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hannyoontify · 23 days ago

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the way you said hello - kim mingyu

member | executive chef!mingyu x reader (ft. jeonghan & seungkwan)

genre | (implied) soulmates!au, meet cute, strangers to lovers au, fluff, (angst if you rlly rlly rlly squint)

word count | 2.8k

synopsis | after a disastrous blind date, the night takes an unexpected turn when the restaurant’s handsome owner, mingyu, steps in. what starts as an act of kindness quickly becomes something more as sparks fly over a chance meeting

warnings | cursing, lowk kinda suggestive if you squint, kissing, one (1) mention of a knife, mentions of mingyu having previous injuries sustained from his occupation, there is a SIGNIFICANT time skip at the end but i don't specify how much LMAO that's up to ygs discretion

notes | requested by anon! i'm so sorry if this wasn't the direction you wanted it to go in 😭 i swear i tried my best! lowk don't know if i like this or not but i really liked the bickering between oc n seunghan NOT PROOFREAD

this can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to this mingyu fic!

You anxiously bounced your leg under the table, gently gnawing on your bottom lip as you glanced around the fancy restaurant. Across from you, the chair in front of you had now been empty for an awfully long time now and something told you that your blind date had ditched, leaving you with the incredibly overwhelming and taxing bill.

Fuck.

You rested your head in your hands and let out a tired sigh. There was no way this was happening.

As you reached for your wallet, you flagged down a nearby waiter to ask for the bill. He nodded at your request and you let out what seemed to the umpteenth sigh of that night. While waiting for the bill to reach your table, you began rearranging the leftover peas on your porcelain plate.

“Didn’t know we had a Picasso in the house.” An unfamiliar voice remarked next to you.

You yelped in surprise and whipped around to see a tall, handsome young man peering over your shoulder with an amused smile. He was in a black button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his prominent forearm muscles, tucked into a pair of dark trousers. “That’s very impressive… is that a self-portrait?”

You snorted in disbelief, your shoulders shaking as you let out a quiet laugh. “No, it’s supposed to be my date. Too bad they left before I could remember what they looked like.”

The mysterious man scrunched up his handsome face, as if to say ‘Ouch’. “Do you mind if I—?” He gestured towards the empty seat in front of you and you nodded.

“Go ahead. That seat’s going to be empty for the rest of the night anyways.” You let out a bitter laugh. He gave you a sympathetic smile and situated himself in front of you with an arm outstretched reaching over the table.

“Kim Mingyu. I’m the owner and executive chef of this restaurant. I received a report that there was an attractive young person who was left on their lonesome after their date mysteriously disappeared.” The man, Mingyu, tilted his head. “Didn’t think said person was going to be this attractive though.”

You blushed at his compliment as you shook his hand. “[Name]. Not sure who snitched on me, though I’m glad to have new company.”

“Are you… on your way out now? Since your date is gone?”

“Yes, I’m just waiting for the bill.”

Mingyu waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

After spilling coffee on your blouse this morning and running 30 minutes late for work, you were more than positive that the day was going to end in disaster. The disappearance of your blind date following a very long, tiring day at work only confirmed those suspicions. However, it seemed like that the goddess of luck was no longer hellbent on making your life a living disaster with the way the stranger sitting across from you managed to douse out the fire that had been burning within you for the past few hours with a single smile.

“I’m afraid I’m not. But if you feel pressured or aren’t comfortable with it, no worries!” Mingyu said lightheartedly.

“Oh my God,” You ran a tired hand through your face and let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “You literally just saved me from having the worst day ever. I was preparing myself to break down into tears once I received the check. Thank you, I really appreciate that.”

He smiled at your words. “Of course, just doing my daily random act of kindness for a stranger. Although…” He trailed off and you quirked an inquisitive brow at him.

“Although?” You asked.

“Although… would it appall you if I said it was my way of shooting my shot?” Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. His eyes nervously darted back and forth between your face and the half-eaten plate in front of him, left by your crappy blind date who was honestly, no longer in your realm of attention. Not when Mingyu was in front of you.

Shooting his shot? You felt your cheeks burn at a temperature similar to the candle perched on a candelabra on your table at his words and you coughed before fumbling to find the right words.

“I mean… I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Since you’re my savior tonight and all…” Your voice faltered and Mingyu beamed.

“That’s great! Here’s my business card, if you ever want to contact me.” He pulled out a crisp card and handed it to you as he got up from the chair. “Well, I must be getting on my way now. I’d love to stay and chat but I have big boss duties to do.”

Mingyu tipped an imaginary top hat towards your direction. You smiled. “It was nice meeting you, [Name].”

“It was nice meeting you too, Mingyu. I’ll contact you,” You waved his business card and he nodded.

“I’ll be looking forward to it. Bye, [Name].”

And with that he was gone, leaving nothing but the lingering scent of his perfume and the fluttering of your heart.

“Just call him!!” Your best friend urged you. He was sitting on the other end of the sofa, munching on a bag of chips as he watched you metaphorically rip your hair out over the business card you received from Mingyu a week ago.

“It’s not that simple, Seungkwan! What if he hates me now because it took me so long to contact him? I bet he’s forgotten about me at this point.” You pouted and continued to stare at the worn, but still elaborate cardstock in your hands.

Seungkwan rolled his eyes. “Dude, you’re overthinking this entire thing. Listen to me,” He paused to fix his posture to face you. “He gave you the business card, right?”

You nodded.

“Did he ask for your number?”

You shook your head.

“Did he receive any kind of contact information from you?”

You shook your head again.

“But he gave you his business card? [Name], he literally served you the ball on a silver platter. He’s interested in you but won’t make any moves unless you do. The ball is in your court. Take that damn ball and BOUNCE IT!”

Seungkwan let out a frustrated yell and shoved another handful of chips into his mouth. “I swear, you have the IQ of Jeonghan’s pet rock sometimes.”

“Hey! Doljjong is very intelligent!” Your other best friend yelled from the kitchen. “He has really good hearing too, so don’t insult him like that or else you’ll be dealing with me.”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes and you laughed as Jeonghan came out into the living room to give his own two cents.

“But Seungkwan’s right. The entire fate of a whole new possible relationship with this mythical Kim Mingyu—”

“HE’S REAL. I SHOOK HIS HAND.”

“—is in your hands. Don’t blow it. Or else me and Seungkwan—”

“Seungkwan and I.” You corrected him.

“—will be—Okay, fuck you, grammar police—Will be taking this matter into our own hands so we no longer have to hear your bitching and whining.”

You let out a frustrated groan and threw down the business card that’s been putting you through pain and misery through the past week.

“God, he was literally perfect. I don’t wanna blow it and—”

“That’s what they said.”

“Jeonghan, I’m going to literally throw Doljjong into the bottom of Han River and you’re going to be joining him soon after if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

Seungkwan burst into laughter and watched you and Jeonghan continue to argue back and forth.

“Forget it, it’s useless talking to a person who believes that a rock can be a pet.” You got up from your spot on the couch and reached for your phone. “I’m stepping out for some air. Lock the door if you leave before I come back.”

“See ya, don’t wanna be ya!” Jeonghan yelled from the living room as you left the house and you loudly groaned.

You loved both your best friends but they sometimes drove you absolutely insane.

The sky was dark but the countless lights from the skyscrapers and streetlights illuminated the Han River, making the surface twinkle and shine under the pale moonlight.

You were sitting on a lone bench, facing the river as you mindlessly fidgeted with Mingyu’s business card. The edges were fraying from the countless amount of times you’ve handled it between your fingertips, and you traced the black lettering of Mingyu’s name with your index finger as you silently sounded out every vowel and consonant of his name.

Seungkwan’s words rang in your head. ‘He literally served you the ball on a silver platter. He’s interested in you but won’t make any moves unless you do. The ball is in your court. Take that damn ball and BOUNCE IT!’

Like a switch was suddenly flipped inside you, you reached for your phone. The screen lit up and you pulled up a new message to type in the phone number that was written on the card in your hand.

Without a single thought, you sent,

hey! it’s [name]!

Before you could even type the first letter of your follow-up text, the status of your message changed from ‘Delivered’ to ‘Read 21:24’ and you let out a gasp.

And then the loud, shrill ringing of your ringtone cut through the peaceful night air.

You gasped louder than before after seeing the caller ID, reaching to frantically turn off the ringer before answering the phone.

“He–hello?”

“Took you long enough,” Mingyu’s voice sounded crisp and clear on the other end of the line. You couldn’t see him, but you could almost hear the smile in his voice as he spoke. “You almost had me thinking that you were ghosting me or something.”

You let out an apologetic groan. “I’m so sorry, Mingyu. I got in my head and kept putting it off. I swear it wasn’t personal…”

Mingyu’s laugh was bright. “No worries! I assumed you had your hands full. Although, I did jump a little every time I received a text from anyone from the past week.”

“Oh, man… I feel horrible. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m telling you, don’t worry about it! Better late than never, right?” There was an awkward moment of silence before he spoke again. “What are you up to right now?”

You hummed and looked out at the tranquil water of the Han River reflecting the bright lights of the city. “Nothing much. I stepped out for a minute for some air. What about you?”

“Oh, really? I’m actually out for a walk too.” You swore you heard a second voice near you, echoing the words Mingyu was saying in your phone. “Turn around for me?”

You whipped around with the phone still pressed to your ear to see Mingyu standing behind the bench, a small smile playing on his lips. You ended the phone call.

“Mingyu?”

“‘Morning, sunshine,” He slid into the empty spot next to you and you scooched over to make more room for him. “What a way to run into the guy you’ve been ghosting, huh?”

You snorted at his greeting, ignoring the slight burn you felt in your cheeks from the nickname he had addressed you by. “I told you, it wasn’t intentional.”

Mingyu grinned. “I know. Just felt like teasing you.”

“What are- what are you doing here though? Do you live in this area?” You asked. He nodded.

“Yeah. I moved into that apartment complex not too long ago,” He pointed to a tall building on the other side of the river. “Has a killer night view. You should come over to check it out sometime.”

You choked on your spit, resulting in you barking out a short, panicked laugh. “Do you—-do you usually say these… these things to people?”

“No, not really. I’m not usually like this,” Mingyu looked over at you with a slight tilt in his head. The night breeze brushed his bangs across his forehead and you felt your breath falter at the way the closest streetlight illuminated his honey-like, gorgeous skin.There was a particular glint in his eyes as he opened his mouth to speak again. “Pardon me if this is too brazen, but I’m only like this when I feel like I’ve met the one. My soulmate.”

Your breath was caught in your throat.

“Does it… usually work?” You choked out. Your face felt incredibly hot and your clammy hands were sticking to the bench.

Mingyu turned back to face the river and your stomach did an odd flip. “I’m not sure. You tell me.”

Oh God. You thought you were melting on the spot with the way he was looking at you. Mingyu was holding eye contact with such intensity, you physically couldn’t look away. Your heart hammered wildly against your ribcage and you decided you were going to sign yourself up for the upcoming Olympics, with the way your stomach was doing flips like an Olympic gymnast. Simone Biles had nothing on whatever routine was going on inside you right now.

“… I’d give it a solid 8 out of 10.” You gave him the most nonchalant shrug you could afford, knowing that there were enough butterflies in your stomach to start a butterfly conservatory. Mingyu looked at you as if he was surprised by the score.

“Really? What would I have to do to win back the last two points?”

You gave him a pointed look, and the next words to leave your mouth almost sent you into cardiac arrest. “Hmm… live up to your words? I guess?”

And the smile Mingyu gave you in that moment was the brightest one of all. His entire being seemed to glow in ecstasy, glowing brighter than the streetlights as he looked at you with a suggestive glint in his eyes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Mingyu?” You called from the living room. Mingyu didn’t respond and the only thing you heard from the kitchen was the clattering of plates and silverware. “Babe?”

Pushing yourself off the couch with a quiet groan, you padded over to the kitchen where your fiancé was busying himself with preparing dinner. He was hunched over the counter, his hands and trusty knife busy at work as he chopped away on his chopping block. Careful not to startle him when he had a knife in his hand, you snuck your arms around Mingyu’s torso and peered over his shoulder to watch him work his magic.

“Watcha doing?” You asked sweetly. Mingyu acknowledged your presence with a short peck on your forehead.

“Hi, baby.” His voice was rough and the sound sent shivers down your spine. “Preparing to feed you. Why?”

You hummed and nuzzled your face into Mingyu’s back. He smelled like a mix of spices, sweat, and his faint woody cologne permeated your senses. “Do you think we’re soulmates?”

Mingyu set down his knife and turned around to face you, his back resting against the marble counter with his hands resting comfortably at your waist.

“What’s with the sudden question?” He quirked a well-groomed brow at you and you smiled.

“Nothing… I just read a blog about soulmates and I was curious about whether you thought they were real,” Your fingers danced along Mingyu’s strong, muscular forearms, your fingertips lightly tracing all the old scars and burn marks that signified his experience and years spent working to master his craft. You repeated your original question again. “So… do you think we’re soulmates?”

Mingyu leaned in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “I don’t think so, love. I know so.”

“Really?” Your eyes brightened at his words and he nodded.

“Mhm. I knew from the moment I saw you playing with those leftover peas on your plate that I was going to marry you,” Mingyu leaned in again, nuzzling his nose against yours. You giggled. “Sometimes, I have dreams where I knew you in another life. But those dreams felt so… real. Like they’re fragments of memories from a past I can’t recall.”

“Are we married in those dreams too?”

“Mhm. We were happily married, just like we’re going to be.” Mingyu captured your lips with his, sighing gently as your fingers combed through his dark hair.

“I love you, Mingyu.” You whispered against his lips, like a secret only meant for the two of you to know. Something to be taken and hidden away, kept a secret in the deepest depths of the earth. A secret so sacred, it can only be cherished in the deepest, darkest places so that no one else can know.

“I love you too, [Name],” Mingyu’s love confession was more bold. Something he uttered with purpose and intention. He wanted the entire universe to know that he was yours. His heart belonged to you. He was going to love you loudly and boldly. “I’ll love you in every universe. Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow.”

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

a/n: this is a big personal FUCK YOU to writer's block AHGJSJD i somehow managed to push through and finish this 😭 (it was at 300 words when i started today) albeit it was on my phone, in the dark, at 1 in the morning BUT I FINISHED IT. n now my insomnia's back LMAOO

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sparklingchim · 1 year ago

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you're losing me; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 3.2k

rating: 18+

genre: angst, married couple, age gap, ceo jk, nepo baby oc, second chance romance

warnings: thigh riding, liddol hickey, spittt, groping, dirty talk, name calling, only one spank!!, arguments 🙄, mentions of smoking?, daddy kink, fake sympathy, creampie, little cum play,

summary: jungkook is late from work yet again. but he shows you just how much he missed you.

a/n: this is for us angst girlies 🫂

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Something is not right.

Your nose picks up on the unfamiliar scent on Jungkook as you bury your face into his chest. He squeezes you tightly, big arms embracing you with a warm hug.

“Hi, love,” he softly whispers. Jungkook cradles your head and you melt into his hand. He is bent down to your position on the bed, his loose tie hanging from his neck.

“Missed you.” Your voice gets buried in the kiss Jungkook presses on your lips. You catch his tie and pull him closer.

“I told you not to stay up.” He leans back. Accusatory eyes peering down at you.

Your nose scrunches when he steps away, the pungent waft snaking up your nostrils.

“Did you smoke?”

His round eyes widen at the question, but he denies it with a firm shake of his head. His neatly styled hair doesn’t move – except the short, wispy flyaways on his forehead. Jungkook’s lips pucker the slightest bit. He appears innocent and you believe him if he tells you so.

“I was with Mingyu a lot,” he explains. He places his folded suit jacket on the dresser and begins to loosen the sleeve of his shirt. “You know how he is when he’s stressed.”

You lean against the headboard. “I don’t like the smell.”

“I know.” He starts unbuttoning the front of his shirt. “I’m sorry.” He walks over to his nightstand and exchanges his Rolex for his smart watch. You watch him with knitted eyebrows. “I’m gonna head down to the gym – do a quick workout session.”

“Jungkook it’s late. You just got home from work.” You reach for his arm.

He turns to you, chiselled chest peeking out from underneath his unbuttoned shirt. “It’s fine. I’m not tired.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Then let me watch you work out.”

Jungkook sniffs a laugh. “You stay here.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Get some sleep for me, yeah? I know you have an appointment tomorrow morning.” His knuckles trace the outline of your jawline.

You sigh and draw back.

“Hey – don’t be upset.” He catches your chin with his fingers. “I told you I was gonna work out today.”

A harsh glower settles on your face. “Well, I thought that meant you’d come home earlier.”

“I tried to, love. I really tried.” His worried eyes search for understanding in yours. “I don’t want you upset. I never want you upset.”

He tilts your chin, so you meet his eyes. Jungkook’s gaze is soft. The amount of softness you’d have if you were staring at a delicate, precious thing. He always looks at you like this.

“I only ever want to make you happy. Nothing else.” His eyebrows raise to stress the tender words he whispered into the room. “Just want to make my wife happy.”

Warmth spreads in your chest. “I know that,” you answer meekly.

Deep down, there’s an overwhelming desire to pour your heart out to him, to express the multitude of things that have been gnawing at your soul, each one a sharp thorn in your side, leaving you utterly upset. But considering how late it is you don’t think it’s the right moment to unleash this torrent of pent-up frustration.

You’re both tired from the useless arguments. You don’t want to make this day any more exhausting for him.

“If you want to make me a happy wife then finish off that workout quickly and join me in bed,” you say. “I need cuddles.”

His eyes crease before a gentle smile sweeps over his mouth. “Good night, love.” He catches your lips in a swift, tender good-night-kiss. “You should shut that thing off. It’s too late for that.” Jungkook regards your iPad with a disgruntling scrunch of his nose. He hates screen time before bed. But you just love drawing on it.

You’d tease Jungkook with it sometimes. Annoy the hell out of him until he’d see no other choice but to put you to sleep his way.

But now Jungkook tucks you under the bed, makes sure to grab his number one enemy when it comes to having you to himself at night and hides in his nightstand.

You watch him slip off his shirt as he crosses the room. You get a glimpse of his broad shoulders and unfairly teeny tiny waist before he leaves the bedroom.

You turn to your side. A tiring sigh flies past your lips.

With two gentle claps of your hands the dim lights in the room shut off.

The spot next to you is empty. Cold.

It’s unsettling how quickly you’ve gotten used to the feeling.

The mattress dips beside you.

“Hmm?” You stir awake, emitting confused murmurs.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook hushes from behind you. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Your head turns in his direction. “Jungkook.” You bury your face into the crook of his neck. He is a magnet, always pulling you in. Even when you are sleepy and can barely force your eyes open.

His fingers find their way to your hair and in slow patterns he strokes over the length of it.

“What time is it?” you mutter the question into his skin.

“Just past midnight.”

“Two hours?” Your peeved grumble prompts him to peck your bare shoulder. “You said quick workout.”

“I didn’t work out the entire week, babe.”

You rest your head on his arm, glaring up at him. “It’s just Wednesday.”

Jungkook shushes you with a firm squeeze on your hips. “I’m here now. Done with everything.”

When you hear him emit a tiny, exhausted blow through his nose – barely audible in the quiet room, but you notice because you notice every little detail about him – your eyes turn worried.

“You okay?”

Jungkook lets the questions linger in the air before he nods firmly, uttering a, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

You tentatively sweep his short hair from his forehead. It’s a little damp from the shower.

“The day was filled with lots of important meetings. It was a lot today.” Before you can place your hand back on his chest, he catches your wrist and adds a small kiss to the back of your hand.

You figured as much. Jungkook barely texted you back today. Needed hours to respond.

“Was at least the food that I ordered for you good?”

“Fuck – don’t remind me.” He bites his bottom lip, pleasure spreading over his face. “The food was incredible. Have you eaten there before?”

A smile curves your lips. “Uh-huh. Went there with Namjoon last week. I didn’t know when you’d have time to have dinner there with me, so I got my favourite from the menu for you.”

Jungkook has been coming late from work for over two weeks now. You barely had cute dates anymore.

“We can go there.” His tatted fingers toy with the hem of your lacy nightgown. “You wanna go there tomorrow? I’ll finish work earlier.”

Your eyes sparkle. “I’d love to.”

Jungkook’s dimple appear at your beaming face. He drags your thigh over his abdomen, the silky fabric of your nightgown riding up the curve of your butt. His palm rests on the exposed skin.

“Why didn’t you blow dry your hair?” you ask. You tug at some damp strands.

“Didn’t want to wake you.” Jungkook cranes his neck down to gently kiss your forehead. “We should sleep now. It’s late.”

Your brows furrow in exaggerated displeasure. “Not yet.”

“What’s wrong, love?” He cups your cheek worriedly.

“Wanna hang out more.”

Jungkook chuckles lightly. “You wanna hang out?”

“You’ve been making me feel really lonely,” you say in a pout.

“Love, fuck.” His hand on the swell of your ass squeezes your flesh. “Don’t say that.”

“You’re barely home.” You get closer to him, if even possible, knee skimming past the front of his grey sweatpants. The pads of his fingers dig into your skin at that motion.

“You really don’t wanna sleep, huh?”

“Nuh-uh.”

You slowly start to grind your hips against him.

“Then let me make up for all the time I’ve been away from my wife.”

You giggle when he draws you on top of him. You straddle his thigh as Jungkook leads your face down to his mouth. It’s an impatient and longing kiss, the type that has your mind bewitched, compelling you into chanting his name in a never-ending rhythm.

Jungkook rids himself of his sweatpants, tossing them to the ground with his feet.

Your hips continue to move on his now bare thighs, moving your kisses from his lips to his neck. He doesn’t like having marks on his neck, but you can’t help but feel a little selfish when you start sucking on his skin. Just merely a second after, Jungkook pulls at your hair.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he questions with a sharp gaze.

“Having fun?” Your desire to leave a little hickey might also stem from media outlets starting to question why Jungkook and you haven’t been spotted together recently, but you’d rather not admit that. You don’t want him to think that you care about public perception, even though Jungkook is very well aware of it all. You just like to pretend it doesn’t affect you.

You just can’t wait for the photos tomorrow when you will show up in a cute outfit with Jungkook holding your hand, a small love bite adorning his neck after not making a public appearance with him for a couple weeks.

He sniffs a laugh. “Just can’t help it, can you?”

“Never.” You bat your eye lashes.

His hands are on your waist, encouraging your slow movements. He bunches the soft material of your baby blue nightgown in his palms, staring at your clothed pussy.

“I can feel how wet you are for me.” His eyes move with the motions of your hips, a gentle smirk capturing his lips. “What’s gotten you so worked up, babe?” He flexes his thigh, coaxing a gasp from you.

“You.” You’re already a little breathless, his heartbreakingly handsome face fuelling the deep desire of needing more.

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Have I not been taking care of my love? Hm?” Jungkook asks you in mock sympathy.

You nod, pressing your palms against his ripped chest while your hips grind a bit rougher on his thigh.

“I’m sorry.” He traces your bottom lip, gentleness coating his words. He pops his finger into your mouth, making you suck on it. You swirl your tongue around it until he withdraws his finger, sneaking it in your panties and pressing it against your sensitive clit.

A whine flies past your lips at his touch, moving even faster.

“You’re gonna cum for me like this?” He starts circling the pad of his thumb on your clit.

Arching your back, you lean in for a kiss, uttering little moans of his name against his lips. You can feel the smug smirk on his mouth, can feel his possessiveness in the way he squeezes your ass and hear it in the loud smack that echoes through the room after his palm collided with your butt.

When you feel the pleasure exploding within you, you bury your face into Jungkook’s neck. Your body trembles. Jungkook tilts his head and gingerly pecks your temple, hands skimming over your back.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

Jungkook puts you on your back, tugging off your panties and carelessly throws them away. He does the same to his pair of black briefs.

You watch him spit on his dick and stroke his hard cock while you get comfy on the pillows. Jungkook rubs his tip over your soaked pussy, leisurely pressing his dick inside when his head is against your entrance.

“Fuck, I missed your pussy.” He wraps your legs around his waist, staring at how your pussy takes his entire length.

As he moves his cock, his hand raises to your head to tame your chaotic hair. You pucker your lips a little and he instantly answers your silent request with a smooth press of his mouth against yours.

“Want your vibrator?” he asks.

“Too sensitive.” Your nails graze his back, your feet keeping him close to you.

Jungkook pushes your silky nightgown past your tummy and over your tits. He loves watching them bounce as he thrusts his cock into your pussy. He gropes them, toying a little with your nipple as he swipes his spit over your nub. His eyes are practically glued to the supple swells on your chest.

Until he finds something prettier than your tits. Your face.

He wears a boyish smile on his face when you meet his gaze. You bite your lip, pleasure and giddiness swirling through you.

“Taking my cock so well,” he praises. “Such a good slut for daddy.”

You gulp, teeth sinking further into your lip.

He lowers his head, pulling your earlobe between his lips before he whispers, “Right? You love being a good slut for daddy.”

Chills spreads over your neck and you manage a meek nod as loud whines escape your throat.

“Use your big girl words,” Jungkook demands. “Tell me whose girl you are. You can do that, can’t you?” His voice turns sweet again, though the taunting glint remains in his eyes. Your pussy foolishly clenches.

“I’m daddy’s girl,” you utter with bright eyes.

Jungkook flashes you his dimples. Excitement spreads in your tummy at his approval.

“Open,” he instructs and you part your mouth. He drops a tiny bead of saliva in your mouth. With one hand around your throat, he feels you swallowing it. “Good girl.”

He pushes the back of your thighs towards your body, picking up on his speed.

“Jungkook,” you moan weakly.

“Gonna fill this pussy with my cum.”

He pounds you faster, harder, filling the room with filthy sounds.

“I’m close,” you mumble, fingers clawing at the bed.

“Cum with me,” he rasps.

Jungkook grunts your name and you feel yourself topple over the edge as his tip kisses the sweet spot inside you, repeatedly hitting it until your hands fly up to his shoulders and nails dig into his skin.

His hips still, painting your pussy white. Jungkook plants slow kisses on your collarbone, trying to catch his breath.

When he pulls out, his cum follows, but he pushes your mixed juices back inside. You moan lightly, tapping your feet against his back to tell him to get you something to clean you up.

But Jungkook remains on top of you just a little longer. “You did so good,” he whispers. He catches your left hand and pecks the ring that adorns your finger. “I love you.”

“Love you,” you mutter back, a tiny, exhausted smile curving your mouth.

“Forever.” With a doting kiss he conceals the promise he has been making to you for four years.

Getting off the bed, he puts on his briefs and disappears into the bathroom to fetch a warm cloth. When he returns to clean you up, he is gentle with you, peppering kisses on your tummy and thighs and flashing cute smiles your way as he does it.

With his sweatpants and now dirty cloth he walks back into the bathroom.

“Have you thought about costumes for the Halloween party?” you ask him.

“Halloween party?” His voice ricochets through the bathroom.

“Chanyeol’s Halloween party,” you remind him as he saunters back into the bedroom. The grey sweatpants hang dangerously low on his hips. “Wanna go through my Pinterest board? I collected some cute ideas.”

He grabs white lacy panties from the dresser. “It’s in two weeks?” Jungkook helps you slip on the new panties, ducking down to press a light peck on the little bow sitting on the centre of it. “I’ll see if I can find the time.”

You look at him puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook rakes his hand through his messy hair. “You know I’m extremely busy at the moment.”

“But we always go to Chanyeol’s party.” You reach for his hand, tugging him closer to the bed. Disappointment pulls your lips into a pout.

Chanyeol’s Halloween party is always big, extravagant and ridiculously dramatic, but that is exactly what makes it fun. You love extravagance. Love dressing up.

Jungkook’s finger brusher over your dainty ring. “You can still go. You don’t need me to go with you.”

You drop his hand with a frustrated huff. It’s not the response you wanted to hear. “Missing out on Jimin’s birthday last week wasn’t enough?” you ask disdainfully. A bit mean. You don’t care.

“I’m not doing it purposefully.” He levels you with reproving eyes. “I wish I could’ve come.”

You tuck your feet back underneath the blanket, pulling it up to your lap. “Just squeeze in a little time for the party.” You almost add a “please?”, but you’re feeling terribly annoyed; the kind that makes you unconsciously clench your jaw and pull your brows so tightly, they practically touch.

“I’m not going to schedule around a silly Halloween party, ___.” His tone drips with irritation.

“Fine,” you reply, scooching back on the bed. “Don’t know why I even bothered.”

“Love.” It’s a futile attempt at taming the sudden raging anger that crawled up your neck.

“You’ve been doing this constantly, Jungkook.”

He still stands in front of the bed. Tongue poking his cheek as he debates his next words. He swipes his hand over his face, sighing into his palm.

“You don’t understand,” he grumbles annoyed.

“I know you don’t.”

Jungkook scoffs at your reply – even wears a crooked, ridiculing smile. An angry flush appears on his cheeks.

“Let’s not do this before bed,” he suggests. Tiredness is written all over him.

We’re already in the middle of it. But you keep that to yourself. You don’t have the energy for a bigger fight. He’s drained it from you from all the fights the nights before this.

“I don’t care anymore,” you say. “Shouldn’t have asked you anyway.”

Jungkook turns off the little lamp on his bedside table before he gets into bed. You turn your back to him.

Your heart is heavy with confusing emotions as you lie there in silence. You almost feel your eyes well up with tears, but you blink them away as soon as you feel them.

“Want me to accompany you to your appointment?” Jungkook asks suddenly.

“No.” Yes.

“I’ll start work a little later.” Jungkook’s hand sweeps across your tense shoulders. You must’ve unintentionally stiffened at the mention of your gynaecologist appointment. “I know you’re a little anxious.”

As sleep gradually embraces you a little later, you try to pull back every time invisible strings tug you closer towards Jungkook. You don’t want to sleep in his arms this night, but your heart stubbornly ignores what your mind wants.

Your silent resistance eventually ends, surrendering to the inevitability of your limbs becoming entwined with his. Your cheek is pressed against his chest and his nose is buried in your hair while the soft cadence of his heartbeat finally lulls you into a deep slumber.

This is just the way Jungkook and you function.

Yet, despite your efforts, small seeds of doubt continue to sprout up in your mind, making you question just how much longer you can tolerate this.

#yup yupp it's me again starting a new jk series in the middle of the night !#jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook drabble #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #bts fanfic

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rizlowwritessortof · 4 months ago

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Remember Me - Part 1

Michaela’s mundane life takes a strange turn when she has a random encounter with a very attractive stranger in her local bar. It must be déjà vu – or maybe it isn’t.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OC Michaela

Word Count: 2031

Warnings: None in Part 1, eventual smut

Dividers by @talesmaniac89

A shot and beer hit the bar in front of Michaela, and she handed a ten to the bartender with a vague smile and “Thank you.” It had been a very long week, so it was time to medicate a little and try to relax before going home to her too-quiet house.

The bar was almost always sparsely populated, and that night was no exception. She glanced around the room, finding nothing new to hold her attention, so she focused on the television playing “Wheel of Fortune” and downed her shot.

She and the bartender exchanged small talk – she didn’t really know her very well, but it passed the time. She was almost finished with her second beer, scrolling on her phone when the girl leaned over the bar to whisper in her ear. “Do you know that guy?”

She looked up at her, confused, and the bartender quirked her head to the right. She turned slowly, and it was as if time shifted down, sounds muted, her vision narrowing its focus to the tall, broad-shouldered stranger at the end of the bar. He was staring at her with fierce intensity, his eyes narrowed and his brows drawn together as if he was trying like hell to remember something.

She knew exactly how he felt.

It was right there, dancing around the outskirts of memory. He was definitely not the kind of man you’d forget, but she’d never seen him before, she’d swear to it. A nagging voice inside her head, though, was telling her it was a lie, that she should know him – that she did know him.

She slid off her bar stool and moved slowly towards him, irresistibly pulled into his orbit. Even in the dim light that faded most colors into nondescript greys and browns, his eyes were a striking shade of green. He swallowed hard, dropping his gaze and taking a step back, suddenly uncomfortable. She tilted her head, still looking at his face. “Do – do I know you from somewhere?”

He cleared his throat, leading into an awkward laugh. “Yeah, you look really familiar to me, too. Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare like a creeper.”

She leaned one elbow on the bar as he looked into her face again. “Seriously, I have the strangest feeling...”

He nodded. “Yeah. Me, too. I, uh…” He cleared his throat again, clearly nervous. “You wanna get a table? Maybe we can figure it out.”

She gnawed at her lip for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, just – let me grab my stuff.” He watched her walk away, grabbing the phone from his pocket and dialing.

“Sammy? Yeah, I’m at the bar, it’s Sandy’s or Randy’s or something. There’s a girl here… Yeah, very funny. No, Sam, I think there’s something weird going on. Witchy, or… I don’t know. Just come down here, see if you know this girl. Okay.” She watched him put his phone back into his pocket as she approached him, and he smiled. “Just letting my brother know where I am. You – ah – you want another beer?”

“Sure. Another beer sounds great, thanks.”

He motioned to the bartender, who acknowledged his waved bottle with a nod. He turned back to the table where Michaela had already claimed a spot, pulling out the chair across from her. “My name is Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester.”

“Michaela Barrett. Nice to meet you. Or see you again. Whatever this is.” She smiled, a little self-conscious, and ducked her head down to look at the table, thanking the bartender for the beer as she closed her hand around it.

“I can’t believe I’d forget a smile like that,” Dean said softly, and she blushed, glancing up at him to catch the genuine confusion on his face. He wasn’t flirting. He was serious. She let her eyes roam over the contours of his face, the shape of his mouth, the breadth of his shoulders, then back to his eyes. He was looking right back at her, and she felt her face grow warm again.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare, I just – I can’t believe I’d forget you, either. This is so...”

“Insane?” He was smiling, and she responded in kind.

“Yeah. Kind of.” She looked up as the bell above the door rang, and her eyes widened a little. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Another stranger, very tall with shaggy dark hair, had entered the room, and she was having that weird feeling of recognition that she’d experienced with Dean, although not quite as intense.

Dean turned in his chair. “Sammy. Somebody I want you to meet.” Michaela watched as the man neared their table, his eyes never leaving her face. “Mikey, this is my brother, Sam.”

She stared at Dean, her eyes wide. “How did you know… I never told you I go by Mikey.”

Dean shifted self-consciously in his seat. “Michaela. This is Michaela Barrett.”

Sam nodded to her, returning her uncomfortable smile, and took a seat, looking at his brother in disbelief. “Okay, now I see what you mean. This is...”

“Crazy, we know,” Mikey interjected, looking into his face. “So you think you know me, too? Did you guys used to live here?”

Dean shook his head. “I’ve never been here. Have you ever been in Kansas? Or South Dakota?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve lived in Ohio my whole life. I’ve never been out of this state. Except maybe a trip when I was a kid or something, but otherwise...” She took several swallows of her beer and took a deep breath, blowing it out between her lips. “I’m freaking out a little. I’m – I’ll be right back.” She stood suddenly, pushing her chair back and rushing towards the restrooms in the back. Sam turned an incredulous look on his brother.

“What the hell, Dean?”

“I know! I have no idea. You think something witchy?” His quizzically raised eyebrows slowly lowered themselves into a frown as Sam watched.

“What?”

“Something witchy? Or something angel-y.”

Sam’s expression tightened as well as he met Dean’s glare. “Shit. You think?”

“I think we need to talk to Cas. See if he knows anything. Tonight.”

“I agree.”

Mikey made her way slowly back to the table, and Dean watched with concern as she took her seat, her hands shaking a little. “Hey, Michaela – you okay?”

“Really – Mikey’s okay.” Dean’s lips twitched into a one-sided smile and he nodded. “I just… this has me spun out a little. I think I need to go home. Can I give you my number, maybe we can talk again?”

“Yeah, sure. And I’ll give you mine.” He looked intently into her eyes as she handed him her phone. “We’ll figure this out. We will.” They exchanged phone numbers, and then they all headed out to the small parking lot. “Sure you’re okay to drive home?” Dean asked as he walked her to her car. She nodded, looking up at him with a lost expression.

“I’m okay. I’m cold sober right now. And besides, my place is just a few blocks, so - not like I have far to go. I just wish I knew what was happening.”

“If we figure anything out, we’ll let you know, I promise. Be careful.”

He leaned in, his hand on her face, and kissed her. Sam stared in shock, harshly whispering, “Dean!” and watching his brother jerk away from her as if he’d been burned.

Dean looked at Sam, his eyes wide, then back to Mikey, who was blinking up at him with her mouth open. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that.”

She closed her mouth and swallowed hard, her fingers brushing over her lips. “I – um – it’s okay. I mean, funny thing is, it was like… like I almost expected it? Like it was – kind of normal.” She turned back to her car, pulling the door open and getting behind the wheel. “Okay, well… don’t forget to call if you… you know.”

“We will. G’night.” Sam raised his hand in a little wave, and she backed out, then headed down the street, Dean still staring after her.

“Dean, what the hell?”

“Sammy, I don’t know. It just happened, I didn’t even think about it. She’s not the only one who’s spun out over this.” He jerked the driver’s side door open. “I need some sleep, and we need to talk to Cas ASAP. I’m going nuts, here.”

The next morning dawned grey and rainy, and Mikey dragged herself out of bed and into the shower. Dean had called, wanting to stop over and bring a friend of theirs to meet her, and she agreed, although she couldn’t see how he would be able to help. It was all just too strange, and the dreams she’d had the night before didn’t set her mind at ease.

When she answered the door, Sam and Dean were greeted with the smell of fresh coffee, bacon and cinnamon rolls hot out of the oven, and it took effort for Dean not to pull her in for a bear hug when he saw the food set out on the large coffee table.

“So, where’s this friend of yours?” she asked after they had filled their plates, watching Dean’s enthusiasm for the food with a smile.

“He’s meeting us here. Should be coming soon.”

“So – how is he going to help? I mean, is he a hypnotist or something? I don’t understand...”

Dean and Sam exchanged a cautious glance, and Dean turned to face her. “Well, we should really have a talk. Some of it’s gonna sound a little weird.”

“Weird. Weird like the dream I had last night, you and I fighting some kind of monsters with sharp teeth, chopping their heads off? And a whole trunk full of weapons in that car of yours? I think I must be losing my mind,” Mikey laughed, and then let the smile melt from her face at the brothers’ expressions. “What?”

Dean stood up, holding out a hand. “Come with me, Mikey.” She stared at him warily for a second, then took his hand and let him lead her out to the trunk of the Impala. He unlocked and opened it, then stepped back, watching her eyes widen at the sight.

“What the fuck.” The color was draining from her face, and Dean took hold of her arm.

“I seriously think maybe we’d better sit down for this.” He led her back into the house to the sofa, seating her there and taking a place beside her.

“Dean, I don’t understand...”

“Sam and I – we hunt monsters, Mikey. Like the kind you dreamed about. Those were probably vampires, they’ve got a mouth full of sharp teeth, not the two fangs like in the movies. And beheading is how you kill them.”

“Vampires.”

“Yeah.” Her face was white, and Dean reached for her hand. “Mikey, breathe.”

“You’re telling me vampires are real.”

“And a lot of other things. Most people don’t know they exist, unless they’re unlucky enough to run into them. But they’re out there, and my brother and I take care of them. Save people from them, as much as we can. And I think, maybe, that you used to hunt with us.”

“You think I used to help you cut the heads off monsters.”

“And I think somehow that our memories got erased. Possibly by an angel.”

She stared at him as if broccoli had just sprouted from his ear. “Sure. Probably. I mean, who else would erase our memories but an angel?” A firm knock sounded at the door, and she pulled her hand from Dean’s, going to the door and continuing as she opened it, still looking back at Dean. “You’re being serious right now? I’m not still having one of my weird dreams?” She turned to face the visitor still standing at the door, staring into his very blue eyes for a frozen second, then almost tripping over her feet as she scrambled backward in terror, moving behind the sofa to stand behind Dean. “Stay away from me!”

Cas stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “Hello, Michaela.”

Tags for my lovelies:

@saenalife @deanscarlett @jensensgotyoudean @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog

@geeklibrarian @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @mrswhozeewhatsis @littlegreenplasticsoldier @sleep-silent-angel

@darcia22 @winchesterprincessbride @ellen-reincarnated1967 @eyes-of-a-disney-princess @deanslittleangel2y5

@melanie451 @spectaculacular-sammy @bookchic20 @jodyri @selma-jean-blog

@savingapplepie-eatingthings @kittenofdoomage @masked-maiden42 @lean-mean-deanwinchester @ericuhlorain

@undecided-garden @ceeceewinchester @typicalweirdbookworm @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit @youtoldalie

@tanithlowisabamf-blog @deandoesthingstome @jxackles @nerdwholikesword @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic

@kreweofimp @gabavaldman @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog @darkx143 @disassociativedogma

@ioanashalala @jencharlan @deansthirstblog @dorky-and-i-know-it @mischief-maker1

@winchestersandwordprocessors @percussiongirl2017 @bringmesomepie56 @akshi8278 @torn-and-frayed

@sandlee44 @wingedcatninja @evansrogerskitten @emoryhemsworth @peaceinourtime82

@dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @sarcasmqueen74 @maliburenee @mrsjenniferwinchester @yeehawbitchs

@emily-winchester @hobby27 spnbaby-67 @zepskies @ladysparkles78

@alwaystiredandconfused @just-another-busyfangirl

#remember me #part 1 #dean fic #dean x oc #dean x michaela

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aylacavebear · 24 days ago

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Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 20

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 9761

Warnings: Dean's "memories" from the night at the bar when he saw her again after leaving after graduation. Bathroom scene in this one.

A/N: Well, here it is everyone, what Dean was going through over the course of the story. I hope it was worth the wait. Things will pick back up on 10/24 with Chapter 25 and you'll still get next Friday's up on the 25th with Chapter 26. <3

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 20

During the drive, Dean stole glances at her from the corner of his eye, his jaw clenched as he tried to focus on the road. The mere thought of that creep being anywhere near her made his grip tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. He wanted to tell her everything, to let the truth spill out and finally ease the gnawing ache in his chest. But he couldn’t. The weight of his secrets pressed down on him, each unspoken word like a stone in his gut. All he could think about was holding her, wrapping her in his arms, and chasing away the hurt he knew she carried.

Benny and Cas had left ahead, wanting to double-check and make sure this wasn’t some sort of trap. The thought of Cole getting her alone, of her being taken away with no choice in the matter, gnawed at Dean’s nerves. Her suggestion to bring Benny and Cas along had been a lifeline, a small comfort in the storm raging inside him. He knew she’d done it to ease his mind, and for that, he was more than grateful than he could ever put into words.

As they pulled into the parking lot, Dean’s eyes quickly found Benny’s car—and Cole’s. No call from the guys meant nothing had gone sideways yet. Still, his pulse hammered in his ears as he parked near the door, forcing himself to take a breath and calm the storm raging in his chest.

“I’m sorry you got involved in any of this mess,” her voice was quiet, pulling his gaze to her. She looked so vulnerable, her eyes downcast, guilt etched into her features as if she believed this was somehow her fault.

Dean wanted to reassure her, but his words came out rougher than he intended. “It’s not your fault. I just don’t trust that family,” He sighed, frustration lacing his tone he added, “ Let’s just get this over with.” The thought of her sitting across from that asshole, playing nice when he wanted nothing more than to smash Cole’s face in, made his blood boil.

Can and Benny were near Benny’s car, waiting. Dean did open her door, but could tell she was more than nervous about this meeting. He watched her walk toward the diner when Benny and Cas came over to him.

“We’ve got your back on this. He won’t get away with anything,” Cas said, his eyes tracking her as she headed inside.

“Thanks, guys,” Dean muttered before quickly heading into the diner, the other two following close behind.

The three of them found a table nearby, close enough to step in if things went south, but too far away to hear the conversation. Dean’s jaw clenched as he watched her, feeling the emotions she wasn’t showing. He didn’t trust Coles’ smooth act for a second, and every instinct screamed at him to drag her out of there.

Cole was too smooth, but Dean could see the little things that gave away the facade Cole was attempting to use. There was how his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. It didn’t feel right to Dean either. Even when Cole tried to seem genuinely curious, Dean saw something in his eyes that sent a shiver down his spine. It was like watching a predator stalk its prey, and he didn’t like it one bit. Now Dean wished he’d chosen a closer table, wanting to hear what was being said between the two of them.

Then he saw it—a flash of distaste in Cole’s expression, mild disgust in his eyes, then quickly masked. His gut twisted, and he whispered to Benny and Cas, “Be ready.” The others nodded, their eyes fixed on Cole.

When she smiled, Dean’s gaze snapped back to Cole, catching the slight falter in his mask. Cole was slipping, and Dean could see it. Whatever she’d said had rattled him, and Dean could almost taste the tension in the air.

The moment she stood, Dean was up, Benny and Cas right behind him. Dean saw red when Cole grabbed her wrist, so Benny quickly blocked Dean’s path.

“There’s no way out of this. You will be my wife, whether you want to or not. You will do as expected of you, as my wife-” Cole began, but Benny cut him off, his smirk sharp.

“I think the lady was leaving,” Benny interjected, positioning himself between Cole and Dean just as Dean reached her side.

Dean was almost disappointed that Cole had let go of her, knowing it would have given Benny an excuse to hit him square in his jaw. Dean chose to focus on her instead, giving Cole a death glare, but Cole just smirked.

“You can’t protect her forever. I’ll be back to collect her in two months,” Cole told them, his voice dripping with a confidence that made Dean’s blood boil.

Dean felt a surge of anger, but he kept it in check, his eyes narrowing as he placed a protective arm over her shoulders, guiding her out of the diner without a word. He didn’t need to say anything; he could feel how she took his actions. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel like the screw-up who’d let her down. Instead, he felt a surge of pride—pride in being there for her, in protecting her.

The drive back to her place was silent, Dean’s mind working overtime, planning out the details. Once they were back inside her house, she finally spoke. “Thank you, Dean, for being there.” She sounded grateful, but something about it tugged at his soul.

“I told you, you don’t have to go through this alone,” Dean replied, his tone firm but laced with an urgency he couldn’t hide. There was too much to do and not enough time to do it all. “Let’s get your things into that bunker. We’ll make it look like you ran. I’ll even hide your car,” he added, already moving through the house with a single-minded purpose.

As he moved, Dean glanced at her every now and then, catching glimpses of her looking lost, her eyes distant, like she was trying to hold herself together. God, he could feel how lost she was, and it hurt that he couldn’t just focus on comforting her. “Go get the clothes you want,” he called from the kitchen, where he was bagging up the cold and frozen items from the fridge. His voice was calm, controlled, the complete opposite of the storm brewing inside him.

She needed him to be steady right now, to keep her grounded. He knew that if he lost it, it was going to make things worse for her. Dean heard her take a deep breath, and knew she was trying to focus, trying to push through the fear and confusion. When she headed to her room, he felt a small sense of relief. At least she was moving, doing something instead of spiraling.

He moved quickly, gathering the essentials, his mind already running through possible scenarios. By the time she came back down the stairs, suitcase in hand, he had almost everything else handled. The look on her face when she saw him made his chest tighten; she looked like she didn’t know what to say, like the weight of it all was crushing her.

They made their way to the garage, Dean following her to the secret door, down the stairs, and through the next door into the bunker. He made several trips, not even minding. She couldn’t think straight, and he could see it in her eyes and the way she moved. His only focus, getting her into that bunker so he could take care of what he needed to so he could join her later.

Every time he caught sight of her, she seemed lost in her own head, moving sluggishly as if the world around her didn’t quite register. Dean tried not to let it get to him, but it did. She was here because he’d left at eighteen instead of trying to find out why he could feel her when she didn’t even seem to notice him. But, when you’re young like that, you don’t have the foresight of things like that.

After putting away the last of the food, Dean went searching for her. He found her in the bedroom, the suitcase she’d packed sitting near the bed, untouched. She looked so small, so vulnerable, and it took everything in him not to pull her into his arms right then and there.

“Hey,” Dean said softly, stepping closer. “I need to go tell the others what’s going on and hide your car. You remember the knock from the movie Roger Rabbit, right? I’ll use that one if it’s safe for you to let me come down here. You can use the security system and see what’s going on outside too. So, you’ll know if I’m alone or not. I’ll come back tonight, around seven,” he explained, trying to keep his voice steady even though the worry was creeping in. He hated leaving her like this, but he had to make sure everything was in place.

When she looked up at him, her eyes were full of doubt and sadness, and it twisted something inside him. She looked and felt so broken, so out of it, and all Dean wanted to do was fix it, to take away the pain he felt he was responsible for causing.

“Okay,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “I’m still sorry you got dragged into my mess. But… I appreciate you’re helping me.”Dean couldn’t hold back anymore. He stepped forward, pulling her into a gentle hug, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. When she slowly wrapped her arms around him, he felt something shift, something that he hadn’t felt from her before; she didn’t want to let him go.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave right now,” she whispered, her voice so small, and it nearly broke him.

“I promise, I’ll be back tonight at seven,” Dean whispered back, his words a vow he intended to keep no matter what. He gave her a gentle squeeze before reluctantly pulling away, his heart heavy as he turned to leave. He closed the secret doors behind him, each step feeling like it took him farther away from the one thing he wanted more than anything: her.

Dean grabbed her keys and then went back to the garage. With one last look at the secret door, he started her car. A proud smirk toyed at his lips when he heard the engine purr. She really did love her car as much as he loved his. For a moment, the sound of the engine was a comfort, a connection to her even in her absence. But as he drove, his thoughts drifted back to the haunted look in her eyes when he left.

No, I can’t focus on that right now, Deam scolded himself, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. He pulled into the shed the boys had cleaned out, his movements mechanical, driven by necessity rather than thought. The plan had changed, the details shifting with the new pieces of information. There was no room for mistakes.

The boys had done a good job with the shed, concealing her car so well that even the most determined snoop wouldn’t find it without raising an alarm. It was a small victory, but it brought Dean a brief moment of relief. He took her house keys off her keychain before leaving her car keys with Bobby, knowing he’d keep them safe.

Benny drove him back to her place so he could get his car, the drive silent. Dean’s thoughts were a whirlwind, but he kept them at bay, focusing instead on the next steps. He bid Benny goodbye, not sure when he’d see him again, before getting his Impala and driving to his parents, parking in their garage. Everyone had been busy since that morning, each person playing their part in this hastily reconstructed plan. Jodi had been at the station, working on paperwork that she could, managing a restraining order for at least until Y/N’s birthday. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Sam was preparing to fly out that night and get there in the early morning hours of the following day. Dean was upset that he wouldn’t get to see his brother again before he went down into the bunker with Y/N, but at the same time, he didn’t completely mind.

John and Mary had already packed up a duffle bag for Dean, which he’d asked them to earlier, back at the garage. They had no clue how long he and Y/N were going to be down there, but they wanted to help however they could. Dean rifled through it, finding the essentials, along with a few surprises. A small chuckle escaped him when he spotted the whiskey bottle wrapped in his favorite sweats. Leave it to my Dad. But the laugh that nearly bubbled up was stifled when he found the box of condoms tucked in a side pouch, a clear sign of his mom’s cautious optimism.

“Thanks for helping,” Dean said, setting the duffle bag down by one of the reclining chairs before taking a seat as his parents sat on the couch across from him.

“Well, we knew this day was coming eventually. Here are the burner phones. Remember, only for emergencies,” John replied, his tone firm as he handed Dean the two phones along with a piece of paper with everyone’s numbers on it.

“At least she was open to the idea of becoming friends, Dean. I have faith that she’ll accept you, even if she doesn’t know that she needs to,” Mary added, her voice gentle, but Dean could hear her optimism.

Dean took the phones, slipping them into his bag, as his mind raced. “I know. I know. I just don’t know if she’s going to. She’s stubborn, and she’s been hurt, badly,” he replied, his voice calm, betraying none of the inner turmoil roiling inside him. He couldn’t afford to let his parents see how much this was affecting him. They had enough to worry about.

“That means not calling every day for an update on things. We’ll call when we have them,” John told him, keeping that firm tone. This entire situation had escalated quickly, thanks to Cole showing up like he had.

Mary chimed in, trying to steer the conversation in a more hopeful direction. “With the paperwork from Y/N’s parents, Sam shouldn’t have a problem getting a judge to take on the case,” She knew how stubborn Dean could be when it came to wanting information.

“Yeah, but there’s still the matter of a judge who’s even willing to take on the case. It’s against the Vaughts. They’re ruthless, and you know it,” Dean replied, his words laced with his frustrations. “You remember what it was like even to get a judge to take on all that crap with Lisa, especially after we found out the Voughts had paid her to do it, and were still paying her.”

The room grew tense, the weight of the unknown hanging heavy in the air. None of them had to say it, but they all felt the same. The Vaughts were monsters. “I need to make a few stops before tonight. Dad, you mind giving me a ride to the garage?” Dean asked, already planning the small gestures that might help Y/N feel a bit more comfortable, a bit more normal, while they were holed up in the bunker.

John nodded, his expression softening as he leaned over to kiss Mary’s cheek. “Sure, son, I don’t mind.”

That night, around six-thirty, Dean double-checked his duffle. He’d borrowed Benny’s car and made a few stops, picking up some of her favorite chocolates, a few grocery items, and a necklace with a wrench on it for her birthday—a small token that reflected her love for fixing things. He debated getting her a new pajama set to give to her on Christmas but decided against it. Since the bunker was already fully stocked with food, he wasn’t worried about grabbing more than a few perishable things. Although, if he’d thought a bit more about it, he would have gotten enough meat to fill her freezer.

Benny drove Dean out to Y/N’s place. Both men were watching the headlights of the car in the distance. “I thought I noticed someone following me earlier. Pretty sure it’s the same car,” Dean told Benny after Benny made another turn, and the car was still behind them. “Yeah, been watchin’ it since we left the garage,” Benny replied as he glanced in the rearview mirror again.

Dean clenched his jaw. It had to be someone who worked for the Vaughts, trying to find out where Y/N was. “Be careful going back to the garage,” Dean told him as his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap.

When Benny turned down the short dirt road that led to Y/N’s place, the car that had been following them kept driving, but it had slowed down enough for both men to notice. Dean turned to look out the back window and followed the tail lights as the car drove off.

“Hang in there, brotha’. We’ll take care of things out here. You take care of her,” Benny told Dean as he got out of one of Bobby’s borrowed cars.

Dean nodded, a sigh escaping his lips as he slung the duffle over his shoulder. “I will. It’ll just be me and her. I’m just worried about everybody out here.” Then he grabbed the few bags of food out of the back seat.

Benny chuckled, “Ah, we’ll be fine. I ain’t been in a good fight in a while. Let those dirtbags try somethin’ stupid.” That made Dean smile a little. The man knew how to lighten the mood.

As Dean headed inside, he checked behind him, as if peering into the darkness for some sort of threat, but it didn’t come. He locked her front door before making his way to the garage, making sure all the doors were locked behind him as he went. Dean looked over his shoulder one last time, still worried that one of the Vaught's men would appear out of the shadows. When none came, he used the secret knock on the hidden door, worry still coursing through his system.

The moment the door popped open, her smiling face would have been a joy, as would her words, but he quickly put his finger to his lips to keep her quiet. Dean still wasn’t sure if someone might be nearby, listening. He couldn’t even risk doing a perimeter check before he’d gone inside. If someone had been watching, it would have given too much away.

They descended the stairs in silence, the only sound the soft creak of wood beneath their feet, then the click of the second door once they were completely inside the bunker. Dean had barely tossed his bag on the floor near the couch with the bags before she tackled him in a hug. “It’s so quiet here,” she told him, her voice nearly breaking.

Dean’s heart twisted at her words, feeling her loneliness before he smiled softly and wrapped his arms around her. Having her so close brought him peace, and he never wanted to let her go. “Hope it’s okay if I spend the night. Might not be so quiet then.”

When she pulled back and looked at him, Dean had to fight the overwhelming urge to close the small distance between them and kiss her. The way the soft light played across her face nearly took his breath away and he realized just how hard it was going to be to keep the distance from her that she wanted and had put in place. Just friends, Dean mentally reminded himself, as now was not the time to tell her the truth of things.

“You’d really stay down here with me in the silent underground solitude?” she asked him, completely puzzled.

He couldn’t control his laughter at that point. She was so damn adorable when she got curious and confused at the same time, but the way she’d described the bunker… priceless. It took him a moment to catch his breath, his hand on his chest. “Sweetheart, you’ve got your own secret hideout. Why wouldn’t I want to hang out here with you? It’s like having your very own personal Bat-Cave, like Batman.”

When she finally started laughing, after his words finally sunk in, it was music to his ears. He could feel her relaxing and seeing her smile like she was, lit up the room far more than the lamps she had turned on. “Now, did you eat?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow, knowing how stressed she’d been.

“Yeah, around five. Oh, and tonight, you’re sleeping on the bed. I saw you stayed up last night and watched over me. There’s no need to do that down here. So, I’m going to make sure you’re comfortable and actually sleep tonight,” she told him, crossing her arms and leaving no room for argument.

Dean bit back a laugh, trying to keep his expression serious. Seeing her stand there and tell him how it was going to go because she wanted him to rest. She was one of the kindest people he knew at this point, as not many would give up their own bed just so he could have a good night's rest. “Sweetheart, you sleep in your bed. I’ll take the couch. No need to go to any extremes.” He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he knew just how devious the Vaughts could be.

Watching her roll her eyes was just as adorable as her confusion, but he could tell something was bothering her. “Only if you answer a couple of questions,” she insisted, her eyebrow raised in a slight challenge.

His heart skipped a beat as his mind raced, trying to anticipate what she might ask. “What questions?” he asked, keeping his tone light, but he could feel a knot forming in his stomach.

“Why did you rub your shoulder last night? We had an easy day at the garage,” she asked cautiously.

He felt his breath catch in his throat. She’d somehow seen him. Of course, she had. The damned cameras set up all around and in her house. If he’d known at the time, he never would have done it. Perhaps it was a good thing, though. He refused to lie to her, but he also couldn’t tell her everything.

“It’s my soulmate’s name. That’s all,” he replied quietly, dropping onto the couch. The weight of how it had been used against him by the Vaughts, by that woman they had paid to pretend to be the woman now standing near the couch.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, not wanting to see her second-guessing herself for even asking him about it. Feeling it was bad enough. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was that personal. You can have the couch,” she said apologetically, but it was the regret in her tone that made him finally look up at her.

“It’s just a sore subject, for both of us,” he replied, motioning to the two of them. “If you want to talk about it, we can, but that means we both share stuff. Keep it fair. If you don’t want to, we can talk about other stuff.” It was the best he could offer her while still reminding himself what Sam had told him. God, he wasn’t the most patient man.

“Maybe another time. There’s something I need to show you,” she told him, changing the topic, and the note of worry in her tone made his chest tighten again.

Dean stood and followed her into the security room, standing behind her while she sat down and pulled up a couple recordings. His eyes narrowed, watching the feed over her shoulder. The moment the figure on the screen appeared, his entire body went rigid. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt, and he crossed his arms tightly over his chest, trying to keep his emotions in check.

“Azazel,” Dean growled, the name slipping through gritted teeth. He’d know that man anywhere.

He barely registered that she turned to look up at him before she turned back to the monitor. But she had no idea what this man was capable of, how far his reach went. Dean had to keep it together, for her sake, but the storm inside him was raging. He knew the type of men the Vaughts had working for them and just how far they would go to get what they wanted.

That night, Dean pulled the two burner phones out of his bag, handing one to her along with the piece of paper. He could see the questions in her eyes and feel her confusion. But she didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer an explanation. She just nodded, taking it all in, and he felt a pang of guilt. This wasn’t how he’d wanted to spend time with her, get to know her better.

Once the logistics were out of the way, he helped her find a pillow and blanket for him to use on the couch. He could see the reluctance in her movements, like she didn’t want to admit this was the new normal for an unknown amount of time.

When everything was set up, Dean slipped off his shoes by the door and settled onto the couch. He noticed she chose to sit on the coffee table instead of a place on the couch, which was now his makeshift bed. It created a physical distance between them that mirrored the awkward silence hanging in the air.

Dean couldn’t read her mind or hear her thoughts, but feeling her guilt pulled on his heart. “What’s wrong?” he sighed, watching her stare at the floor. They’d grown to be friends, and it was like she wanted to put more distance between them now that they were “living together.”

“A lot,” she mumbled, fidgeting with her fingers, a habit he’d noticed before. “I feel bad. You got dragged into my mess.”

Dean’s heart ached at her words. She didn’t know the half of it. If only she knew how far he’d go for her, how things would have gone if she hadn’t found this bunker. But he couldn’t tell her that. Not yet. Instead, he sighed again and held his arms open, “Come here.”

She looked up at him, puzzled, but he motioned her over. The hesitation in her eyes made him feel like he was offering too much, but then she bit her lip, stood up, and sat next to him on the couch. Dean gently pulled her against him, feeling her warmth seep into him as he held her close. He wasn’t sure who needed the comfort more—her or him.

“You didn’t drag me into this, Sweetheart. There’s still a lot you don’t know, and right now really isn’t the time to go into all those details. I can tell you’re overwhelmed. What can I do to help you relax?” He kept his voice soft, soothing, trying to calm the storm he knew was raging inside her.

“I’m just scared, and this place was so quiet when you were gone, and so… lonely…” she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability that tugged at his heart.

Dean took a shaky breath, struggling to keep his own emotions in check. “Hopefully, it won’t be lonely while I’m here. Still didn’t answer my question, though,” he added with a light chuckle, trying to inject a bit of playfulness to ease the tension.

She thought about his question, and Dean noticed the blush creeping into her cheeks. It was cute, and he couldn’t help but smile at how endearing she was. “This is helping,” she mumbled shyly.

Dean’s heart skipped a beat when she said that. He knew she didn’t mean it in the way he wished she did, but hearing her say it still made his heart race. He felt her head resting on his chest, and her hand was right over his heart. He wondered if she could feel how it sped up, and, if she did, what she’d think of it. He mentally kicked himself, reminding himself that she didn’t know she was his soulmate. She probably thought it was nerves or something else.

When she mumbled an apology, Dean shook his head slightly, wishing she’d stop blaming herself for everything. “I wish you’d stop apologizing already. If it bothered me, I’d tell you. I like spending time with you, and no one should have to go through something like this alone.”

She pouted, and he had to resist the urge to smile at how adorable she looked. He could see she was about to apologize again, but she caught herself and stopped. Instead, she started playing with a tiny crease in his shirt, her fingers brushing against him lightly. Dean’s breathing hitched as he tried to ignore how her touch was affecting him, but it was impossible. He could feel his resolve slipping, but he couldn’t let her know that. Not now.

“So, um, you want me to just let you get some sleep then?” she asked, clearly searching for a way to break the silence.

Dean smiled, shaking off the tension that had built up inside him. She didn’t even realize what she did to him, how hard it was for him to keep his feelings in check when she was so close, touching him like it was nothing. “Or, we could have a drink, and you can relax so you can sleep,” he suggested, trying to lighten the mood a bit. Playfulness had always been their safe space.

“I guess so,” she mumbled, and he could tell she was holding something back. She always did. That was the thing about her—she kept walls up, just like he did, but for different reasons.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re so stubborn,” he teased, giving her a soft nudge as he shifted to stand up.

He walked into the small kitchen and grabbed two beers from the fridge, popping the tops before heading back to the couch. When he sat down, she shifted to give him space, but he couldn’t help but smirk at the playful glare she gave him. He handed her the beer, sitting back in his spot. “Thanks,” she said, her voice quiet but grateful.

“I’m not always stubborn,” she added, her lips turning into a small pout.

Dean couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. “You know, you’re adorable when you pout like that.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, but he realized at that moment there was no way he was going to keep his walls up for long.

He turned toward her, draping his arm over the back of the couch, his leg bent on the cushion. The casual position was more for his own nerves than anything else, trying to play it cool when inside, he was anything but. She did the same, mirroring his posture, but her hands stayed in her lap, one of them clutching her beer. There was something about the way she held herself, so self-contained, that made him want to reach out and tell her everything would be okay. But Sam’s words echoed in his head again, and he stayed silent about it all.

When she spoke again, her voice was soft, hesitant. “I know it’s a touchy subject, but… When you do find your soulmate, I don’t mind telling her what an amazing guy you are. And… I’ll understand that we won’t spend as much time together.”

Dean felt a sharp pang in his chest, like someone had just sucker-punched him. She had no idea. No idea that her name was on his skin, that she was his soulmate. His smirk turned into a soft smile, knowing he’d get to share the truth with her one day. “Only as long as I get to do the same for you,” he replied, his voice quieter than before. He found some slight humor in it, though, and could only hope she would too, one day when she was ready to know the truth.

“Fair,” she said, giving him a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He could see something hidden behind it, something she wasn’t ready to admit, and it only made the weight in his chest heavier. “How long are you staying for?”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, looking away for a moment. He didn’t want to tell her this part, but there was no avoiding it, even though he’d prepared for it. “Uh, yeah, about that…” He trailed off, glancing back at her and seeing the concern on her face. Damn it. He hated making her worry. “Someone followed me, at least to your driveway, but they drove past. I uh… we’re sort of stuck down here, together.”

The last thing he wanted was for her to think she was trapping him here, especially after all the apologies she’d given him earlier. The truth was, if he had the choice, this was how he preferred it. She wouldn’t be alone now, and he wouldn’t constantly be worried about her. Dean watched her as she was lost in thought. He caught bits and pieces of her emotions, but she had her guard up at the moment.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you about being down here with you,” he said, breaking the quiet and trying to keep his tone light. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel guilty.

She snapped out of her thoughts, meeting his gaze with wide eyes. “No, no, no. It’s nothing like that. I was lost in my thoughts,” she replied quickly, sounding almost… apologetic again. He had to resist the urge to shake his head, half-expecting another one of those damn apologies to slip out.

Dean raised an eyebrow, smirking a little to ease the tension. “Care to share, Sweetheart?”

He watched her shift, a little shy all of a sudden, and it made his chest tighten. Damn, she was something else. “Just… stuff, that’s all,” she mumbled, clearly dodging the deeper stuff she didn’t want to share yet. He knew better than to push.

“I’ve never lived with anyone before,” she added after a pause, her voice quiet. “Not like this, anyway.”

Dean listened as she started to explain what she had been thinking about—ways to make the bunker more comfortable for both of them, a private space for him in the living room. She was so thoughtful, always considering him, even when she was the one whose life had literally gotten turned upside down. He smiled softly, nodding as she rambled on about the details. It was kind of cute, the way she talked a mile a minute when she was nervous.

“We can do that tomorrow if you’d like,” he suggested once she finally stopped. He found her babbling adorable, and her thoughtfulness was something he’d come to admire about her. “Why don’t you go get some sleep, though? It’s late.”

She crossed her arms, trying to look serious, which only made him chuckle. “Only if you promise that you’ll sleep and not stay up all night watching over me,” she said with a determined look that was more adorable than intimidating.

Dean chuckled again, unable to help himself. “You’re adorable when you act like that. I promise I’ll get some sleep, just not gonna promise on how much.”

She smacked his shoulder playfully before getting up to clean the empty beer bottles. Dean watched her as she moved, noticing how she hesitated in the kitchen, like she was wrestling with something. He wondered what was on her mind but didn’t press. She had enough to deal with already.

When she came back out, standing near the hallway, she gave him a half-smile that tugged at his heart. “Then, I’ll see you in the morning,” she said softly.

“Night, Sweetheart,” he replied, watching her as she turned to head to her room. His eyes lingered for a moment longer than they should have, but he couldn’t help it. She was his soulmate, and every part of him wanted to tell her, to show her. But not tonight.

He leaned back into the couch, sighing heavily once she was out of sight. Running a hand through his hair, he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to settle the whirlwind of emotions spinning inside him. The problem wasn’t being stuck here with her. Hell, being near her was the only thing that felt right these days. The problem was keeping everything he felt under wraps.

Dean looked down at the blanket she had set out for him. He had promised to sleep, but he knew that wouldn’t come easy tonight. His thoughts kept drifting back to her—how she fit perfectly in his arms earlier, how she looked at him like he was someone worth trusting, how just being near her made him feel grounded in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

Dean sighed again, shaking his head. She had no idea how hard it was for him to hold back, to keep his distance when every instinct told him to be closer, to help her heal, to tell her the truth. But she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. So, he’d wait. He’d do what he did best—look out for her, stay by her side, and keep his feelings in check.

Lying back on the couch, he closed his eyes, willing himself to get some rest. But even as he tried, his mind wouldn’t stop wandering back to her—to the thought of what it would be like to be more than just her friend. To be the one she fell asleep next to, the one who held her close.

But for now, that was just a dream.

—-------------------------------------

Knowing the bunker would keep the two of them safely hidden, Dean let himself relax and move into a routine with her. She was easy to get along with back at the garage, and here was no different. If he was up first, he would make the coffee, which made her smile. For him, it was more than just treating her like a roommate. He did things he would do if they were together while still giving her the space he knew she needed. Dean appreciated having the curtains up to hide the couch, needing a private space to take care of himself. He couldn’t count how many times he found himself wanting to be closer with her.

There would be those moments when her hair would fall just so, framing her face while she read a book that took his breath away. Or when she would snuggle up against him while they watched a movie. Then there was her laughter when they would play different word games, music to his ears. It all brought a peace to his soul he thought he’d never find. He tried so hard not to contact those on the outside, wanting so badly to know what was going on, wanting to be kept in the loop. But, there was never any new information that could soothe his worries. Dean never let those things be seen by Y/N. He didn’t want her to worry more than he knew she already was. The restraining order wasn’t a reassurance for him, knowing that the Vaughts never played by the rules.

It was near the end of the second week that he realized he was picking up more than just her emotions. He was hearing some of her thoughts. They came in bits and pieces, a word here and there at first, then two or three strung together. Sadly, he couldn’t always figure out what was going through her head, but he was starting to get an idea when he paired the words with her emotions.

There were times when he could feel her slipping into her thoughts, like she was battling with something she didn’t want to say out loud. Dean always found a way to break the tension, cracking a joke or teasing her just enough to pull her out of her head. Every time she smiled or laughed, it made it all worth it. When he felt that little spark of hope in her, causing his own hope to flicker to life.

It was during the third week when things took an unexpected turn, something Dean hadn’t anticipated. He’d been finishing his nightly routine when he heard the thud and then her scream. Without thinking, he bolted down the hallway and to the bathroom, heart pounding in his chest.

“What happened?!” He burst through the door, his eyes scanning the room before landing on her.

She was on the floor, naked, half-sitting up with a towel barely covering her body. Her hand rubbed at her asscheek, and the realization hit him like a freight train. He froze. His mouth went dry, his hand still gripping the doorknob as his mind short-circuited.

Holy shit.

Her skin was flushed, a deep blush spreading all the way to her toes as she looked away, clearly mortified. Dean couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He knew he should turn around, shut the door, something, but he was stuck there, staring at her like an idiot.

“I slipped,” she grumbled, still not looking at him.

Dean’s mind raced, but his body didn’t follow. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, and it was like his brain had completely shut down. The towel wasn’t doing much, and he needed to look away, but he couldn’t.

“Can, you, uh, go… so I can take my shower?” she finally asked, her voice quiet and dripping with embarrassment.

“Oh, yeah. Shit, sorry,” he mumbled, stumbling over his words as he pulled the door shut behind him.

Dean leaned against the door for a moment, running a hand through his hair as he tried to get his bearings. His heart was still racing, and he couldn’t stop the image of her sitting there from flashing in his mind. He needed to get a grip. Fast.

Shaking his head, he pushed off the door and walked back to the living room, trying to focus on anything other than what had just happened. But it was impossible. He could still see her blush, the way she avoided his gaze, how vulnerable she’d looked. Vulnerable and beautiful.

Damn it.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He’d been so careful, keeping his distance, not letting himself get too close. But then, something like that happened. All he had wanted to do now was make sure she wasn’t hurt and hold her close. Well, those were his first thoughts anyway. He flopped onto the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. He needed to get his head straight. Now, there was this other problem, this massive, undeniable thing between them that he couldn’t ignore anymore. Every day it got harder to push it down, to remind himself that she didn’t know. She couldn’t know.

Dean closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath as he tried to push the thoughts away. She’d be out of the shower soon, and they’d go back to normal—awkward conversations, stolen glances, pretending like there wasn’t this elephant in the room.

But the truth was, he didn’t know how much longer he could keep pretending. The way his body responded to the little things was one thing he could easily keep control over. Seeing her naked in the bathroom was another beast entirely. He couldn’t stop the scenes playing out in his mind, touching her, tasting her, loving her. He quickly let down the curtains, effectively giving him the privacy he needed to take care of his throbbing cock straining against his jeans. Dean closed his eyes, allowing the thoughts to drift through his mind while she showered.

By the time she did get out of the shower, he’d barely finished, still in the process of steadying his breathing. He didn’t need her to see him in the state he was or how she affected him. That was the last thing he wanted to attempt to explain. He took slow, deep breaths, calming his body so he could spend the rest of the evening with her. At least now, the thoughts of her wouldn’t shoot electricity through his nerves and ignite a fire that couldn’t be extinguished.

The alarm going off pulled him from his thoughts. He moved quickly off the couch, adrenaline kicking in. Dean stopped in the doorway, though, just watching her. She was already on the phone, probably with Jodi. He felt her nerves, her worry, her fear, and it pulled at him to comfort her. For now, though, he just stood in the doorway, watching her closely, there if she needed him.

She hung up, and Dean stepped into the room. “What happened?”

When she jumped at the sound of his voice, he mentally cursed himself for startling her, but she quickly recovered and answered. “Two guys are at the front door,” she sighed, glancing up at him before looking back at the monitors. “Jodi said they’re here to take me somewhere for the wedding and not to leave.”

Dean’s stomach twisted. That stupid wedding. The one thing that tied her to that family. The thought of anyone trying to take her away—force her into something she didn’t want—made his blood boil. He crossed his arms, glancing at the monitors for only a few moments before leaning back against the table behind her, his eyes locked on the screen.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” her voice was soft, apologetic. “I wasn’t paying attention and slipped. I didn’t mean to scare you or make you have to see me naked.”

Dean’s heart stuttered at the mention of it, and he swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen a naked woman before—hell, he’d been in enough situations over the years. But this felt different. More intimate. And she didn’t even know why it had such an impact on him. He shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to answer her without making it worse.

The silence between them dragged on, only broken by the faint hum of the monitors. He could tell she was embarrassed, could feel it from her. She had no idea how much he’d been affected by what happened, or how hard it was to pretend it didn’t mean something to him. He needed to say something—anything to break the awkwardness.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he finally said, voice quiet but sincere. “It’s not like you did it on purpose. I can’t help it… I worry about you.” He paused as he gathered his thoughts, not wanting her to know that he was nervous. “As for the whole naked thing, well… uh, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, and, I’m sorry for staring. Afterward, well… I needed some, uh, time—to myself,” he stammered, knowing full well how lame he probably sounded.

He could feel her eyes on him now, could feel her confusion and curiosity in her gaze. It wasn’t often that he got flustered, but damn, she had a way of throwing him off balance. He wasn’t even sure why he was admitting so much. He’d spent the last several months hiding things from her—feelings, truths, everything. And now, here he was, tripping over his words like some nervous teenager.

“So, you’re not mad at me?” she asked, voice soft but hesitant.

Dean let out a quiet chuckle, knowing full well that he was anything but mad at her. Her innocence of it all was adorable. “Definitely not mad at you,” he reassured her, shaking his head.

She smiled a little at that, and the sight of it was like a punch to his chest. How could something so simple affect him so much?

“Wanna watch a movie then? Forget about the whole thing?” she asked, her smile growing a bit.

Dean seized the opportunity, glad for the distraction. “A movie sounds great, but this time, it’s a western. You picked the last one,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

As they made their way back to the living room, she moved ahead of him, and Dean couldn’t help but ask, “What were you doing that ended with you being on the floor anyway?”

“Oh yeah. I almost forgot about that,” she replied, getting comfortable on the couch while he set up the movie. “I’ve got dirt or something near my collarbone, but I couldn’t scrub it off. I was gonna ask you about it after my shower, but, uh… yeah. Your curtains were closed, so I was gonna just wait.”

Dean paused for a second, narrowing his eyes as he thought. Something about what she was saying didn’t sit right with him. “Lemme see,” he said, sitting on the coffee table in front of her, leaning in to get a closer look.

She pulled her hair back, tilting her head to give him a better view. Dean’s hand moved almost instinctively, resting gently on her upper arm as his thumb brushed over the spot she was talking about. His heart skipped a beat. Her skin was soft beneath his fingers, but what really caught his attention were the faint, barely-there lines on her collarbone. They looked a little darker than when he’d seen them a few weeks ago, at breakfast.

“It looks like your soulmate’s name is trying to come through,” he mumbled, still staring at the letters.

His breath caught as he realized how close he was to her. Their eyes met, and suddenly, the air between them felt different—charged. He could feel her breath mingling with his, could see the way her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he forgot where he was, forgot everything except the way she was looking at him.

Dean’s hand lingered on her arm longer than it should have, and it took all his willpower to pull away. She broke eye contact first, mumbling an apology and a thank-you, but Dean didn’t miss the way her voice shook just a little.

He let out a long breath, moving to his usual spot on the couch. His mind was racing, thoughts tangled in a mess of feelings he’d been trying to keep under control until she would hopefully let him in. It would have been far easier for him to keep his feelings in check if it wasn’t for feeling her emotions and hearing some of her thoughts, even if they were only small snippets. She was quiet, too, lost in her thoughts, and Dean found himself watching her more than the movie.

“Are you gonna stay in your head all night, or do you want to come cuddle and finish the movie with me?” Dean asked, knowing full well she’d stay in her head for the whole movie if he didn’t get her out of her thoughts.

Her startled squeak made him chuckle, and something about the moment felt lighter, easier. “I still find that cute,” he added, teasing her gently, though deep down, his heart was still thundering in his chest.

He couldn’t help but chuckle—she always had the cutest reactions, and it never failed to catch him off guard. He shifted as she gave him a playful glare, which only made his grin widen. When she snuggled up to him, leaning into his side, he felt a sense of ease he hadn’t realized he needed. His arm draped around her shoulders, and the familiar warmth of her presence settled against him.

“I don’t mean to be so spacey. I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” she said, her tone soft, almost apologetic.

Dean sighed, feeling the weight of her words. He had been telling her for weeks—months, really—that she could talk to him about anything. Yet here she was, still holding back, carrying more than she should. “I keep telling you that you can talk to me about it. I won’t get mad at you, and I won’t treat you like everyone else has,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

“I know.” She pouted as she played with the crease in his shirt. “It’s just…” Her voice trailed off, and Dean glanced down at her, sensing the hesitation. “I’m… I keep reminding myself that you have a soulmate.”

Dean’s heart jolted in his chest at her words, the implication sinking in like a lead weight. He froze for a second, feeling like his heartbeat was suddenly too loud in the quiet room. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what she had just said. What does me having a soulmate have anything— He couldn’t even finish the thought, the weight of it all crashing down on him. She was saying what he thought she was saying, right?

When she ducked her head lower against his chest, Dean’s pulse quickened. He could feel the tension between them now, the way her body language shifted. She was embarrassed, maybe even scared, and it twisted something deep inside him. His gut tightened as she mumbled something almost inaudible—an apology, he thought—but it only made him sigh.

Dean gently lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger, coaxing her to meet his gaze. When her eyes finally locked with his, he could see the uncertainty and vulnerability there. She was afraid, but of what? Him? The situation? “You really need to stop apologizing. I didn’t know what was bothering you, and I asked. I’m not upset. It just surprised me… if I’m taking it the way you’re implying it,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes searched hers, trying to read the emotions swirling there. The way her cheeks flushed, how her lips parted just slightly—it was making it hard to think straight. He could feel the tension in the air thickening, and part of him wanted to reach out, to close the space between them. But he held back, not wanting to push her, not unless he knew for sure what she wanted.

Dean’s gaze flicked down to her lips for just a second before he licked his own, a nervous habit he couldn’t shake. He wasn’t sure what she was thinking, but he could feel the electricity between them, the pull that had been there since day one.

“How do you think I’m implying it?” she asked, her voice a mix of nervousness and something else—hope, maybe? He wasn’t sure, but it made his heart skip a beat.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, the same one that had gotten him into trouble more times than he could count. He leaned in just a little, his voice dropping to a low, almost teasing tone. “That if I kissed you right now, you wouldn’t tell me no or try to stop me.”

The moment hung in the air between them, charged with anticipation. He could see the conflict in her eyes—the way she wanted to lean in, but something was holding her back. For a heartbeat, Dean thought maybe, just maybe, she’d let him in. But then she pulled away, gently but firmly, moving to the middle of the couch.

“I… can’t…” Her voice was small, filled with something that sounded like regret, and she stared down at the coffee table as if it held all the answers.

Dean furrowed his brow, confusion, and concern flooding him all at once. What was she talking about? Why was she pulling away now, after all this time? He shifted so he was facing her, his body tense with worry. “Seriously, Y/N, what’s bothering you?” he asked, his voice more urgent now. He needed to understand. He needed to know what was going on in her head.

Her silence weighed on him, and then, slowly, tears began to slip down her cheeks. The sight of her crying cut him deep, a pain he hadn’t been expecting. He hated seeing her like this—so vulnerable, so torn up. And knowing that he was part of the reason for it twisted the knife in his chest even further.

“I like you more than I should,” she whispered, her voice shaky with emotion. “You have a soulmate, and one day, I’ll have one too. I’m sorry I fell for you and made things uncomfortable now that you’re stuck down here with me.”

Dean’s heart fractured at her words. He wanted to tell her that she was his soulmate, that he’d known since he was sixteen, but that meant sharing things with her she wasn’t ready for. He couldn’t even tell her that he loved her. All he could do was watch her walk away, the soft click of her door closing, a barrier between them.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. His mind raced, processing all that she’d said. She’d fallen for him. The walls she had put up to keep herself safe had crumbled, but she was already rebuilding them, and he felt it. She was so afraid that her soulmate wasn’t him, and he wasn’t hers, that she couldn’t let him get close and couldn’t get closer to him. The bits and pieces of her thoughts that he’d heard made far more sense now. If only he could tell her everything.

For hours, Dean sat there, thinking about how he was going to approach her when the time presented itself. He’d give her time, though, knowing that admitting what she had had been harder on her than she was letting on. Hell, he could feel what she was going through. Every second she was hurting, it pulled at his soul. The need to go to her, wrap her in his arms, and comfort her was almost overwhelming. If it weren’t for Sam’s words repeating in his head, he would have told her the first day he saw her at the garage.

Sleep finally found him sometime after midnight. The only thing he had figured out was that he’d give her space, gauge her emotions, watch her body language, and pray he’d know what to say when the moment was right.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 21

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justaragdollysblog · 2 months ago

Text

If I hadn’t Gone In

A new TADC fic that no one asked for! This actually uses an oc that I came up with a while ago. Her name is Marybelle, and she’s a wind up music box ballerina :))

TW: infidelity, suggestive, heavy angst

When Ragatha goes to collect her bunny for the feast, she notices he’s been acting strange.

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Ragatha glanced nervously at the empty seat next to her. The feast simulated a warm and inviting scent, calling her to stop worrying and finally eat something.

Her and Jax had been together for about a year now. Ragatha was happy with him, but sometimes she found herself wishing they were closer. Affectionate, in the way she knew she wanted to be. Of course, she’d never ask for it herself.

It didn’t at ALL help that a new arrival had since happened. A porcelain wind up figure, with an ornate ballerina outfit and a golden winding mechanism out of her backside.

Her name was Marybelle, and she took a certain liking to Jax, and a certain disdain to the rag doll. It made her a bit worried and uneasy, to say the least. But she buried those feelings down and tried to offer the benefit of the doubt to the fellow doll. She knew she had to have been reeling when she first arrived.

Ragatha also had noticed that Jax was…acting different. Almost more distant. Ragatha felt the curiosity gnawing at her in the late hours of the night. She made sure to let her bunny know she’d always be there for him.

Ragatha suddenly stood up from the table. “Jax is taking a while, I’m gonna go check on him.” The dolly wrung her hands together. Pomni gave a small smile, looking up at her good friend. “Alright! I can get some food to you later if you need it.” She offered.

Ragatha couldn’t help but smile back. “Thanks, poms! I’ll be back.” She turned to leave, quickly making her way to the hallway that held their rooms. Jax said he needed to get ‘ready’ before the feast. It was strange, but Ragatha acquiesced and left him alone.

Ragatha wrung her hands nervously again. She didn’t know why, but a voice in the back of her mind told her to be on alert. She walked down the hallway and paused when she heard…voices. One of which was her bunny, and the other was another voice. Confident. Female.

She swallowed hard and approached the source of the sound, which happened to be Jax’s room. She softly pushed the door open.

“Bun? I didn’t see you at dinner-”

She stopped dead in her tracks as she took in the sight before her. Jax and the ballerina were both pressed against each other on the wall of his room. His fur was messy, and his hands wrapped around Marybelle’s waist. She did the same.

He quickly stood at attention when he heard Ragatha, looking at her with wide eyes. “Rags- It’s not, this isn’t what you think!��

Ragatha had a look of utter heartbreak and despair on her face. “You…what are you…” She breathed out. The ballerina simply scoffed and walked out of the room, brushing past Ragatha. She barely noticed.

“Ragatha, this didn’t mean anything! Come on, dollface, you know me.” Jax pleaded with her. Ragatha felt herself starting to cry, hot tears running down her plush face.

“I thought I did.” She whimpered, trying to stop her breaths from becoming erratic and frantic. She felt so absolutely heartbroken and cornered. The way his fur stuck out in multiple places from her, the same way his did when Ragatha would pet him.

And suddenly, it all made sense. Horrible, soul crushing, bleak sense. She turned to leave, but Jax grabbed her arm. “Ragatha, please, we can talk about this!”

Ragatha whipped her head at breakneck speed for anyone who wasn’t made of cloth. “You can’t have much to say, with the taste of her in your mouth.” She pulled away from him and ran into her room, locking it. She held herself so tight she was sure she’d rip her dress. She sunk down to the floor, sobbing hard. The last time she felt this overwhelmed with sorrow was when she first arrived.

By now, the feast was over. Everyone was on their way to their respective rooms. Jax was outside his room, pacing nervously and swearing to himself. Pomni glanced nervously at Zooble and Gangle next to her. Kinger had absolutely no interest in the situation.

“Where’s Ragatha? I thought she went to go find you…” Gangle asked meekly. Jax met her eyes with his, and ran a hand down his furry face.

“She’s in her room. I messed up.” He groaned out, sounding more annoyed than anything. Pomni sighed heavily. “What did you mess up this time?”

Jax looked at the ground with no intention of meeting their eyes. “She caught me with the new girl.”

Pomni heard him, but soon after, her teeth sharpened into points. “You WHAT?!” Gangle made a soft sympathetic noise. Zooble looked furious. “Why would you do that?!” They shouted.

“Look, I know I messed up! She- I didn’t think dollface was gonna find us!” He shouted back, somehow defensive, even after all this. Jax sighed. “I’ll go talk to her.” He said, sounding reluctant to even approach her door.

Zooble grabbed him roughly by his ear with their clawed hand. “OW!” He yelped, stumbling a bit. “You aren’t getting near her. We’re gonna talk to her, and you’re gonna stay the F$&@K out of the way. You’ve done enough.”

They finally let him go, and he held his ear tenderly. The two girls and Zooble looked at him with such contempt. And, he knew deep down he deserved it.

He walked slowly to his room and flopped down on the bed. It kinda smelled like her. Vanilla and a hint of linen.

The sheets had never felt so cold without her.

———————————————————————

WOSOWOWO I’ll probably write more of this if you guys want!

i hope you liked ittttt

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc fic #writers on tumblr #tadc ragatha #tadc jax #tadc pomni #ragatha #the amazing digital circus gangle #tadc caine #bunnydoll #the amazing digital circus zooble #the amazing digital circus jax #the amazing digital circus ragatha

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perfinn · 3 months ago

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dinner and diatribes

jaime lannister x oc

wc: 2.7k

summary: a bastard of house manderly, alarra snow, is assigned to keep watch over the northern army’s most valuable captive: ser jaime lannister. jaime supposes she’s as interesting as things are going to get for him here.

cw: very mild and canon typical fatphobia, otherwise nothing really!

read on ao3, divider by saradika

Jaime Lannister does not understand Northmen and their honour.

They call themselves oathkeepers and no doubt consider themselves the very picture of honour and respect. Yet they treat him, the most important prisoner they’ve ever had their hands on, like a dog. (Actually, they treat their dogs better.) But in the same breath, they treat their bastards with some modicum of respect and give them a seat at their table. At least from what he’s seen.

Jaime knows that if his father ever deigned to sire a bastard, he’d never so much as acknowledge the child. (He barely considers Tyrion a trueborn child, Jaime thinks rather bitterly.) But northerners, apparently, don't share a similar sentiment. Ned Stark’s bastard had shared a dining room with them when they went north to visit Winterfell, and now a bastard girl has been given the most honourable task of keeping watch over his cell– no, his cage. Cage is a far more apt descriptor for what he finds himself in.

He’s not sure of her name, but one of those dreadful looking men-at-arms had called her Snow. He supposes he doesn't need to know anything else. Usually, he’d not put too much thought into a bastard. But this one is pretty, for a Northerner. And he has nothing else to do. Nothing else but stare at her and convince himself she’s pretty enough to waste time on. She has in her hands a needlework hoop, a thick fabric and a pattern he can't discern from his current distance. Curiosity born of sheer boredom gnaws at him, similarly to the hunger that gnaws at his stomach. She may be as good a distraction as any from his mounting starvation. Gods, he’ll be a rake by the time he gets out of this.

“What are you doing?” His voice is rougher than he means it to be, more ragged than his usual charming, smug tone.

The girl jolts with surprise at hearing his voice, turning her head to face him with her needle still poised in her hand. “I’m… not supposed to talk to you,” she says. Jaime can tell she’s trying to seem tough and stubborn, but it doesn't quite work.

“No one’s around,” he says, inching forward as much as his chains will let him. “Give a poor man the time of day.”

She stares at him in silence a moment, glancing around to see that their corner of the camp is all but empty, save for a few men-at-arms who’ve dozed off into a half-drunk slumber. The great armies of the north, Jaime thinks with bitter amusement. This is who I let capture me?

The girl moves then from the upside down crate she’s been perched on to get closer to him, kneeling on the cold grass and lifting up the half finished piece to show him. It’s a long pattern of tridents in a sea of blue waves. A small part of a larger piece, Jaime supposes.

“Tridents,” he says, dully. “What, for where we travel?”

“No,” she says. “It's a gift for my half-brother’s wife. Better to wear a trident than pillows.”

Jaime’s lips quirk in amusement at her disdainful tone. “Your trueborn brother?”

She nods. “Ser Wylis Manderly,” she says. “For his wife Lady Leona.”

“You're a Manderly?” scoffs Jaime, looking her over. “No, I don't believe you. You’re not nearly fat enough.”

The girl shifts, moving back to her crate with a discontented frown. “Well, I’m not a Manderly.”

Jaime frowns when she puts distance between them again. He shifts in an attempt to gain a more comfortable position, but chained to a post as he is, that is something of an impossible task. “I suppose not. You're a Snow. But still, Lord Manderly’s daughter are you?” When she offers him no response, he goes on. “You must look like your mother.”

She lifts her gaze to him with the sort of distasteful scowl only a Northerner could give. “Yes, I do,” she says.

“I pity your mother,” he says, leaning back and enjoying the way her scowl deepens. “I’ve seen your father. I wouldn't want to have that on top of me.”

The girl scoffs, looking back down at her stitching and continuing the work, though more aggressively this time.

“Did your mother give you a name?”

“Yes.”

“Is Yes a Northern name?”

“Is infuriating a Western trait?”

Jaime smirks. “I rather think so.”

The girl looks up at him, trying her best to silence him with a glare. “I’m done speaking to you. I wasn't supposed to speak to you at all.”

“Oh, come on,” he pleads. “Please. What harm can I do like this?”

“Wendel says you’ve got a way of talking that tricks people,” she says. “He said I shouldn’t let you do it to me.”

“Yes, I heard him. It’s hard not to hear him,” Jaime grumbles. “Alas, you cannot stop me from talking. I’m quite adept at pestering. I’ll talk until you decide that talking back will shut me up.”

“Do as you wish,” she huffs, looking back down at her hoop.

Jaime shrugs, taking a dramatic breath in before beginning to speak. “So, who is your mother? A servant? A whore? A lesser noble lady that your father sullied then spurned? Someone else entirely? Although, I cannot think there’s many more options.”

“Seven hells,” the girl curses under her breath.

“I’ll settle for whore,” Jaime decides, making her shift and bristle. “I suppose your name isn’t actually Yes, is it? Is it Jeyne? Seems everyone is named Jeyne. It is as safe a bet as Jon for a male.”

“Gods be good, man!” The girl eventually exclaims. “You are like a high lady’s wretched little yapping dog!”

Jaime grins. That did not take long. “Tell me and I may stop.”

“You may?”

“I cannot make a promise I don’t know that I’ll keep.”

She looks at him, eyeing the grime on his skin with disdain. “My name is Alarra. And my mother was Wynafryd and Wylla’s wetnurse.”

“Ah, a wetnurse! I was remiss not to consider a wetnurse in the list of potential mothers. So, were you born to provide your nieces with more milk?”

“No,” Alarra hisses. “No, I was not. Do not dare imply my lord father forced himself upon her, you wretch.”

“Alright,” he surrenders, raising his hands as far as they’ll go. “Perhaps he was not so fat twenty odd years ago. But she must have been a beauty to make a loyal man stray.”

She glances at him with less venom then, setting the stitching down in her lap. “She is,” she says. “She's not dead, mind. She's in White Harbour, still.”

“And does she approve of her little girl marching south with the great Northern army?” Jaime asks, secretly glad she’s dropped her front of animosity.

Alarra huffs, smiling wryly to herself. “Not exactly. But I wanted to do something with myself. So I asked Wylis if I could be of any help and he said I could join the army and help around the camp. I did not expect this to be the job I was given, but…”

“I’m a very important charge to have, Lady Snow,” he defends. When she’s not so angry or closed off, she really is quite pretty.

“I suppose. I even got to speak to King Robb. Or, well… he spoke to me.”

“How exciting. And what did your boy king say?”

“Your king is a boy too,” she points out. “He said, ‘Watch him vigilantly.’.”

“Wow,” remarks Jaime, unimpressed. “You're all but his right hand woman.”

Alarra scoffs. “I didn't say he said much to me. But it is exciting, I suppose, to be acknowledged by a king when one is so far below him.”

Though he can't put his finger on why, Jaime feels discontented by the idea that she thinks herself so below him. It's objectively true that a bastard girl is leagues below a king– even if that king is an insipid child claiming dominion over the North, he’s still the trueborn son of a lord. But he dislikes that Alarra believes it. Has she no fire? No contempt for her station?

“You’re oddly silent,” remarks Alarra after a moment. “I had almost forgotten how you looked when you weren't talking.”

“And I think I have forgotten how you look when you’re not frowning. I much prefer it.”

Alas, it makes her frown again. Jaime wishes, perhaps for the first time in his life, that he had not spoken.

“Do not mock me,” she says. However, she moves to kneel by his cage again.

“I’m not. You're pretty for what you are.”

“That's not a compliment.”

Jaime frowns. He thought it was a compliment. He opens his mouth to speak again when they’re interrupted by heaving footsteps and someone clearing their throat.

Alarra bolts upright, scrambling to her feet and turning to face the intruder. It’s a man-at-arms, carrying a bowl of something steaming in one hand and a cup in the other. He scowls at Jaime, but his face softens a might when he looks at Alarra.

Jaime is reminded of the twisting hunger in his gut as the smell of it reaches his nose. Stew, he thinks, and spiced wine. Gods, he’d debase himself for some of that.

He can see Alarra smile up at the young man, and Jaime is not ashamed to say that the sight of her smile creasing her cheeks stirs something inside him, and is similarly unafraid to account this to the fact that she’s the only woman he’s seen apart from Catelyn Stark– who he can't find himself attracted to for sheer dislike of her.

“That smells good,” says Alarra, approaching the man. “Better than what we’ve had.”

“Finally had a chance to send hunters out,” he says, handing her the bowl. “It's rabbit stew. Were you talking to ‘im?”

Alarra glances back as the man jerks his head in Jaime’s direction. “Only in hopes of shutting him up,” she mumbles.

“Well, you’ll want to be careful with that one,” says the young man, northern accent thick to the point that Jaime can barely understand him. “‘Eard the others saying he’ll get in your ‘ead.”

“My half brother told me so,” she nods, taking the bowl and cup from him with quiet gratitude. “You needn’t worry. I’ve a strong resolve.”

“Aye,” says the man-at-arms, smiling at her. Jaime is amazed that he does not spit at the bastard girl and instead seems to look fondly upon her. “You’re stubborn blood. Still, don't you let ‘im make you any promises. Gods know he won't keep ‘em.”

Alarra offers the young man-at-arms a tense smile. “Is there any food for him?”

“He’ll get fed when the king’s wolf has had ‘is fill.”

Alarra nods, thanking him again for the food and going to sit back down after he's given her a gentle pat on the shoulder. Jaime watches Alarra, for once silent. He leans his head back against the post behind him, inhaling deeply like the smell of the stew might fill his belly.

Alarra glances at Jaime a few times as she eats, clearly wanting to say something but hesitating. Jaime wagers a few silent guesses as to what she wants to say– Why did you kill the king? Did you really fuck your sister? Are you going to promise me gold so I’ll let you go?

“Has anyone fed you?” she eventually says, and Jaime is stumped into stunned silence for just a moment.

He flounders for a response for a moment before landing, quite eloquently, on, “Er, no.”

Alarra looks down at her food contemplatively, then back at him. He’s stunned she’s even considering it. Thus far the best food he’s been given was rotting bread and dirty water. Jaime doesn't want a bastard girl’s pity, but he thinks he may just need it. He’d beg if she asked him to. Hells, he might do it unprompted.

“When I’ve had my fill,” Alarra begins, glancing around. “You can have the rest.”

“Really?”

Alarra nods. “I’ll need to hand feed you. I can't undo your shackles.”

“At this point I’d let you spit it, chewed up, into my mouth and thank you for it,” he says. Alarra snorts a laugh, covering her mouth. A smile tugs at Jaime’s lips, despite the hunger and the cold, the sound of her laughing makes him feel just that bit warmer.

“I’ll use the spoon,” she assures, smiling at him. Jaime wagers a guess that she won't need so much more to have her fill. Though much of her is hidden in heavy woollen fabrics and furs, he can tell she's a woman with some shape to her. She doesn't look like she’s ever starved, which he supposes is more than some bastards can say. She finishes her last few bites before shifting closer to him, gesturing for him to come that bit closer.

Jaime comes forward as far as the chains will let him. He ought to be humiliated, he knows, at the prospect of being hand fed by a bastard girl, but it smells so good he cannot find it in him to mind. First she lifts the cup to his lips, tipping warm spiced wine into his mouth that he drinks greedily. The wine is dry and bitter beneath the spices, certainly no fine Arbour vintage. Yet, Jaime feels it must be the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Alarra lowers the cup before he can drink his fill and a pathetic sort of whine leaves Jaime’s throat. Alarra frowns at him. “You’ll need something to wash it down,” she chastises.

“I’m not a child,” Jaime says sharply. “I don't need a bastard girl telling me when I can and can't drink.”

Alarra then deigns to poke him gently on the forehead, carefully avoiding the wound there. (Which Jaime thinks may be beginning to fester.) Jaime is too stunned to even protest. She lifts the bowl then, filling a spoonful for him. “You’re lucky I’m feeding you at all.”

Jaime presses his lips together, leaning his forehead against the bars. “You’re a strange sort of woman.”

“Why?” She lifts the spoon to his lips, and Jaime greedily takes it into his mouth. He groans at the rich taste of the sauce, the tender meat of the rabbit which melts in his mouth– again, not nearly the finest food he’s ever eaten, but it tastes to him now like the seventh heaven.

He chews and swallows quickly, clearing his throat before answering her. “You don't seem particularly bitter about being a bastard. You're kind. Doubt you’d ever admit it though.”

“This is not kindness,” she says, giving him another spoonful. “This is decency.”

Jaime makes the choice to savour this bite. He can see there's not much in the bowl, perhaps two more spoonfuls. He ought to make it last. He chews it slowly, watching her face. There's a crease between her brows as she frowns quizzically. Jaime wonders if she were to relax, would there be a line there from how often she frowns? Northerners do so much frowning, perhaps indeed this crease is the face she was born with.

“Decency indeed,” he hums, contemplative. “People are very kind to you for what you are. Even Lady Cat did not spit at you.”

“A bastard is best if he’s useful,” she says quietly. “I’ve proven myself so as often as is possible. I do not laze about and expect for people to respect me because my father is a lord.”

“Yes, but even Catelyn?”

Alarra smirks, scraping him up another spoonful. “I repaired a rip in her ladyship’s dress faster than she’s ever seen, so clean she could not tell it was ever ripped at all.”

Jaime smiles. “A useful bastard indeed.”

She feeds him the last two spoonfuls and Jaime closes his eyes a few moments to savour the lingering taste on his tongue. He opens his eyes, gazing quietly at Alarra as she looks down to grab the cup of wine. He wonders, briefly, if he's ever seen a woman so beautiful. It feels as though Cersei couldn't hold a candle to the way Alarra looks in the waning torchlight.

(Some part of him is certain that this feeling is only so potent because she’s been the one to ease the ache in his shrinking stomach, but a larger part cannot believe anything but that she's some rugged sort of angel.)

She brings the cup back to his lips, offering him the smallest of smiles. “And you? You’ve been decent to me for what I am.”

“Well,” he says, swallowing the last mouthful with a contented smile. “I’m finding you’re not so terrible.”

#my work #fic: dinner and diatribes #jaime lannister x oc #jaime lannister fic #jaime lannister fanfic #jaime lannister fanfiction #asoiaf oc #got oc #fyeahgotocs #oc: alarra snow

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theicarusconstellation · 3 months ago

Note

Hi, ok hear me out. An arcane AU with marauders characters. Black brothers angst, etc.

(Just an Idea don’t feel pressured to write anything at all I just really love your style of writing and if anyone was to write an arcane au, I would want it to be you that’s all ily bye bye now)

NO I LOVE THIS SO MUCH YES

i actually have an arcane au just for me that’s centered around regulus and mariela (my oc jegulus’ daughter) with mariela as jinx and regulus in silco’s position. it’s mariela’s pov so i won’t be publishing it or anything since it’s just a silly OC story, but god it’s. So important to me.

in terms of what i would publish though🤭regulus as jinx has always been so deeply felt as Canon in my heart and soul. like. oh the youngest sibling curse is REAL and the thought of him being Haunted his entire life, alone and abandoned, raised to be more weapon than person OH I JUST AHHHHH GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE.

plus we all know i’m a slut for transmasc genderfluid regulus, so imagine a pre-transition regulus in powder’s position, and then once he reunites with sirius (who’s in vi’s position — bro gets falsely locked up in every universe lmao), there’s a whole other layer to the “refusing to call jinx by her new name” thing because regulus is trans!! he’s trans and it’s Not Who Sirius Remembers and it just furthers regulus’ mentality that he’ll never be accepted as he is.

OH AND IMAGINE THE BLACK BROTHERS ANGST AT THE DINNER SCENE.

“i thought…maybe you could love me like you used to. even though im…different…”

AND SIRIUS. DOESNT. RESPOND. LIKE??????????

i’m not sure whether i’d want to play into the exact dynamic of jinx and silco, in which case i’d have bellatrix be in silco’s position, if i’d want to play into the softer parts, in which case i’d have narcissa be in silco’s position, or if i’d want to play into the fully toxic and manipulative parts, in which case i’d have tom riddle be in silco’s position.

and okay hear me out: pandora as viktor. LITERALLY OPENING PANDORA’S BOX HELLO!!!!!!!! pandora as viktor, and i can’t decide who would be jayce, but im thinking maybe barty?? the Diplomat’s Son dabbling in forbidden sciences only to discover something genius (mr twelve O.W.L.s over here).

with mel (side note she looks so good in season two promos im SWOONING) i could see her being lily or dorcas. i’ve wanted to write bartylily for a while but never got the chance to, so lily in mel’s position would be the perfect opportunity for their twisted little dynamic, but dorcas’ slytherin cunning up there running the council?? that’s also just. too good to pass up yk??

i’d probably combine elements of both lux and ekko for james’ character. i’m a lightcannon girlie through and through, but for this fic id defo make an exception for jegulus <3 KISSING ON HOVERBOARDS YES PLEASE <3

but yeah a regulus-centric arcane au has been On The Brain since i first watched the show. just. the dinner scene plays over and over in my head, and i just think, what if that was regulus? what would she do? who would be his silco? it’s absolutely a concept i intend to write, hopefully sooner rather than later.

also “if anyone was to write an arcane au id want it to be you” is probably one of the most flattering things anyone has ever said to me thank you so much??😭

#astraeus’ asks #arcane #marauders #regulus black #lily evans #arcane au #jegulus #marauders fic #marauders era #arcane fic

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headlessjest · 1 year ago

Note

what is up !!

uhhh sorry if this clutters up ur ask box but could u draw/write Auditor as a dad to a silly shadowy y/n uhm sorry ,,, if its considered a blank promt

I’ll write this since I’m kinda drawing a lot of my oc ref sheets!

Thank you for the request though!

Ft: Auditor

(All of this is platonic!!)

Hcs:

•Tbh, they weren’t expecting a mini them

•But in all honesty, they like it.

•I mean, a mini version of yourself is sick as hell, and you can teach them crazy shit.

•But fr though, they like taking care of you.

•Also, it is confirmed that the employers are vampires, no joke. So I’m just imaging you biting random agents and Auditor is in the back like: “Lmao, that’s my kid.”

•I also think that they share their drinks with you because you’re technically also an employer? (I have a headcanon that the employers have different taste in drinks n all that. Like how Auditor has a taste in sweeter or more sugary drinks.)

•I also think that you mock them in a way. Like being in their office a lot and typing on the computer, etc. Trying to live up their name.

•But yeah, they love taking care of you and do get a little upset when not having time to be with you.

One shot:

Alright, ever since you got accidentally created, you’ve been kinda a nightmare for the agency. You gnaw at everything you see, scratch at everything, and just be a little shit head in general.

The only way for you to calm down was your dad…

Your dads drinks.

Apparently, sugary drinks help you calm down instead of being a hyper little shit head. That's where you are right now, getting chased down by everyone, including your dad because you won't accept sugary drinks. "(Name)!!" Auditor yelled out over the speaker.

"I swear to God, (Name)! This has been going on for 3 whole hours! How the hell do you have the energy for this shit!?" Auditor yelled once again. You continued to run through the halls as the agents chased you down. As you kept on running, you got trapped in a corner. You turned around to look at the agents who're trying to slowly grab you.

You looked below you and realized a vent was underneath you. The agents also noticed this and one of them lost their control and instantly tried to grab you, forcing you to climb into the vent and close the cover behind you quickly. "Uh, MX.. They're in the vents now.." one of the agents hesitantly stated into the ear piece. "Goddamn it! Alright, everyone, go to every vent in the agency and guard it. We need to get (Name) to calm down as soon as possible!" Auditor command.

All the agents nodded at eachother and all started to spread out to each individual vent in the place. Now here you are, climbing through the vents, trying to find your dad's office. The one place where an agent isnt guarding the vent. Auditor hummed when looking over the camera footage, trying to find out where you are.

Auditor was honestly getting some deja vu rn from the fnaf 2 and 3 vent stuff. Honestly kinda scared them a bit.

Anyways, after 10 minutes of this bs, you finally found your dad's office and giggled to yourself. You were about to jump out of the vent before hearing your dad say this. "You're in here, (Name)!" You jolted from this and tried to crawl away before one of Auditors tendrals grabbed you from the vent and made you drop down and into their hands.

"All agents, (Name) has been found. Go back to your post at once." Auditor commanded. Auditor was now glaring at you with anger. You tried to squirm your way out of their hold but no use. Their grip was strong enough to hold you still and all that.

"(Name), you caused a lot of trouble today! Do you know how much work had to be put aside because of you!?" Auditor scolded. You realized their words and kinda dropped down a bit, your flames/shadows going down. Auditor looks over your state and sighs.

They set you down on the ground and kneel down towards you. "I know that you know we don't get a lot of time together, right?" Auditor questioned. You nodded and looked away a bit in slight shame. "Listen, I'll make a deal, (Name)." This got your attention, making you look back up at them. "Sometime, this week, I'll take a day off and hang out with you. Spend some time together." Auditor swore.

You looked up at them for a bit with sparkles in your eyes(?), before lifting your left hand up and bringing your pinky out. Auditor chuckled a bit from this and brought their left hand out, wrapping their pinky around yours.

Well damn. That was really sweet. I hope you like this, anon!

-Jester

#madness combat x reader #madcom x reader #madness combat x child! reader #madcom x child! reader #madness combat & child! reader #madcom & child! reader #auditor x reader #auditor x child! reader #auditor & child! reader #Fluff is fun to write once in awhile #I also speedran thi because I needed something to calm me down #i also got this ask when playing papas freezeria on my computer

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talesofthepinktape · 4 months ago

Text

Duty

Context: another one-shot about my ATLA OC, Daiyu. It talks more about her background, specifically with her parents and her older sister.

Word count: 8,348 words

WARNINGS: child neglect and mistreatment. Abuse of power and a brief instance of child abuse from a character named Lady Hana. Ozai being Ozai. Semi-graphic mention of self-harm (I don't think it's too graphic, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.) Brief moments of swearing and anger. Implied alcoholism in a background character. Daiyu's family don't mean to suck but they still end up failing Daiyu more often than not. I think that's it, I'll add more if needed. Obligiatory note for my bad writing, also didn't really edit ooopppsss.

At one point, there had been sweetness in her family.

Admittedly, the memories were ones that she’d have to squint and scratch at to unveil. Regardless, after some prying she could vaguely remember it—her father’s tender hugs, her mother’s goodnight kisses to her head, her sister’s soothingly rubbing at her shoulders during tense moments.

Of course, the sweet gestures were always saved for behind closed doors—it wasn’t expected (or, more appropriately, approved of) to see a family with a reputation like hers to be as weak as showing affection.

How would the court react to her father General Zhulong, Prince Ozai’s childhood best friend and most trusted advisor, picking up his daughter and swinging her around in a hug? How would it appear if her mother Lady Dongmei, Fire Lord Azulon’s handpicked bodyguard for both of his sons, stepped out from her post to greet and coo at her children? No, no, it simply wouldn’t do.

This duty was just simply expected of her family. The Song family—the family that produced generation after generation of skilled firebenders, and highly believed to be the ones to invent lightning bending. Since the beginning of the Fire Nation, they’d faithfully served the Crown and done whatever they’d asked. Daiyu’s grandmother had been Fire Lord Azulon’s most trusted advisor before her passing. Daiyu’s mother was, as mentioned prior, the fierce bodyguard of both Princes and had been assigned that at a young age. Even her father, after clawing his way up from peasantry and impressing the court, had no issue fitting in with the family code of service. It hadn’t ever been an issue with him—being loyal to Prince Ozai, his friend since saving the prince from a mugging and fighting off thieves together, came naturally to General Zhulong.

Daiyu longed to be like them. To be seen as loyal and dutiful and honorable. And if following her family’s code of inconsistent kindness would help her, if wearing that emotionless mask would get her on the path, then so be it.

And maybe sometimes discomfort would gnaw at the edges of Daiyu’s mind as she watched her friends be so openly… comfortable with their families. Whether it be Ty Lee openly crying out with joy and running to greet her parents or Zuko being attached to his mother’s hip; whether it was even Azula basking in Ozai’s praise or Mai receiving a kiss on the head from her father, Daiyu learned to push down the longing so adjust the carefully practiced mask.

(“Why can’t we be more like Ty Lee and her family?” Daiyu could remember asking one night through a pout.

“Oh my sweetling, I’m so sorry,” her mother murmured, eyebrows knit with sadness, “We just can’t allow ourselves to show that kind of… weakness.” Dongmei grimaced at the final word, though Daiyu hadn’t noticed.

Instead, the four-year-old simply gazed down at her blanket and uttered out, “Oh.”

Dongmei’s shoulders slumped as she gazed down at her youngest. She took a deep breath before leaning in, capturing Daiyu’s attention as she stroked her daughter’s hair, “But just know, that your father and I love you and Jiaying very much. More than anything.”

Daiyu nodded, eyes brightening just slightly. Dongmei smiled softly, lips quivering in the subtlest fashion as she ducked down to press a tender kiss to Daiyu’s head. Maybe Dongmei would hope that Daiyu would remember from their conversation the declaration of love, the sweet kiss to her temple, the silent vow of devotion. But in reality all Daiyu would recall were those fateful words—

“We just can’t allow ourselves to show that kind of… weakness.”)

***

While her parents were bound by duty, her older sister Jiaying had less qualms with bending the rules. Zhulong and Dongmei kept their spines straight and gazes stoic, while Jiaying strutted about with the cocky swagger of a confident youth wherever she pleased.

Jiaying was ten years older than Daiyu—at this point, fifteen to Daiyu’s tender age of five. Jiaying was a firebending protégé, and quickly getting the hang of lightning bending—yet another member of the Song family to be a master of her element.

They didn’t have a whole lot in common—their ages, their personalities, and even who was or wasn’t a bender were all different between the two. It sometimes showed, in Jiaying’s stalling to find something to discuss with Daiyu, or in Daiyu’s awkward shuffling to approach her sister in public. Yet, they loved each other—and unlike their parents, Jiaying wasn’t afraid to be open about it.

Whereas Zhulong could be relied on for an approving nod and Dongmei for the smallest of smiles, Jiaying was much more blatant. She made it a point to greet her baby sister with a high five or a hug, and always tagging on an affectionate nickname at the end of her greetings. Jiaying took Daiyu with her everywhere—to her training sessions, to her adventures down to the market, and sometimes even to her visits with Jiaying’s betrothed, Prince Lu Ten.

Of course, Jiaying had a side of her that most older siblings did—a teasing side. She loved to pull pranks on Daiyu, whether in public or in private. Daiyu would always have to hold back tears when her sister tripped her in front of all the nobles or brought up embarrassing stories in front of Jiaying’s firebending peers, but she just remembered her mother’s words and straightened her spine like her parents did.

And sometimes Jiaying would go too far. Sometimes she’d say the wrong thing or be too harsh in her jokes, and Daiyu would have to excuse herself before going off to cry in the closest private room. On those days, her parents would scold Jiaying in the privacy of their home. And Jiaying would always end up slinking into Daiyu’s room with a treat or a toy in her hands and an apology on her lips. Daiyu would forgive her sister, and they’d spend the rest of the night talking��or, however long it took for Daiyu to fall asleep.

Daiyu was five at that point, and had learned a routine: her parents would gift her and Jiaying the subtlest forms of affection in public. And in private affection couldn’t be guaranteed either—what with how busy their roles kept them—but you could always count on comforting cuddles and kind words when they were around. But Jiaying was a blinding sun, and marched to the beat of her own drum—she’d hug Daiyu, encourage her, and prank her whenever and wherever she pleased.

And Daiyu didn’t know a whole lot at her tender age, but at that moment it felt like enough.

***

Daiyu was six when she was assigned caretaker of Prince Zuko and Princess Azula.

To the Fire Nation officials, she was the perfect choice—a member of the Song family, one of the Fire Nation’s most influential and powerful families, continuing their direct service to the Crown was appropriate. Her father carried this out as the ruthless general leading the Crown’s armies, her mother kept to this vow by being Ozai’s loyal and protective shadow, and her sister would continue the tradition by marrying Lu Ten and fighting in their armies. Daiyu had her part to play, and, according to the nobles around her who suddenly cared so much, she was just so much wiser than the other children her age.

“An excellent choice to guide the Prince and Princess,” said one official with an approving nod.

“Is the age not of concern?” said another with an eyebrow raise. The second official’s gaze had a mocking glint that made Daiyu shift in her seat.

“She might be younger than the Prince and Princess, but she has double the maturity of most her age,” said a third, “She could be a good influence on them.”

“Well, how soon could she start?”

“What about the Prince and Princess’ training? How can a non-bender oversee that?”

“We’d need to get her to start lessons with the Lady Hana as soon as possible. We can’t afford to have the child sitting around and doing nothing.”

“Oh, and also—”

“But what about—”

Words and phrases blurred together with Daiyu’s vision. Her breathing quickened and her hands began to shake.

The council was asking her to become a caretaker to the royal children. Oversee the lessons, make sure they were fed and healthy, ensuring they were presentable to court, mediate their arguments… she was six. Daiyu was six, two years younger than Zuko, and two months younger than Azula. How was she supposed to take care of them?

“—Lady Daiyu?”

She jerked herself out of her thoughts, suddenly aware of all eyes on her. Her eyes instinctively flickered past all the other faces at the table—up to the furthest chair on the left side, where her father sat with his fingers laced together. Her eyes went further past to the shadows of the room, where her mother no doubt lingered. On instinct, Daiyu straightened her spine and raised her chin in Ozai’s direction.

“Yes, my Lord? I’m sorry, my mind escaped me for a moment. It won’t happen again,” Daiyu said in her rehearsed, “wise beyond years” tone. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, weighing her down.

“I was simply asking for your answer,” Ozai purred, gaze relaxed yet sharp and zeroed in on her alone, “What do you say? Will you take up the honor and responsibility of preparing my children for glory?”

She gulped. Her eyes went back to the shadows—Dongmei made her presence known, eyes bright and a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Daiyu’s eyes went back to that chair—Zhulong’s orbs held an approving light, and pride rolled off of him in waves.

Daiyu faltered, When was the last time they were this proud of her? In public, in front of the court and everyone?

Dongmei’s smile. Zhulong’s pride. Daiyu’s eyes went back to Ozai. A moment passed, then two, and her mouth opened with a reply.

***

“I’m so proud of you, my sweetling, you made the right choice today,” Dongmei gushed. Daiyu sat in front of her mother as Dongmei gently ran a brush through her long, black hair.

“Thank you, Mommy.”

“Oh, my love, you’ll be brilliant,” Zhulong said, “And really, there’s no greater way to serve the Fire Nation than to serve the royal children. They’ll be the next generation, and you’ll be the reason they continue the legacy of our people.”

Dongmei nodded enthusiastically, “Like your father said, love. Our family has been serving the Nation in many ways over many, many years. You’re helping continue our service, and we’re so proud of you.”

A knot formed in her stomach. Where was this when she scored top grades in her class? Where was this when she got the leading part in the school play? Daiyu gulped, twiddling with her fingers yet again. She spoke through the sudden dryness in her throat, “B-but Mommy, Daddy, I-I don’t know what to do or how to help them. Will you be there to help me?”

Behind her, Dongmei gently set down her brush. Across from her, Zhulong rose from his chair and came to sit in front of her. Someone spoke, but her heart’s sudden pounding drowned out who, “My dearest, you’ll be fine. You know more than you think. And besides, no one was an expert on the first day. Both of us have had our learning curves, so has your sister, and now so will you. It’ll able be worth it to make the Fire Nation and the Royal Family better.”

The other—whoever it was—spoke now, “You’ll learn, I promise. You’ll do great. Others have come before you and succeeded, and you’ll join their ranks in making our nation all powerful. Hey, you’ll be just like Master Tao. Don’t you love Master Tao?”

Master Tao, Crown Prince Iroh and Prince Ozai’s own caretaker. He was a few years younger than Prince Iroh, and was still present in the palace to this day. He was a favorite at court, with his gallant nature and booming charisma. Her parents had a point—Tao was beloved and respected, two things Daiyu wasn’t. Though it also made her think of what her classmates said—how, apparently, Tao spent all his free time at the bar owned by one her classmates’ parents. Apparently, he spent a lot of his time staring off into space and slamming back as many drinks as he could.

“Yes,” Daiyu managed with a forced smile, “I’ll be just like Master Tao.”

Her parents’ cheer was drowned out by her heart’s continuous pounding.

***

“So, caretaker, huh?” Jiaying’s soft voice broke through the darkness of her room. Daiyu jumped from her bed, too lost in her thoughts to have even noticed her older sister. The older girl was playing with the golden charm bracelet—a gift from Prince Lu Ten. In all her years alive, Daiyu had never seen her sister take the bracelet off.

“You’ll have to be sharper than that, kid,” Jiaying said with a soft smirk. Daiyu’s gaze remained wide-eyed, though her shoulders stiffened and then slouched. The elder’s smirk dropped at that, a stricken look taking over her features, “Shit, sorry kid, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Jiaying quickly crossed Daiyu’s bedroom, sitting herself next to Daiyu. She hesitated before throwing an arm over Daiyu’s shoulders, “I’ll be there. As much as I can, at least. I can make some excuses over having more stuff to teach Zuko and Azula. An-and Lu Ten said he’d make up some stuff about wanting to be around longer. I’ll help you as much as I can, kid. I promise. You won’t be alone.”

Daiyu simply stared at her sister, eyes still wide and unblinking. Jiaying shifted uncomfortably. She opened her mouth to say something else, when she was suddenly interrupted by Daiyu throwing herself into Jiaying’s chest.

It took Jiaying a second to recognize the dramatic heaving of her shoulders. It took her another to absorb the sounds of sobs echoing in the room. It took her a third to realize why her shirt was suddenly wet.

Tears sprung to her own eyes. Jiaying sat there for a moment, before clearing her throat and wrapping her baby sister up in her arms.

Nothing would get to Daiyu. Not while Jiaying was there.

She’d make sure of it.

***

Daiyu’s first year as caretaker came with messes and mistakes. She messed up on schedules, appointed the wrong teachers, and stuttered when presenting their progress in council meetings. But she also got Azula to learn lightning bending, helped Zuko unlock his firebending via old tips from a scroll, and mediated their arguments to perfection.

(Her father hugs her in public for the first time at the ceremony marking her new duties. Her mother makes a declaration of her love and pride in front of the whole court. Her sister holds her hair back when Daiyu heaves up her dinner as anxiety wrestles and wins. Daiyu is seven now.)

Daiyu’s second year as caretaker came with new faces and adjustments. Somehow, Mai and Ty Lee ended up being added to her nest of clients. Her duties go from juggling Zuko’s sensitive cluelessness and Azula’s blunt cruelty with their formal duties, to coaxing Mai out of her gloomy funks and soothing Ty Lee’s insecurities.

(Her father lets her sit in on one of his meetings, perched on his lap and smiling brightly—never a public sight before. Her mother takes Daiyu as her “date” to a formal ball, and they spend the night with theirs hands locked and smiles shining like stars. Her sister talks her down from her gasping panic attacks. Daiyu is eight now.)

Daiyu’s third year of caretaker sees her finally settle into a routine. There was the first year of scrambling and grasping for stability, when the stability she sought slid through her fingers like sand. And then there was the second year of being thrown off her axis, with more on her plate and duties becoming overwhelming. And now there is the third year, where her days pass in blurs of duty duty duty—

(Her father gushes about her to visiting nobles. Her mother sings her praises to whoever listens. Her sister is shipped off to war, and reluctantly leaves Daiyu to handle her breakdowns alone. Scratching at her arms and ripping at her nails becomes her new coping mechanism. Daiyu is nine. The world is already swallowing her whole.)

***

Prince Lu Ten is dead. Crown Prince Iroh returns from Ba Sing Se a failed general with no heirs. Whispers fly through court about who would succeed Iroh once he passed—Lu Ten was his only child, after all.

Jiaying returns home with no victory to boast of and no betrothed to hold her in tender moments. Her wry smirk is replaced with a twisted snarl, and the light in her eyes is more akin to the glint of a sharpened knife than that of a bright spark. Her shoulders are fixed in a permanent tense slouch, and the rest of her frame is like a tightly wound coil, always ready to spring. She constantly has a hand on her golden bracelet, as if someone was going to rip it away at any moment.

Zhulong tried to greet her during her return, and Jiaying simply pushed past her father without a second glance. Dongmei tried to coax her out of her room for dinner, and Jiaying simply hissed that she wasn’t hungry and slammed her door.

Daiyu was only nine, but she thought she understood why Jiaying was so angry. Lu Ten had been her whole world—or, at least, that’s what Jiaying had said to Daiyu once when talking about the prince. The rest of it could be pieced together. Much like with Daiyu, Zhulong and Dongmei loved their first born but were bound by their duties. They were frequently busy, and sure they spent some time together as Jiaying learned bending, but it was still irregular. The other children had shrunk away in fear at Jiaying’s power, but Lu Ten hadn’t wavered once. He’d come to Jiaying with an open mind, and they won each other’s hearts in the end.

Jiaying had expanded her circle a bit since then, but it didn’t change how Lu Ten had been the first and, for a while, the only.

Daiyu thought of that as Jiaying slammed her way through the house, curses being uttered every now and then.

Her sister once felt like a safe place, but now Jiaying’s security had been replaced by rage and despair. And that scared Daiyu more than anything.

***

Her teacher as caretaker was the Lady Hana. She was effective and diligent, but also cruel. Lady Hana seemed to relish in the power her role gave her. It had been too many times where Daiyu had run to Jiaying through the tears in her eyes, and just as many where Jiaying had used all of her self-control to not attack the elder each time.

Lady Hana had had less complaints as Daiyu settled into her role, but she still remained in the background… ready and waiting to strike.

Today had been the Lady’s day to attack. Daiyu had messed up, once again—she hadn’t been watching Zuko close enough, and the older boy had fallen out a tree he was climbing to impress Mai. He’d broken his wrist, and it was all Daiyu’s fault (or at least that’s what Lady Hana told her during her lecture.)

Lady Hana’s reprimands usually consisted of lectures that lasted who knows how long, consisting of the cruelest words and petty insults tossed in whenever she could. But today, the teacher had escalated—had grabbed Daiyu’s wrist in her hand, and her firebending kicked in to begin to burn at Daiyu’s wrist.

Daiyu had shrieked in pain the moment it happened, and wrenched her wrist away. She hadn’t even taken a second to look at the Lady’s reaction or excuse herself, instead bursting from Lady Hana’s office.

She sprinted through the halls, the courtyard, and the palace to her home. Her parents hadn’t been home (away on business, shocker), but Jiaying had been. Daiyu’s older sister was seated at the kitchen table when Daiyu ran in sobbing.

“Whoa, what happened to you?” Jiaying asked with an eyebrow raise. She took note of Daiyu holding her wrist, and her expression barely changed. She kept fiddling with her charm bracelet.

“I—Lady—it—please—I—Jia—”

A huff and an eyeroll as she crossed her arms, “Just spit it out already, Daiyu. C’mon, I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

Daiyu took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to school herself. She remembered everything taught in her lessons—taught to her by Lady Hana and—

Her breathing quickened, sobs growing more aggressive as Daiyu’s shoulders heaved. The world spun out from under her, “Jia, please, I can’t—she hurt me—”

Jiaying said something, but Daiyu couldn’t hear anything over the sudden ringing in her ears. She swore she could taste blood in her mouth.

A sudden grab on her wrist made Daiyu scream. Jiaying snarled, “For fuck’s sake, Daiyu, learn to grow up already. So what, your teacher hurt you? People hurt each other all the time. You’ve got to grow up already and just deal with it like the rest of us—”

“OWWWWW! JIA YOU’RE HURTING ME STOP IT!”

Jiaying blinked and startled at her sister’s primal screech. She gazed down at where her hand held Daiyu’s injured wrist, and her stomach sunk. The area that originally only looked a bit red and dry was now a deeper shade of crimson, and had begun to blister. The newly burned area was in the shape of Jiaying’s hand.

Jiaying practically threw herself into the kitchen counter as she stumbled away. Daiyu collapsed to the floor, sobbing and wailing.

“Oh, oh Daiyu, I’m so—” bile rose in her throat, “I—I—oh sweet girl, I’m—”

The bile was going to win. Jiaying stumbled out of the kitchen, out of the house and Daiyu remained in a heap on the floor.

Pain flashed through her entire being, weeping and tearing at her.

I need my mommy, I need my daddy, I need—her thoughts ran rampant, blurring together images of her parents and her friends and Jia and oh spirits, had the pain gotten stronger?

Her parents weren’t here—they wouldn’t be back for a few days. She could try her friends—no. No, it wasn’t an option. She was their caretaker; she was supposed to solve their problems. It wasn’t their place to see her so weak. Daiyu couldn’t betray her duties like that. Even through the fire blazing through her, that message was burned into her very being.

The medic, she warbled in her mind, the medic will help.

She pulled herself off of the ground, stumbling through her home. Jiaying hadn’t even closed the door after running out, leaving it ajar. Daiyu pushed past, tears clouding her vision and her steps more like a clumsy stumble. She barely dodged the puddle of vomit by the front gardens in her quest to find the medic.

Daiyu wandered without seeing through the courtyard. She was vaguely aware of people’s mouths opening and jaws going slack as they took their second glances. Daiyu thought she saw some try to approach, but she simply pushed past them.

Weak, Daiyu, you’re weak, she thought spitefully, Letting the court see you like this. Making Jiaying angry. Zuko hurt on your watch.

The sun was suddenly so blinding in the open courtyard. Wait, courtyard? When had she gotten there? She was going to go to the medic. Where were the medics again?

Iron pooled in her mouth. Light burned her eyes. Her wrist pleaded with her, pleaded for something. Her heart beat out a new rhythm.

“DAIYU? What’s wrong?”

Huh, that sounds a bit like Azula, was the last thing Daiyu thought before her vision went black.

***

A second-degree burn. Severe exhaustion. Emaciation. Scars from probable self-harm. All things the medic had somberly prescribed her with.

She could hear the bits and pieces of conversation as she slowly stirred awake. Daiyu’s brown eyes blinked slowly as she took in the sight before her. The medic stood before her parents (when had they gotten back?!), the medic’s eyebrows tilted down in a gentle frown and her hands somberly linked together before her.

Zhulong was practically a statue, but his eyes were screwed shut. Daiyu could see his hands clenched into fists, and she thought she could see them shaking slightly—alongside the quivering of his lips. Dongmei was equally as still, but her body was stuck with one hand held over her mouth and the other gripping at her stomach. Her dark brown eyes were wide and shimmering with tears.

“Mommy? Daddy?”

The words escaped before Daiyu could stop them. Zhulong and Dongmei jumped a bit, before reality set in and they were suddenly at her bedside.

Zhulong held a hand in both of his, pressing several kisses to her head and face. Daiyu thought she felt the drip of tears, but that feeling was overwhelmed by Dongmei gently scooping her into a hug. Dongmei’s tears were more obvious, shaking at her mother’s shoulders.

“Oh, my dearest love, I’m so sorry,” Dongmei wept, “How are you? What do you need?” None of them noticed the medic silently slip away. Daiyu was left reeling over the last question. What did she need? But what about her friends? Did Azula attend her history lesson? Did Zuko end up passing his latest firebending test?

“How about some water, honey?” Zhulong suggested, pulling back just long enough to pour her a cup from the tea set by her bedside. Dongmei reluctantly parted, but busied herself with helping Daiyu sit up. Zhulong gently refused Daiyu’s attempt at holding the cup, insisting at holding the cup as Daiyu sipped.

Daiyu found she greedily chugged the water, droplets remaining on her chin. Daiyu rose an arm to clear it off, but was beat by Dongmei using her sleeve to dry off Daiyu’s face. Zhulong gently pushed Daiyu’s long hair away from her face, tucking the strands behind her ears. He rested a tender hand on her upper back.

“How are you feeling, love?” Dongmei inquired gently.

Daiyu blanched, her memory filling her with shame as she stammered, “I-I’m sorry.”

Her parents blinked, and took a moment to look at each other. Dongmei pressed, “For what? You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes I do,” Daiyu replied with a frown, “I was weak today. I’ve been weak. I won’t be like that anymore, I promise.”

Her parents both sputtered, but Zhulong gathered himself first, “What do you mean by… weak?”

“Well, I cried and passed out in front of everyone like a loser.”

“You are not a loser, and you are certainly not weak. Who made you feel like this?”

Daiyu shifted, “Well, Mommy told me that we can’t afford to be weak.”

Zhulong’s gaze turned sharp towards his wife. Dongmei’s eyes shut, a deep sigh escaping her lips. The older woman took a second before opening her eyes and fixing Daiyu with a steady gaze, “Daiyu, I—I can’t even begin to explain. I—there’s no excuse. I failed you and I’m so sorry. Did,” she gulped, “did you feel like you had to hide how you felt?”

Ignoring her voice breaking, Daiyu thought for a second and simply said, “Yes.”

A sob abruptly tore its way from Dongmei. Zhulong wrapped an arm around his wife and reached forward to hold Daiyu’s hand with his free one. Conflict made a mask on his face. He opened his mouth to say something, when a knock sounded. Zhulong paused before sighing and raising his voice just slightly, “Come in.”

“I’m sorry,” were the medic’s first words, “I just came to check on Daiyu.”

“Oh, please, go on,” Zhulong said, rising from his chair. Dongmei reluctantly followed him, eyes still trained on her daughter. “I need a moment with my wife, anyways.”

“Mommy, daddy, is everything okay?” Daiyu asked, eyes wide.

A pause hit the room. Zhulong looked at Dongmei, who pointedly avoided his gaze, and then Daiyu, “Yes, my love. Everything will be fine.”

Daiyu nodded, gazing at her parents. A thought hit her, “Where’s Jiaying?”

Her parents looked at each other. Zhulong cleared his throat, “Jiaying’s put in an immediate request to be transferred. Her request was granted, and she’ll be leaving soon. She’ll be working with General Zhao.”

Daiyu’s eyes bulged out of her sockets, her stomach sinking. Her sister? Leaving? Was she leaving because of her?

“We have much to talk about, sweetheart,” Zhulong said, leaning forward to rest a hand on her knee, “But we can talk later. Just rest for now and get better. We’ll be here.”

“You will?” Daiyu’s eyes brightened.

Zhulong gulped, a guilty tint in his eyes, “We will.”

***

Jiaying never came to say bye. The closest sign of a farewell came with Jiaying leaving behind her cherished golden charm bracelet—the one Lu Ten had gifted her so long ago, the one she never took off. The apology seemed to radiate from it. Daiyu wasn’t sure what to do with it.

The medic was happy to report her burn would heal. Daiyu was good to go in a few days burn-wise, but they opted to keep her in the medical wing for a while long for her exhaustion and emaciation (… whatever emaciation meant, at least.)

Her friends kept her busy in the meantime. Zuko and Ty Lee were the most frequent visitors, with Zuko reading her stories that Ursa had shown him and Ty Lee showing off her newest acrobatic tricks. Mai and Azula visited as well, but they stuck mainly to the background. Though, it didn’t change the fact that Mai would pretend to leave with everyone else when visiting hours were over, only to sneak back in later in the evening and sit by her bedside. Or that Azula came in the earliest hours of morning, and would switch posts with Mai until she had to attend to her lessons.

(Of course, Daiyu pretended to be asleep during these times… well, sometimes. Other times she was actually asleep.)

And her parents kept their promise. If they weren��t there together, one of them would be a constant by her side. Her mother sang her songs and braided her hair. Her father told her stories of his life growing up and would affectionately mess up her hair. Jiaying remained a prominent absence… Daiyu still didn’t know how to feel about it.

It was one evening when her parents were both present that they were summoned by Prince Ozai. Daiyu didn’t miss the surprised look her parents shared.

“Right,” Dongmei said with a forced smile, “We’ll leave in just a minute. Did he say where?”

The medic hesitated, “... in the Agni Kai chambers.”

Another look. The medic nodded and left.

“Well, goodnight sweetheart,” Zhulong said, standing to his full height.

“Sleep well, my love, we’ll see you tomorrow,” Dongmei said, leaning down to kiss her forehead. When Dongmei pulled away, Zhulong dipped in to drop his own kiss. Her parents then smushed her in a hug between them.

“You’ll be back home tomorrow,” Zhulong stated happily after they had separated, “… maybe we’ll have to talk about some things.”

Dongmei nudged her husband, “But that’s for tomorrow. We do need to talk, but you rest for tonight.”

Daiyu nodded happily. She hesitated, and then stated, “I love you both. A whole lot.”

Her parents beamed. Her father warmly replied, “And we love you too. More than anything.”

Daiyu gasped and grinned, “Really?”

A twin pair of chuckles, “Yes, really.” More farewells were uttered before her parents took their leave.

Daiyu went to sleep, smiling and heart full.

***

(What happened that night, after her parents, wouldn’t be told to Daiyu until she was older.

After Zhulong and Dongmei left Daiyu to her peaceful dreams, they made their way to the Agni Kai chamber.

“I don’t get why he chose there to meet,” Dongmei uttered under her breath.

“Ozai is sometimes… peculiar. I’m sure he had his reasons,” Zhulong replied. Dongmei simply hummed her agreement.

What happened that night was simple, but impactful. Her parents would meet the then Prince in the chamber, and his first words to them were,

“I will be Fire Lord in twenty-four hours. You both will be by my side and in my court.”

The husband-and-wife duo froze in shock. Before either of them could say a word, Ozai plowed on, “He’s been given a colorless, odorless poison. It’s already in his system. His last request will be that I be made Fire Lord; Iroh doesn’t have the heirs to continue the line, anyways,” he sighed, “I need you both to get to work. We need to begin showing our power to the other Nations, and looking for the Avatar. Zhulong, you’ll—”

“Wait just a damn minute,” Zhulong burst out, “W-what do you mean you’ll be Fire Lord? And what’s this of a… poison? Who would even provide it to you?”

“None of your business, General,” Ozai snipped, “And didn’t I make it obvious? I’ll repeat it, I know sometimes peasants like yourself sometimes have a hard time comprehending information.

Dongmei snarled, “Watch your tongue, Ozai.”

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow, “Save it with the snarls, Dongmei. Now isn’t the time to back down, both of you will be on my court come morning.”

Zhulong gazed in disbelief, “You’ve killed him. You’ve killed your own father and robbed your brother of the throne… but why?”

“Because,” Ozai bit, “I am the one deserving of the throne. My father is weak and passive. My brother spends his time losing wars and moping. But I have never been like them, and I never will. I will find and kill the Avatar, I will make the other nations bow at my feet and beg, and no one will stop me.”

Zhulong staggered back. Over the years, he’d been given warnings from Iroh… warnings about Ozai’s true nature. But he’d always scoffed at his warnings and ignored them. He’d even told Dongmei to disregard his words!

“We won’t let you,” Dongmei insisted, chin raised, “Both of us could take you.”

“And risk imprisonment? Execution?”

“It’d be worth it,” Dongmei hissed, “To keep the Fire Nation from being ruled by scum like you.”

“Neither of you will do a damn thing.”

“And how do you know?”

“Well, you wouldn’t want anything to happen to your daughters, would you?”

Zhulong snapped out of his daze, and his sharp intake was matched with his wife’s.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Dongmei’s voice trembled with rage.

“Well, you’re right to an extent,” Ozai rolled his eyes, “Jiaying will get herself killed sooner or later on the battlefield, she’s never been the brightest bulb.”

Dongmei lunged forward, and Zhulong held her back, barely restraining himself. How could he do this? Zhulong thought to himself, rage and despair warring in his heart.

“But the non-bender, the weakling… what was her name again? Oh, right. Daiyu. Well, she certainly does a lot around the palace… wouldn’t it be a shame if she got into an accident?”

“Don’t,” Zhulong pleaded. The man he once called friend simply fixed him with a blank stare. He released his grasp on Dongmei to collapse to his knees, “Please, Ozai, brother, don’t harm my girls. Please. We’ll do anything.”

“Then I’d suggest you both step carefully and follow my instructions,” Ozai commanded, “Do as I say and I’ll keep your daughters, you little Daiyu, alive. If not, well… something can be arranged for the spare.”

Zhulong gazed at his so-called brother in utter horror, “How… how could you do this?”

“Listen to me, brother, I’ve always been like this. You and your wife here have just been too starry eyed to notice,” Ozai straightened, “Go and get some rest. Our work begins tomorrow. I’ll expect you at my ceremony.”

He strode out of the Agni Kai chamber, leaving Zhulong on his knees and Dongmei standing helplessly.

***

Daiyu wakes the next morning to learn that Fire Lord Azulon is dead, and that his last decree was that Prince Ozai would be his successor.

Her parents collected her for the ceremony… and they were both ghosts. Both were as pale as the moon, and it looked like they’d been crying. Nothing showed on either of their faces as the family watched Ozai be dubbed the new Fire Lord. Zuko and Azula are Prince and Princess.

Daiyu is nine when her parents seemingly pull away entirely. Gone were the days of her father holding her on her lap during council meetings, or her mother taking her out to balls. Gone were the days of her father even sending the smallest nods of approval, or her mother sharing secret smiles with Daiyu. They both had, over the span of one night, turned into public statues. Their gazes were blank, their movements stilted and rehearsed.

The only time they weren’t completely emotions were in rare cases, where if you looked at the right time you’d see one or both of them gazing at Ozai with something in their eyes. Something dark and angry that Daiyu couldn’t put a name to.

And then there was their home life. Her already barely present parents became ghosts in their own home, being sent on constant missions by Fire Lord Ozai. And when they were there, they kept staring at Daiyu with sadness in their eyes, and pulling back. With nights like that, Daiyu was sometimes secretly glad they’d both be gone—sometimes it was better to love the memory of a ghost than be treated like one by those around her.

Daiyu was nine. The last time she spoke to her sister, she’d screamed at her, burned her, and then run away to another post. The last time she’d spoken to her parents… well, it hadn’t been speaking as so much as sitting in awkward silence.

She was now caretaker to the Crown Prince and the Princess. She didn’t think her burden could grow any further, but fate had a way of surprising her.

***

Daiyu’s eleven when Zuko challenges his father, and is marred and exiled because of it. The smell of his burning flesh is imprinted into Daiyu’s memory, reminding her… reminding her of her sister.

Her stomach was in knots as she approached the room where Ozai plotted with his men. Daiyu knew her father would be stoically present, and her mother would be in the shadows.

Her presence was announced by an aide, and Daiyu tried not to shrink as every eye in the room swung towards her. She pointedly ignored the gazes of her parents as she bowed.

“Fire Lord Ozai,” Daiyu stated.

“Lady Daiyu,” he said flatly, “What is it?”

Remember to be brave, she told herself. Daiyu cleared her throat as she straightened, “I… I have a request. For you, if you don’t mind hearing it.”

Ozai sighed, “Just get on with it, girl. What is it you want?”

A moment of hesitance led to a firm, “I don’t have all day, you know.”

“Yes, yes, of course. My apologies, my Lord, it’s just… Prince Zuko has been sent into exile for his… transgressions,” That was a grown-up word, right? “General Iroh has volunteered to go with him. I would like to request that I be sent alongside them to search for and capture the Avatar.”

A gasp echoed across the room, drowned by the sound of a chair screeching as her father rose abruptly. Her mother’s feet padded on the floor as she slid out of the shadows. Their stricken looks of shock were almost identical.

Fire Lord Ozai didn’t react to any of it, simply humming, “And why should I send you, girl?”

Because I want to be there for my best friend. Because I want to make sure he isn’t alone, she thought. But she voiced, “Because for decades, my family has served yours. My grandmother was Fire Lord Azulon’s most trusted advisor. My mother is your faithful bodyguard, and my father one of your top generals. My older sister is one of the brightest soldiers in the field, and helped train Prince Zuko and Princess Azula in firebending. I’d like to continue what my family started and be of service to the Crown Prince. I might be young, but I’ve learned a lot by being the caretaker of the Royal Children. I’ve learned combat over the years, and would be able to defend Prince Zuko in battle. It’d be an honor to help Prince Zuko on his quest, and bring the Avatar back for you, my Lord.”

She almost wanted to pat herself on the back for going through the whole speech without stuttering. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on the contemplating Fire Lord.

“Hmmm… a decent proposal,” he sniffed, “But not a horrible one. I’d like to see what your parents think of this. General Zhulong? Lady Dongmei? Your thoughts?”

All eyes turned to her parents. Daiyu’s eyes trailed to them a second after everyone else.

The room held its breath as her parents shared a glance.

***

Daiyu would leave with Zuko and Iroh a week later. Her parents had stiffly given their agreements in the meeting, but later that night it felt like hours had passed with her parents pleading with her to reconsider.

(“Please, my love, please consider staying. It’s not too late to tell Ozai you’ve changed your mind,” Zhulong pleaded. Dongmei stood behind him in silent agreement.

“Why are you two so against this? You approved earlier,” her next words were more of a spit, “Besides, it isn’t like you two ever pay any attention to me. Nothing’s going to change for you, you act like I’m not here anyways.”

Silence filled the room.

Zhulong and Dongmei were unsure of how to act around Daiyu after that fateful night with Ozai… how do you face the one you love more than anything, that you’d burn down the world for, and know that your ignorance and decisions have put them in direct danger? How do you not drown in guilt looking at your child, and knowing that they will always have a target on their heads because of you?

How do you face them? But also, how do you let them go? How do you let them go off into exile for who knows how long, to search for someone who might not even exist?)

Daiyu had all of her things packed and deposited onto the ship. She stood on the deck, swaying absentmindedly on her feet as she gazed up on her new home for… now.

Azula had said her goodbyes that morning before going off to attend to her duties. The princess had hesitated for a moment before crushing her into a hug. “… promise you’ll come back,” Azula had muttered.

“I promise,” Daiyu replied instantly, returning the embrace.

Mai and Ty Lee had just left. Ty Lee hadn’t hid her tears as she threw her arms around Daiyu. Ty Lee swore up and down she’d show Daiyu all the cool acrobatic tricks she’d learn when Daiyu returned. Mai had given her a quick one-armed hug, nodded, and wished her luck. Her quiet request about looking after Zuko had been made after a moment of silence. Daiyu’s response had been an instant vow of protection. Mai allowed her glimmer of a smile, then told Daiyu she’d miss her before taking her leave.

Now all Daiyu had to do was get on the ship and leave. It was… easier said than done. Something was holding her back from getting on the boat. Zuko had been the first one on, before the sun had even risen. Iroh had gotten on board with all of his teas and merriness. They were all most likely just waiting for her.

Now or never, Song, get a move on, she told herself. Daiyu took a deep breath, before going to take that first step—

“Leaving without saying goodbye, my love?”

She froze at the sound of her mother’s voice. She thought they might’ve forgotten or… were too mad to say goodbye. Daiyu turned, seeing both of her parents approach.

Daiyu sputtered, “You... you both showed?”

“Of course we did,” Zhulong said, frowning gently, “We wanted to say goodbye.” His voice wavered at the last word.

“I didn’t think you’d want to,” Daiyu burst out as her parents reached.

“What? Why did you think that?” Dongmei questioned.

“I-it’s just you both have a lot of responsibilities,” she fiddled with the sleeves of her tunic, where all her scars hid beneath them, “I thought you’d be busy.”

“Not a chance we’d miss saying goodbye to you, petal,” Zhulong stated firmly, “Never.”

“… I thought you’d both be mad,” Daiyu admitted, “I was mean. What I said a-about you two not paying attention. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“Oh, my dearest love,” Dongmei sighed, reaching forward to cup Daiyu’s face in her hands, “We could never be mad at you. You’ve done nothing wrong. We’ve both failed you, and we can never apologize enough.”

“You were right, about us not paying attention,” Zhulong admitted, resting a tender hand on the back of Daiyu’s head, “Your mother’s right, we’ve failed. And we can never make up for it… we just hope that you know we love you. More than anything. I swear.”

Daiyu blinked the tears away from her eyes. She’d dream so many times of them saying those words. She couldn’t remember the last time her mother had stared at her so tenderly, or when her father had last spoke more than a single sentence to her.”

“I-I—” I want to go home, “I’ll miss you both, so much. But I’ll be back, I promise.”

“We know, sweetheart,” Zhulong said with a sad smile, “We’ll see each other again. I know it.”

And then her parents, at the same time, reached out to hug her.

The feeling of two sets of warm, loving arms wrapping her in their embrace made her burst into tears. When had been the last time they’d hugged her? When had been the last time she cried? Daiyu didn’t have the answer at the moment. All that mattered was her mother rubbing soothingly at her back, and her father’s soothing coos. The emptiness and the coldness that draped over her like a shadow was fought off by her parents’ love.

She didn’t know how long they hugged for, but she knew the moment was interrupted by soft footsteps.

“Zhulong, Dongmei, Lady Daiyu… I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Iroh said softly, looking at the trio with a melancholy warmth, “We must get going. The ship is ready to sail.”

Daiyu reluctantly parted, wiping furiously at her eyes and fixing her hair, “Right. My apologies, General, for keeping you waiting.”

“Oh, my girl,” Iroh chastised gently, “Our families know each other well enough, you can drop the formalities. Just call me uncle.”

Daiyu’s eyes darted to her parents for permission, and they both chuckled through their tears as they nodded. She flushed as she murmured, “Alright… Uncle.”

Iroh chuckled, “See? That’s more like it. Go on, Lady Daiyu, I’ll be up in a moment.”

Daiyu nodded. She was about to go, when she turned back to address her parents, “I love you both. And if you see Jiaying, tell her I love her, too.”

Her parents almost broke again. Dongmei inhaled shakily, “We all love you too, sweetling, very much. More than anything.”

Daiyu beamed through her tears, before rushing up to the boat. She wouldn’t know how, earlier that day, Ozai had come to her parents and assured them that Daiyu being in exile wouldn’t make her safe from him. How he always had someone ready to carry out his orders. She wouldn’t know how her parents had come to Iroh, swallowing their pride to apologize and beg for him to protect their youngest daughter. She wouldn’t know that Iroh told them there was nothing to apologize for, and vowed to protect Daiyu with everything he had.

But maybe she didn’t need to know. At least, for now.

***

Over the years, a few ideals had been printed into her mind. As she stood on the bow of her home at sea, they painted themselves out for her: perceived, image, reputation. The trio of words had molded themselves into Daiyu’s mind over the years—they almost felt like an irreplaceable part of her at this point. The words made her straighten out her spine, push her shoulders back, and school her softer facial features into an icy cold mask. It was those qualities that made the generals and nobles of the Fire Nation give out approving nods and murmur praises; it was what made her peers shrink away and avert their gaze. It was what made her parents push her away in public; it was what made their home a ghost town.

Even now, the few moments of familial love couldn’t drown out years of conditioning and training. For a few seconds, she was her parents’ baby girl. But now she had to resume the role she’d had since the tender age of six—Lady Daiyu Song, the assigned caretaker of the Crown Prince Zuko and Princess Azula. Promising combatant, loyal servant, and dignified lady-to-be.

Like many Songs before her, she’d shed her weaknesses to do what was expected of her. Like many Songs before her, she’d allow her desire of love and tenderness to be snuffed out by the shackles of duty.

It was her duty, after all.

THE END

#m's writing #oc: daiyu song <3 #i don't know how happy i am with this #but i'm proud of myself for writing an 8k one-shot #man i went through three and a half ts albums while writing this lolll

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osunism · 2 months ago

Text

Daughter of Disgrace

"Is there any place where Heaven's bastard daughters are welcome?"

Rating: Mature to Explicit [for future sexual content and graphic depictions of violence]. Pairing[s]: Satoru + Sundari || Nadja + Sukuna Warning[s]: Smut, graphic depictions of violence, major character death[s], as well as some toxic relationship elements. Spoilers for the manga, so if you only watched the anime, turn back. Summary: In the aftermath of Satoru Gojo's sealing, Sundari must choose rebellion in order to free him. Lucky for them both, rebellion has always been her preferred modus operandi.

🪧 Be Advised: This is the sequel to BeastofNoNation. It's recommended that you read that fic first to get the context of this one.

𓃰 AO3 || OC Masterpost || Fic Masterpost 𓃰

𓃰 Chapter Five: Inversion

November 17, 2018, Tokyo No. 1 Colony

Sundari, at her core, has always been a creature of sharp and unerring instinct. From the moment she was born, she was made painfully aware of how different she was from quite literally everyone around her. Not just in terms of appearance and power, but in how she chose to view the world. To her, there was never a question of whether to act, she simply saw a problem worthy of her attention and attempted to solve it.

It was a happy coincidence that many of those problems could only be resolved with spectacular displays of violence and artistic amounts of bloodshed.

She’s always had a keen gut instinct for trouble, and Sundari knows when a situation has gone tits-up.

It’s why she’s entering one of the colonies for the Culling Games, now.

The first thing that assaults her senses is the strange little creature that appears before her. It calls itself Kogane, and it asks her if she wishes to become a player.

“Yeah,” she says tersely. “Yeah, whatever, I’m a player; let me in.”

She can’t be credited with too much patience, but she’s pressed for time. Something is wrong, her gut is churning, and this little irksome shikigami creature is announcing to presumably everyone that she’s entered the game. That’s fine, she can handle whatever comes her way.

“Sundari Hikmat’s life is worth 5,000 points!”

Sundari is halfway to Shinjuku when she hears this announcement, and the echoes of it from other Kogane creatures nearby. The sentence bounces around in her skull like an endless refrain, and she allows herself an exhausted and defeated smirk before she turns her face to the sky.

“Fuck you,” she whispers, wishing that curse user monk could hear her. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”

Not for the first time, but she regrets not unleashing all of herself in Shibuya that night. It seemed to work perfectly fine for her father. She makes a mental note to put skullfucking back on the menu when she crosses paths with the monk again.

The first sorcerer to come for her head attacks her in a Cinnabon when she’s scavenging for snacks. They were clever in their approach, she’d give them that much credit, but their cursed energy barely warrants the effort, and she emerges from the abandoned shop, gnawing on a stale cinnamon bun she attempted to reheat in a microwave. It’s not much, but breakfast is breakfast at this point.

The man hunting her this morning is a sorcerer by the name Genji Ishida, and Sundari regards him with a bored expression, her four-eyed perspective taking him in while keeping watch on her surroundings. She tastes his cursed energy, like corrupted ozone. She’s always likened it to ‘tainted’ magic. Other forms of magic have their own flavor, but jujutsu has always tasted wrong to her. Genji doesn’t have enough cursed energy to face her.

“Look,” she says, “I don’t know what you think you heard, but this isn’t a fight you want right now.” It’s a warning, and she hopes Genji has the good sense the gods gave a rabbit enough to fuck off and find some other sorcerer to play with. Sundari isn’t sure if she will be penalized for not killing sorcerers, but she knows she can. In fact, the game encourages it, and that’s what she’s afraid of: not of losing, but of winning so handily that the blood will soak Tokyo for weeks. She knows what she’s capable of and she knows she’s trying very hard not to be like her father.

She also suspects that’s why that dickhead monk has placed a veritable bounty on her head. He wants her to act up! Well, she will eventually, but she’s gonna offer as many ways to avoid it as possible.

Genji is not a smart man. In fact, as she gets a good look at him, she can see that the lights are not all on upstairs. There’s a vacant look in his eyes, and she can see the dried blood crusted around his nose. She wonders if he’s overused his technique recently.

“I need those points,” he says, and his lip curls into a sneer before he lunges for her. He’s faster than Sundari expected, and she rotates her body in a smooth pivot, taking his telegraphed strike and using his momentum to fling him effortlessly into the Cinnabon’s glass storefront. It shatters beautifully, as does the counter as Genji plows through it from Sundari’s powerful throw. Sundari waits to see if he gets back up.

He does, stumbling out of the shattered Cinnabon into the street where Sundari has given up on her breakfast and dusts the crumbs off on her pants before cracking her neck and her knuckles.

“You’re worth a whole five stacks,” Genji says, assuming a fighting stance, but Sundari sees him swaying unsteadily, like an uncertain serpent. He’s concussed. “No way I’m letting a steal like that pass me by.”

Sundari snorts. “Well, come collect your bounty if you can, buddy.” She makes a come-hither gesture with two fingers. Genji lunges at her again and this time she’s certain his cursed technique is burned out. She rotates out of his way again, playfully rolls out one of her extra arms to shove him in the back as he stumbles past her. She can tell the man’s brain has been cooked, likely because he doesn’t have good control over his cursed energy or technique. Her other arm rolls back into her body before he can get up and turn around.

“What the hell?” He mumbles. “Why can’t I make the fucking sparks come out?”

Sundari sighs. Yeah, he’s cooked. Suddenly, the fight has lost its petty amusement, and she keeps walking, ignoring the muzzy curses of the sorcerer behind her. He’ll be dead before nightfall if he doesn’t recover his cursed energy in time to fight off the actual curses plaguing the city at night. But that’s his problem.

Right now, Sundari has bigger fish to fry mainly, her father, whom she has just detected elsewhere in the colony. A massive burst of cursed energy that mirrors her own. Sundari’s focus tunnels down to that, and she takes off at a dead run, unhindered as she realizes her gut instinct is in fact correct again. However, being right isn’t always a good thing and Sundari finds utter devastation when she arrives.

Yuji is down, injured from a recent blow, and Sundari is at his side before she realizes something is terribly wrong. Yuji looks up at her, tears in his eyes, but Sundari’s eyes are wide because the soft, red slits where Sukuna’s lower eyes reside are no longer on his face. His face, which is twisted into such anguish as he tries to get the words out through the thick, wet flood of his own grief.

“He took them both,” Yuji says and Sundari realizes that not only is Megumi missing, but her mother as well. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming. He just…he took Megumi.”

Sundari already knows the answer, but she asks anyway: “Who?”

“Sukuna,” Yuji whispers, and there is anguish and contempt in his voice. “Somehow he managed to escape my body and took Fushiguro…and then he took Hikmat-sensei, and they escaped with a shikigami.”

The fact that her mother is seemingly unable to kill her bastard of a father when it counts is beginning to irk Sundari. She is beginning to believe that her mother might still love the fucking bastard and that’s why she won’t strike when it’s time. Sundari clenches her fists and uses the menacing presence of her immense cursed energy to ward off any challengers who think to come for the prize on her head.

“Can you stand?” She asks and Yuji nods as she helps him to his feet. Maki soon joins them, but she looks more irritated than disappointed.

“There’s a price on your head, Hikmat-san,” Maki says. “Why’d you leave Tengen’s realm?”

Sundari chuckles. “I had a gut feeling that everything was going to shit so I came to help. Looks like I was right, for all the fucking good it did anyone.”

Maki shoulders her sword and heaves a sigh. “Yeah, well, that’s noble of you but now your cursed energy is going to be a flashing neon sign to any sorcerer stupid enough to try and claim the bounty.”

Sundari grins. “I hope so. I need them so I can open the Prison Realm.”

“What?!” Maki and Yuji exclaim in unison. Sundari waves her hand dismissively.

“Not here,” she says looking around. Most of the city is quiet, and there’s destruction where the fighting has been heaviest in the first few days of the Games. Their current location is indefensible, and Sundari can’t think of where they can go to enact her admittedly half-baked plan. She knows she requires more cursed energy to do what she tried before, but without Sukuna here to intervene she risks truly killing herself in the process. Gods take his withered soul for his perfidy. Sundari feels a rage inside her like brutal magma, and she wants so badly to kill her father, to end his curse upon this world once and for all.

Unless…

Sundari shuts her main eyes, keeping her lower eyes open to regard Yuji and Maki, as well as keep an eye on their surroundings. Looking at Maki is a bit unsettling because Sundari can detect no cursed energy from her. She’s like a void in the flow of the world: invisible to sorcerers, and deadly to them. She begins to breathe slower, letting herself feel her own body as she inhales and then exhales.

October 3, 2018, Gojo Satoru’s Residence, 21:35

Satoru manages to come home early one night. With the summer ended, and most troublesome curses exorcised, his schedule manages to free up only slightly, but it is enough that he no longer keeps exceedingly late hours. And so, he claims a rare moment of respite, eager to come home to the woman he has come to love so dearly. He can already taste her cursed energy, exactly like her father’s, and yet he would know her anywhere. Not just because of her energy, but because he sees her everywhere. He sees the shape of her lithe and svelte curves in the hills and mountains Tokyo is nestled within. He sees the dark glimmer of her garnet eyes if he focuses his vision just enough.

He can almost hear her rich laughter in the wind, a sound from her belly, where her secondary mouth grins.

It’s not until he crosses the threshold into his home, shuts and locks the door behind him, and pulls down his blindfold that he breathes her name like a secret he’s been keeping all day.

“Sundari…” His voice is rich with eagerness. He wants her, wants to wrap his arms around her and kiss the sharp black ink of her tattoos on her neck, down to the tender spot between her shoulder blades.

He follows his senses and finds her seated on a grassy rise overlooking the vast forest that extends endlessly. It is a hidden place, and Satoru likes to believe that it has become their place. Few know this location, and even fewer have set foot here. Satoru has taken great pains to keep Sundari hidden until he can smooth things over with the higher-ups, whom he knows will call for her immediate execution.

An abomination, they’d call her.

A goddess. He’d counter.

Sundari’s back is to him, and he notices that she is nearly naked, clad only in what looks to be a—

Oh. She’s nude and wearing nothing but a gold waist chain. Satoru bites his lip and shuts his eyes momentarily, letting out a small laugh.

She’s sitting cross-legged, her main eyes are shut, the smaller set focused on the moonrise. All four of her arms are present, each of her four hands in a different mudra. Satoru’s asked her about them, and she’s explained their meanings to him, so different from the ones he was taught. Still, they are effective, and she seems to be engaged in some sort of meditation. The mouth on her belly is chanting, but the mouth on her face is neutral, full lips slightly parted.

She’s doing intense breath work, and Satoru studies her.

Stark black tattoos—Sukuna’s exactly—stand vividly against her almond-brown skin. Every part of her seems deliberately sculpted, a testament to her lifetime spent being raised as a warrior, as he was. He tries to imagine how Nadja, who has no cursed energy, had managed to raise someone as powerful as Sundari. He has so many questions, and yet all of that is doused out of him when he sees her main eyes open, and she turns to look at him over her shoulder.

“Satoru,” there is a burgeoning smile in her voice, and her voice has a slight ring of power. His Six Eyes read the overwhelming flow of her cursed energy. It heaves and sighs like the ocean but moves slow like the earth. Each breath she takes draws it in, and every exhale pushes it out. He watches her rein it in tighter with each breath and push it out slower with each exhale.

Her heart is beating strongly and steadily, and he can see the heat building in her belly, her cursed energy pulsing like a neutron star: blinding and overwhelming.

But not to the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. No, he can bare the beautiful brightness of her. He revels and basks in it as if she is the sun, and he wants nothing more than to see her revel and bask as well. Creatures like them will never take to being slapped with a bridle and led by the nose. No, she—like him—deserves to run free.

One of her hands beckons him closer, an elegant roll of her wrist, delicate but deadly fingers crooked and alluring; and he comes to sit beside her. They have established equal footing in more ways than one. He is not afraid to yield to her demands from time to time.

“You’re home early,” she murmurs, even as her lower mouth chants empowered sutras in a soft and sweet melody that seems to blend so nicely with the deepening night. Satoru marvels at her when she does this. The secondary mouth does not strain her heart or lungs yet is as powerful as her main mouth.

“Curses are incubating,” Satoru says, “and there’s nothing that requires my level of intervention. I can fuck off if I want.”

Sundari snorts. “And this is you fucking off, is it?”

Satoru leans back on his hands, stretching his long legs in front of him as he awards her with one of his feline grins.

“Hey, I’m allowed to fuck off in any way I please,” he tells her. “And don’t act like you don��t like me fucking off with you.”

It’s ridiculous, this exchange, but that’s sort of the nature of their friendship…and a core foundation of their continued attraction to one another. They burst into mutual laughter. Sundari breaks her concentration, and her cursed energy stills like a placid lake, blanketing the area, overlapping with his. Satoru sees it like moonlight dancing off the surface of her lake. It’s beautiful, how their energy blends so well together.

“What were you doing?” Satoru asks. “Just now. I don’t recognize those sutras.”

Sundari gives him a tender smile; a benevolent goddess answering a willing acolyte.

“A breathing technique my teacher showed me. It helps cycle my cursed energy through my body more efficiently.” At Satoru’s expression she frowns. “Look, just because my dad was—is—a prodigy, doesn’t mean I was. I was just born with a lot of power and a unique physique. But I definitely wasn’t always good at it.”

“Still,” Satoru says, “you’ve got an instinct for it. And your martial arts are impeccable. I’m more afraid of your hand-to-hand combat than your techniques.”

Sundari smiles. It’s strange to her that he says this, because most of jujutsu society prides itself on whatever unique and powerful techniques manifest. But Sundari was raised amongst women whose value could be weighed in coin on the best nights. They were courtesans and warriors. Vanhi had been strict in having Sundari learn to be a cunning and powerful fighter before she trained her to wed those skills to sorcery. In retrospect, Sundari can understand why. She’s made a god bleed, and she’s faced off with the most powerful sorcerers and held her own.

“I see,” she says, grinning. She adjusts her body, folding her legs under her and retracting her lower arms. They roll into her body in an incomprehensible display and then they are gone. A second black band manifests on her arms and wrists, and she looks at him in full. Satoru studies her beautiful face, the wide garnet eyes and the smaller ones beneath, which flare to the color of crystalized blood when she’s excited or angry. The stark black trishula symbol on her brow marks her as Sukuna’s own. As does everything about her.

“You going to kiss me or what?” He asks. “Don’t make me beg.”

Sundari chuckles, a rich and husky sound that makes him shiver.

“But you’re so good at it, Satoru,” her tongue caresses his name tenderly and he swears he can feel it on his cock. He wants her to suck him off, right here under the stars. He wants to see those perfect, pouty lips wrapped around his shaft.

Fuck. He might just beg tonight, but he doesn’t want to beg. He wants her to come to him when he calls her.

Sundari stares at him, amusement giving an impish look to her grin. She’s going to play this game right alongside him, and he grinds his teeth a little. He doesn’t know it yet, but Sundari is more like her father than either of them realize. The same sinister smirk, the wicked glint of mischief in her four eyes, and the dimples in her cheeks giving her sharp and dangerous appearance a softness that Satoru has come to adore. A woman—no, his goddess—whose power rivals his own, and right now she looks as if a butterfly would be safe in her fight-ready hands.

God, he loves her.

“Come here,” he says to her, but he’s reaching for her, fingertips brushing the apple of her cheek. Sundari shuts her main eyes, leaning into his touch. He watches her breathing even out from his mere touch. Such a spitfire and yet she seems wholly trusting and ready to yield to him. She finally relents, and instead of leaning in, she crawls onto him to straddle him. Satoru’s arms come up automatically to wrap around her naked body, his palms smoothing up the sinuous length of her back. Her skin is so satiny and tender to the touch. He’ll never tire of touching her.

Sundari’s ankles lock behind his back. The lotus position is her favorite, he’s learned. It’s his too: he loves being able to see her and feel her come undone as he holds her close. His cock strains in his pants, and he swears he can feel the heat of her naked cunt against the fabric. Her body always feels like she has magma running in her veins in lieu of blood.

No. Ichor. Her mother isn’t human. Sundari is an immortal.

“Satoru…” her voice has a warning note in it but is softened by concern. He’s in his head again.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “It’s just that you’re so goddamn beautiful, baby. Took my breath away.”

Sundari rolls all four of her eyes, but her smile is fond, and he can see the heat blooming in her cheeks like a soft candle glow.

“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome,” she says back, and she rewards him by kissing him. Satoru’s lips part even as he’s grinning, basking in her affections shamelessly. After all, they’re for him and him alone. He presses her closer to him, and she moans softly when her breasts rub against the fabric of his jacket. Her nipples harden at the contact, making her hiss.

Satoru’s mouth leaves hers reluctantly, but his leans in to trace the sleek line of her jaw with his lips. He presses kisses so soft against her skin, Sundari nearly whimpers from the tenderness of it, shivering in his arms and linking her arms around his neck, her hands threading through his silvered white hair. Satoru purrs from the sensation of her nails rubbing and massaging his scalp.

For a while there is only kissing, and caressing, and basking in the closeness of one another. They can do this for only so long before one or the other insists on taking things further. Satoru can be impatient, but Sundari is insatiable in her hunger for him. It’s only a matter of time before—

Sundari rocks her hips and now he can feel the slick heat of her through the fabric of his pants. His mouth goes dry, and he swallows.

“Fuck…” he whispers reverently, resisting the urge to pump his hips up just for the sheer sensation. He knows she’s wet, knows it as surely as anything, but he refuses to break first.

“Satoru…” Sundari purrs his name in his ear, nipping his earlobe and making him shiver. He spends so much of his time being untouchable that these soft, intimate moments are a delicious indulgence for him that rivals his actual sweet tooth. He loves to be touched. Loves the sensation of skin against his own, of being so thoroughly entangled that their limbs seemed to blend. He needs to be inside her. He needs his skin on hers. Fuck, he’s going to break if she doesn’t stop.

“Don’t you want me?” She whispers.

“Of course I want you,” Satoru says. “I just…I’m learning to savor what’s in front of me. And you’re worth savoring.”

Sundari smiles, leans in so that they can kiss again. “Sweet talker…”

Satoru lets himself be smug. “I eat enough sugar for it. I’m the sweetest talker, baby…”

“Shut up,” Sundari murmurs, but the grin in her voice is all too telling of how his words affect her. She clings to him as they kiss, Satoru’s hands running a circuit over every inch of her within his reach.

Satoru grips her waist, pulls her down so that she bounces on the bulge of his cock prettily. He relishes in her surprised groan of pleasure, and there’s a wet spot on his pants where her cunt has grown slick as she rocks her hips to grind against him. He grins at her, and holds up one hand, his index and middle fingers crossed. Her eyes widen as she realizes what he’s about to do. They’re closer than ever, now, and Satoru wants to show her something he’s never gotten the chance to show anyone else in this way.

“Ryōiki Tenkai…”

Zenin Estate, November 18, 2018, 14:35

Nadja is not sure how long she lingers in the living, writhing shadows Megumi’s technique have dropped her in. She cannot see, but her senses strain for any sign that will give her a clue as to where she is. She does not have to wonder long, as the shadows surge beneath her, and suddenly she’s rushing up and up and up, until she breaks the surface, spilling onto the flagstones of a walkway. She recognizes the Zenin Estate instantly, and she can smell the death Maki left behind.

She comes onto her hands and knees, her arms shaky as she vomits onto the stones, shaking off the last vestiges of disorientation from the living shadow that brought her here.

“Still alive,” Sukuna’s voice spills down her senses like warm honey and she climbs to her feet, swaying slightly as she regains her bearings. She turns to look at the new face he wears, keeps her expression neutral as she realizes he has now possessed the body of Megumi Fushiguro. It is strange, but he looks nothing like Megumi. The vessels always get warped to reflect his true face in some way. His smirk is the same, though, and he tilts his head.

“My fugitive of heaven fears not even the shadows, hm?” He closes the distance between them, impossibly fast, and Nadja is still too shaky to react in time as his fist collides with her ribs. All the air in her lungs is driven out in a rush, followed by a choking sound as she crumples to her knees before him. Sukuna stares down at her, fury banked in his wild, crimson eyes.

“That,” he says, his rich voice limned in malice, “I owed you.”

Nadja can’t help herself, even at his mercy: she laughs.

“And when you have finished beating me to hell and back, what then?” She grits out, holding her injured side, already healing. She cannot rise from her knees, the pain in her ribs is too great. Sukuna doesn’t care, he reaches down to grab a fistful of her hair and shake her head roughly.

“I will do it for as long as it takes.” He snaps. “Remember: I promised to repay you for every year you hid her from me and made me wait for you.”

Nadja looks up at him, and for a moment there are no words, only a silent tension building between them, thick and cloying and choking out all other air in the world. Sukuna’s eyes are dark, drifting downward where he can see her pulse hammering like a trapped thing. He briefly remembers a time when the sight of her pulse hammering was because of excitement to be with him. Not this.

He shoves her away with a disgusted sound, whether with her or himself is anyone’s guess.

“Sukuna-sama,” the cool and even voice of Uraume slithers through the tension like a cold river cutting through stone. Both Sukuna and Nadja turn their gazes to them. Uraume does not even spare Nadja a glance, keeping their gaze respectfully downcast as they reported to Sukuna that his bath was ready. Sukuna’s stony expression melts into one of malicious pleasure. He glances back at Nadja, disdain flitting across his gaze before returning to neutrality.

“Get up, we aren’t finished.” He snaps. Nadja cannot believe that after a thousand years the commanding growl in his voice still sends shivers down her spine…not all of them unpleasant. Not to be humiliated, Nadja climbs to her feet, steadier than before, her expression one of fierce determination. She steadies her mind and steels her heart. Whatever he sees makes Sukuna’s eyes widen slightly—briefly—before he turns on his heel and begins to stride off, Uraume following three steps behind. Nadja trails after them, and notes that she is still armed. Whatever reason for it, Nadja is certain Sukuna knows himself at an advantage here. She won’t kill him if he is using Fushiguro as a vessel, and he can’t kill her so he will find other ways to hurt her instead.

But he knows every time he does hurt her, it is very real. Sukuna is cunning, and it’s what makes his cruelties particularly sharp and cutting. Nadja knows he will try to kill her in other ways. That fills her with apprehension. She will stay her hand, for now.

They walk further into the Zenin compound, and Nadja can smell the sourness of Maki’s vengeance everywhere, but even more so, she can smell the utter rot coming from the large outbuilding that she knows to be the Zenin’s disciplinary pit. They’d made a habit of collecting and corralling curses, usually grade two or below, and tormenting prisoners and disciplining subordinates.

And, Nadja remembers bitterly, torturing Toji. She remembers him telling her one night, and she wonders why thoughts of him make her heart constrict. She misses him.

But her worst mistake now stands at the lip of the steps to that same pit, which no longer contains any curses. Sukuna’s presence is enough to frighten other curses out of the area, if he doesn’t exorcise them himself. Nadja comes to stand just behind his shoulder and looks into the pit.

Viscous, living darkness bubbles and roils, smelling of death and poison. She clamps her teeth to keep from gagging from the stench.

“Oh! You’re about to start without me?” Comes a cheerful and playful voice. Nadja notes the look of brief irritation flitting across Uraume’s face before she turns to see Geto—or rather, Noritoshi Kamo—coming to join them. Her gaze hardens. It is too much to hope that Sundari killed him in Shibuya. Still, she has unfinished business with him: starting with why he bound Sundari’s seal to her father’s incarnation.

Geto wrinkles his nose, waving one of his sleeves as he covers his mouth and nose with the other.

“Ick,” he spits in disgust. “What manner of bath is this? Is it safe? Does it even feel good?”

Sukuna begins to disrobe, heedless of the bickering growing at his back as Uraume explains the purpose of the ritual bath. Nadja is horrified with every word she hears, watching as Sukuna wades into the roiling mass of tar-like liquid, until he vanishes beneath the surface, fully submerged.

Silence follows, and for a while, he does not come back up. Nadja begins to wonder if perhaps the foul poison has managed to kill the King of Curses and then she remembers he is immune to poison and disease. He surfaces, and there is a look of resolute neutrality on his face, his eyes seem to look less human: red ringed with black. He ascends the steps as Uraume presents his clothing to him with a reverent bow. He pulls on his clothing, throwing his black haori over his shoulders before they move from the pit, leaving the poisonous bath behind. Nadja breathes a small sigh of relief as they put distance between themselves and that cursed place. It makes her soul shudder.

Kenjaku speaks frankly of what has transpired since the Culling Games began. Nadja listens, keeping her face schooled to disinterested neutrality.

Yuki is dead.

Nadja tries not to let that show on her face but there is a brief tension between her shoulder blades as she absorbs the news like a blow, willing herself to compartmentalize the pain of such a loss. That leaves only Yuta, Satoru, and Sundari as the only ones truly strong enough to contend with this trio should she fail to complete her mission. But she cannot do this without at least trying to save Fushiguro. She thinks of Sundari’s abilities, and Yuji’s. How long did Sukuna soak in the boy’s soul? And the hard usage he put his body through…at least some of his techniques should be engraved on him by now. Nadja takes another breath.

Choso escaped. Good. And judging by the fact that the world has not been swarmed with curses, Tengen is alive. Even this creature wearing Geto’s face is not fool enough to tamper with that. Not unless…

“I brought you something,” Geto says, and Uraume makes a terse sound with their teeth. “A gift.”

Sukuna’s brows raise in a silent question as they enter the estate proper. Sukuna has claimed it as his territory since the Zenins are no more, and he strides about like the lord of the entire place. Nadja cannot believe his arrogance once charmed her. It feels so petty, now. Still, there was somewhat about him that had staid her hand a millennia ago. And something that makes her hesitate even now.

They find Geto’s gift waiting in the receiving room. Nadja’s eyes go wide, Uraume sucks in an affronted breath, and Sukuna laughs.

Seated on the dais, clad in the funerary robes befitting his status as a powerful shaman, is Sukuna’s mummified body.

For some reason, seeing it makes Nadja’s mind go white, and freezes her body. It is unnerving and unsettling. Here, standing before her, Sukuna fully incarnated in Fushiguro’s body. There, seated like some grotesque shrine statue, his original body, too powerful to be consigned to any sort of destruction, and so mummification and placement deep within Tengen’s layered barriers was the only way to contain the sheer power of Ryōmen Sukuna.

Beneath the sleeves of his robes, all twenty fingers on the hands of the mummy are missing.

“Is this your idea of a joke?” Sukuna asks, mildly amused. Geto turns out his hands in a helpless shrug.

“Well,” he says, “it occurred to me that—oh. Nadja! What are you doing here, naughty girl? Sukuna, did you want us to leave you two alone?” Geto’s tone turns playfully suggestive and Nadja’s eyes narrow at him, unamused. Sukuna waves his hand.

“She and I have unfinished business, yes, but that can wait.”

Geto shrugs, but there’s something shrewd in his gaze that tells Nadja he does not share Sukuna’s nonchalance about her presence.

“In any case,” he continues, his tone turning bright and conversational again. “It occurred to me that you haven’t collected all of your missing Fingers. Only one to go, correct?”

Sukuna snorts. “It’s of little consequence,” he says. “One Finger won’t tip the scales in their favor. Let them come if they think they’re ready.”

Nadja is certain none of them are ready for Sukuna who is nearly at full strength, and her right eye burns in the presence of his cursed energy. Fushiguro’s entire soul is a wickless flame, guttering and sputtering in the darkness in which Sukuna has subsumed him. Her heart aches for the boy, but there is nothing she can do for him right now. Her sword does one thing well, and neither Sukuna nor his vessel can survive it.

“Shall I have the evening meal prepared, Sukuna-sama?” Uraume asks. Sukuna grins.

“As always, you know my mind, Uraume,” he says. “I do not need to eat any longer, but I do miss the taste of good food. See what the Zenins have in storage and make do.”

Uraume bows deeply. “As you wish, Sukuna-sama.”

They are cat quiet as they leave the room. Geto watches them go, a look of vulpine fascination on his face. He meets Nadja’s gaze, and his grin seems too wide, even for the face he wears.

“If there’s nothing else…” Sukuna says, a warning note in his tone. Geto takes it as his cue to leave. It seems whatever plans these two have laid will not be spoken of in front of her. Nadja watches Geto leave, and he gives her a simpering smirk. She cannot wait to kill him.

The doors slide shut.

Nadja and Sukuna are alone—truly alone—for the first time in centuries.

They gaze at one another, a room apart. That strange tension is winding up again, like a spring condensing to its absolute limit. The neutrality of his face cracks just a little, and she sees glimpses—phantoms, really—of the man she once knew. Sukuna is patient, but seeing her standing there, looking exactly the same as the last time he saw her in such a setting, has his senses and emotions battling themselves to a pained and steamy gridlock. This is the woman whose presence had ablated a heart of iron to rust beneath the steadiness of her affections. This is the woman who had promised to remain by his side, no matter how far her damnable mandate took her.

He thinks of Sundari’s face, her insolence, the way he saw so much of himself in her.

He studies Nadja, takes in the svelte lines of her curves, not a glimmer of threatening steel visible on her, but he remembers how well-hidden and cunningly placed her blades are. And that sword, the one he knows is drawn only to kill, along the length of her spine. That tiny poisonous blade at the nape of her neck.

The razor hidden in her mouth, somewhere against her tongue.

The tension draws taut. Sukuna feels the power in him surge, the veins in his hands growing slightly more prominent.

There is a split second where both wonder who will move first, and then there is a sound like whistling as both of them move simultaneously. Sukuna hears the hiss of steel derailing from its sheath, Nadja’s right eye begins translating Sukuna’s cursed energy to her nervous system in real time, and her body reacts accordingly.

Together, they tear the receiving room apart. Sukuna hates that Fushiguro’s body is not as durable and acrobatic as the brat’s, but he makes do. Nadja moves like poetry, indescribably fluid and inhuman, as if she and the earth breathe as one, surging on the crest of her own immeasurable strength.

And Sukuna finds it hard to detect her. When her blades are sheathed, they are sealed, and their cursed energy is hidden from his senses. And Nadja, possessing no cursed energy, can hide from him. He has fought many beings like her since last they met, and so finding her becomes second-nature.

He simply looks for the space where cursed energy seems to stutter. He looks for a void.

And he finds her.

Nadja is mid-draw of her sword when Sukuna catches her by the elbow and swings her over, slamming her bodily into the floor. The floorboards crack and shatter beneath the force of the blow. Nadja is momentarily shocked, emitting a choked sound as her body bounces off the floor. Sukuna still has a grip on her arm, and he thinks to himself before the grip tightens, and Nadja cries out as her bones begin to give under the pressure of his strength.

“You thought you could sneak back to Japan a thousand years later and I wouldn’t find you?” Sukuna growls, dragging her stumbling toward him. “You thought I’d forget what you did? What you took from me?”

Nadja’s mind is hazed with crimson, pain the only note singing in her already high-strung nerves. Sukuna is patient, but for this, he will make an exception.

He finishes his transformation, and Nadja finds herself hauled by four individual hands, grasping each of her limbs.

“I should tear you apart, right now,” Sukuna says, his voice deeper, rumbling in her bones like an ancient god. How ironic to see him here and see his corpse just behind him.

Sukuna drops her, and she lands in a pained heap on the floor at his feet.

The transformation doesn’t last long. It reverts and Sukuna lets out a swear. Without his complete power, he cannot hold his true form for long. Nadja cradles her injured arm, climbing to her feet. Sukuna turns from her, walking toward his corpse.

“Hm…” He muses, staring at his mummified face. Nadja watches him, and then is horrified when his hand snaps out, and tears his own head from his corpse’s shoulders. Even worse is that he brings it to his mouth and devours it. Nadja’s stomach roils at the sound of flesh and bone tearing and crunching. He devours his own head, and then turns to Nadja, smirking.

“Much better,” he says with a satisfied sigh, and the transformation comes back. He grows, and his cursed energy wraps around him like a cocoon. When it disperses, he is as she first knew him, and she knows this time it’s for good. “This is a cause for celebration. And Nadja, what a happy coincidence that you’re here…”

November 19, 2018, Tokyo No. 1 Colony

Sundari can feel them converging on her location, and she smirks as she sits down. She expands her awareness, and she can feel the distinct cursed energy of Yuji and the others, moving further away as she’s ordered them to do. Yuji was reluctant to leave her alone, but she needs them out of range for what she plans to do.

She also doesn’t want them to see what she plans to do. It’s a gamble, but she trusts that it’ll work as it’s meant to; otherwise, she’s given them orders to retreat to safety if she fails.

Sundari doesn’t think she will fail in this.

It doesn’t take long, and Sundari slips into an almost meditative state, cycling through different levels of breathing, her cursed energy flooding the area like the gentle and powerful heave of an ocean. And at the center of it, her in utter stillness. She is like living statuary, and like any warrior during moments of peace, she prepares. Her eyes are open and unblinking, and that is when she feels them.

Her challengers.

They’re a cluster in one place, and she sees them, crawling out of the surrounding alleys like vermin.

Like maggots.

Sundari surprises herself with the snarling voice in her head as she regards the approaching sorcerers with disdain. She can already tell that they are not strong enough to last against her. She has tested her mettle against both Satoru and her father and has gained the respect and acknowledgment of both.

She does not fear those who have not tasted true divinity.

They hesitate. Her cursed energy rivals her father’s, and she realizes that some of these sorcerers must be incarnated from his era. They recognize his cursed energy and she can see their puzzlement. The cat’s out of the bag, as the Americans say: they know Sukuna has a direct descendant. The price on her head pales in comparison to the glory they will win for slaying the Princess of Curses. For some, it is just that: for glory. For others—the new-blooded sorcerers awakened by Noritoshi’s mad scheme—the points on her head are a temptation that can free them from this waking nightmare.

Sundari knows this, and even so, she is determined to kill all of them.

She waits until they’re within range, and then she rolls out her lower arms, the maw on her belly opening as she forms a mudra and begins to chant.

“Ryōiki Tenkai: Tripura Purification.”

It’s too late when they hear her resonant voice tolling like a bell, and there is no barrier for them to discern how far they need to run to escape. Out of consideration for Yuji and the others, Sundari makes a binding vow to restrict her domain’s normal radius, having learned from watching her father’s decimation of Shibuya. She is the epicenter of instant destruction, and her lower mouth continues to sustain the domain, while the mouth on her face stretches into a manic grin.

Everything with cursed energy within the domain immediately withers away. The screams of agony die stillborn as Sundari absorbs all of the cursed energy in the domain. With her upper arms, she reaches into the pack slung across her shoulders and withdraws the backdoor of the Prison Realm, setting it in front of her.

She makes another mudra, the memory of her once and only once touch of the divine. She has enough, she thinks. She can do it.

“Hanten: Divine Mandate.”

The world shudders.

Sundari knows what she’s doing. She is half-divinity, after all. She is daring, reaching, up and up and up, until she places her metaphysical fingers on the divine pulse of the very universe. The eyes of the divine turn in incomprehensible slowness. Sundari is making a request the gods must answer, and in exchange, something must be sacrificed.

She offers up the cursed energy gathered in the desolation of her domain, and the world seems to grind to a halt.

The gods are considering her request.

Sundari’s eyes glow white, divinity surging through her as the cursed energy doubles back on itself, becoming positive energy. The Prison Realm shudders. The binding vow of that damnable Genshin tugs at her own will, but then there’s a collective breath.

The gods have decided.

Sundari feels the scales of the universe tip in her favor, ignores the blinding pain behind her right set of eyes as her brain burns and reforms, burns and reforms, her technique burning and engraving itself over and over as the gods give their answer, and take the sacrifice on the altar.

The Prison Realm bursts open in a spray of divine energy that burns Sundari’s tattoos as her father’s curse shudders against the force of such a powerful vow.

A vow, finally broken and released.

Somewhere, far away, the ocean boils, and something that witnesses would swear was a shooting star streaks into the sky, flying toward the smudge that is Japan in the distance.

The world exhales as Six Eyes open.

Sundari dismisses her domain, blood pouring from her nose as she slumps over, her vision fading to darkness. She’s distantly aware of Yuji crying her name, can see him running toward her as she shuts her eyes.

Somewhere, deep within the Zenin estate, Sukuna grins at Nadja as if he has finally found an answer to a question that he has pondered for over a millennium.

“Asura.” He says and watches as fear—true fear—crosses Nadja’s beautiful face for the first time.

Sundari, what have you done?

˚⊱🪷⊰˚ Masterpost || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter ⤳

© 2024 Hajara Asiri. Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost anywhere without permission [reblogging posts is okay]. I only upload on Tumblr, AO3, and FFN. Title and footer banners by me. Dividers and support by @cafekitsune.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fanfic #muse writes #fic: daughter of disgrace #series: parallax #oc: sundari hikmat #oc: nadja hikmat #ch: itadori yuji #ch: ryōmen sukuna #ch: uraume #ch: kenjaku #ch: gojo satoru #jjk x oc #jjk x black oc #sukuna x oc #sukuna x black oc #satoru gojo x oc #gojo x oc

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envihellbender · 4 months ago

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“Does my enormity unsettle you?”

Characters: Ulrich, Jens (OCs)

Content: extreme weight gain, dom feedee, referenced cannibalism, slob

Summary: Ulrich is fascinated by his restaurant’s new hire.

—

“Does my enormity unsettle you?” Ulrich asked, a lilt to his voice as his rich brown eyes leered at the new waiter. The young man was quite hardened and anyone could see it, his black fringe barely covered his scars - one of which had caused his heterochromia Ulrich had heard. His right eye was a deep green and the left a sickly blue, his eyelid squinted a little and when he caught Ulrich staring he flattened down his fringe. Tycho the head chef had called him ‘Jens’, but Ulrich wondered what name might suit him better.

“I’ve seen bigger things than you, Sir,” Jens said curtly, his back straight as he stared down his new boss. Ulrich was sat in his regular booth, the chair a deep red, and the table shaped to fit snugly around his gigantic gut which poured onto the ground. The oak table was covered in fine meats and sea food - Kobe wagyu beef, Gooseneck barnacles, Jamon imberico ham, bluefin tuna, and more rich fine foods that were on the Boar’s House menu. The restaurant Ulrich owned was extremely exclusive, they didn’t hire just anyone - so the fact Tycho had hired him on the spot was worrying.

“Hm, yes, well you certainly have quite the employment history. I hear you worked for a mutual friend of ours.” Ulrich stared at Jens intensely, licking his wine stained lips as he grabbed a beef with his hands not bothering with a knife or fork. He began gnawing at it like an animal, the burgundy sauce clinging to his bloated chin that was sinking into a gigantic neck roll.

“Is that right? You’re going to have to be more specific, Sir,” Jens responded, swallowing down his nerves as he managed to maintain his scowl. He shuffled as his cock twitched as he watched the display.

“I was wondering why one goes from underground bare knuckle fighting to a waiter in the most exclusive restaurant in the country.” That seemed to have caused Jens to go quiet, Ulrich delighted in it as he took another monstrous bite of his beef. He sucked the sauce from his gigantic fingers and let out a disgusting loud belch. He took advantage of Jens’ silence to continue. “As well as why my head chef has taken a liking to you, but well, he is soft hearted-”

“I want to be a chef,” Jens interrupted. His tone and expression told him he had no time for Ulrich’s grandstanding.

“Is that right?”

“You know who I worked for, you know he supplies you with your … long pig.” The last two words were said deliberately, they were drawn out and left hanging in the room. Ulrich’s wrinkled fat face finally lost its grin, his greying eyebrows furrowed. “I’ve always been fascinated by food, restaurants, and erm… well, the morbidly obese, Sir.”

“Hm, well, such things do not make you worthy of being on my staff.” Ulrich’s cheeks burned, he was irritated and slightly embarrassed, not that he’d admit it.

“Have there been any complaints about my work, Sir?”

“Oh, you know full well there hasn’t been, Kit,” Ulrich taunted, his massive hand picked up his wine glass which almost looked like it would shatter in his grip.

“I- I’m sorry Sir, Kit?”

“Mhm. Kit. Kitten. Your mismatched eyes, your scrawny, back alley cat look, I think it suits you.”

“I- I- never the less-”

“Hm. Well, my customers like looking at you, and you’re probably the best we have,” Ulrich interrupted.

“I- I actually have some ideas on how this place can be better served to a fatter clientele, Sir,” Jens said quickly. “If you…”

“Be my guest,” Ulrich answered. He picked up a handful of Gooseneck barnacles and popped each one in his mouth. He watched Jens intently as he spoke, he had to admit, he was extremely curious about the new toy in his collection.

#envi writes #Ulrich oc #Jens oc #ssbhm #extreme weight gain #fat fiction

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full-tiltboogiearc · 1 year ago

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went a lil' crazy with my half-realized mood boards today and came up with two OCs (technically three but idk if harley quinn!chaeyoung will be a thing bc writing in fandoms is intimidating but)

on your left you'll see a josh hutcherson oc with drive 2011 and hotline miami and nobody 2021 vibes. a mercenary of sorts with a code name who travels across the country doing different jobs, never staying in one place in his crappy delorean-esque car. this gig has run in his family for two generations, starting with his grandpa, then his dad, both retired veterans in a special, confidential department of the us military. they all share the same name, and it’s known in that contract-work life that they’re all related, but they’re untraceable. and the big difference with his generation is he’s not as good at keeping cool, actually he’s quite the hothead and is notorious for killing people when he doesn’t have to (his dad and grandpa mainly relied on stealth and disarming, not killing). maybe he’s pissed off the wrong guy and has people coming after him, idk! i’m thinking for fun this’ll be set in the 80s!

tw: mental abuse mention // on your right you’ll see my feral reject cerberus-esque demon dog girl. she was once hades’ right hand girl, kinda like joker and harley quinn, except the thing is instead of the three headed cerberus dog she was one of three other girls who were basically vying for the asshole’s attention. she is the runt of the litter basically. she decided one day she was fed up being a guard dog for somebody who didn’t appreciate her, so she left the depths of hell and embarked (ha get it, bark) on a journey to earth in search of a new “owner.” long story short she’s a stray attack dog. and she doesn’t hide it much either. you might see her rummaging through garbage in the alley or gnawing on the severed arm of somebody she saw being a dick to someone else (she kinda has PTSD from hades and just wants all people to be free of their abusers, tbh) and decided to maul, kill, and eat.

they’re both unhinged. who wants them

#out of cheetos #chaos!#i don’t even have names picked out

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the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes · 6 months ago

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𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒯𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐸𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 30 Explaining What View Compound, More Meetings Long Over View

Pairing: Alastor x F!OC (Theia, The Demon of a Thousand Eyes)

Chapter Summary: You explain what Alastor, Niffty, and yourself found in Boring Closet Stuff, go to meet Rana with Alastor and Ombre, then all four of you head to Rosie's. Things don't go quite as planned, even from the beginning.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Cannibalism

“Good morning, everyone.” You say with a smile as you manifest in the lobby at Alastor’s side. His arm is snaked around your waist, and you have no desire to separate from him.

Charlie and Vaggie are curled up in one chair, Husk and Angel are chilling amicably on the couch, and Sir Pentious is sitting in the other chair. Niffty is on the table again. Alastor manifests his chair from his sitting room and pulls you into his lap. You sit not unlike the first time he kissed you, your side pressed against his chest.

“Good morning, Theia! Good morning, Alastor!” Charlie says brightly, and Vaggie just nods at you both, a look of mild disgust on her face. You assume it’s from your affection for Alastor, but honestly, you just want to be amicable with her. For someone who used to be an angel, she can be so rude. I suppose it does make it easier for her to hide, you think to yourself.

“‘Mornin’, Occhi,” Angel gives you a salacious wink. “Looks like someone had a good night.”

You flush, suddenly remembering the night before and the mark on your neck that Alastor has been gnawing on to keep it fresh. “I always have fun with Al,” You kiss the mark on the underside of his chin, “but yes, last night was particularly satisfying.” Alastor kisses you chastely, and Ombre comes out from his feet to curl up on your lap. You chuckle and hug them close, kiss them gently.

Husk chokes on a swig from the bottle in his hand he’d just taken. “‘Mornin’, kid.” He manages as Angel pats him on the back.

Niffty looks both intrigued and a little bemused. “Good morning, Theia! Good morning, Sir! Good morning, Ombre!”

Sir Pentious, along with everyone else, looks a little confused but greets you nevertheless. “Good morning, fair Theia! How are you on this fine day?”

“As much as this has been such thrilling repartee, we ought to discuss what was found in the secret room yesterday.” Alastor says before this circle of ‘good morning’ lasts any longer.

Niffty pipes up, “Boring Closet Stuff!”

Charlie looks confused. “Surely there were more interesting items in there.”

“No, that’s what it’s called!” Niffty insists. “I found it; I get to name it! It’s called Boring Closet Stuff!”

“It’s a bit of a misnomer, but I’ll allow it. You did find it, Niff.” You say with an amused chuckle. “The contents are quite surprising. I’m not sure who built this place or that room in particular, but it’s full of special, possibly even magic items from all of the other Rings of Hell. Books, jewelry, gemstones and clothing that used to belong to the Ars Goetia and Sins as well.”

Vaggie raises an eyebrow. “How do you know this, exactly?”

“Whoever put everything in there meticulously labeled everything with what the item is and its place of origin.” You shrug. “I had Niffty close the secret passageway again in case one of you got curious before we talked about it. None of us touched any of the items inside the room. I was worried some of it might be cursed, given that these items have been locked away for who knows how long.”

Angel laughs uproariously. “There’s a secret passageway? Wha’, is that new slang for anal?”

Husk nearly chokes on his alcohol again, but instead of glaring up at Angel he has a soft smirk on his face. You smile. What a nice change in pace.

“You made the right call, Theia.” Charlie says, ignoring Angel’s blatantly sexual joke. “Thank you for being so careful. These objects could be cursed.” Charlie sighs. “I might have to call my dad about this one. I don’t want to…” You tense, and Alastor kisses your temple as Ombre kisses your other one and strokes your arm. “...I guess as long as I don’t have another reason to call him I’ll put it off for now.” You relax, relief washing over you. “Let’s just stay away from it for now, alright? We didn’t have any reason to go in there before, so I don’t see any reason why we would now.”

You hear Angel grumbling about how a secret passageway sounds like a cool place to explore, while Sir Pentious grumbles about the possibility of interesting pieces for his inventions, but then everyone agrees that there isn’t any point to bothering until they know for sure that it’s not cursed.

As everyone gets up to disperse for the morning, you turn your head to look Alastor in the eyes. “That was far faster than I’d anticipated.” You kiss him gently, then Ombre afterwards.

Angel catcalls, “Damn, Occhi, get a room if you’re gonna suck face like that!”

You ignore Angel as he makes some snark about how the two of you haven’t gossiped about them yet and you flip him off and kiss your kings again. Both Alastor and Ombre chuckle against your lips.

You pull out your phone as Ombre trails their clawed talons along the inside of your thigh and you fight a moan. “Not now, Ombre,” You whisper breathlessly, and you swear they have the audacity to pout. “Not here, where everyone can see.”

You send a quick text to Rana that was far more complicated than it needed to be with the way Ombre kept teasing you, running his claws through your hair, down your neck, placing kisses both chaste and searing across your collar bones.

When it buzzes, you open your phone to read what she’d written.

Rana: Not sure what all those typos were about, girlie, but I’m ready to meet you.

Rana: You’re headed here, right? We can eat in Pentagram City if you want, but you’ll have to come get me; it would take too long for me to drive.

You: Ombqe tdasing me. Haqd 2 tewt. Rhit phnoe (Ombre teasing me. Hard 2 text. Shit phone)

You: Bome get u in 5 (Come get u in 5)

Rana: I’ll see you soon! You’d better explain who Ombre is when you arrive! I’m at the cafe where we met last Wednesday.

“Rana is ready for us to meet her.” You murmur to Alastor, who kisses you and offers his hand for you to take. When you do so and stand, he stands next and sends the chair back to his room. Ombre drapes themselves over your shoulders like a cape, their chin resting on the top of your head.

You pull on your collar of the lovely red roses and eyes dress you’re wearing and shape it into a similar dress to the one you were wearing the first day you met Alastor, lengthening the hemline but keeping the collar low and flirty. It will swish as you walk and you catch him staring.

You giggle as Alastor says, “Lead the way, nostre reine.”

Husk, who is cleaning glasses behind the bar, looks like he’s slightly ill. You flush as Ombre says, “We’d follow you anywhere, our majesty.”

Alastor wraps his arms around your waist and you wrap your arms around his. Ombre snakes their arms around you just above Al’s. Then, you close your eyes and open the ones in Imp City. Seeing Rana outside of your favorite Coffee Shop from the eye in the front window wearing a pair of white square frames, a pair of purple cat eye frames in her hair, and a pair of neon blue butterfly frames on a librarian chain around her neck, you manifest in front of her. You would have taken the alleyway like last time, but this is more fun, and everyone knows what your powers are so you might as well make the journey quicker.

When you arrive, Alastor keeps a grip on your waist and Ombre lifts their head, but keeps their arms wrapped around you. “Hello, Rana,” you greet her with a smile, “this is Alastor, and the fellow draped across me is Ombre, his shadow.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Alastor.” Rana says as she holds out a hand for him to shake. “I’ve heard plenty about you over the years. I’m also quite partial to your monocle, as a fan of eyewear.”

Alastor frees one of his hands by offering his microphone for you to take. You feel flattered as he does so. You’ve never seen him trust it with anyone besides himself before. He takes her hand and shakes it as he says, “The pleasure is all mine, dear. I’m glad you appreciate my taste in choice of apparel, given your personal tastes. I’m afraid Theia has spoken very little of you until recently, but I suppose that was because she was afraid of me knowing everything about her past, and how intertwined yours is with hers.” When he finishes the shake, he returns his arm to around your waist.

“A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, friend of our queen.” Ombre intones even though she can’t understand them. It makes you a little sad.

“I concede that point, though it does hurt that you don’t talk about me much, Iris.” Rana says with an eyebrow raised.

You sigh. “Rana, you promised you wouldn’t call me that anymore.”

“Why? It’s your name. Not ‘Theia,’ this person you seem to think you left behind is still you.” Rana argues, “He knows. Why shouldn’t we be able to say your name?”

“It’s different. It’s…special when he says it.” You flush as you look up into his eyes. They glisten and sparkle with an appreciation of your words. “Besides, he says it when we’re alone. We’re in public here. Anyone could see us.”

Rana raises an eyebrow. “No one would ever think to look for you here. Your family would never come here themselves.”

“No, they’d hire someone else to do their spying for them.” You concede. “Let’s go to Rosie’s though. Al would prefer a food fitting a different palate and it’s eye time that you meet Rosie finally.”

“I have been looking forward to meeting her, to be sure.” Rana says easily, and steps towards you. You unwrap one of your arms from Alastor’s waist to place a hand on her shoulder. It’s times like these that you remember how small she is in comparison to you, and it startles you, catches you off guard for a moment.

“I just realized we never phoned Rosie to tell her we’re coming,” You mention, “I hope she’s not too busy for us today.”

“Nostre reine, you know she would never be too busy for you.” Alastor replies easily as he kisses your nose. “She’d tell every one of her customers to leave her store even if it were a Hell-wide holiday if it meant spending more time with her favorite niece.”

“Rosie has always been fond of you, our queen. On every occasion, she spoke quite highly of you even before the two of you, and by extension myself, had ever met. You intrigued my master from the moment she first did. It is something he would never admit to you himself.” Ombre says with a tease, and Alastor gives him a look you’re having trouble deciphering, but you can’t help but be smug about that. You’ll remember it for later.

You chuckle. “She’d lose profits, but yes, she probably would.” You concede, “Al, would you prefer to do the honors this time, or so shall I?”

“Whatever your dear friend Rana prefers, nostre reine.” He says easily, and Rana smiles as Ombre purrs into your ear.

“Lead, please, Theia. I’m more comfortable with your means of travel.” She says simply, and you nod. You close your eyes and focus on the one in the sign beside you and the one in the sign in the front of Cannibal Town. You’re going to make an entrance; with Alastor and his shadow wrapped around you and Rana walking beside you, you’ll be the talk of the town.

You arrive in front of Cannibal Town and are happy to be back in this little corner of Hell again. Everyone is eager to greet you, wave and smile. Rana is startled but pleased to see friendly, happy faces, and with her as close to the two of you, they know she is off limits, that she is company in their little town.

The four of you walk into town slowly and casually, enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells of the place that’s been the closest thing to home to you for a decade and a half. Up until recently, it seemed like the only place you found comfortable. Alastor’s room had somehow managed to surpass that for you. It’s odd for you to realize it now, but it is. When you asked him to take you home, his room is what you’d meant. You nearly stop dead in your tracks in front of the bakery from which he’d bought those candied eyeballs when you realize it, but you manage to recover your stride and continue on to Rosie’s with no further delay. In the distance, as you enter the front door, you see a tall man in a hooded cloak. It is impossible to discern his facial features in the cloak, and there are too many people to see any more of him than the hooded itself. You don’t think much of it as you enter, distracted immediately by the shelves and shelves of goods.

Rosie’sis incredibly empty again, surprisingly, and she comes over to greet you. “My, isn’t this a pleasant surprise! My two favorite people and, my goodness, do my eyes deceive me or is this the famous Rana I’ve heard so much about?”

Rana flushes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rosie.” She curtsies. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you, myself. Theia always speaks so highly of you and your personal tastes. I’m so glad you’ve been family to her all these years. She’s needed someone to help care for her after all she’s been through.”

Rosie looks tickled pink. “Come in; come in; let’s have some tea!” She beckons you all to her parlor, and Alastor manifests a few more chairs from the other room that match the set to accommodate the need for extra seating. He adds a few pillows to one of the chairs so Rana can sit comfortably at the table.

Rosie passes out the tea one by one. She adds two brown eyeballs like she always does for you, a regular cup of tea with nothing in it for Alastor, and then she looks in Rana’s direction. “What would you like in your tea? I have cream, sugar, and an assortment of other additives if something interesting strikes your fancy, dear.”

Rana thinks for a moment as she switches to a pair of blood-red cat eye frames. “I’d like something sweet. What do you have in terms of sugary sweets? Brown sugar? Maple syrup? Honeysuckle syrup?”

“All of the above and a few more options if those aren’t quite right.” Rosie says with a sparkle in her irisless eyes.

“I’ll take the brown sugar, please. Thank you, Rosie.” She says sweetly, and Rosie stirs it in, passes it to her, then pours her own and adds a pinkie finger to hers.

As Rosie sits down at the table, she says casually, “I’m surprised you chose to come here today, after all the posters that have been up with your face on them and a name you’ve never told me before, Theia.”

Rana nearly spills her tea all over as she rattles the table in shock. “What posters?! Theia, tell me you didn’t know about this!”

You look sheepishly at her. “Um…about that…I’ve cone for days and I view you’d be mad but…”

Rana glares at you. “Are you insane?! If they’re looking for you here and they see the two of us together, they’ll know it’s you! We ran away together, after all! What if they’re here already? What if they’ve already seen us?”

A pit in your stomach drops. From where you’re positioned in the parlor, you can see the front door. The man in the robe who’d been outside, that you’d completely dismissed initially, walks in the Emporium’s front door.

A/N: I'm so glad Rana and Rosie finally met! I'm also quite thrilled that Alastor finally met Rana. Any chapter where Rana is present is so much better simply because she's around. I adore her.

Chapter 31 will be Theia confronting the man in the hood that seems to know more than she'd like. Alastor reveals some of the contents of the book he found. Theia learns something that will haunt her.

First || Chapter 29 || Chapter 31

#the demon of a thousand eyes #theia #demon of a thousand eyes #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel oc #alastor x reader #eye #eyes #eye puns #eye puns as a coping mechanism

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lieutenant-amuel · 2 years ago

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Oooh sunflower, marigold and winterberry for Valerio, please!!!

I actually didn’t plan on taking those asks, but thank you, Blue!!

Sunflower - What name(s) were you originally thinking of calling your OC?

I… don’t remember. Most of my characters got their names as a result of me scrolling through the lists of Spanish names with their meanings, so I believe I had several options for Valerio but I don’t remember them.

The thing I can say is that there was a short period when I thought of renaming him because to be fair Valerio is more an Italian name than Spanish, so it started bothering me a bit.

But it happened when Valerio existed for a very long time and his name was mentioned literally everywhere, on both fanfiction platforms, on Tumblr, on Discord, and he was one of the main characters, so changing his name would be too much trouble and I had to accept it.

Anyway, he was born in Nueva Vista that’s based on Venice or whatever, and even if it isn’t, I love the name Valerio, generally and for my character, so he’s Valerio until his last breath.

Marigold - Describe your OC in three words or less

Not necessarily adjectives/personality traits? I have something for this ask then.

***

Valerio walked down the corridor towards his classroom to prepare for the lesson. A normal day like any other, except he didn’t flinch every time Emilio was around him anymore.

He left him alone.

It was something that Valerio desired the most but something still felt wrong. He remembered every instant of his conversation with Emilio, how his eyes were filling with tears, how the words of repentance flew off the strings of his trembling voice. It was exactly what he wanted to see. The pain of someone who put him through an unbearable nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.

Emilio deserved it.

Emilio deserved—

Emilio—

His exultation was drowned out by a feeling of gnawing guilt as he remembered everything Matías told him. What he’d done wrapped around his neck like tentacles of the sea beast that dragged him down, back to his past to the dark bottom never touched by the sun rays.

Indecisive. Pathetic. Cruel.

He felt like a monster. There was no better word to describe him.

Valerio swung the door wide open and threw his bag on the desk as he flopped down on a chair. He carelessly took out the books as he kept gazing at his gloves. Things could be much easier if he didn’t wear them. Who would care about his scars? Who would care about how he got them? He was loved by everyone, from teachers to students, in this school. He wouldn't get anything but sympathy if they knew he was a fire victim.

But he was scared. Because the fire wasn’t the thing he hid.

Valerio put his hands together and was going to remove one of his gloves but suddenly a voice rang out in the doorway.

“Hey, Señor Álvarez!” Valerio sharply turned his head and saw Ángel, “Are you busy? I need your help with something.”

Ángel walked in without waiting for him to reply, and Señor Álvarez cleared his throat to greet his student, “Sure, Ángel. What’s up?”

Ángel sat down opposite him and dumped a bunch of papers on the desk.

“I wanna learn how to write poetry! And I need advice.”

Señor Álvarez chuckled, “But why have you decided to come to me? I think Señor Serrano knows more about poetry than I do.”

Ángel shrugged, “You were the first person that came to my mind.”

Señor Álvarez smiled a bit and took the papers Ángel handed to him.

“Can you read it, please, and tell me what you think?”

Señor Álvarez’s eyes skimmed through the lines, and Ángel carefully watched his expression to understand his thoughts but he wasn’t sure that his gentle smile really meant anything. Once he finished, he looked at Ángel who impatiently tapped his fingers as he awaited Señor Álvarez’s review.

“It’s great! You seem to know how to find the right words, plus you have no trouble with rhyming. Those are your first works, right?” Ángel nodded with an awkward smile, “In this case I’m even more impressed. The only thing I’d advise is to work on the rhythm of your poems. And I have a little trick for that. Look.”

As Señor Álvarez read Ángel’s poem out loud, he tapped his finger at every syllable. It created a smooth melody until it tripped over a long word that didn’t fit the pattern of the rest of the poem, and Ángel even winced when he heard it.

“Always read what you write out loud. It will help you expose awkward mistakes that are hiding in your head.”

Ángel nodded and took the poem to cross out the unfitting word and replace it with something else.

“Okay, maybe it’s better now,” Ángel began to read it out loud and as he followed Señor Álvarez’s advice, he tapped his finger on the desk.

It was perfect this time.

“Woohoo! It worked!” Ángel exclaimed cheerfully and looked at Señor Álvarez, “Thank you so much!”

He chuckled a bit and silently nodded.

“Can I ask you how you created this thing, Señor Álvarez?”

“One person I knew taught me. She was a great poet,” he fell silent for a moment with a sad smile, “And can I ask you why you’ve decided to start writing poetry? Your poems are very emotional. It feels like you’re writing them for someone dear to you.”

Ángel dropped his eyes, “My parents are divorced, but I keep in touch with Mamá and I want to write something special for her. But… I don’t want anyone to know it, so please, don’t tell anyone. Especially Papá and my friends.”

“You can count on me,” Señor Álvarez stuck out his little finger for a pinky swear, and Ángel laughed.

“Now I know why I’ve come to you, Señor Álvarez!”

They released each other’s fingers, and as Ángel glanced at Señor Álvarez, he suddenly felt a surge of warmth radiating from his smile. He was so encouraging and kind, and Ángel still couldn’t get used to it since those were the qualities that Señor Bravo, his previous history teacher, lacked.

Being around Señor Álvarez felt like being wrapped around a soft cozy blanket that could keep him from the cold. He knew it was weird to feel that way about his teacher but he couldn’t help it. Señor Álvarez was a lot more than just a teacher.

“Thank you for always inspiring me to do new things, Señor Álvarez,” he said as he got up from the desk, “You know, you’ve actually been doing it since the first day we’ve met.”

“Good luck with your poems, Ángel. I’m sure your mother will love them when she reads them.”

They both exchanged broad smiles, and as Ángel left the classroom, Valerio exhaled peacefully.

Warmth. Kindness. Inspiration.

Yes. Those words described him well, too.

***

Have I just spoiled Valerio’s entire arc? Perhaps.

Winterberry - Use one or more photos that encapsulates your OC's clothing style.

Oh no. I’m horrible at choosing clothes for my characters x) But something like this, I guess.

Gloves 1000000%

Something black, because this is currently his main color, and sorta elegant? I suppose I’m thinking too much about Valerio as a teacher now, but I’m really not sure what he wears casually.

And he wears a crystal necklace :D You can try to guess why.

And when he was younger, something like this? He’s a sea guy after all, and I think this is actually the closest what he wears in the 13th chapter (aka young Valerio chapter). I also can imagine him wearing something more colorful but it looks way too modern XD

Thank you again!

Flowery OC Asks

#Ask me anything #Ask meme #Flowery OC Asks #Was Born To Lead #My OCs #Valerio Álvarez #Ángel Suarez #He was there so why not #My writing #You know I could easily finish writing the second answer at the sentence ‘he was a monster’ because it was already too long #but I thought it wouldn’t be right to end it on a bad note XD #Oh no is Valerio teaching Ángel how to break the law

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silentt-angel · 10 months ago

Text

to love and to kill – chapter 1

summary: Draco Malfoy has been tasked with fixing a magical wardrobe and killing Albus Dumbledore. But he isn't the only Slytherin who received a task from The Dark Lord that summer - Magnolia Stellifer has to make sure that Draco doesn’t fail, and if he does, she has to finish what he started... An enemies to lovers retelling of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. pairing: draco malfoy x oc

1. A Beginning

Sunday 1st September 1996

To say that Draco Malfoy was annoyed, would have been an understatement. He had only been at Station 9¾ for a total of seven minutes, and he was already cold, his new shoes were making his feet hurt and he was beginning to regret skipping breakfast that morning – just like his mother had told him he would. As if that wasn’t enough, some snotty first year student was wailing about something loudly right next to him. Had Draco’s mother not been standing beside him, he would have definitely hexed the boy into oblivion by now. Since she was, though, he settled for imagining all the things he could do to the boy with a single spell. His list was getting quite impressive.

There was something that was gnawing at the back of his mind that was annoying him far more than all of this, though – Draco missed his father.

And he didn’t like it.

Lucius Malfoy had never been the warmest of people, and certainly not the warmest of fathers. He could be stern and demanding and strict, but he was Draco’s father, and since Draco started Hogwarts six years prior, Lucius had been there every single year to see him off. It felt strange not to have him there. It made Draco feel like things really were changing.

It also made him feel like a soppy git.

Draco didn’t think he would care, and going back to Hogwarts was usually accompanied by a buzz of excitement he was certain would drown out any other emotions. This year the feeling was nowhere to be found. Instead, all Draco felt was a strange emotion he couldn’t quite put a name to.

Needless to say, so far, his day was going pretty shit.

“Are you sure you have everything you need packed, dear?” Draco’s mother asked him, straightening the collar of his cloak.

Any sign of summer had disappeared completely with the start of September. Everything was already cold and grey. The wind tugged at his mother’s hair angrily, blowing the black and white strands.

It felt fitting. Having the sun shine over him brightly all summer felt sacrilegious.

��Yes, mother. You’ve asked me that thrice since we got here.”

“I just want to make sure,” Narcissa said softly, drawing her hands away from him.

Draco mustered up a weak smile.

“I need you to be careful.”

“I will,” Draco assured her.

“I mean it,” his mother said. “I won’t lie to you, dear – I’m worried about you. What you are doing is extremely dangerous, so I need you to promise me that you will be careful .”

Draco swallowed thickly. “I promise,” he said.

He hated having conversations like this with his mother, and they were having an awful lot of them as of late.

“And remember: the only person you can talk to about this in that castle is Severus. He is the only one who you can trust. Understood?”

Draco pursed his lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard his mother use such a harsh tone with him. He didn’t fault her. Her husband was in Azkaban, and now her only son was risking the same fate.

He wished his mother didn’t know about the task. Wished that he could at least take this burden from her.

“Understood.”

Narcissa’s eyes softened again. “I'm going to miss you very much, Draco.”

“I hate to leave you.”

“Don’t worry about me.” She smiled. “I shall manage just fine. I always do. Now,” she smoothed out her dark skirt, “I believe I have just spotted the Stellifers. Let us go and say hello and then you should be on your way.”

Draco felt the stares that followed him as they walked. He was used to people looking at him. He was a Malfoy, after all; everyone knew who he was since he was a tiny baby. This felt very different, though.

Death Eater.

Scum.

He’ll be joining Lucius soon.

Bastard should have got much worse.

Hope he rots in Azkaban like his daddy.

Insults were hurled at him in hushed tones.

“Do not listen to them.” His mother pulled him closer, shooting daggers with her eyes at anyone who looked their way. “They will find something new to gossip about soon.”

Draco replied with a low hum. “Unlikely,” he said. “But I’m not concerning myself with what some mudbloods have to say about us, and you shouldn’t either, mother.”

“It does not bother me when it is me they are talking about,” Narcissa frowned. A faint line appeared between her brows. “But I hate it when they speak about my boy that way. You are right, though. We must not bother ourselves with that type of nonsense. People will always talk.”

To Draco, it sounded like his mother was trying to convince herself just as much as she was trying to convince him.

“It’s fine. I don’t care, really,” he said.

It didn’t feel good, but Draco was slowly getting used to it. He had to. Since his father had been sent to Azkaban, Draco couldn’t cross the street without hearing the words ‘Death Eater’ being spat at him. There was no point denying it or saying anything, really. It’s not like they were entirely wrong, either.

“Now,” his mother smiled at him, “please try to look a bit less miserable for the next few minutes.”

Draco scoffed but mustered up a neutral expression.

“Leonidas! Idris! Lovely to see you as always,” his mother greeted the Stellifers politely. “You too, Magnolia.”

Draco shook Mr.Stellifer’s hand and sent Magnolia and her mother a polite nod as they exchanged pleasantries.

“Doesn’t time just fly? When did your Magnolia grow into such a wonderful young woman?” his mother gushed.

“Isn’t she just precious?” Idris Stellifer cooed, pleased at the compliment, a hint of French in her accent.

It took a lot of effort for Draco to stifle a laugh.

He had only seen Magnolia once the entire summer, at the annual ball her mother organised. It was probably the longest they had gone without eachothers company their entire lives. Draco considered it one of the major advantages of the Dark Lord’s return.

She looked the same as her had remembered her, in her brown overcoat. Maybe a bit older. A bit more tanned with a few light freckles decorating her slender nose that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps her hair had grown a bit over the summer too – it fell over her shoulders in long, dark curls.

Draco felt his mother nudge him gently and realised he hadn’t been listening to the conversation at all.

“Your Draco has had to mature incredibly these last few months, hasn’t he? Step up and be the man of the family,” he heard Magnolia’s father say.

“He certainly has.” Narcissa nodded.

Draco hated these types of conversations. Hated how people would always speak about him as if he wasn’t standing right there.

“These are strange times we are living in,” Leonidas went on. “We need to look out for each other.”

Draco thought that ‘strange times’ was a generous way of putting it.

“We just wanted to remind you that if you ever need any help, we are always here,” the man added.

“That’s very kind of you, Leonidas.”

“It must be so difficult without Lucius.” Idris Stellifer gave them both a sympathetic smile. “I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like,” she said, and turned her gaze to her husband.

Leonidas smiled at her gently and grasped her hand in his.

Draco couldn’t understand why people said things like that so often. Did they really believe it would make anyone feel better? It made him want to scream.

His mother gave them a small smile that Draco had come to know very well in the last few months and said, “It is certainly quieter at home.”

It was quite the opposite, actually.

“I’m really sorry to interrupt,” Magnolia spoke suddenly, “but I think me and Draco ought to go. The train will be leaving soon.”

“Right, of course.” Her mother smiled. "We wouldn’t want you missing it,” she said. “But before you go, let me give you one last big hug.” She pulled her daughter into a tight embrace.

Draco turned to his own mother.

“Do not forget to write to me,” she said with a tired kind of smile on her face.

“I won’t,” Draco promised.

“I know.” She kissed his cheek. “Off you go.”

He made sure to look at her for as long as he could before he had to turn away and start walking towards the train – to try and remember every detail of her face. Draco didn’t let the thought form into a sentence in his head, but a tiny part of him was afraid of that being the last time he would see his mother.

He pushed the thought away quickly. He wasn’t going to let it be.

“Goodbye, mother.” Draco swallowed thickly before turning back to the others. “It was good seeing you, Mr and Mrs Stellifer.”

“Draco, dear,” Magnolia’s mother stopped him. “Would you mind helping Magnolia with her bag?”

“There’s really no need, mother,” Magnolia protested. “I wouldn’t want to trouble Draco.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said, with a smile that he knew made all mothers like him.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

They walked side by side towards the Hogwarts Express, Draco stealing quick glances at Magnolia’s face. There was a tiredness in her eyes and a frown on her lips that he hadn’t noticed before. He wondered what could have caused it. It was difficult to remember what kinds of problems people who weren’t doing the Dark Lord’s bidding had.

“You look ravishing today,” he drawled sarcastically, finally breaking the silence.

“Tiring summer,” was all Magnolia said in response.

“Oh, right. It must be awfully taxing having to attend so many balls and picnics,” Draco said, with pretend sympathy.

“You’d know all about that.”

“Would I?” He smirked. “I don’t recall attending many tea parties this summer.”

She furrowed her dark brows. “What’s your problem, Malfoy?”

He laughed. Given by how quickly he had managed to get her riled up, it seemed he wasn’t the only one in a bad mood.

It felt good to pick a fight – finally have someone to snap at.

“Were the balls any fun at least?” he asked.

“Certainly the ones you weren’t at,” Magnolia snapped back.

Draco would have been at all of them if Voldemort hadn’t been spending his time in Draco’s living room most nights.

“I’m sure my company was dearly missed.”

She laughed back at him. “I beg to differ.”

“I’m doubtful.”

“I wouldn’t expect any different, you arrogant twat.”

“Good, you know me well then, and you shouldn’t miss me too much now, either.” Draco grinned at her one last time before letting go of her suitcase, giving it a hard push towards the train tracks and strolling off, “You’ll manage just fine with that, I presume?” he called over his shoulder.

Magnolia stood where he had left her, giving him the middle finger, the two green ribbons in her hair blowing wildly in the wind.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It didn’t take long for Draco to find the compartment his friends were sitting in.

“About time,” Blaise Zabini said, shaking his hand. “We thought you weren't going to make it.”

“I hoped I wouldn’t.”

“But you’re here.” Blaise grinned. “And that means you owe me a galleon, Goyle. Don’t think I forgot,” he shouted across the compartment.

Goyle groaned and started rummaging in his pockets. He slid a few coins over the table to Zabini.

“Pleasure doing business with you, mate.”

“I’ll be having a percentage of that,” Draco said.

Blaise frowned. “We’ll see about that.”

“We were actually just talking about you before you came,” Pansy Parkinson said, changing the subject.

“You were?” Draco raised a brow.

“Just wondering,” Pansy said with a sickly sweet smile, “what Master Malfoy was so busy doing that he couldn’t be asked to reply to a single letter all summer?”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Some of us didn’t spend our entire summer sunbathing in Italy,” he said. “I’ve had to take on some of my father’s responsibilities. It’s kept me pretty busy.”

He noticed the way Blaise and Pansy looked at each other awkwardly, but chose to ignore it.

“How was Italy?” he asked, in part because he wanted to stop her from having a go at him, but also because he was dying for a normal conversation that had nothing to do with the Dark Lord, and his father, and the war.

Luckily, Pansy didn’t need much encouragement. She started babbling happily about the beaches, all the food she ate, the people and all the wine she managed to swipe from her parents. Draco was grateful not to have to speak for a while. It was nice to listen to something so down to earth.

It didn’t last very long, though.

“You know,” Pansy said, “apparently some people aren’t coming back this year.”

“Muggle-borns,” Blaise chimed in.

Draco leaned back in his seat. “People are starting not to trust Dumbledore with their precious children as much.”

“Took them long enough,” Blasie sighed. “He let a bloody werewolf teach us.”

“Lupin wasn’t all that bad,” Pansy countered.

“Did you fancy him or something, Parkinson?" Draco joked.

“You think I’m into hairy guys?”

“I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours.”

Pansy rolled her eyes at him. “At least he actually taught us something. Better than Umbridge.”

"S’ppose” Blaise shrugged.

The compartment doors swung open and the freckle-covered face of some Ravenclaw student peered inside.

“Hi, sorry, is there a Blaise Zabini in here?” the girl asked.

“Depends who’s asking,” Blaise drawled.

“I’ve been asked to deliver a message from Professor Slughorn.”

The girl passed Blaise a wax sealed envelope. Pansy peered over his shoulder as he opened it.

“That’s the new Potions professor," she said. “He taught my father.”

Blaise scanned the letter quickly and scoffed.

“What is it?” Draco asked.

Though he wouldn’t admit it, the mysterious letter had sparked some curiosity in him.

“Looks like I’ve got lunch plans today.”

“Who would have thought you’d be such a teacher’s pet, Blaise,” Pansy giggled. “Getting invited to lunch by a professor on the first day back? Must have been a busy summer.”

“What does Slughorn want with you?” Draco asked. “You’re awful at potions.”

“Beats me.” Blaise shrugged.

“Maybe Slughorn’s doing special classes, for those most in need, this year,” Pansy suggested, smiling innocently.

“Rude.”

“Only logical explanation.” Draco smirked.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on either of you,” Blaise said, standing up. “Let’s hope the food is good. See you later.”

He left the compartment whistling, his hands in his pockets, leaving just Draco and Pansy in their booth.

The girl pressed her forehead against the window. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her jumper, each of them decorated with chipped black polish and silver rings. They both sat in silence for a while, looking at the rolling hills they were passing, before she said, “Isn’t it strange that we’re only going to get to do this one more time?”

He raised a brow. “Pansy Parkinson getting sentimental?”

She laughed. “Maybe a bit. Hogwarts is a shithole, but I’m going to miss it. I’ve spent most of the last few years of my life there.”

He decided not to tell her that he may not be there with her on the train next year. That by then he might be onto bigger things.

This was going to be a good year for him. Draco was going to make sure of that. It was going to be difficult, but it would all be worth getting his father out of prison, restoring his family’s good name and keeping his mother safe. There was a lot he was willing to do to accomplish that.

Apparently even murdering his headmaster.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Blaise returned after an hour. He already had a scowl on his face as he swung the compartment door open, and it only deepened when he couldn’t get it to shut again.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” he asked angrily, as he tousled with the door.

Just as Draco got up to help him, the door slid open completely, and Zabini toppled over sideways, landing straight in Gregory Goyle’s lap. Pansy and Draco both erupted into laughter.

“Oi!” Goyle snarled. “Get off me.”

“You’re acting like I wanted to land on your fat arse!”

“We all know you like it, Goyle,” Pansy jeered.

“Get your hands off me,” Zabini spat.

“You’re the one sitting on me!”

“Keep telling yourself that, mate.”

Blaise leapt up before Goyle could shove him off and slumped down next to Pansy. Draco sprawled out across the free seat next to him. He listened as the two slytherins continued to squabble with a smile, when something white flashed before his eyes. Draco frowned slightly.

“How was it?” Pansy asked, still laughing slightly.

“One of the biggest wastes of time,” Blaise groaned.

“What did Slughorn want?”

Draco was glad that Pansy asked before he had to. Blaise was always far too pleased when he forced someone to try and pry information out of him.

“Just trying to find some well-connected people,” he said, straightening his jacket. “Not that he managed to find any.”

“Who else did he invite?” Draco asked.

“McLaggen from Gryffindor,” Blaise replied.

“Oh yeah, his uncle’s big in the Ministry.” Pansy filled in.

“–somone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw.”

Pansy scowled. “He’s a dickhead.”

“Magnolia Stellifer was there too,” Blaise added, and Draco noticed the way he looked at him, searching for a reaction.

It didn’t surprise Draco one bit that she was invited. She was brilliant at potions – he had to give her that.

“– and Longbottom, Potter and that Weasley girl,” Zabini finished.

“He invited Longbottom?” Draco laughed in disbelief.

“Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there,” Zabini said indifferently.

“What’s Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?” Pansy asked.

Blaise shrugged.

“Guess the whole Potter fan club scored an invite,” Draco sneered. “Even the Weasley girl.”

“A lot of boys like her for some reason,” Pansy said. “Even you think she’s good-looking, don’t you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please.” She wriggled her thick eyebrows suggestively.

Blaise made a gagging noise. “I’d rather snog Goyle.”

“I don’t have a hard time believing that after what we just saw,” Draco teased.

“Not that I want to spend my free time with that old man,” Pansy said, “but I’m a bit surprised that Malfoy and I weren’t invited.”

“I wouldn't bank on an invitation,” Blaise said. “He asked me about Notts father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he’d been caught at the Ministry, he didn’t look happy. And Nott didn’t get an invitation, did he? I don’t think Slughorn’s interested in Death Eaters. At least not convicted ones.”

Draco let out a single humourless laugh. “His loss.”

“We’re nearly there,” Pansy said. “We should get our robes on. Blaise needs all the time he can get in front of the mirror.”

The boy clutched his chest. “How thoughtful, Pansy.”

As they all stood up and Goyle reached up for his trunk, Draco heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like a faint grunt. He looked over at Pansy and Blaise, but they were still going back and forth about something, oblivious to the strange noise. Draco continued pulling on his robe like he hadn’t heard anything and reached for his trunk. The train halted.

“You guys go on,” he told his friends. “I just want to check something.”

Draco waited until he couldn’t hear anyone in the corridor and lowered the blinds. He bent down and reached into his trunk, then spun around and pointed his wand at the luggage rack.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Just as he had suspected, Potter came toppling down from the rack, his head and torso sliding out from underneath an invisibility cloak. He landed right at Draco’s feet.

Draco smirked down at him. “Hello Potter. I thought it was you,” he said jubilantly. “I heard Goyle’s trunk hit you and thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back… It was quite rude of you not to say hello.”

His eyes lingered for a moment on Potter’s face as he considered how much he could get away with.

“You didn’t hear anything I care about, Potter, but while I’ve got you here…” Draco stamped down hard on Harry’s face. He heard a crunch under his shoes as Potter’s blood spluttered everywhere. “That’s from my father.” He kicked again. “And that’s from me.”

Potter’s glasses had snapped into three pieces and the glass had shattered, some of it slicing into his – definitely broken – nose.

It felt good to see him so defenceless. The legendary boy who lived at his feet. It was his fault that Draco was in the position he was in.

“Oh, dear” Draco cooed cruelly. “You’ve made quite the mess.” He wiped his shoe on Harry’s shirt, then dragged the cloak from under Harry’s immobilised body and threw it over him. “I don’t reckon they’ll find you until the train’s back in London,” he said quietly. “See you around, Potter… or not.”

He took care to tread on his fingers as he left the compartment.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Does Potter’s nose have anything to do with what you left on the train?” Pansy asked Draco during the feast.

“Perhaps.” He smirked, pleased with himself. What he did was going to be the highlight of his week.

The Slytherin table erupted into laughter. They were silenced only by Dumbledore stepping onto the podium.

“The very best of evenings to you!” Dumbledore said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide enough to embrace the whole room.

Draco groaned and buried his head in his arms.

“Now...to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you...”

He mostly drowned out the sound of Dumbledore’s annual speech.

“...those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise. We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year, Professor Slughorn. He is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master. Professor Snape, meanwhile,” Dumbledore said, raising his voice so that it carried over all the muttering, “will be taking the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength.”

Draco lifted his head off the table at the name ‘Lord Voldemort’.

“I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle’s magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that your teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them — in particular, the rule that you are not to be out after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others’ safety.”

The old man had no clue what he had coming.

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