#I like this one because it doesn't look overcrowded

[vengeancemoths]

ok. yay! let's talk about jason todd autopsy scars.

WARNING: pretty thorough description of an autopsy ahead. if you don't like cut up bodies this one isn't for you.

prefacing this by saying i am not in any way a field expert in any of this, just a guy with really morbid autism and a pretty objectively concerning collection of nonfiction on the subject. i may be wrong about things! i did not crack open the books for my stupid little tumblr post (this time). people with actual experience feel free to correct me.

if jason had had a thorough autopsy performed on him, he would not come back to life* and also probably bruce wayne would go to jail.

*or at least come back with scars from it. more on that later!

if an autopsy was performed it would have to be by someone who knew about batman because robin's scars are pretty difficult to explain. it would be pretty easy to bypass an official autopsy, jason was blown up, his cause of death is not exactly a mystery.

bruce wayne might be the kind of guy who's so obsessive he needs to know exactly which event actually killed jason (if the crowbar killed him, batman couldn't have gotten there in time. if the smoke killed him....). but maybe he also wouldn't want to know for the same reason.

the most important thing is that we know jason had massive head trauma. if you were trying to figure out which of the many terrible things that happened to him was the one that killed him, you'd want to take a look at the brain.

and guys, i don't know if you know this, but the brain only holds its shape because it's inside your skull. the human brain is the consistency of silken tofu. once it's out of your head, it's not going back in.

this is inconvenient for coroners, so they'll probably spend several days soaking jason's brain in a chemical concoction designed to make it firm up. once they do that, it's time to dissect it.

but the fun doesn't end there! once they're done, if they don't just dispose of the brain separately, they're still not going to go through the trouble if wrangling it back into jason's cranium (now open on top, like an egg cup). it goes in the organ bag!

did i forget to mention the organ bag? look, they're not going to put all of his wet organs back into his chest cavity. he's already rapidly decaying. if bruce wayne gets his son back and he's leaking there'll be hell to pay.

so all the organs, which at this point have also been cut into little pieces to study, get jumbled together in a plastic bag. that they do stick back into the kind of gaping hole that the organs vacated. then they stick the ribs back in place (they were sawed off, at the beginning, to gain entry to the organs).

and honestly? without the brain in the mix i can almost believe it. i guess if jason had a really shitty autopsy courtesy of gotham's overcrowded underfunded mortuary? i mean more people who write jason resurrection fic should have to think about the organ bag, and what happens to it. would it just sort of glorp out of him while his organs wiggle themselves back into place? one day i will write my funeral industry accurate jason todd resurrection fic and it will make everyone sad and uncomfortable.

but i guess my thesis statement is that i think it would be really hard to come back to life if your brain was in 7-14 pieces inside a plastic bag where your stomach used to be.

the most likely way for the resurrection to work, in that case, would be to restore his body to its state directly before death, which does unfortunately predate his autopsy.

so what this post is saying is that jason probably wouldn't have had an autopsy, but even if he did, he wouldn't have the scars to show for it.

now, the idea that they're vivisection scars and ra's al ghul was poking around in there? i like that a lot

[picspammer]

"Eyes are the windows to the soul" Eyes in music videos: Part IV (part I, II, III)

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

------

+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

------

Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[starryeyedjanai]

Steve and Eddie meet through their local buy-nothing-sell-nothing group when Steve’s getting ready to move in with Robin and he realizes he can't keep everything he owns while trying to merge households with her.

The first time they meet, Steve hadn't even been meaning to actually meet the person picking up the free toaster oven he’s giving away.

He’s setting his toaster oven outside his house on the porch when Eddie hops out of his van to pick it up and it would be rude to duck back inside without saying anything since he obviously sees him coming up, so they make small talk for a minute and Steve has to keep his eyeballs in check because they keep wanting to rake all the way down this guy’s body.

He’s covered in tattoos and so extremely Steve's type, but he knows better than to hit on someone who lives in his neighborhood and is not here for that reason.

He laments to Robin about it the next day, about the hot guy who’s probably using Steve's toaster oven as they speak, who he’ll probably never see again.

Robin rolls her eyes fondly at him and tells him that maybe if he puts more stuff up for grabs on the facebook group, he might see him again, but Steve suspects she just wants him to get rid of more of his stuff so it doesn't overcrowd their new apartment.

The set of items he puts up in the group next is an old blender and a butcher block that has three of the knives missing—seriously where did those knives go? He has yet to find them.

He tries to pretend he isn't secretly hoping Eddie will comment under his post that he wants the items, but he isn't fooling himself when his heart literally skips a beat when the first comment is from Eddie. He messages him and tells him to stop by later that day.

When Eddie shows up, they talk for longer than last time, Eddie asking why Steve needs to get rid of so much stuff and Steve asking why Eddie needs all this stuff—especially considering Steve snooped through the group and saw that Eddie joined over a year ago and hadn't once commented before now (he doesn't mention that thought, but he is thinking it real hard).

Eddie laughs and says he was in the market for a toaster oven when Steve posted one and wouldn't you know it? He also needs a blender—the knife set is just a bonus, he says.

Steve tries not to read too much into it, but his brain is spinning the interaction around in his head for the next week.

He puts up a space heater in the group and within minutes, Eddie has claimed it.

“I should just get your number and text you directly when I find something I want to get rid of next time,” Steve says flippantly when Eddie comes by to grab it that night. “Instead of clogging up the facebook group.”

Eddie smirks at him and steps a little closer. He says, “Maybe you should.”

His neighbor’s car alarm decides to go off right at that moment, ruining the flirty atmosphere with its incessant shrill. They can barely hear each other over the drone of it, so Eddie leaves without giving Steve his number and Steve is left feeling like he keeps having these missed connection moments with Eddie.

In a fit of desperation to see Eddie again, Steve puts up a bunch of random stuff in the group the next day—a shoe rack that’s missing a piece, a step stool, a cheap side table he got from Ikea—and Eddie is still the first person to comment like he’s been refreshing the page, just waiting for Steve to post.

“I left without giving you my number last time and I didn't want to be creepy and message you unprompted,” Eddie says as they load the side table into his van. “I think I was overthinking things and then got kind of spooked.”

“It doesn't look like anything could spook you,” Steve says.

When they get the side table inside the back of the van, Eddie turns to him and admits, “A very pretty boy could.”

Steve can feel his face getting hot. “You think I’m pretty?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Why do you think I keep coming here? There's no way a person who’s lived here for as long as I have would need all this stuff.”

“Did you need any of it?” Steve asks in a teasing voice. “Or were you just so blown away by how cute my profile picture is that you just had to meet me?”

“Oh, I needed the toaster oven, but everything after that was just to see you again,” Eddie says before biting his lip.

There’s an entire swarm of butterflies in his stomach when Eddie's hand brushes his, when Steve takes Eddie's hand in his and leads him inside his box-filled house.

Later, when they’re making out on Steve's couch—when Steve really should still be packing since he has to move in less than a week—he pulls back to ask, “Wait, so are you gonna put the rest of the stuff you don't need back up for grabs in the group? I feel like that would start so much neighborhood gossip.”

Eddie grins wide and Steve wants to kiss him again, wants to feel his smile against his mouth.

“Oh, we’ll be the talk of the town, baby,” Eddie says, pulling him back in.

[xothatnerdykid]

guilty as sin

You're a dedicated nurse who loves their job even when it means taking care of stubborn, battle-worn pro-heroes (or maybe especially then). Aizawa Shouta x gn!reader. Set between S6 & S7. Fluff, slight angst with comfort. SFW, 2k words.

The sterile scent of antiseptic fills the air as you walk down the pristine white hallways of Central Hospital. The raid against the Paranormal Liberation Front had left the medical facility overcrowded, understaffed, and bustling with activity. You yourself had been working tirelessly for the last 24 hours straight to care for the numerous injured heroes and civilians. 

Exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders, your feet dragging slightly with each step. Your shift was supposed to have ended hours ago, and you were more than ready to clock out and get some much-needed rest. However, there was just one patient left to see.

You knock at the door. 

"Good morning," you greet the man lying down on the bed. You don't have the strength to muster a smile, but that's okay. He doesn't seem to either. 

Instead, he gives you a familiar nod. "Good morning."

He was a brooding, reserved man of a few words. With dark hair and even darker eyes - well, eye, the other being wrapped in bandages - he looked more tired than you some days. You can't fault him for that though. You knew he had been at the front lines of the battle that day and had paid a heavy price for it. 

He sits up as you come closer, approaching his bedside. The room is quiet, save for the soft beeping of the machines monitoring his vitals.

"How are you feeling today?"

He shrugs. "I've been better. I've been worse."

"I can see that," you nod, noting the way his complexion is less pale and his hair less unruly today compared to the past week. You open the blinds for him, warm light streaming into the dim room. “More sunlight ought to be good for you.”

“Mhm,” is all he says, blinking up at the bright, blue sky out the window. 

You take that as your cue to go about your usual tasks silently, adjusting his IV, checking his bandages, writing down his vitals. 

Then, out of the blue, he says, “You’ve been working long hours lately. You should get some rest.” 

"Believe me, I will. Just as soon as you're taken care of first."

"I'm fine,” he responds in a clipped, dismissive tone of voice.

“Fine or not, it's my job to make sure you’re comfortable and healing properly. You went through a lot, losing an eye and a leg. Frankly, I’m not sure we should go through with discharging you tomorrow.”

He heaves a tired sigh, “Like I said, I’ve been better, but I’ve been worse, too.” 

Frowning, you sit down on the bedside chair and take a moment to look at him. Despite his stoic facade, you can see the toll all those years of being a hero have taken on him, especially the past few weeks. The dark circles under his remaining eye, the weary lines and scars etched into his face. The worried, pained look that lingers even when he's trying to relax. 

"You know, it's okay to admit that you're not feeling great. From what I've been told, it seems like you've been through hell and back."

He shrugs again, leaning back against the pillows with a wince that he tries to hide. "It comes with the job. If anyone deserves your concern, it's my students."

“It must be hard, seeing them fight in a war. They’re just children, after all.”

He nods grimly, his mouth a tight line. "And because of this—" he touches the bandages covering his eye "—my quirk is pretty much useless now, especially on the villains we’re up against.”

He doesn't say it, but you can hear it in the tightness of his voice, his clenched jaw, his hands fisting the bedsheet. You know what he really means: “I'm useless now."

You want to reach out to touch him, maybe place your hand atop his, but you're not sure if he'd welcome such a gesture, especially from someone he's only known for a short time. You settle for a few sympathetic words instead, folding your hands in your lap. 

"Aizawa-san, do you honestly think your quirk is the only thing that makes you a hero? You've done so much for your students, for so many people. You're a mentor and a role model to these kids. I'm sure they trust and look up to you more because of this, not less.”

He looks at you for a long moment, that same unreadable expression on his face.

"I appreciate that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t protect them the way I used to."

"Maybe not, but even without your quirk, you have your experience, your wisdom, and a heart that cares deeply for them. That's more than enough."

Instead of responding, he stares silently up at the ceiling. You don't push him, resigning to let the moment simply stretch out. After all, this is the most you've ever talked to him the whole week.

As he gets lost in his thoughts, you find yourself mentally tracing the contours of his face, where the sunlight bathes his skin in a soft, warm glow. It accentuates the strong lines of his jaw, his nose. Softens the look in his dark eyes. 

You take a quiet breath, surprised by the fluttering sensation in your chest. It's an odd time and place to notice something like this, but you can’t deny there's a certain rugged handsomeness to him.

You shift your weight, feeling a little self-conscious about your own thoughts. It’s unprofessional, you chide yourself, to think of a patient this way. But the inexplicable attraction you feel for the man before you is unmistakeable.

Aizawa turns slightly, catching you off guard as his eyes meet yours. When he finally speaks again, his voice is softer, almost contemplative. 

“It's strange. There was a time in my life when I wouldn't have cared what happened to me in the line of duty, whether I lived or died. But now...I want to live for those kids. My kids.”

You manage a wobbly smile even as your heart aches at his words. "Your students are lucky to have someone who cares about them so much."

“You remind me of them a little bit.” He lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling softly in the quiet room. “Determined, stubborn, always insisting on helping.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

The corner of his lips quirk up, and the realization that he might actually be teasing you sends your heart aflutter. 

“Mostly good,” he murmurs. “A little bit troublesome for me though.”

“Yeah?” You bite back a smirk. “You’ve been a bit troublesome for me, too, you know.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the pillows. “Is that so? And how do you propose I make it up to you, then?”

Maybe it’s the huskiness of his voice, the quiet intensity of his gaze, or the faint smile tugging at his lips, but something about him in this moment makes your stomach freefall. And you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss him, passionately and spontaneously, as if afraid to see sense. 

You know you shouldn't indulge this, should put a stop to this train of thought before it gains too much momentum. You’re thankful you manage to keep your voice steady despite the rush of blood pounding in your ears. 

“Well, Aizawa-san, you could start by taking me out to dinner. Dealing with a patient as stubborn as you has its price, you know.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you wonder if you’ve made a terrible mistake. But then his gaze flickers down to your lips before meeting your eyes again, and you feel your breath hitch. He tilts his head, his expression thoughtful yet guarded, as if trying to read between the lines of your playfulness.

“I suppose,” he concedes softly. “But you might find that I’m not as interesting as you think, Y/N. I’m just a man who cares about the people in his life and does what he can to protect them.”

"That's exactly what I like about you.” Your voice drops to a whisper, your hand lightly brushing against his.

He groans softly, and you feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the sound. He rubs his hand down his face, seemingly weighing his options. 

It’s not too late, you assure yourself in a rush of anxious thoughts. You haven’t crossed any lines you can’t go back on, haven’t overstepped the delicate boundary between patient and nurse, between flirtation and something more. 

“Will you let me kiss you at the end of the date?”

Oh.

The line is a dot now.

You swallow hard and — heart pounding in your chest, everything else spinning dizzyingly out of focus — you rush forward to close the distance between you, pressing your lips urgently against his. 

The spark you felt before intensifies into an electrifying current now, racing down your spine as he tangles one hand in your hair and another holds you by the nape. He tilts your head back to kiss you deeper, his lips hungrily exploring yours, and you feel drunk on the pleasure of his touch, the intoxicating scent of his skin and his aftershave.

The softness of his lips contrasts with the roughness of his stubble, sending shivers of delight coursing through you. His mouth is warm and inviting, and you lose yourself in the sensation of his kiss, the way he breathes you in, the quiet sighs of pleasure that escape both of you. 

Your mind spins with the realization of how much you’ve wanted this and how many ill-advised daydreams you’ve had of him these past few weeks. When you finally break apart for air, you keep your forehead pressed against his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. The sound of your blood rushing in your ears drowns out the rhythmic beeping of the machines around you, and for a moment, the world feels narrowed down to just the two of you.

“I-I’m sorry,” Your breath comes in ragged gasps. Your fingers gingerly touch your lips, which are pursed in surprise. “That was reckless of me. I shouldn’t have.”

Aizawa blinks at you, his dark eyes wide and dazed, like he’s trying to process what just happened. He licks his lips, a gesture that sends a fresh wave of warmth through your body.

“Do you…” His voice is husky, tinged with uncertainty. “Do you regret it?”

“No, of course not,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “I only regret not doing it at a better time.”

His eyes widen slightly in surprise before softening, the tension in his shoulders seemingly melting away. 

"Good," he murmurs, reaching for you, his thumb cradling your jaw and tracing small, soothing circles on your skin. “Because I’d like to do it again—”

He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek.

“And again—”

He brushes his lips teasingly against yours, feather-light and promising of more.

“And again.”

The admission sends a thrill through you, a rush of joy and excitement that makes your pulse quicken. "All the more reason to look forward to dinner, I suppose. After you get better, that is."

He chuckles softly. "Shouldn't be a problem, seeing as how I have an excellent nurse taking care of me."

"Mmmhm. Speaking of, is there anything else I can do to make you…more comfortable before I leave?” You can't help but ask, a playful lilt in your voice.

He captures your lips in a delicate kiss, so sweet and tender, like a dream barely skimming the surface of reality. You've finally calmed down enough to hear the sound of his heart rising, betrayed by the loudening beep of the machine. His hand trails down your arm and he laces his fingers with yours, smiling against your lips. 

“I can think of a few things.”

[allllium]

andrewgarfield!peterparker x reader where reader has the biggest crush on peter but doesn't know he's spiderman? angst to fluff please!

have lovely day/night <3

Unrequited (I've always loved you)

~ Sorry this took so long and it's a lot longer than I usually write but I love how it turned out <3

~ Fluff, hurt/comfort?, Angst, WC: 2,274

~ Your best friend has a secret

Being in love sucks. Being in love with someone that's not in love with you sucks even more. But that's fine. Everything's fine. Nothing can go wrong when you're in love with your best friend.

Peter looks over at you as you repeatedly tap your pencil against your notebook, very obviously not doing the homework. You're sitting on his bed while he's across from you at his desk. Ignoring the tap from your pencil, you look around his room, lost in random thoughts, well thoughts mostly of him.

"You alright?" He asks, soft voice coming from a few feet away.

"Ugh, just bored." You slightly whine. Standing from the bed to look more around his nerdy room. All the walls are covered with different things that you don't really understand.

He just nods and returns to his work. You admire him from your stance behind him. The way his fluffy hair falls softly in front of his face or the way he's dressed so casually but still looks so good. You don't understand how one person can be so perfect. Not to mention the way he's stronger than he looks, allowing him to maintain his lanky figure that fits him so well.

Out of your boredom you start rummaging through all the stuff he has lying on his bookshelf, which leads to opening all the drawers you can find. You continuously look over at him to see if he has a problem with what you're doing but he makes no move to stop you even as he watches what you're doing.

As you're digging around you eventually reach his closet, you're a little hesitant because you don't wanna press your luck too far but what are best friends if not nosy. His closet is small and way overcrowded with clothes you swear he's never worn. You wouldn't doubt that his aunt tried to sneak them in to help him fit in more.

Something catches your eye as you go to shut the door. You wouldn't think anything of it but the red color of it deeply contrasts the rest of the closet. It looks like fabric but it's not hanging up with the rest of his clothes. Instead it's in a box on the floor, only a piece of it visible as if he rushed to put it away.

Peter shoots out of his chair when you bend down towards the box. He grabs your arm and pulls you away so he can quickly shut the door.

"What was that?" You ask in suspicion. Peter's reaction is one you haven't seen from him before.

"Nothing." He tells you, a serious look falling over his face. He pushes you a little further so he can stand between you and the door.

"Peter, c'mon." You deadpan. All the embarrassing things it could possibly be run through your head. Nothing you think of would warrant this much of a reaction.

"No. Leave it alone." He doesn't exactly snap at you but it's definitely on the line of it.

"Okay then. I'll go now." You tell him quickly. You gather up your stuff and look at him one more time before leaving, his gaze is focused on the floor in front of him. Shaking your head in even more confusion, you leave.

You don't see him for the rest of the day. Or the next day. Or even the day after that. You get the feeling he's avoiding you. It's a mystery why you think to yourself in a sarcastic tone.

Of course you see him around school but he always does more than necessary to avoid looking at you. At this point you're determined to know what was in that box. Is it a huge violation of his privacy, yes. Do you care, no, not one bit. If he doesn't want you to violate his privacy, why would he hide things from you? Make it make sense.

It's not that hard to get access to his closet considering Aunt May will let you in the house will no explanation. After school you walk right in, she gives you a bright smile and continues whatever it is she's doing. Not one question.

You have no problem going into his room, he's probably off skateboarding or whatever else nerds do in their free time. Once you get your hands on the box, that he's now shut completely, you have second thoughts. Maybe it really is wrong of you to invade his privacy like this? Oh well you open it anyway.

Holy shit. You don't even know what to think as you pull out a spiderman costume. You think, well hope, it's a costume because you don't know what to think about your best friend being the New York superhero.

How? When? How again? Is this why he's so strong? You've been friends with Peter long before Spiderman showed up which means he chose not to tell you. Is it because he doesn't trust you? Or maybe he doesn't like you as much as you like him? That stings.

Now you know why he was so adamant you leave it alone. But how is this even possible? He swings from buildings and fights giant lizards. How are you supposed to believe that your Peter can be doing that?

You quickly put the suit back in the box and hurry out of his room. As you rush down the stairs, he's coming up, running into his shoulder halfway down. You know he immediately knows but you keep running anyway.

He doesn't even stop to explain as he continues up the stairs. You walk home and wonder if there's any possibility it was just a Halloween costume.

Your phone rings over and over and over. It's obviously Peter. It's only nine in the morning on a Saturday so you have no plans of getting up or moving enough to answer your phone.

You're guessing he's mad. He should be. Now that you know what it is you can think a little clearer and you understand that maybe you should've respected his wishes a little more.

You don't answer the phone because you know he'll be mad and you don't want him to ever be mad at you. Or he'll be sad and you don't want that either. But of course, above all, you don't want to admit to him that you were wrong.

Once you finally get to moving out of bed, you spend a lot of time reading articles on Spiderman and trying to figure out how he does what he does. Now that you know Peter is Spiderman some of it makes more sense but all the other stuff makes even less sense.

Your phone rings a couple more times and you get a dozen messages but eventually they all stop. You focus your time on reading every single thing you can about him. From everything about the giant lizard to saving cats from trees and catching falling women.

"That was an interesting day." A voice comes from behind you. You jump out of your seat and turn to face them. A not so flattering shriek leaves your mouth and your heart beats faster than you thought possible.

"Peter, what the fuck." You gasp. Heart still racing and breathing slightly heavy. You take a moment to look at him, taking notice of his messy hair and the fact that he's in the Spiderman suit. Obviously he looks insanely hot but very very angry.

"Oh what? Did I invade your privacy?" He mocks, throwing down the mask you're just noticing was in his hand.

"I mean you came through the window so I'd say so." You whisper, not sure what you're actually supposed to say.

"I guess we're even now huh." He takes a seat on your bed and you almost want to say something about outside clothes on your bed but you don't have that right.

"Yeah I'd say so." A simple shrug of your shoulders has him rolling his eyes.

"That's the second time you've said that."

"I don't know what else to say."

"I wonder why." He mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

"Were you ever gonna tell me?" You ask, hurt covering your voice.

"I wanted to." You sit next to him on your bed.

"No you didn't. You should've told me."

"I don't see how it's any of your business." The setting sun shining in through your window glows on his face. You can see every detail of both him and his suit.

"Because we're friends. I don't know, maybe it wasn't."

"Really? You're gonna play this card." He stands in front of you.

"What card, Peter?" You almost yell back.

"You! Acting all sad and betrayed, trying to pretend you don't know if we were ever real friends." He's yelling now too.

"What does that even mean!? I'm allowed to be upset when you keep something like this from me!" You stand up, not liking the way he was looking down at you.

"It's none of your business." He enunciates every word to get his point across.

"Fine. It's not my problem. I shouldn't have done it. Now get out of my room."

He stares at you for a full minute. Like he's not done with whatever he wants to say or maybe he just wasn't expecting you to snap. Either way he respects your wishes, waiting only a moment more to leave out your bedroom window.

The next week rolls around very similar to the last. You go to school, you go home. Peter still avoids you, and what looks like everyone else. Throughout the whole week you don't see him talk to Gwen or anyone else he usually hangs out with.

It's not until Thursday that Gwen actually comes up to talk to you. Usually you would talk everyday but she's been more than busy with her band.

"Hey, are you alright?" She asks, coming up behind you as you put stuff back in your locker.

"Yeah, why?"

"I don't know Peter's being weird and all mopey so I thought he finally kissed you or something." She sighs so freely like she didn't just say something like that.

"What do you mean finally? Why would he kiss me?" She looks panicked. Clearly she wasn't supposed to say something but everyone knows Gwen isn't someone that keeps secrets very well.

"Fuck." She turns around and starts walking off. You slam your locker shut and follow her.

"No, no, no, no. Gwen, you get back here."

"I can't, I wasn't supposed to say that." She starts walking through people and down random halls.

"Gwen, you better get talking or I'm telling Peter what you already told me." That makes her stop in tracks. She turns to you with a look of both disbelief and betrayal.

"You're not even on speaking terms!"

"We'll go on speaking terms outta spite."

"Fine, I'll tell you but you can't tell anyone." She points her finger at you accusingly.

"Who would I tell?"

"Peter may be an insy tinsy bit in love with you."

"Gwen!"

"What? I'm not the one in love with you!"

You take a deep breath while you try to process everything you've learned in the past three minutes.

"I've been trying to get him to admit it to you forever but he didn't want to do it until he told you he's Spiderman." She continues her explanation, not realizing she's yet again saying more than she's supposed to.

"So you already knew he was Spiderman?"

"Fuck." She whines and turns to leave again but this time you let her. It's not her fault Peter didn't trust you. Or that he's in love with you.

"Gwen told me she told you." Peter says, not even a moment after you opened your front door. "And so I guess I don't really have a choice but to explain myself. And I mean that literally because Gwen is giving me no choice." He talks quickly. It sounds like he's trying to say it as fast as possible to get it over with.

"Wanna come in?" You ask, again not knowing what to say. It's funny how all it takes is his presence to make you more nervous than you ever have been.

He walks in hesitantly and doesn't move further than the entryway before he starts talking again.

"I only told her first because I'm not in love with her. I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want it to affect anything, but I didn't want to tell you I was in love with you before I told you that I was Spiderman because it didn't feel right to keep that a secret."

"That makes no sense." You run your hands tiredly over your face. "I mean seriously at least have a good excuse."

"I don't have one. Okay, I don't know why I didn't tell you."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I love you and I don't want this to ruin anything." He looks down at his feet, breaking the eye contact you were making.

"I love you too but if I was a superhero I'd tell you."

"I know you would. I don't know why I didn't." He shrugs. "Did you just say you love me?"

"Not if it takes you that long to notice." You smile, forgetting about being mad.

"I really am sorry." He says, stepping closer to you.

"So am I." You say, also taking a step closer.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, closing the space between you.

"Of course." Your smile grows even wider as his lips reach yours.

[blackpilljesus]

Not everything needs to be announced, do not put a target on your back.

With the rise in popularity of things like 6b4t, 4b, decenter men, etc I'm seeing a lot of women bragging to maIes about it which will not help us. At the end of the day maIes do not care about our happiness, look at how they get off on womens abuse, they constantly seek to break women down at every twist and turn, they dont actually give a fuck about whether single childfree women are the happiest demographic out there. Maturing as a single childfree woman is realising that it's not just about hating maIes but being indifferent to them, not caring about their opinions at all. Only recognise them for the threat & parasites they are. I dont care to prove maIes wrong. This doesn't mean I ignore or hold positive sentiments to them, I just focus on centering myself and womankind in my life instead. I often see women bring up points about single childfree women & our happiness to maIes when maIes already know that.

Let's assume that maIes dont know that women are happier when we're single, why does it matter that they know just how much happier women are when they're single? Given the way maIes have treated women, do you really think maIes give a fuck about women being happy? Do you really think that if maIes didnt know how single childfree women felt before & when they find out how happy single childfree women are they'd be pleased about it? Or that they'd care?

For every single childfree woman is a maIe without a rape maid, a maIe without someone to pummel their legacy through, etc yk how it goes. MaIes are already feeling the effects of our freedom & they're starting to retaliate. In south korea female only parking spaces were replaced with family spaces, in the USA there's project2025 & how they want to coerce women back into the nuclear family unit, in the UK many sexual offenders are being released from prisons due to "overcrowding".

Back to my point on indifference, part of that is realising that all of this shit goes beyond witty one liners on the internet. MaIes are fully aware of everything they do and how they benefit from it. To the women who brag to maIes about 4B et al, what is the end goal here? Is it truly decentering maIes as claimed or is it some type of strategy to spook maIes into being good boys? Because I've seen women try to be threatening with it like "maIes need to get their act together or we they wont be chosen/we'll 4B!" and this is still maIe centric in a way. Sounds harsh but many womens tiktoks, tweets, of this nature tend to have maIe partners or are still looking anyways so it only makes things harder for those actually serious about this. I feel like many women believe at some point maIes would grovel back to them & 'apologise' for their actions and start being better like no; maIes have intentionally done everything through force & violence including wanting a partner & children. MaIes arent going to change nor will ever change on their own. MaIes dont just want parters or children, they want this at the expense of womens lives; our goals, our dreams, and our humanity so they sure as shit dont care about our happiness.

There is thing as centering maIes even in a negative way, I saw it described as "chaotic misandrist" on the pinkpill site. Many women talk about how they want nothing to do with maIes but then make it their entire personality. Many women on tiktok are using 4B as some titillating leverage over maIes or as some divine femininity woo woo femme fatale shit. All of that still centers maIes. What needs to be realised is that it's not all about maIes. I dont solely do this as a "fuck you" to maIes, will it be? Yes. But that is not my primary reason for not dating or reproducing. Dont make this a thing where you solely want to get back at maIes. MaIes dont negotiate so attempting to barter is a waste of time and tiptoes on maIe apologism because even if maIes apologised for all the things they've done I would still not forgive them. I would still want the worst for them. Ik in that situation most women would forgive them without a second thought.

Women saying "act right or else 4B" are saying this because they still want to make it work with maIes. If there's negotiation it means a connection still wants to be formed which misses the entire fucking point. It aint about maIes it's about yourself and womankind. This is why it's hard for me to trust other women because it wont take much for them to cave as has been throughout history. I dont care what moids think about all this, as I said my primary concern regarding maIes is the threat they pose. I dont care whether they'd ever change. Anyone serious about this wouldn't be dangling the prospects of not partnering with them in maIes faces especially bc part of what leads to this is realising that maIes are dangerous & there's no reforming them. Dangling this in their face is poking the bear and maIes have no limits as to how low they'll stoop to get what they want. They'd kill themselves to prove a point.

So for the love of goddess, stop bragging to maIes about this. Doesnt matter if they say you'll be a miserable cat lady like bet. Deep down we all know they need us more than we need them. This isn't to say to hide & be ashamed of it, but it wont do women favours exposing our play to our predators.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

When I Say Run 1

Warnings: dark elements, such as chasing and kidnapping.

Note: I do appreciate all your feedback if you read this. I will hopefully have the next few part done soon. I don't intend this to be very much more than three or so parts.

Inspired by @navybrat817's Monday Thot

You've seen the man before. Often the market is overcrowded enough that you rarely see the same face twice, but you recognize him at once. His deep blue eyes are hard to forget along with the grim shadow cast over his unaltered and unamused expression. You know him because he always seems to know you. 

More than once, you caught him watching you. At first, you convinced yourself he was looking past you, or through you, as it felt. But he doesn't look away that day, you do. 

You move to the next stall to examine some figs. You realise why you really noticed him. He doesn't belong. What it seems, by his fraying ball cap and canvas jacket, is that he is hiding from someone. 

The more you think about him, the more uneasy you are. How is it that you see him every time you come to the market? You come early and he is there, late and he is there. The coincidence feels too canny to be believed. 

Still, you aren’t convinced it is more than that. You get carried away and make up ridiculous hypotheticals in your mind. There are many who come to the market every weekend. You probably run into a dozen people over and over and never even realise it. Why then, does he stick out in your mind? 

You grab a carton of cherries and a couple of peaches. You pay and take your change, brushing against someone as you pull your hand back. You feel something fall on your foot and kneel down to help gather the dropped plums. The man’s gloved fingers touch the bruises on the skin and you hold back a gasp as you look him in the face. 

“Sorry,” you utter as you hand him a dark plum, “I didn’t see you there.” 

You stand as he takes the fruit and slip your own into your cloth bag. You sling it over your shoulder as he assures you it's fine but you don’t wait for a conversation. You hadn’t even noticed him get that close. Before, he was well across the plaza with a horde between you. That he moved that fast, so seamlessly is eerie. 

You enter a tent a few stalls down and pretend to admire the patterned china of a teapot. There is a putrid taste in your mouth, the rotten flavour of paranoia on your dry tongue. You check the tag on the pot and leave without purchase. 

You look around as you emerge back into the late morning sun, the heat of the crowd adding to the sheen of sweat over your brow. You clear your throat as you don’t see the man and keep your head down as you resign yourself to your light haul. You will feel better once you got home. 

You weave through the swarm to the edge of the market and dip down the side street as the hum of voices fades behind you. Your apartment is a few blocks down, nestled above a bookstore cafe. It's s humble and affordable, but you can’t complain. 

You pull out your change purse as you near the shop but as you reach the front door, it swings open before you can reach for it. It’s him. Again. The leather gloves, the vibrant irises, the dark shanks of hair that frame his squared jaw. He is striking in more ways than one. 

You thank him as he holds the door and enter the small shop. You’re nervous. You can get your coffee and wait him out. You don’t want to lead him back to your apartment just above. Or you could lead him on a chase through the city until you lose him and circle back. Your mind races as you try to convince yourself you’re overreacting but you just can’t. 

You order your cinnamon blend but the man once more curtails you. He hold a bill out to the cashier and grits for her to keep the change. 

“Sir, you don’t have to--” 

“I’d like to buy you a coffee,” he insists as he waves the bill at the cashier, “want something sweet to go with it?” 

His accent is subtle. He doesn’t speak your language naturally but he does it well. You shake your head and step away from the till. He follows you to the corner where you await your order. 

“You can have the coffee,” you say, “I’m not interested.” 

“Why not?” he asks. His bluntness makes you squirm. 

“I have a boyfriend,” you lie as you rub your neck, “here--” 

You unclasped your coin purse and he stops you, squeezing your hand until the clasp clicks shut. “No, you don’t,” he says, “it’s my treat.” 

“I don’t want it,” you recoil from him and repeat, “I’m not interested.” 

You make to brush by him and he catches your arm, “why not?” 

“Because,” you jerk away from him, “why are you following me?” 

“Following you?” he scoffs, “you feel special, don’t you?” 

“No, I told you, I have a boyfriend.” 

“You know, when you lie,” he says, “I can see it…” he hovers his finger along your throat, “right there. Your pulse picks up.” 

You push his hand away and sidle past him. You’re shaking as you hurry to the door and look back. He watches you but stays where he is. Your order is called and he turns to grab it. You leave under the chime of the door and peer up and down the street. 

You go to the left, heading for the market to hide among the sea of people. It will give you time to figure out what to do next. The station is on the other side of the plaza, you could probably get there without much trouble. That will scare him away. 

Your footsteps echo around you like a movie scene. You grip your bag on your shoulder and stop short as a figure appears from the alleyway. You can hear the market just ahead of you, just one corner away. 

“You forgot your coffee,” the man says as he blocks your path, “don’t you know that it’s rude to refuse a gift?” 

You swallow and back away, speechless. You glanc around. How did he move so fast? You spin on your heel and walk in the other direction. You listen for him behind you but when you dare to peek over your shoulder, he is gone. 

You quiver and hook around the next corner, hoping to loop to the west entrance of the market. He’s there too. He tilts his head as he grins and tosses the coffee so it spills down the brick wall. You retreat away from the splash and blink at him dumbly. The street is mostly empty but you hear someone else. 

You spin back and fight not to break into a sprint. That time, you don’t look back. You head back along the same way you came but turn down another street before you get to the alley. A metal rattle sounds from overhead as a blur drops down in front you from the rickety fire escape above. The man fixes his hat and chuckles. 

“I think you should start running,” he taunts. 

You nearly trip over your heels as you rear back. Fear bubbles in your chest and you fall into a run, spurred by his ominous timbre. The bag bounces against your side as you squeeze your change purse in your other hand, feet hitting the old brick road heavy and hard. You stumble as you glance back but find no pursuit. 

You slow as your chest burns and stop to catch your breath. It take a moment to get your bearings. You bend over and gulp. You straighten up and face the street behind you, searching for the man in the grey jacket. There is only a couple holding hands and a group of young boys giggling as they kick around a beaten football. 

You look up along the rooves of the buildings and the balconies. You don’t see anything. You shake your head and puff. Fucking creep. Probably just wanted to scare you. 

You don’t go back to your apartment right away. You’re too agitated for that. You can’t help but look around every few steps and peek down every alley and street before you pass. It’s a good forty minutes before you realise you're lost. You never come to this part of town. 

You swear under your breath and cringe. You should have gone to the precinct like you planned. You were so panicked you didn’t think. You were more focused on getting away than getting safe. 

You drop your change purse into your jumbled bag of cherries and peaches. You reach into your pocket and your heart drops. You search both pockets. Your phone must have fallen out when you were running. 

You resign yourself to a listless trail back home through the urban maze. You could figure it out, there has to be a map around here somewhere. You are sure you just passed one a moment ago.  

You start down the street and mourn the loss of your phone. That would take a while to replace with your lousy wages. Fuck. Why didn’t you buy the warranty? 

The roar of a motorcycle cuts through the din of the city streets and echoes all around you. You ignore it and follow the sidewalk as you squint at the street signs above. You try to find something familiar, something to find your way. 

Suddenly you're taken off your feet, a crushing grip knots the back of your shirt as you're hurtled forward. You scream as the brickwork hazes beneath you and suddenly the engine revs and you’re turned sharply with its motion. You float just above the ground, dangling from your shirt. 

You looked up in confusion, the strength of the man holding you with one arm sends ice through your veins. The twinkling eyes, the angle of his jaw, and the slight curve of his lips makes you wince. He thrusts you closer and bends you over the front of the motorcycle so that you're trapped between him and the tank. 

“Better tuck those feet in,” he warns as you're folded over the metal on your stomach, “I told you to run.” 

He veers suddenly and the momentum pushes you against him as you clung to the bike, wind whipping your face as it hovers before the dingy pipes of the bike. It feels as if you’ll fly off at any second. You reach to grasp onto the man's jacket as you clench every muscle of your body to keep from slipping. 

The engine rips through the air as your head spins. You have a choice; fall off and die or hang on and live. 

[weird-is-life]

hi lovely! a p vague request if you’re up for it!! remus x fem!/gn! reader fluff<3 he’s just painfully pining for her, getting a bit jealous when she’s hit on by other guys. they’re hanging out one night and it gets cold, so he gives her his jacket thinking the jacket could not look better on anyone else!

take the fic wherever you want babes! i’m just obsessed w your writing & the idea of lupin pining

Hii lovely, ty you so much for this cute request and I'm so so glad you enjoy my writing🥹🥹🥹. Warnings: fluff, use of y/n and pet names, mentions of pub,(0.8k)

It's Friday night, so of course the pub is stuffed with people. But Remus wasn't expecting, that you'd be getting hit on by so many guys, even if the pub is overcrowded.

He thinks, that if one more guy comes up to you and invites you for a drink, he won't be able to stop himself from beating him up.

To your credit tho, you've sent the guys running to the other side of the pub with your rejections. You are not even slightest bit interested in anybody, other than Remus.

The cheeky smirks, that Sirius and James keep sending his way aren't helping one bit either. They obviously know of Remus's crush on you and they keep pulling his leg about not making a move on you yet.

"You okay?" you nudge him with your elbow. Another thing that isn't helping with his intense feelings for you right now, is that you've been sitting next to him the whole night.

He breaks out of his thoughts and smiles at you, " of course. I'm perfect," he lies, but he can't tell you the truth. He's not ready for a rejection from you, he doesn't think he'll ever be ready for it.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I'm okay, I promise," he's not, but he doesn't tell you that. You seem happy with his answer, because you smile at him sweetly as you always do.

"Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure, before I left," you say as you start to gather your things to leave.

"You're leaving?" Remus asks quickly,  making a poor job of masking his disappointment.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I'd love to stay, but I have to get up early tomorrow," you say very apologetic.

"Don't be," he replies and adds without thinking, " I'll go with you. I'm feeling tired, too."

It's not exactly a lie, he feels a bit tired, but also he wants to spend some more time with you and more importantly, he doesn't want you to go home alone.

"Oh, okay." You don't question it and just nod. You say your goodbyes to everyone and leave. The boys wink teasingly at him to which Remus only rolls his eyes.

You walk side by side outside and Remus is quick to a hail a taxi for you two. In the meantime, you start to get cold. You didnt't realise, when you were dressing up, how much the temperature lowers after it gets dark in the autumn.

Finally, Remus manages to get a taxi and you eagerly get inside of it, thinking the heat is on, but you're wrong. The driver doesn't seem to mind the cold, because inside the taxi, the temperature is the same as outside.

Remus, attentive as always, notices you shivering.

"Here," he shrugs off his jacket and puts in around your shoulders, before you can even protest.

"Rem, thank you, but are you sure, you won't mind? I don't want you to be cold, too," you frown at him worriedly.

"I'm not cold, don't worry, dove. Just keep it," he smiles warmly at you, making the butterflies in your stomach go crazy. And fuck, the pet name almost makes you pass out.

The sight of you in his jacket is doing no good for Remus either, he feels like he's been hit by a hammer over and over again, making him dizzy.

"Besides, you might as well keep it. It looks like hundred times better on you," he bravely compliments you and your heart almost does a flip from it.

Your cheeks go embarrassingly red and you both stay quiet with little smiles on, until it's your time to get out of the car.

"Goodnight, Remus, thank you for seeing me off," you give him a quick hug and get out.

You are hallway up the stairs to your apartment, when you hear his voice.

"Y/N, please wait," he catches up to you, his hand gently grabs yours.

"What is it-" your questions gets interrupted by his lips on yours. The only thought on your mind is that how soft they feel, but from the surprise of it, you don't kiss him back.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry, y/n. I shouldn't have, I'm sorry-" he worriedly spills out and swiftly turns around to leave. You don't let him, it's your turn to grab his arm and kiss him.

Remus handles the shock of it better than you and kisses you back hard.

When you finally pull away, you are both smiling like some crazy idiots.

"I wanted do this for so long," he confesses, sheepishly. Running his hands through your hair, putting some loose strands away from your pretty face.

"Me, too," you say, " I guess, we are both stupidly oblivious, huh?"

You and Remus laugh," yeah, we are. But not anymore."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely. I like you, like a lot, if you haven't realised it by now," Remus whispers as he caresses your cheek softly.

"I like you too," you grin at him, very happy from the not so new information. It feels so good to finally be able to say it to him.

"Good." He says, smiling and leans in to kiss you warmly again.

[cameronspecial]

Let Me Strip, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  Mentions of Genitalia and Removal of Clothes

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.5K

Summary: Some drunken games are ones that Y/N really doesn't want to have to clean up after.

Masterlist

How does Y/N know her boyfriend is way too drunk right now? He calls a frat wide hour strip game to order. It doesn’t help that his groupies are encouraging his behaviour. She isn’t jealous of them because she trusts Rafe and knows how much he loves her, but she knows how this game is going to end.  Every hour the boys in the fraternity remove one article of clothing of Rafe’s choice until she has to chase after one of the boys to stop him from streaking down a street that should be kept family-friendly. As much as she loves seeing his chiselled abs, she does not want to have to do that again.

The only person that can call off the game is the frat president. “Rafe, can you please call the game off? Some of the boys already have three strikes and will be expelled if they are arrested for streaking,” Y/N begs, trying to take the solo cup out of his hand. He looks at her with loving eyes and gives her neck kisses, “Come on, let me strip, Angel. It’s just a fun little game.” She rolls her eyes at him trying to butter her up with kisses. “Rafey, it’s twelve o’clock. Time to take off your pants,” Beatrice interrupts, flashing her lock screen with the time on it to him. Rafe drunkenly nods his head and tries to pull down his pants. Rafe yells, “Alpha Epsilon Pi! Pants.” 

Y/N sighs at the action, helping him unbutton his pants so he can take them off. One problem at the time and streaking is a much bigger problem than a pantless boyfriend. At least they still have both socks to take off first. He cheers like a toddler when he finally gets his pants off. “I want you to wear my pants like a scarf, Angel. Show the boys who you belong to,” he slurs out the demand, wrapping his khaki around her neck. She just shakes her head and unwraps the pants from her neck. She is already sweating with his t-shirt and flannel on. “You know last time you played this game, I chased a naked Topper down the street and had to tackle him. Do you really want me to be that close to his bare dick, again?” she leverages, twirling his pants’ leg in a circle. This news causes Rafe to stop in his tracks; he has totally forgotten that fact. 

He sobers up quickly, “You’re right, I don’t want that. I’ll call the game off.” His pout absolutely kills Y/N because she hates to see him sad. “You can keep the game going with the socks but you have to stop at the boxers. Deal?” she offers, ghosting their fingertips together and stepping closer to him. His expression quickly turns to a grin, “Deal. You are the best girlfriend ever, Angel. I love you!” He gives her a quick peck on the lips and runs off screaming how amazing she is to the overcrowded party. She lets out a giggle at her boyfriend’s childishness and heads upstairs to get rid of some of the clothes that are causing her to overheat.

[eluxcastar]

The little sisterfication of Arlecchino

── ୨୧：arlecchino & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: little siblingfication final stretch lets gooooo

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, child arlecchino, it is fluff and angst at the same time, like hurt/comfort ig? idk, implied child abuse, not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 1.9k

there are only two more after this oh god. Pierro and Columbina. I also realised like five seconds ago that Pulcinella is not on the list but tbh Idk if I'll add him in because I kinda don't know what to do for him at all. I could try to make it cute? maybe, I'll see

this started way nicer, but then I remembered the previous Knave was an asshole and quickly replace the vibes that bled over from watching Grease with something darker. The Knave is used to refer to the previous Knave, while Arlecchino refers to our Arle, because I needed some way to distinguish them. I also thought the previous Knave was a dude for some reason?? I fixed it though

all little siblingification posts

Biologically speaking, the two of you are not related in the slightest, but it's not uncommon for children in the House of the Hearth to choose their siblings and stick by them until the inevitable moment they either remain together or are parted by responsibility. You have been there and guided Arlecchino through the orphanage since she first arrived from Fontaine. Arlecchino might've been lost and confused for much longer if not for you.

Instead, she had you, a little older and wiser, to walk her around and teach her how things worked.

The moment she arrived, your guardian, the Knave—now her guardian as well—pulled you over to meet her and asked you to show her around and make her comfortable in her new life. Your new little sister, she called her, and she stared at the woman dumbly before you stole her opportunity to ask him what she was talking about, whisking her away.

You took her to see everything, showing her off to as many people as you ran into and introduced her as you went. She felt like a shiny new toy in an overcrowded playground, and you let her revel in it until it tired her out. 

Once the fanfare died down a little bit, you took her to find an unoccupied bed to put her things on. There weren't many, but you offered to help her find a place for them nonetheless. You got a sheet and blanket from the linen closer to make the bed for her and helped her stand a few things up on the headrest to make it her own. Despite her apprehension, you almost managed to make living here seem just a little less bleak; looking over her bed, made and decorated with her stuffed toy and a few personal belongings she'd brought, it felt a little more like home. 

You assure her all will be fine, the only thing even close to soothing in the whirlwind that was coming here, and point her in the direction of your bed not too far away. The one with the overcoat laid on the end of it. You always put it there when you're not wearing it, apparently.

She refrains from asking why you're not wearing it and why you own one of the grey and red coats she recognises from the fatui footsoldiers she saw wearing them.

Most importantly, you teach her the rules: behave yourself, clean up after yourself, bedtime is nine pm, and not a minute later, finish your dinner— 

"Even if you're full?"

"Even if you're full."

and the most crucial rule: never make the Knave mad.

"Why?"

"Just don't, ok?" 

Arlecchino doesn't dare question why again. You know best, and something in your eyes tells her she should trust that.

Through tense, dreary halls, you lead her with a skilled hand and the favour of the Knave. She runs to you in the middle of the night when the far-off screams scare her awake, yet despite your promises, you are nowhere to be found, and neither is your coat. It's a suspicious absence you explain away with housework and chores. The children jump at the chance to see you, and you greet them much more warmly than the stoic Knave. Everyone tells her you have something the others don't, and she should stay in your good graces for as long as possible. The Knave likes you, and you can get anyone out of anything as a result. It's why she calls you to do everything for her, including taking Arlecchino off her hands and showing her around. You are her best. 

It's as if you have a sense for every time she breaks the rules. She stays up late one night and sneaks out of bed to keep playing. She is not tired in the slightest and restless beyond belief; she is a child filled with energy and naive to the consequences of her choices. She is caught, of course, the Knave looming over her to ask what exactly she believes she's doing. She stumbles for an answer. It is just as she thinks the worst has come to pass when you appear in the doorway with a broom in hand. You asked Arlecchino to help you clean up. She's picking up the toys for you to sweep the floor.

The Knave hardly believes it, but what the others say is true—she favours you. She relinquishes Arlecchino to your care, and you walk her back to bed with the tightest grip on her arm she's ever felt. Through gritted teeth, you scold her harshly, "Don't ever do that again!"

She almost fears disappointing you more than the Knave.

You make the House feel safe. With you, it becomes a place where one day she may thrive and return to the world a well-raised woman with much promise. You teach her to play the games the others made for themselves and perfect the chores the Knave demands of her. Arlecchino could wish for no greater sibling than you, and you walk her through it with the patience of a saint as if you have done it a million times before.

She runs to you for everything from hurt knees to finding her lost stuffy, where it has run off to. You respond in kind by cleaning and bandaging the scuffs in her skin. You even show up well into the night past bedtime to return her dearest stuffed toy so she can sleep easily. You were happy to stay when she asked you to sit with her until she could fall asleep and stroke her hair to settle her. It is one of the few tastes of home she savours, even though home did not have you there to take care of her.

You are the closest she will ever have to a parent. You are happy to have her wake you up in the middle of the night when she's scared and needs help, assuming you're there at all. Most nights, you're busy cleaning up the messes other children made that would get them in trouble, and you take her back to bed whenever she finds you.

However, it does not take long for Arlecchino to realise why you warned her against angering the Knave. She decides that Arlecchino, at her tender age, is well and truly ready to complete a mission on her own. A terribly simple one, but it scares her nonetheless.

What scares her more is that you bargain your way into going with her under the guise of showing her the ropes.

You are the best guide she can ask for and nothing less as she comes to understand what that coat is for. You're not just a child of the House; you're a fatuu. You put it on before you leave and lead her off wearing it, making sure she's warm and advising her to wear gloves before the Knave practically tosses the two of you into the harsh winter of Snezhnaya to complete the task thrust upon Arlecchino as her first test.

Before anything else, you make that much abundantly clear to her: what Arlecchino does determines her future within the House, and you don't want to see her fail. You shed your coat to give to her when she gets too cold and hold her hand to force her to continue even when she feels like giving up would be much easier. More than anything, you are loose-lipped and cynical in a way she's never seen before. Over hours, you drill everything into her head that has been kept from her, the source of the screams she's heard that everyone seems to ignore, the reason for the abundance of fear permeating the House.

Every part of the carefully crafted wonderland you had been trying to make her falls to pieces before her very eyes as you walk through the snow with a backpack so heavy she begged you to take it from her shoulders. The Knave is a tyrant reigning over the only thing she can control with an iron fist. Whether she likes it or not, there is no escape, and the Knave will hold anything she can over her head.

You dodge the question when she asks what the Knave uses against you.

Arlecchino quickly realises you have seen many children walk the path she is now on, and she dares not ask how many of those you still waste your breath on. You're sorry. You tried to protect her, but there are some things you can't do.

The journey is bleak, and the trip home is even bleaker as you're late; it's well past bedtime. You enter quietly and run a bath to warm her up, slipping your coat from her shoulders and leaving it by the fireplace. Her only comfort is in you crouching by the edge of the bath with a rag in your hands to scrub her clean with the help of the meagre few inches of water you could afford to spare her.

Your apologies have subsided, as has your tough love attitude, spoiling her with affections and gentle reassurance she didn't expect after seeing how you acted only hours earlier. You pull Arlecchino close and stroke her hair. The wall of the tub becomes little more than a nuisance as it blocks her from fully hiding away in your arms, where she hopes to disappear. She is afraid, but you manage to settle her fears to a nagging whisper tucked away in the deepest corner of her brain.

Apologies give way to promises, grand promises you know you cannot keep, promises of protecting Arlecchino for as long as you can.

You wrap her in a towel, help her dress herself in the night clothes you retrieved from her bed, and send her off to sleep with the reassurance that you'll handle reporting all of what the two of you were doing to the Knave.

Content and soothed by your words and promises, Arlecchino wanders back to bed, where she makes herself comfortable, staring across the room at your empty bed. Perhaps you have said those things to many children before her, but it doesn't occur to her as you quickly fall back into the role of being her only comfort in this house of horrors. You'll protect her from anything in your power, keep her safe, and watch over her.

Sleep coaxes Arlecchino to relax, give in, and rest, and she almost does. She is seconds from being out like a light when she hears those screams again—those that used to send her bolting to look for you in your bed. You were never there when she tried to find you, and now, as she stares across the room at your vacant bed, she suddenly realises why.

The screams that had woken her all those nights had been yours.

Until you could no longer stay by her side, you would protect her from anything.

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

[atxxzist]

the crown prince | c.s

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

pairing: choi san x f!reader

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

word count: 19k

(ao3) if you don't like lapslock

age 8:

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

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

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

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

age 10:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

age 11:

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

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

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

age 12:

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

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

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

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

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

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

age 13:

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

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

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

age 14:

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

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

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

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

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

age 15:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i heard you like sewing."

you nod shyly at her words.

"i learned it from my mother."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"ah, yes i am." you nod.

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

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

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

"i see." you smile tight-lipped.

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

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

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

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

age 16:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

age 17:

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

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

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

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

age 18:

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

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

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

age 19:

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

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

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

"y/n! wake up!"

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

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

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

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

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

"the king is dead."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he gestures to your shoes and you wear it quickly.

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

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

they all left you.

"where are we going?" you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you smile and nudge the boy with your elbow affectionately.

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

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

you take in the information, asking one last question.

"and where is hongjoong?"

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

"alright."

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

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

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

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

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

"easy for you to say."

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

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

but it's hongjoong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

hongjoong just shrugs.

"that was his order."

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

"i'll go."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"then i'm going with you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you're not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

my castle?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"sorry," you both mutter.

"it's fine," the prince dismisses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"he'd be happy to."

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

"so how many men volunteered?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

jongho shrugs.

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"yes?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you nod hesitantly.

"good. then it's settled."

--

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

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

hongjoong promises to report back once things get relatively better.

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

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

"alright."

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

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

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

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

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

"call me san."

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

he shakes his head.

"i was practicing."

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

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

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

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

--

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

the prince looks just fine, though.

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

he nods, eyes roaming the small interior.

"it'll do."

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

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

you scowl and sit up from your seat.

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

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

"i really don't feel tired."

"then you should eat, at least."

"i'm not hungry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"good morning."

"good morning, san."

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

"oh, okay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you nod shyly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you giggle at the thought and shake your head.

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

"oh..." is all he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and suddenly, you only had yourself.

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

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

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

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

"i'm sorry to hear."

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"y-yes." you nod.

"have you ever tend to a wound before?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you're just worried.

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

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

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

you breathe out, eventually nodding timidly.

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

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

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

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

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

you squeeze your brows in disbelief.

"what--why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he nods.

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

"but how would the message reach them?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"my pleasure."

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

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

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

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

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

you watch him get into stance.

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

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

"you try."

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

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

he tightens your grip on the dagger before stepping away.

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

he promised it'll be only an hour today.

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

"i mean it."

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

"but i believe in you."

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

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

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

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

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

"y/n!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"will he be okay?"

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

"just making sure..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you haven't seen him since that day.

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

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

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

"you doing better?"

you nod.

"a lot better compared to before."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

"your tea."

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

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

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

you scowl at the revelation.

"well, that's not right."

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

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

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

a smile cross your lips at the mention of san.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you nod at that. "go ahead."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"really?"

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

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

that something more came out of it.

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

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

"i'm listening," you acknowledge.

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

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

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

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

you shake your head.

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

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

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

you nod earnestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

age 20:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i'd love to."

you untangle the basket from your arm and start going through the many fabrics of your creation.

"wow. not only is the creator herself beautiful, but so are the creations. i've never seen these kind of patterns before," he comments, a smirk on that is both amused and flirty, you can't help the way your cheeks immediately reddens.

the man only seems to find the sight even more endearing as a snicker bubbles out of him while you're still just standing there because you've never met someone so shameless before.

you're about to say something when an arm is thrown around your shoulders instead, turning to the source and your body an immediate mix of relieved, joy, and a skipping heartbeat.

"san..." you say by natural instinct, his unreadable expression meeting yours before moving to the young man in front.

"i'm sorry, i told her to not go wandering by herself but she wouldn't listen. let's go back, honey."

he snatches the basket out of your hold with his other hand and hauls you back the other way.

"i've only been gone for a year and you're already flirting with another man?" he accuses once you're able to flee from his clutch, his steps following right behind you as a pout overtakes his face.

"i wasn't flirting. i was trying to make money," you weakly defend, focus on the path back to your place that you believe the word 'cottage' would be more fitting for.

"you're way too beautiful and talented to be out there spending your days talking to young men."

"pfft," you blow, "and you're way too handsome and princely to be traveling everywhere and going to other kingdoms in the presence of other noble and royal daughters."

"and i'd still choose you, baby."

your heels dig the dirt flooring, snapping around from the pet name, a laughter at the verge of coming out.

san can see the amusement on your face, only smirking in response.

"what? i know you like being called that."

this time, you really do laugh and he follows right after, absolutely in love with everything about you. whether that's snarking back or laughing at him.

"whatever you say, prince," you poke more fun at him before dragging him by the wrist into your place.

"cute what you've done," he pass a comment while you put the basket away.

"yes. and i have just about everything i need."

it's just a little bigger than the hideout back at what used to be the third district, but it has the same convenience in that it's close to the river, cutting out trips to the bathhouse which saves a lot of time.

he nods, the dimpled smile never leaving his face.

"so... what brings you here?" you eventually ask, sitting next to him on your bed, the atmosphere shifting because despite enjoying the banter and mischief of it all, you miss him and haven't seen him in over a year.

"we just returned and arrived at the port this morning, so i wanted to come visit and see how you're doing. you know, to make sure no one was trying to sweep you off by your feet."

you playfully land a slap to his shoulder, snickering.

"you're ridiculous. all year long and my love life is so dry, but the one day someone acknowledges me, you just have to come back," you reply with sarcasm.

"i'm sorry to ruin that for you, but you can't take it back. you promised to marry me, and i will make sure every guy in the kingdom knows that."

you remember the first time meeting san, his state of grief making him almost an entirely different person. quiet, stoic, and always in distress, it's the most wonderful surprise that he's actually a child at heart.

able to let loose once in a while and just have fun.

"no need to. you won't have any competitions at all."

he chuckles quietly at that and closes any remaining distance between you two.

"you speak too lowly of yourself when you're the most beautiful girl i've ever seen."

you bat your eyelashes, shying away from his gaze. you just blush way too easy.

he chuckles at the sight and moves the subject along, "but i also came because i have good news. the king and prince mingi of dune have agreed to a treaty."

"really? t-that's great!" you stumble your wording, beyond happy for him because this was everything he wanted and planned for.

"yeah. it wasn't easy but the fact we have aurora did most of the convincing. dune was... interesting to say the least," he says, briefly recalling the month he spent at the kingdom.

"you did it, though" you smile. "it's only going to get better from now on."

"i hope so. but it seems the real challenge just began. this place is going to need a lot of work."

"that, it is. but for now, you just need to relax. rest a little and eat if you already haven't. i can make you some soup, would you like that?"

he nods.

"i would love that."

he loves how comfortale and easy it is with you. when the weight on his shoulders gets too heavy, he can always rely on you to make it better, even if just for a bit.

--

"so where do i sleep?" he asks, walking back in after washing himself by the river with the towel you gave him.

the day had been nothing short of a dream, eating and cleaning together and just small exchanges that multiplies the butterflies in your stomach.

you wish everyday was like this.

"the floor," you joke, the response making him scowl.

"i'm carrying the nation on my back and you're gonna make me sleep on the floor?" he throws the towel over his shoulder, his wet strands of hair swaying along with his movements.

"that bed looks big enough for the two of us." he points with his chin. "besides, we're gonna get married anyways."

you roll your eyes, snatching the towel from him as you go to ruffle his wet hair with it, his shout of protests underneath coming out muffled.

"fine." you land the fabric back around his neck, crawling into bed and scooting to the wall to make space.

he lays down and faces you, your gaze burning into each other's when he cranks out a smile.

"i'll be leaving in the morning and you might not see me again for a while after. don't you think you should give me something to remember you by?"

your brows furrow, your mind jumping to conclusion considering the position you guys are in and the tone in which he said it.

"i'm not gonna have sex with you," you spit, prompting the loudest laughter ever from him, followed by confusion from you.

"no, of course not. i was talking about another of your handkerchiefs."

"oh..." you murmur, feeling embarrassed.

"not until we get married at least. then, we can do it," he states with confidence, the thought of taking you to bed and inserting control another way is tempting, and he can't wait for the day.

you smack his chest lightly, as flustered as you are, you can't help the giggle that slips out.

a few seconds of silence pass by before he starts moving closer, his breath ghosting your skin and finger going to caress your cheek.

"i really do want to kiss you right now, though," he confess, "if that's okay with you."

you nod as much as your pillowed head allows you to.

"that's okay with me."

you close your eyes shut, trying to keep from flinching as you await his kiss, moments later only for his lips to crash against yours, his hand moving to your jaw and his body pressing forward as the kiss deepens.

you kiss him like it's the last kiss between you and him; like your life depends on it, the bed creaking under as he takes it upon himself to connect your bodies.

he pulls back much to your disappointment, both of your chests heaving and trying to catch your breath, his forehead bumped with yours and tip of his nose brushing your own.

"good enough," he speaks, his breath still not yet returned, "any more than this and i might not be able to contain myself."

you giggle, placing a soft peck on his cheek, flashing one last smile.

"goodnight, prince."

--

"have a safe trip, and take care of yourself," you bless, blue in your heart as san makes his way back to you after speaking to the coachman.

all the laughters and butterflies of yesterday won't be experienced again until who knows how long. he will be away after this, and you will miss him dearly.

you wish he could stay but you know he can't. he has something bigger and better to worry about.

he stops before you, melancholy in his eyes as well. he doesn't want to leave you but he has to. and as much as he wants to take you along, he can't let you bear the same responsibilities and weight.

he wants for you to be there, when he already made everything better.

"you take care of yourself, too." his hands naturally finding itself cupping your cheeks. "don't overwork yourself."

"i won't."

you place your own hands over his, desperate to salvage his touch for one last time.

"when can i expect to see you again?" you ask.

"i don't have a definite answer, but i'll be back. i promise."

you two share one last kiss before you watch him go off, blue still in your heart, but you know that someday, he'll come back, and it will be to stay.

age 23:

you're twenty-three years old when there's a knock at the door one suspicious morning.

living in the middle of nowhere, and even over the years, you're only able to count on one hand the range of selection there is when it comes to who it could be.

"hongjoong?" you squint, the man you haven't seen in forever looking slightly more buffed; mature, his hair styled and attire new and shiny.

"great seeing you again," he greets, still on horseback and glancing down at you.

"would you like to come inside? for some tea or a drink?" you ask, figuring it's only proper etiquette you do.

"i'm good. i only came to deliver something."

you continue squinting, one hand shielding your eyes from the early sun, reaching out when hongjoong hands you a letter and unfolding it.

"an invitation from the prince?" you read, incredulity as you shoot up to look at him.

"yes. the prince is finally accepting his accession to king and the coronation will be held a week from now. that is all i have for today. i have to head back soon."

you have so many more questions but hongjoong already turns his back before you can ask them, settling for staring at the ink in awe when the sound of his voice picks your head up again.

"i hope to see you there. the prince will be expecting you."

--

you leave for the capital the following day, packing only essentials and enough coins, taking along pearl, the white horse you had purchased a year back for traveling purposes.

there's been a lot changes in the four years since san took the reign, all of them for the better, of course.

some of the homes have been revamped, some new ones added, and everywhere you passed, there are greens and beauty in each sceneries.

the citizens look happier, kids a lot less miserable and even those in the orphanages are coming around to the new implements along with those in progress to solve overcrowding.

members of the outlaws have dwindled over time and quieted.

for the first time in hundreds of years, utopia is able to live up to its name in some form; a place of ideal perfection.

so you couldn't fret too much; be upset that in the three years that have passed, san's only visited you once. because if it wasn't for him, the nation wouldn't have been able to achieve the current state.

you travel to the capital with hope, expectation, and excitement at the fact you will be seeing him again; a strong belief that everything will feel just the same as last time.

you stop at inns to rest when the nights fall and start again at dawn, reaching the destination in five days total, the day before san's coronation.

there isn't any difference to the castle, not even a bit. a touch of nostalgia hitting you when thinking back to the event four years ago.

entrance is easy to get through, showing both of the guards who seems to recognize you, the letter.

tying your horse to the nearest tree, you proceed to the door with a pounding heart, banging on it twice before the castle door creaks from the other side, absolutely no idea who the person could be.

"y/n!"

your eyes widen at the sight, that nervousness replaced by delight.

"jongho!"

before he can get another word out, you're already in his arms, the warmth of your best friend something you missed greatly in the full year you haven't seen him.

you can him hear giggling in your hair, pulling away to that goofy smile of his as one settles on your lips as well.

"you came," he simply says.

"of course i did."

jongho takes you inside, your nosy eyes wandering the interior that's also the same as before but still dazzling with all its history, cracks in some of the wall, and antiques.

you greet the queen and the princess who only gets more beautiful by the years, them welcoming you with warm smiles and you can tell immediately the new changes other than their appearances.

they sound happier; no other burdens or weight pulling them down, carrying it around like a haunting that won't go away.

you walk around the courtyard with jongho after, finally a time and place to catch up. all those time of being with each other, you didn't think you could survive if he wasn't by your side, but to have gone four long years only seeing him once in a blue moon, you'd say that's some character development.

"how are things here for you?" you ask him, walking alongside shoulder to shoulder.

"amazing," he answers almost instantly, "it's crazy. i never thought i'd get the chance to work in the capital, but the royal family's castle? with the prince? it's everything i've ever wanted."

you can't stop smiling, his tone telling of just how much he means what he just said.

"that's great. i'm happy for you. you did always say you wanted all those training to go into something."

he nods.

"and you? how are things down there?"

"much better. it's coming together. the people's the most tame i've ever seen them."

jongho hums in acknowledgement.

"i heard you're going to become queen," he suddenly brings up, and you almost choke in return.

"and who the hell said that?"

"--i did."

the familiar voice that isn't jongho makes the both of you turn around, your stomach dropping and heart palpitating because you know all too well who it belongs to.

you can only stare breathless as he takes a step closer, your throat dry.

he's just as mesmerizing as you remember but like hongjoong, time have passed and he has gotten more bulky, manly, and handsome if that's even possible.

"i'm glad to see you can come," he mumbles, a charming smile on that render your knees weak.

jongho clears his throat, attempting to hide a smirk as he goes to excuse himself politely and walks back inside, leaving you stranded in the presence of san.

everything still feels the same with him.

"yeah. i got the letter," you reply, glancing around the empty area, "though it seems i might have gotten a tad excited."

he snickers, and oh... how you have missed the sound.

"you're the only one i gave a personal invitation to," he unveils.

"oh." your eyes swell, only to break the tension after. "then i guess i'm special."

"you are," he assures, closing the distance and taking one of your hand. "i have promised you that once utopia is stable enough, i will ask for your hand in marriage."

you watch as he goes to pull something out of the pocket of his suit, one of his knees pointed to the ground, his entire body falling with it.

"and now that i've finally reached that goal... y/n, will you marry me?"

it takes a moment for you to process everything, overwhelmed with joy and happiness before you can properly nod.

"yes. of course."

and he will marry you, after the rise to king and acceptance of his title as the ruler of utopia, keeping the promise just as he did to every others.

permanent taglist: @moonchele

a/n: not me talking shit abt wanting broken era to be over only to go & write a 19k oneshot. but i loved writing this & had a lot of fun bc it was v different from what i'd usually write

[shuichi-sama]

photos are not mine!!

IMAGINE!!!!!!!!!

Professor Park Sunghoon, who you admire and have a crush on is secretly a motorcycle racer and you accidentally run into him while he's racing one day!!!!!

It would go something like this…

"Professor? Is that you?" You asked from behind him.

Sunghoon, had spotted you way before you did, how could he not? Your beauty radiates even brighter in the darkest streets where the race occurred, he would never tell you that, though.

He tried to avoid you. Hiding within the mass of people who overcrowded what was once a deserted street, now inching with excitement and adrenaline after a fierce race, that ended in his victory yet again.

"Fuck." He couldn't help but curse under his breath at his carelessness after winning the race. He had been adamant about staying out of your sight, you were his student after all and he was your teacher, someone who was supposed to show you the right and wrongs, to lead you through the right paths and here he was caught in the middle of an illegal street race, by none other than one of his students, a very pretty one at that.

"Miss Y/n, what are you doing here?" He finally turns around, his helmet clinging between his hip and forearm.

To you, Park Sunghoon has always been attractive. Ever since the semester started you couldn't help but form a small admiration for the older man and maybe a little crush on him too, but seeing him now much more up close, under the moonlight lighting him in more ways than one, in a way that high lights every intricate detail of his face that the flickering street lights could never do, he looks breathtaking wearing his leather racing outfit.

"I could ask you the same thing, Professor." You smiled at him cheekily. "It's not every day, I run into my Professor partaking in an illegal street race."

His scoff is light and airy, despite the nerves in his body telling him to make up a lie and an excuse to get him out of this somehow, but the truth was laid out to you right there, and for whatever reason he didn't care one bit. "Right... Of course."

"I never pegged you as a racer, Professor." You explained. While lecturing his students, his professionalism and seriousness on campus contradicted every word he spoke and lived for.

"Well, I don't exactly go parading what I do in my free time, especially to my students."

It was your turn to chuckle at his words. "Right... Of course."

His gaze is intense as they fall on your own, startling you, his eyebrows raised. "And you? I never pegged you as someone who goes around attending illegal races Miss y/n, or is this a new hobby?'

Your smile is sly, yet innocent with a hint of teasing. Where did your confidence come from? You don't know, but it doesn't deter you from raising your shoulder at him at the realization. "Well, it's like you said, Professor. I don't go around parading what I do in my free time."

Sunghoon's eyebrow stood in amusement, a slight mischievous grin on his face. "Well Miss Y/n, as your Professor I advise you to find a new hobby, this isn't a place for girls like you."

"Girls like me, Professor? I wonder, what do you mean by that exactly?" You take a step forward his figure that now leans against his bike. Surely, it must have been the beer your friend Sunoo had given you earlier finally taking effect and aiding you in your flirtaious advances towards your professor because, on any other regular day, you'd be a blushing mess just at the mere sight of him.

The question was unexpected, and your advancement is not any less than the latter. The you know is nothing compared to the one he sees in class, relatively quiet, always to yourself unless your friend is there. You were a good girl, he knew that much so seeing you here sparks a newfound interest within him, one that edges towards risky territory.

"Good girls. Miss y/n, you're a good student with relatively good grades with a bright future, though your literature grade could use some work but it's not anything that couldn't be helped with some extra help."

You frown at the mention of his class, despite his attractiveness, and be it outside his kind personality Professor Park was a harsh grader and he didn't show mercy to anyone, not even the pretty girl that sits at the corner with the cutest skirts, you.

"Well, good thing we are not on campus, Professor Park, so I don't exactly have to heed your advice, don't I?" You eyed down his figure, the leather of his jacket and pants sticking to his body, making it a point he was clearly out of his Professor elements at the moment.

"You're right, Miss Y/n but nevertheless, I am still your professor at the end of the day and I wish you would heed to them."

There was a momentary silence between the two of you, the sound of distant chatter of the crowd around you and the firing up of motorcycle engines being the only noise filling in the empty unspoken words between you.

It wasn't until Sunghoon broke the silence between the both of you. "Are you here with friends?" He asks.

"Yeah, but they're not from our school." You say, hoping to ease any worry he had asking that question. He hums in acknowledgment.

"You're going back home with them then." He eyes with a sense of concern as you shake your head.

"No, I'm supposed to head back first, I have an early literature exam tomorrow, and my professor would be very mad if I overslept and missed it." You explain jokingly, directing the slight blame towards your professor for not being able to attend the after-party your friends wanted to go to after the race despite it being a Sunday night.

"Really? He must be a very strict teacher then." He says with a teasing grin. You nod, agreeing with him.

"Very."

"Well, I could give you a ride back to your place if you want? We wouldn't want you getting home too late."

You laughed, but shook your head, appreciating his offer and fighting every fiber in your body that wants to scream yes, but putting him with the burden of sending you home makes you say the opposite. "It's okay, I couldn't ask you to do that Professor, I don't mind taking a taxi."

Sunghoon cuts you off with a shake of his own head, lifting up from his leaning position, his figure looming over you. "I insist, as your Professor and for my own peace of mind, Miss y/n, I would feel much better if you'd allowed me to drive you."

With one last sentence your resolve to say no crumbles at your feet. "Let me take you home, Miss y/n."

Who were you to say no to your Professor? In school usually, it would get you in detention, so surely there would be a punishment for saying no right now, what that was? You weren't sure, but you didn't want to find out.

"Okay."

[kairiscorner]

bc i feel like it

overworked salary man miggy o'hara hcs

before he met you, he loathed getting up in the morning; the only thing he really looked forward to was getting his fix of coffee, because working for a company that doesn't acknowledge you exist outside of being another cog in the machine and having to work non-stop from 9-5 really changed up his brain chemistry, and so all he wanted to do was drink coffee in the morning and think of nothing else.

he'd forgets to get breakfast at times, so before lunch, there's always a pivotal hour when his hunger worsens and he gets angry. like he becomes an entirely different person, he's no longer 9:30 miggy, he's aggressive and hangry miggy at 11:15.

he barely gets spoken to in the office tbh, the only people who interact with him are the ones who go to his table to pass him their empty paper coffee cups because he's the only one with a big trash bin in their wing so they give him the duty of paper cup disposal 😭😭😭

when he met you, tbh, he found a reason to get out of bed that wasn't just to get his fix of coffee and brush his teeth–he had something to actually look forward to in his day, someone who'd finally look his way and talk to him like he existed, like he meant something to them–that he was worth talking to.

it's because of you that he actually remembers to get breakfast every day after he met you and enjoys it. especially if you two go get breakfast from your recommendations, like man, he swears, you are have the best taste in food.

you make the commute to the office and back home so bearable, like he hates having to deal with the overcrowding, the noises, the bright lights in train stations–but when you're here with him, and you're comforting him, sharing an earphone with him, listening to comfortable noises or music with him to fall asleep to or just try to shift his focus away from the noise and all.

when you two walk home together, before you go on your own way, he always thinks of asking you out to dinner. he wants to impress you for once with his own food taste, even if he thinks you have better taste compared to him, but he wants to treat you to a lovely night where two aren't bogged down with work or backlog or anything else annoying.

when his tie is loose or is falling apart, he loves it when you tie it for him. he might or might not purposefully keep it untied at times, just to feel you close to him, experience you tie it for him and be so close.

when you're working overtime, he volunteers to stay behind and help you work. it's not just because he pities you and understands what it's like to be bogged down with work, but because he... he loves you and wants you to be rid of these shitty work burdens.

he encourages you to shit talk your crappy managers, bosses, and just general asshole higher-ups. he does the same, and you feel a lot more carefree around him.

he's always lending you stuff from his cubicle, he never gets mad or irritated about it when it's you–to everyone else, it's off-limits to borrow his stuff. he actually sometimes hopes you need to borrow his stuff, it's his excuse to see you :>

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara

[delicrieux]

𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑫, 4. year one: start of term, 1972

pairing for this chapter—sirius black x f!lestrange!reader x regulus black warnings for this chapter—tbh none i think word count—6.4k

oh dear, the train ride is positively mental, but at least the sorting clears, well, everything. it is always as it should be, isn't it?

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | ttp masterlist | < back | next >

walburga lands three kisses: one for regulus, one for sirius, and one for you. her lips are dry, and her lipstick stains identical, right between the brows. sirius seems most displeased by such a display of unwanted affection, at king's cross, no less, but regulus is glad for it. you are, too, as unwilling as you are to admit or even show it.

"write," she orders.

you know this isn't aimed solely at you, but it's easier to assume. a bout of special treatment. walburga is very different from your mother, from the cut of her features to her voice to the drapes of her travel robes. sometimes, you wish they were much alike, because that would mean that your mother loves you. perhaps the contrast means she doesn't, perhaps the warmth means she's obliged to. perhaps all love has its peculiarities.

the trip to the station had been surprisingly uneventful. sirius had pointedly ignored you, always one step head – any further and walburga would have yanked him back by the hand, which would have been terribly embarrassing for him. regulus, sour in his brother presence, had also been confined to silence, but he stuck close to your side, a looming shadow just over your shoulder, still too short to form any of his own.

despite this, their strategic placement made you safe. rabastan made himself scarce at the first blow of the whistle, along with your luggage, which he either dumped into a lonely compartment or gleefully left on the tracks. he will receive a earful either way, because you didn't much appreciate the way he handled your precious leather-bound trunk, dragging and jostling it around uncaringly. you'll tattle to father, too, only to make your displeasure all the more apparent.

you take sirius' and regulus' hand respectively and squeeze, trying to ease the mounting pressure, but neither seems to find this comforting, pulling their appendage free almost at once. walburga frowns disapprovingly, eyes sharp. under her gaze, you become nervous. or perhaps it's the loud, oozing mob of people sloshing by the sides of your small family, crying parents and children included. you would, of course, never cry, even if the sting behind your eyes is surprisingly sharp the longer you look at her silver brooch. you wish to assure her, but your teeth are pressed together very tightly and you don't think you'll find your voice. your feet scoot backward, close together, shoulders to your ears.

a flash, an iron cloud of steam, and, then, a hissing rumbling that rattles the platform and vibrates up the soles of your shoes.

a glance at regulus shows him pale and sickly, hazel eyes boring into his mother. sirius grows angry the longer he dallies. his jaw is all hard, like his father's. you wonder if they'll resemble one another the longer they spend apart. the idea is rather frightening.

"on the train, off you go," their mother ushers, an undertone of malice slipping under her crisp voice, "no ruckus."

in a stupor, you nod dumbly, only really catching on when she fixes your jacket and skirts, readying you to face the brave new world of non-private tutors and shared dorms. the chilly mist curls by your feet. she waits until the lot of you march up, the shiny metal stairwell banging loudly underfoot, sirius first, regulus following closely. something within you snaps, and with the creak of the last step, you spin and wave, like your life would depend on it, wind picking up.

no return of your petulant gesture, nor a smile. just the slight dip of her head. it's more than enough.

the train's narrow walkways are overcrowded by eager, sobbing first years saying their last farewells. you hope one tumbles out the open window. the sight of snot unnerves you. surely you don’t look like that, all blushed and scattered and eyes rimmed red. or do you? the thought is humiliating, and your skin crawls beneath soft cotton.

"we should find barty and evan," regulus says.

you perk, "and marzy. matilda, too."

"...suppose."

his expression grows troubled, and it's like the flip of a switch: a change so instantaneous you want to laugh. but it isn't that funny. regulus was never an anxious child. this new side of him concerns you. perhaps he's just worried to be away from home. you are, too, and you wish to tell him, but only in secret, because you know that only he would keep it well.

but sirius is near, and oh, he wouldn't let either of you live it down. he'd probably hear it as a whisper, even with all this terrible noise around. your row is still fresh in memory, and you return his spite with barely masked discontent, despite him being completely unfazed. he's playing a game, as always. when he wins, the euphoria will make everything else melt away. that is how he can stay happy.

you walk through the crowded corridor, the trio making careful but swift movements to avoid the nasty looks of huddled, tired older students. there's a certain thrill to seeing faces you would recognize as fellow peers in a year or two. this is all very new and confusing.

a long string of cabins makes the hall narrower. some doors are opened. inside there is an ever changing string of images: a quartet of laughing girls, a pair of boys playing with a pack of cards, the fatigued glance from a student studying, another group of friends screaming over one another, the window and the endless expanse of trees rushing by, the shrill of the whistle, your heartbeat alongside it.

at last, a lone cabin makes your pulse jump with delight, perhaps for the first time this morning.

tailored grey robes fitted nicely, brown leather oxfords polished, new, shiny silver cuffs, rye blonde hair, and a bored, pale expression. evan rosier doesn’t so much as glance up from his book as the door rattles open, content in his own private booth. no sign indicates it to be so, but the luxurious feeling lingers, along with the hazy after-note of his father cologne (pilfered; evan, at times, wishes to appear very grown up, and thus, he isn’t above bending the rules to achieve a desired affect).

regulus enters first with a greeting, and yours gets stuck in your throat when a hand grasps your wrist and pulls.

"let's go," sirius mumbles, his grip like a claw, tight and hot.

“piss off,” you grumble, trying to tug free, but one look from him makes you wilt in spot. his eyes shift from you to somewhere over your shoulder, and the compartment’s door snaps shut.

wonderful, no one is coming to your rescue. unceremoniously, sirius drags you along, the absolute prat. yanking you around like you're some poodle (rodolphus had thoughtfully once remarked you similar in appearance and character). yes, well, perhaps the comparison is frightening for its accuracy, but that doesn't give sirius the right!

the two of you barge down the corridor, "cousin, please."

"oh," he sneers, "now, i'm ‘cousin’ again?"

you have half the mind to wring him with your own bare hands. the first hex you'll legally cast will be directed at his unhappy sneer. you think of digging your heels into the carpet, but that would possibly end with you toppling over, and he'd continue dragging you still. merlin, that'd be mortifying. another warning look and you're shushed into silence.

you pass a few carriages, now long away from your friends. unknown territory, and the students here a bit livelier and clag in muggle clothes – the sweaters, ugh, and, well, jeans, is it? – and his grip becomes much more mild. as does your resistance. he makes a point of appearing quite satisfied.

the air is a tad too tense for your comfort.

"missed me?" he muses, checking over his shoulder.

yes, you most certainly did. more so than expected, which doesn't bode well. if there was something you didn't want, it would be him figuring this out. bastard.

his next words make you bristle, "don't pout."

the prospect of speaking and exposing yourself makes you shift on your feet uncomfortably, so you don't. instead, you observe. the wooden panelling is actually nice, considering the rubbish inside, and you realize, too, you could have done in worse company. his profile is nearly enough to erase all anger, so much so it leaves you nauseous. it is just like sirius to sweep you up in the tide of his volatile emotions.

alas, you are with him, and his brother is not. he had, quite literally, peeled you away. that must count for something if taking sums.

another carriage, and you're now on the other side of the train, and he's much calmer. happier, clearly, and so you gaze up at the back of his head and wonder what could make the tense line of his shoulders ease so suddenly.

he halts, turns, and his hold slides from your wrist to your hand. this, now, feels like a very important moment. your gut churns.

"sorry," he manages, inspecting the pain of foggy glass. obviously, much more interesting than your dumb expression, "didn't want them tagging along."

"okay," is the only thing that comes to mind, and it doesn't cover even a fraction of your bewilderment.

"and. and-" his nose wrinkles as he mulls, mouth still stuck on the beginning of whatever word he will say, "and, yeah," he pauses, gives a squeeze. the carriage shifts. suppose this is the end of his dignified apology. it is the worst you had ever received, and in your long life, you had received, say, ten at most, because no one ever does anything to upset you. all of them had been from sirius, and, to his credit, he had at least tried to appear sincere. one, definitely, was from rabastan, but he was forced to apologize by father, so that hardly counts.

"still upset?"

his voice, his eyes. you wonder when they'll look older. his ears are turning pink, like they did when he was mad, or when you bested him, or when someone teased him about how ridiculous his name is.

there's not much for you to reply with that wouldn't uncover all, and so you don't speak. instead, you hold your head high in all the poise you can muster. must not be much, because he snorts.

"okay, okay," a great, deep breath, and he slouches forward, "look, sorry for ignoring you," a sigh, like something heavy, a physical entity, slides down and settles low on his chest. his chin drops into his collar, "forgot. forgot how big of a softie you are."

"am not!" your quick denial would be obvious to the blind and deaf.

his voice carries the ghost of amusement, "yes. yes, you are."

"am not!" fine, so what if you are a bit soft-hearted. all of that only makes your pride more magnificent. besides, you are selective with your soft-heartedness. if it were, say, a weeping rabbit, or, someone else's dog, then, you might, indeed, find yourself moved to act, but you most certainly draw the line somewhere. and once you locate that line, you'll surely rub it in his face.

his grin is mollifying, "i know."

all this fuss. not like you truly had much of a choice when sirius is involved. that brute knows which buttons to push. he was a fool to even test it. how he will cry when the roles are reversed.

"do you want to meet my friends?" his excitement, hidden as it is, still leaks.

"no."

"aw." he doesn't believe you. you're not sure you believe yourself. it's very perplexing. the emotions you feel are too complicated for you to pick apart, meshing and blending into a syrup that tastes tart and makes you want to squirm out his grasp, his line of vision, the immediate vicinity, and perhaps further still, but you don’t want him to let go. his eyes brighten with the next statement, "well. you're just going to have to suck it up. be cute."

that makes you huff, because his own smugness is both enervating and enthralling, but you're glad to be needed again, "as if i don't always!"

"there's the spunk," his hold shifts, and the tip of his thumb gently eases a stray wisp of hair away from the bridge of your nose. your cheeks must be positively scalding, "going to cry on me?"

it's his taunting, his brittle tenderness. always wanting to prove something. to you, to everyone, it seems. you think his behaviour is strange today. not off-putting, but, rather, endearing in its absurdity.

fine, you'll bite. fix your cutest expression – all doe eyes and a pout, like you didn't receive the candy you so desperately wanted. very unassuming, it does wonders for the general populace. father once told you that you have a very comely disposition, and that you must use it to your advantage, but what he didn't know is that, at five, you were already doing that. how else would he have bought you a stable to feed your brief obsession with horses? without even realising it, too.

it is terribly effective on sirius.

"well, don't. please," is what he can come up with, which, in your humble opinion, is simply awful, "okay? don't cry. because there's a no-crying clause in our friendship. and it's... very important."

"alright," you cogitate, delighted to have so much power over such a boy. not that show it, but there really isn't a better feeling.

regulus could probably call your bluff. evan, most certainly. but sirius, despite his fiery nature, likes to be useful, but particularly, he likes protect. the latter, especially, when directed toward a pretty, smaller thing. which, in this case, you suppose is yourself.

you allow the brat to tug you up and into a cabin. he almost trips over his feet.

as soon as the door slides open, you stand on your tippy-toes to look over his shoulder.

three pairs of eyes rest on the both of you and suddenly your tummy sinks with panic. how odd is this situation for a first impression. there you are, in skirts and clutching his hand like a little lost pet, and he, smug as can be, eyes slightly less dry from a poor excuse of an emotional break. he has this look on his face, too.

"all right?" the spectacled one greets.

he turns to regard you, which gives you the opportunity to properly analyse the faces of strangers. he seems to be sirius' age, and he's smiling very brightly. his spectacles, a bit crooked, slide off his nose, and he doesn't feel the need to fix them, revealing twin hazel eyes.

a warm squeeze draws your attention back, "yeah," sirius responds, and perhaps you unconsciously cave into yourself to appear even smaller. not that you aren't used to be being examined, it's that you aren't used to being examined by sirius' friends. you had never met anyone he would call that outside of yourself.

"my cousin," sirius presents, along with your full, proper name, first and middle and third and lesrange, "four times removed."

they all happily chime their introductions as you are sat down besides sirius. the spectacle-clad one is james, and the one sat beside him with a chocolate frog in his hand is peter, and the one on your side of the seat is remus, cosy by the window. he seems the quietest and the least likely to find sirius' pranks funny. and you think, all in all, that perhaps you could like him very much.

you have heard bits and pieces about them, and it's nice to put names to faces and finally see the people sirius has grown so close with. he was often quite evasive in his replies, probably to maintain a sense of cool. what a ninny.

peter regards you a bit shyly, not quite sure if you want to be here. his freckly, ruddy skin and blonde hair is so quaint and farmish. nothing like sirius'. james, too, seems like the type of child you might find in a shoe store, perfectly squishy and baby-faced.

"she's good," sirius says, "normal. the only other with common sense out the whole lot."

well, you would appreciate if he didn't speak as if you didn't exist squeezed beside him, thank you very much. his hand still has yours hostage, and by how at ease he is, you assume he has forgotten about it entirely. you will not remind him, because you find the notion surprisingly awkward, and this is perhaps the first time in your life that you feel the prickly, tense feeling halting all possible function.

"not surprised," james remarks, eyes on you. there's a mischievous gleam, similar to sirius’, "a friend of sirius is a friend of ours!"

"suppose," peter agrees, having gotten over the initial surprise of having you there, his features shifting into his natural, lazy appearance, which you can tolerate, "our numbers have grown."

sitting close, you can feel sirius preen in pleasure at being so wanted and loved. by a pettigrew, a line infested with squibs, and a potter, no doubt an ignoble lineage. and a lupin, too, though more subtly. a wizard surname, but considering you haven't heard much of it, you can assume nothing good.

well, this is certainly company.

you plaster your shyest smile in hopes they cannot tell what you're thinking. they're boys, so you don't suppose they think much to begin with, but one can never be too certain! even barty has his moments.

remus, you think, has a quite cool gaze on you. or, not. but still, he holds himself in the same way that regulus does. quite tall, too. there's nothing exactly frightening about his countenance, but he seems a bit more serious than the current gaggle.

sirius doesn't pay much notice, absorbed by his little following as he is, and peter looks absolutely daft and not at all reliable for conversation. james, well, he's looking at you, as though he wants you to feel welcomed to join their conversation. how silly.

"you excited for the sorting?" james asks.

you nod. sirius has hauled you here unwillingly, and so you'll let him respond, as he seems beside himself to do so, "my money's on gryffindor. she's pretty stubborn."

james seems quite captivated with the idea, "that'd make you the first lestrange to be a gryffindor, wouldn't it?"

you are sure there's some sort of jab in there, but james is smiling. like really, really widely. a big, stupid, cheerful smile, and his hair is a terrible mess. he looks like a muggle, and if your father could see you now, you'd never be let outside again.

"she will," sirius tells them confidently, but really, it seems like he wants it to be true more for the sake of argument than anything else, "bet."

"three sickles."

"fine!"

you don't care to gamble, even if there's a great deal of pride involved. betted sickles or no. you decide it'll be best to observe as you settle comfortably. a new role, you’d make quite the actress. perhaps your likeness will be printed in the papers alongside lindy witchermore and gabriette merlot.

the view outside the window melts into endless plains. the sky grows a tad darker, hiding the sunshine, and everything becomes an amorphous smudge.

james ropes the boys into a lengthy discussion of quidditch and this is where you start wondering about regulus. did he and even find barty? and matilda and marzy? did matilda wear her new, pretty bow? if she did, you'll feel very jealous and entirely slighted. you wish you had a cute, fuzzy bow, but then the poodle comparisons really wouldn't stop.

james continues, completely oblivious. maybe that's just how he is. maybe, then, remus is more attentive, because he tilts his head at you a tad inquisitively, "are you interested in quidditch?"

your timidity allows for only a miniscule shake of the head.

suddenly, you're the centre of attention, and your guts get a little icky.

"what? maybe you just don’t know how it works," james quips, "s' alright, i’ll explain." and, merlin, please, can someone save you.

"this idiot here," sirius tells you, turning very swiftly, "believes he's the best player in the nation, and he's not even on the bloody quidditch team yet-"

"-but i'm auditioning this year! it's only cuz they don't allow first years to join the team-"

"-doesn't matter, cuz i'm still winning this year's competition, hands down-

"-wish you luck, sirius," peter interjects. he sounds completely unenthusiastic in his effort to join the argument. you're surprised he could manage, if his awkward stature was anything to go by. his knees, you note, touch his hands, even though he's sitting. very slouched. not how father would teach. but he doesn't seem too self-conscious.

the theme of sports continues. the trolley passes and they cluster to buy sweets, purchasing some extra for you. and extra in general. james spares no expenses, and then sirius goes to match, because apparently, everything's a competition between them, and so your dingy little compartment is slew with candy and you have no appetite.

really, the wrappers make your head spin, and it's much too warm. rain plasters on the window, and for a moment, the windowpane reflects you perfectly, a little face peering in, like it's trying to jam it's way inside.

barty, often, if he knew he did something bad, would beg you in a raspy voice to not snitch. not to his parents. you knew and he knew that if the occasion ever called for it, you were not above a good gossip. and so you would sit with his mother and sisters in the parlour room, holding matching, pretty teacups, and you would feel like an outsider weighted by information you never wanted to have.

much like now. all this menial chatter. an inside into sirius' social life that exists so far from the confines of familial relations. you have never seen him so happy, and when aunt walburga inquires of his moods because he won't be bothered to send an owl back, you will not know whether to lie or tell the truth.

in another time and place, you could possibly imagine regulus here, too. or maybe that would just make him feel worse. his isolation. always feeling the lesser. he'd be miserable in this company, but then the burden could be shared with two, and you wouldn't feel as lonely.

of course, that won't be an option. in this one, or the other.

***

your rescue arrives shy of an hour into your stay in that stuffy compartment. narcissa’s cold gaze cuts through the chatter instantaneously, and the overhead lights flicker on slowly to illuminate her haughty expression. how absolutely beautiful she is, even in the storm’s background. the plastic wrappers slide from the seats and puddle by your feet. the shuffle, the rain, the excited spur of your little heart. she regards each of them, pausing on sirius, “cousin.”

“cousin,” his face has scrunched up, as though he ate something sour.

a trace of a smile on her lips, all because of his displeasure. she turns to you, “let’s go.”

twice, today, you’ve been requested. twice, you have no say. while this does imply a certain necessity of your presence – an astounding popularity, how beloved you truly are! – you can only shudder at the thought at what other surprise will occur on this momentous day.

you move, but sirius stops you, “she wants to be here.”

“she needs to greet the rest of the family,” her voice carries a certain finality. no one dares to protest, and you pry yourself away before sirius thinks of a comeback scalding enough to earn him a smacking. or a howler, at the very least.

the corridor has become much more quiet. the doors are closed, and you don’t dare to peel your eyes away from her new kitten heels as you follow after.

cissy needn’t say much for you to know you’ve disappointed her. to be caught with sirius’ crowd is to step into dangerous territory. you feel as though you must explain yourself, because you don’t wish for her ire, nor do you wish for her indifference, “thank you. i didn’t know how to get away. you know how he can be.”

she sighs, “unfortunately, yes, i am quite familiar with his antics. always scheming up his silly, little plans, that one. he really is far too meddlesome, even moreso when it comes to you," she stops, only for you to catch up. looks at you proper, with her chin slightly tilted down to your level, "very clingy."

this pleases you a bit. no matter how irritating the boys can get, they are a sort of constant that brings you peace of mind. no matter the time, no matter the day, there is always at least one that is by your side. not having that would leave you rather desolate.

"they've gotten worse," she says, "what are we to do with such little gentlemen?"

your heart flutters at her mention of we. a sign of inclusion. her fond tone. perhaps the others don't hear her that way, and you certainly won't inform them of her secretly mushy nature, but there isn't a better friend than narcissa. there never will be. not even the others, though bonded far closer, will ever understand you as she does.

"how did you find me?" you ask.

she huffs, as if it's much too obvious, "regulus."

so he has been dutifully working behind the scenes to retrieve you. oh, how your mood improves! all in one day. not that it was bad, no, rather the opposite, but it is relieving to finally return to where you're meant to be.

and the compartment you're meant to be in is much too crowded. there's evan arguing with bartimus over a game of explosive sap, and there's matilda (no bow!) and marzy clamouring to out-pride each other, and there's regulus, the one that notices you first and the one that jumps up to offer you a seat, even if, well, you'd all fit anyway.

"finally," barty calls over his shoulder as you're safely returned, and cissy continues down the walkway, "what have you been up to, hm? the first train ride for larly toppings."

"larly toppings?" you murmur.

his mouth thins in an unimpressed line, "read more."

"she doesn't know how," regulus chimes, and oddly, you've missed the ease of his dull remarks. no matter if you were separated mere hours, your hearts have been made lighter just through proximity.

matilda snorts, "lay off, whiny. he's been moaning about your absence since he lost sight of you."

"have not!" he states hotly.

 evan lifts a curious brow, but his eyes remain fixed on the game.

"she was stuck," regulus tries to explain, "with my brother and his horrible friends. evan?"

he shrugs, "didn't think that'd stop her from walking away."

matilda is absolutely tickled. even you cannot help but laugh at the exasperated expression on reggie's face. marzy scoots and eagerly pats the seat beside her, which you happily take. it earns you a glare from the younger black, who plops back down next to the boys.

bartimus clicks his tongue and tosses a wrapped sweet into his mouth, "our darling is, and shall forever be, delicate and fragile," an aside glance, "of the utmost importance, and we have pledged a solemn duty to defend her honour from that reprobate of a cousin. it's for his own good. he simply doesn't understand, being so young and such."

your nose wrinkles. how pretentious, even if half-right. but, fine, you'll play along, if only to appease your friend and give him some reason to not glower at all hours of the day. he can be very grouchy when the situation calls.

"tell us, c'mon," marzy nudges, "meet cousin's friends?"

you shudder, "they're absolutely horrid. dreadful," you elaborate, and they nod along eagerly, "simply wretched, and so loud. all they talk about is quidditch."

the boys snap at attention.

"quidditch?!" they screech.

"ugh," matilda makes a face, "boring."

"i'm not a fan," marzy agrees.

"don't care for it," matilda adds.

"yeah, cuz you're girls," barty states, "what do you lot know of entertainment?"

"hey! i take offense," matilda throws an empty packet at him, and he moves to poke her.

evan rubs his temples and offers you a weak smile. at least he understands.

"so what's your favourite team?"

"oo, they'll talk about it for hours," matilda rolls her eyes.

marzy's lower lip pokes out, "because it's their 'hobby.'"

you snicker, "chasing balls like dogs. recon they'd be so enthusiastic over a bone?"

"brave words, poodle," regulus bristles.

"i recon you’d know better about chasing your tail," you bite back.

he tugs on your ear, "ow, stop it, let go you idiot!"

the girls scramble to help, "you don't do that!"

and he is towed off of you, thrown on the seat beside evan by two particularly vehement ladies. it takes no time for them to commence the lecturing, which quickly delves into the heartfelt portion of their speech, filled with high pitched, intonations and tears and the like.

"you must stop and consider your actions! we love her dearly, and can't stand to see her so distressed. surely you have noticed a great change in her disposition, not to mention-"

and barty makes a great mistake in trying to defend the great offender, and so he receives an earful, too, "how could you simply sit there and watch her be treated like that? and then dare to stand up for-"

"fine. alright, already!"

beneath his scuffling and exasperated state, barty almost smiles. and the girls tussle his hair, and turn to you, all watered eyes and frowns. "if there is ever an issue, you can tell us," marzy says, "i'll tell theodore! brother will sort the boy right out."

"maybe his mother, too," matilda suggests.

you feign being torn, "no, no! i couldn't."

"we can, but fine, it's your call."

"can't believe this," regulus mutters.

evan grimaces and turns to him, "all in good fun. i think."

the commotion dies down for a moment as marzy fishes out her tissues – one for matilda, one for herself, and one for you. to dab the tears glistening in the corners of your eyes, of course. it’s a very delicate, grown up gesture. mrs nott is an emotional woman, and you three had learned a lot from watching her sob at luncheons (at spring, specifically, when there’s clouds of pollen in the air).

regulus looks at you and asks, "want a caramel?"

you look at him for a while, a rather dumbfounded look about you, and shake your head no. you take the lemon one instead, for the irony of it.

and with that, you all settle, in a very serene manner, a slight disturbance now and again from the rolling tracks. the others talk over you as you look over your treat, thoughtful and malleable. no, it seems that, in this manner, life will continue unchanged. even after school is established, this, your circle, will endure and persist, and you won't have a need to leave anyone, no matter what comes between you.

oh, but what of sirius? you would so like for him to get along with your rowdy lot. but it's no good, if it's him, because he has his own group, and he wants nothing to do with yours. still, you would share your treat with him, and he wouldn't like the flavour but he would pretend that he did to make you happy.

cissy words linger, but you don't understand why. nor any deeper implications. you will yourself not to think of such things.

***

a quick summary of events before this very moment:

one, after the sugar rush, your compartment had died down significantly. seats were changed, and while inspecting the tome on the history of hogwarts (terrible read, really, you'll detest history of magic, you just know it!) you and regulus had fallen asleep.

two, bartimus had accidentally left explosive crackers by an unassuming door leading to a compartment occupied, accidentally, by muggles, which spooked them immensely. they fled like puffskins in each and every direction as the fireworks cackled and smoke billowed, lingering in the corridor. this is how he met frank longbottom, a gryffindor prefect, and received a stern warning, which only left him pondering about further opportunities of mischief.

three, evan, searching for a chocolate frog, had located a box of marzipan sweets, which greatly upset marzy, because marzipan nott is a ridiculous name and she was rightly ridiculed by bartimus for a good 15 minutes before matilda locked him out of the compartment.

four, after changing into your school uniforms, the lot of you sat in silence nursing a nasty stomach-ache.

five, you briefly saw sirius and his friends at hogsmeade station, and james potter waved at you, which upset regulus, so he didn't speak with you for the remaining boat ride. you had decided he's not worth the fuss, and simply enjoyed the cool, wet air and the gentle lull of the wooden boat drawing closer to the castle that will, from now, be considered your home. the sky, by then, had cleared, and the moon was split in half by the astronomy tower.

the great hall is astoundingly grand. your shoes echo and the chattering whispers are a pleasant buzz. it seems as though no one quite wants to separate. your friends surround you, admiring the enchanted sky and the warm twinkle of floating candles. "they're everywhere. look."

regulus points, as he noticed first, and you move your head to follow their patterns. you've never seen anything like it before. it's quite a thing, how all the children look upward, stumbling after professor mcgonagall and closer and closer to the sorting hat. sat atop a rickety stool, you try to catch a glimpse at it, though all you can see is the pointy tip.

on your left sits the slytherin table, with cissy and rabastan; to your right is sirius with his friends, and further is hufflepuff, and further still is ravenclaw. marzy, unable to help herself, waves at her brother, and you see him stand and wave back, a new, shiny ravenclaw prefect badge pinned to his robes.

"oh," she sounds very distressed, and her tanned skin blotches a deep rose, "i hope i'm in ravenclaw," she utters, then snaps, "no!" she turns to you and regulus, stood shoulder to shoulder, taken aback by the fervour in her voice, "slytherin. i don't want to be without you."

barty shrugs, "plenty of chances. we'll come for a visit anyway."

"of course we will," you confirm, and pat her arm gently.

"you'll do well wherever you are," matilda pats her arm, too.

you'd like to say the sorting doesn't matter much at all, but it does. ravenclaw is not too egregious, however, and it would bely an intelligence you didn't know she had, which would be a pleasant surprise to everyone. hufflepuff is tolerable. the only hufflepuff you know is aunt berry yaxley, but no one talks to her much.

gryffindor is off limits, but marzy would never fit the criteria. you, however...

bartimus gives the both of you a sceptical look. the chatter dims for a moment as dumbledore stands and delivers his yearly introduction. the sorting hat starts singing, and the lyrics were included in the brochure, but you didn't bother reading. regulus finds singing embarrassing, so the two of you hum along, but bartimus, unsurprisingly, has quite a pair of lungs on him.

finally, the sorting begins. professor mcgonagall unfurls a lengthy parchment, and the hall hushes eagerly. you feel the tension slowly settle on your shoulders as the names are called. to some, this is simply a sorting. to you, it will decide your fate.

"black, regulus," and the pin drop silence is slightly unnerving. you glance at reggie as he glances at you, and you don't have time to read his expression before he's off, weaving through the students to take a seat under the brim of the worn sorting hat. you clasp your hands together tightly.

"SLYTHERIN!"

clapping erupts. all of you brim with happy smiles, but regulus remains stoic. his eyes dart to gryffindor before he shuffles to join cissy, growing more miserable as the slytherin table drowns him in congratulations.

"crouch, bartimus," mcgonagall sounds.

"expelled," matilda hisses, and to the surprise of all, barty doesn't flip her the bird.

the hat covers his eyes before, "SLYTHERIN!"

and he's much happier to receive the standing ovation. you can see it on his face: the rush, the pride when he slides onto his bench, a smug, lopsided grin etched onto his features, right beside a quiet regulus.

a few more names, and then yours. the crowd shushes again. this year holds many important names, some youngest members of the secret twenty eight. all eyes, on you, again, and marzy nudges you to move as your gaze gets stuck on sirius. he seems hopeful. a small smile lifts his lips and you feel yourself breathe in and hold.

your fingers shake, but you walk with your back straight, just like aunt walburga taught you.

you sit down, and mcgonagall offers you a placid smile. you'd prefer her not to draw it out and let you keep your sanity.

it barely grazes the top of your hair before it bellows, "SLYTHERIN!"

you blink, deafened by the cheering. dizzied, you stand on quivering legs, and you look to sirius, because he had assured you and himself different, but he's not even looking at you. his brows are creased and his jaw is clenched. not the way you want to see him. it was a terrible thing to wish, after all. the disappointment.

but the welcome, oh, anyone would love to be so accepted. regulus smiles, a rare, honest quirk of the lip, and he beams just a little bit when he notices the tight expression on your face, so proud and yet so filled with concern, like your happiness meant more to him than his own. you are pulled to sit beside him and barty as your robes stripe green, and cissy smiles and pats your cheek, and everything is as it should be in the world.

just not exactly how you imagined.

[thebennettdiaries]

the oak king

( a little merry christmas to the Klonnie fandom )

Bonnie closes the door behind her, shutting away the cold (but more importantly the people). The world is so fast this time of year, moving with a sense of urgency that is counterproductive to its surroundings. There is so much noise, so many bright colors --- far too many expectations.

She doesn't want to be a part of it. At least not at the moment.

She is bone tired as she carefully sets her bag on the nearest flat surface. This room has been her home for close to three days now, a temporary stop on her never ending journey. As far as places to rest her head, she likes this one. It is cozy, just what she needs this time of year.

With her day's work done, Bonnie decides that she will slip into the bath and soak away any aches (any reminders of what she is missing). But first ---

--- just because she doesn't want to be a part of the madness of the world outside doesn't mean she will ignore it all together.

She reaches into her bag and pulls free the tiny branch of a fir tree sticking out of a pot. She had almost passed it by, resting on a table in an overcrowded Christmas market. But in the end, it had called to her and now it finds a home on the antique desk, giving it a view of the busy streets below where the snow is beginning to collect.

She runs a finger along it, feeling its dying strength as she does so. It should have never been clipped and stuffed into a tiny red container. It should have been allowed to continue its life uninterrupted. So, although she cannot fully restore it, she can do the next best thing.

Bonnie summons her magic, which has waned significantly after the day's demands. However, she just has enough left to tickle the branch back to its vibrant green. It stands a little taller, and for good measure, she leans in and blows. It seems to twinkle now, a more natural replica of its larger relatives littering homes all over the city.

For a moment, she stands there, thinking of all the Christmases that have come before this one. So many of them are filled with sadness --- missing her mother, missing her grandmother, worrying that death had been close by. Then there is that one she spent all alone in a pocket of the universe.

She has never really had Christmases worth remembering.

Her mouth is set in a firm line. She isn't sad now. She might be alone but this time she has chosen to be. She may no longer have roots but she is doing real good in this world. Besides, she knows damn well that Caroline will be Facetiming her to document every second of the Forbes Family Christmas (Bonnie rolls her eyes but deep down she knows she wouldn't miss it for the world).

She turns, leaving the tree to glimmer in its resting place. As she does so, she waves her hand and candles flare to life, basking the rest of the darkened room in a warm glow. She can already feel her magic stirring, beginning to rebound.

The hot water is filling the bathtub when her quiet is shattered by a knock at the door. She furrows her brows together as she slips her arms back into her sweater. She is done for the day. She is not interested in taking on anything else. She has earned this moment.

She waits a beat, hoping they will just give up and go back where they came from. When the knock comes again, more insistent this time, Bonnie sighs. So much for peace on earth.

She crosses the space in a few steps, intent on turning her visitor away. "I am not..." And then her voice dies. Her body tenses. It feels as if all the warmth she has created in her little room is pulled out the open door to lay at his feet.

A true ghost of her Christmas past.

Klaus Mikaelson stands there, looking at her in much the same vein she looks at him. Like he cannot fathom what he is seeing. It only serves to confuse her more --- because of the two, he is the one that has been dead for at least three years.

Then the moment is shattered and he gives her a wolfish grin.

"Merry Christmas, little witch."