#I’m a little stuck for chapter two but I’ll be writing it soon (hopefully)

[nickyroethemarinebiologist]

Clawing at the bars of my cage did anyone order some pirates?!? Because guess what !!! Chapter number one (1) of my temeraire-inspired pirate book. Full of swashbuckling adventure et cetera et cetera. I don’t know what to say ! But I am VERY excited to share this and a big big thank you to anyone who takes the time to read it. I’m a little nervous but I will prevail.

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Chapter I

Linsey leaned back on his heels, examining the merchant ship before him; the deck was slippery with sea water, heaving softly in the sea, dipping into the rising crests of each wave. His coat was similarly soaked, from passing rain and ocean spray both; he wiped his hands over his shirt and face as he surveyed the deck. The ship had not shown much resistance: her crew had surrendered willingly as Linsey’s own drew up alongside them, as most did, and in short it was merely a matter of boarding the thing; the weather proved more trouble than the ship itself. It was a strangely pleasant victory, if it could be called a victory at all; the ease at which his crew had taken the ship felt almost pitiful, Linsey found it somewhat disgraceful to congratulate himself.

The men had set to work immediately, rounding the passengers onto the deck and dividing the work among themselves with practiced ease and discipline. There had been some trouble, in the moment they had boarded, when a young man, overcome with panic, had bodily attempted to tackle the first men aboard; he had been restrained and taken as prisoner aboard the Delight, and the rest of his men were scared mostly into frightened silence afterwards.

Linsey took the moment of solitude to observe the waves. His crew were occupied, working to move their earnings aboard the Delight. They had no need for his command at present; he had absolute control only in battle, and the men were competent enough within themselves, so he had set himself to surveying the movements of their stores, and offering his help when the weather proved itself some trouble. They made quick work of it; Linsey looked on with great pride, and thought with satisfaction that there would be no difficulty keeping stores until they next drew to port.

“Hayes,” Linsey said, catching the man’s attention; he was just coming up from the hold, and looking rather queasy. At Linsey’s call, he came to the railing at his side, and hardly offered his regards, otherwise wholly occupied in his thoughts. “Hayes, man, what’s the matter with you?”

“Captain,” Hayes said, at length. “Mr. Grayson has called for you, there is something in the hold.”

“Mr. Grayson?” Linsey said, his satisfaction turning gradually to unease. “Did he say much else?”

“Only that I am not to tell you what it is, that you should like to see for yourself.”

“Oh? I’ll go down shortly,” Linsey said, “Though if you cannot tell me anything, you might at least take a moment to gather yourself, man,” He added, noting the pale look of Hayes’ expression. “You look as if you’ll collapse.”

Hayes did not immediately respond; he looked at Linsey with a helpless expression. He was still a young man, barely past his schoolroom years, and though he had taken to the seas with impressive enthusiasm, he had hardly been with the crew for more than a handful of months, and was not accustomed to the sea-faring life in the same such way as the other men. Linsey could not condemn him for it; still he hesitated, and finally issued a weak salute, with a look just short of relief.

Satisfied, Linsey gave a short nod and went below deck, not before giving Hammond, the sailing-master, word of his whereabouts.

He descended carefully, and found Grayson waiting for him, with his quartermaster at his side. Richard’s face was oddly pale, much like Hayes’ own; Linsey smiled when he saw him, and nodded to Grayson, though found it hard to hide his own rising concern as he followed his men towards the stern area of the hold.

“What’s this now?” Linsey said; the hold was near dark, and dimly lit, with only a handful of lanterns clustered about the far corner, in such a way that hardly offered any light at all.

“Quiet,” Grayson said, at which Linsey raised his brow in mild surprise; Grayson amended himself at once, “I am very sorry, Captain, I mean no offence. But please,”

Linsey looked to Richards, who only frowned.

“Captain, if you will step this way,” Grayson said. “Just there,” He indicated what Linsey now saw was a small nook, sheltered with walls of empty crates and lit only by the lanterns set at its sides. The walls were built in such a way that made it near impossible to see, if one was only checking the hold, Linsey could not help but feel the liveliest curiosity, overcome at once by quiet unease. He looked to Grayson, who nodded shortly, and stepped inside.

From within, the chamber seemed nearly comfortable, though strange and substitute in its appearance. The walls were lines with panels of wood, propped against the crates to keep warmth, and floor was padded with old sailcloth; it was almost like a cabin, though seemed too small to house any man. The sailcloth was bundled oddly in places, and in the very centre of it, near buried among the fabrics, lay a pale-faced boy.

In silence, Linsey stared. The boy was dead, there was nothing to be done about it; he looked scarcely older than the boys of his crew. they shared his round face and soft hands, but where their cheeks were rosy and full of life, his were pale and sickly, and held no colour at all.

“A stowaway, Captain, he must be,” said Grayson quietly, from behind him. Linsey held his gaze at the dead boy for a moment’s pause, and then blinked and looked instead to Richards, at his other side.

“Richards?” He said.

Richards nodded, looking solemn. “He must be.” He said, very softly, as though afraid to speak, lest he wake the boy.

Linsey nodded in turn, to Richards and then Grayson afterwards, and pressed his lips to a thin line. No one spoke; indeed, no one dared speak, least not Linsey himself, reluctant to break the silence of mourning.

Indeed, it was peculiar; the boy had no visible marks on his face or wrists, only the deep lines under his eyes, and the cracking at his lips. The ship could only have been sailing for no less than a week, and it did not seem as if he had died of late; it was only unfortunate that no one had found him before. More peculiar, though, were the fragments buried in the sailcloth around his hands; Linsey looked closer, and saw with surprise that it was the remains of an eggshell, pale in the dim lantern light, and scarcely smaller than a boy.

“God, men,” He said, “Look.”

Richards craned his head to see; Linsey heard his sharp intake of breath, and then at once he was quiet. “A dragon egg, Captain?” He said at last, in a voice scarcely above a whisper.

Linsey blinked at him in surprise; indeed, it was a possibility he had considered, but to hear it said aloud was alarming, even more so than the shell itself. He covered his shock, with some difficulty, and looked to the eggshell; the warmth of the lantern light turned it near translucent, it scarcely even looked real, and Linsey could not be wholly sure if he had not hallucinated it all.

“Grayson?” He said eventually, swallowing thickly; his mouth felt suddenly dry. “Is it?”

Grayson nodded. “It must be, Captain, no bird could lay an egg so big,” He said quietly; his voice sounded strained, as though he was struggling to hide his amazement. Linsey could not help but feel a similar awe in looking at the shell; many men would count themselves blessed to see a dragon egg, to be close enough to touch its shell was another, rarer thing entirely. “No, it must be, but God knows how he came to be with it.” Grayson added.

Linsey paused and looked at the boy, his awe turning quickly to apprehension. “A better question, Grayson; where the devil has the hatchling found itself?”

Neither of the men spoke; Linsey was silent himself, all trace of his amazement gone in place of unease. If the boy had indeed stolen the egg, he must have meant to make across the ship’s voyage before it hatched; it was only a tremendous stroke of misfortune that he had died so soon afterwards, and that the egg had hatched without anyone to oversee its harnessing. The newborn might be anywhere across the Atlantic now, or perhaps even further, if it were of a swifter breed. Linsey squinted at the egg — he had very little knowledge on dragon breeds, and even less so on their eggs; he could not be wholly sure what sort had hatched from this shell. Indeed, he supposed it would not have made much of a difference; the dragonet was gone, with no handler or harness, it had likely gone feral, and would be of no use to anyone now, if it could ever be found at all.

“A shame, then, a damned shame,” He said, “It would have been famous to add a dragon to our holdings, men, would it not?”

The men gave a subdued murmur, then Richards said, “And what about the boy, Captain?”

“Oh.” Linsey looked to the dead boy, curled silently among his sailcloth, a pale face shining in the dim lantern light. “Take him up, and throw him overboard. Gently, and be sure the crew do not see.”

Richards nodded, and Grayson bent to lift the boy, wrapping him surely in the cloths with the eggshell bundled inside. Linsey went to the deck with Richards on his heels, Grayson behind; he did not watch when Grayson took the boy to the railing, and went instead to gather his men, thinking all the while of the dragon egg, and of the hatchling lost so surely to the sea.

Their earnings being safely deposited in the hold of the Delight, brought abreast while they boarded, Linsey took his own leave of the merchant ship, and crossed from its deck on the swell of the first wave. His men had already gathered, Grayson having wiped his hands clean before joining them; they leaned over the railings and hollered in triumph as they disembarked. Linsey paid them no regard, and went directly below to make record of their holdings.

He had a quiet consultation with Hammond, who had set himself to overseeing the movements of their stores in Linsey’s absence, and looked scarcely more composed than the rest of the crew. He was red-faced and grinning broadly; when Linsey enquired of his health he only laughed, and told him their load was more than promising. Linsey clapped him on the shoulder, pleased, and all matters of the boy in the hold were forgotten at once.

With his matters seen to, and his spirits surely raised, Linsey returned to the deck just short of beaming, full of great good-will. He was at once swarmed with men clamouring to give him congratulations, many of them only boys, for whom this would be their first raid upon the Delight; Linsey smiled at their bright mood and shook their hands in turn, only glad their service had been rewarded so soon with an easy victory.

The only worry still held at the front of his mind was Hayes; Linsey had not seen him since he had called him to the hold. He had scarcely looked well enough to stand, and though Linsey had dismissed him, he felt some faint shame at not thinking to find him before now.

He found Hayes on the quarterdeck, and ascended with some relief; he was stood by the railing with a pair of officers no older than him, and looked not a little surprised to see the captain approach him so casually. “Captain?” He said.

“Hayes,” Linsey said, “Don’t worry, man, I’m not here to scold you; you remember I dismissed you at our prize ship, I trust you are feeling well?”

“Oh.” Hayes said, with noticeable relief, “Oh, yes, Captain, thank you—”

“Why, it’s the captain!” said another of the boys; Mr. Tomkins, he stood at the railing, beaming as much as the rest of the men, with Cates at his other side. Both men were bright-faced and pleased with themselves, though Cates at least looked somewhat regretful of the interruption on Tomkin’s behalf.

Linsey looked between them; Tomkins fell silent under his gaze, and then gave a sudden snort that passed for poorly hidden laughter. Cates shushed him; Linsey fixed them both with a sharp eye, and at once they were quiet, or near enough. He caught the anxious look on Hayes’ face, undoubtedly conscious of some private guilt; Linsey ignored him, and addressed both boys, now suspecting something of their intentions. “Quiet, men, what’s the matter with you?” He said sharply, “Mr. Tomkins?”

Tomkins was given no chance to answer, “Forgive me, Captain, Tomkins is only excited, and a damned fool to show it,” Cates said, grinning broadly, “But we're only curious; we’ve heard rumour, that there was something odd on that ship,”

“Aye, only rumour, Captain, but is it true?” Tomkins said.

Linsey ignored them both; he looked to Hayes, who did his best to look as though he had not noticed.

“Is it true, Captain?” prompted Cates, with all the composure he could summon, “That there was a dragon egg, in the hold, is it true?”

“I am sorry to say, I had hoped the men would keep it a secret for longer than this,” Linsey said, at length. He felt some apprehension at telling the boy; such an unpleasant thing would surely undermine his good mood. But he knew how rumours liked to spread, and on a ship such as this there was little doubt there would be no man who was not aware of the dragon egg, and whatever story Cates had been told would only worsen in being shared. “It is true, there was an egg; Grayson has told me it could only be a dragon’s,” he said, and both men made a pleased murmur. “Make of that what you will, but there was a boy with the egg, a stowaway. The egg has hatched, and the boy is dead. I trust you both will move on, or keep quiet, else I’ll find some other man more deserving of your shares.”

His command was clear; both men went quiet as Linsey passed a sharp look between them, and he assumed that was all on the matter.

But Tomkins looked suddenly proud, and could scarcely contain himself; he grinned, and said, “Reckon he might have hatched, Captain?”

Linsey felt himself go near red with anger. “You be quiet, Tomkins, and I’ll have none of that.” He snapped, “The poor boy is dead, and barely old enough to sail: you will pay your respects, damn it, or I’ll send you down to the hold with him.”

At once Tomkins paled, and went quiet under the sharp gleam in Linsey’s eye. Cates, at his other side, was hardly more composed himself; he stood rigid, and swallowed thickly, audible in his discomfort.

Tomkins was a sailor as much as he was a boy, and had made a good show of his skills aboard the Delight; Linsey rather thought he had proved himself many times over. But he knew just as well that his experience on deck far surpassed that of his manner, he was a young man, immature in his youth, and liked to make himself proud in the eyes of his peers — there had been moments before when he had forgotten his duties, in favour of making humour among the ship’s hands, and once he had near thrown himself from the rigging in attempt to impress the crew. But such a sentiment, if only made in good-will, was a clear show of disrespect, and though Linsey would have liked to keep Tomkins out of trouble, he could not forget the pale look of the boy in the hold, and found himself condemning the man with such sudden severity it surprised even himself.

Linsey glared, still simmering with anger, and addressed Tomkins sharply, “Make yourself grateful, Tomkins: you know better than to pass a good earning off as common. I see no reason for you to be standing about making taunts, you will set to your work at once, Cates with you.” He took a deep breath, and added only, “And see to it you never dare say such things again. You’ll get no share of our hold tonight.”

Tomkins gaped at him; he made a noise as if to protest, quickly put to rest when Cates elbowed him sharply. Linsey gave him silent thanks, and dismissed them both; they went without complaint, though Tomkins looked sullen, and Cates could be heard murmuring quietly to him, “It is a shame, isn’t it? That there was no hatchling.”

Linsey frowned a little at the thoughtlessness of youth; with rage subsided, he shook his head, and looked to Hayes. The man was watching the waves with resolute ignorance, hands clasped behind his back and trembling.

“Was it you who told them, Hayes?” Linsey said, though he already suspected Hayes’ answer.

“Yes, Captain, only I meant nothing by it.” Hayes said, “They were asking me what the matter was; I could not keep it a secret, but I only meant to give them a good story.

Linsey frowned; he was glad, at the very least, that the men had the sense to check on Hayes, and he supposed it was only unlucky that the duty of the matter had fallen to him, rather than one of the older men. In any case, there was nothing to be done about it now; he had dealt with the rumour, and the insolence it caused, and he felt some shame at dragging poor Hayes to any further trouble than he already had dealt with.

So he dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and said only, “Mr. Hayes, I trust you won’t be so foolish again.” Hayes went gratefully, with relief showing clear on his pale face; Linsey smiled after him, and stood at the railing with hands clasped behind his back, watching the turn of the waves and feeling rather pleased with himself.

The celebrations among the crew continued for the better part of a week, though their drunken songs were quickly made weary, and the men largely took to brawling. A week passed, and the ship was made mostly calm; the men still passed good-will between them when they worked, and the boys were excited at any shadow over the sea, but all had been set to rights upon the deck, or well enough.

Linsey found himself in good humour, a thing he thought rather uncommon; he had joined the crew in their feasts of salt beef and ship biscuits, and the occasional bass dredged up from the sea, and even once cheered when a pair of his men tussled upon the deck. Grayson had been the one to pull them apart, and Linsey had only clapped them both on the shoulder in great cheer, much to the delight of the crew.

Richards was leading a particularly lively shanty, stood upon chests taken up from the hold, when the first signs of storm swept over the waves. Linsey was stood at the railing of the quarterdeck, an involuntary smile catching at the corners of his mouth while he surveyed the crew; many of them were falling over themselves entirely, and laughing broadly, and despite himself Linsey could not help but join them. He was the first to catch the rain, and the chill that came with it; he called the men to hold, with some reluctance, and shortly they were at their duties, working with such mastery that Linsey felt at once overcome in his pride.

The rain picked up with all the ferocity of an oncoming gale; Linsey thought briefly it might break the ship in two, but the waves held no such strength as he had feared, and they settled upon the water with little trouble to the Delight but for the deep lurching of her deck with every swell. Richards gave his orders to the crew, and they set to fastening their holdings below; they came up afterwards and stood around upon the deck, pale and trembling, with their hair slicked through to the skin. Linsey sent them all below but for Richards and himself, and the helmsmen, watching the waves in near silence, and soaked through to the bone.

“Captain?” Richards called over the rain; Linsey blinked and turned to him, wholly occupied in his thoughts. “Captain, the crew tell me they have fastened the rigging, and all lies well below.”

“Thank you, Richards, very good.” Linsey said. It required an effort to keep his gaze from the sea; he wanted most to give Richards his attention, but the waves were choppy, increasingly so, and he was anxious to catch any change in their motions. The spray of every swell that broke against the hull was scarcely different from the rain beating upon his face; he stood rigid with face set in grave vigilance, surveying the water with great awe as much as discomfort. Indeed, he found the sea a glorious thing, impressive in its enormity, and if the storm had not stirred the waves with such sudden ferocity, then he would have watched it in quiet pleasure, and felt no shame in his enjoyment.

Richards’ voice was scarcely audible over the rain. “I only mean, Captain, that we might keep out of the rain, and this damned chill—”

He stopped quite abruptly — from the hold, there came a great uproar, and Linsey caught sight of some creature slipping out from the hatch in a flurry of motion. His first thought was that it must be a rat, or perhaps a gull of some sort, but it was much too large, and when it skittered across the deck he saw that it had scales, not feathers, washed out and shining in the rain.

The dragon came scrambling from the hold in a rush, with wings and tail thrown out wide; it paused for barely a moment on the deck, while rainwater trailed down its scaled hide, and Linsey saw the impressive curve of its wings, fluttering with every gust of wind thrown out across the sea. A moment passed, and the crew came piling out onto the deck after it, looking every bit as shocked as Linsey felt himself. Cates had Estella, the ship’s cat, in his arms; her fur was quickly soaked through to the skin, and she clung to the boy with every evidence of great alarm upon her small face.

No one spoke, in silence, Linsey stared at the creature; small as it was, it spat with such ferocity that Linsey thought at once of the sea itself, wild with the wind and rain, and paused in catching it. The spray of the waves came over the railing; the dragon shied away, wings spread out upon the deck, washed right through with seawater, and Linsey wondered briefly why it did not flee, or if it could even fly at all. “Richards?” He said, his voice just short of a whisper.

“A dragon, Captain,” Richards said. He gaped at the creature with all the awe of a boy; Linsey blinked at him.

“Yes, I’ve seen.” He said, and then summoned his strength and called, “Grayson, fetch me rope, and quickly.”

Grayson had been standing at the very front of the crowd; now he started, paused, and went to the hold at once. Linsey waited until he had returned, rope in hand, and stood still as he was able, though the ship rocked with every swell. The dragon blinked at him; Linsey noticed the spines along its back, which raised and flickered with every motion made. Grayson eyed it dubiously, and stopped an arm’s length away. Behind him, the crew watched with bated breath; Linsey crept slowly closer, though his legs protested when he crouched, and his hands trembled, whether from cold or fright, he could not be wholly sure.

“Grab him, Grayson,” He whispered, and seized the dragon in a sudden motion; he grabbed its snout, and forced it down with all the strength he could summon. The dragon shrieked and beat its wings against him; Grayson pulled away when its tail lashed upon the deck, and then grit his teeth and knelt with Linsey at the dragon’s side, throwing the rope around its frame and fastening it at the neck. His hands trembled as he made the knot, and Linsey’s own grew strained against the creature’s struggles; at once it was done, and both stepped hastily away, while the dragon writhed upon the deck.

Abruptly it went still; Linsey watched as it lay panting, and passed a hand over the smooth hide. The scales were cold against his skin, and surprisingly soft, and he found briefly that he could not bring himself to pull away.

“Captain?”

He turned and looked at Richards, then at the crew; no one spoke, and abruptly Linsey stood and brushed himself over, swallowing every bit of wonder that had passed in the moment.

Grayson still had a hold on the rope, quite uncertainly, and was eyeing the dragon with measurable unease. Linsey caught his attention with a wave of his hand and said, stiffly, “Grayson, take it below, find a cabin and fasten it there. Quickly.”

Grayson went without a word, though the dragon protested and spat when it was dragged to its feet. A murmur passed over the crew; they pushed to the side to let Grayson below, and some of the younger boys reached to touch the dragon’s hide, met immediately with whispered protests from the rest of the men.

Linsey watched in silence; he looked to Richards, who looked mostly uneasy. He held the man’s gaze for a moment’s pause, reluctant to look away, and then turned abruptly and went below, ignoring the whispers that followed from the crew.

He met Grayson at a cabin near the stern area of the ship; the man nodded as he approached, face set in a frown. “Captain,” He said, very quietly. Linsey paused at the cabin door, Grayson hovered at his shoulder; his unease was apparent, Linsey dismissed him quietly, and after a moment’s hesitation, he went inside.

The cabin was darker than he would have liked, the only light being that from a small lantern in the corner, which served more to throw shadows into odd places than offer any light at all. The dragon took no notice when he entered, or if it did it made no motion to show it, curled in a huddle with its tail wound tightly around itself.

Grayson had only done what was commanded of him, and he had done it well; the dragonet was fastened at the far wall, held by the rope tied at his neck. The other end had been wound many times over, and knotted at the hook of a hanging cot, hardly used since its occupants had taken their leave of the ship, some many months ago. Despite himself, Linsey felt suddenly shameful; the dragon was small, and near pitiful in the dim lantern light, Linsey felt wholly overcome with sudden regret, and it required an effort to not dismiss himself from the cabin at once.

Instead, he stood rigid, hands clasped tightly behind his back, lest he they begin to fidget in his unease. He set his face in a stiff frown, brow furrowed, and watched the dragonet in silence; it made no move, and he began to wonder if it had heard him at all, or perhaps it was asleep. Indeed, he was not wholly sure it was not dead; he felt a sudden burst of panic, surprising even to himself, and cleared his throat loudly, so that he might wake the creature, or at the very least alert it to his presence.

At once the dragonet raised its head; it blinked at him, with some odd sort of intelligence. Linsey thought for a moment it seemed almost curious, though the thought gave him a sense of unease as much as interest.

Neither spoke, though Linsey could hear the thrum of the creature’s breathing; it reminded him closely of wind at the sails, and strangely, it calmed him. He could hear the battering of rain and seawater upon the deck just as clearly, and if not more; it sounded as if the storm had begun to pick up, and he was at once glad of taking himself below, though felt some shame in it. The dragonet was watching him, with a careful sort of intent; Linsey stared in turn, now wholly undisguised in his wonder. It had not moved since he entered, but blinked slowly, first at him and then at the cabin, flicking its tongue in and out as though tasting the air.

It was scarcely bigger than a small foal, and its scales were a pale tawny; it flicked its ears and said, in a clear, quiet voice, “What is that sound?”

Linsey paused, and it was only with difficulty that he kept from gaping at the creature. His words all seemed to escape him; he took a deep breath, and said, “It is only a storm, fellow, I shouldn’t worry.”

The dragonet puzzled at this for several moments, watching the cabin roof and listening to the rain. It flicked his tail, apparently dissatisfied, and looked again to Linsey. “Will it be over soon?” It said.

“I should think so,” Linsey paused, then summoned his courage and asked, “Fellow—what shall we call you?”

The dragonet blinked, in something that seemed close to surprise; it thought for a long moment, and then said, quite plainly, “I do not have a name.”

“Of course,” Linsey had only realised the futility of the question once the words had left his mouth; he asked, politely as he could manage, “Might I give you one?”

It sat back on its haunches and looked up at him. “If you like.”

It was here Linsey found himself at a loss for words. He had not planned to speak with the dragonet, nor did he have any sensible idea of how dragons were suitably named. To name one at all was not prospect he ever would have considered; he had nothing prepared. For a brief moment, he panicked, then blurted, “Timor,” instinctually linking the dragon with the shallow sea he had visited in his earlier sea-faring years, off the coast of Australia.

It was a respectable name, at the very least, though Linsey could only curse himself for having nothing prepared — he thought at once of many other names, most other seas, perhaps more glorious in their reputation. But it was said, and the dragonet looked happy enough; he flicked his small ears in what seemed to be delight. “Timor?” He said, “I like that name. What may I call you?”

“Linsey. Or rather, Jean is my name, but most will call me Linsey.” Linsey answered, with some difficulty. Certainly Captain would not do, Timor was far from a member of his crew. Only the men closest to him used his surname, and fewer still would use his given. He could not be sure where this dragon ranked in his life. “Either will do,” He added hastily.

Timor seemed only confused, not afflicted, but did not stop to question him. “Linsey, then. Might I have a look outside?”

Linsey blinked. Briefly, he wondered if Timor missed the sunlight, or if he was only looking to make an escape; in any case, the storm was still blowing overhead, and Linsey did not think it showed any sign of holding. “I’m afraid not, dear fellow, outside is only the deck.” He answered reluctantly, quietly hoping Timor would not press further.

“Oh.” Said the dragon, unperturbed. “Could I not go there?”

Feeling his apprehension grow, Linsey paused; he could not be sure how well Timor might understand if he explained the situation, he scarcely understood it himself.

“Now, Timor, you’ve given my crew quite a fright: we were not sure where you had come from, and the ship is not quite fit for a dragon such as yourself.”

Briefly, he thought he ought to apologise, or offer the young dragon some form of pity. But he could not think of any suitable thing to say, so he drew his lips to a thin line, and kept quiet. Timor, for his part, did not argue, but his shoulders hunched miserably, and he said with a disheartened air, “I did not mean to scare you.”

His voice was very quiet, painfully so; Linsey, despite himself, could not help but feel a strike of pity for the poor creature. “It’s perfectly alright, I trust you did not mean any harm,” He said, which was not entirely true: the dragon’s presence alone had caused panic among the crew, along with the damages Timor had dealt to the ship itself, all admittedly minor, but a damned pain to repair. Even so, it seemed the thing to say.

At the very least, the dragonet swiftly seemed to perk up, and said with some urgency, “Is there anything to eat?”

Of all the things not to have on hand for a newborn dragon; Linsey cursed himself again. It was only lucky the crew had managed to restrain him without so much trouble; a newly hatched dragonet would fly away at any chance, if it were not harnessed and fed, and even in such a difficult circumstance, to lose such a beast would be a damned shame more than anything.

Or rather — Linsey squinted at Timor’s smooth scales; he could not be wholly sure that the dragon was indeed a newborn, he had no knowledge on dragon growth outside what was common, which was to say very little. But he could not imagine an older dragon being so little, unless it were a particularly small breed, so he settled quite uncertainly on the only assumption he could think to make.

“ ‘Fraid I don’t have anything on me,” He said regretfully; he had not even fed himself that evening. “But if you would be so good as to wait here, Timor, I might go and find something for you.

Timor looked up at him with satisfaction. “If you please,” He said, “Will you be long?”

There was a mournful quality to his voice, and Linsey realised with a brief stab of guilt that the dragonet must have been quite lonely. “No, I should not think so,” He said, by way of promise as well as apology.

He left the cabin quickly afterwards, and set immediately to finding Grayson; the man had named himself charge of the ship’s supplies, and had thus far proved to be quite reliable, but by some unfortunate circumstance he could be found nowhere on the upper deck, nor in his cabin, or anywhere else Linsey could think to look. He searched with mounting frustration, his efforts proving to be fruitless, until he turned back towards Timor’s cabin and ran instead into the ship’s Quartermaster.

“Richard’s, by all the seas!” Linsey said, breathlessly. “Be so good as to bring some food to the deck. Meat, perhaps, anything fresh,” He was not wholly sure what sort of diet would satisfy a dragon such as Timor: perhaps he would eat only fish, or he would not have a taste for meat at all. Perhaps, though less likely so, they would have to feed him fresh milk, like a newborn. Still, he was in no way inclined to return to Timor empty-handed, and added only, “Though nothing cooked, if you please.”

Richards, to his credit, did not argue, but gave him an odd look. “Captain, are you quite alright?”

“Splendid.” Linsey said, in attempt to move the conversation forward; also a brazen lie, since he was somewhat anxious to return to Timor. He felt some inexplicable guilt at leaving him for so long, but besides which, the prospect of a newly hatched dragonet aboard the ship, now named, and possibly able to be harnessed, was a matter of some urgency. “Fresh meat, Richards, quick as you like, it’s a matter of some importance. And bring it to the empty cabin, below deck.”

Richard’s eyes widened; he seemed to understand well enough, though his brow knotted in plain confusion when he said, “The dragonet, Captain?”

Linsey nodded. “If you please, John, do not let the crew know just yet,” he added hastily.

Richards drew his lips to a thin line. He nodded his understanding; satisfied, Linsey left him, crossing the deck with an urgency that surprised even himself.

Shortly it was all done; Timor stretched his neck out eagerly when presented with the meal, pulling taut the rope. He was not a clean eater, scattering blood and bits of flesh across the deck, but made quick work of it, pausing only to lap up the excess and lick his claws clean. Linsey stood well clear of the carnage, eyeing the gore that dressed Timor’s scales with mounting dismay — by this point he had begun to realise the full extent of their circumstance, and despite his best efforts, he could not ignore the faint unease settling itself upon his shoulders. Of course, they could not cast the dragonet out like they could a feral dragon, not now that he had been named, and they could not in the least let such an asset loose upon the world. But the rate at which he devoured this meal alone was a cause for worry; Linsey could not be sure if they had enough in their stores to feed Timor for more than a day, much less the weeks until they landed in port.

Richards stood silently at his side; Linsey had hardly paid him a glance since they stepped foot in the cabin, and had almost forgotten that the man was there at all until he said, queasily, “Might I find some rags to clean him, Captain?”

Linsey did not answer him immediately; he turned to the quartermaster, then to the feasting dragonet. Timor’s scales were all but dyed red, and the blood around his mouth gave him a rather savage appearance, but he did not seem to notice, or mind; he cleaned himself deftly, in such a way that reminded Linsey of a cat, and then sat back on his haunches and looked up expectantly.

“No,” Linsey said at last, “No, I should think he’ll be fine.”

Timor flicked his tail, pleased. “That was not so bad,” He said, “Is there any more?”

Linsey looked to Richards, who only frowned, rather unhelpfully. He knew the ship would have something more in its stores, if he could find the patience to search for it, but he could not be wholly sure if it would suit Timor quite as well as his first meal — most of the meat they had aboard was cured, not fresh, and a good deal of it had been feasted upon during the crew’s celebrations. He supposed some of the men might be capable enough to bring up a fish, but it certainly would not bring them any purchase to try now, while the crests of every wave rose steadily mightier with the storm. So he only frowned, and said with as much warmth as he could summon, “I am very sorry, Timor, but there won’t be much more, until this storm passes over.”

“Oh,” said Timor, looking sullen; again Linsey felt some odd need to ease his misery. He stroked the warm hide, after a moment’s hesitation; Timor rubbed his head against Linsey’s hand, and he found himself smiling involuntarily.

He was all too grateful that Richards could not see his face, for despite the warmth of Timor’s scales, and the sudden fondness Linsey felt for the creature, he would have gone red-faced with embarrassment if the quartermaster had seen him smile so easily, and with such affection. But he was uncomfortably aware of him, standing just over his shoulder in quiet unease; he patted the tawny scales and pulled his hand away, with some reluctance.

Timor turned immediately to preening himself, apparently unbothered. He licked at his chops and yawned enormously, then sniffed, looked over Linsey’s shoulder, and said, with sudden disappointment, “Oh.”

Linsey followed his eye; Grayson was standing at the door. Linsey had not heard him come in, and felt some quiet irritation that the man had entered unannounced, but he only nodded to him, and said, “Grayson. Did Richards call for you?”

“No, Captain,” Grayson said, “But there is something,” He paused and swallowed thickly, eyeing Timor with an odd sort of expression. Linsey looked at the dragonet in turn; Timor was watching Grayson with apparent curiosity, his eyes shining in the dim lantern light.

“What is it?” Linsey said, with more severity than he had meant for. Grayson looked to Richards, who gave him an odd look.

“I have reason to believe, Captain,” Grayson said; he was a softly-spoken man, and his words now were scarcely louder than a whisper, Linsey had to strain to hear him. “This dragonet, it might well be the hatchling from our prize ship.”

Linsey blinked at him. “Oh.” He said, and looked to Timor; he had largely forgotten the fragments of eggshell, buried among sailcloth with the dead boy, and had not once considered that they might be connected to Timor’s presence. Indeed, he rather thought it was obvious, now that the thought had been put into his head, and cursed himself for not realising far earlier; at the very least, it explained the odd absence of the hatchling — if Timor had crossed to the Delight while the crew was busy making log of their earnings and found his way below, then he might have lived off their holdings for weeks before the crew ever caught sight of him, had he not been driven out upon the deck by the storm.

Linsey looked at him now, a rare sense of uncertainty setting a frown upon his face. The dragonet was, by every evidence, a stowaway aboard his ship; in any normal circumstance he would have sent the creature overboard at once, as he had with many men in the past, who had tried much same thing, with far less success. But he had given Timor his name, and fed him, and he did not think he could bring himself to send him away so soon; in any case, he was beginning to feel rather fond of the creature, and found it required an effort to keep himself from smiling when he looked upon him.

“Grayson,” He said, “How is the rain?”

“Passing, Captain.” Grayson said. Linsey listened, and found that the rain had indeed begun to subside; no longer was it beating so hard upon the deck, and Linsey had to strain just to hear its quiet pattering from above.

“Very good.” He said, and looked to the dragonet. It was difficult to believe, even more so than the presence of the creature itself, that he had been the one to name him; he was now in harness, and by all his understanding, tied to the beast forever afterwards. The prospect delighted as much as terrified him — he looked upon Timor, the dragonet scarcely seemed real in the dim lantern light, and Linsey wondered if the smooth scales of his hide were indeed as solid as they had felt beneath his hand. In any case, it was a matter he would need to share with the crew, if he had any intentions on keeping Timor upon the ship; he said to Richards, “Call the men to the deck, Richards, quickly now. Perhaps our celebrations needn’t end after all.”

Linsey went up to the deck with Grayson at his heels; he gave Timor a brisk farewell, and hoped the dragonet would not think himself neglected, and when he ascended at last he found the crew already gathered, waiting with all the patience they could hope to summon. He caught curiosity on many faces, anxiety on others; Richards in particular was bright-faced and merry, Linsey smiled at him in turn, and stood to address his crew. “Good men,” He said, “I’m sure it is no secret now, we have a dragon aboard the Delight.”

A murmur passed around the crew; many gasps of awe from those who had missed the tussle upon the deck, and some men with anxious looks upon their faces, premature in their concern.

Linsey waited for the whispers to subside, and cleared his throat. A hush fell over the men at once; Linsey made them wait, for sake of his own amusement more than theirs, and then said, “I have spoken to the beast, he is named, and if all goes well he will be harnessed within the week.”

It was a favourable assumption, one that likely would not prove itself true, unless Mr. Tunnock was able to rustle something up with what little stores he had; Linsey saw the carpenter at the centre of the crowd, jostled at once by the men at his side, who gave their congratulations with great enthusiasm while he looked on in plain bewilderment. He felt with some quiet shame that he ought to have told the man first, but the crew were made at once merry by his words, and he could not in the least resist giving reason to their good-will. A great cheer swept over the crew, and many men shouted words of congratulations, Richards among them.

Linsey was quiet, though just short of beaming; he raised a hand, and the noise died at once. “But,” He said, more seriously, “By my understanding, that makes me Timor’s captain as much as yours, and unless I have grossly misunderstood the nature of the beasts, there is not much I might do to change that fact, lest death itself part me from him, as it would from this ship, or any of you,”

The men were quiet; it seemed they took this as the highest form of praise, and just as well, for Linsey could not have meant it in any less sincerity. He caught many smiles on many faces, and though he did not join them, he felt at once warmed by pride as much as fondness. He took a deep breath, and said, “But that leads me, men, to the point of charge; if I am to take Timor beneath my wing, so to speak, and I should ever be away, then I would feel a damned lot better if a capable man was charge of our ship, and the lot of you.”

“A vote, then, Captain?” said one of the hands.

Linsey nodded. “Yes, man, a vote.”

A cheer went up, and then died all at once; Linsey watched Grayson wave a hand for silence, and raised his brow in inquiry, to which Grayson merely gave him the grimace that passed for a smile for him.

“I’m very sorry, Captain, but if it pleases the crew,” He said, and the men nodded vigorously. “I doubt there’s any man here more capable than Mr. Richards, and if there are any doubts from the men, I’ll be sure that they’re few and far between. Aye?” He added, to the crew, and a cheer went up, with such spirit and clarity that it surprised even Linsey himself.

Richards looked first shocked, and then all but overcome with delight; he flushed up with colour, bright-faced and grinning broadly, and looked as though he was not able to find the words to speak. Linsey saved him the struggle; “Then by God, I have no complaints,” He said, grinning proudly, “And if I should ever be absent, Richards will run the ship, and take charge of you all,”

“And he’d do a damned good job at it, too!” called one of the men, and at once the crew took up a chant in Richards’ name, with all the spirit and gusto of a gale passing over the sea.

Richards went nearly red, every emotion showing plainly on his face. He could only smile and shake the hand of each man who gave their congratulations, and was jostled and embraced until he looked as though he might collapse with joy. Linsey went and shook his hand, smiling earnestly; Richards grinned at him with eyes shining.

“Thank you, Captain, thank you,” He said breathlessly, and Linsey patted him firmly on the shoulder.

To be valued by one’s crew was one thing, many men knew of their worth, and boasted themselves on sharing good humour between them at every chance. But to be told of such value, with all the pride and vigour that the crew showed Richards now, was something wholly different, and infinitely more precious; Richards was, in the moment, perhaps the luckiest man at sea, and Linsey was only prouder for it.

He took himself down to his cabin afterwards, full of great good-will, and accepted the many congratulations that followed with all the enthusiasm he could summon. Richards took up a great song and cheer, and led the crew long past dusk, with many of the men still cheering and laughing and singing long since the sun had taken its leave beneath the waves, and then yet more.

The ship’s cook brought his dinner to him, though it was only biscuits and salt beef, all the rest had been given to Timor, or taken during the crew’s many feasts; Linsey thanked him, and ate quickly, he could not take the time to savour the food, and found it tasted odd and rubbery on his tongue. He could not think what must have distracted him so completely; he had no reason to worry, and felt only pride for Richards and the crew, listening to their cheers from up on the deck. But he thought of Timor, and all the wonder he felt was only tainted all too soon by the sudden weight of responsibility upon his shoulders.

He thought briefly of returning to the dragon’s company, perhaps for his own sake more than Timor’s, but the day had left him strangely shaken, and he could not think of any reason for him to join Timor again, except to relieve his own anxieties, and perhaps to be sure he had not dreamt him up after all. Instead he climbed into his hanging cot, and settled uneasily into the sway of the ship, rocking softly with every swell of the sea. The motion lulled him, as it often did, into a sense of quiet calm; he thought all the while of Timor, and fell into sleep, while the crew sang merrily from the deck, long into the night.

[seventh-district]

several days and 15 thousand words later, i am relieved to report that the suffocating urge to Write Something has been sated and no longer has me in a chokehold

[kysuguru]

fitting in — stsg x fem!reader

synopsis : gojo satoru is overbearing, no matter. you’ll learn to endure

includes / cw : gojo is kind of mean

all mine masterlist

a / n : chapter twoooooo!!!!! nothing much else to say other than i’m not rlly satisfied w my writing… i’ll cope.

You were introduced to your dorm. Yaga informed you that you'd be able to take a day or two off to get to know the place before you started classes. You didn't bring much with you, honestly. Other than any outfit you could fit into your suitcase and some necessities. Everything else was left behind at home in your moments of panic.

It did not bother you much with your families lack of financial stability. You are not allowed much of the little things. But you hoped you could at least try and attempt to make this the room of your dreams.

So for now, a small picture of you after losing a tooth — seven years old — with you in your smiling mother's arms, would be the only decor.

But now that you were settled, you were kind of stuck. You were unsure whether or not to escape your room and mingle or sit here in silence. As tempting as the thought of making friends out of the three other classmates you had was, you remembered how students at your previous school treated you and got cold feet.

You were always socially inept due to the constant distance from others that people and your mother forced upon you.

It's not others fault that they didn't like you, you thought. Maybe it was because you didn't offer to help with their studies, or maybe it's because you always got so scared to try and connect with others that they got the wrong idea.

No matter.

Here, hopefully, you could start anew.

For now, you need to do research. Still, to this day, your mother's words ring through your head.

"Teaching you is such a hassle," she brushed it off as a joke as she kissed your head, but you knew better. Because you could still spot the frustration in her expression. She must've been in a good mood that day, for she didn't blow a fuse.

But you didn't want to make anyone else feel the way you made your mother feel. You didn't want them carrying your weight. So to prevent that, you'll make sure that by the time you start classes, you'd be more than knowledgeable with jujutsu sorcery. And classes were tomorrow so you wanted to start as soon as possible.

A library...

You'd have to leave the room to find that. You became nervous all over again. The possibility of running into someone was unknown, you still didn't want to risk it. To soothe yourself you tapped your knuckle against your mother's face in the photograph. Thinking of her calmed you. If you thought of it as becoming a better person to help her, you could conquer the world if you wanted to.

You wiped the imaginary dust off her glassed face with your thumb before you turned towards the door, a new determination in your veins.

You slid your door open quietly as to not make any noise and alert anyone else. Your mother hated when you got loud. as you were ready to tiptoe around the school, a familiar girl blocked your path as she stood in front of you.

You yelped in surprise, jumping back. You didn't expect her appearance.

"Ogawa [Name], correct?" It was the girl, the model girl. One of your classmates, the only other girl. Even her voice was gorgeous.

"Yes..." You whispered, a finger hovering over your parted lips as you stared.

"I'm Ieiri, Shoko Ieiri. call me Shoko."

Your voice practically shook with awe, "Shoko. I'm Ogawa [Name]..." Before you could fix your slip-up, Shoko looked at you, subtly bewildered, before her lips stretched into a small smile.

"I know." She motioned her head to the side, "Follow me."

It didn't take you much to heed her command. instead of having to go to them, one of them came to you. The idea of her wanting to be your friend made you eager, but you didn't want to get too ahead of yourself. Maybe she was just being courteous.

You walked besides her, falling a bit behind. Even though you knew there weren't many people at Jujutsu Tech, you didn't like the idea of someone catching you walking besides her. People never took to you walking side by side with them, afraid of the accusations of being acquainted with you. as if it was a bad thing. And maybe Shoko would think the same.

You don't think you'd mind. You were always used to being the shadow anyways. So it was okay with you. you were surprised she approached you. That was enough for you. Even if it was simply to be nice it didn't matter, it made you happy either way.

Shoko was such a nice girl.

Shoko turned her head slightly towards you, noticing how you lagged behind. She raised a brow, questioning, yet turned around and continued walking. But you noticed her pace was a bit slower.

The walk was silent, and you weren't sure how she'd take to you sparking a conversation. So you stayed silent and continued to follow her until you both stopped at a vending machine. She inserted coins before looking at you.

"What's your pick? It's on me." You don't think you'd ever get over her smile — as small as it was. You could tell by the stretch of her lips that she probably didn't smile that often. You think she should. She looks beautiful when she does.

"Are you sure? You don't need to do that! I can pay!" You couldn't, but you'd make another excuse. You were good at that (you weren't).

Shoko was already nice enough to accompany you, walk with you, and even talk with you. You couldn't let her buy you a drink, you just couldn't!

Her eyes crinkled and her smile turned somber, as if she understood you a little bit, "I insist."

Your face contorted, your lips downturned as your eyebrows knitted. You hesitated, and then you spoke.

"A strawberry soda is just fine." You fidget with your fingers.

She hums and clicks the corresponding button. You both watch as it tumbles down to the bottom. She bends to grab it before holding it out for you.

"Might wanna wait a bit, could explode on you."

"I promise to pay you back," you whisper, content.

You take it, savoring the coldness of it against your palms. Your mother was strict with what you ate in the house, especially since you guys weren't all that well off. So sodas were a luxury in your home. You couldn't help but let your eyes glitterm your face softening as you gaze happily at the soft drink.

Shoko notices, watching your face change as she sips on her drink. You're extremely odd. She thought that when you first entered the classroom and she still thinks that now.

You're quiet, eager, yet also cautious. You act as if you're stepping on eggshells in the presence of anyone. It irritates her a little, and she thinks she knows why.

She brushes away the seed of pity in her stomach at the way you gaze so happily at a cheap drink before she's calling your name. "Come sit."

Shoko walks to the bench beside the machine, patting the empty spot next to her.

You're perplexed once more. Now she was inviting you to sit by her. You didn't know what to think at this point. You were prepared for her to brush you away with a brief comment of paying her back.

But, not wanting to protest such a kind offer — or demand — you plop down besides her, making sure to put some distance. She sees, yet makes no comment.

You fidget with your soda as you stare down at your lap. The silence isn't uncomfortable by any means, but you're anticipating a conversation. With the invitation you expected her to say something first. but maybe that was asking for too much. You should say something first...

"So.." she turns to you as you look up, making immediate eye contact. You instantly avert your eyes, even more nervous than before. "Are you the only ones who attend this school?"

"Nah. There's the first year and Utahime in the third."

You wonder who utahime is, that must be another girl. You hope you can get along with her. You pop the cap of your drink, bringing it to your lips.

"That doesn't seem to be a lot," you're looking at her now, but she faces forward, sipping her drink.

"Of course it's not. You don't usually attend a school with only seven students. But there's the Kyoto branch as well. They probably have more students, I wouldn't know. I don't care to keep count."

"The Kyoto branch.."

"You honestly should've gone there, it's so much closer to your home. But Yaga is the one who found you so... lucky us." She turns to you with that already familiar soft smile, and you think her words are genuine.

Before you can reply, two pairs of footsteps approach your direction. You can hear their chatter and their voices are familiar.

You look up to meet the gazes of your two other classmates. The black haired boy's expression is more laid-back. He has a small smile on his face — you can see his slight dimples. He waves at you.

Whereas the white haired boy's face is blank, he's staring, but you can't tell what he's thinking. Those black glasses obscure any hint you can get as to what's on his mind. Seeing them eye you so openly makes you nervous. You use one hand to play with the hem of your skirt, your eyes dropping to your nails.

Shoko sighs at Gojo's lack of politeness.

"Of course you come to bother me and my new friend before the day starts," she rolls her eyes and you think she's being sarcastic. But you don't care to find out as you mull over her words, staring at her side profile. My new friend. Did she mean that? You really hoped she did, because you didn't know what else to do with the immense joy in your chest.

She meets your eyes, smiling.

"I'm gonna go for a smoke, alright? Watch them for me," she requests, as if they're babies that need to be sat. You panic at the idea of being with them alone and you think she can tell.

She tries to assure you, "I'll be back before you know it."

She's walking off with a wave, leaving you alone in an awkward silence with the other two. Or you think it's awkward — well it is for you anyways. Maybe you should've asked to go along with her. Even though you hated the smell of cigarettes you would manage if it meant not being stuck here..

Well technically, you're not stuck. But you're also too afraid to leave. They'd probably see that as rude. You merely sip at your drink, trying to appear nonchalant.

You look up at the sound of shoes clicking against the tiles, meeting the eyes of the guy with the soft eyes and odd bangs. He looks kind, he smiles at you and your tense shoulders relax a bit. It seems that's what his goal was, for his smile gets a little wider.

His friend inserts money into the vending machine, ignoring the both of you as the kind boy sits beside you.

"I'm Geto Suguru." His voice is soft yet deep, it resonates with you. You think you can fall asleep to the sound of him.

"Ogawa [Name]..." You try your best to maintain eye contact. It's hard.

"I know. You introduced yourself yesterday," he's smiling.

You don't know whether or not to be embarrassed of your second slip up of the day. So you settle for drinking more of your soda, staring at your shoes, finding a small comfort in the familiar marks that you've become accustomed to over the last couple years.

"When do you start class? I didn't see you today."

"Uhm, tomorrow I think. I'm just getting used to the layout today... or that's what I was told." It's so apparent that you're anxious, with the way that you fidget with your clothes and shuffle your feet. It's so embarrassing you might tear up, but it's all you can do. You really can't stay still.

Geto opens his mouth most likely to try and comfort you and get you comfortable with his presence. But before he can, Shoko calls out to him.

"Geto! I need a light!"

Your eyes trail up from your shoes to his face and you can see him sigh in exasperation. He opens his eyes, meets your gaze, and smiles sheepishly.

"I'll be right back."

As he gets up you realize who exactly you're being left with. Well, you don't really know. But what you do know is that his presence is unsettling, it's suffocating. You don't even have to be alone with him to feel that way.

You almost reach out and ask for Geto to stay, you're not exactly used to him, but he seems much kinder than his counterpart.

But it's silent once more and your eyes are right back to looking at your shoes. You finish off your drink and quietly as you can, drop it into the trash can next to you.

You're sweating, you're sure you are. But you don't make a move to wipe your forehead. You're not sure what to do. you're not used to conversing and mingling with other people. As little as three people is, it's still overwhelming for you.

But how can you excel in this school if you don't interact with others?

That question still doesn't push you, but you reminisce. You think of your sleeping mother, going back home, and you finally open your mouth.

"What's your name?"

Gojo blinks.

"You don't know who I am?" He asks, tone nowhere near condescending, it's genuinely curious, surprised. But you can't tell and feel a little humiliated.

"Oh. I'm so sorry, am I supposed to?" You're sweating once again, shuffling your feet as you speak up in a squeaky voice.

Every jujutsu sorcerer is aware of the existence of Gojo Satoru, the boy who altered the balance of the world on the day of his birth. But it wasn't like this didn't happen sometimes, so he brushed it off.

"Well," he opens his mouth but closes it, "No, it's whatever. I'm Gojo Satoru." He's looking into your eyes now, but due to the obstruction of his glasses, you can't tell. So you don't notice that he's eyeing you expectantly, waiting for realization to dawn on you.

It doesn't.

"What a pretty name. It fits you," you speak with kindness, trying your best to smile softly. You fail. It looks like a grimace. Gojo is close to laughing.

"So you really don't know who I am?"

Gojo was convinced that telling you his name, you'd know. People's jaws would usually drop, as they realized just who they were talking to. But you just sat there, clueless, as you moved your feet around with an empty confused look on your face.

"I'm sorry for repeating myself. But am I supposed to know? I'm new to this jujutsu stuff, honestly. So if you're a renowned sorcerer, I unfortunately wasn't aware until now." Seeing no reaction from him, your head drops a bit. "Sorry," you mutter under your breath, afraid.

You were so used to the reaction your mother gave you when you weren't all knowing. Angry, loud, and condescending. And with your only mother being the most present in your life, was it safe to assume Gojo would react the same way? If so, you were prepared, and maybe you deserved it. You weren't smart when it came to jujutsu after all.

"That makes sense," he says.

It's silent as you wait for him to add on. Which he doesn't. so he just sips on his extremely sweet drink as you stare at him, blinking.

He meets your gaze full force, seeing it as competition, neither of you looking away.

"I-is that it?" You tilt your head confusedly.

He blinks alongside you.

"Was there meant to be more?"

Now you're really confused. But you don't want to be painted as weird, so you try and let it go.

"No, nevermind."

It's silent again, for the third time. But it's not as uncomfortable as it was before. You get the idea that Gojo doesn't take to you. That' okay, Shoko being your acquaintance is enough to get you through this year. Plus, Geto seemed polite enough. Maybe not enough for you two to be close, but enough for you not to be so awkward around him.

Shoko's familiar voice bleeds into your senses and you look up to see her and Geto walking side by side.

"So, Ogawa. What do you want to do today? Since it's your free day." She sits beside you once more, with her here you can feel more relaxed. You didn't realize how tense your body was.

"Oh, I was just hoping to go to the library."

"Who does that in their free time?" Gojo snickers, crushing the can of his drink into a tiny ball. You're in awe at the raw power.

Shoko shushes him, "Cool. What for?"

"Nothing much. Just studying, really. Since I'm new to jujutsu and all."

"Yeah, that makes sense. You don't know your technique either, right?" Geto's voice pipes up, his finger is rubbing his chin as he questions you.

You shake your head 'no' in response.

"I can take you there if you'd like. If you don't know the way, that is." Geto smiles, putting his hands in his pockets.

You look at Shoko for some type of approval, she merely shrugs. It's not like you needed permission to go, you were just unsure.

But you look up at geto and answer quietly, "That'd be nice."

"You know I haven't made a trip there in awhile, maybe I'll find a new book-"

Before Gojo can speak any further, Shoko pulls him down by his blazer to sit. "You barely read, hotshot. Keep me company."

Shoko didn't really want to be alone with him, but she was aware you weren't exactly comfortable in his presence. That topped with Geto would surely make you anxious.

You turn to meet Shoko's eyes and she waves at you. You raise your hand a bit, waving back, before you turn forward and trek off with Geto.

Gojo crosses his arms, huffing as he watches you both disappear around the corner.

"Don't be intimidated by him," Geto speaks up once you're both out of earshot. You tilt your head to look at him. "He's not all that scary once you get to know him."

You're silent, not sure what to say. You tap your lip with your index finger, thinking of Gojo. You remember the knit of his brows when the fact that you didn't know him left your lips.

"I think he's upset with me."

Geto looks at you. "Why do you think that?"

"I didn't know who he was. I mean, I still don't know. But I think he was upset? I couldn't really tell. I guess I just kind of assumed," you say, sheepish.

Geto chuckles, and you're enamored. He seems so bright, you've only known him for a little while, but he's always smiling. You wonder what other faces he can make.

"That's new. He's from the acclaimed Gojo clan, so he's usually drowned in praise. He was probably surprised that you were clueless." Geto finishes with a mutter of how he wished he could've seen it go down.

"The Gojo clan?"

Geto eyes you up and down, as if surveying you. "You really don't know much do you?"

You shrink in on yourself. His voice didn't sound insulting, but you still felt a bit targeted.

He backtracks, "I didn't mean it like that, I promise. I'm just shocked. I've never met someone with the desire to be a jujutsu sorcerer so in the dark."

"But anyways," he speaks up once more, "There's three big families, Gojo being one of them if not the most prominent. They're known for their cursed techniques. Gojo being the limitless and six eyes."

You're still confused, but you think you somewhat understand. "What're the other two families?"

"Zenin and Kamo's. Oh, we're here," he says. You both arrive at the library, it's nothing much but it'll be perfect to study in. The size of it isn't all that big, more than a few chairs to sit in — those look pretty cozy. There's also ambient lit lamps sitting on each of the tables, it casts a warm glow in the room that could make anyone feel comfortable.

"There's no librarian. since not too many people know about jujutsu. So just take whatever, whenever."

You nod, your eyes surveying the shelves.

"Where should I start?"

"Well I suggest you go to that section, so you can learn what cursed energy is, cursed techniques, and how they work."

You nod, "Thank you for bringing me here, Geto."

He smiles at you, eyes crinkling as the hollow of his dimples show on his cheeks. This smile is genuine — all of them are — but there's a gentler, happier feel to this one. You stare for a little while before he finally bids you goodbye.

"Good luck, please let me know if you need help." You say yes, even though you most likely won't go to him. You'd be wasting his time, you're sure.

You planned on being there as long as possible. Of course, you were gonna get in enough sleep. But you need to learn as much as possible before tomorrow mornings class. Plus, not only would you study, you could also think of what to gift Geto and Shoko to repay their kindness.

You beamed thinking about it. You wondered how Shoko would react. If she would adorn that small smile. If Geto's eyes would crinkle again like they did today as his dimples came to light.

You hoped so, their happy expressions were their prettiest. You haven't seen much else from them but you're positive they look better when they're smiling.

You grab a couple of books and make your way to a table. As you open a book about the Gojo clan you think of Gojo. Should you get him anything? Even though he wasn't as kind as Shoko or Geto, you'd feel bad if you left him out.

But you think of his blank expression. How he stared at you as if he was peeling your entire being apart layer by layer and get shifty all over again. You weren't sure so you decide to push that subject to the back of your mind for later.

taglist : @okayiamkassandra

[ask-katima]

Ooh! I’m in a suit, how cool of me.

I got a redesign too… yay- there wont be any major changes, even if My universe will be a part of a brand new multiverse.. here’s to hope that I won’t have a BAD TIME.. hopefully.

A little explanation on the redesign and why i was gone under cut

Her old design is still able to be used, you can use the old design still, but this is the version I’ll be showing here from now on, I felt like she was way too colourful, so I decided to make the colours scream less, but they are still there!! It just annoyed me a little how her design looked way too similar to all the other Sanses, so I tried to find a middle ground. Her shorts however, are still a reference to the Classic Sans design, with the white line and all. I try my best to try and be original with my stuff, it makes me a bit sad when she’s just shrugged off as a “Sans” when she’s the furthest away from him out of all my Sans characters, she just so happens to have his role, she is in no way lazy like Sans is, she would act even if she was tired or even stop a genocide before the human got to the golden hall. She tries her best to be better, but her trauma makes her doubt herself in numerous ways.. sorry that I’ve been inactive with the fan fic Small Companion, I’ll start working on it, I’ve just been stuck in a creative block, where I wasn’t sure if I should do the redesign or not.. but now, I’m sure I want to go through with it. I’ll write down the next chapter as soon as I get home, I seriously lost track of time quickly, with the redesign choice making me rethink many things.. but in the end, It’s happening. Also, yes, there will be minor changes that are going to happen with the AU becoming a part of my multiverse.. I still need to think of a good name, but Confusionverse and Soulverse are the two I came up with shortly, since I give my monster characters weird souls, they have two colours translating to human soul traits like determination and whatnot.

[teaberrii]

Chapter 4: Partner in Crime

You and Dan Heng are a match made in heaven until fate takes him away from you too soon. Years later, you think you moved on with a mutual friend who shared your grief and stuck with you during tough times until you meet a mysterious man with a striking resemblance to your past lover and a hidden motive. You’re determined to get rid of him, but how are you going to get rid of a god?

Dan Feng/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on Ao3

Genshin Impact and Honkai: Star Rail crossover

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

Support my writing

You’re quick to control the surprise on your face, but it’s enough for Dan Feng to know what you’re thinking. He glances at the two big pieces of luggage that are almost half the size of you. Your hands are on each luggage handle with no sign of letting go. Regardless, Dan Feng asks:

“Do you need help?”

“I’ll be okay,” you say, unable to hide the surprise in your voice.

You roll your luggage past him, praying it’s all smooth sailing from here… until one of the wheels starts turning in all directions, forcing you to stop. Your hand is still on the handle as you crouch to fix the wheel, but then you hear Dan Feng’s steady footsteps. Soon, his hand is beside yours on the handle, and he crouches to help. Once it’s fixed, his eyes meet yours, and you almost can’t look away. Then, you give a nod of thanks, and the two of you stand. You don’t understand why you’re oddly nervous as he walks with you to the elevators.

“You said you were new to the city,” you say, discreetly glancing at him as he presses the button. “Are you just visiting?”

“For now,” he says after a small pause. “Depending on the situation, I might stay for good. I might not.”

Situation? What situation? You have to stop yourself from asking.

The elevator dings upon arrival, and Dan Feng keeps the door open for you to head inside first. Once he’s inside, he notices you’ve already pressed the button for his floor. It looks like you’ll be floor roomies. The door closes, and off it goes.

You think you’re being subtle when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. But, without even looking at you, Dan Feng slightly smiles and asks:

“Did something catch your eye?”

You face forward. “Mind if I ask a couple of questions?”

“Shoot.”

“How long are you staying in Xianzhou?”

“At least a year. So, I'm looking for a place.” He turns to you. “You’re the first person I met here.”

“Is that so?” you ask, meeting his eyes. “Well, here’s another question… Why are you here? For work?”

Dan Feng considers his options. He can either continue lying, thus digging himself into a bigger hole, or tell you a somewhat truthful response that he can—hopefully—talk his way out of later.

“The closest answer I can give is that I’m here for work."

His reply gives you more questions than answers.

“And what do you do?” you ask.

“I used to work in academia,” Dan Feng answers after a moment of silence. “But now I work in law enforcement.” It’s the closest description to the truth that he can think of. From Bailu’s journal and general research, those in law enforcement “keep peace in society”, which is what he and his friends are here for.

The elevator stops on the twelfth floor, and the doors open. Once again, Dan Feng helps keep the door open as you roll out your luggage.

“Academia to law enforcement…” you say, allowing him to help you with one of your luggage this time. “What a change.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Why did you switch?”

Dan Feng turns to you. “You’re asking a lot of questions for someone who doesn’t want to be friends.”

“I…” You face forward. “I’d like to know a little bit about the person I’m going to be spending my time with.” You glance at him. “Y’know… Make sure he’s not a serial killer and all.”

“And what’s the verdict so far?”

“Still pending.”

You stop in front of a room.

“Well, for all I know,” Dan Feng says, “you could be one in disguise.”

You scoff with a smile. "Quite the imagination you have there, officer."

It's the first time he sees you smile, and he's reminded of the same emotions he once felt for the only woman he ever loved. Her smile had been one of the most beautiful things about her, and Dan Feng would be lying if he said that you didn’t look pretty when you smiled. But just as he’s reminded of all the love he once felt… he also remembers the pain.

“You okay?” you ask, after noticing the hard look in his eyes. “I didn’t offend you, did I?”

Dan Feng slides a hand inside his pocket, and the look in his eyes instantly changes. “No. You just reminded me that I probably should watch my back”—he nods toward the room to your left—”considering our rooms are right next to each other.”

“...You’re kidding.”

Dan Feng takes out his key card and holds it out face down so you can’t see the room number. “Care to check?”

You slightly narrow your eyes. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Good answer.” Then, he twirls it between his fingers before slipping it back into his pocket and looking you in the eyes. “Now, before you leave, I’d like to know something about my tour guide.”

“Shoot.”

There are too many things Dan Feng wants to know, but knowing he should take things one step at a time, he asks:

“What do you do for a living?”

“Besides being a volunteer tour guide?" you deadpan. "I’m an artist. Well, 3D artist, to be more exact.”

…Artist, huh?

“Anything else?” you ask.

“I get more than one question?”

“I try to keep things fair.”

Dan Feng slightly leans closer. “...Are we friends?”

"What are we?" you ask jokingly. "Five?"

"Communication is key. I like to be clear about things."

“Acquaintances,” you answer, holding his stare. You glance at his door. “...I guess we’re neighbours for the time being.”

Dan Feng shrugs. “Close enough.” Then, he walks to his door. “Have a good night, neighbour.”

“Better lock your doors.”

Once Dan Feng is in his room, he sighs as he leans against the closed door. Then, he rubs the space between his brows. Can he just skip all of this? Skip getting friendly and earning your trust so you'll tell him what you know—maybe even cooperate with him—about finding out more about Dan Heng and his family. Also, can someone just tell him whether you’re really her? So he can decide now whether to leave you be or snap your neck as soon as he finishes what he’s here to do. Dan Feng gently taps his forehead, a sharp look in his eyes. He never thought he had to be careful around a human ever since he became a god. You don’t seem like a bad person… just like her. But then he remembers what led to his kingdom’s downfall, and Dan Feng will be damned if he repeats the same mistake.

You’ll either live or die at his hand.

◆◆◆

On the top floor of Wangshu Inn is a large suite that’s the epitome of elegance and grace fit for a queen. It’s spacious where everything—from the furniture to the walls—follows a beige, white, and brown colour scheme and nothing looks out of place. The paper lanterns—each with a distinct dragon design—can either emit a bright white or a warm cozy glow just by clapping one’s hands.

A woman with long blonde hair and light gray eyes sits in front of a large bathroom mirror. She’s brushing her damp hair, but her eyes fall onto the necklace on the jewelry stand. Shaped in a crescent moon, the necklace is made out of pure gold. She surprisingly found it at a local pawn shop, and examining it closer, she confirmed that this necklace was the one she crafted.

In the heart of the city was a brightly lit store where their name was the definition of grace and classiness. My Fair Lady, focusing on jewellery for women, was a high-end jewellery brand known for producing jewellery for big names worldwide. Dan Heng’s grandmother started it before she passed, and she had put Signora, Lunae's ex-executive with many talents, to run the subsidiary company.

A tall man dressed in a black and white suit pulled the glass door open, and Dan Heng stepped inside.

“So, the rumours are true,” Signora said, walking up dressed in a dark red and white suit. “The heir is quite the looker.”

Unfazed by the compliment, Dan Heng extended his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Dan Heng.”

“I’ve heard quite a lot about you.” As Signora took his hand, she smiled. “A man with a firm grip… You mean business.”

He took out a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket. “I’d like this made.”

Signora took the paper but her eyes were still on him before finally landing on the sketch. It was a detailed drawing of a crescent moon where there was a lotus on the bottom arc. The thin-looking chain was the different phases of the moon. Signora looked closer, and she saw initials engraved on the crescent moon.

“Did you come up with this design yourself?” she asked, still looking at the drawing. “It’ll sell well.”

“It won’t be for sale.”

Signora looked at him. “Then… What is this for?”

“...Personal reasons.”

Her lips curved into a little smile. “It’s for a woman, isn’t it? Someone special, I assume.”

“Could you make this?”

Signora handed the drawing back to him. “I could, but you’ll need to give me some time. And, of course, it won’t come for free.”

“I’m aware. I’ll fully compensate you for your time, Signora.”

After discussing the details, Dan Heng turned to leave. The tall man opened the door for him, but Dan Heng stopped just before stepping out. Another man standing not too far away asked:

“My, what brings you here so late, hm?”

Dan Heng slightly narrowed his eyes upon seeing Childe, Tsaritsa’s nephew, a capable man with short ginger hair and blue eyes. But underneath that kind-looking face was a heart full of greed.

Signora remembers the night well. After Dan Heng left, Childe, a middleman in the industry, refused to provide enough supply for Signora to make the entire necklace. Thus, she had no choice but to reduce it to a simple design. When she came across it at the pawn shop that night, the initials engraved on the moon and the exceptional quality that one rarely could find anywhere else was enough evidence that she crafted this necklace. Only a fool would pawn this at a no-name, local shop.

Signora frowns upon thinking about you, Dan Heng's then-girlfriend, pawning it for whatever reason. She never met you but saw you for the first time when reporters interviewed you after Dan Heng's death. Childe had pointed you out, and the comments he made showed his obvious distaste because if Dan Heng had made it back alive… you would likely be part of the family by now.

While the necklace doesn't belong to Signora per se, it's something she made for Dan Heng, a man who had grown on her as a good friend.

Signora hears the sound of her phone on the table outside. So, she stands, wraps her bathrobe tightly around her, and heads out. It's a picture message from her husband-to-be, Rostam, and as soon as she opens it, her blood runs cold, and her eyes go wide. What... What is this? She closes her eyes, a shaky breath leaving her lips before she opens her eyes again. The photo remains unchanged. She zooms in on it, her mind still trying to catch up with reality.

It's him. It's Dan Heng. But it can't be.

Signora hears the sound of a faint beep, but she doesn't look up when Rostam walks in.

Upon seeing her pale face, he says:

"I know." She finally looks up. "I was shocked, too."

“I saw him near the library,” Rostam says. “Have you… Have you ever seen him before?"

“No,” Signora says as if she's seen something she isn't supposed to. “I have no idea who this man is. But…” She looks closer. “It’s… It’s like he hasn’t aged a day… Did he recognize you?’

Rostam shakes his head.

Signora puts down her phone. “It must be someone who just looks like him.”

“Their bodies were never found,” Rostam says. “Perhaps…”

“That’s impossible.” Signora sits with one leg over the other on the couch. “If they had survived, where could they have gone?”

Rostam sighs. “Yes. That’s true. But, I wonder…”

“What is it?”

“You had a hunch that Tsaritsa was the one behind the crash. If that is true, I wonder how they would react upon seeing this man.”

Signora glances at the glass coffee table. To this day, she still thinks Tsaritsa has some involvement in the accident. Signora was a close friend of Dan Heng’s mother, so Signora is somewhat aware of the sour family dynamics between Dan Heng’s mother and some of her relatives.

“...Who knows?” Signora looks at her fiancé. “If he is involved with them somehow, I doubt he’ll make it out alive.”

◆◆◆

Early the next morning, Signora is sitting at the hotel restaurant when she sees the man for herself.

Dan Feng, dressed casually in a teal sweater and black pants, is getting his food at the buffet as Signora—quietly sipping her morning tea—subtly observes him from afar. As she watches him, she notices how his naturally stoic and calm expression is reminiscent of Dan Heng. When a couple of children run past him, he doesn’t even spare a glance. As he walks towards her table, Signora puts her teacup on the plate and says:

“Young man.” Dan Feng slightly turns to look at her, and their eyes meet. “Have we met somewhere?”

“...Not that I know of.”

Signora nods at the empty seat in front of her. “All the tables have been taken. Why don’t you take a seat?” Dan Feng doesn’t need to look that there are still plenty of empty seats as it’s very early in the morning. He looks back at Signora. Was Dan Heng affiliated with this woman? “You remind me of the son of an old friend. Dan Heng. Have you heard about him?”

Dan Feng puts his plate on her table and takes the empty seat across from her. “I have, and I’ve been told I look a lot like him. But, I’ve never met him myself.”

“...Ah. Well, they say that meeting a doppelganger can result in bad news or bad luck.”

A small silence passes before Dan Feng asks:

“Yet, you still asked me to accompany you. Are you not afraid that I’ll bring you bad luck?”

Signora puts her elbows on the table. “What is your name?”

“It’s proper manners to give your name first before asking for someone else’s.”

She leans back, a little taken aback at the response. Their faces might be the same, but their personalities can't be any more different.

“If you’re interested in my name," Dan Feng says, "I’ll tell you… only if you tell me if you have connections to his family.”

Signora narrows her eyes. "And why would someone like you want to know about that?"

Dan Feng knows he’s taking a big risk, but this is an opportunity he must take advantage of. It's foolish to think he can rely on you alone.

A distance away, you’ve just come down for breakfast. Dressed in an oversized hoodie and sweats, you’re surprised to see Dan Feng sitting with a woman with long blonde hair and gray eyes. Her wine-red airy blouse is tucked into her light beige pants with a black belt. You’re grabbing food at the buffet, but your eyes occasionally wander to their table. While you can’t hear what they’re saying, their serious expressions tell you that it’s not exactly a friendly conversation between friends. But while you’re curious about their conversation, you’re more interested in something else.

“A woman. A pretty one. Long blonde hair and gray eyes. I didn’t get a name, though.”

Then, you remember the words from March:

“...Maybe… Maybe it’ll show up when you least expect it!”

As you casually walk in the direction of their table, your heart starts beating faster. Then, noticing you, Dan Feng turns.

“You’re up early,” he says.

You can feel the woman's eyes on you. “So are you,” you say to him. Finally, you glance at her.

“...She," Dan Feng says, referring to Signora, "was a friend of Dan Heng's. Small world, huh?”

“We haven’t met, but I know you,” Signora says, her tone unwelcoming. It's as if you've already offended her.

Then, that's when you see it.

“That necklace,” you say, almost too eagerly.

Signora looks down. “Oh, this?” She gives you a sharp look. “What about it?”

“Could I see it?”

Dan Feng glances from you to Signora and back to you. The desperation is obvious from your voice and the look on your face. What’s so special about that necklace?

Signora sips her tea. Then, she puts her teacup down and says your initials. “I know this is yours."

“Yes," you say, trying not to let your confusion about the woman mix with the certainty you have about your necklace. "That necklace belongs to me. I—”

“You got rid of it, didn’t you?”

“No!”

Your voice attracts the attention of the nearby tables, but the people turn back when nothing seems out of the ordinary.

“My ex pawned it.” The anger from the breakup and the memory still seeps into your voice. “It wasn’t his to pawn, and I would very much like it back.” Signora's silence is deafening. What's worse is that she's not looking at you. So, you take a small breath. “...Please. It means a lot to me.”

“Is there a reason why you’re holding onto it?” Dan Feng asks Signora after a moment of silence.

Signora takes the necklace off. “No reason. I was simply appalled at the thought of someone pawning such a beautiful work of art.” She hands it to you. “...You better take care of it this time.”

You immediately take it from her. "...Thank you."

You put your tray on the table and unclasp the necklace. Seeing how you're having difficulty getting it on, Dan Feng stands, and you almost freeze when you feel his hands on yours. 

"...Let me."

His voice is so close to your ear that your face warms. 

Signora looks from Dan Feng and then to you. “What kind of relationship do you two have? You know each other, don’t you?”

You and Dan Feng look at each other just as he finishes helping you.

“Well,” Dan Feng says, stepping back, “last night we were acquaintances.”

“We’ve always been acquaintances,” you deadpan. Your attention goes back to the mysterious woman. “You said you knew me, but I don’t know you.”

“Signora,” she says. “Owner of My Fair Lady.”

You know the brand, but you've never seen the owner. However, you’ve heard great things about her just from what you read online and sometimes through Dan Heng. Before he passed, he even said he'd introduce you to her as she was the one who crafted your necklace.

She looks out the window and sees a black Mercedes Benz outside. “I must be going. It was nice meeting the two of you. And… Why not come to my wedding if you two aren’t busy tomorrow? It's tomorrow at this hotel, and it’ll give us more time to talk.” She looks at Dan Feng. "You have my number. Let me know by tonight if you and"—she glances at you—"your acquaintance will be there."

Then, Signora walks away. And, despite being a woman of high status, she takes her tray to the cleaning lady before leaving.

"She has quite the presence, doesn't she?" Dan Feng asks, looking at her. When he doesn't get a reply, he turns back and also sees you looking at her. "Hey." You glance at him, and he nods at the empty chair. "Take a seat."

It doesn’t look like you have much of a choice as the seats are filling up fast. Dan Feng’s eyes land on your necklace when you sit across from him.

“Do I still get one more question?” he asks, referring to the conversation from last night.

You pick up your fork. "Depends on what you want to know about."

He points to your necklace. "I want to know more about that. What's the story behind it?"

You consider it for a moment, and after seeing no harm in sharing, you say:

“It was a gift from Dan Heng for my birthday.”

"That's it?"

You take a bite of a hashbrown and give him a deadpan look. "What were you expecting?"

"Did you know that there was more to the design?" You glance down and then regard him with a skeptical look. "I'm not lying. You can ask Signora herself." Dan Feng smiles. "Regardless, it’s still a beautiful necklace. It makes me wonder what the original looked like and why it was changed.”

After finishing a hash brown, you put your fork down. “Did you know her?”

“No. But because of my uncanny similarity to Dan Heng, she waved me down… and we started talking.”

“...You said you work in law enforcement.”

“Correct.”

“Well, care to enlighten me?” You put your elbows on the table. “What's someone like you doing in a place like this?"

“Curiosity is a good look on you,” he unexpectedly says. Then, he smiles and gives the same response he gave to Signora not even thirty minutes ago. “I’m looking into what really happened with the family.”

◆◆◆

For the rest of the day, you’re mostly working from your hotel room, attending meetings and finishing mockups for your latest projects, but your mind is constantly thinking about the conversation between you and Dan Feng.

“...The family… Dan Heng’s family?” Dan Feng quietly sipped his tea as you frowned. “You told me you never heard about him.”

“I did, didn't I?”

“So, you lied,” you said, crossing your arms.

“And I apologize.” You slightly narrowed your eyes. He seemed genuine enough. “But, considering the state you were in, telling you that I was investigating his family, you would’ve gotten a heart attack.”

“Then, you better start telling the truth. What's with the interest? There was a full-blown investigation. There was…” You took a small breath. “There wasn't enough evidence to conclude anything." 

“People make mistakes. Things go unnoticed. Or, worse yet, people deliberately hide information.”

“And you’re expecting me to believe you now?”

Dan Feng shrugged. “I can't control whether you believe me or not. What I can control is my actions, and”—he slightly leaned forward—”I'd like you to be my partner."

"Excuse me?" you finally asked after letting his words sink in.

"Professionally, of course." You would have thought he was joking, but his serious and calm voice told you otherwise.

“You’re asking me to help you with the case?” 

“I don’t think there’s anyone who’d want closure more than you.” Dan Feng’s fingers were just barely touching yours. “Think about it. You’ll benefit. I’ll benefit. It’s a win-win situation.”

"Was this what you were after all along? Me showing you around town... Was that—"

“That still stands,” Dan Feng said. “To say that this is what I was after all along is a little unfair. I saved you because I wanted to not because I knew who you were. It just so happens that your past works in my favour.”

You sigh as you lean back on the chair and glance at the wall, the one between you and Dan Feng’s room. You haven’t given him an answer. Yes, you want closure, and perhaps it's the lack of it that makes it feel like the past is haunting you, sprinkling salt onto a wound that will never heal. But you’re still extremely skeptical. The timing seems too convenient. The media is awfully quiet. And, his strange confidence. Does he know more than he lets on? What else is he hiding?

Everything is happening too fast.

You’re about to grab a snack when you see an email from your boss. So, you spin your chair around and open it up. As you read through it, you scoot your chair closer to the table. It’s about an upcoming project, but it’s not just any project. Lunae is looking to collaborate and outsource designs for their upcoming collection focusing on sustainability. They’ve reached out to your company, and your boss thought you’d be a good fit considering you created designs for fashion houses before.

Let me know if you’re interested, and we can talk more is the final closing statement.

After replying to the email, your attention flies to your phone. You hesitate and eventually send a text.

Dan Feng, dressed in a black tank top and long sweats, is walking back to his room after using the gym. He’s waiting for the elevator in the lobby when he hears his phone buzz.

I’ll help… but I can back out at any time. No questions asked.

You’re about to put your phone on the table when it dings with a message.

Deal.

You’re still holding your phone when Dan Feng sends you another message.

To celebrate our professional relationship… Why don’t we attend Signora’s wedding?

Celebrate…? You put your phone on the bed as you grab a coat. Well, maybe that's a good idea, considering Signora's ties to the family. But, does this man have ulterior motives? You grab your phone off the bed, put it in your coat pocket, and head out. On the way to the elevators, you’re looking at your phone, pondering over the question when you hear:

“Don’t overthink it.” You look up and see Dan Feng walking towards you. He stops in front of you and smiles. “It’s just a way to spend some time together.” He slightly leans closer. “...Don’t I need to get in the clear first?”

“...From what? That you’re not a serial killer?” you deadpan.

“Last time I checked, the verdict is still pending.”

Then, before you can stop yourself, you say:

“...Fine.” Then, you walk past him but look over your shoulder. “Let’s see how well you clean up, officer.”

When in truth, you want to know what he's hiding.

Chapter 5

End notes:

I don't know if you've seen the show Vampire Diaries, but I'm imagining Dan Heng and Dan Feng being similar to Stephen and Damon respectively. Personality-wise, at least.

And... I'm pretty excited to write baddie Childe hehe

Tag list: @lunavixia @aerithsthingss @boomie-123

[thebigshotman]

(I couldn’t find a space for this in the post (and I know it’s been a couple of days, sorry 😓) but my full support and love goes to @worm-of-theseus as they transition from Spamton to Derecho!! Hopefully he and Spaul can still be friends somehow ❤️❤️)

Hello everyone! First off, before I say anything else, I want to apologize for the abrupt and lengthy absence. Not that such things aren’t commonplace for me at this point, which I also feel I should apologize for. At this point I think I should just stop saying I’m going to be on more consistently, cause my dumb, constantly-shifting-between-fixations brain is clearly not going to allow that. I’m sincerely sorry for all of that, everyone. Rest assured, offline I’ve been doing perfectly well and I’m in good health.

The past couple of weeks have been busy for me, between a busy Memorial Day and my Grandma’s birthday just a few days ago. Not to mention that the summer vacation laziness has kicked in at full force in between these busy events, making it impossible for me to sit the hell up and reply to stuff. I knew I wanted to take a break for a day or two, but I had no idea it was going to go on this long.

When I finally remembered I had stuff to reply to, my brain decided to distract itself even further by reminding me of this JJBA fan part I’ve been working on for ages. Which, of course, put off things more. I got a few chapters done, and still plan to work on it on and off over the summer, but it was frustrating that that was all that my brain wanted to work on when I have people waiting for me.

I’m going to be deleting all of the asks in my inbox-which are mostly from that muse shaming meme-so I can focus my attention on the threads, ancient as they are, that I owe. Hopefully that jolts my brain back into gear and brings me back. Maybe it’ll be tomorrow night, maybe it’ll be Saturday night. But my goal is to reply to what I owe sooner than later, as soon as my offline life stops being busy.

I hope no one is mad that I had to step away for almost two weeks and get my shit together. Part of me feels like everyone else is changing and growing and I’m stuck in a rut, but I’m happy with where my muses and I are and I’m forcing myself to realize that as long as I’m happy, it’s enough. I’m not saying that to make people feel guilty. I’m saying that because my dumb brain thinking stuff like that is also part of why I was gone so long.

I felt like quitting. But I’m not gonna stop. As long as people like my writing and characters, here I’ll stay. So thank you for being patient while I get myself back together. I only ask that you be patient for just a little while longer while I find a block of time to get to everything.

I’ll see you all soon.

Mun Bri ❤️❤️❤️

[edith-moonshadow]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

To the wonderful @rascheln @ghostofjellyfishforgotten @neonponders  💜💜💜

Thank you so much for thinking of me this was incredibly difficult but that’s probably just because I’m incredibly indecisive (and I cheated) 😳😳😳 so in no particular order 💁🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️

1. The Poison Pen This was my first ever big bang done for the Harringrove Big Bang 2021 and in collaboration with the incomparable @heck-in-a-handbasket who did absolutely stunning art for it 💜💜💜 This was my attempt at a murder mystery set in the 1940s with private detective Billy and socialite Steve who find themselves mixed up in the murder of a blackmailer and trying to deal with secrets from their own past. It was a lot of work and I’m immensely proud of it 🤓🤓🤓

2. Deep In The Heart Of Me This story is something a little different for me, it’s about Billy getting a magical tattoo which ends up being the face of a beautiful boy who he does not know but with whom he slowly falls in love. Set before the events of Stranger things season two it does end on a cliff-hanger (sorry) but one where I think you can connect the dots, it holds a special place in my heart and if I ever figure out a second part I’ll definitely write more 💁🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️

3. You Can’t Even See How Much You’re Mine So this was a story inspired by a comment I received and originally was only supposed to be a one-shot but I was asked to do more and I did and I really enjoy writing this story, it’s got a slightly darker Billy who marries Mrs Harrington after she finds her husband cheating solely so he can gain unlimited access to Steve who he can’t get as close to since school ended. It’s an Omegaverse story and unfortunately, I still have one chapter left to write but hopefully soon 🤞🏻🤞🏻🤞🏻

4. If I Could Have A Million Tomorrows This story was written for Harringrove Week Of Love 2021 for the prompt Hurt/Comfort and was inspired by the film Poison Ivy (1992). It was originally supposed to be a much darker story when I started it but it softened as I wrote it and I love the idea of Billy secretly leaving a permanent mark on Steve plus I think this was one of the first stories where I made Mrs Harrington a loving parent and for the most part, I’ve stuck to that 

5. Memory Of Scars I love Halloween and horror so I wanted to include one horror story I’ve written. I enjoy the lore of this one as it speaks to my interests of a possessive Billy with a naïve Steve and includes biting (fun biting) I did have an idea for a second part but haven’t gotten around to it yet but who doesn’t love vampires? 🎃🎃🎃

Honourable Mention: I’m going to be cheeky and include an honourable mention only because it’s another story close to my heart I wanna Taste You But Your Lips Are Venomous Poison I love Omegaverse and within Omegaverse I’m a bit of a sucker for the trope of an Omega who doesn’t know they are one until they go into heat or as in the case of this story want to get their girlfriend pregnant only to discover they can’t and then said girlfriend invites Billy Hargrove in to help them out and he’s only there for one thing, Steve. 😬😬😬

Thank you so much for these asks I really appreciate it 💜💜💜

[mercy-burning]

Fake Fiancée - Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer write letters back and forth, both of them slowly starting to fall in deeper. Category: Smut (18+) Content Warnings: Strong language, sexual themes, masturbation (male and female), sexting, face sitting Word Count: 6.3k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hello!! Sorry this has been so long in the making, but for a while my inspiration for this story absolutely disappeared, and then I tried to think of how to bridge the previous chapters to the final one with absolutely no luck. And then I re-read Part 2 and got stuck on the letter, thus this chapter was born! I didn’t want to drag this miniseries out any longer than 4 parts, and the letter format combined with other inner monologuing and description really allowed me to do that in an interesting way that hopefully doesn’t feel rushed! 

It was so much fun and very refreshing to write. I hope you like how it turned out!

Thank you all for being so patient while I get my shit together 😅 Love you guys! Enjoy 🥰

***

We've been sending letters back and forth for about a month now.

If I'm being honest, it took me about two weeks to decide whether or not I actually wanted to send one back, but could you blame me?

Here was this guy I couldn't stop thinking about after a one-night stand, only for him to catch me—months later at the same exact bar we'd met in—flirting with his friend. And then after our sexual encounter that night, all the things we said, the connection I thought we had, all of it...

He left it all behind the next morning, only to send me a letter in the mail.

I was pissed.

Sure, it was a nice letter, but the fact that he'd reduced what we had down to a piece of paper and scribbled ink had made me angrier than I cared to admit.

In retrospect, I may have overreacted.

Over time I started re-reading his words, and the more I thought about it all, the more I started to regret my anger. And more than anything, I just wanted to see him again. I couldn't stay mad at him, not when all I could picture was his pouty face and nervous hands. His sunbeam of a smile peeked through the clouds of my anger here and there, and the longer it settled, the more it bathed me in a warm light that should have made me happy. But all it did was make me long for him.

Once I'd actually started writing that first letter back, I wondered why I hadn't jumped on the opportunity in the first place. I mean, after all the cliché shit we'd experienced in our short relationship thus far, adding love letters to the mix was just as perfect as you could get, right?

Spencer,

I'm sorry it's taken me this long to finally write you back. Truthfully I wasn't sure I wanted to write you at all, but your letter kept drawing me back in. I couldn't stop re-reading it, imagining you sitting down somewhere and contemplating every word as you wrote them down. I wondered if you'd thrown out hundreds of pieces of paper after messing up when you could have just as well typed out a letter without wasting them.

And then by that point, all I could think about was just you.

I always pictured what your living room looks like, or your kitchen table, or your office, or wherever you sit down to write. I wondered if you looked like one of those hopeless writers in the movies that have a scruffy face, coffee stains on their white tee shirts, and messy hair that hasn't been washed in days due to lack of inspiration.

But in the end, the image that won out over all the others was just you as I remember.

I'm not going to lie, that image most of the time was your body above mine while I held my hand to your throat, but for the sake of romance I guess I should probably tell you what it was every other time— the outfit you were wearing the first time we met.

When I think of you, I think of your hand nervously clutching that beer bottle for dear life and the other one occasionally pushing your glasses up your nose. I think of your eyes every time they'd look away from me, probably to keep yourself from staring too long.

But the thing that always gets me the most is your smile— even when it comes in little flashes, after you've said something you probably thought was lame. You covered it up with that perfect smile.

I've dreamt of that smile nearly every night since I met you, and I wouldn't be opposed to seeing it in person again.

I'd love to meet you for dinner some time.

But since you did manage to "more or less abandon me twice now", I think it's only fair that you make it up to me first.

Make the next letter a good one, and we'll see what happens.

Yours, Y/N

P.S. I hope my handwriting is as pretty as you hoped. I'd hate to disappoint.

***

Y/N,

I'm incredibly grateful that you've given me a chance to redeem myself. Every night since I last saw you has also been spent wondering what your house looks like on the inside... What you looked like reading my letter (perhaps at your kitchen table?)

And this might sound silly, but I've also wondered what your bedroom looks like. You may be laughing at me, because I've been in your bedroom, but in my defense I was a bit preoccupied to really take notice of my surroundings— I was simply surrounded by you.

But since I've been to your home, I figured it was only fair that I invite you to mine, possibly for dinner. I don't know how to cook much— in fact I'm pretty awful at making anything that's not a can of Spaghetti-Os... But one of my co-workers is an excellent chef, and with a recipe from him and some practice under my belt, I'm sure I can pull it off.

But by "some" practice, I mean probably weeks or months of practice. So hopefully that gives you ample time to mull it over.

Perhaps in the meantime we can get to know each other through our letters. And who's to say, it might spare us the awkward "getting to know each other" stage of a first date. Though, pretty much every stage of every date is awkward for me, so it might not help at all.

Regardless, I'm very much looking forward to hearing from you again.

I do get called away for work quite often, however. So I apologize in advance if I can't get back to you as soon as I'd like.

But in any instance, you're still welcome to text message or call me. I know it isn't as romantic or personal as handwritten letters, but it's certainly practical.

Yours, Spencer.

P.S. Your handwriting is just as beautiful as I'd imagined it would be. And you could never disappoint me.

That being said, if you somehow decide that this letter wasn't up to your standards and reject my offer, I may just find myself in the deepest despair imaginable.

***

I was definitely way too in my head about this.

It was just a text. Sure, it was a risky text to send, but I had no doubt in my mind that it would be fine in the end.

So why was my stomach churning just thinking about sending it?

Some might have chalked it up to my fat ol' crush on Spencer, but I knew it ran deeper. It had to do at least a little with my history with Patrick... The man stood me up and sent divorce papers to my place of work rather than to my face... And as much as I liked to think I was completely over it, we'd been together for years, and it really did a number on me.

I didn't want to ruin this new thing with Spencer so badly that I was overthinking everything.

So even though I could see his face opening the text, my heart doing jumps at the mere thought of it, a bigger part of me worried that it would be a step too far in the wrong direction. I didn't want him to think I was only in this for... sexual reasons. Which, don't get me wrong, have been pretty damn great so far, but I really did want to get to know him and see where this went.

In the end I decided to hold off. I settled for something a little lighter.

Spencer,

Don't feel too bad about your cooking skills. I've been through my fair share of burnt frozen pizzas to know how you're feeling. So the fact that you've given yourself the opportunity to practice and learn a recipe just for me is extremely romantic, and I appreciate the thought.

I won't stop you from following through, though I'm telling you now that no amount of slaving away in the kitchen will make me change my mind about you. We could probably eat stale crackers on the floor and I'd still find you utterly fascinating.

Maybe that's a bit too extreme, but I hope you get my point.

Anyway, I'd love to come over for dinner some time. Whenever you think you're ready to show me those improved cooking skills, you just let me know and I'll happily make my way over.

In the meantime, I'm thinking of sending more with my letters. I don't want to give away too much, but I will say that I'm very crafty. And don't feel like you need to send anything in return, though I'll let you know if I ever change my mind.

Yours,

Y/N

***

In the bottom right corner of the letter, right next to her signature, was a red lipstick stain in the shape of... well, her lips. It was common sense to know that they were hers and no one else's, not just a stamp or a drawing, and rather her actual lip stain... But even without it, I would have been able to tell by their shape.

Was that pathetic?

I could hear her, picture her in front of me, hovering above me with red-painted lips in the shape of a smirk, visibly cooing as she called me names... I could feel the ghost of her fingertips trailing up my throat and tilting my chin up to look at her as she rocked her hips teasingly into mine...

The whine I let out truly was pathetic.

You pathetic, needy little thing, I could hear her say...

My hands clutched the paper so tightly I thought I'd tear it, but it didn't matter when all I could see while staring at it was her luscious, red lips... Her voice was right there in my ear, like she was really beside me, watching me...

Oh, God, what would she do if she saw me right now? Staring at her lipstick stained paper and subconsciously grinding down into my chair...

You pathetic, needy little thing...

My hips jolted with a small, broken shout of her name, and in no time the front of my pants were flooded with warmth. I felt her eyes burning into me from the void, sparking to life with amusement as her voice crept into the deep corners of my brain and whispered praises to me.

Ohh, what a good little whore... Getting off to the thought of me... That's it, sweet boy... Come for me...

By now my eyes had squeezed shut and the letter was crumpled in my hand, the other reaching down to add much-appreciated burning friction to my crotch as I rode out my orgasm. My whole body tensed and shuddered at every sensation, from Y/N's image behind my eyes to the sweet warmth that pooled in my underwear and soaked through onto my hand.

Holy mother of—

The next time I saw her, I was screwed. I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. I'd surely go red the second I laid eyes on her, and she'd know right away what I was thinking and feeling.

Simply put, it scared and excited me at the same time.

She'd utterly and thoroughly wrecked me, and if she didn't already know it, she certainly would soon.

Y/N,

I'm not sure what you intend to send in addition to your letters, but if it's anything near the sentiment of your lip stain, then you might have to refrain in favor of my poor, fragile heart.

See, it aches for you. It's bad enough I think of you always, but the moment I saw the shape of your lips on that letter, my heart almost shot straight out of my chest. Maybe it was the familiar shape of your lips or the implications of its place next to your name, signed after the word 'yours', that sent me into a tailspin, but whatever the case...

I'm pretty sure I've completely fallen under your spell.

I suppose I should also tell you that my heart wasn't the only part of my body that came to life at your added signature. I assure you, it took no time at all for me to come undone at the thought of your lips pressing gently against the paper, imagining that they were instead pressing to my skin... I didn't even have to touch myself, really. It just happened. Because of you and you alone.

I hope that wasn't too forward, but I felt it necessary that you know just how much of an effect you have on me.

If I could see you again in a millisecond, it wouldn't be soon enough.

That being said, I am determined to spend as much time as possible to perfect this dish for our dinner. Because you deserve nothing but the best, even if you insist that you could settle for less.

It's the least I can do.

Yours, Spencer.

And a week and a half later, when I didn't get a letter back on time, I was sure I'd messed up for good.

My mind was racing a mile a minute, yelling at myself for even thinking for a second of being that detailed in a letter without any consent. Sure, she'd taken it a step up by signing off her letter with a kiss, but I'd been absolutely idiotic in telling her that I got off to it.

I was honestly well and truly prepared to show up at her house with a big bouquet of flowers and an apology so wordy and probably too long for anyone's liking, in hopes that she'd forgive me for making this huge mistake.

Thankfully, though, it wasn't needed.

My phone chimed as I was pacing, my lip near bloody with how hard I'd been chewing at it, and I saw an unknown number attached to a text message and photo attachment.

The photo wouldn't load (I would have to plug it into my laptop and transfer the image there to see it— a fact which always irked Penelope to the core), but with the sentences I saw above the file, I almost knew exactly what I'd find when I had the means to see it.

There. Now we're even... Who says text messages can't be romantic and personal? XXX, Y/N

I felt like Bambi as I scrambled to my laptop three rooms over, stumbling over weak legs with my phone clutched tightly in my hand. My heart raced faster than it ever had as I started everything up and retrieved the right cord for my phone. With a few shakes and stumbles here and there, I briefly entertained the idea of upgrading my phone.

I probably would have left the apartment to do it immediately after seeing her photo attachment, but the moment it loaded up on my screen, my brain and body lost all ability to function properly.

A familiar burn coursed through the lower half of my body and tightened my chest at the sight of her, open and exposed and... wet.

My laptop screen was completely taken over by the image of Y/N's pussy, visibly glistening and aroused. A manicured hand—her hand— was in frame as well, middle finger resting snugly between the supple skin of her wet lips.

The fact that I only tasted her once felt downright cruel.

I tried to imagine it again— my face buried between the softness of her thighs. As much as I wanted to lay her down and indulge myself as long as possible, taking all the time in the world to slowly devour her and truly explore her for myself, what ran through my mind then was something more in the vein of our dynamic thus far.

My mind wandered, specifically to a place where I was the one laying down as she sat down directly onto my face and gave me what she thought I deserved. My hands were tied to the bed, maybe handcuffed. All I knew was that I couldn't touch her, and it bothered me. So I whined, and every time the sound left my mouth, she would let up, lifting further out of reach and causing me to instinctively reach my head up to chase her.

You greedy little slut... Take what I give you...

Desperately seeking her approval, I told her I'd be good and rejoiced when she lowered herself down to me again, allowing me to me completely wrapped up in her once more. My tongue lapped and lapped, gathering as much of her as I could before she'd inevitably leave again.

But she never did.

Somehow I kept my quiet, even though it was extremely difficult, and ate her out like my life depended on it. She glided smoothly over my face, coating more than just my lips in her arousal, and it thrilled me to my very core.

Every time I breathed in I could smell her, every time she groaned out my name my stomach fluttered, and it wasn't long before she was clutching my hair, shaking above me while I drank her in and repressed my whines.

My hips were uncontrollable though, bucking up into nothing and begging for any type of stimulation.

But then suddenly it was there— Her hand, firmly wrapping around my dick and gliding over it beautifully with a slickness that she must have transferred from her pussy. I could still taste her as I cried out her name, her movements quickening with every second until—

I didn't even realize I was actually alone until my eyes opened, cum coating my hand, my heartbeat heavy and loud, and the laptop screen in front of me a shade darker signaling a long period of inactivity.

I'd done it again...

And now we most certainly were not even.

I glanced over at my phone—plugged into the laptop—and then down at my lap, and my stomach knotted as my next move rang clear as day.

***

I woke up the next morning to texts from Spencer, and my heart picked up speed, a gentle warmth blooming through my chest at the sight.

I thought maybe he'd thank me for the photo I'd sent. Maybe he'd return it with an influx of messages along the lines of Oh my god, Holy fuck I miss you, and the like.

But what I wasn't expecting was to see a photo in return, of his hand that I'd dreamt of nearly nightly, wrapped firmly around his cock and all of it completely covered in cum.

Below the photo were three messages in a row, and each one gave me more butterflies than the last.

Sorry for low quality. No smartphone.

Also sorry we're not even anymore.

But I'm not sorry I did it- you're too perfect to resist.

***

Dearest Y/N,

I'm sorry you haven't gotten a letter from me in a while. And I know we've kept in touch through texting and calling while I was swamped at work, though now that I have some time off, I'd love to write you again. As much as I enjoy our virtual conversations, I still find sending letters to be my preferred method of communication (only second to speaking with you in person, that is).

Which brings me to the main point I'm trying to make.

I want to see you again. In person. I'm not completely confident in my cooking ability yet, but if you wouldn't mind the potential of it tasting awful, I'd love to have you over. I promise you nothing but the best, and I know that's a high promise, especially considering I probably haven't sold you on the meal, but it's true.

I'd do anything to please you.

And I really do mean 'anything', I hope you understand that.

Yours, Spencer.

***

The thought of seeing him in person again after so long made my hands way shakier than I would have liked. It made no sense the longer I thought about it, because it was obvious that we liked each other, and seeing each other in person wouldn't be a problem. Because it'd never been a problem before.

It irked me.

Still, I knocked on his door and physically shook out my hands, praying I could keep my cool when he finally opened the door.

But I should have known better.

One second I was staring at a large plank of wood, and the next I was staring into frantic eyes, golden and sparkling just as I remembered, but with an added glimmer of fear that matched the shakiness of my hands.

I don't know how long we stood there, just staring at each other, but the longer we did, the more we relaxed. His fear was gone, and the shaking in my hands turned into a dull hum that longed to reach out for him.

Still, I refrained, settling on a simple, "Hey, pen pal..."

By the way he looked at me, silent as ever, I started to wonder if that was a stupid thing to lead with. So I opened my mouth to apologize, to say anything else, but he beat me to it.

"Y/N... I... H—Hi, you look... incredible."

"O—Oh, thanks... Thank you, yeah, I um... figured I should... dress up a little. I know we're not going out anywhere, but I thought it might be nice."

He doesn't need to know that, Y/N, stop talking!

I gave him a small smile and a nervous laugh in an attempt to stop myself, hating how I was so nervous around him.

Spencer didn't seem to mind, though. He let me in and closed the door behind me as I quickly glanced around his apartment. It was littered with greens and browns, books everywhere, and I'd never felt more at home.

"Is it, uh... What you expected?"

"Hmm?" I turned to meet him, his soft voice pulling me from my wandering eyes.

"My apartment."

"Oh! Yeah, it's very you... I love it."

The compliment had his cheeks turning pink, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than kiss them over and over again.

And just like that, once again we were caught just staring at each other. I didn't know what he was thinking, and honestly, I didn't know what I was thinking either. All I knew in that moment was that Spencer Reid was standing right in front of me, close enough to touch, and I wanted to give in.

I was so wrapped up in the idea of feeling him that I almost didn't hear him speak. I wouldn't have heard him at all had it not been for his lips moving.

"I'm sorry, I haven't started dinner yet..."

"That's okay," I reassured. Or, at least I tried to. Really, though, I think it sounded more like I was uninterested in what he was saying, my voice flat and lifeless as I continued to stare at him.

Suddenly we were closer, and I had to look up higher to see his face, butterflies swarming in my stomach at the way he looked down at me.

"You're sure?"

"Mhm."

"I can start it now if you're getting hungry."

Food isn't what I'm hungry for, is what I thought. I almost said it, too, because he was even closer now, his hands coming out to touch mine. If they were humming before, they were certainly blaring with life now, growing hot under his light touch. And it took everything I had not to look down, because it had been too damn long since I'd seen his hands in person, and I wanted them on me immediately.

He could tell, too. He could sense my urgency, feel the longing radiating off my presence, and I knew this because I could feel his, too. His eyes practically dared me to say what I was thinking, and so I did.

"Don't you dare."

It was hard to tell who moved in first, but it really didn't matter.

I was here, in his apartment, feeling his lips glide over mine with reckless abandon, and that's all that mattered.

His hands gripped my waist so tightly I would have thought he was trying to hold me in place, to make sure I wasn't ever going to leave his sight again. And if that was the case, I would have let him hold me there forever.

My hands, meanwhile, clutched at his hair, forcing myself closer and closer to him with every sharp tug. I reveled in the way he whined into my mouth with every little thing I did, whether it was a tug of the hair or a roll forward of the hips, or even a swipe of my tongue over his.

He was putty in my hands yet again, and just like every time before, it turned me into a fucking goner.

Being with Spencer wasn't like anything I'd ever known. And the only other thing I'd known was Patrick. He didn't want me, not really, and even though he was good to me in the beginning, it was never like this.

I didn't come over to his apartment with shaking hands. I didn't send him fucking love letters almost weekly, and I certainly didn't get kissed like this...

Spencer was drunk on me, and I wasn't any sober myself.

"That picture you sent me..." I mumbled over his lips, still keeping myself as close as I could while I got out what I needed to say. "Where did you take that?"

We kissed for a few more seconds, unable to stay apart, before he answered, his voice just as breathy and brimming with desperation as mine. "My office. Just down the hall."

I kissed him again, hard, and then pulled back to look him in the eyes. They widened when I said, "Show me."

He dragged me through the apartment on rushed legs, and I almost laughed at the urgency, only stopped by the realization that I was just as urgent. It occurred to me that perhaps my laughing at his urgency might just be a slight turn on for him, given our history with my playful degradation, but still I pulled back— Tonight felt... different.

It didn't feel like we were headed in the direction of me calling him my dirty little whore throughout the night, and it was something I was more than okay with. In fact, I welcomed it, excited to see where this new night would take us.

We ended up in his office, which remained more or less the same aesthetic as the rest of his place. In the middle sat a small desk with a laptop and some papers scattered about on it, accompanied by a tall floor lamp and a rolling desk chair.

"Where were you exactly?" I mused, gripping his hand tightly and buzzing at the way his fingers flexed against my own.

"In the chair... I pulled the photo up on my laptop."

"Right. No smartphone."

Spencer hummed in confirmation before dragging me along to the chair, and I fucking giggled as he plopped down and practically pulled me right on top of him, the chair rolling back a foot or two. I went down for a bright, messy kiss that ended with his hands clutching my ass over my skirt and my own cradling his face.

His growing bulge nudged right up into my inner thigh, and I groaned lightly in his mouth, my fingers dragging softly down his jaw and neck until I reached his shoulders.

"What were you thinking about?"

He raised his eyebrow, and I rocked my hips forward with a sly grin, hoping to get my point across. "When you were looking at my picture, in this very chair, what were you thinking about?"

Seeing his eyelids stutter and his tongue dart out at my movements sent a rush through me, and I moved my hips once more to emphasize my urgency.

"I... I thought about you... riding my face. You tied my hands..."

"Oh?" I sighed, rocking forward again and humming into his neck. "Well, that can definitely be arranged if you want it bad enough..."

"Please, Y/N, yes... Please..."

The need dripping from every syllable made it near impossible to breathe, and I was suddenly very inclined to give him everything he wanted. With or without the begging.

So I reluctantly peeled away from him and stood up on weak legs. Staring at Spencer as he sat there, leaning back in the chair with disheveled hair and obvious desire in his eyes, made it all the better when I took my panties off from under my skirt and motioned for him to come forward. "On your knees?"

I would have demanded it in any other situation, but I was feeling a bit more sweet this time around.

And he seemed grateful for it, sliding the chair back further and getting down in front of me. I reached out and played with his hair, trying my hardest to commit his beautiful face to memory. I wanted it burned there for the rest of time.

"Hands?"

Spencer offered his hands to me, and I hummed happily, doing my best to tie his hands together with a makeshift knot from my panties. It wasn't really tight or secure, but it was enough for him to whine as he set them in his lap.

He watched intently as I dropped my skirt—a bit redundant now, but I thought it'd be a nice way to get him more excited. Plus I wanted to see his face (or at lease what I could see of it while it was buried between my legs).

I stepped forward then, looking down at him with a smile while my hands reached out to comb through his hair. "You ready?"

"Uh huh."

The look in his eyes right before I came forward and hovered over his face almost made my come on the spot.

But as fun as that would have been, I was glad for the way my body held off and settled for a beautiful, burning increase of pleasure that dragged out the longer he swiped his tongue through my folds. Actually, I forgot for a moment that I was supposed to be moving, riding his face like he'd thought about.

I willed my eyes open and clutched Spencer's soft locks of hair beneath me, gently rolling my hips and grinding down further on his face.  The groan he let out not only felt good against my skin, but it sounded like pure bliss, eliciting a small whimper of my own as I tightened my grip in his hair and rocked faster.

"God, I missed having your mouth on me, baby... You're... so good..."

The longer I spoke the more breathless I became, not because the words didn't come easily, but because I truly believed them to be true.

Spencer really was so fucking good, his tongue the most delicate, divine object of the universe as it drew out every ounce of delight from my body. I may have been the one above him, calling the shots and directing him where and how to please me, but he was the one who clung to my soul like static and politely guided me towards damnation.

I wasn't even sure of my surroundings to tell you the truth. As my body tensed and took me through one of the most blinding pleasures I'd experienced in weeks, My eyes were squeezed so tightly it's like I saw the universe. All I knew was Spencer's lips sucking my clit and my hands deeply rooted in his hair as I shouted incoherently, stars swirling around behind my eyelids.

Truly, for all I knew, we could have been in space. It wouldn't have made any difference.

But eventually it came to be too much. I was reaching a limit I didn't want to get to so quickly, and so I flashed my eyes open and tried to adjust to this brand new atmosphere, unweaving my fingers through pretty brown waves of hair and stepping back to assess the situation.

What I found was the most beautiful man I'd ever known, panting like he'd just ran a marathon and yet harboring the most intense joy and desire a person could hold. He was on his knees, bound hands writhing in his lap as he awaited further instruction and licked up as much of myself on his face as he could before I stopped him.

Under normal circumstances, I would have wanted to absolutely ruin him. That adoring, desperate look in his eye would have spurred me to more devious endeavors, but all I wanted in this moment was to make sure he was satisfied. I wanted to take care of him, to let him know that I longed to make him feel as worshipped and adored as he'd made me feel.

I got down to Spencer's level, quickly removing the fabric from his wrists and hauling him to his feet, where he now towered over me, still waiting for words to address and instruct him.

Instead, I leaned up with soft hands upon his cheeks and pulled him down to meet my lips in a kiss that changed the tone entirely. It was erotic still, of course, what with my arousal infiltrating my taste buds and eliciting a soft sigh from the both of us, but our urgency manifested in sweeter ways... Softer lips, gentle touches of the face, and an exchanging of breath that was so smooth and seamless it felt like we were floating on air.

I was finding it hard to breathe again, but it wasn't an issue in the slightest. In fact, there was nowhere else I'd rather have been than right there, kissing Spencer Reid like we had all the time in the world.

When the breathlessness was a little too much to bear, we pulled away, though only leaving just enough space to breathe. Our lips stayed briefly connected while we caught up, and his hands found their way to the sides of my face. The way they practically engulfed my whole head brought a brief smile to my lips as I finally gave him the words he was looking for.

"I'm so glad I met you," I whispered.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."

We kissed each other again, naturally and with so much ease that I wondered how I had ever lived without him.

And then, as my hands slid gently down his chest, I felt it.

Something that felt very much like a ring attached to a necklace sat right where his heartbeat resided, and I knew exactly which ring it was.

"W—" I pulled back and circled the shape of it with my finger through the shirt, then looked up at him. "Is that what I think it is?"

Spencer looked briefly panicked, pulling away a little and fishing down the front of his shirt for the chain. "Oh... Um, yeah. I, um... I forgot to take it off, I'm sorry. I..."

"You... kept it?"

I observed the diamond as it laid flat on my palm, still attached to the chain and around his neck. Honestly, after all this time I figured he'd never found it or gotten rid of it, seeing as he never brought it up. And yet there it was, glittering in the palm of my hand as my other one presses firmly against Spencer's rapidly beating heart.

"Y—Yeah... It um... It was really the only physical thing I had to remember you—Well, at least until we started sending letters... And I guess I just... W—Wearing it has become such a habit that I forgot to take it off."

"You never take it off?"

I could tell he was nervous, and rightfully so given I wasn't really letting on how I was feeling about the whole thing.

Still, he answered my short question in such a small whisper I'd have thought he was trying not to get in trouble.

"No."

"Why?"

My words certainly weren't helping ease his anxieties, so I remained close, dropping the ring and focusing rather on his eyes. I softened the look in my own and glided my hands down to hold his. His fingers flexed against mine, squeezing them for dear life as he sighed out in relief and flashed me a soft smile.

"Because... I wanted you close to my heart."

With a smile that mirrored his eyes, full of enchantment and pure adoration for the person in front of me, I didn't use my brain and instead focused on what my heart was telling me, consequences be damned.

"I think I might love you..."

Spencer squeezed my hands tighter, that relief spreading out to all his features and brightening that beautiful smile.

"Funny... I was just thinking the same thing."

Our lips met once more, and I swear it was like nothing bad was ever going to happen for the rest of time.

I'd never felt that way. Not once with Patrick did my heart feel settled into place, even during the great parts of our relationship.

And now here I was, with a man who sent me love letters and kept every physical reminder of my existence, who kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world and slowly mended my wounded heart.

He held me close the whole way to his bedroom and never let me go until the morning. Though, even then his arms outstretched towards me and his fingers flexed, needing to grab onto any part of me that he could find.

And as I was sure I always would, I welcomed him with open arms.

***

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[nox-artemis]

Kentaro Miura

It took me awhile to get my thoughts in order. Honestly, as well intentioned as they are, a constant stream of fan tributes on Twitter and Tumblr more-or-less telling me how to process “The End” of Berserk with Miura’s death didn’t do a lot to console me, so I had to take some huge steps away from social media and only conversed my feelings with my other close Berserk fan-friends.

It was very surreal waking up yesterday morning to a friend messaging me simply saying, “did you hear the news?” When shit like that happens, I go onto my Google stories app and scroll through. I didn’t find anything really worth getting too upset over (maybe a bit sad that Queen Elizabeth II’s doggo died?) so it hit me to check my Twitter feed instead.

And that’s when I saw it.

We all know death is inevitable, and life is pretty much spent prolonging the point to that inevitability as well as preparing ourselves for when it happens to us or someone close to us. Being part of the Berserk fandom was the only time we all collectively had this on our mind not only for someone else but for someone we never met or really knew that much about. We only knew Miura through his magnum opus – and that was good enough for us. And no matter how much we discussed the worst-case scenario – pondering how the story would continue and how WE would continue – it still wasn’t enough to prepare us for this amount of shock. Hearing Miura had died and that the Berserk we know and love under his direct supervision is over truly felt like losing a long-lost friend.

It wasn’t just that the Berserk we know of is “over”, but that Miura didn’t have to die. He was only 54: not a young age, but not an old age either, especially by today’s standards. He could have seen the end to his magnum opus the way he envisioned it, yet he died of something so avoidable but is only brought about by a great deal of stress (from what I’ve read). It was always a morbid open rumor that so many of Miura’s infamous hiatuses were actually mental and/or physical health breaks, so the older or more conscious of us fans, while always eager and anxious for a new chapter, learned to not take them so personally. Miura was a spellbinding artist and storyteller, but he was also a human with his own life and conflicts that he was entitled to address at his own pace. This isn’t meant to blame anyone (at the very least, maybe to address some societal/industry issues), but it’s troubling enough to remind everyone – as the story of Berserk has demonstrated – that you need to take care of yourself physically and mentally, and while everyone struggles in life, you don’t have to struggle alone.

I always despised this weird cult of youth that insinuates that life isn’t worth pursuing once you hit your mid-thirties, and how some people so engulfed in their youth insist that they wouldn’t mind dying by the age of 50 or 60. It’s a shame when people live by that because there’s so much to live for beyond your youth – as I’ve learned, I only started buckling down when I transitioned into my thirties. Miura could have had a longer life ahead of him, going beyond Berserk and into his other endeavors, professional and personal, but that will unfortunately never happen now.

Everyone knows I have a lot of thoughts and opinions on Berserk. Most of you found out about me through my blogging several years ago, and I’m pretty proud that I was never the sort of fan that groveled at Miura’s feet and treated Berserk as some untouchable holy book: there were things I disliked about Berserk and things that disappointed me about Miura’s writing, but there were SO MANY MORE THINGS that I loved about Berserk and was proud of Miura for, and I wished him to continue his advancement in narrative growth. He did so and we watched it happened.

And, by meeting so many friends and acquaintances through the fandom, we saw a lot in ourselves change too. It’s surreal how we always joked that it would be one of us fans who would die before Berserk ended or the worst-case scenario of Miura dying; maybe some of us secretly preferred for that happen. But when we weren’t waiting around for another chapter… look at how much we’ve done with our lives! We graduated high school, undergrad, grad school, started and advanced our careers, traveled the world, got together, popped out a kid or two!... And while we experienced a lot of downfalls and tragedies that coincide, can you believe how much we have accomplished together?

We were all personally inspired, motivated, persuaded by Berserk in different ways: a lot of us were inspired for the better and admittedly, some for the not-as-good (if spending countless hours on Tumblr has taught me, there were definitely some toxic fan takeaways that had to be confronted). I’m not going to go to the point of saying that I now live my life by Berserk’s philosophy to a T or live as a reflection of certain characters (because I’m pretty sure that Miura was trying to tell us to NOT live your life like some particular characters) but it certainly helped to brings some aspects of life and existence into perspective, through the lenses of so many characters. Berserk also inspired me to write more, an already favorite pastime of mine, and how I should go about writing and planning a story, taking cues from Berserk on how to and how NOT to write and approach things in my own way, which I think is for the best in the long run. I can only dream that I’ll be published someday – which doesn’t have to be a pipe dream because it’s still much more possible than impossible. And so many other have done the same, creating our own stories and works.

And OF COURSE Berserk inspired me to be a little bit badass from time to time in moments of frivolity and seriousness – but it reminds us all that being badass and being a kinder person who tries to become the best version of themselves are not mutually exclusive. We definitely need more of that in today’s world.

We all made our own little bonfires of dreams happen, and because of Berserk existing, there will be a lot more beginnings than endings, and I don’t see a lot of bonfires being extinguished anytime soon. Miura poured his heart and soul into Berserk and its characters, and while he has passed on, his characters and lessons will live on through us and everything we create and how we live our lives (hopefully for the better).

I was happy to share all of my thoughts with you all – and I’ll continue to do so, since the mythos of Berserk has been a major backdrop of my creative mind for over fifteen years now and there is still so much to dissect and speculate. Personally, I don’t see Berserk ending just yet, if only because I’d be surprised that Miura or his publisher didn’t have some Operation London Bridge type plan in place in the event that this happened (Berserk is, after all, a major title that most likely brings Young Animal a lot of revenue). Again, I never treated Miura or Berserk as divine untouchables, so if there are plans in place to continue Berserk without Miura (BUT with his permission) or just on how to wrap up the story to give it a fulfilling conclusion, I personally would be okay with it (as a friend of mine put it, it’d be more of a tribute than an imitation). Going beyond our lifetimes, works will continue to be interpreted and reinterpreted as they have since time immemorial; perhaps Berserk will reach that point someday.

Honestly, and many have thought so too, Berserk was also meant to be cosmic level in both scale and concept. The plot is so grand and Byzantine that, even under Miura’s direct supervision, I always had a hard time envisioning how a story of this scale would conclude. As much as we love to hate him, a final showdown between Guts and Griffith seems too simple, too “good vs. evil”-esque for Berserk. Maybe having a low-key, vague but optimistic and bittersweet wrap up is what is best for Guts, Casca, and their new-found family. But that’s just another one of my fan speculations.

Regardless or what is to become of Berserk now, I think it’s safe to give adulations. We all came across Berserk at different times in our lives and stuck with the story for different reasons. For some of us, it was just another series that our friend from the campus anime club recommended to us; for others, we were drawn in from a morbid curiosity of its dark notoriety in anime circles. A few of us read for the gratuitous violence and the clout (because we all know you’re so deep and hardcore [/sar]), but a lot more of us read for the journey and the characters that we became a part of. The heaviness of Berserk made us confront a lot of trauma and even relive our own. For some of us, understandably, it was not a good idea to dive deeper (and maybe somethings could have been handled better); for the rest of us, it helped us cope, if not entirely through the story itself, than through the support network we made for ourselves in this fandom and its many realms (some realms, I argue, are more caring and nurturing than others).

From time to time, I always wonder if I would ever “grow out” of Berserk. There were indeed several times I took a step away from fandom and have tried to reduce my exposure to the story - but I always came back in some way, because the essence of Berserk has never left me and never will. Humorously I envisioned myself actually forgetting about Berserk for several decades, decades in which I work at my career, raise my family, mourn my elders, but continue living my life, only to go on the future internet in my mid-50s to find out… Miura is STILL working on that ending, sitting at his desk in the same pose as that famous monochrome capture of him, only he’s grayed and wrinkled, like the great Miyazaki.

The possibility of that future is over, but there are so many others.

[yuujism]

Sun and Night. (gojo satoru x reader)

Chapter 4: Love.

← chapter 3 | chapter 5 (soon) →

| PAIRINGS: gojo satoru x gn!reader ; mentions of getou suguru x reader x gojo satoru

| WARNINGS: angst, a lil bit of hurt/no comfort, suggestive language, toxic behaviour, toxic coping mechanism, just really toxic, more angst, grammar errors, mentions of unrequited love, straight up angst

| WORD COUNT: idk lol i’ll count later

| A/N: well! this story is about to end in the next chapter and i actually like writing it but the ending uh... idk maybe some of y’all won’t like the ending bc it will probably hurt a lot... or maybe not!! also this chapter mostly looks into both satoru and the reader’s feelings but who knows lol i like ambiguity!! i hope you like it and enjoy !!

summary;

You and Satoru were in love.

You were so deeply in love, just not with each other.

Where you and Satoru found comfort in each other after the accident happened.

There was nothing.

A blink of an eye.

A shattering moment.

And the sound of your name.

There was nothing but regret when Satoru did the unthinkable, anxiety filling his body as the only thing he deemed important to hide from you was suddenly out there for your ears to hear, surprise adorning your face as your chest rised up an down with heavy breathing.

A few seconds passed, seconds that felt like hours as your eyes, open wide and cold, connected with the eyes of the man who was on top of you, the dim moonlight hitting the side of his face glistening with sweat. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what just happened, not even the familiar sensation of Satoru still inside of you.

Everything was broken now.

“I-I just...”

“I should leave.” you interrupted whatever Satoru had to say because, honestly, you didn’t want to hear it. You couldn’t hear it.

There was a brief moment of a last form of inimacy when he slipped out of you, an involuntary moan leaving both of your mouths before you could even stop it. It was an intimacy that felt awkward, like something that was suddenly thrown right into your face after months of ignoring it, and you didn’t want anything but to escape this realisation.

Stupid. You were so stupid to even think this was a good idea for both you and Satoru.

As you gathered your clothes that were all over the floor, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him behind you, but, God, the way his gaze was burning holes onto the back of your head made you feel light-headed with nervousness.

Words were left unspoken between the walls of the still steamy room as you walked out, a low ‘I’m sorry’ reaching Satoru’s ears in form of a whisper before the sound of a door closing left him all alone with his thoughts.

“I’m such an idiot!” Hands went to cover his face as his back landed on the mattress, ashamed of his own recklessness and careless behaviour. Why did you have to apologise? To him out of all people. He should be the one swallowing his pride and ask for forgiveness. He was the one who fucked up.

Satoru knew everything was ruined now. God, if only he could forget the look on your face when your name escaped his lips. It was obvious you were shocked, scared even. You both had unwritten rules that were not supposed to be broken nor discussed, one of them being that nothing was and never would be personal or emotional between the two parties.

This should’ve ended as soon as the memories of his best friend started being replaced with memories of you.

But it felt so good. It was wrong, but it felt so good.

He felt like the biggest scum of the earth as he found the same comfort Suguru made him feel between your arms, it almost felt like he was using you. But weren’t you doing the same? Wasn’t that the whole point of this? Those questions were easy to answer: yes. You were doing the same. This was nothing but pure selfishness from the two of you but, after all, one side was always more selfish.

You were smarter. You didn’t get blinded by your own heart like Satoru did, never losing the point of this sick arrangement as your mind kept being packed with images of a certain sorcerer with long, black hair. It almost seemed as if you never really saw Satoru as himself, and that made his heart ache with pain and anger.

Because, yes, Satoru hated you the same way he hated him: he didn’t.

Idiot.

You kept ignoring Satoru in the hallways, with the only difference that, this time, it wasn’t out of hatred or a sense of uninvolvement. No, nothing like that. You were completely avoiding him at all costs. Looking down at your feet as you walked past him, as if locking eyes with him would make you relive that night. Leaving in a hurry whenever he entered the same room as you, as if his mere presence burned you. Talking quickly about the student’s missions, as if wanting to spend as little time as possible close to his presence.

He was an idiot.

The encounters between you came to a stop since that slip up, and Satoru tried his best to not think about it. About you. Please, just don’t think at all. But he couldn’t. The pictures of your body, the melody of your voice calling out for more, the softness in your fingertips as you caressed his back. He needed you back to himself and he was willing to do anything. Anything. Even if that meant burying his feelings 6 feet under the surface.

Satoru felt sorry to the memory of his best friend, and disgusted with himself. He couldn’t believe the way he thought he was above you regarding the feelings towards Suguru, reaching the point to yell at you about how you didn’t love him. Oh, how wrong he was. How wrong he was for underestimating your feelings and your will to never budge with them.

You would budge for me, though, that’s what he thought.

That’s what he confidently hoped.

It wasn’t like the mere idea of developing feelings of Satoru didn’t cross your mind. It did. Countless of times, mostly during those nights where Satoru was away in a mission or when you just didn’t feel like seeing him. Those blue eyes invaded your mind from time to time. Too bright, too confident and too different.

You still remember vividly that quick flash of his gaze piercing through your soul as you both reached that sweet high the other night. At the same time. Together. And even if you wanted to ignore it, as you selfishly always did, you knew something shifted. Wether it was in you or Satoru, no power on earth would make you discuss the newfound sensations Satoru brought along with him.

Ignorance is bliss.

A sentence that stuck with you since the day Suguru’s fate was written, deciding to apply it at everything and anything that was related to the arrangement between you and Satoru. At the beginning, it was difficult.

Ignore his large, warm hands on your skin and the tingling sensation they left behind in a fiery trail and focus on him, his image. This wasn’t him, it would never be him. But it felt real. Ignore the way his breath hit the side of your neck the same way his did, throwing you back to almost forgotten memories of silly jokes and giggles. Ignore every single detail.

Ignore him.

Suddenly, you didn’t have to put much thought into it. It started feeling easy, automatic even. You no longer had to doubt yourself or your feelings, listening to your head rather than your heart. You were certain Satoru did the the same, he was selfish enough to not think about anyone but himself, walking forward without hesitation. He didn’t think of you: he was thinking of himself, Suguru and quick pleasure. Just like you.

You wished you could’ve noticed before it was too late.

Fate always conspired against you, you already knew it, and this moment was a clear example of that. That same warm hand that made you feel reach bliss during countless of night was now firmly wrapped around your wrists, stopping you in the middle of the hallway as you made your way to your next location. You knew it was him without having to turn around. His hot touch was already engraved into your mind before you could avoid it.

“Let’s talk” It certainly wasn’t a question, words slipping out of his mouth before you could even move your hand away or create an excuse to avoid this situation. “... Please...” Satoru almost choked at the plead, as if it was the hardest thing to say after ‘I’m sorry’. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do this if he couldn’t even ask properly.

Now, you had two options: run away or accept talking with him. You knew the simplest way was running away, never getting out of your comfort zone as you left Satoru behind with whatever he had to say. But somewhere deep within you told you to listen to him, to face your feelings and suck it up for once. Just this once.

A defeating sigh came out of you as you pulled your wrist away from his grip, turning around to face him. Blue fiery eyes were now tiredly yet hopefully looking at you, waiting for whichever answer you decided on. You gulped harshly, the forming knot on your throat becoming way too uncomfortable at the thought of someone walking into this scene.

“Alright. Let’s make this quick. Follow me.”

The walk to your office was silent and filled with an awkwardness that couldn’t be fixed. When the silence and cool breeze of the walls of your space hit the both of you, it was when everything became even more strange. Being alone with Satoru in a room wasn’t a new situation, however, there were some really raw feelings accompanying you this time as your eyes locked with each other, you leaning against your desk as he leaned against the wall.

You waited for him to speak first, scrutinising him under your gaze as he played with his dark glasses in one hand, as if he was bored. Your eye twitched in annoyance. Satoru must’ve sent your uneasiness, taking a deep breath before letting it out in a loud blow. He felt nervous for what he was about to say, even if he rehearsed it in his mind a million times, it seemed as if it just went flying through a window when he was under your observation.

More seconds passed with Satoru fidgeting around and you grew even more impatient.

Fuck it.

“Look, if you won’t say anything then—“

“I’m not sorry.”

What?

Your eyes opened wide with surprise and confusion, trying to find some type of amusement in Satoru’s expression just to choke a gasp when you didn’t find any. Out of everything you expected him to say, out of everything you expected him to do, you didn’t really expect him to basically be the usual cocky asshole with a god complex as those words slipped out of his mouth.

Unbelievable.

It was impossible to ignore the way your body was heating up with raw anger and annoyance. Not even after what happened that night was Satoru able to get out of his high horse.

“Are you serious right now?” Your question was empty, it didn’t need an actual answer because you already knew he was dead serious. The pain in the side of your head appeared and you inhaled deeply. Calm down. “Let me see if I understand: you brought me here—“

“Technically, I didn’t bring you here, you di—“

“Fuck, shut the hell up for once, please!” And he did. Satoru didn’t open his mouth to complain and you were grateful. Another deep breath. “That’s all you had to say to me? That you’re not sorry? Not sorry for what, Gojo?” You asked incredulously, looking for his eyes that were now showing shock at the use of his last name.

You waited for his answer. It seemed Satoru was an expert at letting the seconds slip away from both of your hands, but you were tired. You couldn’t be patient with Satoru anymore.

Letting out an annoyed snort at Satoru’s silence and lack of confrontation, you walked towards the door past his figure the seemed to be frozen on the spot. Your hand was inches away from

doorknob when the warm sensation of Satoru’s touch invaded your body again, heart quickly beating involuntarily and you cursed at yourself internally for that. And moments before you could even react, there was his voice again.

Your name.

Your head turned like a reflex, and you swore that, for a brief moment, you saw those sly dark eyes staring right at you instead of ice blue ones.

It wasn’t a sweet tone like you remembered him saying it, instead, your name coming past his lips sounded rougher, dangerous even, yet something was oddly familiar. His voice still held that adoration of that night, communicating a promise Satoru was going to keep.

And it scared you. Satoru’s possible adoration towards you scared you.

“I’m not sorry” Satoru repeated again, breathing getting stuck on his chest and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes filled with decisiveness. “I’m not sorry for actually looking at you that night.”

Your breath hitched. Stop.

“I’m not sorry for aching to be with you and feel you when you’re away from me.”

Please, stop. You were starting to feel dizzy. There was no way this was happening right now.

“I’m not sorry for thinking of you the same way I thought of him.”

What happened next was all a blur, emotions crawling up your body as adrenaline hearing what Satoru said after mentioning Suguru again. You just couldn’t bear it anymore.

You still remember the sound of your name being called behind you, desperation and fear filling his voice as your legs moved on their own towards nowhere in particular but far from that room. Far from him.

Escape. Don’t look back. Escape, escape, escape.

It wasn’t until you found yourself outside of your room that you became aware of time and your surroundings. You don’t know how much die you run for you to reach your own place, or how much did you just stand in the middle of a silent room with the ghosts of a rough voice and soft touches.

You crumbled down like you did the same day you saw Suguru for first time after his sentence.

The recent events kept coming to your mind in the form of sharp daggers, engraving the image of a fiery gaze that seemed firm on staying on your mind for as long as it wanted. You were exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and you wanted to escape once again.

That night, you fell asleep as the memory of a familiar scent drowned your mind along with the words that made your heart ache with an unknown feeling.

“I’m not sorry for loving you.”

[floating-mid-air]

The Princess of All Saiyans

-

Masterlist

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Chapter 10 is finally here. Something I noticed while working on this chapter is when I'm writing as the narrator. I use Goku and Kakarot interchangeably. I looked back into the other chapters and noticed I've been doing that the entire time. I honestly just write whichever name feels natural in the context. I think I'll continue writing like that. I think it's more fun switching up Goku's name every once in a while. As always, if you have any comments or questions, feel free to let me know.

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Chapter 10

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You and Goku sit on opposite ends of the ditch. The choice to sit as far away from him as possible was strictly for your own sanity. You can feel his scolding gaze on you, burning holes through the entirety of your body, making your skin crawl. 

You've been desperately attempting to evade eye contact with the defective Saiyan, which is becoming significantly more strenuous with each second that passes. Goku lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Can we at least sit closer together?"

You turn your head at him, narrowing your eyes. "No, Kakarot."

Goku presses his thumb and index finger together, leaving a tiny hole. He brings the flexed hand up to his eye, looking at you through the minuscule opening. "What about this much closer?"

"No." Your gaze remains locked on him, with a deadpan look on your face.

"But why not?" He wines as you begin to massage your temples. If he keeps this up, the two of you won't survive down here together for much longer. You're ninety-nine percent sure that being stuck with Kakarot will somehow be the greatest adversity of your life. Okay, so maybe you're being just a tad bit overdramatic. 

"Because I don't trust myself not to kill you." You snarl at him. Your composure is dangling by a thin thread, and Goku is an extremely sharp pair of scissors.

Your words seem to have shut Goku up, well, at least for a little while. "Hey Y/N?"

You ball your hands into fists, clenching your jaw as your right eye begins to spasm. You're developing an eye twitch. How lovely. "What is it now, Kakarot?"

"How did you do that thing with your eyes?"

You furrow your brows at the younger Saiyan. "What the hell are you talking about?" You're really starting to get fed up with him, and you've only been trapped down here for around fifteen minutes.

"Your eyes turned red when you were fighting that guy." Your eyes widen before you quickly cover up your shock with a scowl. Fuck. You knew you should've kept your temper under control. How could you have been so stupid?

Lucky for you, Kakarot is a moron. He lacks understanding regarding body language and various emotion cues. It shouldn't be difficult for you to get out of this at all. "Your eyes were just playing tricks on you. Your vision was probably strained from traveling for such an extended amount of time. My eyes did not, nor have they ever changed color."

"But, I saw---" 

"Well, you saw wrong!" You take several deep breaths, attempting to regain your composure. Spoiler alert, it doesn't work. "I can't take this anymore!" You've finally snapped, but to be fair. You lasted much longer than you expected. "Stop asking me a million questions! No, you know what. Stop speaking to me in general! You are the most infuriating---"

Amidst your screaming, Goku jumps up, pulling you into a far corner of the trench. One of his hands is placed over your lips. And his other arm is tightly wrapped around your waist, his hand ghosting over the base of your tail. Your back is pressed up against the rocky wall, and you feel like his larger body is engulfing your form entirely. You glare at him in irritation as an oddly serious expression crosses Goku's face. 

"I'm gonna take my hand away. Be quiet and focus for a minute." He moves his hand, resting it comfortably on your side. It's placed directly on your wound, courtesy of your battle with Burter. You bite your lip, preventing yourself from wincing. Even the smallest amount of pressure is causing you severe pain. Maybe your injury is worse than you presumed. 

You shut your eyes partly to distract yourself from the pain, but the main objective is to focus on the energy around you. There's someone out there, and they're powerful too. That has to be Ginyu. Shit, your explosive outburst could have just gotten you both killed. What is wrong with you today? 

Where you're standing in the pit. There's still a patch of grass over the top. Providing a shield from anything or anyone from the outside. You hate to admit it, but this was actually a wise decision on Goku's part. Never did you think that Kakarot would be the one to remain collective while you're the one behaving recklessly.  

The two of you remain pressed up against each other. Frankly, you're too close for comfort. You can feel every fall and rise of his chest. You can even hear his heartbeat, which is thumping just as rapidly as your own. The sound of Ginyu's faint murmuring invades your ears, though you can't hear anything he says clearly. He must be too far away.

You try to keep your erratic breathing under control, which stems from both pain and nerves. Your surroundings grow quiet, and Ginyu's energy disappears altogether. He must have left. You finally have room to breathe as Goku takes a few steps back, distancing himself from you. His eyes scan your face before quickly darting down to one of his hands. Specifically, the one that's now covered in your blood. His eyes go-round as he moves closer, invading your personal space once again. "Are you hurt?"

His tone lacks his typical cheery nature, causing you to tilt your head upward, your brain desperately attempting to form a contingency plan to get you out of this mess. "I'm fine." Goku makes you uneasy. He's nothing like a Saiyan should be. His behavior is all over the place, and not a single one of his actions adds up in your realm of logic. Out of all the ruthless and sadistic Saiyan's that could've survived, never in a million years did you expect one as pathetic as Kakarot to live.

"But, you're bleeding." This timid side of Goku is somehow worse than his typical cheerful self. You didn't think he could disgust you further, but once again, that defect proves you wrong.

You suppress an eye roll, keeping your piercing gaze locked on him. If you were to look away now, it would appear like you were backing down. And you refuse to let a fool like Kakarot win. "It's not my blood, Kakarot." Hopefully, he'll fall for your lies and drop this pointless conversation here.

"If it's not your blood, then let me see." He moves his hands to your hips, clawing at the bottom of your chest plate.

You grab his wrist, pushing them away. The two of you continue going back and forth, gripping and pushing at each other. It's been a while since someone challenged you like this, one on one. No one back on the Frieza Force would have dared to go against your wishes. Goku's different from them. He's not afraid of you, and it doesn't seem that he'll give up anytime soon. You would've never pegged Kakarot for the stubborn type. Maybe there's still a bit of true Saiyan nature in him, after all. And as infuriating as he is, you can't say you're disappointed. "Knock it off, Kakarot!" 

"Stop being such a baby, and let me help you." If you were in a public setting, those passing by might have believed you were a couple. Having one of those sweet but sicking play fights. While in reality, that was far from the truth. This proves just how thin the line between love and hate truly is. 

"I don't want your help!" You stop fighting him, crossing your arms over your chest, denying him access to your upper half. 

You thought you had outsmarted him, that was until his hands landed on the sides of your top. "Fine. I'll just tear your armor off then."

You stare at him in disbelief. "Do you have no boundaries?" He has to be bluffing, right? No one could be this shameless. However, the look on his face, mixed with his grip on your top tightening, tells you a whole different story. He's serious about this. "Wait---" You place one of your hands on his chest. "If you back off, and shut up. I'll take it off."

He complies with your terms, stepping back, pressing his lips into a thin line. Your hands are violently shaking as you slowly move them to the corners of your chest piece. You've stripped your armor off in front of Raditz, Nappa, and Cado a million times before. So why does this feel so different?

You steadily pull your tunic above your head, slipping your chest piece off your body, leaving you in your nylon blue sports bra. And it really doesn't leave much to the imagination. You turn your head, finally getting to see the wound yourself. It's much deeper than you thought, but due to your Saiyan genetics, it's already healing quite nicely. "Are you pleased? Now, will you finally shut up?"

Feeling self-conscious from his gaze, you cross your arms over your chest again. "No. Why would I be happy about this? It looks, really, bad Y/N." Why does he care about your physical condition? At the end of the day, you're enemies, and your nauseating alliance is only temporary. You just don't understand him. You can't read him either, so you have no clue what he'll do next. And it's driving you mad. 

"Wait." He grins. "I brought Senzu Beans with me." A Senzu what now? Those must be those healing beans he gave Krillin and Gohan back on Earth. He searches his pockets, only to come up empty-handed. He grabs his head as a look of realization crosses his features. "I'm so stupid. I left them on the ship."

Well, there's one thing you both agree on, Kakarot does have a moronic nature. "Hey, relax. I'm fine, Kakarot." You wrap your tail around your waist, applying pressure to your wound. "This is all I need to do. I've done this several times before, and look, I'm still standing, aren't I?"

Your assurance doesn't seem to be enough for Goku. "Please--- just let me help you." He's pleading with you. Does he really have no ulterior motives? Does he really just want to help you? You'd typically laugh at someone pleading with you, but when it's from him. It makes you uncharacteristically sad.

Those puppy dog eyes should be illegal. You swear Goku would be able to make you do anything just with that one look. "O-Ok." Did you seriously just agree? How can a simple glance make you so weak? An expression like that would typically make you sick. Maybe the amount of blood you've lost has made you delirious. That's a plausible explanation. You're clearly doing everything under Namek's three suns to evade the possibility that these new strange feelings could be your own mind's fabrication. 

He removes the cord holding his gi together, causing the orange fabric to hang loose. You now have a clear view of his torso, revealing the blue undershirt that was once hidden under his gi. He slips the shirt off, ripping the bottom of his shirt into strips. "You know I might not be the smartest guy in the world. But I do know that you have to keep wounds clean to avoid infection." He kneels in front of you, giving himself easier access to your side. You don't mind. Him leaning down to help you would've probably made you even more flustered. 

His hand brushes against your tail, causing you to jump. He stares at you in alarm. "Sorry, I forgot that hurts you."

"I-It didn't hurt. I trained myself out of that weakness a long time ago. It's just a sensitive area still." He nods as you uncoil your tail, giving him direct access to your injury. He wraps the strips of cloth around your torso. The fabric is in replacement of a bandage, not bad for a makeshift patch-up at all. You've seen Nappa and Raditz do much worse.

Goku stands back up, tying his gi back together. "See. Good as new." That dopey smile on his face really makes you want to punch him. His facial expression may be causing you mild irritation, and his words had no humor to them, but you can no longer hold back your fit of laughter that is now escaping your lips. "What's so funny?"

"You are."

He pouts, which only makes you laugh more. "I'm not funny."

"Oh, yes you are, Kakarot. Everything about your existence is either. A. amusing or B. irritating." You're about to berate him even further, but you stop yourself. Someone is standing directly above you, and It isn't Ginyu this time. Their power level is far too low. It's not anyone you're currently aligned with either. By now, you know Vegeta's power level by heart, and you were able to memorize the other's energy levels during your previous encounter with them. So it's best to assume that above you is one of Frieza's minions. 

You do have a weapon at your disposal. No one knows that Goku is here except for you. And you intend to use that piece of knowledge to your advantage. You grab his wrist, pulling Goku back to the wall, successfully switching positions with him.

 You look up, getting a good look at the figure above you. Just your luck, it's Jeice. What's next? Will a scorned, old flame of yours show up in an attempt to win you back? Or will Frieza show up for a tea party?

Sadly, it's too late for you to duck back into the corner. That prick already saw you. You move out into the open, keeping Jeice off Kakarot's scent. A self-satisfied grin appears on Jeice lips as he admires your practically bare torso. "Hello, love. You having fun down there?"

"Oh, it's a real party, Jeice." His gaze makes your skin crawl differently. Kakarot's makes you nervous, but Jeice's makes you want to hurl.  

"I have to say, Y/N. I am surprised you'd fall for something so simple-minded."

You turn your head, subtly glaring at Goku. "You're right. That's not like me at all. I must have had a severe lapse in judgment."

"Well, gorgeous. Looks like today's your lucky day. I'll pull you up, but under one condition." You wouldn't accept his aid even if there wasn't a catch. You'd rather spend an eternity in the pit with Kakarot than owe Jeice any favors. "All you have to do is betray Vegeta, re-pledge your allegiance to Lord Frieza, and of course, become my wife."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Ya, no chance in hell I'm doing any of that."

"Oh, come on, Y/N. You'd rather be stuck down there, all alone. Then be with me."

"I wish I was alone right now." You mutter to yourself. Whether this statement was directed at Jeice of Goku is unclear, but it's most likely the latter.

He moves his hand to his scouter. "I didn't quite catch that Y/N. Was that your native tongue? Or were you just whispering?"

"I said I'd rather rot down here! And by the way, the only thing less appealing than death on this shitty planet would be marrying you."

He scowls at you. "I was trying to play nice, but now I see that's not a viable option. So if you insist you'd rather die down there, I won't be the one to stop you. Just know, you lost your only chance of leaving this damn rock alive." He takes off, now in an irritable mood. Maybe you should've played nice and asked him about Vegeta and the others. It probably doesn't matter either way. Who's to say Jeice would've told the truth.

Goku walks over to you, sheepishly handing you your chest piece. You find him much less irritating now. It turns out Kakarot isn't the worst being you could've been trapped with. It could've been much worse. You could be stuck down here with Jeice instead.

-

The group of four has covered a lot of ground, considering what terrible shape they're in. Recoome really did a number on them, especially Vegeta. He's limping while the others are still able to walk with only mild discomfort. After Vegeta was down for the count, it took Gohan, Krillin, and Raditz all together to finish Recoome off. Raditz is by far in the best shape of the group. Since he jumped in last, getting the KO. The other three would've been executed without the intervention of the largest Saiyan. And lady luck appeared to be on their side because Jeice fled shortly after Recoome fell. A few weeks ago, this group teaming up would've been unimaginable, former allies, enemies, and friends alike, with the lines between each category, quickly blurring together.

The issue with you suppressing your power level is now more prominent than ever. They can't easily locate you, so a search party is sadly the best they can do. Vegeta knew he should've gotten you chipped when he had the chance. He'd be able to locate you anywhere, anytime he wanted. So what if it violated your privacy. If it was up to Vegeta, you'd be one leash by now.

Gohan turns to his uncle. "Do you think Y/N's alright?"

"She's fine. Y/N's incredibly resourceful. If she couldn't surpass him in strength, she'd be able to easily outwit him. Y/N's always done as she's pleased, so it's not surprising if she got a bit carried away." Raditz knows you're alive. He can feel it. A creature as brain-dead as Burter wouldn't be the one to take you out. You'd definitely go out with a bigger bang.

"Stop the chit-chat, and stay focused!" Vegeta snarls at the uncle-nephew duo.

Raditz lowers his voice to a whisper. "Don't mind him. Vegeta's just worried."

"Shut your damn mouth, Raditz! Before I shut it for you, permanently." Raditz's eyes widen in terror as he frantically restarts his search. Pissing off Vegeta right now would not be an intelligent choice.

They explore another good portion of the planet. The only downside is they haven't found any sign of life. The group was about to pause and rest until a strange ship entered their field of vision. Krillin's eyes widen, a grin spreading across his lips. As he reads the words located on the side of the vessel. He begins sprinting toward the machine with Gohan not far behind. "Capsule Corp! We're saved!" 

Vegeta and Raditz observe the two in bewilderment. Vegeta never thought that Raditz could ever be the second smartest person in his vicinity. Today is just full of surprises. "Slow down, you neanderthals!" Vegeta shouts. "It could be a trap." The two Saiayn's have obviously seen more of the world. Even a fool like Raditz understands protocol about behavior on a foreign planet.

The pair ignore their Saiyan allies. With Krillin entering the ship first. "Goku?" He shouts.

"Dad?" Gohan enters the ship, only to find no sign of his father. The pair begin searching the aircraft, looking for clues to where Goku's whereabouts may be. The two Saiyan's tread carefully into the ship. Nothing seems dangerous at the moment. And they wouldn't put it past Kakarot to abandon the only source of transportation off this damn planet. Gohan furrows his brows. "Where could he have gone?"

"Do you guys think he could've been captured? Krillin's question was directed toward the Saiyan's. Vegeta and Raditz both know what the Frieza Force can do while he and Gohan are basically fish out of water.

"Relax." Raditz is the one to break the silence. "If Kakarot was captured, we'd all already know."

"There would be signs of a struggle. And extreme damage to the outside terrain. Kakarot left on his own accord, now let's go, we now have two fools to find."

Krillin was about to follow Vegeta's orders until his eyes land on a small bag. "Wait." He grabs the bag from the table. "If this is what I think it is--- it is. Leave it to Goku to forget an entire bag of Senzu beans." He pulls one of the green beans out of the bag, tossing it to Gohan and grabbing another for himself. 

He throws the bag at Raditz, who catches it with ease. The Saiyan watches the earthling and half-breed eat them first. Their injuries heal instantly, so it isn't poison. That small fact seems to be enough for Raditz, as he eats one of the beans himself. 

After he heals, he hands the bag to Vegeta. "Wait! Raditz!" Krillin shrieks. He's aware that their alliance is quite temporary and will probably end once they successfully disband the Ginyu Force.

Krillin charges at Vegeta, only to be stopped by Raidtz's hand. Which is placed firmly against his forehead, the Saiyan can hold him back with ease. "Stop. You know we can't do this on our own, even with Kakarot's help. Take it from someone who personally knows Frieza and the Ginyu Force. We need him."

Vegeta holds the Senzu bean in his hand, eyeing it skeptically. Before tossing it in his mouth, chewing it slowly. His eyes flash in amazement as his substantial injuries heal instantly. Even though he's seen the bean work wonders before, he still can't believe its capabilities. 

"Do you guys think that Goku and Y/N could be together?" Krillin's question makes a lot of sense, and unknowingly to him, very accurate. 

Vegeta sighs. "It's a possibility." The idea alone makes Vegeta cringe. Just the possibility of you being alone with Kakarot makes him irritable. 

"Well, if they're together, that's a good thing, right?" Gohan's cheerful voice cuts in. "It should be easier to find them, then."

Raditz snickers. "But, will they both be alive? That's the million-dollar question."

Krillin's eyes widen. It wouldn't surprise him if Goku's personality pushed you over the realm of sanity. He sometimes even feels like he's losing his mind when he's with his childhood friend. "Good point. If that's the case, we better step up our game."

The group of four exits the ship, continuing their search. And it doesn't take long for them to discover something else that stops them in their tracks. They located Burter's corpse, more specifically a headless Burter. Decapitation seems to be your go-to method of execution today. It's good to mix things up once in a while.

"Well, it looks like we know what happened here." You jump up in the pit. You'd recognize that voice anywhere. As always, your big brother, Vegeta, comes to your rescue.

"Vegeta! Get me the hell out of here!" Vegeta furrows his brows, desperately looking in all directions. He flys up to get a birds-eye view of the landscape. A higher altitude should be beneficial in tracking you down.

As soon as you hear Vegeta's obnoxious laughter, you know he's found you. He lands on the side of the dip in the ground. "Looks like you're in quite the predicament there, baby sister!" You've never been happier to see that arrogant smirk before in your life. 

"Vegeta, come on, get me out of here! I can't take another second of this torture."

"I don't know." Vegeta rubs his chin. "You did leave me alone, with those three idiots. Maybe I should leave you down there with Kakarot so you can learn a lesson."

"Come on, Vegeta. You know we don't have time for this." Raditz places a large branch in the pit. You should easily be able to climb up it. The barrier is only activated for those inside the hole. So it should cause a rift when something is poking out of it.

You place your hands on the wood as you start shimming upwards. You wince in pain, stumbling a bit. Your injury must be affecting you more than you thought. Goku quickly grabs you, placing his hands on your hips holding you in place.

"D- Don't touch me!"

Goku sighs. Your hot and cold behavior is really confusing to him. "I was just trying to help you. You were gonna fall."

"As we discussed before. I don't want your help." You pull yourself up the rest of the way up, rushing to Raditz. You wrap your arms around the giant, desperately clinging to him. "I take back every bad thing I've ever said about you."

Raditz furrows his brows, looking over your head at his brother, who had just climbed back to the surface. "God, Kakarot. What did you do to her?"

"Relax, you drama queen. You were only down there for about an hour or so." Vegeta pulls you off Raditz as your hand quickly lands over the sight of your wound. There's no need to worry Vegeta about this. It's just a minor scratch, that's all. He scans his eyes over your from, checking for any irregularities. "No injuries. All your limbs are intact. I'm surprised."

"Well, actually---" You slap Goku's leg with your tail, causing him to yelp out in pain. 

"Yep, I'm all good." You plaster an ingenuine smile on your face.

Gohan, Krillin, and Goku all have a little reunion. The rest of you will not take any part in that conversation. Kakarot's arrival isn't something to celebrate. He won't be your saving grace. "So, what's our next move?" Raditz turns to Vegeta. It's almost like nothing has changed. Like you've stepped into a time machine and went back to a much simpler time. Back when things were much less complicated.

"We go find Ginyu and Jeice too." Vegeta turns to you. "That red menace got away."

"I know. Jeice paid Kakarot and me a visit. Putting it simply, he's not gonna be in very high spirits."

Raditz chuckles. "Well, getting turned down so many times can't be good for his ego. Especially by the ice princess."

"She's far from an ice princess. Saiyan-wise, my sister is actually quite friendly. Out of our entire bloodline, I'd say she has the best people skills. She knows how to work a crowd. That's why our father wanted to put her in charge of foreign affairs."

"Was that a compliment, Vegeta?"

"I wouldn't dare." He pauses, turning to the other three. "Alright, let's get this over with. I don't want to spend any more time with you fools than necessary."

-

The group is finally reunited. But what does Captain Ginyu have in store for our heroes? And will Jeice ever get Y/N's attention? Find out in the next chapter of The Princess of All Saiyans..

[goldfishlover73]

It’s been a while...

“I really hate when people start time travel Kakasaku fanfictions and never finish them. I’m going to write a time travel KakaSaku fanfiction and show these people how it’s done!”

And then I did. It is called “The Misadventures of Kakashi and the Girl from Nowhere.”

And I abandoned it.

Until now.

Over the last *ahem* 8 years I have thought of it often. I have even gone back to it, told myself “I’m going to do it, I’m going to finish it!” Three times I have gone back and updated a chapter or two, revised and edited. And then I would abandon it again. I kind of stopped writing because I told myself I need to finish Misadventures before I start anything else. (Life also took over and I didn’t want to write anymore/didn’t have any motivation).

But I always wanted to finish Misadventures. I knew how I always wanted it to end. The last few chapters were written shortly after I started. Odd and end major plot points written out and labeled, but the inbetweens were never done. I didn’t want to half ass it and give it the time it needed to flush out and become the story that it deserved to be.

So I have.

And I finished it.

Officially, it’s done. 77 (or so) chapters, over 300 pages. It needs to be revised, spelling and grammar, make sure it’s cohesive in all parts, but it’s done. I think that what’s most important about this story is that it’s something that I’m proud of for myself. I kept getting stuck in this idea I have to finish it for ‘others’ (whoever those faceless people are) and I forgot that I started it for myself and I needed to end it for myself.

It didn’t quite end the way I planned, but, I suppose, when you take 10 years to write a story, no one is the same as they were before, even the characters on the page.

During my revision I had to make a decision. When parts of this story were written, the fucking manga wasn’t done. Continuity was off and I had to decide if I wanted to follow the manga or not.

I said fuck it. I tore the story apart and rebuilt it.

Ultimately, the story wasn’t written particularly well. Lots of errors and some of the sentences were unclear or missing words. I do think that it’s a lot better now. and after I finish this last revision, I think it will only be stronger.

I am quite happy with it.

The ‘story’ is the same. A strange woman named Sakura crashing into young Kakashi’s life, but how we get there has changed. Even the first chapter has been greatly altered twice since this major revision I’ve been working on for the last three months. I have even contemplating changing the title, but I’ve grown so attached to the title and what it means to me, and what this story means to me I feel like I have to keep it the same. Though it’s a little more dramatic than what a story called “Misadventures” should be. But again, it does take place in Kakashi’s dramatic past.

Like I said, the story is complete, but I won’t post anything until the final revision is done. I’m about 10% done with the final revision, but I’m hoping to start uploading it to AO3 in the next month (or less).

It’s funny to think about it since when I first started writing this story AO3 might not have even existed.

I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with the FF.net version. I don’t know if I should replace what’s there or remove it and just start fresh. I thought I would be able to just covertly update and start again since it’s been so long but I have comments from this year, which blows my mind.

So yeah! Misadventures is complete. I’ll continue my revisions and hopefully the Kakasaku world will be able to enjoy it soon.

During this revision I wrote another time travel fanfic (God, I love them so much). Not KakaSaku (there is no romance) but it is Naruto. It was supposed to be a quick drabble-ish story and similar to Misadventures it got a life of it’s own and ended up being much longer than that. Again, I’m quite proud (Something that doesn’t happen to me often, if I’m honest). I’ve been wanting to post it, but I’ve kept it for myself. I’ll post it eventually. Hopefully not in 10 years.

HA!

[childrenofthenightt]

That’s The Way (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Jimmy Page x Reader

Word count: 5.7k

Warning(s): Jimmy and Y/N falling in love at first sight🥺, nsfw insinuations in the beginning but nothing bad, language

Author’s notes: It’s Jimmy time, mates! I’m so sorry for making you wait so long! Slow burns can suck like that sometimes. I hope you’re enjoying the plot so far, and that it wasn’t what you expected! There’s so much more drama to come, though, so I hope you’re excited for that😂 As usual, please enjoy, happy reading, and send us messages if you have theories, comments, music recommendations for the playlist, or if you want to be added to the tag list :)

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

------

Y/N’s train ride home from The Yardbirds’ hotel was a constant swirl of what the fucks booming in her mind: what the fuck just happened, what the fuck does this mean, what the fuck am I doing, what the fuck is Jim doing, what the fuck will this become?  

Out of all the things on God’s good, green earth he could have wanted, he wanted her to kiss him. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Y/N thought when she initially heard the request. Then, when she questioned it, he escalated it to a blowjob since she thought a kiss was “too tame.” Y/N eventually did kiss Jim, as he wished. She was pretty sure that he still wanted her to kiss him after his little upgrade, and boy, was she right. ‘He called me a princess’, she remembered...what the hell was that supposed to mean?

As contradictory as it was, her mind was racing with so many thoughts, yet, at the same time, none at all. She was in overdrive, unable to think straight. Y/N forced herself to come to her senses as the train neared her stop, since her parents could not see the sheer bewilderment in her eyes and facial expression as she walked into her home. They would ask question after question, interrogating her as if she had committed a crime they had to get to the bottom of. She had to admit, reluctantly, that this was exciting. The star-studded aspect of it, the secrecy… It was a rollercoaster ride, yet Y/N wasn’t sure she wanted to get off anytime soon. In the back of her mind, though, she knew this little dalliance wasn’t going to lead to anything serious.

Jim, however, currently sitting at the foot of his bed in an empty hotel room, was in a complete daze. He couldn’t comprehend that this was reality. The most beautiful girl in the whole world had just sucked him off, and then kissed him! She was completely obedient yet willing, and adorably shy, blushing every two seconds. But the kiss. It was dizzyingly soft, sweet, and passionate on her part. To Jim, this meeting of lips was perfect. Addictive. Devastatingly addictive, like a drug. He wanted more. Her lips were something else to taste and feel. He wondered if she would ever come back to him with intimate intentions. Perhaps even to spend the night, or something even more serious. By the way she so often smiled in a bright and enthusiastic way, Jim thought she just might. He had come to the conclusion, after continuously replaying what had happened just minutes ago in his head, that he was falling hopelessly in love with this girl. His Y/N.

Jim had never felt like this before.

And he didn’t know what to do about it.

~~~~~~~~

A few weeks later...

Y/N’s mum had sent her and her brother Charlie by train into London to go grocery shopping, and perhaps to visit Carnaby Street, Portobello Market, and the Oxfam charity shops to get some new clothes for themselves. Pushing the cart around the supermarket, Y/N and Charlie looked intently at the handwritten list their mum had given them.

“Alright, what do we need next?” Y/N asked, her head tilted to see the small piece of paper.

“Uh, we still have to get oatmeal, eggs, and some fruits and vegetables,” Charlie replied, mirroring Y/N’s position as he gazed down at the list in his hands, which was slowly being painted with black ink. They were making good time, all things considered.

“Let’s go to the produce section then, so we can get everything all in one go,” Y/N decided, starting to push the cart in that direction.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Charlie’s nod served as confirmation, and the two walked on, gazes captured every-so-often by the gaggle of people passing by.

Once the two siblings reached their desired destination, Y/N began inspecting the clear clamshell containers of assorted berries as Charlie went to fetch a bag of broccoli florets and a variety of potatoes. As Y/N began placing the fruit in the cart, she heard a familiar voice calling her name.

She turned around to see a very domestic-looking Jeff Beck, pushing around a grocery cart, just like she was. It was odd to see him going about his life as though he was just an ordinary working-class man, especially being the revered guitar god he was. Y/N laughed at the sight as he came over towards her.

“Hi Jeff,” Y/N greeted, walking over to give him a hug.

“Hello darling,” he responded, tilting the girl back and forth in the hug, long arms cradling her against his chest. “How are you doing?”

Y/N looked at him with a small grin after pulling away. An exhale passes through pursed lips as she replies. “As well as I can be, I guess. How ‘bout you?”

“Can’t complain,” he smiled, which then turned a little more solemn. He reached out a hand to place on her upper arm in solace. “I’m still really sorry about Sam, love. I wish I could’ve told you, but he swore me to secrecy… and I don’t want to lose my job just yet.”

“Don’t worry about it, I completely understand. It’s not your fault.” Y/N’s chuckle chimed through the air, much like the birdsongs that seemed to fill the space around them, and she paused, “I’ve done quite a bit of soul-searching recently, and I don’t think I truly loved him...the situation was all so new and exciting, that it made me believe I did. But now, I realize I didn’t.”

“I’m glad you found the light at the end of the tunnel, kid. But that’s life, Y/N. You win some and you lose some.”

“Thank you, Jeff. Really. For being so supportive,” Y/N said in gratitude, as Jeff flashed her a toothy smile.

“Ah, don’t mention it...actually, it’s funny I ran into you because I was actually going to call you, but I… may have lost your number.” A sheepish hand ran through the short hair at the nape of his neck, and Y/N giggles at the man’s hesitancy.

“That’s okay. Here, I’ll write it down for you,” Y/N grinned as she took out a spare piece of paper and a pen from her bag, “what did you need to call me for?”

Jeff watched Y/N’s hands as she scribbled down her number. Her handwriting was neat, soft spirals decorating the ends of her letters. Playful, yet full of grace. Just like her, Jeff thought. “There’s a May Ball at Queen’s College in Oxford on the 18th, and I was wondering if you’d like to come. It’s outdoors, and it should be a nice day.”

As Y/N handed Jeff the piece of paper, he continued. “More importantly, a good friend of mine is attending, and I thought you would like to meet him. You two are pretty similar, so I think you’ll hit it off really well.”

“Do you mean that this meeting is supposed to be a sort of… romantic proposition?” Y/N tilted her head in playful confusion.

Jeff smirked. “Not necessarily. He’s friends with the rest of the guys, so it’s only fair that you meet him, since we consider you a part of our inner circle.”

Y/N grinned at his statement, shaking her head, a chuckle tumbling past her lips. “Well, for the record, Jeff, I’m retired from dating for a while,” she admitted, “the whole thing with Paul shook me up a bit, and I need time to trust again, y’know?”

“Yeah, I understand. But my friend is a nice bloke, so I don’t think you’ll have to worry too much, or put up a front. If you’re uncomfortable, of course we can—”

Charlie came running up to Y/N’s cart and placed the bags of broccoli and potatoes inside. He then stood next to Y/N to see this stranger that she was talking to. Jeff noticed the little boy who suddenly appeared next to Y/N, and smiled warmly. Pointing to the boy, and changing his voice to be a bit gentler than usual, he asked, “Who’s this, Y/N?”

“This is my little brother Charlie,” Y/N said, softly putting her hand on her brother’s back, bringing him to the forefront. Charlie widely smiled at Jeff, baring his childish grin that was missing a couple teeth. Charlie couldn't wait until they grew in, because it would “finally make him look like a real man”, as he exclaimed so often at home.

Jeff crouched down to Charlie’s level and stuck out his hand to shake Charlie’s. “Nice to meet ya, mate. I’m Jeff, a friend of your sister’s.”

Charlie’s eyes widened as he recognized who this man was. “Jeff Beck?” Charlie asked hopefully, “as in the guitar god, Jeff Beck?”

Jeff chuckled as he looked up at Y/N. “Is this the shit you’ve been feeding him?” Y/N nodded and laughed.

“There’s an ounce of truth in that statement, isn't there, Beck?”

“Yes, I’m Jeff Beck, but I’m just the lead guitarist for The Yardbirds. The guitar god title goes to Hendrix, or Scotty Moore,” Jeff explained. What a humble change of pace for Jeff, Y/N thought.

Jeff stood back up and walked with Y/N and her brother throughout the store, pushing their carts in sync and grabbing food as they went. He asked her about what she was up to musically, and she talked about how she was polishing up some Debussy and Rachmaninoff pieces, as well as fiddling around with some old Fats Domino and Everly Brothers records. Charlie and Jeff bonded over their love of cars, which made Y/N very happy.

~~~~~~~~

18th June 1966

The day of the May Ball came. Y/N was excited for the show, but she didn’t want a sour encounter with Paul to ruin her good time. Jeff had called her earlier in the week to give her instructions on what to do upon arrival, and how to access the backstage area safely.

The backstage area was a white tent with the sides covered. Inside, there were multiple long tables of different distinguished people, such as Mama Cass and Graham Nash. Alcohol and little finger foods littered the tables, served in such abundance that it seemed no one was going to see tomorrow.

Y/N walked over to where she saw her friends, and upon spotting the girl, they all waved and said their cheerful hellos. Y/N walked over to sit with them, and ended up taking a seat between Chris and Jeff, crossing her legs and folding her hands in a sophisticated manner, always the lady she was taught to be. She chose her seat at the table very carefully, sitting very far away from Paul Samwell-Smith.

As everyone chatted away, she noticed there was a tall, thin young man with short, dark wavy hair who sat down in a seat between Jeff and Keith, delicately holding a flute of champagne. He was looped back into the conversation immediately, as if he had known the band his whole life. When Y/N saw him, her heart stopped.

This new boy was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He looked like an English James Dean; with the kind of attractiveness that anyone, male or female, completely swooned over with a single glance. This stranger could get anything he wanted at the drop of a hat, with his gorgeous looks and his graceful countenance. He had a sullen, mysterious edge to him, but he also looked gentle and sweet at the same time. He had eyes as green as a forest full of lush deciduous trees, flawlessly framed by dark, bushy eyebrows and accented by long, thick eyelashes. His nose was adorable, petite as it was, and his lips were full and pouty. His smile and laugh made Y/N melt on the inside, his perfectly straight teeth illuminating his porcelain face.

For a moment, Y/N thought she was in love. She was pulled back from her daydream quickly, though, because Jeff realized that now was the perfect opportunity to introduce his two friends.

“Y/N, this is my friend Jimmy, who I was telling you about,” Jeff said, getting Y/N’s attention. Y/N grinned as she refocused on the situation.

Jimmy turned towards Jeff when he heard his name, and that’s when he saw the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, sitting right next to Jeff. Lucky bastard.

His breath hitched in his throat upon sight of this girl. She was perfect; she looked like an actual angel. The way her hair, soft-looking and slightly wispy in the light summer wind, cascaded down her shoulders; her doe-eyes seemed to twinkle in the dimming light of day, pulling him in like the strongest of currents. Her  pillowy, supple lips encased a perfect smile, slightly crooked. It was, like the rest of her, completely endearing.

It was then, looking at this beautiful woman, (Y/N… Jeff had said her name, hadn't he?) that Jimmy remembers he was taken. His girlfriend, Jackie DeShannon, was waiting for him at home, but he only had eyes for the girl in front of him, and it would stay that way, it seemed.. He had to get to know her.

Jimmy snapped out of his hypnosis in the nick of time. He softly smiled at Y/N, a smile that made Y/N’s insides lurch, holding out his hand for her to shake as he turned on the charm. “Jimmy Page,” he initiated, his voice being softer and more calming than Y/N expected.

Y/N shyly smiled at him, a dark pink flush gracing her natural complexion, as she reached out to grasp his hand. “Y/N Y/L/N. It’s so nice to finally meet you. Jeff has told me about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” Jimmy chuckled.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Y/N beamed, a feigned contemplative look on her face.

“How do you know Jeff?” Jimmy asked, turning his body towards her, now fully invested in getting to know Y/N.

“I met him...a year ago I wanna say? Is that right, Jeff? At a Yardbirds gig at the Marquee,” Y/N asked for clarification. The last thing she wanted to do is lie about Jeff to Jimmy, even if it was something as insignificant as this. In addition, she wanted to use Jeff as a temporary crutch in the conversation. Jimmy’s beauty was making her feel shyer than she already was; she felt as if she was curling into herself.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Jeff intervened, “but she didn’t just meet me, she met the whole band.”

Jeff immediately noticed that the band was leaving the table to get ready to go on stage. Jimmy and Y/N didn’t even notice the table’s departure because they were so wrapped up in each other’s presence and words. Jimmy even moved a seat over to get closer to Y/N, although he said it was an attempt to “hear her better since the room was so loud of drunken buffoons”. Y/N had giggled at that, and it had sounded like music to the man’s ears. Jimmy was completely taken with her, as easy as it was to see.

“Wait, so how do you know Jeff?” Y/N asked curiously.

“I've known him since I was… gosh… thirteen or fourteen? We bonded over the guitar and blues. Indian music, too,” Jimmy grinned, taking a sip of his warming champagne.

“You play the guitar too?” Y/N gasped. Jimmy nodded his head enthusiastically.

“Oh jeez, I should’ve known! No wonder you’re tight with the Yardbirds,” she giggled.

Jimmy’s eyes twinkled at her now-flustered demeanor. “You’re okay, Y/N,” he chuckled, placing a hand gently on her forearm. Y/N felt her entire body break out into chills.

“I’m a session musician, actually,” he began, his hand lingering on the girl’s arm, for what seemed like a millennium to Y/N. “I’d hate to simplistically explain what a session musician is to someone like you if you already know what it is.” It sounded like he was holding back a bout of embarrassed laughter. “You must be quite intelligent, especially in matters of music, if Jeff has stuck by you for all this time.”

Y/N smiled bashfully. He’s so sensitive, she thought dreamily. “Yes, I know what a session musician is,” she giggled, “I’ve been a piano player all my life, so I know a thing or two about what you blokes are talking about when it comes to music.”

Jimmy’s heart began to thump a little faster as his smile widened. “Wow! That’s brilliant. Are you classically trained then?”

“Yes, but I do know quite a bit of blues numbers.”

“Oh, so you really know what you’re talking about! I have to admit, although I am a session musician, I’m not particularly good at reading music. Maybe you could teach me a few things about sight reading and we can jam some time?”

Y/N blushed as her lips pursed together in a grin. “I would love that. We’d have so much fun!” The way that Y/N’s full lips twisted together in a smile looked so damn kissable to Jimmy.

“My girlfriend was actually supposed to teach me music theory, but we never got around to it, unfortunately,” Jimmy continued.

“Ah, okay. Well, if you give me a time, date, and place, we can definitely make it work,” Y/N beamed.

“Wonderful!” An awkward, pregnant pause filled the space, and Y/N cleared her throat, unconsciously sliding closer to Jimmy. There was almost a magnetic pull to him, and Y/N was caught up in it.

“So, what’s it like being a session musician? I’m sure you get asked that all the time,” Y/N laughed.

Jimmy smiled. “It’s quite grueling, brutal at times, but I find it fulfilling. One mistake, and you’re fired, so it’s a lot of pressure.”

“Oh wow! That must be horrible to deal with.”

“Yeah, sometimes the pressure can really settle into you, but for me it dissipates once I’m in the booth. There’s three sessions a day, five days a week, so I don’t have much time for leisure. It’s been getting really dry lately since all I’m playing is rhythm guitar. I love experimentation and stretching out on lead guitar, so constant rhythm is getting quite annoying.”

“I understand where you’re coming from then, from a creative standpoint. How long have you been a session player?”

“Four years, roughly.”

“You must be quite dedicated then!” Y/N exclaimed, “who have you played with?”

“Oh gosh,” Jimmy exhaled deeply, calloused fingers raising to land on his chin. Slight stubble shadows it, and the sharp scent of aftershave wafted towards the girl. Lost in the scent, Y/N nearly missed his reply. “The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, Donovan, The Who, Petula Clark, Jackie DeShannon, Carter Lewis and the Southerners, Neil Christian and the Crusaders, Herman’s Hermits, Marianne Faithfull… just to name a few.”

“Wow! What a resumé!” she gushed, “That’s incredible. You should be so proud, Jimmy.”

“Thank you very much, love, I appreciate it.”

Suddenly, an announcer’s booming voice cut through Jimmy and Y/N’s conversation as he introduced the Yardbirds to the stage. As the five men walked on, Jimmy stood up from his chair.

“Come with me to the wings so we can see and hear them better,” he smiled, holding out his arm for Y/N to take. Y/N agreed, standing up and linking her arm with Jimmy’s as they walked in sync to the side of the stage.

The first few numbers were played perfectly, and it was clear that the audience (and even the road crew) were enchanted by the spectacle. Y/N knew from past shows that the next song would be “Train Kept A-Rollin’,” and she knew that they always knocked that one out of the park. It was always stimulating and explosive.

Jeff and Chris began the opening riff, the low E, G, and A notes thundering out of the monitors melodically. Just as Keith sang “got a train” on his cue, he fell straight backward and hit his head off Jim’s bass drum. Jimmy and Y/N’s jaws dropped in shock as a loud gasp echoed through the air from the audience. The music abruptly stopped as the rest of the band crowded around Keith’s fallen figure to see if he was alright. Murmurings of “fucking hells” were all that were spoken from the road crew as they tried to redeem the concert.

“He was drunk,” Jimmy whispered to Y/N giddily, “he was completely out to lunch and wobbling as he walked onstage.”

“I didn’t even notice,” Y/N replied quietly with a grin, “that definitely explains all the empty bottles and glasses on the table.”

Momentarily, Keith got back up and motioned for the band to restart “Train Kept A-Rollin’” and they finished the song without another mishap. The rest of the set was completed smoothly, and everything sounded sonically incredible. Jimmy and Y/N stood close together the entire time, Jimmy sneaking glances at Y/N from time to time. He lost his breath with the way her eyes were almost aglow in the fading light, and her soft-looking lips parted in childlike wonder as she watched the live music.

The Yardbirds came off the stage, begrudgingly making their way into the backstage tent, where Jimmy and Y/N had situated themselves. No one looked happy, especially Paul. Jeff had his usual stoic look, but he was rushing around for any alcoholic beverage he could find to ease his nerves after what could have been the worst possible scenario.

Everyone took a seat at the table where they were before the show. Jimmy and Y/N sat next to each other as they took in the distressed expressions of the five other men. Jeff was slumped in his chair, next to Jimmy, taking swigs of a beer he’d found. Jim and Chris just stared at the ground, drink in hand. Paul just looked royally pissed off, to the point that it almost scared Y/N. Keith, however, was still totally out of it in his drunken stupor.

“Hey, Jim,” Jeff said quietly to Jimmy, “look, you know, I’m really sorry about the gig. I’m sure you aren’t interested in joining the band now…”

“Oh no,” Jimmy chuckled, “that was amazing! Absolutely brilliant! I loved it.”

Y/N’s interest piqued as she heard their whispers of new information. “Wait! Jimmy’s joining the band? I thought there were only supposed to be five live Yardbirds,” she whispered.

Jeff leaned over Jimmy to whisper back to Y/N. “Oh yeah! I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this already. Paul is probably going to leave the group...and I think it might be sooner than we thought, especially after the whole Keith fiasco...Jimmy is going to take his place on bass, and hopefully he’ll take on dual lead guitar at some point. Then Chris will do bass,” Jeff’s eyes diverted to Paul, who was sitting with his arms crossed and face angry, staring off into space. Jimmy and Y/N followed Jeff’s line of sight mischievously.

“Oooh! Great plan,” Y/N smiled.

A little smirk creeped across Jeff’s face as he quietly counted down, “3...2...1…”

At the very prompt “1,” Paul abruptly stood up from his chair very loudly, capturing everyone’s attention.

“You know what? I’m done,” Paul exclaimed, stepping away from the chair as he pushed it in under the table.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Jim began, standing up from his own chair, “what do you mean ‘you’re done’? What the hell does that mean?”

Paul sneered at Jim. “What do you think I mean? I mean I’m done with this bullshit. I’ve had enough of the horrid travelling, not being noticed, and this drunk-off-his-ass bastard,” he exclaimed angrily, pointing at Keith.

“You need to relax, Sam,” Chris said gently, “look at everything we’ve accomplished over the last three years. You want to give that up? You’re losing your shit over one bad performance.”

“It’s been on my mind for a long time now, Chris. I fucking hate it,” Paul continued, anxiously running his hands through his hair, “and you know what? Y/N hanging around all the time has made it worse. She’s just here to be our fucking groupie. She’s only eating off our clout to be friends with famous people.” The entire table went silent, looking around nervously.

Y/N’s eyes widened at Paul’s awful accusation. “Are you serious?” she shot back coldly, “I knew you were an asshole, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“Oh what, you think I don’t recognize that that’s your motive?” Paul said condescendingly.

“If you think that being absolutely obsessed with you all is my sole hobby, my motive, whatever that means... you are sadly mistaken,” Y/N responded, her eyes closing to slits and her lips pressed together in disgust.

“You’re probably sleeping with Jim or Chris now for all I know!” he shouted, arms flailing in the air.

Y/N was fuming now, standing up from her own chair facing Paul. “How dare you make me seem like I’m a whore for the Yardbirds! Even if I was sleeping with Jim or Chris, that would be none of your business because you pursued me when you were fucking married, you dipshit.”

Paul’s maddening countenance grew. “You’re just an insecure little girl who needs famous musicians around her to validate her and make feel better about herself. You’re a fucking nuisance, like a gnat that just won’t fly away even when you swat at it again and again.”

Y/N gasped, the sound drowned out by the screech of metal against tile, as Jimmy stood up from his chair. He was distraught, upset at the antics between the two bitter exes, and stepped in front of Y/N to protect her from the horrible verbal blows served by Paul Samwell-Smith. Jeff beat him by a second, as he started to berate Sam for his little episode.

“You listen up, you wanker,” Jeff started, wagging his index finger in front of Sam’s face, “you’re just being a butthurt little bitch because Y/N found out that you were married. If anyone’s the whore here, it’s you. Y/N is our friend, even Jimmy’s now, and she takes care of us and makes us happy. She’s not just some whimsy, disposable groupie like the way you used her; she’s an intelligent, sweet, pretty girl who has our best interest at heart. And we have hers. You have to be a fucking idiot not to see that.”

Paul was taken aback. “I write, produce, and play bass for this group. All you do is play lead guitar. Trust me, Beck, I’m not the idiot here.”

“Well, your goddamn head isn’t screwed on straight, then,” Jimmy added, “I’ll be taking your place, thank you very much. And you will never mistreat Y/N on my watch. Ever. I’ve known her for about an hour, and she’s already absolutely magnificent.”

Y/N’s throat felt clenched, but some of the tension was relieved when she realized how protective Jimmy was being over her. As mad as she was, butterflies filled her stomach at his warm ways.

“I’m out of here! You all suck anyway. Have a nice trip to hell, all of you,” Paul said as he walked away to the road crew to get his belongings, flipping the people at the table off.

Y/N sat back down in her chair once Paul was out of sight, slouching and holding her cheeks with her hands as she blankly stared at the edge of the table. Jimmy and the four Yardbirds dragged their chairs closer to a saddened Y/N, who was determined to fight off the tears that threatened to roll down her fury-flush cheeks.

Jeff frowned at the state of his friend, starting to softly rub her cardigan-clothed back to console her. “I’m so sorry about Sam, Y/N. His behaviour was absolutely horrendous, and I can assure you, none of the things he said about you were even close to being true.”

Keith, still a bit drunk, stood up and walked over to Y/N, planting a peck on her cheek. “We’re so glad you’re here, dear. Truly. That belligerent little asshole can suck a fat one.”

A close-lipped smile found its way on Y/N’s lips. “Thanks Keith,” she chuckled.

“I’m going to go get you a cup of water, alright love?” Chris said as he stood up to walk over towards the bar.

“Thank you so much Chris,” she called after him. Chris flashed her a kind smile as he walked away.

I guess Mum and Dad were wrong...they really do care about me, Y/N thought happily, they really, truly do.

~~~~~~~~

After the May Ball was over, and the sky was growing darker with the coming evening, Jimmy and Y/N walked around the grounds of the venue together, talking about anything and everything and sharing laughs.

The lighthearted mood took a drastic shift at one of Jimmy’s followup questions.

“So, Y/N, if you don’t mind me asking, what was the whole row between you and Sam about?”

Y/N flashed a sad smile, but it quickly faded as she took a deep exhale. “Well—”

Panicked, Jimmy took this as a cue that she didn’t want to talk about it. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I get it because of how heated it was. I’m just worried about you, is all,” he interrupted.

“No, it’s okay. Really. I trust you,” she replied with a pursed lip-smile. Jimmy returned the sentiment, internally relieved that Y/N had already seemed to take a liking to him.

“Alright, so about a year or so ago, I went to a Yardbirds gig at the Crawdaddy Club, a few months after I met the band for the first time. Paul asked me out after that show, and nobody told me he was married, so naturally, I accepted.”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, love. What a shitty thing to do, especially to someone as wonderful as you,” Jimmy replied with a little flush, giving the girl a little rub on the small of her back.

Heat rippled throughout Y/N’s body at his touch. Regaining her composure, she sighed. “Thank you Jimmy. That means a lot. More than you know, actually.”

After a short silence, Y/N continued. “We went out for about eight months...and in retrospect, it now makes sense why I could never go over to his place. But anyway, I found out about it before the band played on Ready, Steady, Go in February. Keith, Jeff, Jim, and I were all talking at the front of the stage before rehearsals and it slipped.”

“Who ended up telling you?”

“Jim, but it was purely an accident.” Suddenly, all of the events that had happened between her and Jim guiltily flooded her mind. Now with Jimmy beginning to infiltrate her mind and cloud her vision, how was she supposed to genuinely enjoy the secrecy? Ah shit, she thought, here we go again.

“After the show, I confronted him about it,” Y/N continued, “and he was blaming me for our time together, a-and for ‘tempting’ him into asking me out just by being… me?”

“He seems like a right wanker, I can tell you that for sure,” Jimmy muttered, sliding his hand from its resting place on her back, to her shoulder, squeezing it lightly in solidarity. Y/N met his eyes then, tears filling her gaze, and Jimmy frowns. No one as lovely as her should be feeling this way. He smiles at her, and to Y/N, it is filled with comfort and appreciation. Some emotion… something akin to love, perhaps, lit a fire in her chest, and she looks away. The evening ambience does nothing to hide the traitorous blush that painted her cheeks.

“It’s getting quite dark out, love. How did you get here?” Jimmy asked, stealing another glance at a girl as she looked down at her ballet flats once more.

“I took the train, actually,” Y/N replied.

“Oh, so did I! Here, I’ll walk with you over to the station then.”

Y/N grinned at him. “That’s so kind of you, Jimmy. Thank you.”

“No problem, love. What’s your stop?” Jimmy asked as they began to make their way over to the station.

“St. Alban’s. How about you?”

“Epsom. I still live with my parents, I’m afraid,” he chuckled sheepishly.

“Oh, it’s okay!” she laughed with him, “so do I. It’s nice though, to still live with your parents… home-cooked meals and laundry and all. Plus sleeping in your own bed, and using your own bathroom, of course.”

“Those are very good points,” Jimmy agreed with a chuckle.

The two boarded the train once they got to the station, only waiting on the platform for a few minutes. They continued to talk all the way to St. Albans, where Y/N got off to walk home.

“Say you’ll see me again sometime soon, Y/N,” Jimmy half-asked, half-declared as she stood up to get off the train.

Y/N grinned at him. “I definitely will, Jimmy. It was so nice meeting you tonight...I loved getting to know you.”

“The feeling is mutual, love. Please stay safe and take care of yourself, okay?” he reached out his hand to grab Y/N’s, shaking it a little and smiling at her. Y/N nearly swooned at the gesture.

“I’ll try my best. You do the same as well. Have a good night!”

“Thank you, you too!” Jimmy waved as Y/N walked out the train’s doors. Her scent, a delicious mixture of vanilla with a hint of laundry detergent, lingered in the air as she passed by, weakening him both physically and his rational judgment.

He had a lot of thinking to do on the ride home.

————

Taglist: @blood-on-blood @reincarnated70sbaby

[purpletaecup]

10 ☾ he said that’s how he still remembers me

warnings: explicit language (cursing), mentions of miscarriage, mentions of infidelity (not rlly but on thin ice)

notes: you guys... this is a long one and it’s kind of fast paced, but we are finally getting some answers and the drama really begins! next chapter will be emotional, that’s all I know. I’m sorry for putting you through all this angst!! also, I wanted to bring some attention to the crisis in the Philippines right now with all of the dangerous typhoons. A lot of people need donations and rescuing, so HERE is a link to a twitter thread of donation drives! Please make sure to check it out, share and help spread awareness!

as always, come talk to me in my ask box! and if you want to be added to the taglist, please send an ask, or reply to this post or the masterlist!

not edited!! sorry if there are any mistakes lmfao i usually am sleep deprived when i write so yeah, there are probably some errors.

word count: 5,614

☾

The days following Jungkook’s visit were dull, if anything. You’ve received texts from Yoongi saying that he couldn’t come visit until that weekend because he had to finish wrapping things up in advance at the company so that he could spend some time with you. You had argued over the phone like teenagers when you insisted that he didn’t need to do that and you could take care of yourself until Jin came back. Of course, that led to him ranting about what the doctor said about monitoring you and your symptoms for concussion and to get him to just shut up about the medical stuff (it made your brain hurt more than it did usually), you reluctantly agreed to his ‘visits’, as you’d rather call them.

[nov. 20, 2020]

It was Friday now and you still haven’t gotten any glimpse of actual memories back, although you have been having these strange dreams that you couldn’t really remember when you woke up. You could only describe the feeling it gave you as ‘sinking’, like you were drowning and you couldn’t escape. As much as possible, you tried not to think about these feelings, and focused more on trying to get to know the version of you who lived in this amazing apartment.

The past couple of days that you spent at this apartment put you in awe. It really was the apartment of your dreams, from the color of the furniture down to the little plants stuck in the corner of that tiny shelf in the kitchen. It was beautiful and so you. The only problem was that you couldn’t find anything to help with your current situation. You scoured every nook and cranny and couldn’t find anything dated after your wedding reception. No pictures, no post-its, notes or anything past that date. What you had found in your apartment, you already knew of (aside from the wedding photos). Past photoshoots, high school photos, a notebook full of movie ticket stubs. There was absolutely nothing in this apartment that gave you a clue to the life you lived during the four year gap in your memory.

You even tried to get into your twitter and instagram from when you were nineteen but you couldn’t log in. Wrong password every single time. When you tried to change your password for social media, the email you used had a different password too. You couldn’t figure out what you could have changed your password to. Every password combination you could think of, you tried, but none worked, so you decided to just skip that and maybe go over it later on. Or make a new one. That could work, too.

You couldn’t even look at your twitter account because for some reason, it was private and that seemed strange for someone with almost 130,000 followers. You could see your instagram account from your browser, but it wouldn’t let you see the pictures and posts in full size with the captions and comments, so you were really stuck.

A quick internet search of your name yielded things you already knew. Former model, current writer (that fact was still surprising to you). Old news articles of dating scandals that weren’t true, except for the one with Yoongi. More news articles about your divorce with no further information than what Yoongi had told you already.

It’s as if any clue about your life during your memory loss is unaccounted for. It seemed like at this point, you could only rely on other people telling you about your life and pray to whatever higher power there was to give you your memories back.

This futile search was beginning to make your stomach churn. You almost couldn’t suppress the bile rising up in your throat. Hopefully Jin would return soon. Maybe he could put all of the pieces back together for you.

☾

Jungkook sat in on the uncomfortable leather couch in Yoongi’s office as he waited for the man to finish up whatever he was typing. He looked through his instagram feed and saw one of your posts from July. For a while, he was confused as to why this picture from July would end up on his feed, but he remembered the new instagram algorithm. Curious, he clicked on your profile and looked through it slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually paid attention to your posts.

“I forgot to ask but what did you and Yn do at her apartment? She said you stayed over for a couple of hours.” Yoongi asked though his eyes never strayed from his paperwork.

Jungkook looked up at him and pondered on what to say.

“Hm, yeah. I got roped into staying. She asked a bunch of questions and we looked through her apartment and her photo albums. Her apartment’s cute, by the way. Way different from what your house looked like.” He comments.

“Really?”

“Yeah. It was bright. Lots of green. Nothing I’ve ever seen in the house you guys shared.”

“How was she when you picked her up? She told me a couple of things but I haven’t seen her yet so I can’t know if what she’s telling is the truth or not.”

It was quiet for a moment, with only the sound of turning pages filling the room, as Jungkook wondered what to say to this. He didn’t really know when to start with you, especially with how different you were acting.

“Well, she’s fine. The personality is definitely different. She seems a lot more outgoing, and she had a lot of questions but she didn’t push. I think she wants to try and figure things out on her own.” Jungkook replies as he continued to slowly look through your previous instagram posts.

“She’s been like that. She hates being a burden and gets really defensive about it sometimes.” Yoongi comments.

Jungkook pauses at your most recent post. He checks the date. September 22.

“When did you guys divorce again?” He asked.

At this, Yoongi looked up.

“The divorce was finalized on September 29, I think.” He answered, but looked questioningly at Jungkook as if to ask why.

“Did you know she was going to therapy?” Jungkook asked again.

Hearing this, Yoongi stood up abruptly and hurried over to where Jungkook was sitting.

“What? Where did you see that?” Yoongi asked as he looked over Jungkook’s shoulder.

Jungkook showed him the post. Yoongi took the phone from him and examined the post carefully.

It was a picture of clouds with text on it. Is this the life we really want? The caption read “as per the advice of my therapist, i’m just here to pop in and say that I’ll be going on a hiatus for a little bit”.

“What the fuck? I didn’t know this!” Yoongi yelled, evidently angry.

Jungkook looked at him confused. They were together for four years, how could he not know that you were at least going to therapy?

The same question was running through Yoongi’s head. He took a seat next to Jungkook to process this new information.

“Hyung, can I ask you a couple of questions?” Jungkook requested.

Yoongi could only nod.

“What was Yn like when you were together? Why did you marry her?” Those were the first questions that came out of Jungkook’s mouth.

He was truly, genuinely curious. Though he’s heard some things that Yoongi had said about you, he never knew the full story.

“We married each other because we loved each other. Wasn’t that obvious?” Yoongi retorted.

Jungkook pursed his lips at this. “Well that's what you tell everybody and yeah we get it, but considering the fact that I’ve barely seen you two together more than two handful of times in the past two years, I had to ask.”

“That’s because we were both busy, but that didn’t mean we didn’t spend time together. Of course you never saw it because you weren’t there and I’m not one to actively talk about my love life. Yn and I both liked our privacy.”

“Okay, then what was she like when you were together?”

Yoongi was quiet for a while. There were a lot of things he could say about you when you were together. He just didn’t know how to articulate it to Jungkook.

“When we were together… she was charismatic, beautiful and intelligent. Something about the way she communicated made you feel like you could forget about all of your worries and live life to its extent with her. She constantly dragged me out to picnics and made me forget about the business and my career. She made me feel young again. And she had so much love and care for people around her. For a long time, I felt like I would never be deserving of her. She was kind of like a sunflower. Or sunshine, you know what I mean?” Yoongi poured out.

Jungkook nodded. He realized that this was the time to try to figure out what happened to you in your marriage. From his conversation with you at your apartment, to the description of you that Yoongi had just given, he surmised that the version of you that he knew was someone different and he could only wonder if Yoongi saw it too.

“Did you ever feel like she changed? In the time you guys were together?” He probed.

Yoongi thought about it for a while.

“Yeah, I think so. I always found it strange that she decided to quit modelling.  When I met her, she said it was all she ever wanted. I never asked because it seemed like a sensitive topic to her, but I supported her regardless. Writing seemed so out of nowhere for her. I don’t know where it came from. Then she stopped wanting to go to business dinners and events with me and after that we just drifted. And in between that, you introduced me to Yura.”

When Yoongi mentioned Yura, Jungkook winced. He had thought about it some nights ago, but he realized that he might have had a hand in your divorce by introducing Yura to Yoongi. Though he knows Yoongi would have never physically cheated on you, he could see how Yoongi and Yura gravitated towards each other. Jungkook had to admit that Yura was a sweet girl. She was beautiful, and when she smiled it was like sunshine.

Yoongi interrupted his train of thought. “Yura is kind of a complicated subject to our marriage. I would never, ever cheat on someone I loved. And I loved Yn, so much. When you introduced Yura to me, I was happy to meet a new friend and that’s all I saw, but the more you made me hang out with you guys, the more I started to see something in her that I stopped seeing in Yn. I never meant to have any sort of romantic feelings for Yura, but it happened and I feel so fucking shitty for doing that to Yn when I’m the one who promised her a lifetime together.”

Jungkook straightened his posture as Yoongi’s confession.

“Wait, what do you mean by that?” He asked.

“By what?” Yoongi looked at him confused.

“What happened to Yn that pushed you to Yura?”

At this, Yoongi scratched his head.

“I wouldn’t say that it pushed me to Yura, but remember when I said Yn and I started getting distant? As time went on, I felt like she changed and I didn’t know who she was. She used to be so bubbly and happy and always wanting to go look at flowers, but towards the end of our marriage, she stayed holed up in our room no matter how much I asked her to spend time with me. Yura, she was happy to spend time with me. She made me feel like I could forget about everything just by talking to me.”

“Yura made you feel like how Yn used to make you feel?” Jungkook cut him off.

“Well… I guess so.”

Jungkook thought about this for a while but narrowed his eyes at his hyung.

“Hyung, answer this truthfully; do you love Yura?”

The tips of Yoongi’s ears turned red after hearing this.

“Love? I don’t know. I like her? I like the way she makes me feel. She’s beautiful and smart and she makes me happy.”

“Hyung, I don’t know if you realize this, but the way you described Yura is exactly the same way you described Yn.”

“What do you mean?”

“It sounds like you started liking Yura because she reminded you of Yn when you met her. So, do you really, truly like Yura? Or do you just like her because she reminds you of what you don’t have anymore?”

Yoongi lowered his head.

“I-I don’t know. I never thought of it like that.”

Jungkook put his hand on Yoongi’s back to comfort him. Obviously, the man was confused.

“I don’t know if this helps, but I just wanted to let you know that whenever I saw Yn, during those dinners or events, she never gave off the vibe that you described her to be. To me, she was quiet, reserved and never bothered trying to get to know us, your friends, or your business. That’s what she came off as. When you told us that you loved each other and that you eloped, I thought you were joking. When I saw her, she just seemed like the typical trophy wife. Just for show. I never liked her and wondered what you saw in her all the fucking time, but now after hearing this, and after being with her for a couple of hours, it’s obvious that something happened that fucked her up and then fucked your marriage up.” Jungkook ranted.

“I think you might need to reevaluate the relationship you had with Yn so we could help her recover from this whole amnesia thing and hopefully figure out what happened. Something definitely happened, but since I don’t know your marriage like you do, I don't know what it is. I feel guilty now after realizing that I might have had a hand in whatever the fuck she was going through. And maybe figure out what you’re going to do about Yura. Can you keep dating her when your feelings for her are based off of your feelings for your ex-wife, who is currently pregnant with your wife and doesn’t know about it?” He continued.

Yoongi took a deep breath, taking all of this conversation in.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m almost done with the shit here at the company. When I go home, I’ll sort everything out and talk to Yn and Yura tomorrow. I don’t think I can keep seeing Yura with the current situation. I have to tell Yn about the pregnancy as soon as possible, but I’m scared because the doctor told me to monitor for residual symptoms for her concussion. I don’t even know where to begin with the situation.”

“It’s okay, hyung. I’m here for you. You have to tell her about the pregnancy before she finds out herself. In the meantime, I’ll help you out when you can’t take care of her. I already feel shitty enough for how I acted with her when you two were married. I feel like I had the wrong impression this whole time.” Jungkook offered.

Yoongi remembered the moment earlier when Jungkook confessed that he never liked you and that baffled him because he thought that you two, of all people, would get along well together. More often than not, he would feel jealous of Jungkook, who had your admiration when you first started dating. He remembered you always asking him to introduce you to Jungkook and it took a year for him to budge and actually make it happen.

“I’m sure you’ll get along now. I always thought you did get along. Did you know she liked you before?” Yoongi asked.

Jungkook shook his head. “I didn’t know until the other day when you had me take her home. It probably would have helped if you told me she knew who I was before you introduced us after you got together. She never acted like she was a fan of my music and admittedly, I was a dick to her.”

Yoongi glared at him. It was a first for him to hear about how Jungkook treated his ex-wife.

“Well, you should feel shitty because she really liked you and your music. For a while, I thought she liked you more than me. If I had known you were an asshole to her, I probably would have ripped you a new one. Hearing you admit you treated her like shit makes me feel like shit because I never knew and just assumed you guys were good with each other. You didn’t do or say anything bad to her, right? You’re not that type of person.”

Jungkook could only pretend to smile at Yoongi as he asked this.

He shook his head and lied. “No, never.”

Lying through his teeth to his best friend about how he treated you made his heart fall to his stomach. Well, Yoongi didn’t have to know because it was in the past. You couldn’t remember any of the mean things he’d said to you, so now was the perfect time to make a new, much better impression of himself to you. He decided days ago that he would be better, because deep down, he knew that you didn’t deserve to be treated like how he treated you.

[nov. 21, 2020]

Yoongi had taken the day off after his somewhat enlightening conversation with Jungkook last night. He decided that he needed to go see you and spend some time with you today, but before that, he needed to settle things with Yura.

They decided to meet up at his apartment for maximum privacy, just in case anything happened. He wanted to account for the worst case scenario of Yura probably getting angry and throwing things around, but he doesn’t think she’s the type of person to do dramatic things like that.

Turns out, she’s not. When he reluctantly tells her that he can’t continue on with what they had because of residual feelings for you, in addition to the fact that there were complications in that relationship that he can’t speak about carelessly, she had reacted calmly and amicably. Though Yoongi hadn’t expected her to throw a tantrum, he was expecting some kind of anger, but all he got was a sad look passing on her face followed by comforting words.

He apologized profusely for having dragged her around when he still had apparent feelings for his ex-wife and not figuring out his feelings for her, or lack thereof, sooner. She reassured him that it was okay and she’ll be fine.

“I’ll be fine Yoongi. I liked you, but it’s pretty obvious that you used me as some kind of rebound or replacement for your ex-wife, and I was okay with it. Truthfully, I was waiting for you to just come clean and break it off with me. I hope you and Yn figure things out this time, and I hope you can talk to her. Communication is important.” She reminds him before she leaves, but not before letting him know that she would always be there for him as a friend.

He had texted her after she left, and after a couple of minutes to himself, that he was thankful for her being so nice about the situation and all in all, he didn’t regret whatever short-lived affection they had for each other.

Yoongi still couldn’t believe how smoothly everything with Yura went. He hoped that the rest of the day would be the same.

☾

You woke up to a message from Jungkook asking if you were free, so you had to tidy up the apartment and yourself because you didn’t want to look messy in front of someone you had idolized for a long time.

Luckily enough, you didn’t have to cook since Jungkook offered to bring food. You thank your lucky stars for that because for some reason, you’ve been feeling incredibly sluggish and nauseous. It was probably some symptoms of the concussion you suffered. You remembered your doctor saying something about that the last time you were at the hospital.

About 20 minutes later, you heard your doorbell ring so practically skip to the door, excited to see Jungkook and steal the food that he brought.

You opened the door to see Jungkook standing there with a big back of food in his hands. He was wearing all black, with a leather jacket that looked a tad too big on him.

“You look warm.” You comment.

He rolled his eyes. “Are you gonna invite me in or not? I even brought you food.”

You laugh a little and move to the side to give him room to step inside the apartment.

“So, what have you been doing?” He asks as he makes his way to your dining room to put the food down.

You make your way to the kitchen to get some plates for the both of you.

“Nothing. I’ve been trying to look for some stuff but I don’t know where to start so I just gave up until you or Yoongi could come help.” You reply as you move to the dining room to set the plates down.

Jungkook takes the food out and puts some on the plates. Kimbap, like you asked, and some seaweed soup.

“How have you been feeling? Okay?” He questioned.

You nodded, though hesitantly.

“Eh, I’ve been feeling kind of tired. I think I might be sick because I keep wanting to vomit. Is that my wintermelon tea, by the way?” You pointed to the drink in his hand.

Jungkook poked the straw through the lid and handed it to you.

“Sick? Did you take any medicine? Are you feeling better now?”

You took a sip of your tea and sighed, missing the sweet taste of the drink. It felt nostalgic.

“Mhm, took some earlier and I'm feeling much better thanks to the food you brought!” You smiled.

Jungkook rolled his eyes jokingly once again. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He didn’t think about your illness any further. It was probably a cold and nothing else.

For about 20 minutes, the two of you ate and spoke about little things, mostly about Jungkook and his career. It helped you get to know him a little bit better since he’s the only person besides Yoongi who could help you in your situation until Jin comes back.

After you finished eating, you told him that you needed his help going through your room in case there was anything that could jog your memory.

“I would ask Yoongi but he’s been busy lately.”

“So I’m just your last resort?”

“You’re literally the only other person in my contact list besides Yoongi and Jin.”

“Right, anyways, lead the way!” He exclaimed.

You laughed as you led him to the room at the end of the hallway.

“Sorry if it’s a little messy, I didn’t have that much time to clean up before you got here!” You explained.

Jungkook shook his head, telling you it didn’t really matter since it was gonna be a mess anyways while you two went through your things.

☾

When Jungkook walked into your room, he was once again hit with the feeling that he had no fucking clue who you were in the past years he’d known you. If he could describe your room in one word, it would be enchanting. White walls, white sheets adorn with a baby blue blanket, wooden floors, giant plants and a mirror much bigger than himself. Your desk was filled with different kinds of pens, different notebooks that look to have been trifled through, and an unnatural amount of books and crystals.

From the looks of the rest of your house, he probably shouldn’t be surprised at your bedroom, but it’s still a bit difficult for him to wrap his mind around the fact that you were this type of person. Bright, intelligent, and incredibly neat.

He walked up to your desk and picked up the different notebooks laid out messily on the table. When he opened each of them, he noticed that they were mostly blank, with the exception of a few doodles. There were some things he’d recognized as lyrics from songs he knew, but nothing truly relevant to the memories you lost.

You stood next to Jungkook and looked at the notebooks in his hands.

“I went through those already. Nothing but a few sad lyrics here and there. None of them triggered any memories.” You mentioned.

Jungkook put them down and started walking around the room with you as you talked about what you did find during the days that you were left alone. What he got from that conversation was that you had no luck with anything and that’s why you waited until either he or Yoongi could come over and help you. Jungkook knew that Yoongi was coming over later, so if he couldn’t help you find anything or answer any of your questions today, then maybe Yoongi could.

“Oh! I forgot to mention that I can’t even access any of my social media, so do you think I can look through my instagram through your phone? I mean, if that’s okay with you. I know some people feel uncomfortable giving their phone to someone else to play around with.” You asked.

Jungkook shook his head and stuck his hand in his pant pocket, reaching for his phone.

“It’s fine, you can look at your profile, I think I follow you. The password is 061313.” He stated as he handed his phone over to you.

You grabbed it excitedly, finally getting the chance to see what your life was like during the four years that were missing from your memory. You fell back onto your bed as you unlocked Jungkook’s phone and clicked on his instagram app quickly.

You took a look at his profile first, staring in awe at the pictures he’s posted. Most of his pictures are very dark and he had quite a few selfies. You smiled a little bit as you admitted in your head that he was indeed handsome.

Okay, Yn, onto the more important things! You thought to yourself as you quickly searched your username ‘faeyn’ on the search bar. At first you were excited, but it deflated when you saw just how many posts you had. 13 posts. And almost all of them were just landscapes. Some had pictures of you by yourself, or with Jin, but that was it. How the fuck were you supposed to try to figure out your life through 13 pictures?

Scrolling through each picture and their captions from the oldest to newest, you quickly realized that you must have decided that privacy was something that should be valued. There was nothing of substance to your situation in the captions you’d written. Just casual mentions of how your day was, or what you did that day. The only thing that caught your eye was the latest post you had, dated September 22. It was a picture of clouds and the caption said something about your therapist advising you to take a break, so you were going to be on a social media cleanse for a while.

Well, at least you learned one thing. Apparently, you started going to therapy again. For what? You don’t know. You only remembered going to therapy a couple of times after the whole incident with your bastard ex-boyfriend.

You filed this little detail into your brain and hoped that maybe it would make more sense later on. Swiping up on Jungkook’s phone took you to his home screen, but you paused for a little. Maybe you could snoop through some more apps and see if there was anything else you can find.

No, that would be an invasion of Jungkook’s privacy, you thought. Another part of you argued that he wasn’t going to know and he’s here to help you. If there was anything worth hiding, he wouldn’t have given you his phone and his password so easily. And if there was anything, it wouldn’t be incriminating since he mentioned that you two didn’t really know each other that well, so you shrugged and clicked on his messages.

I’ll just see if there are any messages to me. I won’t look at anything else, you justified, as if it made it any better.

After scrolling for a little while, you finally saw something worthwhile. A text convo between you and Jungkook and from the preview of the message, it looks like it was from the middle of September. You opened it, excited to see the contents, but what you saw made you furrow your brows.

What is this?

☾

After Jungkook gave you his phone, he continued walking around your room until he got to the side of your bed that was next to the window. He looked around for a bit and saw something in the corner of his eyes. Crouching down lower, he saw something on the floor behind your headboard. He couldn’t tell what it was at first, but as soon as he moved closer, he realized it was a thick notebook. Jungkook surmises that you probably hadn’t seen it despite telling him that you looked ‘everywhere’. He took the notebook and sat down on the floor, completely hiding his figure, but not before he could look at you. He wanted to see what was in the notebook before he showed it to you, and luckily enough, you had been facing away from him.

So he sat down and opened the notebook. From just the first page, he could tell it was some kind of diary or journal. There were lots of drawings and stickers and a picture of you in a field of flowers right in the middle of the first page. He flipped through the whole notebook really quickly and found that half of it was already filled.

A part of him wanted to read through the whole thing and see what kind of things you wrote, but another part told him that it wasn’t appropriate. Despite that, he convinced himself that he should read maybe just one entry, just to see if this notebook was something substantial to your current situation.

Jungkook took a peek at you again and noticed you still had your back turned to him so he took that as a sign that he could probably get away with reading an entry. He flipped to a page randomly and focused his eyes on the writing.

The entry was dated August 4, 2020. Fairly recent. He noticed that there were some dark blotches on the paper that made the ink bleed.

He began to read the entry, not knowing what he was going to find out.

It still seems weird to be writing about my problems in a journal. I’m still not used to it, but it’s been helpful since I don’t really have anyone to talk to about this.

That made him frown.

I went to my OBGYN today because I’ve been having severe cramps and bleeding, but I already had my period so I was worried. And the cramps were starting to really hurt, so I had to go get it checked out just in case. Well, apparently I was pregnant and lost the baby.

Jungkook’s eyes widened and he gasped audibly. Luckily enough, it wasn’t loud enough for you to notice. He clasped his hand over his mouth at the disbelief in reading this information. A miscarriage? And so recent, too. He didn’t know how to feel. Yoongi had never said anything about this.

Jin actually just left my house a couple of hours ago. I don’t think the news hit me until now. I texted Yoongi earlier to tell him but he was busy so I think that was a sign that I should probably not tell him. It’s not like it matters right? Since the baby was gone anyways.

I know my therapist told me to stop with the negative self-talk, but it’s moments like this that really push me to just keep thinking I’ll never be good enough for the men that I love. Thanks to my bastard ex for fucking my mind up like this. No matter how hard I try, I always just circle back to the fact that I wasn’t good enough for him, and that I’m not good enough for Yoongi. Even fate is telling me that I’m not good enough to carry a child with the man I love. How fucked up is that?

Jungkook’s heart dropped to his stomach. He felt sick. There were so many things going through his head right now. He felt like he was violating something that was so private. Yoongi didn’t even know that you went through this. You didn’t even know you went through this. He shut the journal quickly, wiping the tears that formed in his eyes.

At that exact moment, he heard your heavy breathing and quickly got up to check on you. He walked around to your side of the bed and found you trembling with his phone in your hands. He noticed that his messages were open and he began to panic.

“What the fuck is this?” was the last thing he heard you say before your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you fell limp into your bed.

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[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (4)

(Y’all ready to read the next update??? Enjoy part four of this fic and if you’re interested, feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called the Journal Entries. It’s just little journal snippets from the two dorks that I decided to write for fun :D)

Ch.1 / Ch.3 / Ch.5

Chapter 4: Get to Know You

Marinette slipped on her white, non-flour-covered leather jacket and pushed her pigtails back so they wouldn’t be tucked into her outfit. She then smoothed out her pink dress with a smile, admiring the black flowers that she’d stitched along the bottom. This dress had been one of her stress-relieving projects, but it turned out quite well, in her opinion.

Once Papa had finished teaching her friends how to fold the dough, he put their croissants into the fridge to chill them and instructed everyone to go upstairs and wash up. Marinette dutifully took them up to her room where her personal bathroom was and taught them how to use the shower, but when she tried to lead one of them to her parent’s bathroom as well, they insisted that she take a shower there herself. 

“What kind of gentlemen would we be if we forced the ladies to wait on us?” Claude had said light-heartedly, though she could tell he meant it. Allegra’s smirk as she walked in the bathroom to take a shower first was proof of that. 

The notion had warmed Marinette’s heart, coaxing a giggle from her each time she thought about it. It might be hard to see sometimes, but Claude, Allan, and Felix truly were a considerate and chivalrous group of boys. 

Now, She’s finished her shower in her parent’s bathroom and gone back up to her bedroom, where Allegra, Claude, and Allan had been patiently waiting. Allegra was nice and clean again, wearing the long, purple shirt and black leggings that Marinette had given her, and Claude appeared to have just exited the shower, his damp hair sticking to his face and dripping across his borrowed, black and blue “O.K” shirt. Allan was still covered in flour.

Allegra smiled at Marinette from her spot on the chaise as she re-braided her long, golden blonde hair. “Thanks for the extra clothes, Mari! These are amazing.”

“Yeah!” Claude agreed enthusiastically, holding out his with a grin. “This shirt is awesome!”

Marinette glanced down to hide her blush. “I-It’s the least I could do.”

“We still appreciate it.” Allan replied.

“Oh!” Marinette said, suddenly thinking about the fact that Allan was still covered in flour. “Allan, do you want to use Maman’s shower? You don’t have to stand around waiting for Felix.”

That who she assumed was occupying the shower, anyway. The water was still running, and everyone but Felix was present. 

Allan waved a hand. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll be getting a shower soon if Felix would hurry up.”

Marinette chuckled at Allan’s obvious call to Felix, even more so when Felix shouted back from the bathroom, “You’re the one that let me go first!”

“I didn’t know you would take a day and a half!” 

“That’s still your fault then, isn’t it?” Felix shot back.

Allan scoffed and crossed his arms, causing Marinette to offer her parent’s shower again out of guilt. She had been the one to throw flour on him, after all.

“Are you sure you don’t want to-”

The bathroom door swung open, effectively cutting Marinette off, and Felix stepped out with one hand on his hip and the other hand on the towel that was draped across his head. He shot Allan a glare, practically growling the words, “There. I’m out. Are you happy?”

“Delighted.” Allan responded sarcastically.

Marinette might have been concerned about the growing conflict had she not been focused on Felix’s outfit. Or rather, how well it suited him. The black, three-quarter-sleeved shirt that she’d given him, along with the plaid green, button-up shirt she’d provided to go underneath, clung to his waist, revealing his surprisingly slender figure. The dark grey jeans he wore in place of his dress pants didn’t fit the outfit exactly, but they worked well enough, and Marinette eagerly started taking mental notes for future adjustments.

Allan grabbed his clothes and walked into the bathroom, while Felix glared daggers at him until the bathroom door closed. 

“Woah~” Allegra crowed, easily breaking the tension. “You should wear casual outfits more often, Felix. They really suit you.”

Claude smirked. “No kidding. I swear you’ve worn the same suit for the whole two years we’ve known.”

Felix turned his glare to Claude with a scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve worn plenty of suits, each one made differently.”

Allegra snorted. “That wasn’t.. That was not the point, Felix.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, the barest hint of confusion finding its way to his features, and Marinette took that opportunity to speak up.

“How’s the outfit? Does it fit alright?” She asked. Hopefully she can find the original measurements for the outfit if it does fit fine, because Felix was most likely going to become a regular customer. Maybe he wouldn’t hire her for actual commissions, but she might end up making something for him on impulse. (as you do)

Felix caught her eye, his glare slowly fading as he registered her question.

“The fabric is extremely comfortable, and the clothes fit perfectly.” He said after a moment. “You said you made these?”

She nodded. “With my sewing machine. I was thinking of putting a green paw print on the shirt too, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

Felix hummed, idly pulling his towel from on top of his head to around his shoulders. “I see. Thank you for lending them to me.”

Marinette blinked, suddenly finding herself captivated by the way his hair fell across his face. Still being damp, various strands stuck to his forehead and cheeks, and he reached up to brush them away. This brought her attention to his face, which, for some reason, she hadn’t quite noticed before. The defined jawline, the subtle-yet-there cheek bones, the pointed nose- all of his features were sharp. Even his eyes held a silver tint to them that reminded her of steel. 

These observations dragged her to one, rather important revelation: Felix Culpa was actually a fairly handsome person.

“Marinette?” Felix said, drawing her from her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

A rush of heat swarmed her cheeks, and Marinette straightened. “W-what? I mean yes! Yeah, I’m totally fine, I.. yes.”

“Hey, speaking of clothes!” Claude piped up, graciously saving Marinette from her own awkwardness. “How’s my prince costume going?”

Marinette twirled around in her rolling chair and grabbed for her sketching notebook. A distraction was definitely something she needed right now.

“I’ve got a few different ideas, but you need to come tell which one you like best.” She explained as she flipped open the notebook.

Claude hopped up from the stray chest he’d been sitting on and practically bounced over to her seat. She let him scan each page, smiling when he started humming “Ooh’s” and “Aah’s”.

“I can only pick one?! But they’re all so good!” Claude remarked, almost exasperated.

Marinette chuckled. “Well.. I guess I can make all of them for you, but you at least need to choose which one I start on.”

Claude gasped. “You mean you’re going to make all of these for me?”

“It’s going to take a month or so to get them all done.” She warned. “But-”

Claude scooped her into a bone-crushing hug, briefly reminding her of her father. “Thank you, Mari! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

Marinette laughed and gave him a light pat on the arm. “You’re welcome.”

Her smile widened as Claude eagerly grabbed the notebook and ran back to his designated chest to look through the drawing again. It was nice to see someone who was also enthusiastic about fashion. She’d gotten tired of talking to people who simply didn’t understand the hype of creating unique styles of clothing. 

“You know he’s never going to leave you alone now, right?” Felix commented next to her.

Marinette offered him a glance as she said, “I think I can live with that.”

Felix shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She smiled at that. Felix may be striking, but that didn’t have to change anything. Lots of people were striking. And lots of people remained friends despite that.

“Oh,” Felix muttered, seeming to remember something, “Where do you want me to put my clothes? They’re still in the bathroom because of Allan, but..”

“Uhm.. I think Maman said she was going to wash them.” Marinette answered. “She wanted to try to get them clean before supper for all of you.”

“Ah, supper.” Claude cut in, heaving a jokingly wistful sigh. “I can’t wait for that. If your mom’s croissants can taste that heavenly, then her full meals must be amazing.”

He sunk against the chest for emphasis, not realizing that there was a gap between the chest and the wall. The sudden weight threw the chest off balance, and it tipped forward, causing Claude to get jerked backwards. He flailed his arms briefly and yelped before crashing to the floor. The front of the chest hit the ground as well, and the impact popped it open, scattering various objects across the floor.

“Oh, Claude!”

“Are you okay?” 

The girls rushed to his side to help him up, but Felix shot him a flat look.

“First the kitchen and now her bedroom.” He said curtly. “Should we tear up the living room next? Or perhaps the dining room has more fragile items?”

Allegra rolled her eyes. “Felix, can you at least try to be sympathetic.”

“I am being sympathetic. Marinette doesn’t have the money to replace things at the drop of a hat like we do. It’s rude to behave so recklessly in her home.”

Marinette glanced up at Felix, not sure whether to find his words sweet or offensive. “Trust me, it’s fine. This chest is old anyway.”

Felix’s frown told her that he didn’t agree on the matter, but before he could argue further, the bathroom door swung open again.

“What happened?” Allan asked, his hair still dripping wet. “I heard the crash. Is anyone hurt?”

“Only my pride.” Claude groaned in response. He was sitting up now and rubbing his head as Allegra switched between scolding and coddling.

Allan sighed with relief. “Oh, good. You can’t hurt something that’s not there.”

“Hey!”

Marinette giggled at the comment. “Allan, how is your outfit? Do I need to make any adjustments?”

Allan glanced down at his clothes. She’d given him a maroon shirt with a blue heartbeat line in the center, a black and blue shirt to go underneath, and a pair of black jeans. He didn’t appear to be wearing the second shirt, though.

“Oh, they fit great.” He said, twisted his torso a bit to get a better feel for the new clothes. “I didn’t have time to put on the second shirt, though. I heard the crash and panicked.”

Marinette offered him a smile. “That’s fine. I can just put it back in the closet.”

Allan nodded and looked down at the mess. “So Claude spilled this chest?”

“Yeah, he was being an idiot.” Allegra remarked as she picked up one of the trinkets. “You know. Nothing new.”

“Wow. can you guys lay off for two seconds?” Claude huffed. He reached forward to pick up one of the objects as well, curiosity overtaking his annoyance. “What is all of this stuff, anyway?”

Marinette glanced at the miscellaneous objects to check- she had several trunks that acted as ‘junk drawers’ -and immediately cringed when she recognized a black hat with rainbow colors stitched along the bottom.

“Oh..” It was Adrien’s gift chest. She’d almost forgotten that she had it. “They’re, um.. They’re just crafts, really.”

“Just crafts?” Claude repeated, holding up a crocheted Ladybug doll. “These are awesome!”

Marinette watched them for a moment. “...do you want them?”

The group looked up in shock, and Marinette quickly added, “Y-You don’t have to take them! I’ve just.. Uh.. they’re like junk? I mean, not junk, but this is my junk chest.. Sort of. I’ve just been meaning to get rid of them. So if you want them, you can have them.” 

Allegra frowned. “Are you sure? It looks like you put a lot of effort into these.”

Marinette nodded. “Positive. Take whatever you want.”

Although hesitant at first, the group continued to look through the gifts, and little by little, they started to take some. A smile came to Marinette’s lips as she watched the pile of Adrien junk dwindle. She had spent a lot of time on making the presents, but there was no way she’d be giving them to Adrien now. So what was the point of keeping them in her room? To serve as a mocking reminder of how blind she had been while loving him? No thanks.

By the time they were done, the chest only had half the gifts it used to, and Marinette quickly decided that she would donate the leftovers once she got the chance. 

“Thanks for the stuff, Mari!” Claude said cheerfully, his hands full of various objects.

Allegra nodded, holding a few things herself. “Yeah, you really do spoil us.”

“Which is saying something, considering we’re rich.” Allan teased, pocketing the two items that he’d decided to snatch. 

Marinette chuckled. “You’re helping me more than I am you.”

She stood up and walked to the bathroom to grab the boys’ old clothes. “I’m gonna bring these down to Maman, but feel free to look around until I get back.”

The group voiced their agreements, and Marinette climbed down the trapdoor ladder with the pile of clothes in hand, feeling like another weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

Getting rid of Adrien’s gifts was one more step towards happiness, and she couldn’t wait to keep walking.

~~~~~~

One can tell a lot about a person by their bedroom. How clean they were, whether they were sentimental, which things they found important- a bedroom could quite literally be considered a box in which someone stored their entire personality. That’s why Felix had been anticipating this part of the visit. Someone can be a master manipulator, but their room would always show their true selves. And it only took one look for Felix to know..

Marinette really loved the color pink.

Seriously, she had it everywhere. The walls, the furniture, the carpet- How was she not sick of the color by now? Felix was sick of it, and he’d only been there for about twenty minutes!

Pushing the pink thought aside, he continued poking around her room. Marinette had gone downstairs to pass his clothes off to her mother, so that gave him a bit of time to inspect the space unsupervised. Not that he was planning on doing anything scandalous. It merely gave him the opportunity of observing Marinette’s room on his own terms.

When she told him that her room was up in the attic, he’d been understandably shocked. The attic didn’t sound like a spacious place to sleep, let alone work on homework and other personal things. Seeing it now, though, Felix realized that that wasn’t the case. The attic was actually quite open. There was a desk, a closet, various chests, a bathroom, and she still had a good portion of the room empty. He wondered if that was thanks to the original size of the room or thanks to Marinette’s resourcefulness.

Her cleaning style wasn’t too bad, either. Don’t get him wrong, there were things scattered everywhere, but it was a specific type of scattered, like an organized chaos. He had a feeling that she knew where most of her necessities were. 

Felix moved to her desk, where most of the mess was focused. There were papers, sewing needles, scraps of fabric, and pencils spread across the surface. Her interest in fashion certainly shined through, as most of the papers were filled with various sketches and measurements. He found that admirable. When someone usually speaks of their ‘dream job’, they speak of it as a fantasy, one that they never intend to fully pursue, but Marinette was obviously reaching as high as she could to grasp her goal. She even had a mannequin in her room.

“Marinette’s room is so cool!” Claude exclaimed from the loft up top. “She even has a balcony!”

Felix glanced upwards, briefly setting the papers he’d been studying aside. There’s a balcony upstairs? He didn’t recall seeing a balcony on the way in.

“Claude, you have a balcony.” Allegra reminded him with an amused smile.

“Yeah, but mine only extends from the side of the building.” Claude defended. “This one’s on the roof!”

Ah, so that’s why Felix hadn’t seen it.

Allan frowned. “Really? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“It’s got a rail.” 

“Oh, okay. That’s fine then.”

Allegra chuckled as she brushed her hands against the hat on Marinette’s mannequin. “Marinette’s room is pretty neat, though.”

“I think it’s just Marinette who’s cool.” Allan remarked.

Allegra and Claude heartily agreed, and Felix nodded. “Cool” probably wouldn’t be the exact word that he’d use to describe her, but overall, it wasn’t far off.

“Can you believe we’ve only known her for a week?” Claude asked as he climbed down to their level. “It feels like we’ve known her forever already.”

“Yeah, but I think that’s just how she is.” Allegra smiled. “She draws you in and makes you feel like family.”

“Her parents are the same way.” Allan said. “You can really tell where she gets it from.”

“Where who gets what from?” 

Felix, along with the rest of the group, turned to the trapdoor, where Marinette was standing about halfway through. She didn’t have the clothes anymore, but she did have a tray of drinks.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Allegra said dismissively. “What are those?”

Marinette set the tray on the ground long enough to climb through and close the trapdoor as she explained, “Maman and Papa thought you guys might be thirsty, so she sent me up with a bunch of different drinks to choose from.”

“Sweet!” Claude grinned, swiftly walking over in case she needed help. “Do you have Dr. Pepper?”

Marinette smiled and turned the tray to reveal a deep red can of soda. “Yep! I know it’s your favorite.”

“You truly are a blessing.” Claude replied, grabbing the soda off of the tray.

Marinette giggled and brought the tray forward for the rest of them to pick. Allegra chose a pepsi, while Allan snagged a coke, and Felix grabbed the slim cup of coffee that sat to the side.

He took a sip of it, enjoying the warmth of the bitter liquid. It didn’t escape his notice that Marinette had brought up all of their preferred drinks. She even got his coffee right (Black with three sugars). 

Despite how scatter-brained she could be, Marinette still paid attention to details, which was impressive. Felix didn’t know anyone else who could space out during an entire conversation, yet remember the exact type of drink everyone ordered during lunch.

“So what do you guys want to do now? We still have about half an hour before supper is finished.” Marinette asked, setting the tray aside. 

Allan shrugged. “What do you have?”

Marinette thought for a moment. “Well, we have board games, card games, Mecha Strike 3-”

“Mecha Strike 3?” Claude perked up. “Yes, please!”

Marinette laughed. “Is everyone else okay with that?”

“Sounds great.” Allan smiled.

Allegra shrugged. “I’m fine with it.” 

Felix, being satisfied with his inspection for now, sat down on the chaise. “I’ll watch.”

The rest of the group huddled around Marinette’s computer while she turned it on, and after a bit of debating, they decided on ‘winner faces next player’ and started with Allan and Claude. Felix watched the first two games, just long enough to see Marinette cream Allan, before reverting back to his studious ways. He scanned the bedroom again, hoping to catch something new, when his gaze landed on the trunk that Claude had tipped over earlier. With everyone bustling around it, Felix hadn’t gotten a chance to sift through it, but now that they were occupied with Marinette’s game..

Felix shifted in his seat and re-opened the chest. It was only half full, as opposed to its previously overflowing contents, but that didn’t bother him. There were still plenty of things inside, such as shirts, figurines, hats, and other things. He pulled out a jacket and turned it in his hands, admiring the handiwork. The hood, along with the cuffs of the sleeves and zipper were pitch black, but the rest of the jacket was a deep red, save for the black spots that littered it. “Miraculous” was written on the back in cursive as well. Was this supposed to be based off of the Parisian superhero Ladybug? Why would she want to get rid of this? At the very least, she could make a profit by selling it.

What did she use to make this? The material is so soft.. Felix thought as he unzipped the jacket. It was completely black on the inside, save for some tiny, golden lettering near the section wear the pocket would be.

“To: Adrien

From: Marinette”

Felix frowned. How strange. Why would Marinette be giving away things that she made specifically for someone else? He dug through the chest some more, this time looking for names, and what he found was shocking. 

Almost every gift had the name ‘Adrien’ on it somewhere, whether it be a card or stitching or marker. Some gifts didn’t have a name, but at that point, Felix felt it was safe to assume that everything in the chest was supposed to be for this ‘Adrien’ person. 

That begged the question, though: Who was Adrien? And why would she create so many gifts for him just to give them away?

A small card stitched on the ear of a stuffed cat gave him his answer.

“Dear Adrien, 

Happy 19th birthday! It’s officially been five years since we’ve known each other. Isn’t that crazy? Anyway, I just wanted to say happy birthday (even though I’ve already said it) and that I’m really happy we got to meet. Enjoy the cat!

With all my love, Marinette”

Felix glanced up at Marinette, who was blissfully ignorant of his findings as she defeated Claude for the second time at Mecha Strike 3. Did she intend to use all of these as birthday presents? How many gifts were in there? Did she expect this person to have the same interests twenty years from now? He couldn’t decide if this level of planning was due to over-thinking or just plain obsession. Maybe both.

“Hey, Felix!” 

Felix flinched at the sudden call of his name, weirdly feeling as if he’d been caught in the act of some crime. He looked up to see Claude waving a controller at him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to play?” The brunette asked.

“Talk to me when you have chess.” Felix replied shortly, going back to the chest. He had hoped that seeing Marinette’s room would provide more answers to her life, but it only issued more questions. Did she have this amount of gifts for all of her friends or was Adrien special? If he was special, what way would it be? Was he possibly an ex-lover? She dated him for a while, and they had a recent falling out, which was why she was getting rid of the gifts. That would make sense.

“He just wants to talk.”

Her words from last week resurfaced in his mind. The person who chased her that day was the only one she reacted bitterly towards. Was Adrien trying to get back together with her? 

Was he the reason she left her old school in the first place?

My, my Dupain-Cheng. Felix thought. Aren’t you just full of secrets?

Tag List:  @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce

[abluescarfonwaston]

Hi! So, um,, I know this isn't something you should ask a writer so please feel free to ignore this. I was wondering,, , your "the white wolves" story has brought me so much joy and I am grateful that you wrote it! I was just wondering, if you're not going to finish it (this isn't meant to pressure you. If you don't want to finish it that is 100% fine and your choice and I'm thankful for the five chapters you gave us!!!) so, anyway, I was wondering what the conclusion was going to be? If you're comfortable answering that. If not, that's absolutely fine of course and I'm sorry for asking.

Thank you so much for your lovely stories and I hope you're having a wonderful day!

Okay first off, we're totally cool don't even worry about it. I am always touched people still care about and think about an unfinished piece from like 10 months ago. And now that I have seen that it's almost been a year I feel it is important to point out that while this fic has clearly been physically abandoned, it has not been emotionally. Or Else I would not have spent the last hour pacing back and forth angrily lamenting that I do not have more hands. I do not want to provide you with an unsatisfactory summary in an undercut about how the story was going to unfold. It is not that I mind sharing these details - I have done so to others who have asked. It's just that admitting something I still love so dearly may never get done hurts.

Hopefully one day I will find that voice again.

Spoilers for a fic that will (probably) never get finished under the cut. It is 2.6k and includes most of the final section.

The next sequence in the story is them all taking a nap on the side of the road. Jaskier gets up and calls Yennifer for help. Do you know that part in the books where Yennifer saves Dandelion and he doesn't know why? Because I owed you one. You kept him from being alone. I think about that alot. I think that's why she comes. Not then. She meets them at the keep in a few days time. She is too tired to arrive before then.

There is a scene of the four of them in an inn. Of Ciri, afraid to sleep least she destroy the inn like she destroyed that forested grove. We have a moment when he looks at candle on the inn nightstand and remembers a inn fire that almost killed him and how he hadn't wanted to sleep in an inn ever again. (I foreshadowed it. It's allowed. I once read that Regis saved Dandelion from an inn fire. I thought it was canon. I know its not. I think. I only ever read the short stories. They sit on my shelf. One day I'll read them.) He understands. Still he tucks her in and tells her it will be alright. That is the empty words of adults who lie to children that they think do not know better. No. It is the empty words of a bard whose job is to write lullabies that get children to bed on time. Besides it will be fine. Even if things go bad, we will be with you the entire time.

These are the two scenes I largely blame for the fact I stopped writing this fic. I got stuck on Yennifer's conversation and then wasn't sure how to get that inn scene to actually play out. Anyway. Back to the part you were actually asking about. What's the deal with the wolves? Both of them.

They arrive at the keep. They are greeted and loved and yeered at and pestered. Jaskier is nervous and concerned as he eyes the silver in their blades. It is strange they believe the doppler. But he was a very good Doppler. He digs his fingers into white fur. Remember you promised. You promised you were him. Don't let it be a lie.

And oh I have lost the voice but they are in the great hall with Vesemir and Eskel and Lambert and Geralt and Geralt and Yennifer. She peers into his eyes and does not reveal him. Silver medallions brush against skin and he does not flinch or melt. Geralt of Rivia is Geralt of Rivia. Of this there is no doubt.

The conversation turns to Ciri and Jaskier quietly slips out. It is snowing, just a few flurries on the still air. The wolf flows him to the room they set their bags in. Geralt's room.

This was not how it was meant to go. This is not how it was meant to go. Yennifer was supposed to look at the doppler and then at him and go what the hell and they would slip away and break the curse on the wolf - on Geralt. And they would quietly change hands. The Doppler into the wolf. The wolf into Geralt. Ciri would not know of the quiet deception they had pulled. The magicians trick with revolving mirrors.

Because clearly the doppler loved them. Because clearly the doppler had chosen them. Do you ever think about how in the short story Geralt is ready to kill the doppler that wears his face and it knows this because it is also him so it turns into Dandelion. Because he Knows Geralt would never hurt Dandelion? It's falling in with a lie. It is so easy to in love with a lie. Jaskier knows this.

It was supposed to be like this. Laying in a bed in the Keep with a white wolf next to him. Playing ballads for Geralt and Yennifer and Ciri and not hurting. Because he'd lay next to the wolf at night and bury his face in its fur. And in the spring they would run off to the coast together. You can wear a different face, whatever one you'd like, and will prove to you again and again that I still love you.

I am good at loving people. You know this about me. I might not be able to love you first. That might be why you love me. Because I loved Geralt of Rivia first. So completely that whatever motive you had you abandoned for the sake of it. For the taste of it. I know what it is like to want so desperately to be loved. Wearing different faces and personalities in the chance that someone might.

I know that very well.

But unlike you I'm always still just Jaskier.

The wolf slips in the door behind him.

Jaskier rounds on him. 'What the actual fuck? What the fuck are you? You Promised me. You Promised me you were him." The medallion bounces off his chest and he hates it. Rips it from his neck and brandishes it like a weapon. "I kept this for you! I thought you were him! You promised me you were him! What are you?! I told you I would help you even if you weren't him! Why?!"

The circle of the medallion cuts into his hand.

"Is this funny to you? Bringing me all the way up here and making me look a fool?! Making me watch Geralt picker her Again? Is this funny to you? You and this sadistic game?!"

And he throws the medallion. It hits the wolf dead on. Hit's his bowed forehead. Right between the eyes. Just in front of his flattened ears.

He has always been a good shot.

It is snowing outside. Just a few more flurries. The winter stretches out, immeasurably long in front of him.

He knows who Geralt chooses. That those 'I love you's are lies. No. Not lies. Geralt did not mean to lie. Not intentional. But it was so easy when your heart is broken to bury yourself in someone that does. Love you. Drowning men love life boats but they'd much rather be on the ship that cast them out.

He knows. It exactly what he was doing too.

I love you doppler. I could love you too.

The winter stretches immeasurably long in front of him.

"I can't do this." There is a bag in his hand. A case. "I can't do this."

There is a whine but he does not hear it as he rushes out the door. He can't do this. Down the stone hall. Wind whips through a hairline fracture in the Keeps walls and cuts his cheeks red where they are wet. He can't do this. Out the doors. Through the large wooden gates. He can't do this.

The winter stretches immeasurably long in front of him.

In the great hall a sickening feeling curdles in Geralt's gut. Honestly its seeing Yennifer again. This is all so wildly out of hand. Even if he knows they need her. That Ciri needs her.

"It's startin' to snow. Your idiot better come back soon."

"What?" He turned to Lambert who had curled up in a mountain of blankets in the window nearest the fire.

"Said it's starting to snow, dumbass."

"No the other part."

"Peacock left a while ago. Think he had the right idea. If I'd know she was coming I'd have stayed down south."

"What?" Snow was coming down hard. Big wet flakes. Could hardly see the keep walls through them. "Why didn't you say so sooner?!"

He shrugged. "His dog went after him."

His gut does a funny thing then. It eases in relief before his brain catches up and yanks tight in terror.

The wolf went after Jaskier.

Jaskier is alone.

With the wolf.

In a snow storm.

Jaskier is is alone in a snow storm. He walks down the mountain alone. As he knew he would. Why did he think it would be any different this time? Why does he never learn? He is a fool.

The wind picks up. The snow buries the path. He huddles in a protected alcove and wishes he'd been thinking clearly enough to steal one of Geralt's cloaks. Just to be petty.

He is probably going to freeze on this mountain. Walking down it alone. He might die. But even if he doesn't something will have died. Something in his chest that he cradled like wounded bird.

How many times must you touch fire, how many times must you be burned before you learn? How many times Jaskier? How many times?

He pulled his doublet tighter around him.

Just the one more time it seemed. Just once more.

Barking. Just one voice barking. Barking into the snow and wind in the distance.

Are you looking for your pack? Did you get lost? Separated? I hope they find you. I hope they answer you. I wish I had a pack to call out to.

The snow drifts down in heavy blankets and there is nothing to do but sleep. All he wants to do is sleep.

There is warmth in his dreams. Heavy and warm and soft and reeking of wet dog and something deeper. Something less domesticated and tame.

"You found him?"

Geralt's voice. Deep and soft. Reaches him. Buried in the snow. Cruel and kind in equal measure. To make him hear that voice before he, probably, dies.

"... Thank you."

There is a gasp. He recognizes it. That shocked little inhale of Geralt's.

"I think... That druid overpaid."

He wakes up to a stone ceiling. To thick and heavy furs covering him. to a wolf pressed into his side. To a man known as the white wolf pressed into the other.

Words will find him soon. But for now they are held back by a dam of confusion and exhaustion.

Geralt reaches an arm over him and scratches at the wolf's forehead. "Hm." Got it. The hum says. The same one he uses when Jaskier reminds him to pick something up in town. Hm. Got it.

The dam breaks.

"Oh so you're just okay with each other now? Everything is hunky dory? Jaskier goes out into a snow storm and you drag him - Unwillingly mind you - back here and now you're best fucking friends?! Well it's not all A-O-Kay over here so perhaps you might let me up so I can demand Yennifer do me the solid of getting me out of this godforsaken keep?" He wiggled under the mountain of blankets that held him captive.

"Wha-" Geralt's hand pressed down on his chest. Preventing escape.

"Or you know just go back to the love of your life, take your one goddamn blessing and leave me be!"

"Jask-"

"Oh don't give me that- you're gonna run right off after Yennifer and we both know it and you," Glared. Bared his teeth at the wolf. "Are a lying manipulative bastard and I hope she turns you into a gnat or a pigeon or - or something!"

"Jaskier!"

His jaw clicked closed. He did not soften his gaze.

"We- He - it's not. He didn't lie."

He scowled harder at Geralt.

"You remember that druid Ciri told you I helped?"

"... Vaguely."

A woman and woman who was not her wife. But was. In his story, in his song, he would tell it as if she was.

You saved my heart, I don't know what I'd have done if she. She. Witcher how can I ever repay you?

What food do you have on you?

Uh.

Fine. We don't have time. Don't tell them which way have gone.

No that's not- perhaps the law of su-

No. No. Lie. That will be enough.

It's not!

"He," Nodded to the wolf. "Was how she decided to pay."

He studied Geralt. Then the wolf. Their matching golden eyes.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Geralt grimaced. Hair falling over his face. "He's a familiar. She made him for me. Of me."

He studied the wolf again, distrustingly. "How does that work?"

Shrugged a shoulder. "You'd have to ask Yen."

"Don't care that much." He tried to wave his hand and the idea off but couldn't get it free from the covers. "Shouldn't you have known then? If he's made of you?"

"We weren't... connected. You have to. Touch."

"Oh and she thought you'd just go out of your way to touch a big white wolf? Honestly what was the plan there? You'd have just killed the damn thing."

"Mhmm."

"Seriously what kind of mad man goes out and pets a two hundred pound wolf? Could have at least tied a note to its neck for explanation before setting it loose on the countryside, wandering around looking for you."

"It wasn't..." He hummed his prodding question. "Looking for me. That's not what it was supposed to do."

"And pray tell what was it supposed to do?"

Geralt was quiet. The charged quiet that said he knew the answer but didn't want to tell him.

Eventually. With a fair bit of glaring and wiggling on his part, he answered.

"She was repaying the favor."

"Oh and what's that supposed to mean?! What you saved her partner and she sent the wolf to go out and save yours?" He scoffed. "What did she magic you 'a white wolf to protect your heart when you could not?' as you did for her? Is that it? Absolutely absurd, I wouldn't write that drivel."

Neither Geralt met his eye.

"Geralt...?"

"That's..." He ducked his head. "Hm."

Right.

"But then why-"

A wolf appears in the darkness. All white fur and golden eyes. Protects him from the bandits. Brings him a rabbit when his stomach growls.

I love you Jaskier. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize.

They lay on the bedroll and Geralt kisses him like a thousand drunken kisses. Like a thousand sober ones. And the wolf follows after Ciri and comforts her when they cannot.

The wolf seeks him out in that ruined clearing while Geralt cradles Ciri. While Geralt debates with Yennifer and Vesemir over Ciri's fate. Her training.

I love you Jaskier.

Protect his heart, white wolf, when he cannot.

"Oh."

He let his head fall to the side. Watched Geralt watch him with those golden eyes he had memorized decades ago. Listened to the sound of his breathing that was more familiar than his own.

"Tell me again."

Geralt cocked his head a fraction. Brow furrowed in confusion.

"Tell me again, what I did not believe. If it is true. Tell me again. Geralt of Rivia."

"Tell you...?"

"I love you, Geralt. Despite all sense and reason. Do not lie to me. Do not pretend if I am fated to walk down that mountain alone again. Do not lie to me."

His eyes widened. He pushed himself up and over him. Caged him in his muscular, scarred arms. Shoved the wolf aside.

It grumbled. Huffed. Walked out of the room. Towards Ciri. Towards his heart.

"Jaskier. I love you." He said again.

And this time. This time he believed him.

"Then, You absolute fool and dullard." With only Geralt to hold him down he worked his arms free. Held Geralt's head in his hands. Traced the stubble of his jaw that he could, if he needed to, shave blind. From memory alone. "Kiss me. I have waited long enough."

Geralt leaned down and did.

He remembered the barking of a single wolf. It's howls into the storm. Searching for its pack.

I hope your pack finds you. He wished to its unseen form.

Mine did.