“Honestly, get over yourselves. You all look like desperate idiots.” she said, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips as she leaned casually against a marble pillar. Everyone was now looking at them. Aren’t you at least going to have the gall to say it to our face, lady Kawami?”

The woman in the crimson kimono, lady Kawami, known for her sharp tongue and her greedy  ambition gasped, her painted lips parting in shock. Beside her, another woman with intricately styled hair and a pinched expression scowled deeply. 

“How dare you—”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Shoko’s laughter was light and mocking, yet the glint in her eyes held no softness. She tilted her head, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at Lady Kawami’s reddening face. “You think Nanami Kento would like an ugly face and a bad attitude like yours? Ha! You wish!”

The crowd that had gathered to eavesdrop was stunned into silence, eyes flicking between the women like spectators at a duel. The foolish one’s face turned a deep shade of red, while the ignorant one sputtered, looking moments away from summoning her husband and causing an uproar. 

“You cannot talk to us like that!” she shrieked, voice pitched high with indignation. “My husband will hear of this!”

“Now, now, lady Kawami, you shouldn’t treat my guests like that.” The familiar, light-hearted voice of Gojo Satoru interrupted the escalating tension. The two women felt their eyes widen. They quickly bow before him. “It’s so disrespectful, don’t you think?”

Heads turned as he approached, dressed in an exquisite black and silver kimono decorated with the Gojo clan crest. Even in traditional wear, he managed to exude a casual, almost irreverent charm. His dark, round glasses perched on his nose added to the effect as he lowered them just slightly, revealing eyes that shimmered with barely concealed amusement.

“Ah, Gojo-sama.” Lady Kawami said, trying to mask her fluster with a demure nod, but the tension in her posture betrayed her. “I didn’t mean any disrespect towards her, but surely you can understand that—”

“Oh, I understand completely, lady Kawami.” Gojo interrupted, a playful grin spreading across his face. He pushed his glasses back up, letting them catch the light so that the rest of the room was reflected in them. “I understand that you’re boring my dear friend Shoko, and frankly, I can’t have that. Her girlfriend wouldn't be so happy, either. And of course, I love my friend’s happiness.”

The subtle ripple of suppressed laughter ran through the more observant bystanders. Lady Kawami’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes narrowing dangerously. It was rare for someone to speak to her like that and get away with it, but this was Gojo Satoru. A man whose reputation as the most powerful sorcerer in the room and quite possibly the world would mean his words carried weight that no amount of social maneuvering could deflect.

Shoko’s smirk widened as she raised her glass in mock toast to Gojo, her eyes gleaming. “Well, look who decided to save the day. Dashing, really, Gojo.”

He winked at her. “Anything to make sure tonight stays interesting.”

The ignorant one, still seething but now cautious, looked between Gojo and Shoko before settling on silence. The power dynamics had shifted too sharply, and she knew better than to push further. No one can go against Gojo Satoru and not face repercussions. No one. And it would have ended up badly for their husbands and their families if they did. 

You exhaled, tension releasing from your shoulders as the spectacle unraveled. A small, knowing smile touched your lips as Kento's eyes found yours from across the room, his expression softening just a fraction, and you knew that you weren’t alone in facing these moments. You were surrounded by friends who would always have your back, in their own unique, if slightly chaotic, ways.

The room’s atmosphere gradually loosened, tension shifting back to its usual simmering undercurrent. Gojo’s playful banter had disarmed the scene, leaving only the embarrassed scowls of lady Kawami and her cohort. Shoko took another sip of her sake, the glint of satisfaction in her eyes clear as she watched the women bristle and disperse.

“Good job not throwing that plate, masterful control.” Shoko said to you, her voice carrying a hint of approval. She nodded at the untouched delicacies in your hand. “Would’ve been a waste of good food.”

You chuckled softly, appreciating her humor. “Shouldn’t you be saying that to yourself, Sho?”

“Well, I mean, that’s true.” 

Gojo laughs. “Shoko would have done worse than that and we both know it.”

“Hm, but I would have you carry my food to my table.”

“Oh? Then people would be surprised, how anyone can force the Gojo clan leader to do anything on a whim.”

Before you could respond, a presence behind you made the small hairs on your neck stand up in recognition. You turned, and there he was—Nanami Kento, striding toward you with the kind of quiet confidence that set him apart from the rest.

He looked ever so handsome, your husband. But when you get him even more up close? It’s a different story. He looked even more like a god when he stood before you this close.  

He took in the scene, eyes flicking over the lingering crowd, Gojo’s smirk, and Shoko’s knowing look. Then his attention settled on you, warm and steady. “I see I missed the entertainment.” he said, his voice deep and even, but with a trace of curiosity.

Gojo lifted a hand in a lazy wave. “Ah, Nanami, you missed Shoko here defending your lovely lady’s honor with an admirable lack of diplomacy.”

Kento’s brows lifted slightly, his gaze darting to Shoko, who shrugged, unbothered. “They deserved it.” she said, as if that were the most obvious fact in the world.

With a quiet exhale, Kento nodded, accepting the unspoken truth that you were protected by bonds deeper than mere duty. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. The small gesture spoke volumes, his touch grounding and reassuring. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes searching yours for any trace of discomfort.

You smiled up at him, your earlier tension melting away entirely under his gaze. “I am now.”

The corners of his mouth twitched in what might have been a smile, subdued as always but unmistakably there. The few remaining onlookers, who had hoped to catch a new drama unfolding, exchanged glances before deciding they had better places to be.

Gojo clapped his hands, shattering the delicate silence that had settled. “Well, now that we’ve cleared the air, what do you say we toast to another evening of society’s finest theatrics?” His grin was as wide as ever, his glasses reflecting the chandelier’s light like a pair of miniature suns.

Nanami shook his head, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he glanced at you, then back at Gojo. “You never change, Gojo.” he muttered, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.

“And wouldn’t it be boring if I did?” Gojo countered, raising a brow.

Shoko raised her glass, smirking at Gojo before tipping it toward you and Nanami. “Unwavering loyalty and keeping things interesting!” she said.

You lifted your plate with a grin, and Kento, never one for dramatics, simply inclined his head. But the unspoken promise in his gaze, the silent support he offered, said more than any toast or witty comment ever could. In a hall filled with power, it was that quiet moment, surrounded by friends and the one who held your heart, that resonated most.

Soon enough, Shoko returned to her girlfriend with her plate stacked with food on one hand and the other holding a glass of wine. Her girlfriend, Geto Suguru’s younger sister, was waiting for her at one of the tables by the back.

Of course, Gojo Satoru returned to moving about and greeting everyone, but he seemed to have been halted by lord Kawami, probably trying to get things straight and settled. No one likes losing his favor after all. It was better that everything was smoothed out with him.

The incident however did not stop the women from continuing to look at your husband wantingly. One of the clan leader’s wives, her jeweled fan hiding half her face, whispered something to the woman beside her. They glanced over, eyes narrowing as if they could decipher what spell had ensnared someone like Nanami Kento.

“They’re watching again.” you murmured, feeling a twinge of jealousy and self-consciousness.

You immediately caught the glance of a woman adorned with a striking emerald necklace that glittered every time she turned. Her expression was polished and unreadable, but the pointed way she looked at you sent an old, familiar discomfort crawling up your spine.

Kento’s presence next to you was a calm in the storm, an anchor against the waves of whispers and stares. He tilted his head slightly, just enough that the room’s golden glow cast warm highlights across his sharp features. His eyes, serious and unwavering, met yours.

“I don’t like the way they’re looking at you.” You whisper to him.

“Let them, honey.” he said, his deep voice rich with certainty. “That’s all they can do.”

He took your hand, calloused but gentle, and squeezed it just enough to send a rush of comfort through you. His thumb traced the side of your hand in a subtle, soothing gesture. The cool metal of his ring finger brushes against your skin with intent. 

“They should know that I am exactly where I choose to be. I’m a married man, after all.”

A silence swept over the nearby crowd, as if Nanami Kento’s words, though spoken softly, carried through the hall like a sudden change in the wind. The clan leaders’ wives, women who could command a room with a flick of their eyes or a whisper laced with intent, shifted uncomfortably. For all their power, their meticulously curated reputations, and the alliances they upheld like prized heirlooms, they had never been the center of such unwavering devotion.

Akari from administration glanced over and offered a subtle nod of approval, a small smile playing on her lips as she resumed her conversation. Mei Mei, sharp-eyed and ever perceptive, caught the moment as well. She raised her glass, her smirk deepening as though to say, well played.

The subtle tension that once swirled around the room, woven through glances and whispers, began to dissipate. Some turned their attention back to their conversations, laughter resuming, but not without the occasional glance in your direction, this time tinged more with begrudging respect than judgment.

“Kento, baby.” you said softly, a small smile breaking through as your heart settled back into its natural rhythm. The weight of self-consciousness fell away, replaced by a warm sense of belonging that his presence always seemed to ignite.

“Hmm?” he replied, his gaze still watching you with an intensity that was rare for him, except when you were alone.

“Thank you, baby.” you whispered, squeezing his hand back.

His eyes softened, the smallest, barely-there curve of his lips showing just the hint of a smile meant only for you. “There’s nothing to thank me for, honey.” he replied, tilting his head as if to read your thoughts. “It’s simply the truth.”

══════════════════

IT HAPPENED AS QUICKLY AS ONE COULD BLINK. But you suppose you can’t help it. Your desire for pleasure was fast when it came to Nanami Kento. Much more so when you’re jealous. BUt you knew your husband liked that. More than he likes to admit to you.

You felt a delicious rush of power as you yanked him closer by his tie, leading him out of the crowded hall. Away from the watchful eyes and mingling strangers, it was just the two of you in the quiet, dim hallway, with only your quickened breaths filling the silence.

The door closed behind you, and before you could say another word, his hands were on you, strong and possessive, pressing you back against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall. His fingers traced over your hips and along your waist, leaving a tingling heat in their wake.

It was as if he was memorizing every inch of you all over again. You looked up at him, catching his gaze; his eyes were heavy with desire, and the way he looked at you made your knees feel weak. He was entirely yours in that moment, and you were entirely his.

Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his shirt, his heartbeat echoing your own. His mouth was on yours again, the kiss deep and ravenous, filling the space with the sounds of quickened breath and desperate touches. The world beyond the bathroom faded, leaving only the two of you, tangled in each other.

When he pulled back to look at you, you could barely catch your breath. His hand found the curve of your neck, fingers tracing gently along your jawline, and your own hands gripped his shoulders, grounding you as your pulse raced.

“You’re so good….” you managed to whisper breathlessly, your voice trembling as you tried to form words. "Kento….." you murmured, the words spilling out between gasps, each syllable almost a sigh as you clung to him. 

The intensity of his gaze made you shiver, your own desire reflected in his eyes. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and you felt a thrill ripple through you as he whispered your name. His breath felt hot, so tenderly warm against your skin. And even more so when he said your name in that breathy way. That made you feel even more excitement.

For a moment, you both paused, catching your breath as the heat of the moment washed over you. His fingers brushed along your cheek, his thumb tracing the corner of your mouth, as though savoring this quiet, charged moment before pulling you back in with the same raw, electric passion.

And in that hidden space, the two of you lost yourselves, caught in the perfect, unbreakable intimacy that felt like a world away from the bustling party. If you both had your way, both of you would have been locked away from the world. All you needed was each other.

His hands explored with a possessive tenderness, each touch leaving trails of fire across your skin. You let out a shaky breath, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he pressed his lips along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You shivered, feeling him smile against your skin, clearly pleased at the effect he was having on you.

You pulled him even closer, fingers moving from his shirt to his tie, loosening it slightly, just enough to slide it off his neck. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his eyes fixed on you with a focused intensity that made you feel as though you were the only person in the world.

"Can’t believe you dragged me out here, honey." he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his words sending a thrill through you. "But I’d follow you anywhere. I’ll make love to you anywhere you want me to."

His words made your heart race, and you felt the butterflies from earlier stirring again as he leaned in, his mouth meeting yours with a new urgency. It was as if all the tension from the night poured into that kiss, building into something raw and unstoppable.

As he pulled you closer, his fingers gently brushed your hair back from your face, and you caught his gaze, breathless. You couldn’t help the small, breathless laugh that escaped as you looked at him, both of you a little dizzy, a little wild.

“This is dangerous, you know, baby.” you whispered, a playful smirk dancing on your lips as you tightened your hold on him. But he only raised an eyebrow, his own grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Good.” he replied, his voice a low murmur. "Wouldn’t have it any other way."

Soon enough, you were under his thumb. His movements grew rougher, each thrust deep and unrelenting, sending a surge of sensation through you that bordered on overwhelming. Every press of his body against yours was a heady mixture of strength and passion. 

And it was all you could do to cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as the intensity built. His pace quickened, and you felt your back arch instinctively, unable to control the way your body responded to him.

Your breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps, each one catching in your throat as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge, his touch both possessive and tender. Your senses blurred; the world narrowed down to the feel of him, the heat between you, the way he whispered your name against your skin in a voice that was both rough and reverent.

Every movement, every thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, each one pushing you further until you were lost in the sheer intensity of it all. You gripped him tightly, almost desperately, as though grounding yourself against the delicious onslaught. 

His name left your lips in broken gasps, and as you met his gaze, the shared passion and vulnerability in his eyes were enough to undo you completely. Everything about your husband makes you feel alive. Especially at this moment. He was good at making you cry for life.

In that moment, you felt yourself surrender, giving in fully to the dizzying rush, to him, and to the warmth and bliss that consumed you both. You shifted slightly beneath him, the heat of your body still trapped in the shared intimacy of the moment. The words escaped you before you could stop them, your jealousy bubbling to the surface. 

"I saw the way they were looking at you tonight, baby." you whispered, your voice a blend of frustration and desire, your fingers gripping his shoulders tightly. "All those women... They were ogling you, making eyes at you, and I couldn’t—"

His breath hitched at the raw honesty in your voice. His eyes darkened, a flicker of something primal flashing across his face. Without breaking his rhythm, he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, "Don’t you dare think about them. You're the only one I want. I only want my wife. My little precious wife."

His words were a balm, but the way his body moved, the deep, relentless thrusts, were what truly silenced your insecurities. The force of each movement was almost punishing, his hips driving into you harder, making your head spin with pleasure. His hands gripped your hips, steadying you as he picked up speed, his breath ragged against your skin.

"You think I want them?" he asked, his voice a dark, velvety rasp. "No. It's you, only you. Always been you." His words came out in desperate gasps, the intensity of his thrusts growing, pushing you both to the edge. "You’re mine. No one else matters."

You moaned, feeling a thrill surge through your chest, his raw claim igniting something deeper within you. His pace never faltered, and as he rams into you harder.

Each movement seems to strip away the last remnants of your doubts. Your body responded, the tension in you winding tighter, tighter, until you were sure you'd break. You could barely speak, your voice hitching as you met his powerful thrusts with a soft whimper, your body rocking with the force of him.

"I’m jealous, baby. I always am." you admitted, your hands tracing down his chest, grasping at him desperately, the words slipping between gasps. "But you're mine too. Only mine."

"Always have been, honey. Only yours." he replied, his hands pressing you harder into the cold tile as he moved faster, pushing you further toward the edge with each heated thrust. 

His voice was a low growl, his rhythm unrelenting, and you could feel him losing himself as much as you were, both of you consumed by the need, the overwhelming desire to claim and be claimed.

The moment his lips crashed into yours, everything else seemed to melt away. The overwhelming intensity of the kiss mirrored the urgency of his movements, his body pressing deeper into yours, each thrust sending waves of heat through you. The kiss was possessive, his tongue claiming yours with the same hunger that burned between you both.

As he pushed deeper, his rhythm becoming relentless, you felt a broken cry escape from you, a mixture of pleasure and raw emotion that you couldn’t hold back. His eyes, dark with desire, caught yours, and for a moment, you saw something deeper than just lust—something primal and protective, something that made your heart race in a way you couldn’t explain.

"You’re so fucking beautiful, honey." he whispered against your lips, his voice rough with the same need he’d been building in both of you. “My wife is so fucking beautiful.” 

His hands moved to your hips, pulling you impossibly closer as he thrust deeper, pushing you to the brink, your cries turning into soft whimpers as your body was caught in the storm of sensation. It felt so good, it always has been.

The deeper he is, the deeper the pleasure fills you. The more you cry out and moan. The more he tries to defy the possibilities, thrusting deeper to fill you more and more.

The tears that pricked the corners of your eyes weren't from pain—no, it was something more complex, something that left you breathless. It was the weight of the connection, the force of his touch, and the emotional release that you hadn’t expected.

All combined into something that made your chest tighten with overwhelming feeling. You cried because he was inside you in every way, not just physically but emotionally, each thrust deeper, each kiss harder.

Kento pulled away slightly, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek, his breath hot against your face. His eyes softened for a moment, but the hunger in them never dulled. 

"You’re mine, only mine, wife." he breathed, his voice low but full of meaning, before kissing you again, harder this time, as though proving to you what he’d just spoken.

The kiss deepened as he pulled you even closer, his body pressing against yours with a fervor that made your entire being hum with raw need. You could feel every inch of him, every movement of his muscles, and it was as if the world had disappeared entirely, leaving just the two of you tangled in this electric, consuming moment.

His thrusts became more forceful, each one driving deeper, pushing you to the edge of something wild and uncontrollable. Your nails dug into his back, clinging to him for support as his mouth moved from yours, trailing down your neck, biting and sucking as he marked you, claiming you completely.

"Don't hold back, honey." he murmured against your skin, his breath ragged. "Let go for me. I need you to feel this... all of it."

You couldn't hold back, not anymore. Not even if anyone was to hear outside. You didn’t feel bad about being this loud because it was your pleasure. About the pleasure he was giving you. He was making you feel good and you wanted him to know it. 

“Good baby, my good little wife. Take me. Take me whole.”

His words hit something deep inside, and you cried out, your voice a broken whisper as your body surrendered fully to him, to the pleasure, to the overwhelming emotions that swirled inside you. His name escaped your lips in a desperate, breathless moan, and the sound seemed to spur him on, his pace quickening as he met you with relentless urgency.

Each thrust pushed you further into a frenzy of sensation, and the pleasure that had once been distant now consumed you completely. The tears that had been building in your eyes spilled over, not from pain, but from the intensity, from the way his body moved with yours in perfect rhythm, from the way he made you feel so utterly seen, so completely his.

Kento’s hand moved to your face, his thumb gently swiping at the tears on your cheek, a tender touch amidst the feverish passion. His eyes softened for just a moment, but then they hardened with desire as he kissed you again, his tongue tasting your lips, your moans swallowed by the deep kiss.

"You're everything to me, honey." he growled, his voice barely audible between breaths. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that."

His words, the way his body pressed into yours, the way his hands held you so firmly. It all built up to something so deep, so visceral that you couldn’t tell where your body ended and his began. Everything inside you snapped, the waves of pleasure crashing over you in a rush, leaving you breathless and shaking in his arms. 

Your cries were mingled with his own as he lost himself in the moment, the sound of skin against skin filling the small space as you both gave in to the release, the powerful culmination of everything that had been building between you.

As the waves of pleasure slowly subsided, leaving both of you breathless and spent, the quiet hum of the room returned, only now it felt like a distant memory compared to the electric tension between you. You both lingered in the aftermath, bodies still pressed together, hearts racing in sync. 

Your breath was ragged, your fingers tracing the sweat-slick skin of his back, grounding yourself in the sensation of him still so close. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustling of your clothes and the echo of your breaths.

But just as you began to collect yourself, a sound broke the stillness—a soft thud of footsteps, followed by the faint murmur of voices. Your heart skipped a beat as the realization hit. Your boldness had gotten inflated by sanity. 

You both hadn’t noticed the soft creak of the door, hadn’t heard the hushed conversations approaching. And then, before either of you could react, the door was pushed open, revealing the clan wives, standing in the doorway, eyes wide with shock, mouths agape.

Kento’s gaze flickered to the doorway, but when he saw the surprised looks on their faces, he didn’t flinch, didn’t move away. He stayed right where he was, his hands still possessively on you, his lips curled into a confident, unbothered smirk. He looks at you, mesmerized by you. By his want for you. Nothing else mattered. Decency, rules, proportionality — they’re done when he makes love to you.

Yet when you looked at him. Nothing else mattered. You too also didn’t care now. A sense of defiance rose within you, the fire from before still burning strong. Without a second thought, you pulled Kento closer, your hands grasping his face as you tilted your head up to meet his lips. The kiss was fierce and unapologetic, claiming him fully in front of everyone who dared to look.

You pulled away slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, your voice low but steady, a possessive edge coloring your words. "You're only mine, hm? Forever, baby." you whispered, your fingers gently tracing his jawline as you met his smirk.

His gaze softened for a moment, his lips curling into a grin that sent a shiver down your spine. "Always, honey." he replied, his voice a low rumble that held all the certainty in the world. “Forever.”

The clan wives stood frozen once again, caught between disbelief and curiosity, but neither of you acknowledged them again. You didn’t need to. Kento's words, and the way he held you, told them everything they needed to know.

You were his, and he was yours.

Forever.

[seungkw1]

ring my bell  — ljh

♡ pairing: neighbor!jihoon x afab!reader ♡ theme: smut [18+ mdni] ♡ wc: 7k ♡ warnings: sub!reader, but also subby!jihoon, size kink, praise kink, auralism/ecouteurism, masturbation (m. & f.), oral (m. & f. receiving), unprotected piv sex (do not do this), cum swallowing, creampie, cockwarming, dacryphilia, size kink, hair pulling, gagging, missionary, 69, nipple play/boob worship, multiple orgasms, sex toys, mild alcohol consumption, did i mention size kink, lil fluff at the end ♡ a/n: i abandoned this fic at least five times lmao but then one night at like 2am the brain rot took over and here we are! tysm to @wonwovy for beta reading, @shinysobi for the title suggestion, and @miniseokminnies for help w the photos <3

When you moved into your new condo, you were pretty sure you hit the jackpot. At first, you were a bit suspicious - how could the rent be so low in this part of town, with such a nice building? But for two months after you moved in, you’ve had no problems. Sure, the shower head is a bit leaky sometimes, and you could use a bit more storage space, but overall - no complaints. As an added bonus the unit next to you was vacant - aka, peace and quiet. Perfection. 

That vacancy didn't last forever, though. Two months in, and you found yourself with a new neighbor. You haven't had a chance to properly introduce yourself to him yet, but from the brief glimpses of him you've gotten he seems nice. You suspect he's around your age, a bit quiet, definitely keeps to himself but has been very polite in passing. And while he's not exactly your type, you do admit he is pretty cute. So, nothing wrong with him. 

You did, however, quickly discover two major problems. One, it turns out the walls are paper fucking thin. And two - to make matters worse - his bedroom is apparently right on the other side of yours, sharing a wall. And you can hear everything. 

By the sounds of it, the guy is single. You never hear any other voices, just his - soft moans emanating through the sad excuse for a wall, gradually getting louder, culminating in a symphony of unholy noises. You've never heard a man be so… vocal before. 

At first, you just try to ignore it. Obviously, he's doing nothing wrong - this is simply a consequence of shared living spaces. So you do your best to mind your business. 

Easier said than done. 

A week passes. You still haven't had a chance to actually say hi to your new neighbor, but you already feel like you've become intimately acquainted with him. It feels a bit… wrong. This is very clearly a one-sided situation. You don't even know the guy’s name for fuck’s sake. Yet, each time, a sharp aching sensation forms a pit in your stomach. You find yourself fantasizing about him -  wishing you could be on the other side of the wall, wishing you were the one responsible for the sounds being produced. 

You've gone and fallen for a complete stranger - or at least, the idea of him. Fucking great. 

You just need to actually meet him, you tell yourself. He could be a complete asshole. Or maybe just not your type at all. Once you say hi, you'll get over this silly little fantasy in no time. 

I’ll make sure to run into him tomorrow, you determine. You go to bed, content with your plan. 

Not five minutes after you crawl under the covers, you start to hear faint groans. 

You reach for your airpods, but they're not on your nightstand. You must have left them in the other room. 

It’s fine, you decide. It’ll be over soon enough. 

But tonight, apparently, he is taking his sweet time. 

You stuff your head under the pillows, trying to drown out the sensual sounds, but the moaning persists. Even muffled it’s loud - and it only gets worse as the minutes pass. 

Just when you think he’s about to finish, the sounds cease. Thank god, you think as you roll over, ready to finally get some sleep. 

But a minute later he starts up again. Slowly at first, once again taking his time, increasing his speed at an excruciatingly slow pace. Eventually his breaths grow shorter, his groaning louder. Then, he stops. 

As if he set out to torment you tonight, he begins once more.  

You lay there, eyes closed, unmoving, breathing deeply, trying to ignore the aching between your legs. But it's impossible. 

The third time around, he's clearly very on edge. His moans turn loud, whiny, pathetic. It's probably the hottest thing you've ever heard. 

Don’t do it don't do it don't do it…

As if your arm has gained a mind of its own, your hand slides beneath the fabric of your underwear. You gasp as your fingers slip between your folds - you're fucking wet. 

Your already-throbbing bud pulsates between your fingers. Slowly, you begin to rub your clit. The sensation is immediately overwhelming; the uninhibited cries of pleasure emanating from the other side of the wall are enough to send you over the edge. Just when you think you can't take another moment of this, he cums. And so do you. 

Your free hand clasps over your mouth just in time. You try as hard as you possibly can to stay silent - but you want to scream. You writhe against the sheets to the sound of his release, riding out your orgasm on your fingertips. Muffled cries escape despite your efforts - but are lost amidst the man’s sea of moans. You cum long and hard, savoring every last moment of your high. 

As you start to come down, you sink into your mattress, body spent, mind drifting off. Your neighbor seems to have exhausted himself too - the only sounds carrying through the wall now being that of deep breaths. 

So much for running into him tomorrow. 

You flop over onto your side, shoving the thought away - but you know even if you try, you can't avoid him forever. 

You just pray to god he didn't hear you. 

Of course, after a week without any encounters, you manage to run into him the very next day. 

Upon returning from the grocery store, you head to your building’s elevator. The doors are closing as you approach, so you figure you'll just take the next one - but the occupant holds the door for you. 

“Thank you,” you say cheerfully, but as you step inside your stomach drops. You are face to face with your new neighbor.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, making direct eye contact with you. You want to disappear into the walls, but you maintain your composure. The button for your floor is already lit up, so he presses the close door button. 

“I believe I just moved into the unit next to yours,” he says as you set your heavy bags on the floor. “I've seen you around but haven't had a chance to introduce myself. I’m Jihoon.”

He extends his hand out to you. You instantly regret setting your bags down. 

You smile calmly, hoping he doesn't notice how flustered you are. But as you slide your hand into his, your heart rate rises. It doesn't help that he has really nice hands - large, warm, with fingers long and graceful, and a nice strong grip against your own hand. Your mind flashes back to the events of last night, picturing what those hands were doing…

Stop it. 

“I’m y/n,” you reply with a smile, trying to be as normal as possible. “Nice to meet you.”

You withdraw your hand from his grasp as he lets go - nonchalantly, but with haste. Any longer and your palms would have probably started sweating. 

“So, how are you liking it here so far?” you ask casually. 

“So far so good,” he replies. “I'm honestly surprised that I was able to find anything in this part of town for such a good deal. Nice and quiet here too.”

Quiet. 

You fear your suspicions are correct: he has no idea he's been putting on a nightly show for you. 

The elevator gives a soft ding as it comes to a stop. You reach down to grab your bags as the door opens. 

“Can I help you with that?” 

“Oh, uh… sure.”

He picks up the heavy bags with ease. You could tell that he’s a muscular guy, but up close he looks straight up beefy. It doesn't help that the tight shirt he's wearing hugs all his muscles perfectly, his biceps nearly bursting out of his sleeves. You force yourself to look away before you start fucking drooling. 

He delivers the bags to your front door. He returns them to you with care, making sure you have a firm grip on the handles before letting go. His hand lingers upon yours momentarily - the lightest brush of his fingertips against yours enough for your insides to do a somersault. 

“Thanks again,” you tell him, making the mistake of direct eye contact again. 

“Of course,” Jihoon replies warmly. “See you around.”

You flash him a smile, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “Bye!!” you blurt abruptly as you unlock your front door, hurrying inside. You want to turn around, get one more good look at him - but you shut the door behind you. 

Your head spins as you put your groceries away. You're so wrapped up in your imagination that you nearly put the milk in the cabinet. But you can't stop daydreaming about what those muscles look like underneath his shirt. 

You finish up and head into your bedroom. A nice hot shower should clear your mind. Not two seconds after taking off your shirt, you freeze. The familiar sounds from next door have begun yet again. 

You stand there, half horrified, half horny. Surely it's nothing more than coincidence that your neighbor got home and started jacking off minutes after having a conversation with you. He was probably gonna do that anyway, you try to convince yourself. You're just having main character syndrome right now, this has nothing to do with you. 

But your gut is telling you otherwise. 

Mindlessly your fingers drift to your bra clasp, removing the garment. Taking your breast in one hand you stroke your thumb over your nipple, already hard from sudden exposure to the cool air of your room. You let yourself stand there for a minute, listening to Jihoon’s soft moans, imagining you could see him through the wall, slowly stroking his cock in his hands. 

You feel guilty, ashamed, but the aching in your cunt overpowers any sense of remorse. Your hand makes its way into your pants, your fingers gliding through your folds, slipping easily into your soaked pussy. You wince silently, stifling the moans desperately trying to escape you. Slowly, you begin to fuck yourself. You can't help but think about how it would feel if it were Jihoon’s fingers inside you instead. 

You stand there for a couple minutes, your clit throbbing against the motion of your palm - threatening to make you scream and cum. 

You can't let him hear you, you keep telling yourself. But part of you almost wants him to hear you. You picture him getting so turned on hearing your cries of pleasure that he cums instantly, all over himself, making a huge mess that you would love nothing more than to help clean up. 

You feel your climax rapidly approaching. You cease moving your fingers, but let them remain resting inside you. You try to calm yourself down, taking deep breaths to slow your pounding heart, but just as your head starts to clear you hear a sudden swell of orgasmic sounds from through the wall. As if by reflex your hand moves again. Your body tremors at the pressure against your overstimulated clit - you cum in silence, forcing your cries back inside you as . You ride out your high, and so does Jihoon, his moans slowly softening as he comes back down. 

Heart pounding, you slowly remove your fingers from your cunt. Your hand is soaked; you find yourself wishing it was Jihoon's face instead, glistening with your juices after eating you out, making you cum an unreasonable amount of times. 

You sigh. You know this should all feel wrong. But why does it feel so good then?

A strange combination of feelings overtake your body: tingling bliss from your orgasm, guilt from the reason for your orgasm, an overpowering yearning for the touch of essentially an entire stranger. 

You strip the remainder of your clothes off and proceed to take a very long, very hot shower. 

You wake up the next morning stupidly horny.

It didn’t help that you had a dream about Jihoon. In it, you were standing in his bedroom, watching him masturbate to the sight of you. His cries echoing through your subconscious, the pathetic look on this face as he came all over himself - it’s not surprising you woke up to a puddle between your legs.

You pause, listening to see if you can hear your neighbor next door, but you hear nothing. You reach into your nightstand, pulling out your favorite vibrator. The purple device rumbles in your hand as you turn it on. For a vibrator, it’s pretty quiet, but with your stupid thin walls you know it would be perfectly audible from the other side. You think Jihoon isn’t around - surely you would hear him if he were - but even if he is, you truly don’t even care anymore. You position the toy lightly upon your clit - even through the fabric of your underwear, its powerful vibrations instantly feel amazing. A soft groan escapes your lips before you can stop it. Your hips begin to move lightly at the stimulation - the pressure of the vibrator’s end causing your wetness to stick to your panties. You attempt to restrain your moaning, but before long you cease resisting. It feels too good. Your orgasm quickly builds in your gut, making you whimper as you squirm against your pillow, its intensity growing and growing until - you cum. The fire of your release burns through your body, your cries filling the air without abandon. Deep breaths fill your lungs as you come down, soft gasps emanating from your lips as you turn the toy off and toss it aside. 

A series of thunks echo from through the wall, followed by a hushed “shit”.

It sounds like somebody dropping a phone or something, but whatever it is - turns out your neighbor was home after all. Whoops.

In your post-orgasm bliss you begin to drift back to sleep. You don’t know what you’re going to do now next time you run into Jihoon, but that’s a problem for later.

You end up sleeping in far too late. By the time you wake up, you feel groggy and sluggish, so you figure going to the gym will help you feel a little better. You don a soft pink pair of leggings and a light gray sports bra, filling your water bottle and grabbing your airpods on your way out the door. You wait in the hallway for the elevator. It reaches your floor with a ding, its doors sliding open to reveal who other than your next door neighbor. 

Of fucking course.

He appears to be returning from the gym, his tight white t-shirt clinging to his body in a way that practically puts all his muscles on display. His dark hair is damp and sweaty, messy, stray strands of it sticking to his forehead. He looks up to see you standing there, a panicked look instantly filling his eyes. His skin is already flush from exercising, but his ears turn practically crimson at the sight of you. 

“Hi,” you say with a friendly smile.

He freezes, staring at you like a deer caught in the headlights. He quickly tries to shake it off.

“Oh, uh, hey,” he mumbles in an attempted nonchalant tone, but already his cheeks are becoming more flustered. You see his eyes flicker up and down your body - your outfit isn’t terribly revealing, but it’s certainly on the sexier side of athleticwear. He stands there, awkwardly frozen - so long that the elevator door begins to shut again. He grabs hold of it, triggering the motion sensor so it reopens. He starts to shuffle past you, but you decide you’re feeling bold enough to try and engage him in a conversation.

“Just coming back from the gym?” you ask casually.

He stops in the hallway, standing right before you.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Do you also go to the one over on Clark Street?” you question. You won’t hold him up too long - he looks like he wants to perish - but you figure you’ll torment him for another minute or so.  “That’s where I’m headed now.”

“Yeah, I do,” he answers, subtly shifting his gym bag in front of his body. 

“Cool! Maybe we’ll see each other there sometime,” you tell him in a chipper tone. 

“Maybe, yeah. That’d be cool,” he replies, smiling nervously.

You enter the elevator and press the ground floor button.

“Well, see ya around!” you tell him with a wave.

“You too,” he responds, not taking his eyes off you until the elevator door shuts closed.

Three days pass - three days of pure silence from the other side of the wall. 

Now that Jihoon has discovered the truth, he's clearly mortified. You catch a few glimpses of him around the building, but the man practically vanishes at the sight of you. You feel a little bit bad, but you know the ruse could not have lasted forever anyway. 

Unless he somehow knows exactly when you're not home and has been jacking off exclusively then, you haven't heard him pull his dick out at all. And judging by the couple times you've seen him, the man has been incredibly on edge. 

You return home a bit late in the evening after hanging out with some friends. You’ve had a fair bit of wine, so you're feeling a little tipsy, but you're in a pleasantly good mood. You're also decently horny; your mind drifts to your neighbor, conjuring up the image of him returning from the gym, sweaty, muscular, his t-shirt damp and tightly fitted against his sculpted body. 

Not two minutes pass after you step inside before you hear the SLAM of a door from the hallway. Footsteps approach your unit, followed by frantic knocking on your front door. 

You scurry over to the entrance, reaching out to unlock the door, but the pit in your stomach makes you pause. What if he’s mad at you? you start to worry. 

Well, only one way to find out. 

With the click the deadbolt turns. You swing the door open to reveal Jihoon, in a plain white t-shirt and grey fucking sweatpants. 

He stares at you, standing frozen in your doorway. You can see the gears turning in his head, trying to calculate if this is all a mistake. 

After just enough moments of silence for it to be awkward, he clears his throat. 

“Hi, um… May I come in?”

He looks incredibly tense, but the way he's staring at you with such intensity makes your pussy ache. 

“Sure.”

You step aside, gesturing for him to come in. 

He enters. He takes a look around as you shut the door behind him. 

“It's really nice in here,” he comments, attempting to make small talk. 

“Oh, thank you,” you say with a friendly smile. He looks even more nervous now that he's in your apartment. He pauses, nonchalantly observing some of the artwork on your wall, seemingly trying (and failing) to come up with a good segue into whatever he came over here to say. 

“So, um…” he starts, rubbing his hands together anxiously. 

“I just wanted to… uh… well, I figured I should probably let you know…” 

You inch even closer to him as he stumbles over his words; his shoulders tense slightly. He runs one hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze. 

“I guess I just wanted to apologize,” he finally is able to articulate. “I just recently realized that the walls in this building are pretty thin and uh… well I guess I don’t know if I've been loud at all…” 

Blushed redness creeps up his neck as his terrible lying resonates through the room. 

Maybe it's the way he's standing there, doing nothing but stumbling over his words yet looking incredibly sexy, or maybe it's the wine - but you're feeling bold today. 

“Yeah, you have been.”

The pale color of his cheeks suddenly goes even paler, turning his entire face sheet-white as he stands there, horrified. Then, the redness returns with a vengeance. He looks like a very hot, very nervous tomato. 

“I’m so sorry,” he stammers, “I really had no idea-”

“Why are you apologizing?”

He stares at you, confused. 

“Um…”

He waits for you to clarify, but you don't. Seeing him this flustered up close and personal has your panties soaked already, and you want to revel in it. 

He lets out a deep sigh. 

“I just… I know I can be loud sometimes, but from now on I’ll be more conscientious of my… volume. And I just don't want you to think I’m perverted or anything…”

He shakes his head, realizing he's just digging himself a deeper hole at this point. 

“Anyway, I’m really sorry to bother you, I should get going-”

He tries to slip past you, but you throw your arm out in front of him, slamming your palm into the wall of the narrow hallway as you block him from exiting. He freezes, involuntarily holding his breath as panic spreads across his face. 

“What if I like it?”

Your arm brushes against his torso, his chest heaving into you with his quickening breaths. 

“What?” he asks, barely more than a whisper, clearly taken aback by your question. 

“What if I like hearing you?”

His eyes widen. You step even closer into his personal space, your face now mere inches from his. 

“What if I want to hear you making those noises on this side of the wall, in my bed?”

You grasp onto his t-shirt, yanking his body into yours. He lets out a gasp as your tits press into his chest - his mouth is now so close to yours that you feel the exhale against your lips. 

“Would you like that?”

He gazes at you, his eyes darkening with desire. Then - he kisses you. 

It's not a delicate kiss, nor is it sweet. He kisses you as if he intends to devour you, hungrily tugging at your lips as he grasps at your waist fervorously, aching to touch every inch of you. 

His large hands slip underneath your shirt, gripping your sides tight as he caresses your warm skin. Your heart races in your chest, the sounds of rushing blood flooding your ears as you kiss Jihoon, savoring the sweet taste of his lips, basking in the radiant heat of his body against yours. 

“Oh wow,” he mutters into your mouth as his lips depart yours briefly. 

You grasp onto his tshirt, balling the fabric in your fists, pulling him with you as you stumble toward your bedroom together, still kissing him. 

As you step through the doorway, you tug on his shirt, prompting him to remove it. He pauses, contemplating the taste of wine lingering on your lips.

“Are you… drunk?” he asks delicately. “I just want to make sure…”

“A little,” you reply, leaning into him, so close that the vibrations of your soft-spoken words resonate against his lips.

“But I know what I want.”

Jihoon squeezes the flesh of your hips, his grip unrelentless, as if someone was going to take you away from him. A thick bulge beneath his sweatpants presses against you as he holds you tightly against him.

“And what do you want?” he asks in a low voice, staring at you hungrily. “Tell me.”

“First,” you start, pulling at his shirt again. “Get rid of this.”

He yanks his tshirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Standing before you now, shirtless, you get a true look at his brawny figure: huge biceps framing his body, thick pectorals protruding from his chest, chiseled abs sculpting his stomach. The man has muscles you didn’t even know existed. You delicately drag your fingertips up and down his torso, admiring him; his cock twitches against you at your touch.

“God you’re so fucking hot,” you mumble as you gaze into his eyes - giving him the most pathetic, needy, seductive look you can muster. 

Redness spreads across his neck and chest. He’s clearly easily flustered (at least, for you), and you plan to take full advantage of this. 

You slip one finger beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging lightly. 

“Now, get rid of these.”

Obediently, he slides his pants down, having to stretch the elastic further to get it over his bulge. Kicking the sweats off, you get a clearer look at what he’s packing. Even through the dark fabric of his underwear, the outline of his hard cock is undeniable - not only long, but thick. Your pussy clenches at the mere sight of his size. 

You can't wait any longer. You run your hand over his clothed cock, feeling its weight in your palm. Jihoon groans, letting out the sweet sound you've until now only heard muffled through the wall. Hearing him now, here, in your bedroom - it's music to your ears. 

Reaching into his underwear, you grip your hand around his girth - he nearly whimpers at the sensation. You give him a few strokes before pulling his cock fully out, causing you to let out an audible gasp. 

Fucking shit.

Jihoon gives you an embarrassed smile, making you realize you said that out loud and not just in your head. But if anything your reaction wasn't even dramatic enough, because his cock is fucking huge. You take him in your fist, slowly pumping up and down; his eyes roll back into his head, letting out a deep sigh as you stroke him. You press your lips into his neck, planting delicate kisses into the soft skin.

“Oh god,” he groans under his breath. 

With his dick twitching in your hand, growing stiff and somehow even longer, you drop to your knees, positioning your face directly beneath the behemoth of a cock. You gaze up at him as you drag your tongue from his base to his tip; he strokes your cheek lightly with the back of his fingers, gazing down at you with a look of equal parts admiration and lust. You swirl your tongue around the head, tasting the precum that has dribbled out. Taking just a tiny bit of his tip between puckered lips, you begin suckling on it, lapping up his juices and teasing him with the bare-minimum stimulation. His low hum swells into a moan as you slowly slide his cock into your mouth, taking as much of his length as possible before you start to choke (Not yet, you think to yourself. Save that for later.)

“Fuck, you look so good right now,” he groans, cupping your cheek in his large hand as you stare up at him with big doe eyes. “So beautiful with my cock in that pretty little mouth of yours.” 

Sharp throbbing pulses between your legs at the slightest of praise. You slide your mouth up and down his length, gradually increasing your pace. His tip hitting the back of your mouth only makes you want more, makes you want to swallow him whole, gag on the entire shaft as his massive size fills your throat. Finally, you can resist no longer - you swallow the rest of him, your lips greeting his base as his full length slides down your throat. Tears instantly begin welling in your eyes, streaming down your cheeks as you bob your head up and down, choking on Jihoon’s cock.

He places one hand upon your hair, grasping it in his fist as you give him the absolute sloppiest head he’s ever received. Grotesque gagging sounds emanate from your throat, but are nearly drowned out by the lewd string of moans coming from Jihoon. He wants nothing more than to watch you choke on his cock, see your tears flowing freely as you stare up at him, eyes longingly transfixed upon each other - but he can’t help but shut his eyes, head falling back at the overwhelming pleasure you’re making him feel. It starts to take over his whole body - his hips reflexively begin thrusting, sinking his length deep into your throat. Before long he pulls you by the hair, wresting you off of him; strings of saliva stretch from his drenched cock to your coated lips, bubbles of spit running down your chin. 

“Sorry, that was going to make me cum way too fast,” he tells you with a sheepish smile. “You’re just so- ohhh…” His sentence is cut off by you placing one of his balls in your mouth, lightly sucking on it before taking the other as well. 

“Fuck that’s hot,” he grumbles, stroking your hair gently. You shift on your knees, trying to sit more comfortably upon the floor; Jihoon notices.

“Come here,” he instructs as he pulls you up off the floor. “I want you to be comfortable.” 

He brings you over to the bed, laying down atop it. You go to resume your place between his legs, but he grabs your arms to stop you.

“You should take these off,” he insists, tugging at your clothes with desperation in his eyes. “Please. I wanna see you.”

You pull your shirt over your head, discarding it to the floor. Slowly you unfasten your pants, sliding them down your hips - a bit timidly, for as horny as you are right now you’re suddenly afflicted with a wave of shyness. But the way Jihoon is looking at you - eyes glazed over with pure lust, licking his lips like he wants to devour you - is driving you utterly crazy. You swiftly remove your bra and panties, standing nude before him as he marvels at the sight of you.

“You’re perfect,” he says, his voice deep and gravelly. Your pussy clenches, attempting to alleviate the powerful aching in your core. Jihoon takes your hand, drawing you into the side of the bed.

“Sit on my face. Please.”

It’s not an order; the way he is looking up at you, squeezing your hand - he’s begging.

“Only if I can suck your cock at the same time,” you say with a cheeky grin. His eyes widen. 

“Would you like that?” you ask coyly, batting your eyelashes at him as you trace circles on his stomach with one fingernail. 

“Y-yeah,” he whimpers, his voice cracking slightly.  

“Good.”

You crawl onto the bed, swinging your legs over Jihoon’s head as you face his painfully erect cock. You situate yourself steadily, lowering your pussy toward his face, until you feel his soft, plush lips against you. Instantly he lets out a loud moan, the vibrations against your soaked core triggering a sharp jolt in your stomach. He wraps his arms around your inner thighs, holding you tight against him, his moans still resonating through the room even with his face buried in your cunt. 

He begins to work his tongue deep into your folds, licking every last bit, lapping up as much of your juices as he possibly can - the rest certainly dripping down his chin. You lean over, reaching for his thick cock one more; you grip the base tight in your fist, stroking the hilt while taking the rest in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down his length. The pathetic noises coming from under your cunt grow even louder - Jihoon begins to squirm underneath you, bucking his hips as he continues eating you out as if the world were ending tomorrow. He latches onto your clit, suckling on the stimulated bud; you cry out, but the sound is garbled amidst your cacophony of unbridled gagging noises. Your eyes flood with tears as your orgasm rapidly approaches - you grind your hips on his face, stimulating your pussy further and further, the burning in your gut swelling and swelling, your legs trembling even in Jihoon’s tight embrace. Your whole body convulses atop of his as you reach your climax. Desperate for air, you pull your head up, your mouth now empty but quickly refilled with cries of pleasure as you cum all over Jihoon’s face. 

“Oh my godddd,” you wail, your mind going blank as every nerve in your body lights up like fireworks. 

“Oh my god, oh fuckkkk, Jihoon…”

The rumbling vibrations of his groaning carry you through an overpowering orgasm; you ride out your high as he sucks on your clit mercilessly while his nose presses into your cunt. You’re seeing stars as you begin to come down, unable to think any coherent thoughts - instead basking in how fucking incredible Jihoon just made you feel. 

You lift your throbbing pussy off his face, giving your poor overstimulated clit a moment to recover. 

“Gonna cum, ‘m so close,” Jihoon moans. You quickly pop his dick back into your mouth, sliding his length in and out, hollowing your cheeks as you suck his cock like your life depends on it. 

“Ahh, ahhhhh, ah fuck-” 

Hot white ropes shoot deep into your throat as he releases. His melodic moans and whining cries form a grand symphony that fills your bedroom - in this moment, you are absolutely certain that you've never heard a more beautiful sound. 

His cock pulsates in your mouth, letting out every last spurt of cum for you to eagerly swallow. As he finishes, you slowly slide his cock out of your mouth - still marveling at the sheer size of it. 

“Oh my god,” he groans softly. You swing your leg over his head, turning yourself around to lay beside him. You wrap your arms around his torso, becoming the big spoon as you nuzzle your face into his neck. 

“Wow,” he proclaims with a deep, satisfied exhale. He lays silently as he recovers, catching his breath and coming back down to earth. Finally, with a sigh, he turns to face you. You raise your head up enough for your noses to meet. 

Jihoon gazes into your eyes, eyelids heavy in his post-orgasmic bliss. He hesitates, bringing his hand up to your cheek and cradling it gently. 

“Can I kiss you?” he finally asks, his voice no more than a soft whisper. 

You nod. He kisses you - this time not hungry and desperate, but slow and saccharine. Your lips lock, laying there entangled in each other’s embrace - his muscular arms hold you tight, enveloping you in the warmth radiating from both of your sweat-covered bodies. As your lips eventually part, you remain snuggled by his side - him playing with your hair while you trace your fingertips over his toned body. Eventually, he takes your chin delicately in his hand, tilting your face up to look at him. 

“I don’t know if fucking your next door neighbor is necessarily a wise thing to do,” he starts. “But that was incredible. You’re incredible.”

You smile. 

“I don't know either,” you chuckle. “But the way you basically broke down my door to come fuck me was really hot.”

Jihoon laughs, his face lighting up with a beaming smile. 

“Yeah, um. I'm not entirely sure what compelled me to do that.”

“I do,” you inform him. “You were thinking with your dick.”

“Okay yeah, you're right,” he admits with a grin. 

He reaches for your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, squeezing your palm. 

“Would you want to do this again?” 

“Like, right now?” you reply. 

“No I mean like- … well, yes actually,” he answers, his face lighting up with excitement. “But I meant like, in the future.”

You nod, a wide grin spreading across your face. 

“I’d like that.”

“Good,” he smiles. “Me too.”

“But also…”

Your arms grab hold of him, rolling him over on top of you. He tries to shift, to not be placing his whole weight upon you, but you cling to him tightly, holding him in place. You roll your hips, stroking his still half-erect cock with your soaked cunt; you feel it pulse in response, already beginning to harden again. 

“I want you to fuck me,” you speak softly into his ear, continuing to grind your pussy on his cock. His eyes roll back in his head once more. 

“God you're so fucking hot,” he mumbles through gritted teeth. His eyelashes flutter as his eyes open again, peering down at you amorously. 

“Give me just a minute, baby,” he says as he shifts downward, positioning himself directly in front of your boobs. He grabs one with each hand, kneading the soft flesh in his grasp. He licks your nipple, swirling his tongue around the protruding bud, wetting it with his warm mouth before switching to your other breast. He gives them equal attention, licking and sucking on them, back and forth - whichever boob isn't in his mouth, he pinches your hard nipple, squeezing and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. You press your hips up into his stomach, seeking any relief for your aching clit, but it's not enough. You whimper as he latches on to your left nipple, suckling on it so long you think you might cum again just from this. You feel the bed move beneath you as he grinds his cock against the sheets, thrusting into the mattress, seeking relief for his returned erection. 

He lifts his head up, releasing his latch on your breast with a wet-sounding pop. His eyes stay fixed on you as he shifts further down the bed, resting comfortably between your legs as his lips hover above your cunt. 

“Is this okay?” he checks before placing his mouth on you. You nod earnestly, brushing your fingers through his damp, messy hair. His tongue locates your entrance, slipping into your pussy, his nose brushing up against your clit, still highly sensitive from your first orgasm. You moan as his tongue glides through your folds, his face becoming soaked once again in your juices. He flickers over your clit, the warmth and wetness of his tongue quickly sending you over the edge. Your body writhes beneath him as you cum a second time, crying out with even greater pleasure than the first. It's almost overbearing, but you relish in it, delicious waves of bliss pulsating throughout your whole being. His tongue slows, licking you softly as you lay there, unable to move for a few good minutes, basking in the aftermath of your orgasm. Your fist slowly unclenches, releasing the grip you didn't realize you had on his tousled locks. 

“Damn,” you mumble, a big goofy grin spreading across your face. Jihoon crawls back up toward you, kissing you with lips drenched in your own cum. His cock, fully hard once more, brushes against your cunt. Although you're still trying to catch your breath, you place your entrance against his tip to taunt him. 

“Please fuck me,” you beg, desperate to feel him inside you. 

He pushes his cockhead into your pussy, letting out a moan as he feels your warmth. Your walls tighten as he slides the rest of his length in, fully enveloping his cock - he whines, loudly, letting the delicious sensation overtake him. He rests for a moment inside you, fearing to move as he feels the urge to cum already. But he’s too aroused to resist for much longer - slowly he begins to pump into you, deep thrusts stretching you out, filling you up like you've never felt before. He’s almost too big, but you love it. Tears well in your eyes again as he fucks you -  slow and tender at first, but gradually increasing his pace, soon pounding into you with powerful force. The stretch is overwhelming, but his long strokes and perfect tempo have you screaming his name, voluminous cries filling the air as he fucks you like you’ve never been fucked before. 

“You’re taking me so well baby,” he praises, his voice low and breathy. “So pretty…”

His voice trails off. High-pitched grunts and groans escape him as his body begins to stiffen, another climax rapidly on its way. He drives his cock into you, your perfect pussy squeezing him so tight that he can't think straight. 

“Y/n…” he cries. “Fuck, y/n I'm cumming…”

With several powerful thrusts he releases deep inside you, warm cum filling you up until you're completely full - so full that it begins to leak out of you, coating his cock and dripping all over the sheets. He finishes, laying frozen on top of you, heaving breaths echoing in your ear as he sinks his face into the crook of your neck. His cock rests inside you still, twitching occasionally against your walls. His breathing becomes so steady that you start to think he’s fallen asleep - but eventually he lifts his head, resting his temple on his fist as he takes in the sight of you, so pretty and fucked out beneath him. A lazy smile appears on his face as he stares at you, his pink cheeks glowing in his post-orgasm state. He looks so good that you involuntarily let out a little giggle. 

“What?” he asks, his grin growing wider. 

“You're just really hot, that's all.”

His face somehow turns even rosier. He lets out an embarrassed tsk as he tries to hide his face in his hands. 

“What? You are!!” you proclaim, pulling his hands away so you can see him again. 

“Sorry,” he replies timidly. “I’m not good with compliments.”

“You'll get used to it,” you say matter-of-factly. He raises an eyebrow at you. 

“You say that like this is going to be a regular thing now,” he retorts, trying to keep a straight face - but the corners of his mouth twitch upward, revealing the grin he's trying to hold back. 

“Do you want it to be?” you ask. 

Unable to hide his smile any longer, he nods. 

“I’d like that.”

Slowly, he pulls his spent cock out of you, making you whine at the empty sensation as even more of his cum spills out of you. 

“Wait here,” he says, giving you a soft kiss on your cheek as he rises from the bed. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

[togenabi]

things I won't tell you

vinsmoke sanji (opla) x princess!reader

♡—the new royal chef doesn't seem to recognize you without your crown. who's going to tell him? . . . certainly not you.

word count♡— 7.3k (cries)

genre♡— fluff, royal chef x princess au

content notes♡— opla sanji, afab!reader is a princess, reader wears dresses, reader has siblings (oc's), sanji made me google fancy food, mentions of zeff, sanji gets jealous if you squint, no use of y/n, proofread (but only a little)

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— this is detached from any canon, its basically just a big chunk of sanji fluff. please enjoy!

You've never really dreamed for yourself. You had always just let life fall into place around you.

The kingdom is prospering, entering a new age of commerce. Artists, craftsmen, and inventors sail seas just to be part of it.

Your sister Chrysanth is a wise queen, as you always knew she would be. She’s fair and just, always knowing what’s best for her people.

On the other hand, your brother August is Captain of the Royal Guard. He’s an excellent swordsman, who has yet to be beaten ever since he took command.

As for you, the youngest of the three, you have no idea what you’re doing.

The most likely outcome would be for you to be married off to settle some political arrangement. Unpleasant as it sounds, you would have agreed to it for the sake of the kingdom.

But the moment you said so, Chrysanth gave you a look unbecoming of a queen and immediately shut it down.

“Look,” She gestured to the view outside. “Does that seem like a kingdom who needs help to you? I work my butt off precisely so that we won’t have to depend on anyone else.”

“Besides,” She adds, “if anyone wants your hand, they should fight to the death for it.”

And so, for now, you work for your sister. Helping manage general affairs and the kingdom’s business agreements—even though she could easily hire someone else.

“I love that you insist on working,” Your brother told you once. “You could have been a socialite, but you’re here with us, serving the people.”

Of course you are. Because even though you didn’t necessarily plan it, you are proud and committed to your work. You’re happy with your own, mundane accomplishments.

Or at least that’s what you try to remember when you glance at the tall pile of documents on your desk. You’ll relish the satisfaction that will come when it’s gone.

The candle beside you burns low, flame becoming dimmer and dimmer as the hour grows late. You should probably replace that. Pulling open your drawer, your eyes scan its contents for a candle.

You’re fresh out of the tall ones that fit in the candleholder, but you have one sculpted like a cinnamon bun—a gift from August a few birthdays ago. It’s not exactly the best for illuminating your work, but something makes you strike a match and light it still.

It smells like freshly baked cinnamon rolls, you can’t help but inhale the decadent scent deeply.

The aroma triggers an embarrassing grumble from your stomach. You feel your ears burn despite the fact that no one else is around to have heard it. Perhaps a midnight snack is in order.

Unexpectedly, light seeps through the gap beneath the large wooden double doors to the kitchen. In all your years, you’ve never encountered anyone in the kitchen at two in the morning.

Normally, you wouldn’t want to disturb them. Knowing the chefs, they would likely fuss over you and put whatever they were doing on hold.

But you fear that your stomach will disagree with that, so you decide to knock and enter the kitchen anyway.

There’s only one chef inside—a tall, blond man with his back to you. You don’t think you recognize him. He must be one of the new hires.

When he hears your footsteps on the stone tiles, he turns around.

His expression, at first, is curious. But after a beat, his mouth curves into a charming grin that catches you completely off guard.

“Hello there, miss.” He nods in greeting, eyes alight with a look that no one usually dares when it comes to you.

“I’d be happy to fix up something for you if there’s anything you’re… craving.”

When you expected the chef to fuss over you, this isn’t what you meant.

Your first instinct is to look at his surroundings for alcohol. Perhaps he’s intoxicated and not in his right mind?

But the (sober) chef seems to have mistaken your silence for bashfulness, because he presses you further, “Trust me. I may be new around here, but I know my stuff.”

Unsure how to respond to his blatant (or insolent, your sister would say) behavior, you try to gently decline his offer.

“It’s alright,” You say, still uncertain about him. “I was only going to make a sandwich and be on my way.”

“Nonsense!” He insists. “If you’re hungry at this hour, it means you’ve been busy working too hard.”

He approaches the pantry, retrieving one too many things for a mere sandwich. Your concern grows when he grabs garlic, several leafy vegetables, and a lemon.

“You, my dear,” He points at you with, is that a cucumber? “—deserve a proper treat.”

You sigh, it looks like he doesn’t intend to back down. Maybe you should just let him do what he wants and see if he can back up all the talk. Pulling one of the chairs from beneath the kitchen island, you take a seat as you observe the flirtatious chef.

At least he seems to be enjoying himself. His hands work with the kind of precision that only comes from years of experience; and he smiles proudly when he sees you watching.

“I meant what I said, I’m a damn good cook.” He’s begun chopping the vegetables. “My name’s Sanji, by the way.”

The question now is whether or not you properly introduce yourself. It's difficult to deny that you enjoy his attention. The casual and relaxed manner he addresses you with is… a nice kind of different. When else are you going to experience that if you let this go?

Alright. For tonight, you're not a princess. You're someone who stumbled upon a chef—a handsome one, it dawns on you. This is a chance encounter in the palace kitchens. And, you glance over at the dressing and ingredients he prepared, why should you turn down good food?

You decide to only give him your name. It feels strange introducing yourself without your title, but you don't tell him that.

“It makes sense that your name is as captivating as you are.” Sanji's voice is smooth, easygoing as he moves around the kitchen.

Nothing about his demeanor changes. Either he really doesn't know anything about this country's royalty, or he's skillfully controlled his reaction and is hiding that he knows.

There's also a third possibility: that you look so haggard and tired that you simply do not appear royal anymore.

Subconsciously, you look at your typical office clothes… Maybe you should go on that fitting the royal stylist has been pestering you about.

On the topic of style, however, your companion has unusual attire for a chef. He’s wearing a buttoned shirt with a necktie. His black slacks match the suit jacket draped over one of the chairs.

Your attention is diverted when Sanji begins rolling up his sleeves. He juices the lemon he had sliced in half, arms flexing as he twists the fruit.

Clearing your throat, you ask him a question to distract yourself. “What are you making?”

He smiles as if he’s glad you asked. “A dish that suits a beauty like you, of course.”

Several minutes later, he presents you with a sandwich. The slices of bread are whole wheat; the layers of ingredients between them are all in varying shades of green.

“A green goddess sandwich, made with care for the goddess in front of me.” Sanji pushes the plate towards you. 

It's easy to stay composed despite the flattery because your hunger makes you focus on the food. “It really does look excellent.” You compliment earnestly.

He gestures to the plate before placing his hands in his pockets. “Tastes excellent too, try it.” Shaking your head at how confident he’s being, you pick up the sandwich.

It might just be the best sandwich you’ve ever had in your life. The flavors are fresh, and you catch the hints of lemon blending with the dressing. The bread is soft, contrasting with the crunch of the cucumbers and sprouts.

You're completely surprised, and it must be obvious based on how Sanji reacts. He lets out an adorable, pleased laugh that makes you want to hear it again.

“I knew you’d like it, ma chèrie.” Sanji reaches a hand towards your face. Your heart just about stops when he brushes his thumb to wipe at the corner of your mouth. His eyes look so intense, like you'll drown in them if you stare too much. 

It feels as if your face could burst into flames at any second, so you turn away to hide your flush.

As Sanji grabs you a glass of water, you ask him if he’s eaten. “I did, but it’s nice that you’re worried about me.” He answers. You almost choke on your drink.

Once you've finished your meal, you stand then grab your empty plate and glass. But Sanji mirrors you, blocking the way to the sink. Why must a chef have such broad shoulders?

He shakes his head, trying to get the dishes from you. “Can’t let you do that, love.”

“Why not?” You frown, pulling your arms back so he doesn’t reach them.

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be working any more—”

“But you’re allowed to?” You look up at him defiantly.

Sanji stares at you. You stare back. There's a few seconds of silence before you sprint the other way, running around the kitchen island to get to a different sink.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Sanji yells after you.

You’re almost there, but Sanji catches up to you easily. Before you know it, he’s blocking the way again and you curse, remembering his long legs.

“Sanji, let me do the dishes.” You plead, but he’s as stubborn as it gets.

“The knives I used need to be washed anyway, and I’m not about to let your pretty hands do that.” Sanji winks, and you give up. He pries the dishes from your hands.

Seeing your shoulders slump disappointedly, he offers you a compromise. “If you really want, you could throw the rubbish in the bin and wipe down the counters.” Okay, you can do that.

“Are you sure this is the only way I can repay you?” You ask, grabbing a washcloth to begin cleaning up.

“That’s plenty of help, my dear.” Sanji answers.

But after a moment, he seems to have gotten an idea. Your brows raise in curiosity as you question him, “What?”

“...I was just wondering,” He begins, looking at you with that flirtatious glint in his eye. “Since we had such a wonderful time tonight, would you be willing to join me again?”

“That depends,” You press your lips together to suppress the smile blooming on your lips. “Will you cook for me again?”

Sanji laughs, throwing his head back. “Darling, that’s a given.”

He gazes at you while he dries his hands. There’s a grin on his face as he asks, like he already knows your answer. He probably does. He’s probably right.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Even though you got back to your chambers at an ungodly hour in the morning, you woke up feeling the most refreshed you’ve ever been. There’s a spring in your step as you get ready for the day, and you pick clothes that are slightly more dressy than your usual attire. Sanji shouldn’t be able to notice that you dressed up for him, right?

But your sister does. 

Seated at the head of the table, Chrysanth stops eating to analyze your clothes the instant you show up to the dining hall for breakfast.

You could practically hear the gears in her head turning. Avoiding her gaze, you bow to greet her before taking your seat, “Good morning.”

The queen only smiles at you knowingly, eyes still flickering over you with enraptured excitement. Very much unlike a queen, however, she kicks your shin underneath the table.

“Ow!” You yelp.

“So…” She lets the syllable drag on. “Who’s the guy?”

You focus on piling food onto your plate, choosing to ignore her. “What guy?”

“Your guy.” She says, giddy. “Is he your guy yet?”

“Hm?” Is your only response. Breakfast looks lovely. Should you ask for coffee or tea today?

Chrysanth kicks you again.

“Hey!” You rub the skin to dull the pain. “Stop that!”

“Stop avoiding the question!” She persists, waving a hand to gesture at your clothes. “You only wear that skirt when you want to impress someone.”

Mentally cursing her for knowing you too well, you continue to act nonchalant.

“Really, it’s nothing.” You try to clarify. “I just thought that it would be a nice change.”

She doesn't believe it. Not one bit of it. Thankfully though, she drops the topic. Your shoulders relax as the discussion switches to work-related ones. She’s telling you about her plans to approve a restaurant in the museum when your brother joins you for breakfast.

Once he’s seated, August takes one look at you before tilting his head. “Who’s the guy?”

Chrysanth looks far too smug and triumphant than you’d like. You bury your face in your hands. Would Sanji also tease you if he knew?

The rest of the day is uneventful, the only change to your typical work day being that you avoid your siblings like the plague. You have lunch brought to your office and skip on dinner.

Sanji had already started cooking by the time you got to the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind,” He says. Of course you don’t, whatever it is smells amazing. “I thought I’d start early so you wouldn’t have to wait too long.”

“Thank you for going through the trouble.” You say, glancing at the ingredients he had laid out: there are crushed tomatoes on the counter. Pasta simmers in a pot on the stove. You recognize the tubed shapes with ridges surrounding them.

“Rigatoni?” You ask, turning to the chef.

Sanji nods, “With a simple, creamy tomato sauce. Nothing too extravagant, but still specially made for you.” 

He puts the pasta into two bowls, grating parmesan cheese on top. Your mouth waters.

“Here you are, darling.” It pleases you more than you thought it would when Sanji sits across from you to eat as well.

There’s something homey and yet luscious about the taste. He really outdid himself. “It’s delicious, Sanji.”

“I live to please.” Sanji says before standing to retrieve two wine glasses and a bottle of red. “Zweigelt.” He says as he pours for you both. “Juicy and fresh, with just the right amount of acidity.”

You almost swoon at the rasp in his voice. You never realized someone could be so attractive when talking about wine.

As he clinks his glass with yours, you think to yourself that this might be your favorite dish from him. However, true to his word, he surpasses your expectations every time.

After a few weeks, on your sixth (or is it seventh?) time meeting Sanji past midnight, you've reached the point where you're able to open up to each other beyond the pleasantries that come with the food.

He tells you about his dream of traveling the seas in search for the best ingredients the world has to offer. You admit how you sometimes feel like life is just taking you along with the current—that you’ve never had a burning, passionate dream to aspire to.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Sanji hums contemplatively. “There aren’t any deadlines when it comes to finding dreams.”

“I do worry that you’re working yourself to the bone, though.” He adds, and for once, his smile looks different somehow. It’s a fond, gentle smile that’s sweeter than the macarons he made for you.

“What do you mean?” You take a sip of water.

“While I'm flattered you enjoy my food so well, do you eat properly? Shouldn't the palace be treating you better?” This time, you actually choke on your drink.

Could it get more embarrassing than this? Your ears burn as you cough, trying to clear your throat and settle your heart.

“Breathe, love." Sanji, ever the gentleman, is next to you in a flash of a second. He pats your back gently and supportively. “I'm sorry if I startled you.”

“It's alright—and, I do eat,” Your voice comes out raspy. “It's just that I don't usually have an appetite for dinner.”

“But that leaves you hungry for a midnight snack?” Sanji asks, a knowing expression on his face as he refills your glass.

“Exactly.” You smile. Thankfully, your throat has calmed down. Picking up a vanilla-flavored macaron, you savor the taste that melts sweetly on your tongue. Returning to his chair across from you, Sanji watches you eat happily. 

“I take pride in my desserts, but that chocolatier in Belltower street… The sweets are just—out of this world, I tell you.” He looks so excited as he talks, eyes aglow and gestures animated. “The chocolates are handmade and everything. I'm sure you've heard of it?”

“Um…” Hesitating, you certainly remember issuing a business permit for a chocolatier; but you can’t say you’ve gone there yourself.

Sanji’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Surely you’re pulling my leg. You haven’t been?”

“...”

He observes you quietly, like he's considering what to do next. There have been instances when Sanji stays quiet, doesn't eat, and only watches you chew. The times where he insists that he's content with seeing you eating well. Those were awkward at first, but you learned that was just part of spending time with him. Your reaction was a reward on its own.

But this isn't like that. Something feels oddly different in the way he seems to be gathering his composure. The silence almost worries you, but thankfully he breaks it first.

“You’ve saved me the trouble of thinking of a place to take you to.” Laughing, Sanji practically glows in elation. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

You had a peculiar sense that you would’ve loved going anywhere, as long as you were with him. 

Feeling bold, you suggest, “I’m free this Saturday if that’s good for you?”

He gives you that soft, enamoured look again. Something makes you hold your breath, your fingers tingle and the entire rest of the world slows down. You’re almost certain you’re giving him the same look.

“Even if I wasn’t, love, I would have gone to you anyway.”

The next day, a Thursday, your brother unexpectedly knocks on your office door.

“Hey,” You smile. “Is something wrong?” 

It’s rare for August to look for you in the middle of the day. If either of you need to speak, it’s usually you who heads into the training grounds to talk to him. The other way around occurring is curious.

“I wanted to invite you to watch the knights train this Saturday.” He says coolly. “It would boost their morale if you spoke a few words.”

The commander goes on to speak, not catching that you’ve short circuited somewhat, trying to rack your brain for a valid excuse to decline him.

“And maybe, you could pick out a personal knight like I’ve been telling you.” August prompts. “You really should—”

When he pauses, squinting his eyes at you suspiciously, you suddenly recall why you stopped trying to hide anything from him. 

“You already have plans.” He says, face carefully blank.

“Yes.” Thank goodness he understood. But wait, his eyes are widening. Why is he making that face? Why is he looking at you like he just figured out—

“You have a date.” Darn it all.

August is bewildered, not knowing what to do with the information he put together. He awkwardly brushes his fingers through his hair.

“...Is he a good guy, at least?” He settles with, asking carefully in that concerned way he does when he looks out for you.

Biting your lip, you nod. “He seems to be, so far.”

“Okay.” August responds. “Does Chrysanth know?”

“It’s nothing serious.” Yet. Yet? Do you want it to be? “You’re the first I’ve told.”

A worrying thought suddenly pops in your mind. Your turn to him, distressed. “Please don’t tell her yet, August.”

“Why?” His frown deepens, like he’s about to ask more questions. Unfortunately for him, you decide you’ve had enough talking about Sanji to your brother for today.

“Aren’t you busy?” You grab his arm, guiding him out of your office. “Don’t you have training to get to?”

“I do, but—why can't Chrysanth know?” You open the door for him and try to push him out, but August plants his feet; still trying to figure you out. He doesn’t budge an inch.

But then he makes that face again. That annoying ‘aha!’ face.

“You really need to go, good luck with training! Tell the knights I said hi—” You manage to shove him out with all your strength, but at the last second before you close the door, August turns around again.

“He’s a commoner, isn’t he?” You slam the door at his face. 

It doesn't matter. Sanji's status will never matter to you. Not when he's holding your hand so sweetly while he guides you through the winding streets of the city. You recognize some shops by name, knowing who owns what and when they established their business. But Sanji knows these streets, and he's more than happy to show you.

“Ah, one moment, my dear.” Sanji pulls you towards a quaint little cart overflowing with flowers. He flicks a coin to the vendor, eyes scanning all the vibrant colors and bursting petals. 

Somehow, without you needing to tell him, he picks one in your favorite color. You're starting to feel like that's just part of being with Sanji—that he knows what you want, and knows what you need before you do.

The flower is soon tucked into your hair, behind your ear. His fingers linger on the side of your face—and normally, you'd break eye contact and shy away. Maybe let out a halfhearted excuse that you should continue on your way. But you don't.

You smile back at him, not bothering to hide the genuine happiness you feel. And when Sanji pulls back, you're already holding out your hand before he reaches for it. There’s something in his eyes. Something that makes you feel like you're walking on air when he tugs you along again.

As planned, Sanji takes you to the chocolatier he told you about. The building is small, tucked between larger shops in the middle of a busy street, but there’s no doubting the quality of their confections.

The elderly chef behind the counter greets Sanji like a grandson she hasn’t seen in forever. She ushers him in, enthusiastically pointing to this and that, saying she moved some furniture around as he suggested.

“It looks perfect, grand-mère.” Sanji smiles, taking in the beautiful glass display. Chocolates of every flavor cover the shelves from end to end.

Grand-mère’s eyes light up when she sees you. She casts an approving look at Sanji, “I like this one. She might even be too good for you.”

“That’s because she is.” Sanji laughs, and you pretend to browse the menu while they talk.

“No need for that, ma chèrie.” The menu is plucked from your hands. Sanji sets it aside, pointing instead to where grand-mère is behind the counter. She's wrapping up a box of chocolates that she hands to you.

“No need to pay, dear.” She smiles, patting your hand. “If he ever gives you trouble, let me know.”

Sanji whisks you away through the streets again. You've never been this far into the city before. Looking back at the path you've taken and not recognizing any of it, you know you’d be absolutely lost without Sanji by your side.

“Almost there.” He tells you, pointing to a cobbled path that inclines upwards. 

What meets you at the top of the path is a small clearing. A stunning tree with blossoms on its branches stands at the center. Flowers and petals flutter away and fall onto the iron bench beneath it.

“Sanji, this is lovely...” You trail off, letting go of his hand to catch a flower into your palms. The flower twirls delicately between your fingers before you turn back to Sanji, tucking the blossom into the pocket of his suit.

Sanji takes your hand before you can pull away, bending down to press a kiss to your knuckles. 

“Not nearly as lovely as you.”

The two of you spent hours under that tree, sharing chocolates and stories—feeling like this is how things are supposed to be. Not necessarily the flowers, or the chocolates, or even the sun setting beautifully in so many warm colors.

Just Sanji. With you, next to you. 

All at once, it sinks in that he could be the dream you've been waiting for. But you don't tell him that.

Being enlightened on your feelings for Sanji becomes a second thought, however, when you’re swamped with work the following week.

“Don’t these people ever get tired?” Chrysanth groans, leaning back on her chair. “Why is planning a festival so hard?”

You approach her desk and place another stack of documents onto it. The numerous piles are getting concerning.

She scowls at the papers, then scowls at you. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

“Of course I do.” You tap a stack of documents to her left. “The guest list for the ball needs to be approved by tonight so we can send invitations out.” She groans again, but picks up the list anyway.

You’re unable to see Sanji as often as you’d like, but you both promised to meet once a week. Even if it’s only for a few short heartbeats together.

You dearly miss him. You think about him as you hand Chrysanth menu plans for the ball. If he saw it, he’d say that he could come up with something better.

She glances at the menu, studying it. Or at least, that’s what you thought she was doing—until her next words proved you wrong.

“So, how are you and that chef doing?”

Your heart isn’t in your chest anymore. It sank down, deep into the depths of the earth. It also must have taken all the air in the room along with it. How did she—

“August?” You blurt out.

Chrysanth shakes her head, “Zeff.” Oh no. Sanji’s boss knows? Does Sanji know that you’re—

“According to Zeff,” She proceeds, cutting off your thoughts. “One of his subordinates has been cooking a lot of personal meals over the last few weeks.”

“I can explain—” But your sister holds up a hand. Your mouth snaps shut.

She calls your name, and then you realize how serious her tone is. “Are you familiar with the kitchen’s rules when it comes to using ingredients and supplies for personal use?”

“...I’m afraid I'm not.” You didn’t know the kitchen had any such rules… but surely Sanji does. Your voice stutters, “I, did—is he in trouble?”

“He isn’t.” She answers, though her expression is still grave. “But I think that you should be aware of how much he’s doing for you.”

Chrysanth opens a drawer to retrieve a list of kitchen rules. Reading it over, everything is standard and straight to the point. You find the answer to your confusion towards the end, a small, nondescript bullet that reads:

All staff must reimburse the cost of all ingredients used for any reason outside of official duties.

“He must know who I am, then.” You say, feeling relieved that he didn’t break some sort of impossible rule. “He wouldn’t have done so much for me if he didn’t.”

Your sister purses her lips, letting the silence linger for a second before responding, “He doesn’t know, love.” She hands you another document. “He’s been paying back every cent out of pocket.”

Tracing over the timestamps and the different ingredients listed, you stare at an outline of your time with Sanji. It’s nice to reminisce, but you can’t help but wince whenever you spot something particularly pricey. What on earth are you to do with this man?

“Zeff recognized your name when he asked Sanji who he was cooking for.” Chrysanth explains. “He didn’t tell him, but he came to me and requested for Sanji to be repaid.”

“Since anything served to me counts as official duties of a royal chef.” You piece together. 

“Exactly.” Chrysanth nods. “However, doing that would expose your title to him. Which is why I wanted to speak to you about this first… You should tell him.”

“I know.” Letting out a deep sigh, you agree. Sanji deserves to know more than anything. Nevertheless, the thought of him changing how he treats you—or worse, leaving—because of your status, frightens you to your core. 

“I’ll talk to him tonight.” You say, but your sister’s expression slowly changes. What did she plan this time?

“Or maybe, you could put the kitchen dates on pause and tell him in a few weeks.” Surprisingly, she hands you an invitation to the ball.

“I can’t bring Sanji as my date.” No matter how much you wish you could.

“Are you sure about that?” Chrysanth is unable to contain her grin. “Open it!”

‘…you are cordially invited to the spring masquerade ball.’

You gasp, “You turned it into a masquerade?”

“Yes, I did. You won’t believe how much convincing it took for the ministers to agree.” She rolls her eyes, but then her smile returns. “Don’t waste my hard work and have fun with your man, littlest sister.”

You laugh, not expecting this outcome after all that. “I love you, even if you made me go through so much emotional turmoil for fun.” She cackles.

“Of course I had to make you sweat after what you put me through.” Chrysanth scoffs, “I can’t believe I had to hear about your love life from Zeff, of all people.”

“Ah,” She says, remembering something. “Speaking of, why’d you guess August first earlier?”

“...”

“...Did you tell him before me?” She gasps. “How could you! Give that invite back!”

“I didn’t think you’d approve.” You admit shyly. “He’s a commoner.”

“If he treats you well—which, he obviously does—I could care less about all that.” Chrysanth reaches for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Only those stuck up ministers will react negatively, I’m sure. We can deal with them easily enough.”

When she lets you go, she abruptly adds, “He better be cute though.”

That sends you laughing again. “Oh, Chrysanth, he’s the cutest!”

He certainly is. Especially when he sees you and grins, opening his arms wide in expectation. You fall into his embrace when you’re near enough.

Sanji takes your hand and places it on his arm, leading you away from the kitchens.

“Some of the others are still in there planning for the ball.” He explains. “It seems preparations are keeping us both busy.”

Sanji takes you to the greenhouse, which you’ve never seen at night before. Various patches of vegetables and shrubs line the space. There are trees and flowers towards the back too. It feels like a secret hideout, being here with Sanji. 

“I miss spending more time with you, love.” He whispers.

“Me too.” Your heart melts thinking about how much he gave for you. You wish you had the courage to tell him the truth now, while he’s looking at you like you put up the stars in the sky, but you can’t. You’re not ready yet.

Reaching your hands up, you caress his face gently, brushing your thumb across his cheek. He places his hands over yours, keeping them there. 

Sanji closes his eyes to savor the moment, and you let him. You two stay like that, your hands becoming enveloped in so much of Sanji you feel like you could recognize him with your eyes closed, with a single touch.

There’s a certain familiarity to him at this point. You would probably have some difficulty adjusting back to life without him in it. He’s so familiar that you could probably draw him. He makes you want to try.

“...I was just wondering,” You say with a knowing glint in your eye. Does he remember those words when he said them to you that first night? “We’ve been working hard for this ball, wouldn’t it be a shame not to enjoy it together?”

You give him the invitation, and he throws his head back laughing. You send him a confused look, but it all becomes clear when he pulls out an identical invitation from his jacket.

“Ah, how brilliant you are, mamour.” Sanji embraces you again, and you bask in how perfect it feels to tuck your head into the curve of his neck.

“It will be easy to find you even with a mask.” You murmur into his skin. He shivers. “You’re so goddamn tall it’s not fair.”

“I’m not too worried about you finding you, either.” Sanji begins to sway slowly with you still in his arms. It makes your heart skip a beat. You can’t wait to dance with him.

“Are you confident you’ll find me first, then?” You ask, adjusting your hold around his middle to snuggle in better.

“I’m not sure about being first,” He ponders. “But I’ll be sure it’s you when I find you.”

The greenhouse became your new meeting place while the palace was buzzing to prepare for the ball. You could only meet for a few minutes, but you treasured the time you shared just the same. 

Once, Sanji tried to feed you one of the expensive fruits growing there, but you declined, making up an excuse that you were allergic. He had looked at you strangely, but didn’t press you further.

You couldn’t find the time to see Sanji the week of the ball at all. Your time was spent welcoming foreign dignitaries, discussing business and trade. You and your sister had a marvelous time shutting down a marriage proposal from some duke from the north.

It amazes you how much you’ve changed since meeting Sanji. Had the duke asked before you met him, you probably would have considered it seriously. Whereas now, your standard is far too high. The man you choose must be able to get to your heart by cooking you the best food in the kingdom and all the seas. 

You’re glowing by the time you finish getting ready for the masquerade. The dress you chose is in your favorite color, with the skirt twirling dreamily when you turn. 

Chrysanth permitted you to enter the ballroom a few minutes late to avoid a royal entrance. You use the time to compose what you want to say to Sanji when you tell him the truth.

‘I’m a princess, and I think I might love you’, is that a lot to say? You sigh, smoothing your hands over your dress.

The clock on the wall chimes. It’s been fifteen minutes since the ball officially started. You put on your mask, tying the ribbon behind your head to secure it.

After one last glance at yourself in the mirror, you head to the ballroom—looking much more collected than you actually feel.

Maybe you shouldn’t have bragged to Sanji that you would find him easily, because you don’t.

You were mistaken when you thought all you’d had to do was look for a tall, blond man with a blue mask. (Sanji’s mask is surely going to be blue. He wouldn’t consider any other color. You bet your foot on it.) It’s unnerving how many people fit that description tonight.

You even find your brother before you find Sanji. August is dressed in surprisingly simple, all black attire. He looks more like a gentleman than a commander, lacking all those sparkly medals he’s usually required to wear at events.

“Where’s your date?” August asks, ducking his head slightly so that you can hear him over the crowd. “Chrysanth bragged about setting you two up.”

“I haven’t found him yet.” You answer dispiritedly. “I thought it would be easy.” 

August looks around, and you know that if he knew what Sanji looked like, he would be able to track him down in a flash. You’re about to ask what you should do when August suddenly bows, extending a hand to you.

“May I have this dance, fair lady?” He asks in a fake pretentious accent that instantly makes you laugh.

It would be nice to say yes, but you desperately want Sanji to be your first dance. August would understand. 

But you aren’t able to decline, someone else beats you to it.

“I’m afraid her first dance is spoken for.” Sanji’s voice reaches your ears and suddenly the room is brighter than it was.

You almost gasp, elated that he found you. Were it not for that frown on his face, you would have voiced out your joy.

August and Sanji stare each other down. Neither of them say anything, but it’s clear that their first impressions of each other aren’t the most pleasant. Not liking the hostility you’re sensing is building, you tug at Sanji’s hand. 

Your brother’s eyes soften at that, and he bows again, this time to say goodbye. “I’ll see you later then.”

You watch August go, and Sanji grumbles something you don’t catch under his breath. You'll have to properly introduce them at some point, but worrying about their relationship can wait. You really must cheer up this grump who thought he was going to miss your first dance.

“Dance with me, stranger?” Intertwining your fingers together, you smile and take in how handsome he looks. His suit is still black, but there are several accents in dark blue—the same color as his mask.

The deep navy color makes his eyes look almost crystalline, and you recognize why you love him so immensely when he smiles.

“I would be honored.”

Sanji is more graceful than you expected. His movements are controlled and precise, never moving too fast and always making sure you’re falling into step beside him.

He’s proven, once again, that he can surpass your every expectation. Sanji spins you around, catching you by your waist and grinning before sweeping you off your feet again.

By the end of it, you’re left breathless due to far too many reasons, and they all involve him.

You had tried bringing Sanji to a romantic spot; maybe a balcony, or somewhere by a fountain in the gardens—but it seems that a lot of other people had the same idea.

Everywhere was crowded, but you suppose where you ended up is romantic in its own way. With the sky being cloudless tonight, you could see every star twinkling away through the greenhouse’s glass roof. 

Let the stars bear witness to you pouring out your heart to this man.

“Sanji…” You start, mentally preparing yourself.

“Yes, ma chèrie?” Sanji tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, you have his complete attention.

“There are things I must tell you.” You swallow the lump in your throat, not brave enough to look him in the eye yet; though you grip his hands tightly in yours.

Sanji waits. He doesn’t complain that you might be holding onto him too tightly, or nag at you for taking too long to put your words together.

When you finally look up to meet his eyes, you find the strength to breathe it out, “...I’m a princess.”

There’s this moment again, when you hold your breath and wait for his reaction; like when you first told him your name. Suddenly, it feels like you’re in the kitchen eating sandwiches with him again.

And, just as it did back then, his reaction surprises you.

His expression barely changes, the only difference being the barely-there furrow of his brows in concern. 

“I know, love.” He says.

“What?!” You drop his hands in shock. “Since when?”

Sanji blinks. “Since the moment we met.”

“But, I—why did you pay everything back? Why didn’t you ever mention it?”

His eyes widen, “Ah, is that why you wouldn’t eat anything from me these past few weeks? I knew you couldn’t be allergic to pineberries.” 

“Sanji, answer the question.” You pout, and he rubs your arms in an attempt to soothe you.

It’s Sanji’s turn to compose himself, you notice. He looks like he wants for your time together to stay lighthearted, when the thoughts in his mind are far from it.

“You didn’t want to talk about your duties, so I never asked.” Sanji shrugs, but you can see him getting nervous. 

“As for reimbursing the ingredients, I suppose I was worried that… you wouldn’t think of our time together dearly if I was just another chef on your staff.” 

Your heart shudders when he lets out a shaky breath. Oh Sanji.

“But that’s the truth isn’t it? I am, and yet I—” He pauses, eyes searching yours desperately. “If I didn’t pay for it, I would be admitting that a chef was all I’d ever be to you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. “I don’t regret it. I would make the same choice if I had to.” Through the mask, you can see his resolve, but his hands shake as he holds you.

“I didn’t expect to feel this strongly about you.” Sanji continues, “You’re just so lovely, making me feel like I could take on the world for you.”

With your hands quivering the slightest bit, you pull at the ribbon behind your head. Your mask clatters to the floor. Raising your hands towards him, you push his mask up until it’s off, revealing the face of the man who has completely enamoured you; body and soul and all.

You think back to how the colors lit him up beautifully, that one sunset you shared under that blossoming tree. And now, he’s still just as beautiful, in this greenhouse under the moon and the stars. 

You love him all the same as you did then and every moment before. With the weight from keeping secrets gone from your chest, you finally let yourself admit it out loud.

“I love you, Sanji.” You confess. “I’ll go with you, if you’ll take on the world.” You try to say it calmly, but tears build up in your eyes. “You mean so much to me. You’re my dream.”

Sanji inches you closer, wrapping one arm around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head. “I love you too. More than you could possibly imagine.”

You quip back at him while wrapping your arms around his neck, “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Sanji leans in the same moment you do, lips meeting in a passionate kiss that sends sparks running through every inch of your being. He pulls you impossibly tighter against him, strong hands caressing your back and holding firm at your waist. Your fingers rake through his hair, touching him to make sure he’s real. He’s here. He loves you. He knew. He always knew.

That night, you realized that your favorite taste from Sanji is his lips on yours. But, once again, he won’t hear you tell him that.

…

Sanji first saw you when a ceremony was held to welcome the new palace staff.

Everyone’s attention had been on your sister, the queen. Understandably so, but his eyes always strayed back to you. You looked gorgeous, wearing a stunning dress perfect for a princess as yourself. A cape draped tastefully down your back. And your crown sparkled brightly under the sun; but try as it might, it couldn’t be as dazzling as you.

Sanji was drawn to you instantly, and he thought he would go on with his life never understanding why.

That is, until you walked into the kitchen at two in the morning to make a sandwich.

It would have been impossible for him to not recognize you. Regular office clothes or not, something was different in the way you carried yourself. It was difficult to miss.

Other people would have thought you appeared mundane. And yet, Sanji found you the most beautiful then.

Because you let yourself smile more when you don't wear your crown. 

But he won’t tell you that.

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added to my taglist ♡

tags: @songsofadelaide-archive @amitydoodlez @sweetexistentialism @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kenkenmaaa @ay0nha @watercolorskyy @holymusicalmothman @appalost

author's note (yes, again)♡— sooo, what do we think about sworn knight!zoro x princess!reader ? 👀

[1d1195]

Traditional - Extra VIII

Read Traditional here | ~3.5k words

Warnings: it was requested our MC be jealous again. Feelings of inadequacy. There are also some mentions of smutty topics. Otherwise, pretty fluffy. As of 10/14/24 I've added a bonus scene as well. It's at the bottom of the post update 🥰

Summary: At a fancy event, she can't help but think about how out of place she feels in Harry's life. Especially when the person he's dancing with is so gorgeous.

Harry can't believe she's so lovely and all his.

Harry was across the room looking like a James Bond character in his tux. He looked so effortlessly handsome and cool. Like he went to these things daily. It was impossible to tear her gaze away from him and she could barely make out the pretty smile on his mouth from so far away.

“Hey,” Louis’ voice was matched with a hand on the small of her back. Finally pulling her from her staring contest with someone who didn’t even know she was staring.

“Hey,” she smiled politely. “You look good.”

“I always look good,” he reminded her with an eye roll and pecked her cheek. “You look stunning,” he smiled sweetly. “Can’t believe Harry let you wear anything with that much cleavage.”

She snorted. “Harry would never tell me I can’t wear something,” she rolled her eyes. “I also wore a jacket until after we got here,” she explained.

Louis laughed and guided her toward the bar. “Thanks for inviting us.”

“Of course,” she shrugged one shoulder. “I’m sorry El’s not feeling well.”

“I know,” he pouted. “I’m not to tell her about any of the hors d’oeuvres,” he smirked.

She smiled. “We can probably put some aside for her,” she shrugged.

“You really planned all this?”

“Not really. I met with the person that planned it.”

Louis took in the spacious ballroom in one of the fanciest hotels in the city. There were wealthy people from all over schmoozing and donating like money meant nothing. It was inspiring they were so generous, but still terrified her a bit about how many digits probably floated in their bank accounts. Louis was still admiring the décor, the fancy place settings, the centerpieces that she made sure looked right the night before during the set-up phase. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she nodded appreciatively. “I hope it’s successful.”

Louis gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Your brother would be so proud,” he assured her. There was a tug in her chest and a sting in her eyes. She swallowed, nodding silently and didn’t say anything else. Didn’t want Louis to say anything else either. “But he wouldn’t have let you leave the house with that much cleavage either.”

She snorted again and shook her head. “I don’t see you complaining.”

“I may have the hottest girlfriend on the planet, but I can appreciate a plunging neckline with the rest of them,” he winked and grabbed two wine glasses from the bar top. “Where’s Harry?”

They meandered to another tall table setting their drinks down after sipping. “He’s been chatting with clients, business owners, old friends, etc...” she shrugged. “I’ll be lucky if I get one dance with him.”

“Well, his loss then,” he smiled. “Guess I’ll have to be your dance partner.”

“I’m really glad you’re here, Lou,” she sighed with relief. “I’ve... I’ve kind of been dreading this.”

He shook his head. “It’s stunning, love. Beautiful. You did an amazing job, and I know Harry will be thanking you with sexual favors later tonight.”

“Jesus,” she blushed and sipped her glass. She glanced across the room again and found him staring at her. Her heart skipped a beat. It was so stupid. She lived with the man for God’s sake. But his eyes scanning her made her feel warm all over. She waved briefly. His smile grew.

Louis nodded at him, and he nodded in response. It seemed they were finally over her broken arm. Although she was certain Harry would never forgive himself as much as Louis would never forgive him. But at least they could talk again. “Where’s Niall?”

She sighed. “Last I saw he was hanging out by the food line.”

“The food line? What are we waiting for? You told me about the menu, I’ve been dreaming about mini cheeseburgers. Classy place like this? They’re going to be the most amazing thing I’ll ever eat.”

She giggled and grabbed her glass. Louis followed behind her. “I think that was a bit selfish of me, but I haven’t heard a complaint yet.”

*

Harry was still wandering about and chatting with everyone but her. It was his job, but she missed him. She wanted to ogle him up close with how handsome he was. She and Louis played a gossiping game making up stories about couples they saw. It was dramatic and would give any soap opera a run for their money.

“Hey Louis,” Niall’s own rounds finally landed them at their table. “Enjoying?”

“It’s perfect.”

“Told you darling,” he winked and gave her shoulder a squeeze. She sipped her drink looking around for her boyfriend and not seeing him. “Do you want to dance, love?” Louis asked.

“I think Harry’s on the floor,” Niall said sipping the final remnants of his own drink. Her heart fell.

“He is?”

Niall frowned. “Yeah, sorry. I... It’s just a business thing. Ya know?”

She nodded feeling slighted that someone else got to dance with her sexy boyfriend. It was bound to happen. But she was hoping she would have gotten the first dance at least. “Well, fortunately, she’ll be free to dance with the hottest man here,” Louis smiled, grabbing her hand, and twirling her once into his embrace. She laughed, shaking her head and made her way to the dance floor with Louis. At least her best friend was there to keep her mind from thinking about how Harry was dancing with someone else.

*

“I’m sorry I gotta leave you alone, love. I don’t want to leave El alone while she’s feeling poorly for so long,” he sighed and rubbed the back of his head.

She shook her head. “Don’t worry. Tell her I hope she feels better. And that she likes her treats.”

“She’s lucky she doesn’t know mini cheeseburgers were on the menu, I’ll eat them in the car.”

“Louis Tomlinson, don’t you dare. I will ask her about them specifically.”

He kissed her cheek and winked at her. “See you, babe. Have a good night.”

Once more, alone with her thoughts and only able to stare at Harry from afar, she grabbed another drink from the bar and headed to the middle of the tables hoping it would give her the best view to find her boyfriend. The night was a little more than halfway over, but it seemed like it would continue forever.

She took her phone out of the pocket of her dress. An absolute must for an event of this caliber. She looked over her to-do list for Monday. Sent a few emails. Researched a couple articles. They were supposed to clean the house tomorrow which seemed dreadful after a long night like this. But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she slept in a little. But when was the last time they slept in?

Harry loved her so much. She knew it. She felt it when he spoke, when he moved, when he bought her anything and everything she wanted without so much as blinking or thinking about what it meant to her.

But the jealousy that hit her like a truck when her gaze caught sight of him dancing with a woman around their age made her want to throw up. It made her feel so inadequate and she knew she wasn’t. Harry insisted. But it hurt. It hurt so much, and it wasn’t even something she needed to worry about or feel. Harry loved her so much.

“Hey, darling. Working again?”

She blinked, grateful for the distraction. “Yeah,” she shook her head hoping Niall didn’t see the way her gaze snapped away from Harry across the room. Was her face flushed? Was Niall going to notice? She worried she would cry if he said something. She did not need to make a scene. “Just a lull, ya know? No one is really talking to me,” she laughed softly.

“Lucky you. I’m reaching my quota of human interaction.”

“Do you want to dance?” She asked, hoping that if she could find a spot on the dance floor away from Harry, it would make her feel better.

“Make Harry jealous? Absolutely,” he held his hand out for her to take and she rolled her eyes with another shake of her head. Niall’s right hand found the small of her back, the left clutched her right and pressed it to his chest. Her free hand rested on his arm.

“Are you a ballroom dancer in your free time Niall?” She asked as he guided her around the floor. He chuckled and smiled.

“I wasn’t kidding, it’s really hot to know how to dance. The ladies love it,” he winked.

Her chest ached. She was sure he was right. Her eyes glancing around for the beautiful woman that was hanging onto her boyfriend. Maybe they were old friends. It was a party where Harry was meant to schmooze with others. It wasn’t his fault. She was being extra and insecure.

But she really missed him in the hours they had been there. “He’s an idiot for not dancing with you,” Niall murmured into her ear. She swallowed feeling the emotion she was trying to beat down creeping up her throat. “You look beautiful, nothing on her,” he assured her.

“How do you know—”

“I’m one of your best friends, darling,” he squeezed around her waist. “Even if we all think it’s silly, we know you’re worried about your worth for Harry.”

“She’s so pretty.”

“Well, you look stunning. If Harry didn’t say so, you should break up with him. This dress alone, wow. Maybe he does have something to be jealous of,” he winked at her. She laughed. Loud. Loud enough for others to look over and she rolled her eyes at him, her cheeks heating as others went back to their conversations. “She might be pretty, but so are you.”

She bit the inside of her lip. “I don’t fit in Niall. Sometimes I feel like I’m an assistant still or an intern. I just do all these things to make things easier but you and him? You guys don’t need me.”

“That’s so wrong,” Niall shook his head. “He would be crushed to hear you say that.”

She went to say maybe he was right, but her eyes caught sight of him. Like a magnet. His head was thrown back in a laugh. A laugh that she loved so much. The woman he was dancing with smiling delightedly. Why wouldn’t she be? It felt like winning an award when she made him laugh. His hand was placed perfectly on her waist, her dainty hand cupped in his. They were probably talking about something she didn’t know anything about. Something that Harry could chat about with someone who had more business experience than her. Someone who wasn’t basing all their knowledge based on theoretical ideas and probabilities from her classes. She turned back to Niall, looking over his shoulder, her eyes burning and aching to cry. She swallowed squeezing her eyes shut. “I have to run to the ladies’ room,” she said quietly.

“Darling?”

“Sorry,” she murmured, dropping Niall’s hand, and scurrying as quickly as she could in her heels to outside the ballroom. The party would be over soon, and she would be able to sneak out and home while Harry finished with everything else. By then she would have calmed down and Harry would be none the wiser.

*

“Kitten?” Harry’s voice was so gentle. He knocked softly. “Y’in here?”

She seriously thought about just ignoring him. He would go away looking for her elsewhere. She could calm herself down and convince herself she was being dramatic. Harry wouldn’t know. But Harry would know. He would see it immediately.

“Niall said y’ran to the restroom in a hurry. M’pretty sure you’re in here,” he continued.

She was going to kill Niall.

Biting her lip, she nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered.

“Y’okay, love?” He asked, his voice nervous.

She nodded but he couldn’t see her. “Just... tired. Needed a second,” she kept her voice quiet. Afraid she would upset him. It was stupid. She knew Harry loved her so unconditionally. But the way he looked with that woman on his arm. It was like they were picture perfect. Straight out of a movie.

“Can I come in?” He asked.

Saying no would break his heart. He would wait right outside. It wasn’t like she would get away crying and trying to pass him. She swiped at her eyes, tried to console herself quietly. “Yeah.”

The door opened. She saw his shoes below the stall door she was hiding behind. “Y’gonna come out her, kitten?”

She took as deep a breath she could manage. Pushed the lock open and stepped outside into the main part of the restroom.

He looked so flawless and perfect other than the frown etched on his lips. “Hey beautiful,” pity covered her face. “S’matter, kitten?”

Before she could stop it, she choked out a sob. Pressing her hand to her lips. His hands moved toward her immediately at the sound. “It’s so dumb Harry,” she whimpered and reached for a paper towel so she could dab at her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

His frown deepened and he cupped her cheeks. “S’not dumb if s’upsetting you, my love,” he promised. “Are y’hurt?” He asked his eyes scanning her quickly from head to toe. She shook her head.

“I didn’t get to dance with you,” she sniveled. “I know how stupid this is,” she swallowed. “But you look so good and everyone you have danced with is equally beautiful. More beautiful than me and I just feel so out of place here. I’m so inadequate. It’s like I can’t stop thinking about that woman saying I’m plain and not worth your time. And I know how ridiculous it is because you love me so much, I feel it all the time but I—”

He pulled her to him quickly. Silencing her with the swift motion. His hand cupped the side of her face. His other arm looped around her waist, his lips brushed the top of her head, and he looked at the mirror as he caught her gaze. She looked down immediately. “Baby,” he hummed. “Look up, please,” he pleaded quietly when she didn’t look up. But Harry was grateful she melted into his chest as he held her. Shyly, she peeked up, only partially meeting his serious expression. “M’sorry I made you feel out of place.”

“You didn’t—”

“M’sorry I didn’t dance with you,” he kissed the top of her head. “I’ve missed you the whole night,” he assured her so soothingly. His voice was slow and deep. Like he wanted her to hear each letter of every word. There was no room for anything else but what he was saying. He wanted her to be crystal clear on the point he was making. “I didn’t want t’be away from you for a second, kitten,” he promised. “M’sorry I made you feel inadequate when you are the furthest thing from inadequate,” he stroked his thumb on her cheek. “Y’look so beautiful. M’crushed you’re crying,” he pouted. “Y’still look breathtaking,” a weak smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “But you’re much too beautiful t’be crying. Especially over this.”

She turned toward him, slid one hand beneath her cheek so she wouldn’t get her wet makeup on his tux. “We didn’t even get a picture,” she whispered.

He sighed. “You’re right, we didn’t,” he grumbled. “We could take one now,” he offered.

She snorted. “That’s attractive. Me all snot-nosed and red eyed.”

“I still think y’look gorgeous,” he assured her.

She sighed. “I’m sorry I ruined everything. It was such a nice night and now because I was all jealous I—”

“Is... is this how y’feel when m’jealous of Niall?” He interrupted.

“What?”

“Like s’the most ridiculous thing in the world,” he rolled his eyes. She laughed quietly despite not wanting to. She supposed, objectively, he was right. “Y’have nothing t’be jealous of,” he promised her.

“Yes, I guess that’s how it feels. But I’m being reasonable.”

The sigh that left him was exasperated with mock irritation. But she could sense the tension easing slightly. “You’re not, kitten. You’re...” he shook his head. “You’re perfect.”

She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. M’sorry y’feel so sad y’had t’cry in here,” he kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t make y’feel secure.”

But he did. It was hard to explain. Harry made her feel beautiful and perfect. The inadequacy was only her feeling of being younger than him, knowing the people he interacted with were so much smarter than her. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Harry.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “I talked ‘bout you to everyone. Told them how lovely this was. It was all your doing. How y’make m’life so much easier. I finally feel like I have a balance. M’not stressed all the time. M’able to delegate more. M’trusting more. You have made Styles Incorporated better because you’re there.”

She blushed. “I really didn’t do all that much for this. I just met with the person that planned it.”

“But I never would have picked these colors, never would have gotten the vendors y’chose. Do y’know how many people raved ‘bout the mini cheeseburgers? This place is so fancy we don’t get mini cheeseburgers at these places,” he chuckled. “And the money,” he skimmed his thumb on her lip. “Baby, you are responsible for all the charitable donations made tonight. Y’have no idea how incredible y’are.” She turned toward his chest, but a smile found its way on her lips. “Y’look so gorgeous; I was jealous Louis and Niall got t’dance with you.”

“I love you,” she whispered.

“Say it again.”

She giggled, tilted her head up and met his eyes. “I’m sorry I’m... needy.”

“S’my favorite thing t’be needed by you. You never need anybody, so it means a lot t’me when y’need me. When y’want me,” he kissed her softly. “M’always needing you,” he reminded her.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he kissed her forehead and wiped below her eyes one more time. “Come dance with me,” he released everything but her hand and tugged her toward the main room.

“The event’s nearly over, Harry. They’ll be packing up their stuff.”

“They can play one more song. I’ll pay them another ten thousand if they need me to. M’going t’dance with m’beautiful girlfriend.”

*

At one-fifteen, Niall was sitting in her usual spot for her mini coffee break with her boyfriend. “Is this because I cried?” She frowned.

“No, darling. Well, maybe. You gave me an idea,” he chuckled.

She glanced at Harry. He held his hands up defensively. “I’ve got nothing t’do with it, kitten. Wish I did. Wish I thought of it so I could take credit.”

“But it’s better because I thought of it. It’s because I love you more than him,” Niall winked.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t push it, Niall.”

She set Harry’s drink on his desk. “What kind of idea did you get while I was crying?”

Niall smirked. “That you should dump Harry—”

“Niall.”

“—I think you deserve a promotion. One that accentuates all your talents and skills that have made the people at Styles Incorporated smarter, better, and more talented. It’s only an idea. We don’t want to part with your current roles because you’re so good at them. But I think you deserve to be in the spotlight that showcases the kind of things you did to make last night happen.”

Her throat ached wanting to cry again. “I told y’she would cry,” Harry hurried to wrap her up in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “S’a good thing, my love,” he reminded her.

She sniffed. “But—”

“You’ve earned it,” Niall said. “Harry didn’t even think of it, that’s why you should like me as a boss more than him.” He explained. “It’s not because you’re dating the CEO of the company. You’re incredible,” Niall assured her.

“You are,” Harry’s voice was soft, reverent in her ear as he held her. “I wish I thought of it before him. He’s been insufferable all day.”

“You don’t have to say yes. Think about it. Think about what your dream job would be. Harry will make it happen,” Niall put a hand on her shoulder, gave it a squeeze. “I’ll let you guys have your lunch date.”

“It is a lunch date,” Harry grumbled.

“I’ve never had a lunch date suck me off under—”

“Bye Niall.”

“I knew he knew,” she mumbled.

“Are y’okay, kitten?” She nodded. “Are y’sure, baby? M’sorry you’ve been so upset the last twenty-four hours. S’not very nice,” his lips touched right above her ear, pressing to her hairline. It felt extremely intimate even though they were in private. She nodded against him. “I love you so much, kitten. More and more every second,” he promised. “There’s no one y’need t’be jealous over. Ever. M’whole heart is yours.”

She sighed contentedly, feeling a little less inadequate.  A little more adored (which seemed almost impossible. But Harry was good at what he did).

“Say it again,” she sighed dreamily.

**You can find a bonus scene for this part here.**

--

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I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[mochinomnoms]

What would PTM!Jade think if he heard Yuu talk about missing someone a lot, he hears some guys name and gets jealous, until Yuu/whoever else Yuu's talking to mentions it's like, Yuu's brother or dog?

For the sake of this we are going to have Yuu have at least one sibling! also i had trouble with this so it's very short

Azul has been nothing but supportive with...whatever is going on with Jade and you.

He and the twins hesitate to call each other friends, even if all three of them grew up together on friendly terms. But he still cared for the twins, deep, deep, way deep down in his three hearts.

Which is why he knew, despite how scarily intuitive the both of them could be, Jade would rather bury any semblance of emotion and die than acknowledge them.

Case in point: Jade had no clue how to handle what Azul suspects to be jealousy over this mystery person the Prefect was going on about at the adjacent table.

(In Jade's defense, he'd never felt so strongly for someone before, so big emotions were to be expected.)

But today, you had elected to eat with them, bringing along Kalim. The two of you had barely acknowledged them, giving the pair a wave and smile as you sat. Jade was slowly eating as he started quietly listening to you and Kalim, while Azul was using his spare time to get some homework out of the way.

“Yeah, I miss Junior so much, I just love him with all my heart, you know?”

Suddenly, the knife Jade had been using to cut his chicken broke through the plate, startling the three of you.

“Jade? What in the world…”

Looking up, Azul noticed just how tense Jade's arms were, though his face remained neutral. Furrowing his eyebrows, Azul noticed Jade's eyes were looking to the side, towards you.

“Woah! Jade,” Kalim exclaimed, looking at the tall man with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Jade was very matter of fact as he pushed (what remained of) his plate away, frowning at the messes he'd caused.

“Now excuse me for a moment, I'm going to get a tray and some towels to clean up.”

Giving them a polite bow of his head, Jade stood and briskly walked over to the cafeteria ghosts to ask for some rags and a tray.

“I will be right back.” Azul sighed, getting up to follow Jade.

As the ghost nodded at Jade and turned to the backroom to no doubt get the items he'd asked for, Azul came up behind him and crossed his arms.

“I've been very kind in letting you have more free time from your shirts and duties, as well as continuing to use my storeroom for your makeshift greenhouse, but these little outbursts have to stop!”

“I have no clue what you're implying, Azul, I don't appreciate it.” Jade remained smiling, hands over one another, as he patiently waited for the ghost to return.

Azul rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Before you decide to wallow in jealousy like a child envying another for a toy, perhaps you ought to stay a step back and listen to them before making wild assumptions.”

Still ignoring him, Jade perked and thanked the ghost as he was handled a tray. Azul took the rags from the ghost and followed Jade back to the table.

“Even if they could go back home, I doubt they'd keep a partner from their world a secret for so long, they're rather keen on sharing facts from their world when asked.”

Jade remained quiet, much to Azul's frustration, making him mutter under his breath. “You're just like your brother sometimes.”

As they approached their table again, they found you and Kalim carefully picking at the plate and food that had spilled between the cracks. Still talking, they could hear you speak fondly of your 'Junior'.

“He's so cute too! And just the sweetest, he loved sharing his snacks with me, would always pick me over everyone else too.”

Kalim smiled, cooed at the idea. “That's so sweet! Mine are like that too, especially—”

The white haired man perked at seeing them return, waving again. “Oh good, you got a tray, here we started picking up the glass for you!”

You two started piling the broken plate unto the tray in Jade's hands as Azul wiped up the food that fell on the table.

From the corner of his eye, Azul watched as you paused staring at Jade for a bit before flushing and clearing your throat.

“B-but, yeah, like I was saying, Junior is the sweetest little brother! By now he's had his 12th birthday, I just wish I could be there, you know?”

“Brother?” Azul asked, give Jade a smug smile as he met his eyes. “Why, I didn't know you had a sibling!”

You nodded, looking fondly down as you placed the final glass shard on the tray.

“Yeah, it just never really came up until Kamil mentioned that one of his little brothers was blowing up his phone.”

Kalim laughed and nodded in affirmation. “Yeah! He's really clingy right now, and they were mentioning that their brother was too!”

Jade just faintly perked up, giving you a soft smile.

“How sweet, from the sound of it you're an attentive older sibling, yes?”

You nodded shyly, following Jade to the trash as you continued gushing about your little brother and family back home.

As soon as you both were out of earshot, Kalim immediately turned to Azul and excitedly whispered.

“They totally like each other, right? They gotta, I'd never seen Jade smile so much, or the Prefect get shy like that!”

“They start playing with their fingers and are always looking away when they're with Jade.” He continued. “And they always stare a bit longer when Jade gives them that smile.”

Azul blinked in surprise, never in a million years did he think Kalim would be able to clock anyone so accurately, much less Jade.

“Jade always gives out his small smiles, does he not?”

Kalim waved his hand dismissively. “But not like that, or as much as he does around the Prefect. It's barely there, but he shows more teeth and his eyes crinkle. His eyes never crinkle when he does his usual smile.”

Kalim laughed to himself, looking over at you and Jade as you too talked. Looking closer, Azul could see what he was talking about.

Jade as no surprise, Azul had known him for so long that he was able to read him with decent accuracy, second only to Floyd. But you?

You were indeed twiddling your fingers, being surprisingly shy as you continuously darted your gaze to Jade's smile before looking away again.

He's surprised just how perceptive Kalim could be, especially after all that happened with Jamil. Maybe that's why he's so much more attentive now?

Hm, perhaps Kalim might actually be an unexpected source of information…and there's no Jamil around to stop me.

Azul gave Kalim a bright smile, gesturing for him to move in closer.

“You're right! I never noticed such things, what, or who else have you noticed?”

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Politely affectionately agressively begging for more Furina fics you write her AMAZINGLYYYYY PLEASEEE and it's so rare to see my girl get any fics YOU A REAL ONE FR FR 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫

(Genshin Impact) Furina watching an emotional movie with her S/O

*Imperial Guardsmen Voice* IF SUCH IS THE EMPEROR'S WILL! Also, you can imagine this as an Isekai S/O or Fontaine somehow developed movies, idk you can work the imagination on how movies exist in Tevyat, I'm just here to give you the funny/cute.

Furina's lips trill in boredom as she sits down on the couch, an hand underneath her chin.

Dinner had already been finished, dessert promptly followed but the night was still young.

Her S/O was in front of the couch, rustling coming from a box they were searching through.

She got up from her seat and knelt next to them, curious as to what they were looking for.

(Furina) "S/O?"

(S/O) "Hang on, just looking for something we can watch...ah!"

S/O pulled out a box containing a small CD. Furina couldn't help but flinch instinctually.

(S/O) "Before you ask, no it's not a horror movie."

With a sigh of relief, she grabbed the box and raised an eyebrow.

(Furina) "Oh thank goodness!...A-Ahem, so, what is this?"

(S/O) "It's from Inazuma. It's a super cheesy story about a man and female meka falling in love."

They put a finger to their chin as Furina scoffed as she crossed her arms.

(Furina) "Oh please, I've seen far worse premises in my stage plays, S/O!"

(S/O) "True, but this one might make you cry."

Furina's smirk grows bigger hearing their lack of faith.

(Furina) "Psh! Me? Cry at a love story probably told a thousand times? Please! Put it on S/O! I'll prove you otherwise!"

ONE HOUR LATER...

S/O and Furina were sitting quietly, nearing the end of the film's duration.

The man's head was resting on the meka's lap as he was nearing the end of his life, though the mood was very bittersweet.

With a beautiful piano tune playing in the background, the Meka looked up to the sky, finally getting a revelation for the human it fell in love with.

[Mekaigis] "Not everything needs to be for some greater purpose. Just caring for someone can be enough. That's all we need to give our lives meaning. As for me, I've found my path. And that's to protect you with my life..."

S/O's heart strings tugged at the touching dialogue. Blinking away a few tears, S/O turned to Furina.

(S/O) Furina's been really quiet. I wonder if she's not as affected as-

S/O's thoughts were interrupted the moment they actually glanced at their girlfriend.

Furina reached for her box of tissues, which was already halfway gone, and blew violently into it.

She proceeded to wipe away her tears with her hands while her lips trembled, eyes locked onto the screen the entire time.

(S/O) ...Okay yeah, she's doing as good as I thought she would.

S/O moved in closer to hold her hand and at least give her some comfort for this admittedly tear-inducing scene.

Only for their hand to be almost hurt from her grip strength as she held on with all of her passion, Furina's attention daring not to even turn away.

S/O almost yelped out in pain, but kept strong for the sake of their girlfriend's immersion.

And with the man finally closing his eyes, the movie finally came to a close, with the music's lyrics riding the scene out.

[Movie] "kaze no koe hikari no tsubu madoromu kimi ni sosogu-"

Furina stood up from her chair, pointing to the screen with tears still fresh in her eyes.

(Furina) "T-THE MOVIE ENDS RIGHT THERE?! BUT THAT'S NOT FAIR! HE AND MEKAIGIS FOUGHT TO SAVE THE WORLD, THEY SHOULD BE HAPPY TOGETHER!"

S/O couldn't contain their soft laughter, getting up and attempting to calm her down by gently wiping her tears away.

(S/O) "I agree, but it's a rather beautiful ending to such a tragic story. But what did you think of it?"

Furina pouted at their laughter, crossing her arms and huffing.

(Furina) "I'd rather have watched a horror movie, something like that is way too sad!"

(S/O) "I thought you said you wouldn't cry-"

(Furina) "I-I was simply crying at their performances! They did an amazing job acting out a horrid script, as a performer I couldn't just ignore their handiwork!"

S/O playfully rolled their eyes as they sat Furina back down, quickly joining her on the couch.

(S/O) "Is that right? Anyways, there's a followup sequel where it follows Mekaigis after the events of this movie called the Answ-"

(Furina) "PUT IT ON RIGHT NOW! I HAVE TO FIND OUT RIGHT NOW!"

Her voice cracked as she pointed at the screen, making S/O laugh and comply.

(S/O) "Yes, ma'am."

Furina's leg bounced anxiously as she watched S/O painfully put the next film in slowly, getting immersed again immediately.

===

Author's note:

This isn't actually anything related to the post besides the obvious reference, I just have to get it out of my system because I was listening to the soundtrack of said reference. Ahem. AAALLLL THE JOURNEYS START SOMEWHERE WITH A FIRST STEEEEEEEP NO ONE'S SURE WHAT LIES AHEAD BE BOLD AND BRAAAAAAAAAAAAVE (STAND UP!) ROADS MAY BEEEEEE ROUGH AND TOOUUUUUUGH THOUGH IT WILL LEAD SOMEWHEEEERE (NOTHING EASY GET UP AND GO GET IT GO) SOMETIMES IT'S JOURNEY ITSELF THAT TEACHEEEES A LOT ABOUT THE DESTINATION NOT AWARE OOOOOF NO MATTER HOW FAAAAAR (NO MATTER HOW FAR) HOW YOU GOOOOOOOO (HOW YOU GO HOW YOU GO) HOW LONG IT MAY LAAAAAST (CARPE DIEM NO TIME TO WASTE) VENTURE LIFE, BURN YOUR DREEEAAAAD! (YOU GOTTA VENTURE LIFE GO GET IT BURN YOUR DREAD)

[yumeka-sxf]

I've been waiting to see Yor's epiphany chapter in the anime and it did not disappoint! I felt like analyzing more than usual because I loved this episode so much~ 💖

I hope that any anime-only viewers who at this point still had the opinion that Yor's just ditzy/submissive, one-dimensional, or whatever negative traits associated with her, have changed their minds. Throughout the cruise arc we've seen so many sides of her character: how she's struggling to understand the exact reason why she's taking on these dangerous assignments when her original reason for doing it (supporting Yuri) no longer exists, how her internal desire to seek her own happiness - live a peaceful life like Olka - is at constant war with her diligence to complete her mission, her yearning to be with Loid and Anya and how sad she looks when she has to tell herself that they're just a cover-up family and she'll have to leave them without a word if anything drastic happens, and how much more confident she is when doing something she excels at - assassinating - yet still retaining her kind and polite demeanor (Unlike Twilight, who dons the mask of Loid Forger, Yor Forger is not a mask for Thorn Princess, at least not in terms of personality. So everything she says as Thorn Princess can be interpreted as her true feelings, including the now two times she's hesitated during fights because of the thought of having to leave the Forgers).

And, in the moment where she's facing death right in the eye, all the doubts she's had since getting this assignment culminate, not only causing the samurai assassin to get the upper hand, but causing her to take a deep, introspective look into her reason for fighting...if it's not for the same reason as the other assassins, what is it?

What's even more amazing is that these things about her character did not come out of nowhere just for the sake of a flashy climax. We saw in previous episodes that not only does she understands that being in the Forger family makes her happy, but most importantly, how she's lived her life only thinking of the happiness of others above her own. And what's most tragic is that, upon finally realizing that her original reason for being an assassin is gone (since Yuri no longer needs support) she's ready to die then and there...until she remembers Olka's words about wanting to live a peaceful life, which in turn makes her remember her core reason for becoming an assassin was to not only support Yuri, but to make the world he lives in all the more peaceful by eliminating the villains in it.

Despite how naive Yor is about many things (due to her upbringing), she's certainly not ignorant about the needless tragedies that exist in the world. And here is where she makes her decision to keep doing her assassinating, not because she enjoys killing people, but because the result of it will make the world a better place...because now, she has even more people whose happiness she desires to protect.

Even if she sacrifice her own happiness by leaving the Forgers, that's not as important to her as preventing tragedy from befalling her loved ones, or the world in general. And these thoughts are so similar to Twilight's reasons for becoming a spy! Coincidently, as Yor has these thoughts, she thinks of how Loid complimented this aspect of her personality way back when they first met...and the thought that the man who she trusts and respects so much would approve of her decision, gives her the final push to keep on going (I love that they reanimated this scene too and didn't just use the exact frames from episode 2).

So yeah, if anyone who wasn't sure of how much depth Yor's character has, I hope this episode shed a lot of light! This is the right way to make a character both cute/sweet but also a total badass who's strong on the outside as well as the inside.

(I will probably reword a lot of this for my upcoming Twiyor analysis posts but I couldn't wait until then, lol).

[drac-kool-aid]

Seward's bone deep desire to run away from the asylum is not exactly surprising. There have been a lot of really good meta posts about how the return of Van Helsing into his life is the turning point where we see the caring and good side of him and how we can interpret his life as a student in Amersterdam as one of freedom and happiness. How he is part of the tragedy of manners, how strict social expectations allow Dracula to persist, and how they only exacerbate the unhappiness of the characters.

And I think the tragedy of Seward is that, really, he should not be the head of an asylum. It's a job that brings him no joy, and he's BAD at it. We can all recognize that if your first reaction to going back to work is "What if I just leave it all." That isn't a healthy work environment.

Now, in the modern day, the ability to pick and choose a work environment, even to leave one that is damaging your mental health, is a privilege. (IT SHOULDNT BE, but it is). And, although it is definitely reaching crisis levels in modern times, major changes in your career have almost always been difficult (unless you are really rich, or a particular brand of academic in the 17th-18th century, or both).

Seward can't just leave and become a surgeon. To give up the lofty position of "Head of an Asylum" would be unthinkable in the 1890s, especially for a reason like "Being here is basically turning me into the Joker." Like, how would Seward explain that in polite society? Would they accept that reasoning? Would they create salacious gossip if they didn't? Can Seward leave his position without losing a great amount of social capital?

Probably not.

His rise to head of an asylum, as many have pointed out, was meteoric, to say the least. It has afforded him status and respect and also left him deeply, deeply fucked up. And he can't leave!

I think his desperate attempts to quantify Renfield's behaviors into a new mental illness are telling in this regard. Maybe he is too used to having to meet some sort of expectation, and now he thinks this is the logical next step (It's NOT, but I digress). The feeling of having to keep performing above expectations, grasping at straws to do so, and subsequently burning oneself out (as well as others around you) and engaging in unethical practices? Idk. It sounds like something that would happen today. (tbh there are probably a ton of Sewards out there today, as there are still systemic problems within the mental health system that allow for the dehumanizing and abuse of patients).

It doesn't excuse his behavior. Nothing he does to Renfield is excusable, but I think it does explain some of the *why*. He isn't just cruel for cruelty's sake.

So, tldr I guess: I think reading Seward as someone who got stuck on a career path that he realized was unfufilling and that he ends up hating. Social conventions restrict him from just quitting without and a (socially acceptable) good reason to do so, and a lifetime of being regarded as one of the smartest people in the room means he can not allow himself to fail. Unfortunately, this also means he can not admit when his actions or his ideas are wrong when it comes to his job.

(But he can show that uncertainty FOR Lucy, and TO Arthur and Van Helsing, which speaks his trust and love for them)

[amateurvoltaire]

Summer holidays are over, and if you’re anything like me—still pretending that your inbox full of emails doesn’t exist (Yes, Sharon, I’ll get to your spreadsheet eventually!) and scrolling through holiday snaps on repeat—here’s something to help ease the pain: Robespierre’s Journey to Carvin, the ultimate travel blog (1).

In June 1783, a 25-year-old Maximilien Robespierre embarked on a modest 35 km trip from Arras to Carvin to visit his relatives. He wrote a delightfully dramatic account of this journey, addressed to Antoine Buissart, his friend, mentor, and his wife Charlotte.

For anyone who thinks of Robespierre as some cold, humourless figure, I present this letter as evidence to the contrary. His wit, self-mockery, and unexpected humour shine through. He likens himself to Aeneas, takes jabs at his own inflated sense of importance, and, of course, waxes lyrical about tarts (2). Absolutely brilliant!

As always, this is my own translation, and honestly, there are more polished ones out there. Robespierre is in full show-off mode, packing the text with references to Greek and Roman history and mythology—because why not? I’ve done my best to explain them all, but it’s possible I may have missed a few...

Translation: Impressions of a Journey to Carvin (3)

Monsieur,  

There are no pleasures truly agreeable unless shared with one’s friends. I shall therefore impart to you a description of those I have lately enjoyed.

Expect not an account of my journey, for such works have been so prodigiously multiplied of late years that the public must surely be sated with them. I know of an author who, having travelled but five leagues (4), immortalised the event in both verse and prose.

But what, pray, is such an endeavour compared to the one I have undertaken? I have not merely travelled five leagues; I have covered six—and six good leagues, I assure you—so much so that, by the reckoning of the locals, they are worth at least seven ordinary leagues. Yet, I shall not say a word of my journey. I lament for your sake, for it would have afforded you the most infinitely interesting adventures—those of Ulysses and Telemachus (5)  would pale in comparison.

It was at five o'clock in the morning when we set out; the carriage which bore us passed through the city gates at the very moment the chariot of the Sun rose from the bosom of the Ocean. Our vehicle was adorned with a cloth of dazzling whiteness, a portion of which fluttered freely in the breath of the zephyrs. In this manner, we passed in triumph before the customs house. You may imagine that I could not resist turning my gaze in that direction, eager to see whether the sentinels of the excise office would betray their ancient reputation for courtesy. Filled with noble emulation, I dared aspire to outshine them in politeness, should it be possible. Leaning over the side of the carriage, I doffed my new hat and saluted them with a gracious smile. I had expected a courteous return. Would you believe it? These officials, motionless as statues at the entrance to their hut, fixed their eyes upon me, offering no return of my greeting. Ever possessed of an infinite sense of pride, I was deeply wounded by this sign of disdain, and it soured my temper for the remainder of the day (6).

Nonetheless, our steeds bore us with a swiftness that defies imagination. They appeared as if they sought to rival the Sun’s own horses (7) flying above us. Just as I had endeavoured to surpass the customs officials at the Méaulens gate in civility, our horses leapt over the suburb of Sainte-Catherine with a single bound (8), and with a second, we found ourselves upon the square in Lens (9). There we paused briefly. I took advantage of this respite to survey the beauties of the town that might engage the curiosity of travellers. While the rest of the company breakfasted, I stole away and ascended the hill upon which stands the Calvary. From this vantage, I cast my gaze, with mingled sentiments of tenderness and admiration, over the vast plain where Condé, at the tender age of twenty, won that famous victory over the Spaniards, saving the fatherland (10) . Yet a more compelling object drew my attention: the Town Hall. Though neither remarkable in size nor magnificence, it still had every claim to inspire my keenest interest. “This modest edifice,” I mused as I gazed upon it, “is the very sanctuary wherein Mayor T..., with a round wig and the scales of Themis (11) in hand, once weighed with impartial justice the rights of his fellow citizens. A minister of justice, favoured by Aesculapius (12), after pronouncing sentence, he would immediately dictate a medical prescription. Both criminal and patient alike trembled at his presence, and this great man, by virtue of dual authority, wielded the most extensive power ever exercised by one man over his compatriots.”

In the fervour of my enthusiasm, I could not rest until I had penetrated the precincts of the Town Hall. I was determined to see the courtroom and the tribunal where the aldermen sit. I had the porter sought throughout the town; at length he came, unlocked the doors, and I rushed into the courtroom. Seized by a religious reverence, I fell to my knees within this august temple and passionately kissed the seat that had once been pressed by the posterior of the great T....

Thus did Alexander prostrate himself before the tomb of Achilles (13), and thus did Caesar render homage to the monument which housed the ashes of the conqueror of Asia (14).

We resumed our journey; scarce had I settled upon my bundle of straw when Carvin came into view. At the sight of this fortunate land, we all let out a cry of joy, much like the Trojans, escaped from the ruin of Ilium, upon first sighting the shores of Italy (15).

The good folk of this village gave us a reception which amply compensated for the indifference we had endured from the officials at the Méaulens gate. Citizens of all ranks vied with one another in their eagerness to behold us. The cobbler paused, tool in hand, on the verge of piercing a sole, so that he might gaze at us at leisure; the barber, abandoning a half-shaven beard, rushed towards us, razor still in hand; the housewife, in her curiosity, risked the burning of her tarts. I beheld three gossips interrupt a most animated conversation to fly to their windows. Alas, the journey was all too brief, but during that time, we savoured the flattering pleasure of being the sole object of the populace’s attention. “How sweet it is to travel!” I mused. Indeed, they say that no man is a prophet in his own land; at the gates of one’s own city, one is scorned; six leagues further, one becomes a figure of public curiosity.

I was lost in these reflections when we arrived at the house that marked the end of our journey. I shall make no attempt to describe to you the outpouring of tenderness that accompanied our embraces—such a scene would have moved you to tears. Indeed, I know of but one comparable moment in all of history: when Aeneas, having fled the ruins of Troy, arrived in Epirus with his fleet and was reunited with Helenus and Andromache, whom fate had placed on the throne of Pyrrhus (16). Their reunion, it is said, was one of the tenderest on record. I do not doubt it. Aeneas, with his excellent heart, Helenus, the finest Trojan, and Andromache, the sensitive widow of Hector, surely shed many tears and heaved many sighs upon that occasion. I am willing to believe that their emotion was equal to ours; but after Helenus, Aeneas, Andromache, and ourselves, one must draw the line.

Since our arrival, our days have been filled with nothing but pleasures. Since last Saturday, I have been indulging in tarts, undeterred by others’ envy. By fate’s decree, my bed was placed in a chamber that serves as a storeroom for pastries, thus exposing me to the temptation of indulging all night. But I reflected that it is noble to master one’s passions, and so I slept, surrounded by these seductive objects. It is true, however, that I made up for this long abstinence during the day.

I give thanks to thee, O skilled hand,  

That first shaped pliant dough  

And offered to mortals this delicious dish.  

But have they honoured thee as they ought?  

Have they raised altars to thy glory?  

Hundreds of peoples, offering incense and vows,  

Have filled the earth with temples and gods,  

Yet all have forgotten that sublime genius  

Who brought ambrosia to mankind.  

The tart, with due honour, graces their feasts,  

But do they think of its first creator?  

Of all the acts of ingratitude for which mankind has been guilty toward its benefactors, this has always shocked me the most. It is the people of Artois who must atone for it, for by the judgement of all Europe, they know the worth of tarts better than any other people in the world. Their honour demands that they erect a temple to its inventor. I must tell you, in confidence, that I have a project in mind, which I propose to present to the Estates of Artois (17). I fully expect it will be strongly supported by the clergy.

But it is not enough to eat tart; one must also eat it in good company. I have had this pleasure. Yesterday, I was granted the highest honour to which I could ever aspire: I dined with three lieutenants and the son of a bailiff. All the magistrates of the neighbouring villages were assembled at our table. At the centre of this Senate, shone the Lieutenant of Carvin, like Calypso amongst her nymphs(18). Ah! Had you but seen with what graciousness he conversed with the rest of the company, like an ordinary man! How indulgently he judged the champagne poured for him, and with what satisfaction he smiled at his reflection in his glass! I witnessed all this with my own eyes... And yet, see how difficult it is to content the human heart. Not all my desires have been fulfilled; I am soon to return to Arras, where I hope, upon seeing you, to find a pleasure far more genuine than those of which I have spoken. We shall meet again with the same joy that Ulysses and Telemachus felt after twenty years of absence. I shall have no trouble forgetting my bailiffs and lieutenants. However charming a lieutenant may be, believe me, Madame, he can never rival you.

His figure, even when the champagne lends it a soft blush, cannot approach the natural charms that are yours, and no company of bailiffs in the world could ever compensate me for the pleasure of your delightful conversation.

I remain, with the utmost sincerity, Monsieur, your most humble and obedient servant,  

Robespierre.

Carvin, 12 June 1783.

Notes

1) I’m also working on my own “travel blog” about frolicking through the Vendée, but—procrastination, you know. 

(2) If you ever find yourself in Northern France, eat the tarts. They are sensational.

(3) This describes his  journey from Arras to Carvin

(4) 1 league = around 5 km

(5) Ulysses (Odysseus) and his son, Telemachus, are central figures in The Odyssey, known for their epic and legendary adventures  filled with mythological dangers, gods, and heroic feats over many years. Ulysses faces numerous trials, including battles with monsters like the Cyclops, the Sirens, and the struggles against divine wrath, while Telemachus embarks on his own perilous journey to find his father.

(6) Robespierre’s original line, “J'ai toujours eu infiniment d'amour-propre,” reveals quite a bit of self-reflection and perhaps a healthy dose of self-awareness.

(7) In Greek mythology, the Sun (often represented by either the titan Helios or god Apollo) is said to ride across the sky in a chariot drawn by powerful horses that pull the Sun from east to west each day. These horses are often imagined as swift and unstoppable forces.

(8) Méaulens is a gate, and Sainte-Catherine is a neighbourhood, both in Arras.

(9) Lens is a village about 20km from Arras

(10) I assume Robespierre is referring to the Battle of Lens here (since he is in Lens), which occurred on 20 August 1648 and was significant because it helped solidify France’s position at the end of the Thirty Years' War. But Condé was 26 at the time, and Robespierre might be confusing it with the Battle of Rocroi, which Condé won at 22. Does Max suck at history? Maybe!

(11) Themis is the Greek goddess of justice who is often depicted holding scales

(12) Aesculapius is the Roman god of medicine

(13) Alexander the Great, the Macedonian conqueror, greatly admired Achilles, the legendary hero of the Iliad. During his military campaigns, Alexander visited the supposed tomb of Achilles near Troy. According to historical accounts, he prostrated himself (knelt or bowed) before Achilles' tomb as a sign of deep reverence, honouring the warrior he aspired to emulate. Alexander saw himself as a successor to Achilles, carrying the mantle of Greek heroism into his conquests.

(14)  Caesar, like many Romans, admired Alexander's achievements, particularly his conquests in Asia (which included vast territories from Greece to India). Caesar visited Alexander’s tomb in Alexandria, Egypt, where he reportedly paid homage to the great conqueror.  Obviously Robespierre is being ironic by comparing his kneeling in the town hall and kissing the seat of a local magistrate) to these monumental moments of history.

(15) This refers to Virgil’s Aeneid, where Aeneas and the surviving Trojans are filled with hope and relief upon reaching Italy after enduring numerous trials and suffering.

(16) Again, a reference to the  Aeneid. Aeneas, after fleeing the destruction of  Troy, arrives in Epirus  (a region in modern-day Greece and Albania) during his long journey to find a new home for the surviving Trojans. There, Aeneas encounters Helenus and Andromache. Helenus is a Trojan prince and the son of King Priam of Troy. After the fall of Troy, he ends up ruling part of Epirus, having taken control of the land once ruled by Pyrrhus (Neoptolemus), the son of Achilles.Andromache was the wife of the Trojan hero Hector  (who was killed by Achilles during the war). After Hector's death and the fall of Troy, Andromache becomes a captive of Pyrrhus, but in Epirus, she is eventually freed and marries Helenus.

(17)  The Estates of Artois were a were a regional representative assembly or parliament the Artois province. 

(18) Calypso is a nymph or Oceanid who appears in Homer’s Odyssey. Calypso lived on the island of Ogygia, where she detained the hero Ulysses for several years. She was surrounded by lesser nymphs who served her.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Century Demons

The steam engine blasted vapor into the air. Cacophonous chatter from the crowds all around us, pressing like a physical weight. I truely did hate traveling. Granted, there was nothing for it, we were needed. Being their Majesty's Special Task Force and all. But STILL! Awful. Just, awful!

It was the pushing, really. The constant shoving. Flashs of insight into lives I wanted nothing to do with. That individual? Marriage was collapsing. This one? Had debts. The girl who just stepped on my foot, thought she was in love, but honestly? Any adult could tell you how badly it was going to end. He was using her.

Frankly, I wish we could walk. At this point? I would honestly take a flipping DONKEY! But nooooo! What has my husband decided to do? "Let's take the TRAIN, darling! It'll be an ADVENTURE! Save so much TIME!"

He's lucky I married him AT ALL. Fuck. I HAD options! Could have been a Baron's wife. Well-to-do! But NO, I wanted to HELP people. Like a FOOL. Gods, my mother was RIGHT! Cute air-heads WOULD be the death of-!

I finally spot Arthur, the sweet idiot, looking lost by our baggage. Map in hand. Like a confused puppy told to do arithmetic or be scolded, his anxiety is palpable. I gather my skirts and shove. Fuck being polite. Everyone ELSE seems to be fine, being stampeding herd animals. Why not I? Move!

"O-Oh thank goodness! Darling!" Arthur gasps, nearly dropping the map as he reaches for me as I get close. His eye are wide and his expression frazzled. Tone as though someone has been compressing his chest. "There are-! There are so many PATHS! I didn't-! And I-! Oh dear. W-what do we do? Darling, I can't-! It's so-!"

Damn it! I KNEW this would happen! This was an awful idea! Reaching for my husband's face, I cup his cheeks, propriety be damned. Pull him close to press his forhead against mine. Match my breath, dear. Focus, darling, just... focus. Close your eyes. You do not See. Curse crowded places and what they do to us. We should have moved to the countryside years ago.

But no, no Arthur would never leave his Sister. And I'll not leave him behind. Damn it all, why? WHY?

Why did she have to pick the Nobility Route?

It was bad enough, remembering this world "wasn't real". That it had a "plot" for Gods sake. Bad ENOUGH to realize that the monster under the bed very much WERE a real and present threat, that I SHOULD be concerned about. But fool that I am? Did I HAVE to fall in love with the Protagonist's brother? Sweet and foolish? A simple, if air headed man? Apparently!

All I could do, now, was try to protect him. Try and protect myself.

Ignore the nasty, judging looks, being sent our way. Piss off! The lot of you! I took no vows to YOU. Stood in no church! There us exactly ONE person in the train station I care about, and it is NONE of you, so keep your snide opinions to yourself! Breathe, Arthur. There we go, dear.

Pulling back slightly, I check his eyes. They flick and track things unseen. He is still unusually pale. He... he will be rather disappointed. He was excited to try the trains. To him? They are a bold new technology.

Maybe once we get farther from the city. Here, at least, he is drowning.

Then, a change. Sudden and swiftly building. Whatever Paths my husband traced were disappearing, narrowing, even as terror sweeped across his face. Only twice I had ever seen this before. Once, was an earthquake. The largest seen in over 400 years. The other? A bombing just before the royal wedding, we had been still engaged then. But the way he had frozen? Mid-sentence?

It is BURNED into my mind. Just like the horror that followed.

Bellowing, I command everyone to get out. Evacuate.

NOW.

But already... it is too late. Down the line of the train, terrible symbols flash into being. Molten red metal, on the side of the train cars themselves, instants before the BLOW. Unspeakable shrapnel bombs. Made of people and metal and MAGIC. The train cars lifted from the tracks by the knock back, smashing into fleeing crowds, even as the next car goes off. And then the next. And the next.

A writhing chain of death.

Like the dying spasms if a great snake.

My husband is frozen. No. As I drag him down? I realize with horror, worse. Seizing. It has NEVER been this bad! What is HAPPENING?! What Path is he SEEING that could cause such OVERLOAD? Terrified, I watch as thin trails of blood, seep from his eyes, his nose. Oh Gods. Oh GODS! Arthur? ARTHUR!

Love! Stay with me! Please! D-Darling, Please! Focus on my voice! You have to let them GO! Close your EYES, Arthur! Don't look! Please, DON'T LOOK! It's KILLING YOU!

"That's rather the point."

I stop. From on the ground, where I crawl. Dragging my unresponsive husband to safety. My gaze finally whips around to ahead of us. Amongst the chaos... stands a conductor. Pressed uniform clean and hair entirely too long. His eyes... oh Gods, his EYES. I do not need to touch him to know. That? THAT is not a human.

Not anymore.

Shrapnel flies harmlessly over us, but comes no where near him. As though where he stands is Forbidden to touch. All around him, those fleeing? Suffering? Do not notice him. Do not SEE. Yet, on instinct alone... avoid him.

Because, of course they do. B-because that?

That Is A Demon.

We weren't even remotely prepared for this. And even if we WERE. Everything is packed away. Pressed to the floor, all I can do? Is drag my husband close. Feel tear begin to fill my eyes and choke my throat, as I curse the Gods. Damn it. D-Damn it! I drag Arthur under me. A-as though... as though we were just... just resting at home. Cuddling, as we so often do.

I-It will be okay, darling. Come back to me. Arthur... Please...

(We promised to go together...)

"He really is useless, isn't he? Can't protect you. Couldn't warn you. Can't even die, where he's supposed to be. Really, how hard is it? To just get on the damned train? Quite inconsiderate, your worthless lump of a first husband. It really won't be hard, no doubt, to surpass him in every way."

I drag Arthur closer. Cradling his head to me chest. You'll have to go through ME, you fucking monster! It's.. it's a laughable defense. I'm tissue paper. We both are. With out supplies and the proper anti-demonics? H-he's going to SHRED us. But... but! I took a VOW.

Married this man.

I... I love him.

Even if he's not awake. Even if he's trapped in his own gifts by this BASTARD of a Demon. That's.. That's okay. I'm still here. W-We're still together. And I love him. Silly, ridiculous, air-headed fool that he is. My quite scholar. M-My best friend. I glare at the damnable creature before us.

"You really do have such lovely eyes." It notes, tilting it's head. "Does he appreciate them? Somehow, I doubt it. He makes you live in squalor, after all. Dresses you in rags and works you like an animal. You were meant for so much... more. I can feel it."

With a boneless grace he squats, bringing him closer even as I try to drag us away, he reaches out. One hand both perfectly human yet tipped with claws. In the distance, I hear doors being forced open. Commanding voices. Prayers and the glimpses of shining light. The Paladins are here.

Too late... I... I fear it is too late.

Demon skin touchs my face and I scream, as I am cast beneath the waves. It is so dark. Oh Gods. OH GODS. IT IS SO DARK. HELP ME. HELP ME! IT HURTS! It HuRtS! HELP M-!

"Shhh, drink deep and sink down, Love. I will be there to catch you. Forget about him. Forget about everything. You are made for so much more. We were meant to be together. Just let go, sweet."

"Just let go..."

[yesimwriting]

Promise

a/n yes im using the princess! reader who's about to be forced into a political marriage with anakin again,, and what about it the vibe is so fun to me, also i love jealous anakin

warnings: 18+!!! smut (he broke me down) written by someone whose only experience comes from fanfics, so pls be nice,, also written in 1st person bc that was the vibe when i started and i didn't realize this was going to get smutty (i'm sorry yall😭 it's still my best tense)

Summary: As a princess, your future is set in stone. You'll marry someone your father picks for you to aid your country. All of this you've accepted...until you befriend Anakin Skywalker, who was originally assigned to guard you during a time of political unrest on your home planet.

----

He's still near the door, arms crossed and expression as stoic as it was when he first interrupted my meeting to escort me to an urgent consultation with my father.

I understand that publicly we need to remain as indifferent as physically possible and that any sort of friendliness we display needs to seem completely surface level. But we're not in public anymore and usually the transition from appropriate indifference to something much warmer is instant.

"...How urgent is urgent?"

The question is more for our sake than anything else. I want to hear his voice outside of the stiff way he interrupted the meeting with that last suitor. He had barely looked at me as he mumbled something about my father. I want it to feel light the way it usually does between us. I want him to make one of those jokes that always has me rolling my eyes or to smile or--or to do anything that makes him feel like Anakin.

The urge to study him begins to make it hard to just stand there so I turn towards my vanity. What I'm wearing isn't exactly inappropriate for a closed door meeting, but it's more formal than I'd like and a little itchy. If I have time to change into something more standard, I'll take it. "If I call Raina in here I can be in something a lot more comfortable in five minutes."

No response. I smooth my hair back with my palms, eyes subtly shifting towards his reflection in the mirror. Anakin's taken the slightest step forward. "Anakin?"

His head tilts downwards, eyes briefly meeting mine in the mirror before darting away. There's something about the way he's holding himself that would feel bashful it was less stiff. "There is no meeting."

"What?" My head instinctually snaps in his direction. Anakin's already watching me. "You--you made up an emergency?"

This is--Anakin interrupted a meeting with the first suitor that didn't make my skin crawl. I wouldn't have been thrilled to walk down the aisle with him, but I could have likely learned to be content with him. At least he believes that women can do more than just be brides and raise children. He'd allow me to participate in some community work to bond with his people and I'd be able to visit home.

But that's besides the point. He could have been the most repulsive candidate my father had found for me and it still wouldn't have justified what Anakin did. I don't walk out of meetings. Ever. If my father finds out about this...

"Do you have any idea what my father will do if he finds out?" I sit the edge of my vanity's seat with a tired sigh. There has to be some excuse. I could blame it on sickness or a misunderstand or--

"Then I'll take the blame." Anakin's words pull me out of my thoughts. His voice is still stiff and lacking its usual warmth in a way that only adds to my unease. Why is he acting like this? "I'll tell him that it was my fault and that I misunderstood your schedule debriefing."

My fingers dig into the soft fabric of my dress that's pooling over the seat. "Don't." My voice sounds so small, so vulnerable I have to hate myself for it. "He might take that the wrong way and--" I exhale slowly, forcing myself to cling to rationality. "And he might arrange your removal."

Anakin scoffs. What is his issue? "Like that'd bother you."

My throat tightens. After everything we've been through, after telling him things that I've never been able to tell anyone...How can he just dismiss all of it? And why is he being so mean? "What?"

"You've found your ideal suitor and now you can get married and be sent away and never--" Anakin cuts himself off, eyes tearing away so quickly like there's painful about looking at me. "You don't need me anymore."

Oh. That's what this is about. "Anakin." He's staring at some distant point on my wall. "That's not true. You know it isn't."

Everything about him remains stiff. "You were smiling." He briefly glances at me, eyebrows drawn together so sharply it tugs at something in my chest. "A real smile, not your practiced one." Anakin lets out a sigh that feels as pointed as a sarcastic laugh. "And you laughed."

"What?" I'm not miserable in one meeting and now he's acting like I hate him. "I--I might have been making the best of it because he's the first suitor who didn't spend the entire time listing off the requirements for his bride, but that isn't the same as liking him." And even if I liked him, would that be such a terrible thing? Would it really undermine our entire friendship if I found a way to be married and not miserable? "I'm going to have to marry one of them at some point, and I d--"

"Don't marry him." Anakin blurts the sentence out in one wavering breath. The letters run together so closely it feels more like a single word.

For a moment, all the shaky request does is sit between us. I've been on several outings and meetings with potential suitors and Anakin's never reacted like this. What was so wrong about this last one? "Don't marry him? What do--"

Anakin's eyes finally meet mine. The way he's looking at me stings, all glossy eyes and a pouty frown that's trying its best to be harsh. He seems more pained than angry and that's somehow worse.

Don't marry him. The words too strained and small to be about just the man from earlier. Don't marry him means don't marry any of them.

Oh.

I scratch the back of my wrist as Anakin's eyes drop to the ground. He knows that I have no interest in marrying for my father, but even if I did, why would that bother him?

With a sigh, I push myself to stand. Why it upsets him doesn't matter. So much is already weighing on him.

Anakin doesn't look up as I start walking towards him. "I--I can't promise that." My nails dig into the skin of my palm. "I wish I could." The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. "But it doesn't matter." Anakin's rigid as I carefully extend my hand and bend my fingers against his forearm. "You're always going to be important to me."

He pulls his arm forward instinctually. My hold on him loosens, but before I can take my hand back, Anakin adjusts his to squeeze mine. He's holding on just tight enough for it to feel uncomfortable, but I don't mind it. It's grounding.

"Until you're married." He's staring at where our hands sit between us. There's something I should say, something comforting and easing. Nothing's coming to mind. The reality of the situation is set in stone. I'll have to marry eventually and that--that will change things. But it'll never change the way I feel about Anakin.

Anakin, who always listens when I need to purge all of the resentment about the rules that control my life. Anakin, who sits with me when I can't sleep. Anakin, who has the worst sense of humor that can always pull a smile from me even when it feels impossible.

He moves our hands, releasing my hand at my side. The brief loss of contact makes my ribs feel cracked. "No." It's instinctual. "It's--" I reach forward, hand reaching for his arm. "You're the only person I can tell anything to, the only one that never expects anything from me and just--just likes me for who I am."

The realization that Anakin might be the only true friend I've ever had hits me hard and fast. All of that and a part of me has always been selfish enough to imagine what it'd be like to live in a different world that could allow for more. Though, that's barely been a thought that I've allowed myself to have. Neither of us are in a position to get attached to anyone in that way, and even if we were, Anakin wouldn't see me that way. Besides, his friendship is no small thing, so it definitely takes the sting out of the impossible.

"Who wouldn't?" The comment comes out so soft, so absentminded I nearly melt on the spot.

A lifetime of being a daughter instead of a son has a reflexive a lot of people attempting to crawl up my throat. I swallow the bitterness like bile before I can make this about me and settle on a much lighter, "You'd be surprised."

Any lift in his expression falls again. "You don't see it."

I do try to think about it, but nothing that makes sense comes to mind. "See what?" Anakin pauses, lips pressing together. I'm expecting some kind of response. Instead, Anakin shakes his head once dismissively. "Tell me." His lack of response has me gently shoving his shoulder. "I thought we didn't keep secrets."

He lets out a small breath, we're so close I can feel the warmth of it against my skin. "It's nothing." When my only reaction is to glare, he reaches for my hand. "I don't want to talk about them anymore."

Strange. What does whatever he's talking about have to do with what we were talking about? Yes, the suitors want to court me but they want me the same way they want an ornament or my father's leniency in a business deal. Before I can remind him of this, his hand finds my shoulder.

If Anakin notices the way I freeze, he gives no indication of it, he just trails his thumb up and down the start of my collarbone. It's not the first time he's done this, but until now the gesture has been reserved for late nights when I can't sleep. I'm so used to it being soothing that it immediately gets rid of any fight in my system.

"You've had more meetings recently."

I nod, still too focused on the feeling of his hand on my shoulder. "It's a busy time...celebration season is always elaborate, and things are...tense."

He nods. If there's one thing he knows about, it's the precariousness that seems to be reaching everyone these days. But my time with Anakin is limited. He's been assigned to be my personal guard during the celebration season since the year a political protestor took my mother's life. The season always feels like it will be long, but time always slips away quicker than it should when it comes to Anakin.

I know I shouldn't do this. He doesn't need any type of encouragement after what happened at today's meeting, but something's clearly been weighing on him and I do miss him. The additional events, the public outings, the suitors...all to save face as the threat of war continues to become a more pressing issue. "My father had most of my afternoon blocked off in case that last suitor wanted extra time."

Anakin frowns, his thumb stopping its outlined path across my shoulder. He is so dramatic. "I shouldn't be telling you this because it might sound like I approve of you making up an emergency, but if you don't have anything to do, we can catch up."

He tilts his head, a hint of a smile turning up the corner of his lips. "Catch up? We're together all day."

I extend an arm, gently pushing him. First, he basically throws a fit because he convinced himself it was possible for me to like a suitor more than him, and now that I want to do something with him, he's trying to make fun of me. "I mean about before you came here. We've barely had time to talk since you've gotten back."

"Okay," his thumb brushes back down where my collarbone meets my shoulder, "We can talk." He squeezes my shoulder before retracting his hand. "The garden or the library?"

Our two most frequented spots. I grin. "The garden, the weather's nice today." He smiles, taking a step back. "Give me a minute to change. I turn away from him, walking towards my closet. "I've been ready to take off this dress since Raina put me in it this morning."

Raina spent longer than a minute trapping me in between scratchy fabric and a stiffly structured top. All of those ties and buttons that I still can't reach. Ugh. I wonder if calling Raina in will lead to more attention being drawn to the fact that I left early. Technically, the official meeting would likely be over by now but my father wanted it to go well. He kept things open in hopes of it lasting a little longer.

It's probably better not to ask. Drawing any attention to me and Anakin isn't the best idea in general. We're good friends, which is okay in front of some people but wrong in front of others. Raina is a little skeptical. It's nothing personal against Anakin, she just knows me too well, which means she reads into things.

I stretch my arm back as far as it'll go and manage to undo the bottom of the lacing and a few buttons. Anything that's more than halfway up my back is impossible to get to. I twist and turn and push and I can't reach.

"Everything alright?"

Anakin's voice carries through the short hall. I sigh, giving the fabric one last desperate tug. "Everything's fine I just..." I squeeze my eyes shut before pinching the bridge of my nose. "Can you come here?"

A brief wave of silence that leaves my face burning lingers until the sound of footsteps ends it. Anakin appears in my closet's doorway. "You're okay?"

"Yeah," I mumble, "Yes, I just--I can't get the buttons." As if to make my point, I try again in vain, trying again to reach the tiny clasps.

"You need help?" Anakin's voice comes out lower than usual.

Maybe he feels just as awkward about this. "If it'd be easier, you could just call in Raina."

"No," I can hear his weight shifting off the doorframe, "I can do it."

He takes a few steps forward. Before I know it, he's directly behind me. Anakin smooths a hand over my hair before gently moving it over my shoulder. The way heat begins to crawl up my neck makes me glad that my back is to him. His hand settles against my back.

I pull my arms forward, crossing them in front of my chest. He takes over, fingertips grazing against my back. The longer he works, the looser the dress begins to feel. I should be feeling cooler now that I'm getting closer to just being in my thin layering dress, but all of my earlier warmth and discomfort is now rising up my face.

"Raina put you in this this morning?"

I nod, "Raina woke me up earlier than usual today to make me up." The final button is pulled apart. I have to keep an arm at my chest to keep the dress from pooling at my feet. "I think this might have taken longer than my hair."

The comment is meant to be lighthearted. Instead of taking it that way, Anakin lets out a breath as his hand settles against my hip. "Won't things be easier when you don't have to worry about finding a husband?"

Now it's my turn to sigh. I make a point of pulling his hand off my side. I wander further into my closet. "You know I want nothing to do with this." My grip on the dress tightens, my sudden movement making it harder to keep the heavy dress on. "And if you honestly think I find any joy in being packaged in suffocating fabric and bodices so structured that they stab into my ribs every time I breathe, then you don't know me."

I turn around and let go of the dress, allowing the gown to pool at my feet. I step out of the puddle of fabric before reaching for one of my hangers, a casual day dress that I've barely looked at.

"I didn't mean it that way." His voice comes out low, almost reluctant. It's not enough to ease me, so I make a point of scoffing. Something warm pulls on my forearm. Before I know it, I'm facing with him. Oh. Anakin's closer than I thought he'd be. "I'm sorry." He exhales, voice tight, "Don't be mad, princess."

I keep my expression neutral. Though I'm in no mood to be reminded of my title, Anakin has a way of making it feel like a term of endearment. "If you're bothered by my situation, I understand that." He's staring me with such intensity I have to make the conscious choice to not look away. "I really understand that, but do not treat me like this is my choice. Not all of us are meant for more and can do whatever we want."

"Not whatever I want," he whispers, voice strained.

Now it's my turn to wish I had bitten my tongue. Anakin's told me enough of the stories for me to know that while sometimes the fact that he gets to leave and be an active source of good makes me wish my life was different, his isn't exactly easy.

His eyes hold mine for a beat before drifting downwards. For whatever reason, that makes me aware of the fact that this is likely the least dressed I've ever been in front of anyone. Sure, Anakin's seen me in pajamas and casual wear, but the silk dress under my gown is thin and low cut.

"And don't say that this is what you're meant for." He pulls my arm down with his hand, letting his fingers interlock with mine. "I've seen you in meetings and the way that you care about your people. You don't need to do this."

Again, it's like he's trying to convince me to change my mind. Like this is something that I want. I don't understand what he's trying to convince me to do. "Try telling that to my father."

I'm not sure what it is, but something about Anakin's expression looks a little flatter. Maybe even disappointed. I get it, this isn't exactly a fun topic, and we have no reason to dwell on it now. It's not like I'm getting engaged tonight. And I rarely get time to just be around Anakin, my future marriage has already taken enough from me, it doesn't need to take this too.

"Why are we still talking about this?" I pull my hand back, ready to grab my dress. "It's not like anything's happening now, let's just go to the garden like we--"

Anakin reaches forward before I can turn around, his hand finding my shoulder.

"I--" He cuts himself off, "There's been a rise in meetings with potential suitors, it's not as easy to ignore as it used to be."

I know exactly what he's talking about. All of my energy has been focused on not thinking about that. But that's because it's my inevitable future. How could this possibly matter this much to Anakin? "Ignore what?"

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to know what they're feeling? What they're thinking about you?" Anakin's breath catches itself in his throat, his thumb slipping beneath the strap of my dress. "What they're thinking about doing to you?"

Heat rushes to my face. I try to swallow to clear the lump in my throat but my mouth has gone dry. "Anakin?"

"I've spent so long trying to let you go."

What? Is he--is he saying that he-- "What?"

He tilts his head downwards, "You don't need to do this. I--"

"Don't say it." My hand is quick to grab the one he has on my shoulder. Push him away, I should push him away. My hand won't move. The one person I've always known I won't ever be able to have.

"Why not?" He asks the question so innocently, like he couldn't ever fathom a reason for me to shut this down. After a moment, his eyebrows pull together, a small frown playing at his lips. "You don't want me?"

If this was any less serious, that would have made me laugh. That is, most definitely, not the issue. "That's not true."

He relaxes slightly, his thumb trailing down my shoulder. Before I can explain issues that we both are definitely aware of, he leans impossibly closer. His weight on mine is nearly enough to make me forget the concept of logic entirely.

"Anakin," it's meant to be a warning. The breathiness of my voice takes away all of its severity. "We can't." I'm arguing for more my sake than his. He already knows all of the reasons that we need to agree to remain just friends before things get any more complicated. "What I want doesn't matter. Nothing I've wanted has ever mattered." He hasn't moved away, but at least he isn't trying to get any closer. "And even if it did, it's not like we'd suddenly be able to be together."

Anakin's hand adjusts on my shoulder, his grip tightening. He has the audacity to look like he's not sure what I'm talking about. "The Jedi code?" He blinks, still giving no indication of understanding why everything about us is impossible. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you why that matters, chosen one."

He scoffs. "I don't care."

I place my free hand on his chest, willing myself to create some distance between us before my judgement finally lapses. "You can't--you can't say that." My eyes squeeze shut, "I know that it's unfair, but time will pass and you'll feel rational again, and it'll be easier."

"Don't do that." The harsh quality of his voice nearly makes me step back. "Don't treat this like it's a political compromise."

Something about me trying to keep things together the only way I know how is hurting him. I don't know how to get through this without taking the emotion out of it. Still, I don't want to make this harder on him. My hand moves up his chest and rests on his shoulder. "I didn't mean it like that."

He nods slowly, visibly relaxing at my touch, "You're only pushing me away because you're afraid."

"What?"

Anakin's thumb drags across my skin. "You're afraid that if you let yourself even admit that you might want something that your father hasn't decided for you, and that if you're selfish for even a second, your entire world will fall apart."

If it came from anyone else, I'd be offended, but coming from Anakin, it just makes the real reason why I can't just say it and give in hurt more. "That's not it." Anakin doesn't respond. He wants me to say more and I'm not sure that I can. "It's--" What I'm afraid of is that I let myself admit that I want Anakin out loud, I'll have to decide whether or not I want him more than everything I've been working towards my entire life and that I won't like my own answer.

"It's that," I start over, staring at my hand on his shoulder in case looking at him directly will make the confidence I've gathered to wither away. "That if I let myself think about it, about you--like that--for longer than a moment, I might want you more than any of this."

He pauses, likely thinking through his words. Maybe he'll try to promise me that he wouldn't make me choose while not understanding that being with him at all makes that decision for me. Or maybe the amount of care I'm implying will scare him into second guessing this.

His hand slowly moves off of my shoulder. If my deep, dark secret has finally gotten him to understand why we're better off as we are, then maybe it's worth how hard it was to get out.

His fingers settle against my jaw. Slowly, he gets my head to turn. I look at him, expecting some kind of rejection to be written across his face. Instead, all I see in his eyes is a pool of emotion ready for me to drown in. "Would that have to be a bad thing?"

This time, the softness of his question doesn't feel like an attempt to dismiss our reality. It's so genuine it turns into a physical ache between us.

I'm reminded that despite all of his talent, confidence, and sense of humor that I've tried so hard to enjoy less, he's still a boy who's experienced so much heartbreak. The council constantly dismissing him and refusing to grant him the title he deserves, the loss of his mother, all of the expectations on his shoulders...

Would it be such a bad thing to want him more than anything else? To love him more that much?

I tilt my head back, just enough to press my lips against his. Anakin's quick to reciprocate, turning the barely there press of lips into something else with no warning. He shifts his weight so that he's fully against me. My back hits the wall of my closet before I realize what's happening.

It's heavy, my bottom lip being pulled between his teeth. The hand that's not still cupping my jaw settles on my hip, the silk of my slip dress crumpling between his fingers. I pull my head back, Anakin attempts to follow, teeth tugging on my lip one last time before letting us separate.

He doesn't let me get far, resting his forehead against mine as we both struggle to catch our breaths. "I'm sorry, I should have--"

"Don't be sorry," I manage between slow pants, "Not for that."

Anakin smiles, and for once, I don't mind feeding his ego. "I can feel how much you need me." The urge to squirm away and hide any potential embarrassment is strong, but I have no way to act on the impulse. I'm pinned between Anakin and the wall of my closet. He slowly pulls my dress, exposing another inch of skin. "Do you think any of your suitors could make you feel like this?"

I shake my head, "No." That's an easy thing to get out, "Only you."

Another tug that has more fabric pooling around my waist. "Promise you won't marry him." His head dips forward, his lips brushing against the end of my jaw. "Any of them."

My eyes instinctually shut. I need to hold it together. "You--you know I can't just--" He places an open mouthed kiss against my neck. "Anakin."

"Promise." An order.

I exhale, struggling to focus. "It's not--" Another kiss. "It's not f--air." My voice cracks on the last syllable as Anakin moves further down my neck. "You know I'd never break a promise I made to you."

"What's not fair is having to watch you meet with men who look at you and to know that this..." He pulls the strap of my dress off of my shoulder, exposing more skin that he immediately presses his lips against. "Is what they want to do to you."

What? I had never thought that my suitors fantasized about anything, everything about those meetings always feel so cold and political. I'd question it if I could bring myself to care about the revelation with Anakin's teeth pressing into the pulse point of my neck. "To have to watch them look at what's mine."

"Anakin..."

One last shift of fabric and the hem of my dress is now over my hips. His hand leaves my jaw and skims the waist of my underwear. "Promise."

His fingers finally reach where I need him most. My eyes instinctually shut at the sensation, a wave of pleasure I've never felt before nearly making me jump. Noticing my tension, he presses a gentle kiss against my cheek.

I have to give him something, and maybe that'll be enough to at least put this conversation off until I'm in a position to negotiate. "I'm yours." My ability to form sentences is quickly fading as his finger presses into me. "Can't that be enough?" A small part of myself hates how easily I'm cracking. "For now?"

Anakin does the meanest thing imaginable, he stops. "Promise me."

A pathetically desperate whine escapes me. He can't be serious. He won't walk away now just because I can't immediately promise to never marry anyone.

He straightens enough to pull away from the crook of my neck. "Anakin." I meet his gaze, and behind the harshness of his eyes, I see that he means it. "You know I--I can't--"

"We can work it out." That genuine side of him returns, softness bleeding back into his expression. "All that matters is that you want to."

"Of course I want to."

He leans forward again, forehead pressing against mine, "Then promise me..." Anakin's eyes briefly shut, "Promise me you won't marry anyone else."

I let myself take him in, how it feels to let him consume me entirely. It's too late for me, anyway. I wouldn't be able to will myself to walk down the aisle the same way I couldn't force myself to push him away. "I promise."

His lips are on mine in an instant. When I don't part my lips fast enough, he hooks two fingers between the waistband of my underwear and tugs them down my legs in one, swift motion. I gasp, giving him all the access he needs to drag his tongue against mine.

He moves back, beginning to press his lips against my jaw. "Anakin."

"Say it again." His fingers find the spot that makes me see stars. "Promise me that you're mine."

A whiny breath slips past my lips, "I promise." His teeth drag against my throat and my nails instinctually dig into his shoulder, "Only you."

A rough sound escapes from the back of Anakin's throat. He removes a hand from my hip to adjust his own robes. I'm too distracted to realize what he's doing until it's obvious. "Again."

I reach my hand forward until my fingers are wrapping around his length. "Only you, Anakin." He groans. "I--I won't marry anyone else." Anakin places his hand over mine, guiding my hand up and down his length. "I'm yours."

He buries his face in the crook of my neck, "Maker, you're--" The rest of the sentence is murmured into my skin at a pitch that I can't make out.

His fingers press into me even harder. "Anakin," my whininess would be embarrassing if I wasn't so distracted by the coiling feeling in my stomach, "I--I--"

"Tell me," he lifts his head enough to speak the words into my ears, "Tell me that you want me."

My eyes screw shut, "I--It's more than want." It feels like a confession. "I need you."

Another strangled breath escapes him. Anakin pulls away enough to line himself against my entrance. He presses in slowly, the feeling in my stomach reaches a height I didn't think possible. "Anakin."

"You're so," he's getting the words out through gritted teeth, "Tight." Anakin pushes in even more. A gasp escapes me. "Say it again." I'm too lost in what I'm feeling to form the words. He pulls back before pushing his entire length in with no warning. Anakin shows no reaction to the pitchy whine he forced out of me. "Again."

"It's--it's only--you," I pant. "I won't marry any-one else--just--just please, Anakin."

His thumb presses against where my nerves are at their most on edge. I can't breathe or focus on anything. "Please what?"

"I need you."

He rubs tight circles against me and picks up the pace. My head falls against his shoulder, eyes squeezing tight. "Look at me." I--I can't keep my head up. Anakin's hand tugs at my hair, forcing me off of his shoulder. "Look at me."

I force my eyes open. "Anakin."

"Feel good, hm?" All I can do is nod. "Can't even talk anymore?" His lips find their way against my jaw. "What would all your suitors say if they could see how easy it was for me to get you like this?" His lips find a spot on my neck that leaves me dizzy. "First breaking all the rules and now you can't even talk." It's hard to focus on anything that isn't how he feels. "Who has you like this?"

I take a shaky breath, "You, Anakin." My voice is shaky, "Only you."

His lips press against mine. Hard. I give in entirely and it's all teeth and wanting a closer that doesn't exist. He pulls away just as quickly, "I've got you, princess," he exhales, "come for me."

My body knows what to do more than I do. I cling onto him. Anakin's thrusts become less even without losing speed. He continues until an all consuming pleasure has my body practically shaking. My orgasm hits so fast and hard I can barely hold myself upright.

"Oh, you're squee--" Anakin cuts himself off, pulling out before he can finish inside me. "Maker, you're perfect."

After it ends, I expect to be filled with some kind of regret or remorse. Instead, all I feel is a sense of peace as I recover with my forehead pressed into Anakin's chest. He keeps his arm around me loosely. "It's just you and me, princess."

I nod against him weakly, desperate to accept what he's saying. "Just you and me."

He smooths circles against my back. "We'll figure it out together."

It's not an easy thing to believe, but trusting Anakin is natural. I finally lift my head to look at him, "We have time." I don't know how much time, but it's definitely not happening today, and if I can push this until our political crisis becomes the ultimate concern, my father won't bring it up until this is resolved. Maybe if I prove myself as a leader, he'll see that I can be more. "I'm tired."

He smiles lazily, "You're saying I tired you out?" I roll my eyes. "Come on, we have some time before you have to meet with your advisors." Anakin squeezes my shoulder, thumb soothingly tracing a pattern against my collarbone. "Stay with me?"

I have to bite my tongue to keep a much too emotional always from coming out, so I just nod. He takes my hand and leads me into my bedroom. Anakin helps me into bed before laying next to me.

Drowsiness pulls at my eyelids. I fight against the exhaustion as best as I can, but Anakin's gentle touches and whispered terms of endearment aren't making it easier.

"You can sleep," he finally whispers, "I'll make sure you're awake with enough time to get ready for your next meeting."

It's tempting, but after all of this, all I want is to be near him and to--to talk to him and absorb his presence before I can't. "But--"

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, reading my hesitance easily, "We have time."

My eyes are already closed, "Promise?"

Anakin's head dips forward as he presses a chaste kiss against my temple. "I promise."

[mycatmoo]

Y'know. I've been thinking about that au @mari-lair talked about where vaugarde was the country that was forgotten and not the island and just. Thinking about the wider implications for the world? Cause like. The island didn't seem to have had much effect on the world. But vaugarde was an entire country. So there would have been trade routes and politics and all that jazz going on that would just. Disappear. And like, referencing the map on the wiki, there's 3 nearby countries that could witness vaugarde disappearing, poteria, mwudu, and the country south of vaugarde. Those are 3 countries that could have really felt vaugarde's disappearance. There was probably a lot of information that was lost in those countries, and a lot people in those countries likely had friends and family in vaugarde that they just forgot about. Like the implications of vaugarde disappearing would have wider consequences for the world than one island

This post got long so I'm putting a read more here

Also like. The question of what happened the vaugarde is of wider importance now? Vaugarde was in the middle of 3 countries and an island after all. Is vaugarde like, this big inhospitable wasteland that as far as everyone can remember was *always* like that? How do people feel about that? Are there people that wants to try to make the area habitable? Or people that try to adventure into the area, to test their craft skills or for the sake of adventure or anything? Considering that in isat people knew the island existed but can't remember anything about it, they just knew something happened to it, do people in this world go "Oh yea the country east of heeeeere... wait, what? What am I talking about?" Or is it like everyone knew there was another country everyone forgot but never thought that the inhospitable area is that country? How much of vaugarde is still in this area, but is inaccessible for one reason or another? My thought is that a reason it's inhospitable is that it seems like there's a never ending stream of sadnessese there, but they never seem to cross the borders into other countries, they just stay in vaugarde

Another option though is that the area vaugarde was in just turned into the ocean. I don't have as many thoughts for this idea, I just have one main joke idea. Because there is definitely at least one town in poteria or the country south of vaugarde that didn't have any type of port or dock because. Why would they? They're landlocked. Boats are useless to them. But then one day some person is just standing by the ocean, staring out at, and goes.

"...wait. can't we fish? Why don't we fish? Why dont we have a dock? Wait can we get merchants and sailors here?"

And like. Rip vaugarde but some small town is about to become a major trading hub between the 3 remaining countries and an island. This makes me wonder how much of vaugarde is still around. Like did vaugarde sink into the ocean and you can see the remains of the country that once existed here if you have the means? Does vaugarde become this world's version of Atlantis? If vaugarde becomes this world's version of Atlantis does people use it as some type of cautionary tale? Or did vaugarde just completely disappear, and take everything in the area vaugarde once was with it? Wow so much for "I don't have a lot of thoughts" for this option

But yea. I just- I think the implications of vaugarde disappearing is interesting. And yea that's my essay

[acinnamongirlsdiary]

𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓕𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓡𝓲𝓫𝓫𝓸𝓷𝓼-𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 1: 𝓢𝓪𝓭 𝓖𝓲𝓻𝓵 𝓫𝔂 𝓛𝓓𝓡

Summary: Reader and Jacaerys are arranged to be wed. But reader doesn’t want that bc she hardly remembers him. Tension are rising with house Lannister so allies are more important then ever.

Cw: Slowburn, angst, this is genuinely just a fix-it fic, Rhaenicent, some mentions of s/a trauma but will be tagged in the chapters!!, mean dad, eventual smut but will tag in chapters, readers super apprehensive, VERY self indulgent

Pls be nice this is my first fic lol!! Feedback is very welcome tho! Banner creds to- @gwzzzly

.˳⁺⁎˚ ꒰ఎ ★ ໒꒱ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

You were sure your father would be the death of you. One of the most powerful and influential lords of Westeros forcing his youngest daughter to marry Queen Rhaenrya’s eldest son, Jacaerys Valeryon.

Knowing him since you were kids claimed your beating heart just a little. The thought still scared you. The idea of a loveless, political marriage was terrifying. Especially with a man you haven’t seen in 7 years.

“We’re almost to Kings landing, My Lady.” Your maid and friend, Abby, said. “Are you excited? I remember when we were younger you were so in love with him and the idea of becoming queen.”

She was right. The idea of Jacaerys and being queen was enticing, but your father’s words were causing a little apprehension to say the least.

“I don’t know.” You spoke softly, as though you were trying not to wake a bear, “I remember him being kind, but it’s been so long. What if he’s changed? What if he’s become as power hungry like most other men.”

“I choose to believe Rhaenrya would rather die then let that happen.” Abby said. She was amazing to have around. So kind an positive even when you would start to spiral.

“I’m hoping for my sake he’s understanding. I’m so nervous I don’t know how I’ll react when I see him.” You said poking out the window. The foliage and mountains were so beautiful, covered with fog ready to claim travelers.

It reminded you of simpler, softer times.

.˳⁺⁎˚ ꒰ఎ ★ ໒꒱ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

Getting out of the carriage and up the steps to the throne room were grueling. Your father reminding you to speak kindly and be as open as possible was stressing you out and causing you to shut down even more. He could be kind, your father as you siblings loved to remind you, but he was nothing if not arrogant through and through.

The throne room was vast but smaller than you remember. Running through it and poking your finger on the swords of the iron throne (which was just as intimidating as before). Rhaenyra and Alicent smiled at you.

“Hello sweet girl” Alicent said, pulling you into a warm hug. “It’s been so long you’re so much older!” She smiled.

“Queen Alicent! I’ve missed you!” You exclaimed wrapping your arms around her. You didn’t expect to see Jacaerys right away asking the queens where he was.

“Oh Jace is on the beach with Luke training.” Rhaenyra stated. Her warm gaze on you felt nostalgic. “Heleana will show you your room and perhaps you two can take a walk to show you around.”

.˳⁺⁎˚ ꒰ఎ ★ ໒꒱ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

As you walked with Heleana, your anxiety started to lower. She spoke about how kind Jacaerys was, how much you’ll like it here and how excited he was to see you again.

“He’ll be at the feast tonight. It’s all he’s spoken to Rhaenrya about for the past couple of days!” She giggled.

“Really? I didn’t expect him to be so happy.” The thought of a man so happy to see you after so long felt you with warmth.

“Oh yes. He’s gotten bigger than he was before.” She giggled “I’m sure he’ll be able to twirl you around whilst you two dance the night away!” She let go of your hand and started to spin, while looking dreamily to the sky.

.˳⁺⁎˚ ꒰ఎ ★ ໒꒱ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

Your nerves eased through the day, talking and having tea and picking out dresses with Abby and Heleana.

“That one will bring him to his knees.” Abby giggle, referring to a beautiful pink gown with shirt sleeves and little ruffles on the bodice. You twirl thinking of dancing with Jacaerys. His arms around you as if you were the only people in the world.

“Did you hear what Lady Carrie said?” Abby spoke as she massaged shampoo through your hair. “She was speaking to one of the Tyrell boys and how she planned to dance with him.” You gasp. The idea of Lady Carrie and him was odd. Especially with how rough he looked. “I don’t think he deserves her though.”

The night went on with gossip and preparing for the grand meal. You tried to pay attention but ever mention of Jacaerys made you both freeze up and go stiff but also become excited in ways you could hardly contain. The idea of him and you being bound together scared you. But you’re hair tied up and flowers woven through out, your makeup in light pink shades and in your beautiful pink dress, you knew you at least looked your best.

Walking into the dining room all eyes were on you. Especially Jacaerys’.

.˳⁺⁎˚ ꒰ఎ ★ ໒꒱ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

Sorry if this is so short! The future chapters will be longer but I just wanted to get this one out!

[intimidating-fettuccine]

I know I don’t usually get political on here, but with recent events happening I wanted to make a post to reach as many people as I can, as a young woman in the US in this current political climate. Everyone needs to vote.

“But what if I don’t want to register because I don’t want jury duty?”

There is no guarantee you would ever be called for jury duty. I have met people in their 80s who have never been called. Even if you are called, if you tell the judges that you will be an awful juror, you won’t pay attention, you’re incredibly biased, etc. they will dismiss you. They do not want someone on the jury that would be an inconvenience to both sides. As someone who has been called but was not chosen, it is not as big of a deal as you might think it is in the grand scheme of things, and at least in my state you can only even be called once every two years. Plus, certain conditions can disqualify you from even having to show up as well.

“But what if I don’t like the democratic representative either?”

That literally does not matter in this actually life and death case, because the other choice is Donald Trump and Project 2025. If you do any research into project 2025, which no, is not just empty promises they’re trying to make, it is a plan built mostly around removing the rights of women, LGBT members, and deconstructing public education. It is a very scary document and it is one they will 100% go forward with if Trump is put into office. Whether Kamala ends up as the representative for the party or someone else does, you MUST vote blue.

“Well, why can’t we all just vote independent?”

Because they will not win. They won’t. Independents are not even always put on every bracket in every state, but even if they were there is no way that they would win the upcoming election because none of them have a big enough audience at present moment. They need time to build an audience, and they need a Blue country to be able to do so. Plus, we have the electoral college to worry about, and there’s no way in hell any of them are voting independent. In this election it is Blue or Red, and Blue is the much better choice.

“But I don’t think that Blue is going to win, so I don’t even want to bother with voting.”

That is the exact line of thinking Trump wants you to have. Trump is scared of losing! He wants you to think he’s the only winner possible, and that’s why we need to prove him wrong! Not voting at all is still a vote for Trump! We need to show up and vote, because otherwise you are just automatically saying you’re fine with letting Trump win, which is saying you’re fine with losing your own rights or your friends and your family losing their own rights. This election is not a joke this time, we cannot just let it slide this time and assume it’ll be different in four years.

“But politics stress me out and make me anxious so I don’t want to get involved in them.”/“I don’t live close enough to reach my polling station.”

That is the same as the previous one. I know this is an extremely stressful time for everyone, believe me, I’m extremely anxious about it too, but you just need to vote Blue, and show up on one specific day to vote. If you’re too anxious to physically go to polling station or you don’t live close enough, you can also do a mail in ballot, which I’ve done before! You can request one online, receive it in the mail, and send it out! No contact with any other people required. Mail in ballots are still an option and literally made for people who cannot physically show up to a polling station.

“I know all of that’s true, but again, I REALLY hate the Blue candidate.”

Well, consider this. We are not just voting for the president, we are voting for Supreme Court members. Presidents serve as of right now up to 8 years, but Supreme Court justices serve for life. Trump put on the last Supreme Court members, and I’m sure you’ve seen the horrible choices they’ve made in the sake of the Republican Party. The president is the one who chooses those members, so if you allow a Red President, you are allowing the possibility of an even more Red Supreme Court. Vote Blue not just because you are voting for the president, but because you are voting for the sake of your literal future with Supreme Court justices. Politicians have historically always sucked. When it comes to voting, it is the lesser of two evils, and when you’re picking between them, Blue is obviously the lesser of the two evils, especially when Red wants to remove as many rights as physically possible.

“What if Trump also gets removed from the running. Won’t we be okay then?”

No! Because it does not matter who the Red representative is, they are STILL going to move forward with Project 2025. Even if Trump somehow keels over and dies tomorrow or decides to drop out (which I doubt will happen), they would still make the next representative go through with Project 2025. They want this plan more than anything else in the world, and so long as there’s a possibility of a republican representative going into office there is a guarantee of them using that plan.

“But what if Project 2025 really IS just empty promises?”

It is not. I guarantee you it is not. Even if it was, do you REALLY want to take the risk? Do you REALLY want to try and play this game? When the rights of women, LGBT members, public education, and the environment are at risk, do you really want to just assume it’s not going to happen? Is it really worth it to you to play this game and assume so? I’m going to guess it is not, in fact, worth it to play this game. You NEED to fully believe that Project 2025 is actually going to happen, because it is going to happen if they win. This isn’t a fever dream we’re going to wake up from and laugh about if they win. It’s the reality of the current shithole country we live in, and this country could become far, far worse if they win.

Even if you do not live in the US, I am just asking of you to please consider reblogging this and spreading it, as there are probably Americans that will see if if you do so. If you’re even still too young to vote, people that are old enough are likely to see it. I know I’m not a huge blog, but reblogs are always important and I still want to try.

As a woman and LGBT member who does not want to lose her rights, I am asking for you to please read and spread this post. Even if I can just reach one person who will care, it can be a great help. They do not want us to unionize and vote against them, but that is exactly what we must do. Regardless of how you feel about the Blue party, you have to vote for them this year, it’s the only thing we can do.