#SOMEONE HELP ASPERA....

[myownwholewildworld]

requiescat in pace (a "per aspera ad astra" drabble)

main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: you learn of marcus' son's death. a/n: welp... yea. can what i say, i enjoy making these two suffer c: apologies for the brief passenger's lyrics references. i appreciate comments and reblogs, they make me happy knowing that people enjoy my writing <3 take care x warnings: 18+, mdni. angst (what a surprise). mentions of death. marcus says "my lady" and i think that should be a warning. let's just assume that this whole series is pure angst, alright? w/c: 2.1k

“Did you offer your condolences to General Acacius, filia mea (my daughter)?”

Your father’s question broke the trance you had sunk into, the bronze spoon falling from your trembling fingers onto the porcelain plate set in front of you.

Leaning back, you looked at your father as if he had spoken a different language. Surely you misheard him — your mind still numb with grief, unable to process anything since you received the news of your husband’s demise.

It had been three days and the gaping hole in your heart had only gotten bigger. Like an umbra lurking in the shadows, you had stayed in your shared bedroom, crying your sorrow onto Resius’ breastplate, hugging the last piece of him you would ever hold. You grieved for your love but also for the life you would never spend with him, for all those precious moments that would remain in your memory as what if’s gnawing at the confines of your mind.

But now, right now, your pain lessened for a second, your brain focusing on something else.

“What do you mean, Caesar?” you whispered, voice cracking in the last inflexion.

The Emperor eyed you from across the dining table, silence lingering and stretching in the space between you. Your heartbeat picked up its pace, the wait almost forcing you up to stand on your feet.

“General Acacius lost his heir at the battle of Sarmizegetusa. He has asked to return to Dacia to retrieve the body of his son and bring him back home for proper burial,” he explained with caution, watching your every expression.

Your heart had now climbed up your throat, the pulse wild in your eardrums. You hadn’t misheard, your father had said Acacius very clearly, dragging the word out.

Mind racing, you fidgeted with your hands on your lap, twisting them in despair as you tried to recall your conversation with him a few days ago. “He’s resting now,” he had said when you asked about Augustus.

Resting. You had assumed he meant that his son was back at his villa, resting from the extraneous physical toll a battle would take on the body. Not for one second had you considered that Marcus actually meant resting in peace.

You had been so blind, letting your own grief consume you, you had not noticed the tells in the General’s behaviour. The feeble smile, the downcast almost solemn expression, the stiffened nod he gave you, the brevity of his response. It all made sense now, and you couldn’t help but feel… selfish. So drowned in your sorrow, Acacius had kept it together so you could cry your loss in his embrace.

Your stomach churned at the thought — the General had no one left by his side. No wife and no son waiting for his return, not even his best friend. How would he have felt in the emptiness of his home with no one there to console him? You at least had your family and closest friends, who had checked on you from time to time to ensure you were safe.

Had someone checked on the General?

“May I take my leave, pater (father)?” you requested with your gaze averted, a sudden need to find General Acacius, your hands twisting uncontrollably.

You needed to know he was… okay. Alive? He had talked to someone at least, asked to go back to Dacia to get his only son back home. You could only imagine his heartbreak, the hell he must be going through. The thought of him dealing with all of it alone… it fractured a piece of your soul.

The Emperor watched you attentively, eyes lingering on the full plate in front of you. There was something about his wary demeanor that didn’t click right away — and right now you were too preoccupied with something else to be paying attention to politics.

“You may go, but tread carefully, filia mea,” was his veiled answer.

With no time to waste, you stood up and curtsied before disappearing from the dining hall.

Marcus’ body was controlled by another being — a non-sentient one. He got up, attended his duties to the Empire, paid a visit to the barracks in the outskirts to train with his army, and then got back to an empty home.

It all felt like a sick loop, one he could not break from. His feelings had deserted him, leaving him be a hollow carcass of who he once was. There was no joy, no incentive to even pretend there was.

It took him a couple of days to finally let the dam crack in the solace of his villa. It all came to be because of something as simple as Augustus’ toy gladius. The one that Marcus himself had forged for his son’s tenth birthday. Little Augustus had been so excited, he had almost hit his head against the edge of the dining table while running around wielding his new toy. That memory had resurfaced unexpectedly and the smile that came with it quickly mutated into a sad grimace.

He longed for something that that was safe and warm, but all he had was all that was gone. Marcus felt as helpless and as hopeless as a feather on the Tiber. And the river was wide, so much he was scared he wouldn’t make it to the other side. And what would he find on the opposite shore? Did he really want to cross?

Marcus couldn’t, at least not yet. He needed closure before he could carry on with his life, if that was even a possibility. Augustus belonged in the family’s mausoleum next to his mother, so they could both be laid to rest in peace together. With Dacia under the iron fist of the Romans, he could retrace his steps and get his heir back home.

His leave had been approved that same afternoon. In a hurry, he had packed the bare necessities he would need for the long trip and headed towards the barracks once more. In the stables his stallion was awaiting, all prepped by one of the ostlers.

He was ensuring that the saddle was properly on when a gentle voice called his name.

“General Acacius,” as soon as you spoke, he recognised your delicate accent.

Marcus turned around, his back bending immediately at your presence.

“My lady,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the straw splayed across the dirt on the floor.

What brought you here, he wondered. The horses belonging to Traianus’ family were kept elsewhere, away from the mediocrity of the reminders of war. This was no place for someone of noble birth like you. It reeked of the musky scents of nature to which he was immune now, but you sure weren’t.

Your hand found the way to his shoulder, a light tap to silently ask him to straighten out his posture. He obliged, his brown orbs showing his confusion at finding you here. And you seemed unbothered about the mess surrounding you.

“How may I be of service?” his question was a trained response, the only reason for you being here was that you required something of him.

Perhaps you needed to know how everything unfolded so you also got closure. Perhaps you required details, something more than just a “General Atticus perished at the mercy of a Dacian sword” — had he been too concise in his explanation, too General-y? Or perhaps you were after the reassurance of a life well lived with your husband, a reminder that there had been light amongst the darkness.

The Gods knew he felt that way sometimes too.

“That is not why I am here, General,” you hummed with a broken smile, your hand dropping off his shoulder like the last needle-like leaves clinging onto a toppling, decaying cypress after a wildfire.

Your admission took him aback, unsure now of what else you could need of him. What else would he have to give for Rome to appease the Emperor — was his heir not enough? But you weren’t your father; Resius would always say you were too kind of a soul, would only speak high praise of you. But was not that what a husband was supposed to say about his spouse, especially Traianus’ daughter?

So perhaps he was mistaken in that regard, although he couldn’t know. Marcus had interacted with you multiple times, in serious and more relaxed settings, but the barrier was always there — he was just a General you graced with your presence because of Resius. You participated in conversation, laughed at Resius’ and his jokes and offered words of wisdom to Augustus like the mother he never had.

But despite all of that, he didn’t really know you. Knew your persona, the way you portrayed yourself to the crowds, but it was fair to wonder how much of it was just a front.

That was, at least, until three sunsets ago, when you cried your loss with him — something he had not expected. How your façade tumbled the moment his perhaps-not-so-carefully-delivered words furrowed through your mind until they took root. How he tried to console you in spite of his own sorrow.

The crease between his brows accentuated slightly, a small tell of his confusion.

“I heard,” you only said, a whisper that made his skin crawl with anguish, his throat squeeze.

The softness of your eyes left no room for misinterpretation, an unmistakable mist in them. About your son’s death, was the bit you did not pronounce out loud.

His chest tightened as his gaze drifted down, catching a glimpse of your fidgety hands, twisting nervously.

Did you feel guilty? Was that the purpose of your unexpected visit?

“My son lived and died for the glory of Rome, Your Highness. Honourable to the end, he gladly gave his life for the Emperor and the cause. A warrior’s death, I couldn’t be any more proud of his sacrifice,” he attempted to put your mind at ease, tone steady repeating the words he had been saying every time someone approached him with empty condolences.

Your hands paused wriggling, your expression shadowed by his automatic reply.

“Oh, Marcus,” you whispered, taking a step forward but stopping yourself before you reached for his forearm. “You don’t need to— to pretend this is okay. It’s not,” your trembling fingers played with the golden bracelet adorning your wrist. “War is a disease, an ailment to mankind, to ourselves and our loved ones. I regret to know that you have given so much for Rome’s thirst. You shouldn’t have to. My father… he asks too much of his people,” you added, the mist in your eyes developing into a single tear falling off your bottom lashes. “Far too much.”

Pain stirred within him, lost for words he was. What you just said was a good outline of his own feelings — thoughts he couldn’t put into words, because they would sound treacherous. Did you really mean it?

“I… thank you, Domina mea. I appreciate your sentiment,” he accepted with a stiff nod, his voice raspier than usual. But he wouldn’t let emotion overcome him.

“I was informed you have taken leave to bring Augustus back home. I came to see if you would accept a few soldiers of my own personal guard to escort you,” you offered, your tone gentle and delicate.

Marcus was moved by your offer, one he didn’t expect. Were you worried for his safe return? That the journey back with his dead son in tow would break him, his resolution? Because he was worried too.

“I am touched, my lady, truly. But it’s not necessary. Some of my men will be accompanying me,” he assured you.

Marcus was lucky to have loyal fighting men under his banner. People he could blindly trust in battle, and outside of it.

“Please, send for me upon your return, General. I would like to attend Augustus’ wake. Unless you want it to be private, in which case I completely understand,” you almost stumbled with your own words towards the end, lips pursed with nervousness.

Resius was right. You were too kind of a soul, worrying for him when you had your own demons to deal with. The dull ache blanketing his heart lifted ever so slightly, your petition soothing and a reminder that he was not alone in grief. You would understand.

So Marcus nodded, his throat tighter.

“I will, Augusta (Imperial Princess),” a promise he would keep.

“Safe travels, General. May Salus watch over you.”

[4zahara]

00 | The Star Child

A/N: Happy New Year!!!

—Ad astra per aspera—

Gotham's streets hadn't been designed to withstand rainfall over 30 milliliters per hour. A fact highlighted when some areas became prone to flooding due to the poorly thought out infrastructure of the sewer system. Built far too intricate and unnecessarily so, without consideration for situations such as heavy storms and raining season. The kind of problem Politicians would forever liked to preach about solving despite not a single soul believing half the funds for said project wouldn't be later on pocketed. Not a single uncorrupted branch was left on Politic matters.

Unfortunately and adding to the pile of reasons for a solitary boy to be wondering the streets drenched from head to toe at the whim of the storm—Clothes clinged uncomfortably to his skin; said kid was seemingly trying to shield a backpack with his body.

Car horns blaring in the distance in the alleys, speeding over the runoff from the storm pooling along the curbs. Streams formed, raising past ankles as the lone boy sprinted across the street, splashing in the filth to round the wrong corner. By the time he stepped in The Narrows his already worn off shoes became muddy puddles.

There was the chilling wind biting at his bones too. No matter how much he pulled at the hoodie, clearly a size too big, it did little socked and stained to provide any warmth.

A dog barking behind a fence became the only sound Jason could hear above his own teeth chattering.

He became the man of the house at a far too young age, the same day his father got arrested. Jason Todd’s survival on the streets of the country's most dangerous city hinged on a self-sufficiency no child should possess. Devastating was the burden thrusted upon him, forcing him to scavenge for food, scrape together money—stealing if necessary—and keep a eye on his mother.

He had learned through pain how things worked. Everything always getting worse over and over before ever showing signs of getting better—if they ever did. Lessons taught by the streets. Yet for all his toughness and bravado, the idea of losing his mother devastated him enough to seek help from anyone, anywhere. He'll do anything.

His mother, Catherine Todd, had never been so shameless before. Never like this, in her infinite wisdom, had she locked Jason out of the house with a storm in toe. Perhaps in her altered perception of reality, she did her son a favor. However, most children were far from far from stupid. The closest they'll have would be naivety, which her son wasn't. Jason wasn't blind and deaf like many seemed to view him as. What those days and afternoons locked out really were for Jason were failures for not having been able to stop them. Stop her.

The cure for her mother's illness was the same substance slowly but surely killing her, apparently, and according to the drug dealer that'll come to their home. As if Jason were stupid. As if he didn't know drugs were no magical spell and about his mother's addiction.

Overwhelmed, his resolve faltered. Losing on a betting game with all odds against him, Jason saw no choice but to force himself to go out under the lash of a storm in search of a new player.

Someone who had no name or face that he could remember, but whose existence was suspended in a forgotten photo half-embraced by fire; His sister.

Willis had not liked to talk about his oldest child, so you must've been a force to be reckoned with.

═════════════ • ✧ • ══════════════

One of the last threads of hope he had had, summarized in this ominous building. After this, Jason will ran out of ideas. For a while he has been standing in front of the door of an apartment in one of the many complexes nearby. After hitting one too many dead ends, Jason knew better than to let himself be haunted with What ifs.

Armed with an old picture of you, the sister he never had, in which he was an infant in your arms and your smile had missing baby teeth. Now he was ten and had to squint to find any resemblance to his old baby-self. You could've changed so much all could be for nothing if you had done as much as dyed your hair.

Just the walk from Crime Alley had costed him his backpack. Far more he should've allowed himself to for this to be worth nothing, so there better be a fairy behind this door. At the very least a decent human being.

He wasn't backing down. Jason just needed a moment, okay?

Lots of thoughts and thugs had been faced tonight—the longest walk his short legs had ever made in his short life was enough for him to get mugged by a group of drug addicts.

Facing disappointment, his great fear of being left alone, tightened his chest far more than the kick to the ribs he got a couple blocks ago. (Him being a child meant his backpack had proudly carried four pieces of gum, a pair of socks and an used toothbrush which hadn't been good enough for a bunch of crazy. God forbid a boy had his own problems.) However, he was lucky they didn't kidnap him or worse. Even if only because of knowing nothing would be gained from it after seeing the inside of his backpack.

You could be anywhere if not here, really. Even dead in a ditch. Children didn't get very far alone. They were all attracted by dim light of deception in a deep dark ocean and devoured by an anglefish or other predator lurking by.

After a deep sigh, his lungs filled with false courage and the pollution gothamies were so familiar with. Although His hand froze halfway to knocking on the door, three times did the sound echoed down the hall and Jason's arm flashed hidden behind himself just as fast.

An eerie silence settled back in before Jason tried again. Three knocks, louder this time, were intended. Jason got to one before the dull thud of something falling to the ground was heard from inside. The response had almost been immediate, followed by footsteps. Jason barely had time to take a step back before the door creaked open as far as the chain on the bolt allowed.

A somewhat gloomy looking girl peeked out. She seemed to have just woken up in any case, with her short hair a mess of spiky locks pointed in all directions. Adding to the frame of her face were blue drooping eyes lingered above Jason's head for a second too long as if she expected someone taller.

Great offense was taken at that by the way. He had gone through a lot, walked way too much, not for this—and you—to call him out like that. You weren't even that much taller than him. You weren't even standing straight hiding most of yourself behind the door. Then her eyes descended to meet him, and Jason's mind went blank.

He couldn't fully see her face. Didn't need to see to know this was you his sister. The picture he had of you felt heavy on his pocket as you looked just like your mother. His mother.

The lump in his throat made itself all the more present when he tried to speak, so he waited for a greeting of your own instead. Anything to not be the one who had to speak first would have been a good start in Jason's books.

The silence stretched despite the two. His tongue felt like it had been tied up, stammered the first thing that came to mind when nothing came of you.

“I am your brother,” he blurted out, with anxious energy so clumsy he instantly regretted it.

Taglist(?): @classicsimpforaaronwarner

[ireallyamabear]

The choice to put Una Chin-Reily on a Starfleet recruitment poster in the late 2370s seems a nod to the extraordinary person she is and her exemplary service, but Boimler’s enthusiasm for her as a personal hero cannot mask the fact of what Starfleet execs are really doing here: while it is Starfleet tradition to honour esteemed personnel from its centuries of history, we have to look at the poster as a product of its time: it seems clear that, shortly after the devastating death toll and the rapid militarisation of the Dominion War, putting a prominent figure of the Great Exploration Age - and notedly someone who had not served in the Klingon War - as the poster person for Starfleet is an indictment that contemporary young people of the Federation are not drawn to the service as it is in their time anymore.

Critically, Starfleet has to use somebody from a 120 years ago, a timeframe that would lap generations of even especially long lived member species like Vulcans or Denobulans, to attract new recruits. Boimler says himself that seeing Una as a representative and her motto - “Ad astra per aspera” was: “Uh, it was a really big reason why I joined.” Clearly there is a wealth of recognisable Starfleet officers from 2370 and onwards, but their entanglement in the Dominion War, or at least in the Borg threat makes them unsuitable as role models for people like Boimler who cannot help but associate these contemporaries with the horrors of war and intergalactic conflict. Thus, the retreat to a “safe” historical narrative, with Starfleet still being about peaceful exploration reflects the growing divide between the realities of a colonised galaxy, the ongoing need of new bodies to fill the posts on all those ships and space stations and the aspirations and values of young people today. In this essay I will question whether Starfleet can keep its promise of scientific integrity in the face of growing political unrest in the UFP and ask what “Number One” herself would have thought about-

[poppletonink]

Best Quotes From 'If We Were Villains'

"You can justify anything if you do it poetically enough."

"You can't quantify humanity. You can't measure it - not the way you mean to. People are passionate and flawed and fallible. They make mistakes. Their memories fade. Their eyes deceive them."

"I don't know, it's like I look at you and the sonnets make sense. The good ones, anyway."

"Do you blame Shakespeare for any of it?" The question is so unlikely, so nonsensical coming from such a sensible man, that I can't help but suppress a smile. "I blame him for all of it."

'She says, “Were you in love with him?” “Yes,” I say, simply. James and I put each other through the kind of reckless passions Gwendolyn once talked about, joy and anger and desire and despair. After all that, was it really so strange? I am no longer baffled or amazed or embarrassed by it. “Yes, I was.” It’s not the whole truth. The whole truth is, I’m in love with him still.'

'I need language to live like food - lexemes and morphemes and morsels of meaning nourish me with the knowledge that, yes, there is a word for this. Someone else has felt it before.'

'Below was the motto: Per aspera ad astra. I'd heard a variety of translations, but the one I liked best was Through the thorns to the stars.'

"We cracked up. [...] But we didn't really shatter until we were all back together again."

'The clock on the mantel struck twelve, and we stirred, one by one, like seven statues coming to life.'

'Actors are by nature volatile - alchemic creatures composed of incendiary elements, emotion and ego and envy. Heat them up, stir them together, and sometimes you get gold. Sometimes disaster.'

[alxtiny]

Ad Astra per Aspera

Episode 4

Pairing: Pirate!Ateez x Navigator!reader

Genre: pirate!au, fluff, angst, maybe smut

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: none?

Notes: its here woohoo 🥳 i’m lazy please understand, also maps been updated for this chapter

Playlist : wonder by shawn mendes | this side of paradise by coyote theory | in the kitchen by mree

Series Masterlist | Episode 5 | Episode 3

When the first light of dawn started creeping in, it stirred you from your slumber, and you blinked your eyes open to a fresh new day. For a moment, you wondered if last night had been just a dream, considering how you felt renewed and well rested.

But as you shifted, you became aware of something—or rather someone—behind you. You froze, realising you were nestled snugly in Yunho's arms, his head resting against your back and his arm tucked underneath your head. Your legs were tangled together in a dangerous dance that left you more flustered than you’d care to admit. You slowly pulled yourself away and turned around, staring at him for a second, taking in his peaceful expression, his flushed cheeks, and messy hair. He looked so… soft, you brushed away a few strands from his face, the ticklish feeling making him twitch.

His movement made you panic, and you quickly shot up from the mattress, almost losing your balance as you did so. The sudden jerks caused Yunho to awaken, his eyes slowly fluttering open. He blinked, looking at you with a sleepy, lopsided smile that made your heart race.

"Good morning," he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep. He looked like a sleepy puppy.

"H-hi, good morning," you stammered, feeling your face heat up. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was aware of how close you had been.

Yunho stretched lazily, his long limbs extending out as he groaned. His tunic rose slightly, exposing a glimpse of his toned midriff, which only made your blush deepen. You quickly looked away, trying to compose yourself.

"We should probably go back up," you said, your voice a little shaky.

Yunho smiled again. "Yeah… let’s go before the others start wondering where we’ve been," he teased lightly, pushing himself to his feet and smoothing down his hair.

As Yunho flipped a few switches, the room began to transform back to its original state, the balcony retracting and the wall closing back up seamlessly. He gestured for you to follow him as he led the way back up the narrow passage. The ship was quiet, the crew likely still fast asleep, save for a few on night watch. Luckily, no one seemed to be around as you quietly made your way up and out of Yunho’s secret spot.

Once you were back on the deck, Yunho turned to you with a grin. "Alright, we’ve got a couple of hours before we need to get back to work. So, what do you want to do?"

You hesitated for a moment, still feeling tense because of the accidental cuddle, but Yunho didn’t seem to remember it at all. Maybe he hadn’t known, or maybe he was just brushing it off. Either way, it made the awkwardness dissipate a little.

"Well," you started softly, "I haven’t seen much of the ship yet. Maybe you could show me around?"

Yunho’s smile brightened, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "A tour of the ship? I can definitely do that!"

He stepped closer, his hands gently resting on your shoulders as he led you further across the deck. "Let’s start with the main deck. This is where most of the action happens during the day—sails, rigging, steering, all that fun stuff. Oh, and that’s where Hongjoong spends most of his time barking orders," Yunho said with a laugh, pointing toward the helm.

As he guided you through the ship, explaining each section with enthusiasm, you began to relax. The edge from earlier softening as Yunho’s cheery energy rubbed off on you. He showed you the various stations, the cabins, the weapons storage, and the little parts of the ship he liked the most.

By the time you went around and reached the bow of the ship, the sun had fully risen, sprinkling glitter over the water. Yunho leaned against the railing, looking out at the horizon.

"You know," he said, his voice softer now, "not many people get a personal tour of the ship directly from its engineer. It’s kind of special. That’s why I named it the Treasure."

You nodded, chuckling at his words, "I guess I’m lucky then.”

Yunho glanced at you, his eyes warm and gentle. "Yeah, I guess you are."

You stood together in silence for a while, watching the ocean stretch out before you, the ship cutting through the waves with ease. For the first time since being taken aboard, you didn’t feel like an outsider. You felt like you belonged, even if just for a moment. And standing there with Yunho, you couldn't help but think that maybe—just maybe—this strange, chaotic life might suit you well after all.

Unfortunately no moment lasts forever, as you and Yunho were abruptly interrupted by the loud voice of a crewman calling out for him. "Yunho! Captain’s asking for you!"

Yunho gave you an apologetic smile, "Looks like duty calls. You can stay here if you want, or maybe explore a bit more on your own. I’ll come find you later, okay?"

With a brief wave, Yunho left, leaving you alone on the deck. You sighed, feeling the quiet settle over you once again. Leaning against the railing, you closed your eyes, enjoying the sound of water splashing against the hull.

"What are you doing?" a deep voice cut through the white noise.

You glanced over to find Mingi standing next to you, his tall frame casting a shadow over you.

"Nothing much," you replied lazily, used to people showing up out of nowhere. "Yunho gave me a tour of the ship."

Mingi chuckled, amused. "Did he now? That’s interesting. He doesn’t usually do that. In fact, I think even most of our crew doesn’t know every corner of the ship like Yunho does."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"

"Mhmm," Mingi confirmed with a nod. "But anyway, I’m sure you know why I’m here."

You groaned, already knowing where this was going. "Not again," you complained, slumping back against the railing. "You saw me last time—I barely managed to not cut myself. Isn't that enough proof of my lack of skill?"

Mingi chuckled, clearly not deterred by your reluctance. "Well, that’s why you have me, right? To help you out. Besides, we're doing self-defence and hand-to-hand combat today. San’s with us this time."

You pouted in defeat as Mingi grabbed your arm, easily pulling you up to your feet. There was no escaping this. "Fine," you muttered. "But don’t expect much."

With a resigned sigh, you let him drag you below deck, where he guided you to a spacious room. The floor was lined with mats, and some training equipment was stacked off to the side. The room had a faint smell of sweat, which made you grimace slightly, but you kept your complaints to yourself.

In the middle of the room was San, already stretching like a cat, his lithe movements making it clear how flexible he was. You couldn’t help but stare in awe at how effortlessly his body moved. As soon as San spotted you, his serious expression brightened.

"There you are," San said with a playful grin as he walked over. "Took you long enough."

"Well, she wasn’t exactly eager to come," Mingi replied, shrugging.

"Ahh, that makes sense." San smiled at you and gestured toward the mats. "Alright, we’ve got a lot to cover today. Why don’t you stretch a bit while Mingi and I demonstrate?"

You nodded, sitting down on the mats and began to stretch your arms and legs. The movement caused your joints to pop in protest, reminding you of just how long it had been since you’d done any serious physical exercise. In front of you, San and Mingi stood at a safe distance, preparing to demonstrate the basics of hand-to-hand combat.

Mingi positioned himself in front of San, his stance wide and solid, while San moved with the grace of a ballerina. "First things first," San began, his voice steady, "we're going to show you some defensive moves. You’re not going to be attacking anyone right away. The goal here is to protect yourself and get out of a situation safely."

Mingi nodded in agreement, raising his arms in front of his face, "First you need an idea on what areas to look out for and how to optimise your body weight to deflect an attack," he instructed.

San advanced on Mingi, throwing slow, deliberate punches that Mingi blocked easily, deflecting each one with minimal effort. "You see how Mingi doesn’t try to overpower me," San said, still moving. "He’s using my momentum against me, redirecting the force of the attack rather than absorbing it."

You watched, trying to take in as much information as possible. They moved with such ease, clearly experienced in the art of combat, while you still felt clumsy even while walking, but you knew you had to try. This wasn’t just some practice session for you—it was for your survival.

"Alright," San said, stopping and turning to you. "Now it’s your turn. Don’t worry, we’ll start slow."

You got up, feeling slightly nervous as you stood in front of San. Mingi stepped aside, watching with an encouraging smile.

"Okay, I’m going to come at you slowly," San explained. "All you have to do is focus on blocking and deflecting. Don’t worry about hurting me—I can handle it."

You swallowed nervously and nodded. San advanced, throwing a light punch, which you awkwardly tried to block. Your arms moved in the right direction, but your timing was off, and the force of San’s hand still made contact, though gently.

San's teasing grin was both playful and exasperated. "Oh wow, you are bad at this," he said, shaking his head. The comment made you pout in sadness, feeling pity at your own inexperience. But he wasn’t giving up on you, not yet.

"We’re gonna be here for quite a while. Let’s do it again, but this time, try to anticipate the movement a little earlier," San instructed, his tone still gentle.

You nodded hesitantly, feeling the fatigue already creeping into your limbs. Each movement took a lot of effort, and frustration was beginning to build. You didn’t understand why it was so difficult for you to get the hang of this. Part of you wanted to ask them to give up, to admit that maybe combat wasn’t for you, but then again, someday you might not have anyone to rescue you.

San threw another punch, and this time, you managed to block it more effectively. It wasn’t perfect—your movements still lacked the smoothness that came with experience—but it was better. You could feel the difference, even if it was small.

"Yeah! Like that!" Mingi cheered from the sidelines, his voice full of encouragement. "You're doing better."

His words gave you a boost of confidence, and you found yourself blocking a few more of San’s punches, though ineptly. Each round started to feel like a small victory. Even though it wasn’t easy, with every block, you could feel yourself getting a little more coordinated. It was a slow process, but progress was there, and that was enough for now.

Finally, after what felt like hours—though it couldn’t have been more than two—San grinned at you after another successful block. "See? You’re tougher than you think," he said, his eyes twinkling with approval.

You managed a weak smile, wiping the sweat off your face. "I’ve never done this much exercise in my entire 24 years of living," you said, your voice exasperated.

Mingi clapped his hands, full of energy as always. "Well, we’re not done yet. We still have to learn offense."

At his words, you nearly melted into the floor. "Ugh, I don’t think I can anymore. I might die at this rate," you wailed dramatically, feeling utterly spent.

San laughed softly. "Now, now. Nobody’s dying. Get up, and we can finish quicker."

With a groan, you begrudgingly got up, forcing your body to continue despite the overwhelming urge to collapse. They taught you how to throw a few punches—San showing you how to position your fist and use your body weight. You learned how to knee someone effectively in the stomach, break out of somebody’s grip, and a few other basic self-defense techniques. It was exhausting, but by the end, you felt satisfied, having learned at least something.

By the time the training was over, it was almost five in the evening, and you were both thirsty and starving. Earlier, you had managed to grab some bread and a banana for breakfast when you were with Yunho, but since then, you had been burning more calories than you could keep up with. The hunger gnawed at you, and your mouth was dry.

Collapsing onto the floor, you lay flat on your back, hoping the ground would somehow absorb you and put you out of your misery once and for all. Alas, that didn’t happen.

San and Mingi sat down next to you, both trying to catch their breath. "You did good for a beginner," San said, offering you one of his cute, dimpled smiles. "I think you’ll be fine. We’ll keep practising, of course, once we’re back from our job."

His smile did make you feel a little better, the exhaustion easing slightly in the warmth of his words. You smiled back, feeling grateful for the time he spent helping you.

Mingi stretched his arms above his head and glanced at the clock on the wall. "We should go eat. I’m kinda hungry."

You couldn’t agree more. Finally, you were allowed to leave the stuffy training room, the outside air feeling like a blessing against your sweaty skin. The scent of saltwater and fresh air was almost pleasant after the dusty, sweat-soaked room. You couldn’t wait to take a long shower, but that would have to wait until you docked. For now, food was your top priority.

The three of you made your way to the kitchen, with San and Mingi walking ahead, chatting quietly about something. When you entered the dining hall, it was much quieter than before. Wooyoung wasn’t here this time, and the room was mostly empty, save for some pots and pans that held the remnants of lunch. It seemed you had missed the main meal, but there were still leftovers.

You piled some food onto your plate—a mix of whatever was left—and ate with a ravenous hunger, barely pausing between bites. It was delicious, like everything else on the ship, and once your plate was cleared, you felt somewhat revived.

"Well, I’m off to find some peace and quiet," you said, waving goodbye to San and Mingi, who still seemed to be in the middle of their conversation. You were looking forward to some downtime, maybe even a nap before the next task came up. But first, you had to check in with the captain and get an update on the ship’s location. With a sigh, you made your way back up the deck, your body tired but your mind a little sharper, thanks to the training.

Outside, the sky had deepened into soft shades of dusk, the air crisp and cool with a light breeze that carried the scent of the sea. You made your way quietly to the helm where Captain Hongjoong stood, as usual, keeping watch with Seonghwa steering beside him. You stood silently next to them, earning a quick side glance and nod of acknowledgment from Hongjoong.

It was the last stretch of light before you reached your destination. If everything went smoothly, the ship might reach the shore by early morning—just in time for you to slip into your accommodation unnoticed. All of a sudden, a familiar voice rang out from the lookout.

“Land ahoy!”

Instantly, the deck erupted with a flurry of movement. You could hear the crew working, the sounds of ropes being handled and sails rustling into place as they adjusted for the final stretch after the confirmation of land. You glanced behind and saw Wooyoung descending from the lookout’s nest with his usual flair, skipping the makeshift ladder entirely and opting to climb down the rigging with scary speed. A small smile tugged at your lips—of course, Wooyoung wouldn’t do things the ordinary way. That simply wasn’t his style.

He rushed towards the helm, slightly out of breath, though his energy didn’t falter. “Captain! We have approximately 350 nautical miles more to go—” he began, before you cut him off.

“That means seven more hours?” you asked, already calculating the time in your head.

Wooyoung turned his head towards you, a little impressed. “Yeah, exactly.”

You looked ahead at the distant speck of land. “We might reach earlier than I thought,” you mumbled to yourself, glad that you had managed to lead them through successfully.

“The sooner the better,” Captain Hongjoong said, his tone laced with carefully concealed excitement. “We might get some time for respite.” He was a man of efficiency, but even he couldn’t deny the appeal of some well-deserved rest.

“The arrangements for our arrival will have already been made,” Hongjoong added.

“I can’t wait to take a shower,” you sighed, the thought of fresh water and cleanliness feeling like a luxury after days at sea. The salt, sweat, and exhaustion from the combat training earlier were still clinging to you, making the idea of a long, hot shower even more enticing. One would think you would have gotten used to the dirt and grime given the nature of your job, but unfortunately for you, you never did.

Wooyoung grinned, his usual playfulness shining through. “I think we’re all in need of that at this point. Just a little while more.”

Seonghwa spoke quietly from his place at the wheel. “Enjoy the peace while it lasts,” he said, his eyes focused on the sea, “because once we dock, it’s going to be a different kind of chaos.”

You sighed, knowing Seonghwa was right, but before you could dwell on it too much, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you found Wooyoung with a mischievous smile playing on his lips. He silently gestured for you to follow him.

Curiosity piqued, you trailed behind him until he stopped in front of the makeshift ladder by the main mast.

“We’re going up,” he said with a grin, pointing upwards towards the crow’s nest.

Your eyes widened. “You want me”—you pointed to yourself—“to climb that high?”

Wooyoung nodded eagerly, the shit-eating grin never leaving his face. “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you if you fall,” he added with a wink.

You squinted at him, unsure if he was serious or teasing, probably both. “Alright, but if I die, it’s on you,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

With a long sigh, you began the climb. The ladder was rough under your hands, and each step felt more unstable than the last. Twice, you nearly lost your grip, your heart leaping into your throat each time. Wooyoung, climbing right behind you, would chuckle softly each time you faltered, keeping an eye on you and helping you regain balance. After what felt like an eternity of effort and several near-death experiences, you finally reached the crow’s nest, breathless but alive.

“Woah,” you whispered in awe as you took in the view. The world stretched out infinitely before you, the sky blending into the sea. From up here, the ship seemed smaller, a lone vessel cutting through the vast ocean. The sunlight shimmered as it hit the waves, creating a mesmerising dance of light across the water, and the ship’s shadow rippled gently below.

“I know, right!” Wooyoung’s voice was full of excitement as he settled in beside you. “I thought you’d appreciate a little change of scenery. Something different from all that running around on deck.”

“I do,” you said, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply. The air up here was lighter, fresher—less of the dense, salty air that fogged around everything on the deck. For a moment, you just stood there, breathing it in.

Unbeknownst to you, Wooyoung was watching a different view, with a fond smile. Despite knowing so little about you, something about your presence felt familiar, comforting, like the easy bond of an old friend. He knew the others felt it too, it might have been because of the chemical that ran through all of your veins that created this invisible link between you. Whatever it was, Wooyoung knew he wanted to savour it for as long as possible.

Maybe, just maybe, you were the one who could help them like Captain Hongjoong had said.

“Thanks for bringing me up here,” you said, eyes opening slowly as you turned to Wooyoung. “I needed this.”

“Anytime,” Wooyoung replied softly, leaning back against the railing of the nest. His eyes flicked briefly to the sky before returning to you. “We’ll reach land soon, but before all of that starts, it’s nice to have moments like this, right?” Wooyoung’s voice was soft, and unusually calm.

You nodded, giving him a small, appreciative smile before you both made the climb back down. Once on the deck, you found yourself wondering what to do with the remaining six and a half hours, and the answer came easily—sleep. Who knew when you’d next get the chance? Dragging yourself to your small cabin, you collapsed onto the bed, and the moment your head hit the pillow, you were out.

You were woken by a strange sensation—like something soft and warm was… licking you? You cracked an eye, startled, only to find yourself staring right into Byeol’s big twinkling eyes. She was perched against the side of your bed, held up by none other than San himself, who was watching with an amused grin.

“Isn’t this the best alarm clock?” he said with a snicker, clearly entertained by your half-awake state.

You scowled, still groggy, and took Byeol from his hands, nestling her against your chest, trying to cuddle her to sleep with you. “This is why you don’t deserve her. She should live with me instead,” you muttered, pressing a kiss to Byeol’s head and closing your eyes again.

San huffed dramatically. “As if she’d want to live with you,” he teased back.

You squinted your eyes open again, giving him an offended glare. “Alright, what do you want? Why did you wake me?”

“Well, princess,” he began, leaning back with a smirk, “we’re about an hour from land. Captain sent this for you.” He held up a large leather backpack, swinging it back and forth in front of you. “You don’t have much since you were… uh, abducted twice. So we packed a few essentials for you, things you’ll need until we can dock, apart from clothes—those you can get at the port, since we’ll have a bit of time to spare.”

You blinked, taking the bag from him. “Ah… I see. Thank you.”

San’s grin softened, and he gave you a friendly clap on the shoulder. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. Meet us up on the deck in half an hour.”

With a click of his tongue, he called Byeol, who bounded after him, leaving you alone with the bag and a few moments to gather yourself. Opening the pack, you found various useful items—water, some bandages, a small pouch of coins, and a map of the area near the port, along with a neatly folded blanket and some dried snacks. It was certainly very thoughtful of them, they could’ve left you without anything if they wanted to but they didn’t.

You took a deep breath, setting everything back into the bag before slinging it over your shoulder. After a few more minutes of preparing yourself phys and mentally, you climbed up to the deck to meet everyone. They were gathered near the bow, and as you joined them, Captain Hongjoong gave you a quick nod.

“Ready?” he asked, a little uncertain seeing the queasiness on your face.

The grip on your bag tightened as you nodded, pushing down the feeling, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

With the ship anchored just out of sight, hidden strategically behind raised rocks, the nine of you and two other crewmen piled into two smaller boats, making your way to shore. Once you were safely dropped off, the crewmen paddled back. The added part to the plan was that you’d accompany Jongho, Yunho, and Mingi into the marketplace the next morning when they went for restocking, so you could pick out new clothes. The thought of wearing something that actually fit and didn’t make you look like a shapeless blob made you more excited than you’d have expected.

As soon as you reached the shore, a masked man appeared, greeting Hongjoong with a bow and a firm handshake. The two seemed familiar, as the man led your group to a small clearing where another masked figure stood holding six beautiful horses, their coats gleaming under the moonlight. He greeted Hongjoong in the same respectful manner, and soon instructed everyone to pair up for the journey.

Hongjoong and the masked man rode alone, with Yeosang riding with Jongho, Mingi with Yunho, and Wooyoung with San, you were left with Seonghwa. Despite still feeling a bit wary around him, he was nothing but a gentleman. He helped you onto a beautiful black mare with deep, gentle eyes, his movements smooth and elegant, like a prince, as he climbed up in front of you. Your bags were strapped to the side for balance. You had never even sat on a horse before, you wondered how long it would take for you to fall off. Seonghwa glanced back at you, his expression a mystery as usual.

“You can hold on to me,” Seonghwa said in his low voice, breaking you out of your thoughts. “I don’t bite, and we’ll be going quite fast.”

You hesitated, lightly gripping the back of his coat, but he let out an exasperated sigh, reaching back to take your hands and wrap them firmly around his waist. “Keep it tight,” he instructed, with a small lilt in his tone. “We don’t want you falling off just yet.”

“Okay,” you squeaked, feeling your cheeks heat up as you adjusted your grip. Thank goodness he couldn’t see the flush that spread across your face.

With everyone ready, the horses set off, following the masked man and Hongjoong in the lead. The terrain was rough, the path dimly lit only by the full moon above, but the horses and riders moved with ease, as though this was a journey they’d made countless times before. You marvelled at how the men manoeuvred the horses, their motions so natural and in sync with the horses as they navigated the changing landscape at a fast pace.

Although to you, in the dark, every sudden shift or dip felt like you might topple off, and without thinking, you tightened your arms around Seonghwa, pressing yourself closer to his back. You were sure he could feel the thudding of your heartbeat, but he said nothing, simply adjusting the reins and shifting slightly to keep you both steady.

The moonlight cast everything in a soft, silvery glow, but the wildness of the ride kept you tense, your focus on not falling rather than the view. It was only when you felt Seonghwa’s voice rumble low in his chest that you realized he was speaking to you.

“Relax,” he murmured, his tone gentler than you’d heard before. “You’re going to be fine.”

You heeded his words and calmed yourself down a little, and though you still clung tightly, you were able to look up, taking in the beauty around you. The trees loomed like shadows on either side, the air crisp with the scent of pine and earth, and the ocean now far behind, not even a scent of it in the earthy breeze. You loosened up just a little, letting the rhythm of the horse’s strides carry you as the group forged on toward their destination.

The rumbling of hooves finally gave way to silence as you and the others arrived at a farmhouse, just as the sky had begun to lighten with dawn. The sweeping farmhouse before you was surrounded by tall stone walls, with a sprawling farm and livestock area enclosed in the back, as far as your eyes could see. A hefty metal gate swung open to let you pass through on foot, and stable hands waiting close by took the horses from you, leading them toward the stables. The others retrieved their bags, and together, you walked toward the house’s intricately carved wooden doors where a man awaited you.

“Hyung!” Hongjoong called out, hurrying over to the man and engulfing him in a warm hug. You noticed his sunglasses were nowhere to be found.

“It’s been a while, you’ve grown I see” the man chuckled, patting his back. “I trust everyone’s been well?”

He looked over the group, his eyes scanning each face until they landed on you, and his brows raised. You felt yourself shrink back a little, inching behind Seonghwa.

“Who do we have here? A new face?” he asked, his voice warm yet curious.

Hongjoong nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “This is Aurora, our new navigator,” he explained as Seonghwa nudged you forward gently. “Aurora, this is my brother, Bumjoong. We’ll be staying at his place during our visit.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you greeted him with a little bow, trying to keep your voice steady.

Bumjoong broke into a reassuring smile. “No need for formalities. If you’re with these guys, you’re family too.”

You could only offer him a queasy smile at that statement.

“Let’s get inside, then, and get everyone settled,” Bumjoong said, leading the way through the doors.

Inside, the farmhouse was even more expansive than you’d expected, with high ceilings, rustic beams, and warm wooden furniture filling the space. You let out a soft “whoa” as you took in the surroundings, noticing that the others seemed more at ease, now that you were inside. At the entryway, you were greeted by an older man dressed in a crisp suit, whom Bumjoong introduced as Mr. Shin.

“You can all leave your things here, and Mr. Shin will make sure your belongings are taken to the rooms while we have breakfast, I’m sure you’re all famished,” Bumjoong explained before stepping away, “I’ll be in the dining hall,”

The group immediately launched into a discussion about rooming arrangements, seemingly forgetting your presence until you cleared your throat softly.

“Um…where will I go?” you asked, turning all eight heads towards youself.

“Oh, right. We need to make room for you too,” Hongjoong said sheepishly. “There are four guest rooms, three of which sleep two people, and one that fits three. Normally, that one has an extra space, but since we’re all here, it looks like you’ll have to share.”

“Dibs on the three-person room!” Wooyoung called, raising his hand. “Me, San, and Yeosang will take that one.”

“I’ll pair with Jongho,” Mingi added.

You tried to keep the disappointment from your face, realizing that no one had suggested rooming with you yet. Hongjoong, however, quickly took charge.

“Alright, Seonghwa and I will take our usual room, which leaves Yunho with Aurora. Is that alright with you?” he asked, glancing your way.

You nodded, glancing back to find Yunho already looking at you with a small smile. You hadn’t talked to Yunho, since yesterday morning, you had been subconsciously avoiding him to make sure he wouldn’t bring up what had happened before. You hoped this arrangement wouldn’t cause any more awkward situations.

“Alright, then,” Hongjoong confirmed, turning to Mr. Shin. “Please take our things to the rooms.”

The old man bowed, collecting everyone’s bags with practiced efficiency and surprising strength.

“Now, let’s get some food,” Hongjoong declared, leading the way to the dining hall.

The dining room was as homely as the rest of the house, the wooden table set with a mouth watering spread of breakfast foods—freshly baked bread, variations of different egg and meat dishes, fruit, and steaming pots of tea and coffee. You found yourself seated next to Yunho, your stomach rumbling at the sight of the food.

Bumjoong signalled for the kitchen aids to start serving, soon enough your plate was piled spectacularly high with food and you dug in. With a life like this, you wondered why Hongjoong lived like a pirate. As you ate, you found the exhaustion leaving your body, you even joined in the laughter as the guys shared stories of the sea with Bumjoong. Yunho, of course, paid close attention to you, making sure you had enough on your plate and felt comfortable in the loud atmosphere.

“You look less anxious,” he remarked quietly, offering you a warm smile.

You nodded, “It must have been the exhaustion keeping me on edge,” you replied, savoring a bite of fluffy omurice. “It’s nice to be off the ship for a bit.”

After a satisfying meal, Bumjoong stood, clapping his hands. “Alright, make yourselves at home. We’ll be heading into town soon enough, but in the meantime, rest up or explore. It’s not every day you’re grounded here, after all.” Yunho had mixed feelings about that, he felt the most at home on the ship, even after all this time.

With everyone scattering to their rooms or settling into the common room, you decided it was the perfect time to explore. The farmhouse was certainly alluring—spacious, well-built, and grand without feeling gaudy. Starting on the ground floor, you roamed through the expansive kitchen, the dining hall, and a cosy common room where some of the crew lounged, chatting lazily. On the first floor, you discovered three bedrooms—one master bedroom with an attached bath and two double bedrooms with a shared bathroom in the hall. Above that, the second floor housed two more bedrooms—a triple-sharing room and a double-sharing, along with a library and a study. You were struck by how thoughtfully designed the house was, and you hoped you’d get a chance to explore the never ending outdoor grounds someday, too.

Finally, you got to having the shower you’d been craving since you set foot on land. You gathered up your toiletries and a fresh set of towels provided by the staff, making your way to the shared bathroom on the first floor. It was a quaintly decorated space, with a large, inviting bathtub at the centre, surrounded by shelves lined with a variety of soaps, shampoos, and bath salts. Just how rich were these people, you weren’t used to having such luxuries available so easily and for free at that.

After a bit of fumbling with the ornate taps, you managed to draw yourself a warm, fragrant bubble bath. Slipping out of your travel-worn clothes, you eased into the bath, letting the warm water melt away every ache. You washed your hair, scrubbed away the grime, and felt yourself sinking deeper into the pillow of relaxation Finally, you stepped out, drying off and wrapping a towel around yourself, with a second one around your damp hair. As you scanned the bathroom for your fresh clothes, your stomach dropped—you’d left them in your room.

Sighing at your own mistake, you edged into the hallway, hoping the coast would be clear for the quick dash to your room. Just as you stepped out, though, you collided into something—someone, to be exact. You looked up to find Seonghwa standing before you, his eyes widening at the sight. His shirt was open, his perfectly sculpted torso right in front of you, and he looked like he’d just been on his way to shower himself. The air was thick as you fought the urge to let your gaze leave his eyes and travel further away.

Before either of you could speak, Seonghwa shrugged off his shirt and draped it over your shoulders, quickly fastening the top button by your collarbone. “Be careful,” he murmured offhandedly, his voice low. “You can’t be wandering around in just a towel.”

Your face flushed at his words, and you mumbled a soft “thank you,” locking your gaze on the floor. Seonghwa gave a small nod and slipped past you into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. You made your way quickly back to your room, glad that no one else caught you, and that Yunho hadn’t returned to the room yet.

Inside the bathroom, Seonghwa let out a shaky breath as he leaned against the sink, trying to compose himself. The moment was replaying in his mind—the way you’d looked so innocently at him, with your big eyes and the teasing drops of water trailing down your neck and disappearing beneath the towel you clutched to your chest. He felt his own face heat up as he tried to push the memory aside.

Taking a cold shower was probably a good idea right about now, Seonghwa thought, letting the icy water shock him out of his flustered state. Meanwhile, you were in your room, practically jumping into your clothes. Embarrassed was an understatement; you couldn’t believe how nonchalantly Seonghwa had reacted, as if seeing you in a towel was just another everyday event for him. Now, not only was being around Yunho already a little awkward, but now you could add Seonghwa to that list of complications.

You stared at yourself down in the mirror, forcing the flush on your cheeks to fade. “Just act normal,” you whispered to yourself, giving your reflection a firm nod. Fixing your appearance one last time, you headed downstairs and took a seat beside Yeosang, who gave you a small smile. You made some polite small talk, asking about his day and listening as he spoke about the journey and how glad he was to be on land again. His voice was gentle, helping you pass the time while the rest of the group assembled.

Once everyone was settled, Bumjoong addressed the room. "Hongjoong’s already updated me on the situation and the plan," he began, hands clasped together. "Each group will have an assigned servant to accompany them for assistance, except for San and Aurora, to avoid any additional suspicion. Now, let's go over each team’s role and objective."

Hongjoong took over, “Right, so our first team to dispatch will be Yeosang and Wooyoung.” He motioned to them. “Your job is to follow Myung Seokchul, the lawyer…our target. He’s in his early forties, lives alone since his wife passed due to an illness that swept through the southern part of the island a few years ago.”

At the mention of the disease, you noticed both Hongjoong and Bumjoong’s faces darken a little. There was clearly a history there.

After a pause, Hongjoong continued. “Apart from this basic information, we don’t have much on him, except for a distinct scar that runs from his left temple down to his chin. That’s his main identifying feature.”

Wooyoung let out a small scoff, adjusting the old ascot hat he’d donned as part of his disguise. “I can’t wait to see this guy. Sounds like a real charmer.”

Yeosang shot him an unimpressed look,“Don’t forget we’re just tailing him, Wooyoung. Let’s keep this smooth and unnoticed. The last thing we need is to get on his radar before we understand his movements.”

Wooyoung shrugged, but the glint in his eye betrayed his excitement. “Alright, alright. I’ll keep my distance—promise,” he said, smirking behind the dull brown cloth he’d drawn over the lower half of his face. “Though, I can’t say I’m not looking forward to playing the part of the humble farmer.”

Yeosang sighed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “If you get us caught, I’ll personally see to it that you’ll be the one taking care of the goats in the morning.”

“Relax, Yeosang,” Wooyoung replied, patting his shoulder with a grin. “If anything, I’m here to make you look even more convincing. You’ll thank me later.”

Hongjoong cut in, exasperated, before Yeosang could retort, “Alright, you two, enough bickering. Remember, this is a low-profile mission. Blend in, observe, and come back with any useful information.”

“Yes, Captain,” Yeosang said firmly, his gaze returning to Hongjoong. Wooyoung gave a mock salute before the two of them turned and made their way to the door.

You watched them go, Wooyoung tossing a wink over his shoulder as Yeosang tugged him along. “Wish us luck,” Wooyoung called out with a confident grin.

“Just don’t blow our cover,” San replied, rolling his eyes, but with an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Alright, as for the rest of you,” Bumjoong said, nodding for Hongjoong to continue.

Hongjoong clasped his hands and directed his gaze to you and the others. “The next group to leave will be Jongho, Yunho, Mingi, San, and Aurora. You’ll head to the marketplace. Once there, we’ll split into two smaller teams: Jongho and Mingi will handle restocking the ship’s supplies, while Yunho and San will take Aurora to pick up whatever essentials she might need for her time onboard. Regroup here by 3 PM. After that, we’ll proceed as planned.”

Everyone nodded, gathering things they would need. Hongjoong and Seonghwa were to remain at the farmhouse to prepare a room for their ‘guest’ in the evening. But before that, they had something else to confirm.

Once the rest of you departed, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Bumjoong moved back into the library, the heavy wooden door creaking shut behind them. Bumjoong turned to Hongjoong, looking grave. “Are you sure it’s her?” he asked, voice teetering on uncertainty.

“That’s what we need to find out,” Hongjoong replied. He paused before adding, “Are you still in contact with Mr. Hwang from the public library?”

“Well of course,” Bumjoong replied thoughtfully. “He helped us quite a bit back in the day. He retired a few years back, though. You think he might know something?”

“He was part of the Guardian’s Guild here for a while, till their ideas changed. He might know what she looks like. We need to meet with him urgently,” Seonghwa said.

Bumjoong nodded, reaching for a bell to call for Jihye. “He lives nearby. I’ll send Jihye with you—she’s close with his granddaughter.”

A few minutes later, Jihye entered, she was a stable hand at the estate. After Bumjoong explained the situation, she nodded, an three set off toward Mr. Hwang’s humble cottage without delay.

Mr. Hwang’s “cottage” was anything but humble. After a ten-minute walk from the farmhouse, they stood before a grand, albeit slightly worn, manor nestled amidst tall trees and overgrown thickets. Though smaller than the Kim estate, it was still impressively lavish, with ivy trailing up the stone walls and stained-glass windows that gleamed in the sunlight.

Jihye stepped up to the door, rapping her hand against the wood. A servant opened it and regarded the trio with mild curiosity before Jihye explained their visit and the urgent need to speak with Mr. Hwang. The door closed again for a bit, then servant came back, ushering them inside and leading them down a corridor toward Mr. Hwang’s study.

The man himself sat behind a large, carved desk, spectacles perched on his nose as he pored over a large leather-bound volume. He looked up as they entered, a small, welcoming smile gracing his face.

“Hongjoong, Seonghwa, it’s been a long time,” he said warmly, setting his book aside. “What brings you here today?”

Hongjoong wasted no time. “Mr. Hwang, we need your expertise on a very particular matter.”

The old man leaned forward, his expression shifting to one of interest. “Of course, son. How can I assist?”

Hongjoong drew in a breath, and removed his sunglasses, looking at the old man with intensity. “We’re searching for someone—a young woman, we believe she’s connected to something the Guardians were once involved in, if you’re catching my drift.”

Mr. Hwang’s eyes widened slightly. “You mean…the World Z Project?”

Hongjoong nodded. “So you’re aware of what we speak of. I remember you telling us about this ‘legendary scientist’ when we were kids. She was your best friend at the facility, wasn’t she?”

A distant look clouded Mr. Hwang’s face. “Yes, Lee Junhee. She endured so much, only to be cast aside after her greatest discovery. The Guardians discarded her once they had what they wanted. They might have even killed her, but we managed to escape. She passed away a few years back… But if you’re saying it’s her you’ve found—”

Seonghwa shook his head. “Not her. We heard about her passing from Haneul noona. Her Guild has been keeping tabs on the older Guardians. We think it’s her granddaughter—a young woman around our age. We brought her aboard as a navigator, and while she hasn’t shown any unusual abilities yet, there may be something neither she nor we fully understand. Her name’s Aurora.”

Mr. Hwang’s eyes widened in realization. “Little Aurora… Of course! How could I forget?” He rose shakily, leaning on his cane as he shuffled toward a nearby shelf, pulling out a dusty leather book. He flipped through it carefully and retrieved an old photograph, handing it to Hongjoong and Seonghwa. “This picture… Junhee once told me her granddaughter was exceptionally bright beyond her years, though quite timid. It’s a few years old, but she should still be recognizable.”

Hongjoong took the photograph, examining the face of a young Aurora, likely about twenty. She looked younger, happier, her features still touched with traces of adolescence, but it was undoubtedly her.

“Hwa,” Hongjoong whispered, elation laced his voice, “it’s her. We’ve found her. We finally have the link to that damn map.”

Seonghwa’s tense expression softened, furrowed brows relaxing. They had a real lead after six years of relentless searching.

Mr. Hwang looked at them both, he wasn’t entirely sure, what all this was for, but he still prayed in their support. “I hope she is everything Junhee hoped she would be… You have my best wishes. Go, and be careful.”

Hongjoong and Seonghwa rose, bowing deeply. “Thank you, Mr. Hwang. We can’t express how grateful we are for your help,” Hongjoong said.

The older man simply nodded, waving them off with a knowing look in his eyes as they turned to leave. They exited the manor with Jihye, who led them back to the Kim estate. Once back, they reconvened with Bumjoong, who listened intently as they shared everything Mr. Hwang had told them, fixing the pieces for the final puzzle. But before they could settle down completely, a loud, frantic voice echoed through the hall.

San burst into the house, his face pale and drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as he stumbled forward. “Aurora, she’s gone!” he shouted, falling to his knees, utterly defeated. “The others are still searching, but… we can’t find her.” His voice cracked with panic and frustration.

“What?” Hongjoong’s eyes widened, and he shot up from his seat. He quickly approached San, Seonghwa close behind. “San, what happened?”

San looked up, his face stricken. “We were at the dressmaker’s. She went behind some curtains to have her measurements taken, and then she was just… gone. I was right there, and Yunho was with us too, I swear!” His voice wavered as he struggled to hold back tears.

Seonghwa placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, his voice low and calm. “Take a deep breath, San. We’ll find her; we have to.”

Hongjoong’s expression hardened, the calm before a storm brewing in his gaze. “San, take us to the others. Lead the way.”

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

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soulmate trope | midoriya izuku, part two

Midoriya's route of soulmate trope. Part one here. “this doesn’t match the manga’s canonical ending!” correct. and isn’t that sexy? please read this route last, as it contains spoilers for all other routes. warnings: female reader. manga spoilers up to 411ish. angst. sexual content. moderate injury (not reader). indulgently meta on behalf of the author. a note: some meta elements in this route may lead you to think it’s the true route for this fic. not necessarily. the true route is whichever one is your favourite :) ~57k overall. ~17.5k for part two.

Life got better afterwards. Infinitely better to focus on the part of your life that sings rather than what you lack. You weren’t over it, of course, but you were growing. Choosing Izuku made little joys shine.

You finished jigsaw puzzles in the kitchen together. You went with him to the farmers’ market to get his brie. You sent him memes during long work days. On a late night, you caught him while he was sitting on a street lamp’s overhang to deliver a bento.

He’s beautiful. Izuku’s beautiful. When he’s playing as a paladin in DND in Tenko’s room, when he’s across the room at a press conference and you nearly walk into someone because you’re watching him, when you slide a cup of double-sweet tea across the kitchen table and he blinks blearily up at you with a throaty, “Yeah, baby?” Not beautiful just in his body, of course, but because his personality’s written all over his face, and who he is shines; he beams and shimmers, and you’ve discovered you need to see it.

Sunlight, after all, keeps you alive.

You still haven’t kissed him yet. The timing hasn’t felt right.

The closest you’ve come to it was when you were helping him transport snacks for his employees from his car inside his agency, and halfway up the ramp, he stopped pushing his cart. Ensuring your cart wouldn’t roll away, you doubled back to Izuku, muttering under his breath and pinching his lower lip.

“What’s up?”

“Oh, gracious,” he said, breaking from his stream of thought and gripping the cart’s handle again, “I was just thinking. The cobblestone façade for the building entrance is terrible design. It’s difficult for the wheels on the carts to roll up smoothly, so it’s got to be infinitely worse for wheelchair users and others who use wheels to get around. This needs to be smooth concrete to be more accessible. It’s strange,” he said, pushing the cart again, more slowly this time, to watch how the wheels engaged with the cobblestone façade, “I’m disappointed in myself for needing to live with a temporarily disabled body in our dream reality and a couple of snack carts to realise this.” He paused when you reached your cart, waiting for you before entering the building. “I think I should spend time thinking about how to make this agency more accessible. Consult some experts. At the very least, I should commission Cementoss to smooth out the front.”

As Izuku held the door to the elevator for you, you were overwhelmed with the realisation that the only reason this man wasn’t helping more people was that he literally did not know in what capacity he could be helping. So long as he was learning, so long as he was gathering information about new people and the ways they lived, he was going to put the information and his authority to use to make others’ lives easier. This was…an infuriatingly, aggravatingly, desperately needed, good man. And so shines a good deed in a weary world.

And you would’ve kissed him for it, but you couldn’t reach him across the elevator with two carts in between.

***

You were on set the day that Izuku filmed for the pilot of Uraraka’s miniseries, Ad Astra Per Aspera. You garnered that it was a space adventure-comedy sort of thing, and the first episode was supposed to be a subversion of expectations: Izuku’s character is set up to be the main character, playing into genre and gender expectations, but halfway through the episode, he dies so that Uraraka’s character can take over as the lead. It worked on several levels: one, reminding audiences that even in real life, Uraraka didn’t need anyone, particularly Izuku, to be capable, and two, ensuring Izuku would only need a one-episode contract.

Right now, they were filming an ensemble scene in a seedy, space bar, with the initial band of characters getting to know each other through all interrogating this one suspect simultaneously. For most of the scene, they had Izuku straddling a chair backwards, his character’s army insignia sash tied snugly around his waist to emphasise it, arms resting on the back of the chair while he looked down at the suspect with disdain.

At first, the script had had Izuku’s roguish, pseudo-Han Solo character smoking, but that morning, you’d walked into a conversation between the screenwriter and the director about how showing the number-one hero smoking might have negative effects on really young kids. Thus they changed it to Izuku sexily eating fruit, but even that had its problems: surely the same kind of fruit that grows on Earth wouldn’t be available in this shitty bar in a different galaxy entirely?

So, they had you peeling kiwis for each take, and without its characteristic brown skin, kiwis could pass as some sort of space fruit. You felt a little silly, with all the peelings piling up in your lap, but now you supposed you could put production assistant on your résumé.

“They have him biting into like an apple,” you said to Monoma, also involved in the production for his clothing collaboration with Uraraka to promote the series, “Why are they having him eat it like that? That can’t be any good.”

Monoma licked his finger and flicked the page of his magazine, crossing his ankle to rest on his opposite knee. “Defamiliarises the fruit from the audience because we’re not seeing it eaten in a typical way. Next question.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said, jabbing your kiwi-peeling knife his direction, “It’s going to ruin the scene if he bites down into the ring of seeds. That’s very recognisable.”

Raising a brow, Monoma looked up from his magazine. “Surely you’re accustomed to telling Midoriya how hard to bite down by now.”

You opened your mouth, closed it, and returned the knife to your lap, and you pulled your jacket more closely around you instead of answering, scanning the ceiling for what vent was the source of the cold.

“Oh, are you not prepared to be on a film set?” asked Monoma, indulgently settling into his puffy coat, “They keep the set cold so that the actors don’t overheat under the lights.” He closed his magazine and set it over the arm of his chair and strained for his messenger bag on the floor. “What’s up?”

“I’m not working the show—am I allowed to go to catering? My mouth is dry. Plus, there might be something better to peel,” you said, picking up your next kiwi, “I don’t really—hm.”

Your words caught in your throat, because across the room, Izuku was, in character, licking kiwi juice up the side of his arm, from mid-forearm to his palm. You didn’t realise Monoma was offering you a bottle of water and chapstick from his bag until he jostled you with it.

“Thank you,” you said, accepting it and unscrewing the lid, and after you’d drunk enough, you picked up the unopened chapstick, examining it. “Aren’t these supposed to be, I don’t know, less spherical?”

“I thought you’d appreciate that. It’s supposed to be one of the tie-in lip balms for the series. They’re doing flavours based on some of the characters.” Monoma pulled out a few more lip balms from his bag. “We’re still working on the packaging, so they’re not out yet. That one’s supposed to be Midoriya’s.”

“Explains why it’s green, then,” you said, popping off the spherical cap, “How original. Means they were thinking more of him and not the character he’s playing. Is it mint?”

“Matcha,” said Monoma, as you smeared some on your lips, feeling better almost instantly, in the dry cold of the set, “and lemon. Which wasn’t my first choice; originally I suggested matcha and vanilla, but what do I know. Do you like it?”

You nodded mid-drink from your water bottle.

“Does it taste like him?”

You choked, water going through your nose, nearly letting kiwis and peelings tumble from your lap while a grinning Monoma thumped your back. “Man, that wasn’t even clever. If you’re this easy to fluster,” he was saying, “I don’t even want to imagine how much fun Midoriya must have with you.”

“I need you to never open your mouth again,” you said, wiping your mouth with your sleeve, and you cleared your throat. “Now. I am invoking the no-judgments clause of our friendship.”

“What do you need?”

“I wanted your advice on video editing,” you said, pulling out your phone, “I’ve been putting together this, uh. Thing. And before I post it, I wanted you to check that it’s as good as it can be. It’ll be my first time posting in a fan community I’ve joined, and I want it to be good. Try not to make fun of me for it.”

Monoma only had to watch a few seconds of footage, the chorus of NCT’s “Baby, Don’t Stop” coming in softly through your phone’s speakers, before he looked back up at you in condescension. “This is a fancam for Midoriya’s nipples,” he said, frowning.

“See, I knew you’d make fun of me for it.” You scooted your chair closer to Monoma’s, and while you peeled kiwis, he critiqued your editing and helped you make it better. You were both so absorbed in the video that you didn’t notice that the film crew had taken a break until Izuku came up to talk.

“Hey,” he said with a wave, startling you and Monoma out of your skins (he hastily shoved your phone back to you before Izuku could see the screen). “What’s up?”

“Nothing much.” You held up your knife and latest kiwi. “Being on a film set is a bit different than I’d pictured, but it’s still neat to watch everyone work.”

“Ah,” said Izuku, mouth nearly a straight line as he took the peeled kiwi from you, “I started out the morning being quite fond of these. I’ll be content if I don’t see one for a while after this. Are you cold?” He nodded at how much you snuggled into your jacket. “I can go get my coat from the green room for you.”

“You’re not? It’s frigid in here.”

Izuku shook his head. “It’s the lights.”

“Yeah, Monoma mentioned something like that,” you said, glancing towards Monoma—and you could’ve sworn you caught Monoma staring at Izuku’s nipples through his shirt. “Is this your only costume, by the way?” You reached for your water again.

Midoriya smiled, teeth cutting into his lower lip. “More or less. I’m not wearing anything for my death scene.”

You stopped the bottle before it reached your mouth. “I’m sorry. What?” You cracked a grin. “Are you telling me you have a nude scene?”

“Nothing’s shown,” he said, smiling down at you, scooting out of the way of a crewman, and tossing the kiwi to himself.  “I don’t think I mind. Women have to be nude in movies a lot, so I’m fine with helping to balance it out. I’m told it’s supposed to be non-sexual nudity, anyway.”

You sat up in your seat, taking another drink before speaking. “How noble. What’d they say about it?”

“So, I was in costuming and makeup earlier because of an effects shot; it’s the last shot I’m in before I get killed. They were explaining that I have to be completely nude for it; it’s actually pivotal that the spaceship shard that kills me slices from here—” Izuku drew a line from his upper thigh to just below his nipple (Monoma’s eye twitched). “—to here, so I can’t be wearing anything. They want me levitating, horizontal to the ground, and I was describing to the costumer that the shot is actually really similar to this effects shot in an episode of Star Trek—Next Gen, season three, episode thirteen, ‘Deja Q,’ and I was asking the costumer and the head makeup artist if I should put some sort of makeup on my ass, because I only have freckles on the top curve of my asscheeks; the lower curve doesn’t exactly see the sun—but my character, with the UV light in his bedroom, where he gets killed—he’s getting proper sun on his full ass, but if makeup were to put fake freckles on my ass, it’d be extremely obvious that they’re fake, especially in contrast to the real ones. But we couldn’t get to a decision about it before call time, because we got so wrapped up in that none of the cock socks —because that’s what they’re called, apparently, those things that’re meant to protect your modesty—well. None of them fit. And I was just about to bring up that same episode of Star Trek, because John de Lancie had the same issue, but Uraraka came and got me so that we could start,” said Izuku, rubbing the back of his neck.

Dear God, you’re in love with him.

You’re in love with the biggest nerd on the planet, and something was deeply, deeply wrong with the universe, because you weren’t currently kissing him within an inch of his life.

“But I’m hoping we finish this scene soon, at least,” Izuku was saying, tongue rubbing the inside of his cheek, as if it weren’t a crime punishable by death that his mouth wasn’t on yours at the moment, “because my lips are all dry from how acidic the kiwis are; I may need to stop by makeup again to ask if they have any sort of moisturising sealant, or something.”

“I gave your girlfriend some lip balm earlier,” said Monoma, as quick on the uptake as you, zipping up his bag to hide the other flavours, and you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him for it.

“Yeah,” you said, mind blank except for you loved him you loved him you loved him, aggressively yanking off the chapstick’s cap and applying more to your own lips before you stood (kiwi peelings falling to the floor) and grabbed Izuku’s face to kiss him.

He floundered. Froze. Held his breath. Which, sure, at this point it was more of a smushing of faces rather than a kiss, but you heard the tiniest clearing of his throat before he kissed you back in earnest, and nothing else mattered; everything else was just white noise. It was as if you didn’t even have matcha or lemon or kiwi to consider but instead just Izuku, Izuku distilled, sunshine and warmth, and oh, his hand was gliding up the side of your neck, the span of his hand wider than that of your throat, to play with your earlobe, and he was opening his mouth, sucking your lower lip inward just slightly, and—and you had to break away to breathe, and you wished you didn’t have to.

Chest heaving, Izuku’s lips chased yours after the initial separation, and he settled for resting his forehead against yours. “To think that I was going to introduce you to Uraraka’s soulmate today, as a final nail in the coffin that I belong to you. Now,” he said with a heady rasp, nudging his nose against yours, “I’d think you know that already, and I’d rather smuggle you back home to have you all to myself.”

“You’ll have me later,” you said, giving him another short kiss and appreciating how dejected he looked when it didn’t last for more than a second. “How much time do we have? Why don’t you still introduce me to Spike? Is she here?”

Izuku took a deep breath before releasing you, and he nodded, taking your hand. “She’s over there with Uraraka. I wanted you to see how differently Uraraka treats me compared to Spike. It’s evident that’s she really in love now.”

“Lead the way,” you said, waving towards Monoma, who was determinedly reading his magazine.

Uraraka and Spike were in conversation with the director, and while the two of you waited to the side, you looked Spike over: tall and imposing with blue-black hair in a harsh bob, and huh, she’s really putting that scar around her neck on display, isn’t she? Looks like she’s been beheaded.

“Wait a minute,” you said, whispering to Izuku, “I know her.”

“True,” said Izuku, crossing his arms as he leant down to your height, “But I figured I should introduce you in this context.”

You shot him a look. “Wait, how would you know she’s a cashier I met in Alderside? Back when I was investigating your Jackrabbit stuff?”

“That’s what you were thinking of?” It was Izuku’s turn to look confused, and, laughing under his breath, he pulled you by the elbow away from everyone, until he was sure that no one would overhear. “Sweetheart, you know that Spike is just Toga Himiko transformed, right?”

“What?” you said so loudly that people looked over. Izuku rubbed his hands up and down your arms to quiet you, so you dropped your voice. “How would I know that? Where would I have gotten that information?”

“I thought I’d told you,” said Izuku, grinning and shaking his head, “Toga has been at a local rehab, Sakura Grove, and Uraraka had been visiting for a while before they found out they were soulmates. They, uh. Both have matching symbols on the underside of their tongues.”

“I’m assuming I shouldn’t ask how they found out.”

“Toga—sorry, we should say Spike since we’re in public—Spike still lives at Sakura Grove but has been given a lot of privileges for good behaviour for this long. One of her long-time handlers doesn’t leave campus much and has consented to let Spike use her appearance, within reason. And to be fair, they’ve mostly used the transformation to go on dates,” said Izuku, glancing over her shoulder at them, “It's good to see them both so happy.”

The director ended the break before you could speak to them, and, with a final kiss to Izuku’s cheek, you left the set, went home, crawled into Izuku’s bed for the first time, and tried not to fall asleep.

***

But you did fall asleep, inevitably, and you spent an annoyingly long time in the dream world listening to Tenko tell Granddaddy Slapkins that Touya loved him very much before Izuku’s body stirred in his bedroll.

You knelt at his side while he pushed himself upright. “What took you so long?”

“I apologise,” he said, rubbing his eye as he accepted the slice of toast you had ready for him, “It’s just that I finally had a particular woman in my bed, and I took a moment to admire how gorgeous she is when she sleeps.”

“You sap,” you said, and you held up a phial of the soulwalking potion. “We need to talk without eavesdroppers for a moment.”

You got to the spirit realm before Izuku did, since he had to finish his toast, and when his glowing, green-tinged soul materialised across from you in the campfire circle, you pounced on him, pushing him back down to lie on his mirrored bedroll, hands planted on either side of his head, and you kissed him, heat blossoming from his lips, the only source of warmth on this side of reality. You hummed into it and raised a hand to trace along his jaw, but Izuku gripped the hair at the nape of your neck and yanked your mouth off of his, holding you in place.

“I thought,” he said, eyes half-lidded, chest swelling underneath you, “that we were here to talk.”

“Oh, stop it. Like I could make out with you in front of our friends,” you said, leaning down towards him again, but Izuku tightened his grasp so that you couldn’t move more than an inch (at the pressure at the back of your neck, your eyes fluttered shut). “Oh? Have I done something wrong?”

Izuku raised his free hand, his index finger tracing along your cheekbone before tapping your lips. “Yes,” he said, dragging the syllable out, “You aren’t kissing me like you love me.”

“Tell me what to do, then.”

Izuku blinked slowly, eyes taking on a hint of the OFA glow. “All right.” He let his hand fall to the side. “I want you to stick your tongue in deeply, as if you’re desperate to keep me near. You need to tangle our tongues together,” said Izuku, tilting his head backward to expose the jut of his Adam’s apple, “and suck them towards you. If you can handle that, then we’ll graduate you to the next class.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding when he released your hair, but you weren’t going to give it to him immediately. You shifted your weight to one arm as you slated your lips against his, finger-combing through his hair with your other hand while your tongue swiped over his lower lip, replaced, after a moment, with teeth gently tugging. Izuku parted his lips and accepted your tongue into his mouth, lips moving with yours, while you slid your tongue against his, guiding them with the tip of your tongue towards your own mouth, and you gave a soft nip to his tongue that made him hiss.

“Now,” you said, panting, moving to sit upright, “Surely that was—”

Izuku jerked you down by your necklace to capture your lips again, pinning you against him and completely reversing the suggestion of who was in charge, and you daren’t pull away, lest the chain of your necklace break. Brow furrowed, Izuku groaned into the kiss as he shifted his hips underneath you, and, tongue feeling around the roof of your mouth, he raised a knee for you to straddle and guided your hip so firmly that you were forced to grind down on it.

He released your necklace, mouthed, “Sit back,” and moved your hand to steady yourself on his sturdy chest, clutching your hand to his pec before joining his other hand on your hips to make you rock them. After a moment, a hand trailed upwards towards your shirt, trying to get underneath it, but once he realised he’d have to undo layers of medieval clothing, Izuku huffed and simply pressed his wide palm down hard against your lower stomach, staring you down while you ground against his thigh, quick snaps of OFA lightning sparking around his forearms as you went a bit glassy-eyed and flushed, despite the layers of fabric between you.

Izuku drew you down again, shivering in the moment your lips connected with his, kissing you hard for a final, few seconds before pulling away. “Good Lord,” he said, and perhaps it’s because you’ve been kissing, but his voice sounded sweeter. “I have never kissed you before today. I haven’t seen you, completely bare, before today. Yet I’ve never so thoroughly devoted my heart to anyone besides you. I know I’ve never felt this close with anyone.”

“And you have eight people larking about inside you,” you said, tucking a loose curl behind his ear.

“And I have eight people larking about inside me,” said Izuku, nodding, “I don’t know how I’ve lived without you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while, but today’s been—yeah. I felt like I could say it today.”

“You don’t have to say it, exactly. It’s been…subtext.” You tapped your fingers in a ripple on his pec. “But I appreciate it very much.” You dragged your fingers down his chest, catching fabric, but before you could reach the ties of his trousers, Izuku caught your hand, flattening it against his abdomen.

“No,” he said, smiling, “Not yet. The first time you have me, I want us to be in our reality, in our own bodies. As real and true as it can be.”

“That’s fine. Have anything special in mind?”

“Yes, actually. All according to my ludicrously evil plan. Actually, I—” Izuku frowned and sat upright, helping you off of him. “Actually, we need to get out of the spirit realm first. I think I’ve put together the pieces for how we can make Shinsou a frappe, and I want to see if it works.”

You clicked your tongue. “Izuku, why the fuck are you thinking about that? You literally have a boner right now.”

“That’s not—ignore it,” said Izuku, bending his leg to conceal it from you, “But if we’re going to make lo—have sex in the real world, then we should get other stuff done while we’re here. I’m thinking that we can achieve the frappe taste from your tea ceremony, and we might be able to get the texture and temperature through experimentation with Todoroki’s ice magic—”

“You are bonkers,” you said, leaning back on your hands, “and I don’t wanna have to witness that conversation. I…you go back first. I’m going to chill here for a bit; I need to collect my thoughts about what I want to plan for when we sleep together. I won’t even be able to hear my own thoughts if everyone’s blabbering at once. Now, get.”

Izuku waved goodbye, fading into the grey as he climbed back into his body, and gosh, it really was so much colder without him here. Well, if you transformed back into a cat, you’d be a bit warmer…And then, surely it wouldn’t hurt if you curled up in a ball while you daydreamed…tucked your little head underneath the tip of your tail…started to plan about what you wanted to be wearing, what you wanted the bedroom to look like, but you didn’t get very far…

***

You blinked awake to Izuku’s defined bicep in your face, his bedsheet pulled up to your chin, and you breathed in the scent of his laundry detergent deeply.

“Oh!” Izuku removed his reading glass to set them and his book on his bedside table, and he flipped onto his side to look at you, one hand cradling your cheek. “Are you all right? Does anything feel strange?”

“Uh.” You assessed your body for, like, anything bleeding out. “No. Situation normal.”

“Good.” Izuku let out a breath, shoulders losing their tension. “I was worried, but I figured it’d be good to have someone monitor you in the real world in addition to our dream world. They’re still—”

“Hold up,” you said, starting to feel more awake, “What happened?”

Izuku sat up, blankets pooling around his waist, and you followed. “After I went back to the group, everything seemed fine for about half an hour, but then your—well, you know how our bodies seem like they’re sleeping when we’re soulwalking, and that’s all. But, uh.” He held up his hands, as if he were holding a basketball, and then dropped them. “Your body—you know All Might’s soul crystal? You—when we eventually get back to his body to return it, he’s—he looks like this stone dragon, with a spot for the soul crystal to fit. You shifted into something similar, I think. You turned into Dango, not fully cat-sized, y’know, but very—small, statue-ish. A cat curled up in a ball. I could’ve fit you in my pocket. Your soul crystal was visible, but there was no way to remove it. And we were, of course, concerned,” said Izuku, grabbing you by the shoulders, “So I’m immensely relieved to see you like this. What did you do?”

“Dude, don’t look at me. I didn’t do anything; I can’t remember. I was—” You caught yourself and grinned. “Izuku. I don’t remember anything, because I was asleep.”

Izuku tilted his head. “What?”

“I fell asleep in the spirit realm, and I think that’s why—” You broke off to laugh. “Izuku, I got a good night’s sleep for the first time in almost a year. I wasn’t awake here or in our dream world. My consciousness got to rest.”

Izuku’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he hunched over on himself to mutter furiously under his breath, pinching his bottom lip. You reached over him to grab his phone off the bedside table, checking the time and if anyone needed him this early in the morning.

When you glanced over at him, he was still going at it, so you thumped his chest. “Hey. Don’t think about it too hard. I’d given up on trying to achieve dreamless sleep a while ago, because I—like seeing you all the time. So, don’t stress about if we can recreate it. Your brain is always going a thousand miles a minute. You can relax, y’know.”

“Well, perhaps I’d need to rest in the spirit realm, then,” said Izuku, sliding out of bed and pressing his hands to his lower back as he stretched. “By the way,” he said, coming out of a groan, “I wanted to share the most pertinent piece of information regarding our Sex Plan.”

“Don’t call it—whatever, Izuku. Go ahead,” you said, scratching your forehead.

“Two weeks from now—”

“You’re gonna make me wait two weeks?”

“Hey, no, listen,” he said, grinning, holding his hands up in defence, “There’s an emotionally resonant anniversary in two weeks, and besides, look who’s saying that. The woman who’s been stringing me along for almost a year.”

You threw your hands above your head. “I didn’t know it was you for a good part of that! I didn’t know you were real,” you said, tongue in your cheek as you smiled, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, “Okay, gorgeous. Lay it on me.”

Izuku bit his lip, rubbing it with his index finger before replying. “One. In two weeks, there’s a fundraiser we’re slated to attend. It’s hosted by the one we were at together three—well, four years ago. It’s grander in scale now, since the charity’s grown, but I think we can have a similarly adequate time. Two,” he said, raising another finger, “Since it’s more grandiose, our friends will be there. If you’ll allow me to be selfish, I’d like to take this opportunity to brag about our immense happiness.”

You laughed and covered your mouth. “Not even considering proving it to the press, since we haven’t made a public statement about our relationship in ages? Just our friends?”

“I admit that competition is a contributing factor,” said Izuku, taking his phone from you to return it to his bedside table, “but it’s not everything. I’m simply tired of suppressing my love for you, in public or otherwise.” He took both of your hands in his, and he knelt before you, parting your legs to get closer, to share your body heat. “Three,” said Izuku, much more seriously, “I think we should get married.”

You blinked. Okay. Not what you were expecting. “Right.” Your grip slackened, but his didn’t, keeping your fingers laced together. “To quell your fears before we have this conversation, my answer’s yes. Yes, I do wanna get married. I think it’d be wonderful. But.” You managed to free a hand from his grasp to cup his cheek. “Aren’t you concerned that I’m only just started showing you affection? That I’ve only recently opened my heart to you? Anyone else would’ve fallen for you immediately; of fucking course they would, once they saw how you shine,” you were saying, determinedly looking away from him, “but I’ve got all of these—strangely metaphysical hangups about whom I’m permitted to love, and I’m only just now starting to really get over them, and I can’t guarantee that they’ll ever really go away, so what if I can’t ever show you more love than I have recently—”

“Ohhh, my dear girl,” said Izuku, and he tapped a finger under your chin to get you to look at him, but you wouldn’t look away from the ceiling. “If we have to kiss to show we’re in love, then we’re not in love.” He tapped your chin again, and this time you met his eyes. “And we are. Haven’t you noticed? You’ve been showing me affection for so long. You’ve been proving your love to me in thousands of tiny choices you make every day, thinking of me with good intentions. Kissing is just another way of showing it. I’ve known you’ve loved me for some time now, even though you’ve been reluctant to admit it to yourself.”

You opened your mouth, scrunched your brow, and closed it. Because when you thought back, oh, he’s right; you’ve been living and working together for so long now, learning more and more about each other, both eager to dig into the minutiae of each other’s characters. He’s become a part of who you are, without trying much at all, and you haven’t noticed until he put the words in your mouth, and the feeling fucking flooded you, making your chest feel stretched like a balloon and pin-pricked in the same moment.

Because you don’t think about loving the sun. It’s just something you do. It comes built into your soul. You don’t have to announce it.

“Huh,” you said, really intelligently, “Cool. Then, yeah. Let’s get married.”

“Sweet,” said Izuku, standing and going to riffle through a dresser drawer, “I have the forms already; I hope you’ll forgive that I don’t have rings yet, because I figured you’d like to choose. I wanted to submit the soulmate quirk incident form as a marriage registration, but I didn’t know if you wanted to commit back then, so I’ve waited until—and if we can get the registration forms in by the end of the day, we’ll be in their system by Wednesday…”

You sat back on your hands, sinking into the mattress, and, feeling like you were in a dream, you listened to your soulmate ramble.

***

MIDORIYA 👉👈🌱💚

Wish you were here

MIDORIYA 👉👈🌱💚

The DJ keeps running tests of songs I thought I left behind in middle school

MIDORIYA 👉👈🌱💚

They got the Crawler as keynote speaker. Do you think he’ll sign something if I ask?

MIDORIYA 👉👈🌱💚

I’ve never seen this many chairs in my life

You were smiling at your phone as you walked through the doors of your hero agency, sweaty and sore from patrol. Izuku had to be dragged away from his agency around noon; the Foundation wanted him at the fundraising site early for setup, something about adjusting the heritage building for modern security. You waved to the front desk workers and stepped into the elevator, smushing the button for the ninth floor. More texts pinged before you could type a reply to the previous one.

MIDORIYA 👉👈🌱💚

THEY’RE TELLING ME I NEED TO MAKE A SPEECH

MIDORIYA 👉👈🌱💚

I WAS PLANNING ON DRINKING

MIDORIYA 👉👈🌱💚

I’VE BEEN WATCHING THEM SET UP THE OPEN BAR! AND YEARNING!!!!!!

YOU

lololol did someone else drop out of giving a speech

MIDORIYA 👉👈🌱💚

YES

YOU

okay lol. listen i just got back from patrol and am omw to my office. give me a minute to cool down, and then we can brainstorm what you can say

MIDORIYA 👉👈🌱💚

Wait, have you been away from your agency for more than six hours?

YOU

…yes? ito and i got lunch while we were downtown

MIDORIYA 👉👈🌱💚

You should have something waiting for you.

MIDORIYA 👉👈🌱💚

I asked them to put it in your office instead of the mailroom.

YOU

???

You sent the last while rounding the corner to your office, and you opened the door on a white garment bag hanging from your coatrack, the silhouette of the dress backlit by the late afternoon sun behind it.

Oh, this idiot.

You stopped at your desk, tearing off your support gear and dropping it unceremoniously next to a flat box, also from Izuku, at which you raised an eyebrow. But first, you grabbed a water bottle from your minifridge, chugged the whole thing, and wiped off sweat with a towel you kept behind your desk.

You began to undress, unfastening the front of your hero costume to let the A/C hit your skin, and you unzipped the garment bag, laughing through your nose at the dress: gorgeous, of course, but just a bit too slinky for your tastes and made out a material that wouldn’t be comfortable for all the hours you had to spend at this fundraiser. He must’ve been thinking with his dick.

So, you turned to the flat box on your desk, and you unfolded the tissue paper hiding a fuckin’ lingerie set, intricately lacy and deadly verdant. Izuku, you absolute nerd. Don’t you know that you can’t wear something with this heavy a design under something so blatantly silky as that dress? The lines will show. Plus—now that you were looking at the dress again—the straps on the bra were thicker than the straps on the dress, so you absolutely were not going to wear them together.

“Looks like he wanted something easy to take off,” came Ito’s voice from your doorway.

Grinning, you waved her in as you bent to retrieve another water bottle from your fridge. “Tell me about it. That dress screams easy access.”

“Like a horny couple at prom.” Ito caught the bottle you tossed to her, and she sat on your desk, one leg crossed over the other. “It’s lovely,” she said, shrugging one shoulder.

“It’s not exactly black tie,” you said after a long gulp, “It’s more of a sexy, expensive loungewear sort of deal. I don’t think I could wear that in public without everyone seeing everything that’s going on with me.” You gestured down your front. “I’m not gonna wear it.”

Ito rushed to swallow and wiped the back of her mouth. “Why not?”

“Think about it. What kind of idiot would I be if I hadn’t prepared an outfit for tonight? It’s not like the fundraiser is a surprise,” you said, pulling off the top of your hero costume, leaving you in your undershirt, “I’ve got something already. Izuku is damn lucky, though, because I’ll be able to wear that—” You nodded towards the lingerie. “—under the dress I have planned. Are you coming?”

Ito blinked. “Not at the moment.”

“I meant to the fundraiser.”

“Yeah, actually,” she said, twirling a strand of thick, white hair around her finger, “One of your friends invited me as arm candy. Said there was something I’ll want to see.”

***

Your PR advised you to arrive around 45 minutes late to avoid the initial buzz outside of the venue (some turn-of-the-century architect’s manor house before she died), but since that’d be 45 minutes of Izuku searching for you, you sneaked in through a staff entrance. You managed to locate your assigned table (thankfully in a corner, unfortunately near the front), where you hid your clutch in the pocket underneath your chair’s floral cover and listened to the musicians tune their instruments.

Where’s Izuku? They can’t need him every minute. You scanned the ballroom for his face among the early attendees, but he wasn’t to be found; some of your graduating class was already trickling in, and so, Asui, Hagakure, Ojiro, and Iida stopped by your table for a while.

“We’re over there with Yaoyo and Jiro, ribbit,” said Asui, pointing towards a far table, “I’m glad! Yaoyorozu has been to black tie events more than I have, so she can tell us if we mess up.”

“Come off of it, Tsu; we’ve been to black tie stuff before,” you said, smiling up at her from your seat, “It gets easier.”

Asui stuck out the tip of her tongue. “Forgive my cliché, but I always feel like a frog out of water no matter how many I attend.”

“Worry not!” Iida gestured stiffly. “If you’ll recall, I also come from, as you put it, old money! I can assist you if Yaoyorozu is otherwise occupied. However, you needn’t concern yourself with—”

“Why have they put you near the front?” Hagakure crossed her arms, evident by her elbow-length gloves, and held her clutch underneath her armpit. “There aren’t any awards being given out tonight. It’s just dancing and that silent auction.”

“No, but Izuku’s giving a speech,” you said, “Probably for convenience.”

“Either way, sorry about that,” said Ojiro, placing a hand on Hagakure’s shoulder, “I know you’re not too comfortable with being in everyone’s line of sight.”

“Eh, it’ll be fine. Though I remember this being a much smaller event. Has it grown that much?” you asked, eyeing the main entrance nervously, with how many people swarmed inside, “It’s—shadowy over here. The lights aren’t on us. It’s fine.”

“Ooh, I think they’re opening the bar,” said Hagakure, playing with the pendant of her necklace, “Good luck, and all. See you later!”

Not having the fortitude to brave the crowds yet, you stayed at your table, yanking out your phone to shoot Izuku a text.

YOU

have arrived. where are you???

Hearing the ding of a phone behind you, you turned over your shoulder and beamed as your soulmate approached.

“Hey, Izuku,” you said, standing to hug him, and oh, as you slid your arms around his neck, you breathed in the scent of his cologne (something like cedar and maybe apple?)—and that, paired with the way that he wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you very slightly as he held you to his chest, the tips of your toes grazing the tile—made you just about black out. “Where have you been?”

“Back of house,” said Izuku, smushing his cheek to yours, savouring it, “They keep trying to give me more work. Something about how I’m too competent. But I can’t exactly say tonight is supposed to be some sort of psychosexual foreplay for my soulmate and me, can I?”

Your eyebrows shot upwards. “Oh, we’re getting right into it? I was hoping to have about half an hour in which I wasn’t horribly aroused.”

He laughed near your ear, the air puffing away some of your hair. “Relax. We’re not doing anything drastic, you know. Now,” he said, grip loosening, “let me look at you.”

You dropped your arms, but he held onto your waist at arms’ length while he looked you over, eyes half-lidded and warm. “Gorgeous,” said Izuku, wetting his lips, “Absolutely gorgeous. But. I believe I—” He cut himself off, and he stepped closer to you, speaking under his breath and looking for all the world like he was commenting on nothing more than the weather. “Aren’t you such a bad girl? Not wearing the dress I set out for you.”

Saliva weighed heavily on your tongue. He’s being pedantic, and clearly you’ve arranged for your dress to match his midnight black tux, with its subtle bottle-green embroidery, but the flowiness of your dress’s fabric contrasts how snugly tailored to Izuku’s body his suit is, particularly his thighs and shoulders, outlining every curve his muscles have. It’s as if his suit’s from a high-end version of Best Jeanist’s Moulded to Your Ass line, except he still manages to be a bit dorky, with his tiny lapel pin that read Suit Jacket.

It was messing with your head how dashing he looked, and he just called you bad girl, which you, unfortunately, were not immune to. Clearing your throat, you rubbed at your eye and resolved that you had to slow things down quickly, lest you walk around with soaked underwear the whole night.

Worse, that’s what your brain decided to bring up next. “I’m wearing what you told me to underneath it. Thought that’d be more important.”

“Oh,” said Izuku, sounding hoarse and bringing a fist to his mouth (was that a flash of OFA lightning?), “I didn’t—”

“Deku-san, sir,” came a voice from behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder, and—a Kazama? That was Kazama, or one of him, at least; Hero Commission personnel must be working the event—appeared. “You’re needed backstage.”

“Of course,” said Izuku, recovering in a single second and pulling down his suit jacket, and he leant in to kiss you on the cheek. “I’ll be back, love.”

You were alone hardly a minute before Monoma eased into the seat next to you. “Greetings and salutations,” he said, voice heavy with sarcasm, as he held up a champagne flute in toast.

“You didn’t bring me one?”

Instead, he slid you a glass bottle of sparkling water that he’d been hiding behind his back. “I know you usually don’t drink at these things. Pity they don’t have pink lemonade.”

You unscrewed the cap, leaning back in your seat when he did. “Do they have regular lemonade?”

“Of course not. Since when do people care about the non-alcoholic drinking crowd?” Monoma shrugged, tilting his chair back on two legs. “The dress work out well?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you said, brushing down your front, “Thanks for getting it made on such short notice; it’s really—”

“It’s fascinating from a design standpoint, because there are purely no so-called dark elves to pull a look from, as you wanted, in Lord of the Rings,” said Monoma, clanking his chair forwards again to dramatically steeple his fingers together. “The Moriquendi elves, of course, come closest by definition, since they have never seen the light of the Two Trees of Valinor, but considering that category of elves splits into several subcategories that I don’t think truly fit the spirit of the design you requested—maybe the Falathrim—but regardless, I’m thinking it was the right idea for my design team and me to simply adjust the palette from our Vanyar line, even though it goes against the lore, and people usually cut me off by now; are you all right?”

Honestly, you were still processing bad girl and how it went straight to your cunt. But you swallowed the sparkling water you were holding in your mouth and shook your head. “I’m fine. I think I’m just a bit put off that it seems like Izuku’s going to be away from me for a good part of the night.”

“We’ll ensure you’re not lonely,” said Monoma, tracing the rim of his glass, “In the meantime, would you like me to distract you? I’ve been keeping an eye on your fancam since we posted it; it seems to be doing well.”

Monoma pulled out his phone to scroll through the comments with you, and it served as a delicious distraction as the ballroom grew packed and noisy.

[video description: a Deku fancam set to NCT’s “Baby, Don’t Stop.” Clips from social media, photo shoots, behind-the-scenes of Ad Astra Per Aspera, and interviews flash in time to the beat of the song’s bridge, focusing on Deku’s nipples, both when deliberately on display and when accidental.]

igneousbastard: everyone say thank you to the production crew for making the set cold af and putting deku in the thinnest shirt known to man 🫡

midori-world: he is literally slutting himself out. can he fucking chill. in unrelated news i’m going to bite my hand off

blueberrybakugou: mr. deku……….

chargenut: hello i am going to obliterate this man

sakuraraka: okay i’ll just say it, since no one else will: BARK BARK BARK WOOF BARK

kirishimashairdye: shredding him with my teeth. putting him in my mouf like a fucken fuit Gummi

mmmmmidoriya: SUCKABLE.

dickuprint: @assortedsoftcheeses hey OP where did you get that clip at 0:33?? seems like it’s the kind of thing you’d find on some pro’s private account. kinda personal 👀 have i missed something?? who posted that????

momo-closet: been watching this on loop for a few minutes before realising my jaw was clenched hard enough to eat through my own enamel. Good work everyone let’s hit the showers

You and Monoma jolted out of your skins when Todoroki Touya slammed his plate on the table and yanked out a chair, legs scraping the tile, nodding your way as he straddled his chair. Tenko followed closely behind, a bottle in one hand and a Nintendo switch in the other.

“Are you playing a game?” Tenko gestured towards Monoma’s phone.

You laughed through your nose as Monoma stowed his phone away. “Not really. I see you didn’t leave home without one.”

Tenko scrunched up his face. “I had to bring something. No one outside of our DND group is going to want to talk to me without morbid curiosity, and you’ll be too busy to be at my side the whole time.”

“That’s why I’m his plus-one,” said Touya, holding up a crostini and waving with his free fingers.

“I was wondering how you were here, Touya,” you said, mouthing thanks to Shinsou as he set a plate of hors d'oeuvres in front of you and moved to sit in the seat to your left, “Tenko, I get, since he’s working with Aizawa-sensei in the underground hero scene, but—”

“Didn’t I tell you not to call me that?” Aizawa pulled out the chair next to Shinsou and eased into it, bracing himself on its back to make it easier on his prosthetic leg.

“You did. Shouta, I apologise,” you said (with Shinsou’s eyebrows flashing upwards), and you turned back to Touya. “You’re Tenko’s date?”

“Don’t say it like that,” said Tenko, scowling as Touya nodded eagerly, “Since he wouldn’t be able to come otherwise, and I’ve been told I can’t just latch onto you for the whole night…” He trailed off, and your eyes darted across the table to catch the cause: Aizawa, shaking his head ever so slightly, as he lifted one of the event’s pre-made cocktails to his mouth.

Weird. But okay, you’ll pretend like you didn’t see it. “So, what’re you playing?”

Everything went smoothly for a while, with Shinsou and Aizawa sharing hors d’oeuvres while Tenko explained the mechanics of his game, with scathing commentary from Touya and probing lore questions from Monoma, but then, two, innocuous things happened in quick succession that changed the mood of the evening entirely.

First, Aizawa got a text. “It’s from Haimawari Koichi—the Crawler, I mean. He says he’s about to go on. He can see us from backstage.” Made you think about Izuku, that he wanted his autograph and was probably talking to him right now.

At the same time, Todoroki and Bakugou showed up, since their table was next to yours, and Bakugou thumped you in the back of your head. “Looking pretty bored without us, sweetheart.”

“Wow,” you said, rubbing your head, grinning, and you spoke without thinking: “That’s everyone except Izuku.”

In the moment, it seemed like a perfectly normal thing to say. At Shinsou’s sharp inhale, Aizawa’s cautious glance towards the opposite side of the table, and Todoroki’s bracing your shoulders, it occurred to you that perhaps you said something odd, but then oh my god they would only react like that if they knew that you were their soulmate in another timeline how the fuck did they find out where’s Izuku you need to leave now—

“I think we should dance. There’s dancing,” said Shinsou, scanning your face for distress and grabbing your wrist as you pushed yourself up from the table in a rush, Todoroki still at your back.

The room’s too hot. The room is too hot, and it’s spinning.

The orchestra swelled as the lights dimmed. It must be time for the keynote speech.

“I really,” you said, swallowing with effort, sweat running down your neck and between your shoulder blades, “I need to go.”

Shinsou’s hand around your wrist. Todoroki’s hand on the small of your back. Bakugou grabbing your forearm, Monoma staring up at you from your side, Tenko and Touya peering across the table at you, the most compliant you’ve ever seen them.

“Sit down,” Aizawa said, quietly, firmly, gesturing to your chair with his drink, and it’s like you’re hearing his voice underwater. You never wanted to have this conversation with them at all, but since they knew, why couldn’t it at least be one-on-one? Why did they all have to be here at once?

You need to be alone. You need to be with Izuku.

Feeling very, very hollow, you’re guided back down to your seat by both Todoroki and Monoma as the room finally darkens, with a spotlight on the podium onstage. The string section played a vaguely familiar song as Bakugou yanked his and Todoroki’s chairs from their table to sit behind you, and Shinsou uncapped your drink, holding the bottle out for you to take. The Crawler walks out onstage to thunderous applause, but you didn’t catch his opening words.

Shinsou gripped your hand, almost crushing your fingers. He kept his eyes on you, not the stage. But so was everyone else.

Eventually, you could speak, though you kept it down, since the Crawler was talking. “I’m so sorry.”

Most of the table started to protest, but Aizawa held up his hand to cut them off.

“My life is over,” you found yourself saying, blankly, far away, somewhere without strategic lighting or dress codes or crowds, “I—all of you aren’t going to be able to be the same around me. Our relationships are fucked, because you’re going to look at me and know, know that I’m the direct cause of your never getting a soulmate in this timeline, that I’ve ruined things for you. God, I love our friendships, and I really shouldn’t, because you deserve more. I’ve deprived you of a warmth that I get to chase until the ends of the earth. I,” you said, and you really hadn’t wanted to cry at this damn event, but whatever, man, “I can’t—fuck.” You buried your face in your hands. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry. But I can’t get around it, and I don’t really want to. I love you guys so much. But I’m in love with Izuku.”

At the soft, muted sound of porcelain being slid across the tablecloth, you peeked through your fingers to glance down at a plate with three dumplings left on it. Touya tapped the edge of the plate, staring you down. “Eat this fucking thing.”

Taken aback, you sat up straight and, since no one else was reacting to that, obeyed. You hated that the dumplings made your stomach feel less like one, big knot. How annoyingly simple of a solution.

“All right,” said Bakugou, leaning forward in his chair so that he could speak in your ear while you chewed, “Have you noticed us act any different lately?”

You rushed to swallow. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve known you are our soulmate in other timelines since the day you threw up on Bakugou’s carpet,” said Todoroki.

“I’m sorry. What?”

Bakugou scowled and shook his head. “You were there for that conversation. In the infirmary, remember?”

“No,” you said, taking your drink from Shinsou again when prompted, “I—you’ll recall I’d hit my head. I didn’t…” You sighed. “Are you kidding? And we’re all—” You gestured around the table, trying to catch everyone’s eye. “—okay with this?”

The table remained silent.

“Jesus Christ,” you said, stomach turning but reaching for the next dumpling, anyway. “I’ve fucking destroyed your chances of happiness—”

“Can you not rub your brain cells together for once?” Bakugou tugged your chair backwards a few inches so that you could look him in the eye. “You and Izuku are exactly the same. Shut the fuck up. No one has lost any shred of happiness because of you and your choices.”

“Don’t think you have that much influence on our lives,” Aizawa was saying, smiling, “You don’t have to hold back on our account. You’re allowed to be happy.”

You couldn’t believe it.

You couldn’t.

But the sick feeling in your gut was fading.

Sniffing, you rubbed the back of your neck, tears running down your cheeks. “Hold on. I need a minute.”

Before you could compose yourself, the Crawler wrapped up his speech, with the crowd clapping as the lights rose and music picked back up.

Touya spoke under the applause, leaning towards you. “Plus, I know that some version of me out there gets have enormously fucknasty sex with you, so I’m good.” Tenko elbowed him in the chest, not bothering to be subtle.

“Thanks, Touya,” you said, cracking a weak smile, “You’re not…actually, you are helping. Thank you.”

Monoma took your free hand, dumpling-greasy as it were. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, suddenly aware of all the sweat draining down your back, “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just thought—I thought I’d be keeping this to myself forever. Well, myself and Izuku.”

“And Ito,” said Bakugou, scoffing, “She won’t shut up about it. Says she didn’t mean for you to have a harem, but she’d be interested in seeing it play out. Claims she’s never seen one assigned from her quirk before.”

“Ito’s been talking to you about this?”

“She’s probably listening in somehow,” said Bakugou, jerking his thumb up to the second storey balcony, “Begged me to be my date for the night. Probably wanted a show.”

You followed his gesture to make out Ito on the second floor while she leant over the railing, her elbow-length, lace gloves recognisable even from this distance, and she was using opera glasses to look your way. Uraraka and Toga-as-Spike were laughing next to her.

“God,” you said, slumping in your seat, adrenaline draining completely, and you ran your hand back through your hair. “And everyone’s really okay with this,” you asked flatly, making a point to hold eye contact with everyone, and no one said anything. “Okay,” you said, setting your empty bottle on the table and moving to stand, “I’ll just be happy, then. Since you want me to. No take-backs.” You waited for any dissenting voices, but, again, they seemed content. “Cool. I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Agreed,” said Aizawa, and he batted at Shinsou’s arm. “Go with her. Make sure she doesn’t drown herself in the toilet.”

Taking a deep breath, you and Shinsou wove through crowds and away from the music, travelling down century-old, narrow corridors until you located one of the minute restrooms open to the event. Spotting a member of the kitchen crew exit it, you instead yanked Shinsou around a roped-off corner to shove him against the exposed brick.

“Hitoshi, you’ve got to tell me the truth,” you said, gripping his lapels, eyes bulging, “Are any of you actually okay with this?”

Shaken, Shinsou glanced down at your hands and patted one with his own. “You’re overthinking it. We’re fine. Spend less time thinking about us, and allow yourself to be selfish. You—” Shinsou shifted his jaw, and, keeping his eyes on the water-stained ceiling, he rolled his shoulders back. “I’m not supposed to tell you this. I am not supposed to tell you this.”

You released him to give him space to consider his phrasing, shoe scraping the wood when you took a step back.

“It’s good that you’re Midoriya’s soulmate in this timeline, instead of any of ours,” said Shinsou, covering his mouth with his hand, brow scrunched, “Because—I don’t wanna get into who loves you more, or anything, because who can measure—but Midoriya definitely loves you better than any of us. Because he’s the only one who loves you well enough to let you leave him. To let you choose who you want.” Shinsou swore under his breath and, running a hand back through his hair, he slid down the wall into a crouch, bunching up his suit jacket.

Leave him? He’s never…hm. You knelt next to him. “What do you mean?”

Shinsou fiddled with the button on his jacket before unbuttoning it. “Midoriya’s been tearing himself up. First, over that he was ruining your life, and he thought he had verification of that because of the constant soulmate pain he felt, but then—he said that you two figured out something about soulmates and timelines, so that brought on another layer of guilt: that you could find your happiness with someone else.”

Fuck. Fuck. Might explain why he hasn’t insisted on being alone with you. Why all the group hangouts. Lately, it must’ve been too painful—must be why he begged you to look only at him. “Why would he not say anything until recently—what’s wrong with him?”

“What’s wrong with him? What about what’s wrong with you?” Shinsou shot you a look out of the corner of his eye, laughing through a scoff. “Listen,” he said, and he, shifting to sit on his knees, took your hand to place it over his heart. “There’s nothing binding us together. You’re my best friend, yes, but that’s all. Feel that? Completely normal heartbeat.” Honestly, you couldn’t feel anything through the layers of fabric, but you let him continue. “I’m gonna be fine. We all will be. It should be a comfort that our lives don’t revolve around you. Not like we make up a solar system with you at the centre. You’ve also lost it if you think that romantic love is the only way we can lead a fulfilling—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you said, pulling your hand back, “I don’t want to rehash all the bitter stuff we’d say when we were all soulmate-less and hanging out with our graduating class.”

“Then stop rehashing all these feelings of guilt, too,” said Shinsou, “Allow yourself to live in reality, not in some daydream of what could’ve been.”

Every heavy feeling stirring in your gut for almost a year finally, finally evaporated, dissolving into air and floating far, far away like gossamer in the night breeze.

It left you feeling rather light. Almost foamy.

Nodding, you said through a dry croak, “I need to find Izuku.”

Shinsou clapped your knee in encouragement, and, pushing himself to stand, he helped you do the same. “I think we’re missing his speech right now.”

You rushed back through the labyrinthine corridors, almost knocking into some press and definitely knocking into a retired hero, sorry, but when you managed to cut through the throng, you weren’t even rewarded with the sight of Izuku at your table—Touya, Tenko, and Aizawa remained, the two former invested in the switch, the latter in the book he’d brought (fucking nerd). They hadn’t seen Izuku.

“Bakugou dragged him off towards the second storey,” Todoroki chimed in from his table, having taken a moment to swallow his crudité.

You thanked him and hurried off, first having to find a staircase and then a way to the outside balcony, but you caught a flash of Bakugou’s moonlit hair before you slipped around the corner to the alcove overhanging the backyard, and, holding your breath, you darted back inside the shadow to press yourself flat against the wall, hoping to God that you hadn’t interrupted anything terrible.

“You don’t even like beer, so stop bitching about not getting to have any,” said Bakugou, tilting his own bottle back to take a gulp.

“Sorry, Kacchan. It’s—I’m nervous. I don’t want to mess this up. It’s all so new to me.”

“What is?”

“Being in love.”

The words are spoken so softly you could’ve missed them under the distant, hollow notes of bamboo windchimes in the gardens. You heard Bakugou’s beer glass clink against the balcony railing, paired with a sigh, instead of answering.

“Thanks for not laughing,” said Izuku, sounding like he’d shifted to face Bakugou; his voice didn’t reverberate back as clearly anymore. “I just like being around her. We don’t have to say anything at all—like I can be switched to off. Like I can just be me, instead of someone everybody needs. It’s good. Calming. Feels like she’s always been a part of me, even when I didn’t know it. I don’t know how else to explain it. When I’m with her, I just feel like—like me, instead of any conceits of me that people have in their heads. And sometimes, she doesn’t even like me.” Izuku let out a laugh. “It feels good to have someone not see me as perfect and still love me for it. Sensual, even.”

“Control your dick, Izuku.”

Izuku laughed, and it echoed through the night air. “I don’t think she knows how much I think about it—building a life together. Genuinely settling in. Settling down. We’re already in deep, but I want more. I want to cook her breakfast. I want her house slippers next to mine by the door. I want to fumble for her soap in the shower. I want the empty spaces in our lives to be filled with her laughter. God,” said Izuku, accompanied by a clump, as if he’d banged his head against something, “I want to stop fisting myself every night thinking of her perfect tits, the curve of her hips—”

“Can it. I don’t need to hear—.”

“—it’s the kind of stuff I used to dream about.”

You couldn’t take it. You and Izuku were finally on the same page, and all of this running and chasing and finding was useless; you needed to be near him right now.

Retracing your steps, you approached the alcove again, this time making your footsteps obvious, and so while they were both expecting someone as you drew nearer, Izuku’s face lit up like a firework when he saw it was you—and then, for some reason, he turned bright fucking red.

“Hey, Izuku. Bakugou,” you said, nodding towards him before focusing on Izuku, lifting a hand to his heated cheek, “Are you all right? The heat was getting to me, too, earlier.”

Izuku shook his head frantically, and after he shut his eyes to take a heady breath, he steeled himself, looking at you with something next door to adoration as he placed a hand on your waist, he said, “I’m fine. I can’t stop thinking about what’s under that fucking dress.”

“O-kay,” said Bakugou, clapping Izuku on the shoulder, “I’ll be downstairs. Not that you’ll need me. Try not to break anything.”

Izuku didn’t even wait for Bakugou to leave the balcony before kissing you (you did catch Bakugou’s thumbs-up that you weren’t supposed to see), mouth opening the second he grazed yours, and you had to grab his face, squeezing at his cheeks while his cheek scuffed your palm, to tear him away.

“Hey,” you said, tapping his cheek in a ripple, trying to ignore how he grabbed at your waist almost desperately, staring at your lips, “Not yet. I wanted to tell you that I’m over it, over everything that’s complicating our situation, and that I love you.”

Izuku froze, cogs almost visibly turning, and he pressed his forehead to yours. “They talked to you, didn’t they? I asked them not to.”

“I was being weird about it, and they said some very comforting things—”

“Are you sure you want me? I’m not—not sure I’m what you want—I haven’t known you forever, like Shinsou, and I could never be as gentle as Aizawa—”

“Izuku,” you said, squeezing his face as you pushed him backwards to look him in the eye, “What I want is you, Izuku. No one else.”

He searched your face for any shred of deceit, and he pushed through the hand still on his face to hold him at a distance to kiss you again, tongue swiping at your lower lip, the grunt at the back of his throat so soft that he was almost drowned out by the bamboo windchimes again. While you sucked his tongue into your mouth, Izuku let his hands drift upwards, cupping one of your boobs, and Izuku broke the kiss with a hum while he stared down at his hand, circling your nipple through the fabric.

“Can you feel much through your dress?”

“Not especially,” you said, trying to catch your breath.

Izuku pouted, pursing his lips in thought, but a smile soon replaced it. “That’s fine,” he said, reaching for the slit in your billowing skirt, “Let me touch you? I wanna feel where I’m gonna come later.”

He didn’t need to know your underwear dampened at his words. “Izuku, we are in public.”

He paused just short of touching your bare leg. “Should we stop? We can stop.”

Huffing, you bit the inside of your cheek and looked down from the alcove, where a group had started into the gardens, laughing through their drunkenness. “We can keep going, but I’d like to be able to walk out of here without anyone knowing what we’ve done.”

“Got it,” he said, and he kissed you, hard, close-mouthed, pressing himself against you as much as he could. “Right,” he said, cradling your face when he broke away and guiding you backwards into the shadow against the alcove’s wall, “Then all we have to worry about is how much noise you make, hm? Can we trust that clever mouth to be quiet?”

Throat running dry, you swallowed thickly as Izuku’s fingers slipped through the slit of your dress, brushing over your inner thigh. “So long as you keep kissing me, I don’t think we’ll have a problem.”

Izuku grinned. “I like the way you think.” He kissed you again, hot as your back hit the wall. “But you’ll recall I want to watch.”

Without removing it from around his neck, Izuku rolled the end of his tie, pried your mouth open, and shoved it inside, its silk drying out your tongue as Izuku hiked your leg over his hip. He shivered, beaming, when one of his fingers grazed your clit through the lace, and he circled it slowly but firmly. Your breath hitched, and as the adrenaline spread to tingle in your fingertips, your cunt tensed up, clenching around nothing.

“Oh?” Izuku trailed his lips across your cheek to just before your ear, breath hot against it. He traced his finger down the lace flower along the gusset, and you felt his smile against your skin when he reached the wet patch pressing coolly over your heated entrance. “Interesting.”

“Hey,” you said, inhaling sharply when he dipped underneath the fabric, trailing his fingers up and down your labia, “Izuku—”

“You’re okay,” he said, pressing the calloused pad of his thumb against your bare clit, “We’re fine. In fact, we’re great, because, as you reminded me, we’re in public. I’d be sucking at you through the lace if we weren’t.” At your shudder, he ran the backs of his fingers down to test the dampening fabric. “Ohhh, that’s it. That’s nice. It’s just what I wanted to see.” Izuku lifted the gusset from you, cool air swishing up your heat, and he released it, fabric snapping back onto your cunt. “Eager to please me, aren’t you? Sick of trying to push me away?”

Izuku pulled back from your ear as his index finger circled your entrance, right around the rim as it began to curve inside. “Think you can take my fingers yet?”

You nodded and bit farther down on his tie to close some of the distance between you.

“Thank you. I need to stretch you out for later, anyway,” said Izuku, and he kissed your cheek before burying his face in your neck, rolling his hips against yours as he pressed his first finger into you. Its width caught you off guard, and you yelped into your gag.

“Hey, easy. Easy,” said Izuku, rubbing your clit as he drew his finger inside and out, so slowly, so fucking slowly, “We’re in public.”

It’s hard to articulate you rat bastard while gagged, but you got the message across.

Blood surged through your veins; you struggled to keep your eyelids from fluttering. Izuku flooded your sense: he’s licking at your neck and smelling so, so good, covering you with his warmth and ever-tightening the coil in your gut through his careful touches, and hey, when did he add a second finger? You’ll kill him, and he’s muttering the most frustrating things against your skin, like he didn’t care that you still had to walk out of here.

“C’mon, then,” said Izuku, surfacing from your neck, breathing heavily, like he’s just woken up, “Claim me. Mark me.” He removed a hand from under your skirt (the other, still pressing two fingers inside you, stretched to rub at your clit) to tug his tie out of your mouth, and he let it drop, saliva-heavy against his shirt. “Let everyone know that I’m your soulmate,” he said, baring his throat, “That you alone own me.”

“Izuku,” you said, panting, “Don’t you still have to give your speech?”

Izuku sighed, his fingers stilling inside you. “Yeah, I do. You’re right. You’re goddamned right,” he said, grimacing, and he withdrew his hand from underneath your skirt.

“Whoa, what?” you asked as he took a step back, “I—I, um.”

“Is there a problem?” he asked, a touch of smugness to his voice. “You have to say it, if you want something.”

Wetting your lower lip, you glanced over your shoulder and back at him. “I didn’t come.”

“That’s true,” said Izuku, adjusting his lapels, “but we’re in public, and I have a speech to give. How indecent.” He winked at you, and you huffed. “What a shame you’ll have to wait.”

You stepped towards him with murderous intent and froze as arousal gushed through the lace and down your leg. “Oh, God. I don’t think I can go out there. I’m too—”

“On it,” said Izuku, unravelling his tie and whipping it from around his neck, and he fucking parted your legs to wipe you down with it, pressing more into your cunt than someone cleaning up really should have.

“How do you manage to think through that horny fog in your brain?” you asked, as Izuku stood upright, examining the freshly wet spot on his tie.

“You get used to it.” Izuku watched your moonlit arousal glisten for a moment, and then he stuck the fabric into his mouth, sucking audibly.

“Holy fuck,” you said, shaking your head, “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Izuku was saying as he guided you by the small of your back off the balcony, stowing his tie in his inner suit pocket, and he took your hand to thread his fingers through yours when you reached the staircase. “But we should go home, where I know how sturdy everything is. There’s a reason why Bakugou told us not to break anything.”

Izuku led you through the dance floor back to your table, and you had to be normal. You had to sit down with your rotating coterie of friends coming to socialise, and you had to be normal. You had to watch Izuku unbutton his suit jacket as he sat next to you, flipping the jacket away from his hip as he stuck his hand in his pocket, and you had to be normal. His ankle bone poked through his thin sock as his trousers rode up, like a slut, and you had to be normal. Izuku held his bottle of sparkling water at his crotch, peeling at the condensation-beaded label, thumb rubbing up and down the bottle neck absently, and you had to be normal.

Monoma hissed and glared over his shoulder at the orchestra as they transitioned into a new song. “Aren’t we over ‘Air on the G String’ as a society yet?”

Touya cleared his throat, holding up his champagne flute to the light. “I’m not over anything in a g-string yet.”

Monoma propped his chin on his fist. “Touya, you are a paragon of modern society. Tell me about your plans to bolster the economy.”

Izuku caught your eye, his own glinting as they dropped to your lips, and you had to be fucking normal.

Later in the night, long after the orchestra had packed up and after most press had departed, the silent auction began. Since Izuku had no interest in it and you were vibrating out of this plane of existence, Izuku moved to one of the standing tables at the back of the ballroom. More openly drunk behaviour was exhibited here, and near your table, a caution sign had been erected where a recent spill had been mopped up.

You shivered as he sneaked up behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he set a plate of the latest round of finger foods in front of you on the tiny table, and he leant his head against yours, rubbing his cheek on yours like a cat before kissing it. You craned your neck away from him, trying to seem absorbed in the flavours of meringues he’d brought over, but when he blew cold air into your ear, you jolted, eliciting a quiet chuckle.

“You are insufferable, Izuku,” you said, sounding controlled despite every part of you buzzing and screaming like a sparkler.

“Don’t I deserve to be? I’ve been waiting for so long,” he said, and he pressed a kiss in front of your ear, below it, and then on your neck. “I’m gonna make it really good for you.”

Izuku grinned into your throat when you stiffened, but you shook it off, taking a small step to the side and popping a meringue into your mouth just to have something besides Izuku to stimulate your senses. “Don’t just say things like that; I can’t take it.”

“You will.”

You would’ve choked if Izuku hadn’t timed his comment perfectly.

“I think,” said Izuku, tilting his head with a smile creeping in, “that you’re embarrassed, that you’re ashamed of taking so long to come around to your feelings, when I’ve been waiting with open arms and an open mouth all this time. So, in that gorgeous brain of yours, you’ve decided that you’ll acquiesce, that you’ll take every single thing I give you, because you feel like you deserve to be used as I please. Now, I’m not saying you’re right—” Izuku pushed some of your hair behind your ear, not that it needed it, and trailed his fingers down the side of your throat. “—because how rude, how mean of me would it be to think so? But. I shan’t deny that I’ll enjoy watching the tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you struggle to take me inside.”

You grabbed his shirt, right where his tie should be, and as you jerked him towards you, you caught a glimmer of excitement (and you were reminded that any manhandling on your part was because he was letting you push him around). “If your cock isn’t in me within the next five minutes, I am going to shred you into confetti.”

“You’re doing this to yourself, you know,” said Izuku, grinning, holding his tongue between his teeth as he held his hands up in defence, “You can safeword out of it any time.”

This is part of it? Of fucking course it’d be part of it. “Fuck you, Izuku,” you said, also grinning, livid, “Lotus. Now, call our fucking car.”

Izuku was quite compliant after that, ever so polite to your friends as you ducked out and to the driver, even apologetic to you in the car as you shook him by the shoulders when he admitted he’d given his speech while you’d been talking with Shinsou. Courteous and kind even when you held his hand in a death grip on the ride home and pulled up a list of medieval torture methods for tomorrow.

“Okay, well,” you said, toeing off your shoes once you were inside the apartment, Izuku locking the door behind you, “I guess I’ll go wash up, or—”

“No, you’re fine,” said Izuku, and you found yourself being spun around by your thighs, Izuku kneeling on the hallway rug and staring up at you with big, ol’ wet eyes (that bitch). “You’re perfect.” He pressed his hand flat on your lower abdomen to back you against the wall, and he tapped the inside of your ankle to get you to shift your weight to your other foot; he tossed your leg over his shoulder and parted the slit in your dress. Izuku’s mouth found your clit and, through the lace, sucked hard.

“Jesus, fuck,” you said, hand flying to his hair, “You—you don’t even have to, fuck, Izuku—I’m wet; you don’t have to warm me up. I’m ready for you.”

Gathering saliva on his tongue, he licked up the length of your cunt, dampening the final scraps of the fabric not already soaked. He licked where your labia met your inner thigh, down the trail of arousal dripping down your leg. “Gracious,” he said once he’d surfaced, “Good Lord, you’re drenched.”

“Izuku,” you said with a whine, “Get up. Fucking—fucking stop. I—I’m going—I need to—”

“I know, baby,” said Izuku, so gentle as he stood and cradled your face in his hands, and he kissed you softly. “I know what you need. Seems like you’re close to being fucked-out brainless without even coming. You’re adorable. You can relax now, sweet girl. I’m going to take care of you.” He indulged you when you kissed him again, and he guided your jaw open a little wider so that he could slip his tongue inside. “Oh, that’s good. You’re so good for me,” said Izuku, flicking away the gauzy thread of saliva between you, “While don’t you get on the bed, hm?”

You nodded, almost drowsily, because relief swept over you to such a full extent that you’re a bit boneless, and you trudged into his bedroom and crawled onto the bed, flopping over to sink into his pillows.

Wait, was Dango in here? Your cat shouldn’t witness you having sex. She might claw at someone’s nipple. You dangled upside-down off of the side of the bed, peering underneath it for Dango, unable to discern if that far shadow were her.

When Izuku entered the room, suit jacket draped over his arm, you explained the situation. You paused the sexual encounter to locate the cat, who was inside Izuku’s closet in his sock drawer, and once you’d shut her out of the room and washed your hands, you reconvened on the mattress.

“Did that kill the mood?” you asked, hair splayed around you on the pillow as you arched your back to unzip your dress, “I think that may have killed the mood.”

“It didn’t; trust me.” Transfixed by your boobs, Izuku fumbled to unbutton his trousers, and when he stepped out of them, you halted in your shimmying off of your dress: shirt stays pinned his shirt down, their straps digging into the muscle of his upper thighs, and sock garters did the same around his calves. “It does it for me, actually, knowing that you’re so conscientious about this sort of thing.”

“Come closer,” you said, holding out your grabby hands, and he, bewildered, came to the edge of the bed, legs touching the blankets. You traced down a strap of his shirt stays, and you pulled one out to snap it back, the elastic cracking against his pale thigh. You covered your mouth with your hand, throat constricting slightly as heat curled in your lower stomach.

Izuku lifted his knee to press into the mattress, and you scooted backwards to accommodate his body as he climbed on. “Everything all right?”

“My mind is about to melt out of my ears,” you said, sitting back against the headboard. “Please, continue undressing.”

Cute how you could tell he was making mental notes in how he watched your reactions to him, how he unfastened his sock garters and stays and tossed his shirt across the room, leaving him in his briefs that honestly seemed a few sizes too small because Jesus fucking Christ, that’s a bulge.

But Izuku wouldn’t let you look at it, tapping your chin upwards, and pulling your dress down to your hips, and when he’d gotten it off, he left to hang it up. You buried your face in your hands, kicking your feet in the air, because what the fuck; what did you do to deserve someone so strangely endearing.

He kissed you upon his return, tilting your chin to follow him as he guided you to lie back. That hand then slid down your neck, applying a slight, massaging pressure, and his lips followed, reluctantly parting your tongue from his. Izuku nipped at the flesh where your neck met your shoulder, hand trailing down your arm, touching so lightly that the hair on the back of your arms stood up, and as he rolled his hips against yours, he pressed another kiss to your shoulder, another onto your upper arm, towards your elbow, each open-mouthed kiss wetter than the last. He mouthed at the inside of your forearm, holding your hand up towards the ceiling, and he licked a wide stripe up your palm before deep-throating your middle and ring fingers, groaning around them.

The thought occurred to you that this man is a fucking freak when you realised he’s kept his other hand behind his back this whole time, but he bit down around your ring finger, holding your hand still when you tried to jerk it away. Izuku pulled your fingers from his mouth, admiring the teeth marks at the base of your finger. “The rings finished getting resized today,” he said, showing you the velvet box he’d been concealing, and he popped it open, your white-gold wedding rings sitting inside. He kissed the pads of your wet fingers. “Let me put it on?”

“Fine, fine,” you said, wiggling your fingers in his grasp. Izuku beamed as he slid your ring onto your hand to sit directly over the bite mark, and honestly, some lightheadedness started to creep in. Before it got to you, you took Izuku’s ring to put it on his finger, though you didn’t bother lube it up first (?), as he had.

“Hey,” said Izuku, both hands cupping your cheeks, tapping his ring finger against you, “I love you, by the way. In case you didn’t know.” When his lips pressed against yours, scorching, your hands gripped his wrists to hold him closer, your hips rocking minutely of their own accord. He smiled into the kiss and hitched his knee under your thigh, drawing both upward so that he could grind more directly onto you, and dear God—

“Actually,” you said, gasping as you slid your hands up his arms to squeeze appreciatively at his biceps (he didn’t stop pressing kisses along your jawline), “I think I need to hear you say that again.”

“Of course,” said Izuku, breath fanning over your ear, “I love you. So much, my dear, dear wife. My soulma—”

“Oh, shit, are we married?” You pried him away from you for a second to see if he were joking.

Hair dishevelled with curls blown out, he shot you an incredulous look. “Don’t you check your email? Yes. Yes, we’ve—the notification came in late last night—”

“I don’t check my email; that’s where the emails are,” you said, grumbling and wrapping your arms around his neck. “Just wondering. You may proceed to fuck my brains out now.”

Izuku braced his weight on his forearms, each on either side of your head, dipping into the pillows. “You know, usually I’d say that this kind of behaviour is strange and off-putting, but since it’s you, I’m fucking hard as a rock. Congratulations. You do strange and off-putting things to me,” said Izuku, stretching down to kiss your cheek.

A compliment? An insult? Who knows! “Uh, I meant that you may proceed to fuck my brains out now, sir?”

Izuku slapped his hand over his eyes, biting his lip, and he inhaled sharply (his cock twitched against you). He had to take another deep breath before he could speak. “Okay,” he said, dragging his hand down his face, “Yeah, I’m in love with you, you maniac. We should have sex before we both just—explode from talking to each other. That sound okay? Cool. Thank you.” He shifted his weight to drag his finger under the strap of your bra, stopping just before he reached the cup. “Bra on or off? You look wonderful in it, of course; I didn’t think your boobs could get any prettier. But if the wire’s cutting into…”

Taking too long. You twisted to unhook the bra yourself, and you threw it somewhere. Since you knew he’d take his time about the underwear, you yanked them off, too, laughing through your nose at their weight from how wet they were. “They’re lovely, Izuku. Notice how I’m not letting you rip them, because I want to wear them again.”

“Appreciated,” said Izuku, staring down at your boobs, fingers grazing the delicate skin. “Do you think you could come just from my sucking your tits?”

“Stop stalling,” you said, fighting the urge to whack him with a pillow, “You can have me any way you want, as long as you want, for the rest of our lives. Get on with it.”

“Right,” said Izuku, snapping the waistband of his briefs to break his gaze away from your chest, and he leant down to kiss you again, licking over your bottom lip, tilting your head to the right, and waiting for you to open your mouth for him. When you did, the hand resting on your thigh dragged upwards to your labia, still dripping and swollen from the lace rubbing against it all night, thumbing between them to part you, thumb sliding up to your clit and two fingers slipping inside you, prompting a full-bodied shudder at the first graze to your g-spot.

Izuku breathed a fuck against your lips, and as he pulled away, you caught the fading scent of his cologne, sweet apple and cedar mixed with the beading sweat. “You have such a tiny cunt. I—hm,” he said, watching the way his fingers pumped in and out of you, and he pulled his other hand away from toying with your clit to tap his fingers, one by one, in your pubic hair. “Baby, I need you to answer me honestly. How many orgasms do you think you can handle tonight?”

Is this a test? “As…many as you’ll let me have?”

“No, I need a real number. I may legitimately be too big for you, and the more relaxed I can get you, the farther I can sink inside. To your benefit, you’re already very wet, but you’re still pretty tense in here,” he said, fingers curling against your g-spot, making you spasm a bit; he held you down at your hip.

Since you’ve been fucking edged all night, your greedy little mind didn’t supply a number, but you also knew that once you got that first orgasm, you’d probably chicken out quickly. “Probab—probably two.” You grasped his forearm, halting his fingers. “I want at least one of them around your cock.”

Izuku nodded, and he kissed the back of your hand before placing it on his chest (he flinched when your nail grazed his nipple). “Two. All right, then,” he said, pushing his fingers in you while grinding on your clit with the heel of his palm, but he’d hardly bent to wrap his lips around your nipple before you were gushing around his fingers, clamping your hand over your mouth to stifle any noise.

Izuku pulled away from your tit, brow furrowed as he extracted his fingers, strings of arousal connecting them. “Wha—that was—that was too easy.” Izuku crawled over you, searching for anything the matter in your expression. “I know I’m okay, but I’m not that good—”

“I don’t know either,” you said through a breathy sigh, eyelids heavy, “Guess I needed your permission. Guess I need you to fill me that badly.”

A line of white-green lightning sparked from his arousal-coated fingertips and scorched all the way up his arms, fizzling out in a hiss at his bicep. Adam’s apple bobbing, Izuku pushed himself off the bed. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” he said, stepping towards the bathroom, and he turned back, jabbing a finger in your direction. “Stay—stay horny, in the meantime.” He closed the bathroom door behind him.

A full minute passed.

He poked his head out of the bathroom. “Yes condom? No condom?”

You’re on another type of birth control, too, but let’s make him more flustered. “Why not forgo the condom? After all, it’s our wedding night.”

Eyes bulging, Izuku hurked and shut the door again.

When he came out, he had fresh determination in his eyes and water along his hairline. “Hey! Hello,” he said, returning to the bed, “Sorry about that. Thought I was gonna come in my underwear. Had to splash water on my face to calm down.”

“It’s fine. It’s cute. You know, usually I’d say that this kind of behaviour is strange and off-putting, but since it’s you, I’m drenched. Congratulations. You do—”

“Stop that,” said Izuku, kissing your forehead. His thumb hitched under the elastic of his briefs, and he sighed. “In all seriousness, we may have to restrict tonight to just the tip.”

“Yeah? And what if we restrict our breathing to once every five minutes?”

“You’re ridiculous,” muttered Izuku, and he yanked down his underwear, and you saw fucking red while he readied himself, grabbing lube from his nightstand and moving to kneel between your legs, because why hadn’t you really looked at his cock when he was naked and flirtatious at the waterfall? No way would it have not been burned into your brain, been the only thing you fantasised about for months, because who is this man, and who gave him permission to have that kind of cock, annoyingly, infuriatingly pretty (how loathsome), twin veins twisting around the thick shaft that were even vaguely green like his quirk, crooking upward, sporadically dotted with freckles (which, in conjunction with the freckles on his ass, brings into question how often this man must sunbathe naked), and fucking aching for you, pink head smeared with precum, but, most importantly, way too fucking big why is it coming up that high on your stomach when he rests it atop your mons pubis he is going to break you in half.

“Cool,” you said, normally, like a normal person, “I don’t need to see that.” You nodded towards how much of your lower abdomen his cock was lying across, and you grabbed his hips (thumbs pressing against his hipbones, that slut) to manhandle him away from you, and Izuku looked very pleased to let you.

“You’re gonna be fine.” Izuku guided his cock down your slit and nudged the head between your labia near your entrance. “Take a deep breath, okay?” he asked, leaning his forehead against yours and taking your hand in his. His cockhead spread you, stretching you in a sort of stinging pleasure, and he stifled a groan that vibrated through his chest.

Heat coiling inside you, you rolled your hips, but Izuku was quick to stop you, splaying a hand across your stomach. He cleared his throat. “Just wait. I’ll give it to you in a minute. You’ll be all right.”

But you couldn’t take it; you went about it more subtly this time, rocking your hips ever so slightly, working them back and forth (and if he actually wanted to stop you, he had the means), and even though it’s just his tip, your insides were boiling, clenching and fluttering around him; you’re really, truly, quite too small for him, but another gush of arousal allows another inch to slide in, and Izuku’s eyes snapped open.

“Doesn’t hurt,” you said, before he could ask, and you brought his lips to yours while you curled your fingers into the hair at the base of his neck, tilting your hips to encourage him to push just a little more, but as Izuku found a shallow rhythm, working more of his cock inside you bit by bit, you found your eyes watering—not hurting, no, but overwhelmed, realising that yes, this was Izuku; this was the rest of your life, and how lovely it will be to spend the rest of your life feeling so full. You were his, and he was yours. This is how it’s always been. From everyone’s soulmate, to simply Izuku’s soulmate. And from there, the beginning of a life unfolded.

He's thrusting hastily, shallowly, and he’s closed his eyes again, grinning with every thrust, because he can hear how sticky and wet it was as you opened up underneath him. He rolled his hips, groaning and hunching in on himself, and he squeezed one of your boobs, rolling your nipple under his thumb, bringing the buzz in your head to a clamour.

But both of you froze when his hips met your ass: he’s fully seated inside, pressing against a spot that’s making you dizzy.

“Fucking hell,” Izuku said under his breath, “You have all of me.” Running his tongue over his lower lip, he grinded into you, eliciting a choked gasp as you clutched as his back, and his hands were on you again, and everywhere he touched was singing.

Izuku’s rambling against your skin, but you’re so close that you can barely make out what he’s saying. “I’m so glad we found each other. I’m so glad it’s you. I’ve—I’ve loved you for so long, y’know? But I was shy back then, and so I studied and improved myself and became confident for you, to become to kind of man you could always feel safe around. The kind you could always come home to. When Uraraka found Toga, I dared to hope. Dreamed about it, about you, until the dreams shifted into waking up in the northern lands, frigid, waist-deep in snow, and dealing with dragons. And we found each other again. Got to be around you in my dreams when it felt like every waking force deliberately kept me from you. And then you hated being bound by fate, when I cried that first night with relief, and I bore the pain of rejection because it meant you were thinking of me in any way at all.” He pressed a wet kiss to your jaw. “I’m so glad we’re here. I’m so glad I love you. I’m so glad I’m supposed to love you. I want to spend the rest of my life learning about you, angel. So, please,” he said, rolling your clit between this thumb and index finger, “like I asked earlier tonight: mark me. Leave some sort of evidence on my that I’m yours. The rings, yes, always the rings, but I’ll always look at your ring and think about that bite mark, so please, mark me in some way, and I’ll wear it for the rest of my life like a fucking collar. Please—”

You’ve been holding off your orgasm to listen, but, unable to bear it, you let it wash through you, clenching your teeth, twitching and gushing around him with your heartbeat pulsing in your ears and, for some reason, the roof of your mouth. You wrapped your legs around him, drawing him in deeper in a motion that made him gasp.

“Oh, very funny,” Izuku sputtered, “You’re hilarious—” He managed to get in one more, jittery roll of his hips before he was coming, releasing the breathiest, most pathetic whines you’ve ever heard, and it only made you want him more.

But as both of you were coming down, the bedroom exploded in a cloud of shining, pink specks.

Neither you nor Izuku spoke, both trying to catch your breaths. Izuku grunted as he pushed himself upright, straining his muscles to support his weight, watching the glitter fall to the blankets and fade upon impact.

“The hell is this? The hell,” you winced, hissing as he pulled out of you, cum dribbling out (for a second, a filmy string of cum linked the two of you, but it broke when he sat back), “is it?” You tried to snatch a pink speck, as one snatches dust from the air, but you couldn’t grab hold. “Is this some One for All aspect I don’t know about?”

“No, I—” Izuku placed a hand on his chest, as if he could control how steadily it rose and fell in the process of regulating his breathing, “—it’s pink. Must be Ito’s quirk. Oh, gosh,” he said, frowning, moving to kneel (and inadvertently displaying his softening cock, glossy with cum), “I hope it all fades; I wouldn’t want Dango to get sick if she eats any. Pivoting—eating reminded me—dream Todoroki, mage Todoroki, said he thinks he can finally get the frappe consistency when we try tonight. He’s been practising with coconut milk and has achieve something close to a slush.”

Teeming with affection, you reached for Izuku, pushing a curl behind his ear. “It really is one thrill after another with you, isn’t it?”

Izuku snorted, covering his mouth in surprise that he could even make that noise, and he smiled with his eyes back at you, eyelashes dark against his cheeks. “We should clean up,” he said, dropping his hand, “Shower together?” He patted your thigh as he slid off the bed.

“Oof, ouch, my bones. My bone marrow,” you said flatly, holding the back of your hand to your forehead (eyes on his broad shoulders as he stretched, on the dip between his shoulder blades, the indent of his spine above the swell of his pretty, freckled ass—no, stop), “I can’t move.”

“I’ll get a washcloth,” said Izuku, and he started towards the bathroom. As he turned, you caught the beginning of a small, boyish smile meant just for himself—looking very much like sunlight.

Apt. You planned on basking in his warmth forever.

(Just being next to Izuku lit up your world in a colour you’ve never known. His love brought changes, changed you, in such tiny, indiscernible ways that you couldn’t notice until the light shined back on them.)

You were trying to make some sort of photosynthesis joke about it, but the pieces weren’t coming together. You shook yourself out of your thoughts to register Izuku, standing in the bathroom door, staring back at you, head tilted, eyes somewhat glazed over.

You cleared your throat, sitting up in bed. “Izuku? Is something wrong?”

Startled, Izuku snapped out of it. “Oh! No, I’m fine. Sorry about that,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “I was just so taken with you. You’re lovely. So lovely.”

He shot you a small wave, and as he disappeared into the bathroom, it occurred to you that he may just look at you in the same way you look at him.

You heard his burst of laughter echo against the tile. “In regard to your aching bone marrow,” called Izuku, smile so evident in his voice, “does that mean you’re not up for a second round?”

Rolling your eyes, you collapsed back in the bed, snuggling into Izuku’s pillow, excited for when he comes back outside so that you can spend more time together. “Yeah,” you said, heart so full it may burst, “In your dreams, jackass.”

soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou, @pachiibatt, @celestair, @tiredkittykat, @cheshireshiya, @90s-belladonna, @infjsnightmare @eunchaeluvr

[thesapphictimelady]

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Word Count: 2.6K

TW: Implied previous domestic abuse, references to alcohol

A/N: Been working on this for like 2 months lol. Not proofread at all, but I had fun with it. Comments are appreciated :) Hope you enjoy!

“Hi, I’m looking for principal Coleman?”

The red head leaning against the desk turned, “Yeah, she’s not here today.”

“That can’t be right. I’m supposed to be meeting with her today. It is Thursday, right? I know my head isn’t always screwed on right but I was sure it’s Thursday.”

“Yeah, it is. Wait, are you the one with the dumb name?”

“E-excuse me?”

The red head tossed her hair, “Ava told me there was someone coming in with a stupid name and I should welcome her and “show her the ropes” and that she’d be helping in my classroom.”

“My name’s Cassiopeia,” she said, shuffling her things around to shake the older woman’s hand.

The older woman scoffed, ignoring her hand, “The hell kind of name is that? Nah, I’m calling you Cassie. And that’s how you should introduce yourself. The kids’ll end up calling you Pee or something. Come on, I’ll take you to the break room.”

“I don’t think I caught your name,” Cassie said, trying to keep up with her long strides.

“Yeah, that’s cause I didn’t give it to ya,” she swung open the door to the break room, “I found fresh meat looking for Ava,”

“Melissa Ann Schemmenti, you know we don’t speak about our colleagues like that!”

Melissa shrugged and took a seat next to the other teacher, “Sorry Barb, just callin’ it like I see it,”

Barb swatted Melissa’s arm and turned to face Cassiopeia, “It’s nice to meet you dear, I’m Barbara Howard, I teach Kindergarten”

“My name’s Cassiopeia. It’s nice to meet you.”

Melissa groaned and pointed at the young woman, “Didn’t I say to introduce yourself as Cassie? I wasn’t kiddin’.”

“Jacob Hill!” another teacher blurted from by the fridge, “I’m Jacob Hill. I teach history. I like your name. Cassiopeia, She was the queen of Ethiopia according to Greek Mythology. Her daughter Andromeda was saved from a sea monster by the hero Perseus. Did you know-”

“Jacob that’s enough,” Barbara said, gesturing towards a chair for Cassiopeia, “I’m sure she knows the history of her own name.”

Cassie sat and smiled gratefully at Barbara before she reached into her bag to retrieve her notebook and a pair of earbuds, deciding it was best to just sit quietly until the kids arrived.

“Pineapple absolutely goes on pizza,” Jacob said, picking up the conversation they had been having before her arrival.

“Not this again,” Melissa groaned, “It does not go on pizza!”

“It does! It’s been put on pizza since 1962! Contrary to the term that’s frequently used, it actually isn’t from Hawaii though. It was created in Ontario, Canada. The man who made it was actually Greek and-“

“Hey, new kid,” Melissa interrupted, “What kind of pizza do you like”

“I actually haven’t had pizza in a long time,” Cassie said, pulling her earbuds out.

“Oh don’t tell me you don’t like pizza!”

“No, I do! My…my ex used to make homemade pizza for date night. She was not a good person. Which is why I’m here. Miles away from anyone I know.” Cassie shifted and tugged at her sleeves, making sure the yellowing bruises from the night she had left were still covered.

The room stayed quiet for a few minutes before Barbara finally said, “Well now you know us!”

“Yeah,” Melissa said, her emerald eyes trained on Cassie, “You know us. And based on what Ava told me, you’re in my room for now,” she glanced down at her watch, “So grab a cup of coffee and let’s head over there now so ya know where stuff is. We’ll see youse at lunch.”

Melissa patted Barbs hand as she stood and grabbed her coffee mug, holding the door open for Cassie.

“Good luck, Cassiopeia!” Jacob called

Cassie waved at the other teachers, hastily gathering her things and following the redhead out the door.

“So you don’t got anybody out here?” Melissa asked as she flipped the classroom light on.

“No ma’am. I don’t know anyone here.”

“Why Philly? I mean, other than the obvious.”

Cassiopeia laughed softly, setting her things down on a desk, “I saw a job posting for Abbott and just…packed up my life and came here. I needed a change.”

Melissa nodded slowly, setting her mug down and looking the new teacher up and down, “Well listen kid, we got recess duty this week. I don’t know where you’re from but it gets hot. You might wanna reevaluate that grandma sweater.”

Cassie flushed and tugged the sleeves down over her hands, “Thanks but I’ll be fine.”

Melissa hummed thoughtfully before shrugging, “Suit yourself. You can put your stuff back here. How do you feel about science?”

The morning went smoothly and before she knew it, she and Melissa were standing outside watching the kids recess. The older woman had abandoned her leather jacket in her classroom and tied her hair up in a ponytail.

“Aren’t you hot?” Melissa asked, fanning herself with one hand.

“I’m fine,” Cassiopeia lied, pulling her hair off her neck in an effort to cool down.

“At least let me cuff your sleeves!” Melissa said, reaching for Cassie.

“No! No, I’m fine.”

“Kid, it’s a million degrees and you’re wearing a Mr. Rogers sweater!”

“I’m fine,” Cassie insisted.

Melissa sighed, before turning back to the kids “5 more minutes my little eagles! Ms. Schemmenti is too hot so we’re going to go inside.”

“Yes Ms. Schemmenti!” the kids called back to her.

“They really like you,” Cassie said.

“Yeah, well, the older ones had me when they were in second grade so they know the drill. We’ll take them to the gym and then head to the break room for lunch. By the way, you can eat the school lunch, but I do NOT recommend doing that.”

Cassiopeia laughed, “Thanks for the heads up, but I don’t usually eat lunch”

“Whadya mean you don’t eat lunch. You gotta eat”

“I eat breakfast and dinner! I’m just never hungry at lunch”

Melissa shook her head, “You can have something from my lunch”

Cassie opened her mouth to argue but the redhead was quick to cut her off, “It’s not up for debate kid. Alright my little eagles it’s time to line up!”

All the kids came running over to the door, lining up single file to follow Melissa inside and to the gym. Cassie stayed at the back of the line, closing the door behind them. Once the kids were inside the gym with the other recess duty teachers, Melissa dragged Cassie to the break room.

“Cassiopeia! You’re still here!” Jacob cheered.

“Where else would I be?” Cassie laughed.

“Melissa has a habit of running people off,” Mrs. Howard said, smiling fondly at the redhead who had sat down next to her.

“I do not!” Melissa said, pulling food out of her lunchbox, “Only the incompetent ones. New kid is smart.”

Cassie flushed and went to go perch on one of the windowsills but Melissa stopped her.

“Where do you think you’re goin? I told you it’s not up for debate.”

“Ms. Schemmenti, really, I’m fine!”

“Sit.” Melissa said sternly, grabbing a paper plate from the cabinet and putting some ziti on it.

“I wouldn’t try to argue dear,” Mrs. Howard warned when Cassie opened her mouth, “It’s better to just do what she tells you.”

Cassiopeia sighed and sat in the seat the older woman had indicated, taking the plate of ziti, “Thank you, Ms. Schemmenti.”

“Don’ worry about it kid.”

“So, Cassiopeia,” Barbara said, “How was your morning? Was Melissa nice to you?”

“Ms. Schemmenti was very kind to me. And the kids are wonderful! I don’t know how she manages to have such a well behaved class when she’s juggling two different grades!”

“The kids know better than to mess with me,” the redhead said, glancing up from her phone.

Cassie smiled and took a bite of the ziti, “Holy shit this is amazing!”

“It’s my nana’s recipe,” Melissa said, “She used to…” She trailed off, brow furrowed, “Did youse hear that?”

The room went silent as all the teachers listened to a timid knock at the door. Melissa jumped up to open the door. One of the older girls was standing on the other side, sniffling.

“What’s wrong hon?” Melissa asked her, bending down slightly so she could whisper in the redheads ear, “Gotcha. Let’s go to my classroom, okay? Hey, new kid, I might need you and your huge bag. Follow us.”

Cassiopeia grabbed her purse and was quick to catch up with them.

“What’s going on?” she asked once inside the classroom.

The younger girl looked nervously at Melissa.

“It’s okay hon, Miss Cassie is gonna be more help than me. She started her period. Nurse isn’t here and I don’t need the products anymore. Got anything in that bag of yours?”

“Oh! Oh of course, give me a second,” Cassie dug through her purse, producing pads and a small heating pack, “Do you need anything else? Tylenol?”

“I need new pants,” the student whispered.

“I’m afraid that’s the one thing I don’t carry with me,” Cassie said apologetically, “Is there somewhere we can get those?”

Melissa sighed, “Yeah, Ava’s office. But she has that place booby trapped since the last time I- actually I think that’s not important right now.” Melissa said, throwing a look towards the cameraman right outside the door who quickly ducked out of sight.

“That’s okay,” Cassie said, “What’s your name sweetheart?”

“Kya,”

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do Kya. We’re gonna tie my sweater around your waist to hide the stain and then Ms. Schemmenti is gonna give your mom a call to bring you some new pants, okay?”

“Okay,” Kya whispered.

“We can use Barb’s bathroom,” Melissa said, “She won’t mind.”

Cassie nodded and unbuttoned her sweater, folding it and gently tying it around Kya’s waist, “There. Now go with Ms. Schemmenti and she’ll get you taken care of.”

Kya took the pads out of her hand and followed Melissa out of the room. Cassie busied herself putting things back into her bag, completely missing the look the other teacher had given her. A breeze came through the open window and she shivered, rubbing at her arms before she froze.

“Fuck,” she whispered, “Please tell me I have a back up sweater somewhere in my bag!”

Cassie turned her bag over on the desk, searching the contents for something, anything she could use to keep the bruises on her arms covered.

“So, new kid,”

Cassie jumped, whirling around to see Melissa leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.

“Hi, Ms. Schemmenti! I-I didn’t hear you coming!” Cassie quickly tucked her arms behind her.

“Uh huh.” Melissa said, walking into the classroom, “Thanks for your help with Kya. You sure were protective of that sweater all morning but you didn’t hesitate to give it to her.”

“I remember middle school. She didn’t need anyone teasing her for the stain”

Melissa nodded thoughtfully, “Whatcha got behind your back?”

“Nothing!”

“So if I walked behind you, there wouldn’t be anything to see?”

“No, there’s nothing back there!”

“And there’s nothing, say, on your wrists?”

“No ma’am.”

“Well then I’m sure you have no issue going back to the break room with me.”

“Actually I think I’ll stay here and…start grading the science tests!”

The redhead frowned and shook her head, “What’re you hiding kid. Just show me. You’ve been hiding something all day.”

Cassiopeia swallowed the lump in her throat and brought her arms back to the front, looking anywhere but Melissa’s face.

“Kid,” the older teacher whispered.

“I don’t want your pity. That’s why I kept them covered. I’m completely fine.”

“Hon…”

Cassie looked up in surprise at the gentleness of the teachers words. Melissa’s emerald eyes were soft and she gently took Cassie’s arm in her hand.

“Hon, this isn’t nothing,”

“I don’t want anyone’s pity, Ms. Schemmenti. I’m going to go home. I don’t have a back up sweater and it’s bad enough that you’ve seen them.”

“What-?”

“What happened?” Cassie cut her off, not wanting to hear her ask, “My ex. I told you this morning she wasn’t a good person. She wasn’t too pleased with the news that I wanted to break up. Now please, let go,”

Melissa let go of Cassie’s arms, backing up so the teacher had space to grab her things, too stunned to stop her as she quickly left the classroom.

When Cassiopeia got home, she threw everything onto the couch before going to the small kitchen to retrieve a bottle of wine and a plastic cup. This was supposed to be a new beginning and already she had someone pitying her.

“I knew I should’ve pushed off my start date,” she muttered to the small apartment as she filled her cup and collapsed on the couch. It didn’t take long after draining the bottle that she fell into a fitful sleep, using her bag as a pillow

It was her phone ringing that woke her. She glanced at the screen and was immediately filled with dread when she saw the “Unknown number” on the caller ID. Hesitantly she accepted the call, sitting in silence while she waited for the caller to speak.

“Hello? New kid? You there?”

“Ms. Schemmenti? How did you get my phone number?”

“I know a guy. Listen, what do you like on your pizza?”

“What? Ms. Schemmenti it’s…it’s 3 in the morning! Why are you calling?”

The line was quiet for a moment before the redhead sighed, “Listen, I’m real sorry for pushin’ you today. I shouldn’t have made you tell me what the bruises were from. Let me make you a pizza to make up for it.”

Cassiopeia laughed softly, “This is a dream. A weird, alcohol induced dream.”

“No it’s not. Kid you can either tell me or I’ll show up with something random.”

“Show up? Are you driving right now?”

“Yeah, I had a late night. Are you decent? I’m almost at your place.”

“How do you know where I live??”

“Again, I know a guy. Are ya decent?”

“Yeah, I-I’m decent. Should I unlock the door or do you know a guy for that too?”

“Ha ha very funny kid.”

The call dropped, leaving Cassie alone in the dark again. She jumped up and started throwing things into the small closet, trying to make the tiny space look halfway decent, before giving up and instead throwing on an oversized sweater and unlocking the door.

Melissa had her arms completely full of grocery bags when she got to the door.

“Ms. Schemmenti what-”

Melissa pushed past her into the apartment, “I told ya, I had a long night. Where can I put this?”

Cassiopeia led her to the tiny kitchen, still not quite sure if she was awake or not. Melissa dropped her bags on the narrow counter and started pulling things out.

“Okay, what is going on? You don’t need to do all this, you apologized on the phone.”

“Trust me kid, that wasn’t enough. And your secret is safe with me. I told the others you were sick and I sent you home.”

“School starts in 4 hours.”

“Actually, the kids are off tomorrow so no one will care that you’re hungover and I haven’t slept. Trust me, Ava will be hungover as hell.”

Cassie sat down on one of the wobbly stools, “So you’re making me a pizza…as an apology?”

Melissa finally glanced over her shoulder at the younger woman, “Yeah, you got a problem with that?”

“No…I don’t think so.” Cassie put her head in her hands, “I think I’m too hungover for this,”

Melissa laughed and tossed her a bottle of aspirin, “Picked this up at the store. You probably need it more than I do”

Cassie took it gratefully, “Thank you, Ms. Schemmenti.”

“You’re welcome kid. Go lay down. I’ll take care of this and I’ll wake you when it’s time to head to school.”

[sideysvault]

𓍼ོ Ad Astra Per Aspera 𓍼ོ (PT. 7)

Ice and snow

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (Bonus Chapter, dated in the near vicinity of the series events)

WC: 4,310k

Tags: [sfw] Arranged marriage, slow burn, angst, mentions of dead, mature themes, panic attack, enemies to lovers, extreme hurt, comfort.

full series masterlist.

────────

No matter the circumstance, the wins, or the land conquered, they never seemed to be able to leave. Perpetually stuck inside the corner in which the blacks had forced them to hide in. The Princess spent her days studying, reading, desperately grasping for any piece of information that might help lose the collar on their necks. She tried hard to ignore the desperation that was boiling inside of her; Animals always make mistakes when they are scared. But it had become harder and harder to ignore, and it became harder and harder to stay on the sidelines, pretending it did not matter to her.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had come out of his peaceful hiding place and began to fly to every corner in the entirety of the west, trying to convince disfavored houses to join his suicide cause. Most of the men in power still had some resemblance of honor and an almost instinctive respect for the traditions of the old Valyria. In her opinion, that was one of the biggest threats to the legitimacy of King Aegon's rule. After all, haven’t they all bent the knee to a young Rhaynera Targaryen? Wasn’t her father, still mighty and publically present, right there to conduct the affair? And wasn’t Aegon proclaimed king in the privacy of the chamber of a dying man? A weak man? One poisoned and made compliant by milk of the poppy? Aegon´s behavior and the people's hunger were not exactly helping their cause, either. Something had to change drastically, as even she felt the desire to see someone else sit on The Iron Throne.

But what was one to do? Her husband was bent upon the Green’s right to rule, partially because of the wound that was inflicted upon him at youth, and partly because he was still convinced that Aegon could be conducted in the right direction. And the skilled sailor who was to tame the uncontrollable waves that Aegon had for judgement? Prince Aemond’s brilliant mind, of course.

A childish fantasy, yes. But she had become quite fond of her husband, and she deeply desired to help Heleana’s family.

What occupied the Princess’s mind was a rather simple task; To predict where the bastard Prince was going next.

She had begged her husband to give her details of whatever relevant information he heard on the Council, arguing that she was getting particularly bored and unstimulated with domestic life. When he had unexpectedly agreed, she, for a moment, had dreamed of a future in which she could serve the Kingdom as an adviser of sorts, perhaps even one with the common folk's well-being in mind. Such were the thoughts that powered her body through the nights of research. The Princess had spent every waking hour trying to trace the path the enemy was to take. She wanted to be absolutely certain before telling Aemond about her discovery.

What she did not know was that Prince Aemond knew of his wife's critically inclined mind, and he had always felt a strong desire for them to become partners, sharing information with one another, and assisting each other intellectually. But, knowing The Princess's need for control and secrecy, he figured she would much prefer it if he waited for her to confess to him her intentions.

That is why she did not expect that her husband would insist that she came along with him. Surprised, she realized that he wanted her company on this trip.

“Oh! Don’t be ridiculous, Aemond. I do not enjoy snow, it is at odds with my nature. You don’t need me to chaperone you”.

Her husband waved her hand dismissively, apparently unconcerned with her weather preferences.

“You crafted the prediction, it is only fair you get to travel alongside me on this diplomatic effort”. He stopped for a second, before cheekily adding “Besides, I thought you had grown bored by the domesticity of the castle”.

Aemond was right, and despite her discomfort with the scenery, being so close to the efforts of peace -or at the very least, resolution-Was what her heart desired. But the Princess knew that her ego would not be able to take the blow if she was to accompany him as a mere visual attraction.

“I do not wish to serve wine and smile to the northerners”

Prince Aemond laughed at her as if she had said something amusingly stupid. Dumbfounded, she slowly blinked at him, confused.

“Dear wife, I would not be taking you as a prop. I value your tact, I thought I had made that clear to you”

Even if she despised flattery, she still had a growing sensation that he was being truthful. So there it was. It had been decided.

——

The man in front of her looked like the northerner he was. It went beyond the provincial way in which he carried himself. While Ser Cregan Stark's youth of his time in this realm still adorned his round face, his recently developed manhood was made evident by the undoubtedly brash air to his presence. Even if he was similar in age to her, he portrayed a certain confidence in his gaze that she immediately felt both drawn to, and jealous of. The Princess had heard stories, of course. Boys in the North aged like metal: Tempered and shaped by the bludgeoning hammer of the winter; Forced to be strong, animalistic.

A smile formed on her lips. In a sense, they were much like the wolves they so dearly kept by their side. Loyal like lap dogs, partially astute, superstitious and dangerous when provoked.

How was it? That old saying? There is no King but the one in the North?

“Does it amuse you?” He was getting irritated at her, but more than feeling personally offended by the Princess’s incredulity, the man felt an exasperating disillusionment: she wasn’t as easily swayed as he had thought. She had a hard head on her shoulders, just like her unyielding husband.

“I am deeply sorry, My Lord” the breath of her laughter still echoed in her voice as she continued, “You meant for me to tell my husband, who is pragmatic to the extreme, a tail of monsters and snow?”

As she smiled at him, amused, her mind brought her to think of the Prince himself, who had a beautifully angular face, but his characteristics gave away his birthright. Targaryen features; Delicate, elegant, sincerely blue and with the character of an elusive dragon flying gracefully through the skies. There was power in their lineage, yes. But it had been given. A gift from the gods, or, more feasible than the later, a stroke of luck. However, since the Jaehaerys tragedy, she was now inclined to believe that the technicality escaped her area of expertise.

The Northern Prince, however, had common features. Handsome, strong, rough, and all different from the one before him in the familial tree. A look much more suited for a republican, a man that was given power by his own merit and capability. It was a trustworthy look, and even if she knew better than to judge people on their presentation alone, it was easy to see why the North people followed the Stark line, and why everyone always flinched around the Targaryen's homogeneity.

She felt kin to Cregan Stark, and she was certain of the North’s key role in putting an end to the war, so she felt inclined to go through the trouble of trying to put sensible thoughts on her stubborn husband’s head. Besides, it had been her idea to come this far, she owed it to the both of them.

“It is imperative for you to try to speak some sense to your husband. We are people of honor, and we bent the knee to Rhaenyra Targaryen. But it is certainly true that protecting our people is our primary duty and responsibility. Above all else. Do you honestly believe that my ancestors spent blood, sweat, and centuries building The Wall because of a troublesome tale?”

The Princess sighed and decided that the best path forward was to be honest with him.

“Since I came into the region I have experienced things that have changed the way I see reality. But this-, well, with all the respect your House deserves, Lord Cregan-” The look on his face made her choose her words with caution “A lot has changed since the era where we were afraid of fire and thirsty for blood. However, I-”

“I have heard stories of your people being pedantically elitist. But I’ve never thought it would be in a more insidious manner than the Targaryen's”.

She winced in embarrassment, reprimanding herself with murmured words. Her harsh manners were getting the best of her. She could not even refute the comment that she knew to be true. “I was trying to say that I agree with you, Ser Cregan”.

A look of surprise washed over her as the unthinkable happened; He laughed. Loudly and unapologetically. The sound of his strong palm hitting on the wooden table and his laughter continued had startled you. But the absurdity of his unceremoniously joviality made you laugh as well. She was grateful for the opportunity to get out of the oppressive tightness of the walls on the Red Keep.

A sudden change in the Wind caught The Princess's attention. She had been wrong about the North, despite the numbing sensation on the tip of her fingers, the snow had captured her heart and made it malleable, filled with hospitality and reverence for the beauty of the Natural World. It was very different from where she had come from, that was perhaps the culprit of her distraction. The sound of the wind against the window and the contrast of the castle against the pristine confines of the land had taken her far away from the room she was in. Far away from the horrors of war.

Realizing she might be being rude yet again, she tried to explain herself to Lord Stark.

“I bet there is nothing that burns like the cold of Winterfell, but, God. It is a marvel to experience”.

“You don't go out often. Do you, My Lady?”.

A burst of laughter emerged out of her, and her teeth and gums were happily exposed for a second, before she covered her face with her hands, embarrassed one again. But suddenly unconcerned with her manners, at ease.

“Is it terribly obvious?”

Ser Cregan looked at her for a moment, before smiling.

“Yes, very much so”.

They smiled at each other. The Princess thought of what her life might have been had she been forced to spend it with a person who could be a friend to her. For a moment, just for a moment, their eyes lingered on each other. It was cut short by a sudden remembrance of the state of affairs. They were both in that room for a reason. It was like a curtain was abruptly raised on a stage, and they were back to the insipid negotiations, however honest they may have been.

“I made a great error once, and it cost someone’s future. I do not wish for my pride to blind me ever again. I will speak with my husband, Ser. But I doubt it will make any difference”.

Cregan Stark knew at that moment that she was making a vow to him, that she sincerely wished for the war to stop, to move forward.

“I did not take Prince Aemond to be a man willing to ask for loyalty, much less to be as diplomatic as he has poorly tried to be. I can clearly infer that it was by your design, Princess.”

She did not answer to him, unsure of how safe it would be for it to be known that she sometimes had a voice in her marriage.

“He listens to you”. He uttered those words as if they were gospel, something obvious to the most ignorant of onlookers. Lord Cregan took a breath as he looked into her eyes, one again “I do appreciate your efforts, even if they turn out to be futile.”

——

The Princess did not take into account that her husband was in the room next to her, and that he might have heard their laughter. The shred of hope she had felt while talking to Ser Cregan was violently taken away by The Prince.

He was being unreasonably stubborn, and she had felt disappointed, for she was not property, and did not believe her husband to think of her that way.

“Please, Aemond”.

“I did not take you for a fool, wife. Did he charm his way into your heart with his stories of honor from the Old World?”.

She felt an exasperating fix of rage. The Princess had spent endless nights without sleep, reading interminable, useless files, papers, books, maps, trying to work hard to alleviate the weight of her husband's sins and pressures, and it was all ruined by a misplaced fit of jealousy? Did Aemond not realize all the work she had put into this prognosis? How much she had hoped it would be able to help him? In some way, any way, really? Was he lying about valuing her insight, did he consider her as just a prop and a hand to hold when he was sorrowful?.

The intoxication of patriotic feelings and lineage royalties had always been something alien to her. But she did profoundly believe in one's duty to struggle against the forces that threaten to hurt your family. The Greens had given her a home, and Aemond had been an agreeable husband, and Gods, they killed sweet Heleana´s babe. Furthermore, if she could do something to alleviate the people's hunger, and to shorten the sorrow of war, was it not her duty?. Faith had given her a husband who she thought saw her as an equal. And, despite her best efforts, sometimes, late at night, her husband's teary eyes whispered tales of affection to her, and his hands, always blessed with decisiveness, kept her mind strong and far away from the dreaded terrors of the past.

Prince Aemond, on the other hand, realized the moment he heard his wife's laughter, that he had never made her happy like so; That in their marriage, the strange moments of tenderness and mutual support had only come from sadness or despair. Never, never from a place of innocent happiness or joviality. For even his cardinal sin had been a way to protect her. The whispers of court were not foreign to him, and he had heard the pitiful remarks made to the Princess when the news of their betrothal were made public. How could he call himself better than his brother, if he were to force upon his newly-wed wife the same pain that was inflicted upon him in infancy? How could he truly know if her advances were sincere, or if it was due to a resigned fearfulness? And even if they were, how could he, inept as he was on those matters, fulfill the expectations of a Targaryen Prince?. He had not lied to his wife. In these troubling times, especially with his Uncle, it was dangerous to so recklessly conceive a child. He had, after all, been mutilated in infancy, in the very walls of his home, and war had not been unleashed just yet. What type of father could he be, if he were to expose his child to a similar, or worse, fate than him?.

He did not expect for their laughter to hurt as much as it did. Aemond knew that it was most likely due to his own inadequacies. What other reason could there be, for his wife to laugh and be happily sweet with every person she encounters? Everyone but him?. Was the mistake made on that night she wanted to consummate the marriage, utterly unforgivable? Had he not made it clear that he values her beyond the marital arrangement? Or was it something inside of him, something rotten, poisoned, that repelled her? Is that what made his wife treat him with the usual defensiveness? Was she scared of him, as everyone else seemed to be?. Or had he embarrassed her beyond any reparations, when his brother had told the entirety of the Red Keep about his submissiveness to Sylvie? Perhaps, there would have been a time when none of it would matter much to him. But he found her fascinating, and on occasion, sincerely kind. He had grown painfully fond of her.

His thoughts were promptly interrupted by his wife's pleading “There may be some truth to what he is saying”

Aemond sighed, and grabbed the bridge of his nose. This conceit mannerism further exasperated The Princess. It reminded her of her parents, dismissing her yet again.

“I can’t promise him my-, our family's army. And if he is so concerned with honor, what guarantees us that he won’t later support the usurper?”.

“He is desperate enough to forsake the honor of his clan. I believe that he is profoundly concerned with the white walkers. It is inconsequential, whether we believe it or not. What matters is that he believes them to be a pressing threat to the kingdom”.

Aemond was convinced by the North's importance in the War, and he could not help but smile at his wife's vehement trust in his political influence. A mere misconception, he feared.

“I would never be able to convince Aegon, or the council. The Northern's are prideful superstitious people; malleable, a liability”.

“A liability is losing territory and alliances every day” She took a deep breath as she paced around the room, “Aemond, I’m not a believer, but how can you explain Heleana’s gift?”

“That’s different. Peculiarities of pure Targaryen blood. Unlike the bastard sons of Rhaenyra”.

She laughs in exasperation. There it was, again. She truly believed that her husband could be a good leader, if he was somehow able to release the bonds that made him a servant to the power of his own vanity and lineage. Yes, the Targaryen's were said to be of pure Valyrian blood, dragon lords of ancient lineage. Will he ever be able to let go of such a tyrannical tale? From her point of view, it was one of the few things that kept him far away from greatness. The only one he could control and change, at least.

“Is something funny, My Dear?”

She felt like crying out of pure spite. The Princess was the one who convinced him of coming to The North, and it had been all for nothing. He had failed her, and she had failed him as well. She tried strenuously hard to not take her husband's negation personally, but she failed to do so. The mind of the Princess was simple that way, goal-oriented. And tragically prideful, as she usually was.

“Dear Gods! You cannot be this blinded by hate. Your own resentments are clouding your judgement, husband. This is the best decision available to us” She tried to take a hold of her emotions, as this was not at all how she planned to present her case, "Given the northerner's attitude towards the Wall, the only natural step is that we consider exploiting their needs in the interest of our Kingdom”.

Aemond did not know why he could not say it. He agreed with his wife, this was the best possible route. Even if the plan had its flaws, in their precarious condition, it was as good as they could strive for. But he, in his insensate state, could not bring himself to admit in front of her, -In front of himself, really - that he truly held no power. All of it. His futile plans, it was a delusion of his. And he was deeply embarrassed by it. As much as he had tried to turn the odds in his favor, it never seemed to work. The Prince could not stand to even imagine the look she would have when his wife realized that he was as powerless as she was. So, he said something else.

“It is a bargain. What do you always say? A cry of desperation? Furthermore, I doubt that the usurpers are able to make such abiding promises, even in a stage of crisis”.

Even as those words left his mouth, he could feel that for the first time since the attempted consummation, he had truly hurt her. It went beyond not getting her way, and it went far beyond the matters of war. It was something more personal, far more domestic. He knew that this discussion, as many in their marriage, were a mere result of that something, -What it was, he could not say - that did not quite fit.

Crying was not at all alien to her, as a matter of fact, for someone who took such satisfaction in their strength, she cried rather easily. Of course, she didn't when Aemond was there, or anybody else, but still, this night, The Princess did not have the energy to hide it. It all came together, convulsing and hitting her like a swell. She suddenly felt like no air was left in the chamber, and, warning to grasp for anything solid, she fell to the cold floor. Such hysterical episodes happened to her, on rare occasions, how much less than when she was an infant. The woman felt an indescribable shame infect her throat, further obstructing the air to enter her lungs.

“Aemond, besides Helena, I have no one. Besides you, I have no one on the Red Keep. Those Walls are my whole life now. Do not reprimand me for having cordial interactions with others. Especially when you won't ever talk to me”. She crawled -how pitiful-, to the nearest wall, in an attempt to further anchor herself to the material surroundings, before she continued, “I worked every fucking night to help you on this, and, and this is how you react?”

She knew that it was hard to talk to her husband about her case, because he is oh so wise, and he loves himself so. But there she went and promised it anyway to Ser cregan Stark. And she did not make out a very good case for herself, for she was crying before she had finished.

Aemond was not as unfeeling as she had thought, because as soon as she saw her drop to the ground, and crawl to the wall, it did not take him very long to hit the ground, and move on hands and knees to sit beside her. She laughed through the tears. Oh, the great Royal Couple, dragging themselves on the floor like babes. Unsure of how much she would like being touched, Aemond opted for grabbing only her index finger, and slowly, trying to synchronize it to his breath pattern as much as he could, he began to draw circles on it.

“I am sorry, but it seems like you are in a constant war with me. Saving grace and being charitable to everyone else. Do I scare you? Did the incident in Silver Street disgust you to that extent?”

The Princess got inexplicably angry when he felt ashamed about that, and perhaps being rather insensible, she spat out “Do not be stupid, Aemond. Or think that ill of myself. Of course not”.

He laughed. And said her name in a quiet, a very quiet voice, with the most restrained manner possible. And then he said her name again, softly, sweetly. Soon enough, you were resting your head on his extended legs, hugging them tightly, as he stroked your hair. Breathing became an unconscious action after some time, and your eyes and heart began to feel tired after the crying.

“I wished to do nothing more than to help”.

“I know, Darling. And it was a brilliant move.” He took a breath before continuing his confession, having finally decided to be honest to her, despite how much he loved her respect “But the truth is, despite your high opinion of me, is that I have no real power on the council. It is a smart move, but it is not doable, Love. I cannot do it. I do not have the political capability, or my brother the sense to listen”.

As soon as he said it, he felt like a whole month of fog and rain finally had cleared. The Prince did not know why it had been so hard. And the fact of the matter was that she already knew that. And yet they had both traveled to the North, as an act of Faith for one another, and as an attempt to escape the horrors of their incapacities. They were full of magnificent illusions. What the Princess might not have been aware of, is that the situation had made evident to her husband that change was necessary. Not only for him, but for his wife as well.

“Sometimes I forget that we are at the mercy of others”. He laughed, after all, he often forgot too.

“The Blacks are most likely to support his fantastical crusade. But at least we can now know for certain that we will lose the North. That must give us some time for preparation”.

“Thank you for coming with me, Aemond. I really am grateful”. Her husband wasn’t sure if she meant it for listening to her, for coming to the North, or for the conversation they just had, but by the time the conversation was over, she was sitting straight again, but with her head now resting on his shoulder.

That morning, at breakfast, he heard her laugh again, only this time, it was with him. She smiled at him for the first time, without any irony or jabs, it seemed like a burden was lifted from her chest, from their marriage.

────────

Notes: This is it folks! This is the first chapter (and my favorite) i ever wrote on this series. I got the idea while i was bored watching gladiator 2 (Ik). It has been plaguing my head ever since. This is a long one but I hope you can enjoy it!

-Sidey xxo

[theexhaustedqueer]

I’m relistening to 5.4, and the thing that really gets me about VR-LA’s alternate timeline where he saves MR-SN is that that timeline is a bad ending tragedy for literally every other member of the crew except maybe Finbar. If the Per Aspera never drifts aimlessly through the Astral Sea, it’s never picked up and sold to Oto, Dani never gets her hands on a spelljammer. Maybe she and her brothers eventually get out from under Oto’s thumb, but without easily accessible planar travel it’s hard to imagine them leaving Brass. And for Dani, who grew up on the streets of Brass and for whom Oto taking her in meant so much to her because of how much of an improvement it was to her life, it seems unlikely that she’d make a home for herself in Brass outside the Heap. In this version of events Dani, Roy and Egan never leave the Heap. Dani never gets to see Mechanus or the second layer of Acheron. She never gets her ship.

Finbar’s life is probably the least changed. The Searing Tongue would probably assign him to a different spelljammer and he’d do his thing as normal. He probably even still gets involved in the Zuggtemoy conspiracy, since that was based around the Searing Tongue. Assuming the ship he ends up on is of similar skill to the Per Aspera’s crew, he and his other crew take care of Azotico and he maybe even makes up with Elyse. That all assumes events play out in a pretty similar way, but given that he’s got a completely different crew, things could go in any number of directions.

Vhas, without the crew of the Per Aspera, never escapes Tu'narath. There’s not much else to say for this one, it’s just generally bad for his prospects.

And, of course, Kyana. Without the crew of the Per Aspera to pick her up on the Astral Sea, she eventually swims her way to a portal. Whatever plane she ends up on, she’s hopelessly naive, and maybe she gets lucky and meets someone willing to help her, but the odds aren’t in her favour. Eventually she’s dragged back to the monastery. She— and Ione— are turned into mindflayers as the mindflayers’ plan to escape then destroy the planescape proceeds unchecked.

And then it comes to the NPCs. Enoch dies in Avernus. Ione and the rest of the monks get brain wormed. Cressida stays a mercenary. Roy and Egan never leave the Heap. Davion never meets the rest of B-team. Depending on the Finbar situation, Karrundentrassi might die to fucking fungus. Elyse might make up with Finbar but she just as easily might not. Hans has an even worse time making it to Mount Celestia and HE-11/Vice probably dies in Acheron. Emi eventually builds herself a working body and becomes an amoral murderbot wandering the Planescape, maybe after killing Casimir. And uh… things don’t look great for Maxim either. Yes, he still knows VR-LA in this timeline, but we know that A) in the current timeline, a big part VR-LA’s draw to Maxim is that he’s the only link VR-LA has to finding his old crew. If he still has his old crew, that draw never forms and they might never form a closer relationship. And B) we know that pre-amnesia VR-LA was more closed off than post-amnesia VR-LA, which to me indicates that pre-amnesia VR-LA probably wouldn’t put the same time and care into breaking down Maxim’s walls. It seems likely to me that in this alternate timeline, Maxim and VR-LA never become friends. And even if they do, Dani doesn’t discover Create Spelljammer for Vr-La to cast, so Maxim never gets his home turned into a spelljammer and never leaves his Sanctum.

I just wonder if when VR-LA thinks about that alternate timeline, he thinks about how saving the life of someone he cared about so much would inadvertently ruin the lives of all the people he cares about now, and I wonder if that keeps him up at night.

[myrrh1806]

BILL CIPHER LORE

Type wellwellwellbeing and click it three times.....you get to see three excerpts from Bill's files at theraprism.

( context : The axolotl sends bill to therapy after season 2 finale )

Type seven eyes to get a picture of one of bill's friends ?......There is a message at the back too ( a warning)

type cipher to see Bill hidden in history ( prolly canon...)

type ad astra per aspera ( ford's journal 1-2 pages about bill's statue)

type robbie ( bill makes an appearance in a photo, also Thompson hates his toxic friend but beggars can't be choosers )

type Dorito ( Wait till the end. You see Bill's true form )

type shave your grandma ( Bill's view on humanity. Its pretty funny)

type stan and click 6 times ( You get to play a game with bill and uncover granule Stan's secret shame)

type dipper and repeatedly click ( Bill basically trolls him. Its funny. Also something at the end after the paper is burnt )

type love for.........well, its almost every fanfic of bill in ao3. ( The image made me do a spit take )

type r34lity ( pics of bill's minions in their new homes.....crptos stands next to a drawing of bill. Dunno what that means....maybe he misses him ? Prolly mocking him, though)

type oroborous ( Sixer had a pet axolotl and Bill wasn't very happy )

type irregular ( Bill's mugshots )

type vallis cineris ( baby bill )

type tourist trap ( bill's in it.....might have to examine this pics further. could be some clue ?)

type bubble and turn the knob ( backward message says :“The Sky is on fire. Everything is burning. How could this happen? You killed us all. Remember us. Someone help, the murderer's name is Bill.” Prolly the dying screams of flatland before bill.....you know.)

type destruction is a form of creation ( rambling of fiddle ford after he peeked into the portal and saw bill.....could be clues in there )

type say baaaa ( Bill acts like Sta- a conman )

type naitsuaf ( you get to make a deal with bill )

type hectoring ( songsposition )

type weirdmageddon ( proof that the people of gravity falls are either in denial of the apocalypse or forgot )

type tantrum ( bill vs time baby )

type scary ( knockoff goosebumps audiobook bill made. Man, Bill and Stanley have a lot in common from the conman angle. They could have been friends....in another timeline *sigh* )

type goodnight sally ( no lore but, its a cool bill t- shirt )

type even his lies are lies ( Bill's pov when sixer still trusted him - bill is talking to his therapist)

type suck it merlin ( bill throughout history )

type black sheep ( Bill's a jerkwad )

type cursed ( Bill is a bad influence )

type card ( another one of bill's 'ventures' )

type one eyed king ( bill tries to hypnotise you )

type forget the past ( its a colour code for the smart ones out there....it would be awesome someone solved it, ig )

type lies ( you see how bill lies to himself......his therapist should take notes)

type monster ( how bill views himself )

type breakup ( shows you the bar bill drank at after ending things with Ford )

type Kubrick ( Bill caught on camera )

type hey nerd ( Bill 'ventures'. Don't buy anything from that catalog !)

type booberry ( welcome to bill's ted talk. nil, he actually gave solid advice if you ignore the projecting )

type fordtramarine ( describes a color only people who have come in contact with bill or other extra dimensional entities can see )

type hotxolotl ( info about bill and his henchmaniacs after his defeat )

type morality ( bill's philosophy )

type you cant kill an idea ( leads to bill's pyramid scheme ciphertology)

type emmaline butter nubbins ( you get to download illustrations of bill from the book of bill without text. Pretty cool )

type piñata ( bill gets beat up by a little girl. )

[her-satanic-wiles]

Dawn Chorus - IV

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 6.1k.

Reading Time: 25min.

Warnings: blood extraction, body control, corruption kink,finger sucking, forced sexual activity,gaslighting,irrelevant character death,mentions of death by sun exposure, non-consensual sexual activity,objectification, religious disillusionment, religious trauma, sexual harassment, taking advantage of innocence, use of needles,use of the word “bitch” unkindly

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @whitepawfics @dolceterzo

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

“I feel as though thou hast drained all my blood and brought me to the brink of death.” You tried to stand but your body was too weak. “For how long hath I been in slumber?”

“Five days,” the Cardinal looked back to his book, “your recovery time is getting longer. We’re going to have to start rationing if this keeps up. Or get another angel. Say, do you think we could use you as bait?”

“I pray thee choke and perish upon my blood.”

The Cardinal laughed. “If that happens,” the door to his bedroom knocked, then opened, “you’ll be stuck in that cage forever - ah! Brother López. Come in, please!”

The Brother opened the door wider and stepped inside, looking polite as he watched the Cardinal stand to greet him.

“Angel,” the Cardinal addressed you, “this is my new cleaner, Brother Santiago López.”

You couldn’t help the wave of disappointment and fear take over you. But as you spoke, you tried to keep your voice level and nonchalant, “Oh. What befell thy previous caretaker?”

“I found out he was trying to help a certain prisoner escape, and so he needed to be punished.”

“If thou has slain him, I swear by the Almighty I shall smite thee!” Your anger bubbled up far too quickly for someone who was supposed to remain nonchalant.

“Oh relax, you crazy bitch. We sent him to an abbey in America to shovel pig shit.”

You exhaled a sigh of relief, feeling your muscles relax knowing that he was okay. “For what reason?”

The Cardinal tapped Brother López on the shoulder and gestured for him to leave, which he did promptly, fearing what he was going to see. “You know why.” The Cardinal said, simply. His voice quieter than usual.

Your voice was less sharp, but still loud. “I can assure thee, I do not.”

“You mean to tell me that you weren’t trying to escape? That you and Brother Hayward weren’t attempting to break you out of that little cage to get you to freedom, hm? Come on now, Angel. I’m more than happy for my pets to have pets, but when they start rebelling against me, lines must be drawn.”

“Thou wast aware he visited here?”

He took in a long breath through his nose, so sharp his nostrils retracted with the inhale. “Could smell him Every time I came home and his scent was stronger than usual - knew he was here a while. And then when he was under the bed, his heartbeat was so loud.” The Cardinal walked over to the cage and rested his hands on the bars, leaning his whole body on it. “His fear would have tasted so good.”

You spat in his face, hearing some of your spittle sizzle against the metal bars. The Cardinal sighed, and wiped it away before hitting the side of the cage.

“The next time you pull something like that, Angel,” he began, his voice loud and so enraged, “I will personally make sure your little pet dies in front of you, and I’ll make it slow and painful. Do you understand?”

When you didn’t answer, he hit the cage again. “Understand?”

“I understand.”

He stood up to his full height and straightened his hair, then began fiddling with his clothes. “I don’t like getting angry with you, Angel. But sometimes you leave me no choice.” He turned to walk away, but stopped at the door. “Oh, and angel?” He said, his voice soft and sweet like butter wouldn’t melt. He looked at you, mismatched eyes piercing into your soul. “Brother Hayward may be in a different country, but one word from me and all 6 litres of his blood gets delivered to my fridge, and his corpse will be buried beneath abbey soil. I’ll be back.”

The threat of his return felt even more sinister with the tone of voice he used, and for the first time since this whole ordeal started, you felt the sharp pang of fear that had the small amount of blood inside you run cold. Your safety didn’t matter. You were just you. But now Thomas’ life was in jeopardy and it was entirely your fault. Memories of Brother Thomas’ kind eyes and gentle words flooded your thoughts, each one a painful reminder of the danger he now faced because of you. Guilt gnawed at your insides like a ravenous beast, twisting and clawing at your conscience until it threatened to consume you whole. You had thought yourself strong, resilient in the face of the Cardinal’s torment. But now, faced with the consequences of your actions, you felt nothing but fear and despair creeping in, threatening to engulf you entirely.

As the Cardinal’s footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving behind an oppressive silence, you couldn’t shake the weight of his threats echoing in your mind. The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. For though you may be trapped in this gilded cage, your spirit remained unbroken. And as long as there was breath in your body, you would fight tooth and nail to protect those you held dear, no matter the cost.

Your own body continued to repair itself, slower than it usually would. The five days it took you to regain consciousness turned into twenty more of total healing time. The Cardinal kept a monitor of your levels based on how you smelled, which meant every day, his long, rodent nose would poke through the bars as he inhaled your scent, making sure his tavern was restocking perfectly well. He didn’t try and pry any information from you in that time, which you hated to admit that you were grateful for. But he had developed a habit of sitting and staring at you, taking joy in watching you squirm uncomfortably. He’d brought in a red, velvet armchair from the living space to do just that. Every evening, he’d waltz into his room with a glass of your blood, now tainted red from your essence, and sit and observe you, like an animal in a cage. You never said anything: always believing he wanted you to start a conversation, but you’d never let him win.

At first, the Cardinal’s constant scrutiny had been unbearable, like a stifling weight pressing down on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. His presence had been a constant reminder of your captivity, of just how at his mercy you truly were. But as the days stretched into weeks and the Cardinal’s routine became an unsettling rhythm in your life, something shifted within you. You found yourself growing accustomed to his gaze, almost welcoming it in a twisted sort of way. Not that you enjoyed it, by any means. Just that a routine was being established and the Cardinal became the only constant in your life. The only entertainment, too. And so, instead of shrinking away from his viewing, you began to meet his eyes head-on, a silent challenge in your gaze. You refused to cower under his oppressive stare, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. You found yourself seeing him in return, studying the lines of his face, the way his eyes glinted with a predatory gleam. There was a darkness lurking behind those mismatched orbs, a darkness that chilled you to the bone. But even as you studied him, a sense of defiance burned within you. You refused to let the Cardinal break you, refused to let him strip away your dignity and humanity. You were more than just a prisoner in a cage; you were a warrior, a survivor, and you would not be defeated so easily. Heaven couldn’t get you, neither could he.

So, you met the Cardinal’s gaze with steely determination, a silent reminder that despite his best efforts, you would not be broken. And as you stared back at him, you couldn’t help but wonder what secrets lay hidden behind those calculating eyes, what darkness lurked within the depths of his soul.

The Cardinal’s entrance into the room that night was accompanied by an air of smugness so thick you could practically taste it. His smirk was evident as he sauntered in, a book tucked under one arm and a glass of your blood held casually in the other, a smile so wide, you could see his fangs underneath the skin. You watched him with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, wondering what had put that self-satisfied gleam in his eyes. It was rare to see him so openly pleased with himself, and it set your nerves on edge.

As he approached your cage, he made no attempt to hide his triumphant grin, relishing in the power he held over you. He settled into the red velvet armchair with an air of satisfaction, taking a leisurely sip from the glass of blood as if it were the finest vintage wine, because, to him, it was. His eyes flicked over to you, and you met his gaze with a steely resolve, refusing to let him see any hint of fear or weakness. “So, Angel,” he began, his voice dripping with arrogance, but his words slurred slightly from the drink, “I’ve been doing some reading lately. Did you know there’s a whole chapter in this book dedicated to angels like you?”

Your stomach twisted uneasily at the implications of his words, but you kept your expression carefully neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“It seems there’s quite a lot I didn’t know about your kind,” he continued, his tone laced with malice. “But don’t worry, Angel. I plan on remedying that very soon.” With a chilling smile, he opened the book in his hands, his eyes gleaming with a dark intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “Do you know this book?”

You shook your head.

“It was written by Lorenzo Giovanni during the Renaissance, the last time an angel knowingly fell to Earth. A vampyre, like me. Spent most of his days studying the angel, finding out what makes you tick - turns out, he got pretty far. Unfortunately, his work was unfinished. A mob found out what he was and got to him in 1492, tied him up and let the Sun do all the work. But, do you know what he did find?” He didn’t wait for you to shake your head this time. He cleared his throat, and began to read aloud. As he began to read, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something far more sinister. “‘In celestial governance, once the manner is known, it is a simple matter. The heavenly messengers utilize the dread of the Almighty to manage their subordinates. However, those angels who have questioned the supremacy of the Lord are subject to the influences of their sacred radiance, the origin of which is their halo. Thus, one who attains an angel’s halo possesses the capability to command the entity, as well as the sacred radiance enveloping it.’ This we know, correct?”

You remained silent. So, the Cardinal continued, “‘This process assumes two guises: one to govern the physical form, the other to govern the intellect. To command the physical form, one must initially acquaint themselves with the name of the angel. As is observed with infernal entities, names possess a potency beyond human comprehension. Consequently, an angel bearing a name can readily relinquish control of their physical form merely by disclosing this fragment of information. Subduing the intellect, however, presents a greater challenge.’

“Basically,” he said, closing the book shut for dramatic affect, “I know your name, your body becomes mine.” He sighed, “Giovanni then goes onto say your mind is fully intact during this process, that you’ll feel your body moving but have no control over it.” He set his glass down on the dresser and walked towards your halo in its cage.

He grasped hold of it and you notice his hand was gloved, taking note of the care he was using to touch it. Your halo was just as dangerous to him as it was to you, but for different reasons. Without your halo, you were dead. Without your halo, you were controlled. For him, his skin would burn at the touch of it, like yours did with hellfire. For him, one wrong move and he would evaporate in the holy light. There was a part of you that wanted that to happen - wanted to see him perish in one of the most painful ways you had ever known. Yet there was an overpowering guilt that ate at you when you thought about it - knowing that the Almighty wanted you to love everyone, even at the detriment to yourself.

He took a step back and looked at you, smugness oozing from every pore. “I haven’t told Sister yet,” he mumbled, sitting back down on the chair. “I wanted to find out if it worked first. Tell me your name, Angel.”

“Thou must deem me a fool to willingly disclose such information.” You retorted, your voice barely above a whisper. Your mouth was dry.

He chuckled, a dark sound that shook you to your core. He nestled into the armchair, becoming comfortable in his throne of power. All of his movement was in his hips, lifting himself off the velvet to help him slide down it a little more, legs spread wide to exude his dominance. He was disgusting. “I thought you might say that,” he commented, his grin widening, “but you forget who I have.”

Thomas.

“You’ve experienced firsthand what I can do, Angel,” he continued, “except, I’ll make sure I’m much worse with him.”

“Thou would not.” You protested, trying to quell your panic. “The constabulary would be aware. Thou would be compelled to answer to the authorities.”

“I never said he’d survive.”

A chill ran down your spine. Your mind raced with fear and uncertainty as the Cardinal’s threat hung in the air like a dark cloud. Thomas was now in grave danger, and you were faced with an impossible choice. Would you sacrifice your own identity to save him, or would you stand firm and risk his life? You did know what the Cardinal could do - you’d been subjected to it since the moment you met him however long ago that was. You knew you could survive going through that again, especially if you had nothing to lose; but you couldn’t be sure about Thomas. He definitely didn’t deserve to feel the Cardinal’s wrath any more than he already may have. And could you live with yourself knowing you’d condemned a man to death just to save yourself, even if he did belong to the Satanic Church? By robbing him of his life, he’d never get the chance to return to God, to see the light and repent. You’d never get the chance to meet him again in Heaven. You’d rob him of his salvation, but you’d save yourself from the Cardinal’s damnation. Either way, you lost.

“If I divulge,” you began, puffing your chest to sound more confident and unafraid, “can thou ensure his well-being?”

The smugness faded from the Cardinal, if only for a moment. “Of course.” He responded, genuinely. “How else would I get you to do things I wanted?” He let the second sentence slip out, but paid it no mind once it had been released. He planned on using Thomas’ safety to continue to control you. You never should have let yourself get close to him - it allowed the Cardinal to win.

“And wilt thou demonstrate that he is unharmed? Wilt thou prove that thou speakest truthfully unto me?”

“I’ll get him to video chat you every week.”

You frowned, “I comprehend naught of thy words.”

“Video chat? FaceTime? Angels have no technology up there at all?” The Cardinal sighed at your blank expression and rummaged in his pocket to pull out the device you first saw him use. “This thing lets you have conversations with people that aren’t there with you. It shows you their face and hear their voice and, boom, conversation.”

“And thou wilt employ that contrivance to contact Tho- Brother Hayward?”

“Yes.”

You sighed. “___.”

“What?”

“My name. It is ___.”

“___.” The Cardinal nodded and set down the device next to his glass. He stood and unlocked your cage, before returning to his spot on the couch. He gently maneuvered your halo into the palm of his right hand, and brought it up to his mouth. “___, I command you to exit the cage.”

You laughed. You laughed at him. He lacked conviction which was why it failed, and it was so funny to watch him fumble. He cleared his throat, and now, with more confidence, repeated his order. Your body tingled in response, and despite you fighting it with great strength, your legs moved of their own accord. Your bare foot stepped out of the cage and onto the floor, barely feeling the textures beneath your feet. Your body ducked around the metal, wings tucked tightly to your body to stop any part of you from getting injured. Even under control, your body still did what it could to preserve itself. This was a new sensation to you, as you’d never been under someone else’s control before - you’d never needed to be because you were always a good soldier, even when you had your doubts. You’d never known anyone be subjected to this, either. Within seconds, you were out of the cage, standing in front of it with your wings outstretched. He hadn’t ordered you to stay still, to wait for the next instruction. But you did anyway, fearing that defiance would bring a painful end to Brother Thomas.

“___, I command you to spin on the spot.” The Cardinal ordered, a mischievous smile on his face and a glint in his eye.

When you did as he commanded, he laughed. It was a guttural laugh, hearty and jovial, clearly he was having fun with this. “Like a game of Capitan Giro. Capitan Giro dice stand on one leg.”

You did as commanded, and the Cardinal screamed in delight.

“Wait, I don’t need your name? I don’t need to be so formal? What if… put both feet to the floor.”

You did as commanded.

“Incredible. I wonder what else I could get you to do. How else I could humiliate you…” He stopped and thought for a moment, eyes darkening. “Come here.” This command was lower and deeper than the previous ones, quieter and somehow more intimate.

You fought against this command, but to no avail. Your feet, slowly, dragged you towards the Cardinal and only stopping when you were right in front of him, between his open legs. “On your knees.”

You obeyed. The whole time you made eye contact with him, staring daggers into his face and still hoping that the halo hurt him.

He held out his left hand, the one not holding the halo, and said, “Remove the glove.”

Your hands immediately sprung into action, grasping onto the hem of the leather and peeling it gently off of his hand, exposing the skin beneath.

“You know,” he grumbled as you pulled the final finger of his glove off him, “the Sister told me about you.”

He moved his hand to your face and tried to caress your cheek, but you moved away. “Come back, don’t fight me.” Slowly, you moved back to your original position, feeling your cheek meet his fingertips. His hand was large, taking up most of your face as he stroked it with such gentility, you weren’t entirely sure that this was the same man who had caused you great pain for so long. His thumb sat beside your nose, and gently stroked your skin.

“She told me about your purity,” he continued. “How you’re still the good angel Yhwh intended.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Open your mouth.”

You did. You opened it a small amount, but it was enough for him. He slotted his thumb inside and rubbed the pad over your tongue, as if he was studying your mouth. His knuckle, briefly, hit the tip of your small fangs - not enough to hurt him, but enough to have him fascinated by them.

“Suck on my finger.”

Your mouth closed around the digit in your mouth, lips stretching just a little over his skin, and you heard the Cardinal exhale a shaky breath. He watched the obscenity in front of him, how your cheeks hollowed around his thumb that he slowly began to move in and out of your mouth. His cheeks were flushed, partially because of your blood, but also because his own was rushing around his body, still pumping life into it despite his insides being almost dead. His pupils were blown, and his eyes were hooded, making him look a little crazy. His lips parted, and his breaths were laboured, chest rising and falling as though his lungs still worked - a force of habit, you thought.

You didn’t understand this - what he was doing. You’d never seen anyone do this before, but your mind was racing with possibilities. Perhaps he was testing your mouth, making sure your health was good. Or maybe it was some strange form of comfort for him, you pondered. Perhaps he found solace in this bizarre act, a fleeting moment of intimacy amidst the chaos of his life. As his thumb moved in and out of your mouth, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease mingled with curiosity.

You should bite down.

You couldn’t. Not that you weren’t trying, but you were under the influence of the halo. You just couldn’t get your teeth to clench around his thumb.

Despite your confusion, you continued to suck on his finger obediently, just as the Cardinal had ordered. You focused on the rhythm of his movements, trying to make sense of the strange sensation in your mouth.

“Cazzo.” He let out a whisper, barely audible but because of the quiet of the room, the humming of technology barely covered the sound.

As time passed, it couldn’t have been more than a minute, you couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort that gnawed at you. Yet, you dared not speak up, afraid to disrupt the fragile peace that enveloped the room. So you remained silent, your mind still racing with unanswered questions, as you obediently continued to suck on his finger.

Suddenly, the Cardinal’s eyes widened, a look of shock appearing on his face. He yanked his thumb from your mouth and physically pushed you away, grasping onto the halo a little tighter than he should have. “B-back in the cage.” He said quickly, standing up and walking over to your halo’s cage.

He didn’t need to use the halo to order you back behind bars, you were already scrambling to your feet and rushing to fit yourself in through the bars. He refused to make eye contact with you, noticing that he was feeling shame. Shame for what, you couldn’t say, but he spent most of the time staring at the floor as he locked you back inside. Your eyes wandered, too. From his face, over his body, until you saw the tent in his crotch every time he stood side-on. You weren’t completely foolish, you knew what that meant. You’d spent enough time with mortals, and saw a varying degree of sin that they would commit regularly. But you still couldn’t piece together the correlation between his finger in your mouth and the reason for his body’s reaction. He didn’t say a word, instead grabbing the glass and all but running out the door.

Perhaps you were feeling some of his shame now that you knew he’d used you to sin. He’d sinned with you before, every single time he caused you pain was sin enough, but this felt different somehow. Before, it was all the sins that were done to you; because of your implicitness due to the halo’s control, it felt like he was sinning with you. Shame, anger, and a deep sense of discomfort gnawed at your insides, making you feel vulnerable and exposed.

You had been subjected to a degrading and humiliating act, one that left you feeling powerless and violated. The Cardinal’s actions had stripped away your dignity and autonomy, reducing you to nothing more than a mere object for his pleasures.

Anger simmered within you, fueled by the injustice of being treated in such a deplorable manner. You resented the Cardinal for his blatant disregard for your dignity and for his abuse of power. How dare he manipulate and exploit you for his own perverse desires?

The deep sense of discomfort stemmed from the violation of your boundaries and the invasion of your personal space. His unwelcome advances had left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, as if your very essence had been laid bare for his scrutiny.

But then, the feeling dawned on you, was this not a similar way the Almighty had treated you? How He would get His subordinates to send you down to the mortal realm and commit atrocities on His behalf. In Egypt and Canaan, and even the shores of Italia, in His name you enacted awful things, bore witness to tragedies no person should ever see. While the Cardinal used you for some kind of sexual gratification, the Almighty used you for egotistical gratification, and either way, you were a pawn in someone else’s game, an object to be used at will regardless of your own opinions. You could never condone or justify the Cardinal’s behaviour towards you, but you’d also never had autonomy over your own person, so was it any different?

In some weird twist, you had come to realise that despite being trapped in a cage, your mind was freer than it ever had been in Heaven, your thoughts were your own, and your feelings went more-or-less unpunished. And in comparison, who was truly the Devil? Lucifer, or the Almighty?

The Cardinal didn’t come to visit you the next day, or the day after that, or the subsequent week that followed. He wouldn’t even come back to his chambers to rest, opting to spend his time elsewhere and avoiding you - an easy task, you were sure, given that he had kept you in the cage the whole time. You were unsure how to feel about this, whether this was something you should be grateful for, or if you should be afraid.

The longer you were around the vampyres, the more you’d begun to understand them and their ways; their thoughts and feelings, and what made them tick. Given that you’d not seen the Sister in so long, you could assume that the Cardinal hadn’t told her about his discovery. If he had, she’d have charged into his chambers, gripped hold of your halo, and practiced on you herself. Her insatiable thirst for power and control outweighed her thirst for your blood, and thus, if she knew your secret, you’d know too.

But then, why had the Cardinal kept that secret? Both he and the Sister wanted power, specifically power over you. They had been working together from the start to make sure they got what they wanted, your health and safety be damned. So why hadn’t the Cardinal told her everything? You pondered these questions in the silence of your cage, the only company being the dim glow of your halo, a sense of unease washing over you in more ways than one.

By the time you had healed completely, the Cardinal had returned with the empty bottles, but still found it difficult to look you in the eye. His gaze flickered with a mixture of guilt and apprehension, a silent acknowledgment of the unspeakable acts he had committed in his pursuit of power… or pleasure?

You watched him closely, noting the tension in his movements and the weariness etched into his features. Despite the disguise of indifference he attempted to show, you could sense the conflict raging within him, a storm of inconsistent emotions that threatened to consume him whole. He’d not rested well enough - you wondered if he’d even eaten properly. Then you wondered why you cared.

As he went about his task of arranging empty buckets around his bed, you remained silent, studying his every move with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Why buckets, this time? There was an obvious shift in the air, a tension that hung between you, heavily shrouding you both an an intense suffocation.

With each passing moment, the weight of his silence grew heavier, a burden that bore down upon you with unbearable force. You longed to break the oppressive stillness, to confront him with the questions that burned in the depths of your soul, but you held your tongue, wary of the consequences of speaking out.

In the end, it was the Cardinal who broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper as he addressed you. “I won’t bind you when I let you out… I’m trusting you to be on your best behaviour.”

You simply nodded in response.

“No funny business, no trying to escape… no attacking, got it?”

“I shall not undertake such actions today,” you told him, “yet I offer no assurances for the morrow.”

He laughed as though you were telling him a joke. His laughter echoed through the chamber, a hollow sound that reverberated off the walls. Despite the tension that lingered between you, there was a sense of relief in his amusement, a fleeting moment of levity amidst the heavy atmosphere that surrounded you. “Well, I suppose that’s better than nothing,” he replied, his tone lightening slightly. “Just remember, Angel, I’m not afraid to put you back in that cage if you step out of line.”

You met his gaze with a steady stare, your eyes alight with a quiet defiance. “I understand,” you said, your voice firm and unwavering. “But mark this, Cardinal - I shall not be imprisoned anew, not without resistance.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a spark of recognition that mirrored the fire that burned within your own soul. In that moment, you saw a glimmer of respect in his gaze, a grudging acknowledgment of your strength and determination.

“Very well,” he said, his voice tinged with resignation. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

He moved towards your cage, unlocked and opened the door, and took a step back, still holding it as though he were a gentleman holding the door for his wife. With apprehension, you climbed out, wings cocooning your body again until you were completely free of the metal. You chanced a glance at your halo, which was still locked up tight in the cage, and somehow you felt relieved. You stretched your entire body out, wings included, grateful for the feeling. All the while, you still watched the Cardinal potter around the room until he invited you onto his bed again.

You hesitated until you saw the plea in his eyes. “What dost thou withhold from me, Cardinal?”

He shook his head, “If you don’t let me drain you now, things will end up worse for us both. Just do as I ask this one time, please.”

You regarded him with a mix of wariness and resignation, knowing that you had little choice but to comply with his request. With a heavy sigh, you moved towards the bed, your movements slow and deliberate as you approached him.

As you settled onto the plush mattress, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled over you like a heavy cloak. The Cardinal’s intentions were clear, his desire for your blood palpable in the air, and yet you found yourself unable to resist his command. You felt the first needle prick into the crook of your arm, and watched as your blood began to pour into the bucket. Then you saw him prick the second needle in, and the cycle repeat. Usually, the Cardinal would stand back and watch menacingly. But this time, he gently crawled onto the bed, lifted you up, and slotted you on top of him, so you were using his body as a pillow instead.

As the Cardinal cradled you in his arms, using his body as a makeshift pillow, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of discomfort wash over you. The intimacy of the gesture was unsettling, a stark contrast to the usual brutality of your interactions with him.

With each drop of blood that left your body, you felt a sense of vulnerability creep in, the realization dawning on you that you were completely at his mercy. Despite your instinctive urge to resist, you found yourself unable to muster the strength to pull away, trapped in a state of submission that left you feeling powerless and exposed.

You passed out, despite your body fighting it.

You were barely conscious when you woke, the needles still in your arms and the Cardinal still behind you. This time, you could feel his hands running up and down your biceps and stroking your hair, as if he was trying to comfort you. You wanted to recoil from his touch, to push him away and reclaim the boundaries he had violated so mercilessly more than once. And yet, a part of you couldn’t help but crave the warmth of his embrace, the fleeting sense of connection that offered a brief respite from the cold reality of your captivity.

Your body lost consciousness again, the last thing you felt were his fingertips tracing light patterns into your skin.

You roused from your uneasy slumber, disoriented and groggy, the memory of the Cardinal’s touch haunting your exposed flesh. As your senses slowly returned, you realized that the needles were no longer piercing your skin, their absence bringing a faint sense of relief amidst the lingering discomfort.

You looked around the room, heart heavy, seeking any sign of the Cardinal’s whereabouts, but all you saw was the empty space of his bed and the stifling silence that enveloped the room like a blanket. Feelings of fear and panic started to seethe at the borders of your mind as you struggled with the disconcerting realisation that you were alone in the room, and not trapped up in your cage where you’d normally be after such an extraction.

You strained to get yourself upright, your muscles protesting with each movement as you forced yourself to look around more closely. However, no matter how hard you looked, there was no sign of the Cardinal, no clue of where he had gone or what he was plotting next.

The sound of voices coming from the living room sent shivers down your spine, breaking the strange calm that had encased the Cardinal’s quarters. You strained your ears, nervously attempting to figure out who was talking and who was there.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you listened closely, the murmur of voices becoming louder and clearer with each passing instant. Their tones conveyed a sense of urgency, a palpable tension that appeared to linger in the air like a building storm.

For a tiny moment, you cherished the hope that Brother Thomas would return to liberate you from your captivity and deliver you from the Cardinal’s tyranny. But deep down, you understood that such dreams were nothing more than desperate illusions created out of your own sorrow.

One of the voices belonged to the Cardinal… the other… the Sister.

You strained to catch every word of the furious discussion between the Sister and the Cardinal, their voices rising and falling in a chaotic symphony of wrath and frustration. From your position in the bedroom, you could feel the tension crackling in the air like electricity, heavy and stifling.

The words they exchanged formed a bleak picture, indicating a flaw in their carefully crafted relationship. It became clear that the Cardinal had acted with purposeful intent by draining you of your blood before the full moon night, undermining their plans to perform the second ritual.

Confusion blurred your mind as you tried to make sense of the Cardinal’s strange choice to sabotage the ceremony. It didn’t make sense; why would he go to such extent to foil plans that he had personally set up? You felt lost and confused, as if the puzzle pieces would not fit together in your brain.

You couldn’t shake the notion that the Cardinal’s acts were more than just what they appeared to be. His intentions remained a mystery, and you couldn’t help but wonder what underlying agenda drove his betrayal. Was he behaving in his own self-interest, or was he motivated by something else that you couldn’t figure out? Or was there a deeper, more nefarious motive at work?

Prev. / Next

Anon commissioned artwork by @taylaedraws - I believe the full version is on their Patreon! Please be sure to check it out when you can!

[caliburn-not-calculator]

Any thoughts on the angst potential of Legendary VR-LA? Just rewatched the episode and am curious on any opinions

Okay so this has just been sitting in my drafts and I completely forgot about it for… too long. But yes!!! I have thoughts. Sorry for how late of a reply this is

Okay so. My first thoughts are more related to everyone else rather than VR-LA himself.

The Per Aspera crew left without one of their members, the ship finally void of its longest continuing inhabitant. He never seemed to make that much noise but it is notably quieter. He had more personal effects than most of the others, and with them gone… it hollow. So dreadfully hollow.

Emi no longer has VR-LA there to guide her, raise her, teach her. The person she was begining to model herself after is gone. Dani has lost her first mate and best friend, another brother gone beyond her reach, no one to work with deep into the night or stop her from doing so. Vhas who would usually stop by VR-LA’s room to antagonise him finds nothing but silence on the other side of the door, no lighting or snark at his back in battle. Kyana stargazing with no wizard pointing out his favourite constellations and telling her their stories. Finbar has one less serving to prepare (he always forgets, and they end up with extra food).

He’s not dead, they have that at least, but he isn’t there. Perhaps sometimes he can visit. Every few months he’ll appear at the Sprite Spring, or standing in the doorway to the Per Aspera’s common room. Seemingly out of thin air, and vanishing much the same. There isn’t enough time. It’s hard to accept that there never will be.

On the sanctum his loss his somehow felt more acutely and subtly simultaneously. They were already used to not seeing him for long periods. They had adapted to communicating via infrequent sendings and letters, but this is different. VR-LA rarely has time for even that much anymore. C-RA has lost another friend, someone else she couldn’t and can no longer protect. K-LB, whose brother was taken from him in memory and then finally returned, finds that closed gulf suddenly tearing open. Things keep changing… he wishes things would stop changing. AS-TR takes it better than most, there is a pride in the way she regards the situation, she is glad to see her friend go so far yet still finds herself melancholy at his absence when they’d had so little time together. E-DN tries not to be angry at him, or Mystra, or anyone else. She’s been trying to cut down on those emotions, but still, things end up broken when she hears that he is, one way or another, gone.

Maxim is… complicated. He feels betrayed, he is angry, and somehow he is relieved. VR-LA was meant to step back, he was meant to stay safe, they were meant to have… something. It seems the gods can’t help but take what he loves. Greedy and uncaring, keeping those he loves from his reach. The one solace he has is VR-LA is alive. He is safe. He is still out there somewhere and Maxim still may see his face, and for that he suppresses what might be rage. He was so used to feeling either grief or nothing, the way his gears are wrenching at the injustice is a new feeling.

As for VR-LA. He saw himself growing old, settling down, living a long and full life with the friends he has found and freed.

He doesn’t know if he can grow old anymore.

But he does know there is no settling. He was meant to step back, but instead he has stepped up. Balancing on the precipice of something beyond mortality and terrified of what it could mean. Terrified that the choice he made to save his friends may lead to him losing them. Time and existence doesn’t work the same as it once did. He may outlast them, out pace them, become something so much more than them that he can no longer be who they care for.

What he can do is watch. Only occasionally, but more often than he can visit. A simple scry to look over his friends, to ensure they are well. Eventually he finds that he can even bestow minor boons. Gift them with echoes of his magic to aid in their adventures in ways he can no longer. To remind them he is still there. That he still cares.

To ask they please not forget him. To not abandon him as a memory or a tragedy. To pretend that maybe, things aren’t so different than before.

[star-trek-fandom-confessions]

Re: many of the various about the Gorn or listing SNW's handling of the Gorn as one of its major problems.

Perception not matching reality, what is/is not a monster is a huge theme throughout SNW.

Ghost of Illyria – Those light monsters didn’t murder the Illyrians, they are the Illyrians and were trying to save Pike and Spock all along. Everyone (except Una ofc) learns a lesson that Illyrians can’t be lumped in with the Augments and need greater understanding Lift Us Where Suffering Cannot Reach – Turns out that nice lovely civilization is literally torturing children. The terrorists are actually trying to save those children. The Serene Squall – Surprise the counselor is a pirate Ad Astra Per Aspera – Continues with the Illyrians deserve understanding theme. Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow – That helpful reporter is actually a Romulan. Even notorious tyrant and mass murderer Khan Noonien Singh was once a scared child. Lost in Translation – Starfleet is the monster, accidentally torturing and killing a life form they didn't know existed. Under the Clock of War – Turns out the lovely ship’s doctor is actually the Butcher of J’Gal and capable of murdering someone in cold blood. War can make a monster of anyone.

Yet so many people seem to think they’re not going to pull something similar with the Gorn? Even though the show has taken time to establish that the Gorn are intelligent and have a religion?

The thing about the Gorn is that people have died - La’an’s family, Hemmer, some other members of the Enterprise crew, nearly the entire crew of the Cayuga, multiple colonies - and possibly Marie will be added to that list before the two-parter is done. That creates an environment where it’s understandable that the SNW characters would not want to have their perception that the Gorn are monsters challenged, because the harm they have caused is so personal.

It creates a really interesting conflict for the crew, because how do you find understanding, how to you fight the will for revenge, when there’s been so much pain?

I could be wrong about this being the route the SNW writers are going down, but I’m really excited to see if they do.

Posting this as a response to several earlier confessions.

[slavghoul]

Hello Slavghoul, I'm new to Ghost and you seem like a very knowledgeable person (ghoul?) so I hope you don't mind me asking: is there a canon source of information about the third Papa? I know Secondo had Papaganda, Copia has the chapters on youtube and there's not much about Primo, but I've seen a lot of various tidbits floating around about Terzo and it's hard to tell what has been stated in an official interview, what is someone's headcanon and what is an interpretation, especially when a lot of it is contradictory. Thank you in advance. I hope you have a great day :)

There were some 'The Summoning' vids on YouTube during Papa III's times, it was mainly Sister announcing various things but sometimes there's bits of other info.

Other than that these posts may be helpful as they provide some characterization for Papa III and can be considered canon given they were part of official press/promo.

(Context for above: Zbigniew Bielak is Ghost's illustrator and has been credited on the records and on two occasions gave interviews as a sort of character, Bp. Necropolitus Cracoviensis, the text was shared Ghost's special media)

[browniefox]

The Very Best Fics - 2

I am making a second 'best fics according to me' because it is very long. You can access the previous post from here.

On this list is: Daredevil, Disco Elysium, Trigun, Psych, Mob Psycho 100, Undertale, Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy VII

Daredevil

My Guardian Avengers (Can I Get A Refund?) - prettybirdy979

Daredevil needs to protect a certain law firm in Hell's Kitchen. He's a little slack about protecting this Matt Murdock fellow though, and the Avengers are only too happy to step in to help. Matt is SO not okay with this. (Shut up Foggy, so what if it's his own fault!)

Prettybirdy979 has done 'Daredevil meets the Avengers' like ten times, and you know what? they hit it out of the park every time. Hell yeah! This one is just as fun, and it's always nice to read a new (uh, new-ish) fic from an author you love :D

Disco Elysium

Excerpts from the Case Notes of Kim Kitsuragi - Hosekisama

Excerpts reference Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Du Bois' belief that he can (and does) "reload" his own life after failing, like some kind of video game character.

Disco Elysium plays with so many fun video game mechanics, like the 'jamrock shuffle', so honestly the idea that Harry would think in terms of 'reloading' is way fun! I love the ambiguity of whether or not there actually are saves or loads.

Trigun

Start here - AsterAspera ( @aster-aspera )

The first time he wakes, he is in a room. Heavy curtains hang over dusty windowsills and there are crumpled sheets on the bed and crumpled sheets on the floor. The world is quiet while his body screams. Every soft, fleshy, vulnerable part of him is on fire, writhing and roiling in unbearable agony. He wants to move, get away from the mattress that digs into his skin like fingers, like knives, like roots, but his body is frozen without his consent, time stretching endlessly around him as he fights an ocean of pain. And suddenly there are hands on him and worried grey eyes and he wants to scream but his throat is already scraped raw.

We love QPR Vash/Meryl/Wolfwood, and we love stories that drop you into something and you have no idea what's going on. Such a good and interesting fic that drops ideas of what has happened, but also you're not totally sure, and it really puts you into Vash's head for the fic.

I Just Want To Slow Dance With You by easternCriminal

"Wolfwood swears at the radio, and then finally the static parts like the sands after a storm and the warm, slow sounds of a guitar comes out from over the dunes and fills the small room." oOo A soft domestic moment, inspired by Start Here by AsterAspera

Inspired by the fic above, a scene between Meryl and Nicholas (and Vash) as they try and figure out what their dynamic is now. Wonderfully domestic.

Rinse and Repeat by easternCriminal (@the-east-art)

Somehow, Meryl can head the monotone flatline of his heart. And she wakes up again on the road. Meryl starts to realize what is going on.

Time loop, time loop, time loop! Time loops where you're trying so despeartelyl to save someone! Time loops where you start realizing some sacrifices have to be made! Time loops that make you hate and love someone like you never have before!

Press my Corpse against the Wall by Rayawastaken

Meryl kept thinking back to Tonis, small and still so young in his mothers arms. She kept thinking about the fact that if she held onto him a bit stronger, if she had more conviction, he might still have both of his arms. And about how if she had any less of it, Wolfwood might have not woken back up again in that bar. Surely, getting a bit scratched up was worth saving someone’s life. But that’s not how Wolfwood saw it. To him, she’d forever be just some defenseless little thing that stumbled around helplessly and had to be protected. And for all that he complained about Vash having a self-sacrificial streak, he'd rather bleed out on the floor than admit he had needed help. - Wolfwood almost dies, Meryl saves him and gets hurt in the process. They have a fight about it.

I love Mashwood, but the dynamic between Wolfwood and Meryl is often under represented. I especially love this fic's exploration of the fact that Meryl, of the trio, is the most human and the position that puts her in a lot of the time.

CHANGING NATURE (‘TIS THE SEASON) by ainosyn (@tristamp-gunpede)

“How could anyone kill you without killing a part of themselves?” and “I can’t help it, it’s my nature.”

An exploration of all the different ways the story of Trigun could have gone, or could have been told, and about what is inherent to someone's nature. I love this, such a great character study of Knives and Vash.

Never understood a single word he said by aboxthecolourofheartache (@aboxthecolourofheartache)

Meryl drums her fingers on the steering wheel, and Wolfwood gets the sinking feeling of spotting bullshit at a hundred yarz and being unable to do anything about it. “Is it really buried treasure? I don’t believe you,” Meryl sniffs. “You’re stalling or something.” Vash’s lips curl up at the corner and, yes, there’s that mischievous little dimple that heralds doom. “Only one way to find out. If it is buried treasure, next night at a motel is on me. What do you say?" “Hot showers and everything?” Meryl squints at Vash sidelong, she the very picture of suspicion and he of innocence. “Cross my heart,” Vash vows, making a solemn X over his chest. ~~~ A detour turned nightmare, water from the rock, Three Dog Night, and unconventional gestures of trust.

MUST READ MUST READ MUST READ!!!! Best Trigun Fic I think I've ever read, with perfect characterization of Meryl, Vash, and Wolfwood that all feel distinct and accurate, a lot of fun interactions, and just a hint of the good good 'Vash isn't human' stuff I live for.

Psych

All We Are by jumpfall

"I want eyes on Spencer ten minutes ago!" Shawn thinks that maybe another hostage situation is just what they need to bring the team together again.

Love when you find a fic that captures the vibes of the canon so well! The team-as-family in psych is so good and fun, it's what makes it all worthwhile, you know? The characters in Psych are really good, and I'll be honest I live for the times that Shawn manages to actually be selfless and care about others.

the robbed that smiles steals something from the thief by EclipseWing (@shadow-of-the-eclipse)

That one in which Shawn is a con-artist, a liar and a thief.

Hell yeah, EclipseWing, all my homies love EclipseWing! This one is so fun! It's nice to see a Shawn who doesn't get into crime solving but still needs to find something to preoccupy him becoming a theif instead, it's so in person I love it!

Mob Psycho 100

Come Morning Light by NotHereForIt

Reigen is standing in a world that exists, but doesn't, in front of a house that is Mob's, but not, with a man that's dead, but isn't. In which Reigen thinks he's dreaming, and he very much is not.

Dream walking time, hell yeah! In which Reigen helps Mob through is dreams. Poor Mob has PTSD, but at least he's not alone.

knife trick by ruthwrites (@ruemilley)

There wasn’t a rule, exactly, that said that Ritsu wasn’t allowed to spend time with his brother. It was just something that was understood, like how Ritsu understood he wasn't supposed to press his hands along the sharp edges of his mother’s kitchen knives. (or: an age swap where only Mob and Reigen's ages are changed. Shigeo asks his little brother if he wants to walk him home after school. Ritsu should say no. Ritsu does not say no.)

The ending of this one sticks with me, ugh it's so good. Swap au's are so interesting, and I love the way it's done here, especially with Mob and Reigen being swapped, but Ritsu still being the same age.

citrus by orphan_account

He can just barely see Reigen pacing, purposefully quiet. He’s not smiling or laughing like he usually does on the phone. He looks sad. No, he looks upset. Shigeo doesn’t get a chance to wonder why before Reigen is walking back out, eyes carefully trained on his phone before he flips it shut. “Mob, we have a client to go to. I would have taken you home, but your parents aren’t there.” “Why would I have to go home?” Reigen goes quiet for a moment. “We aren’t dealing with a spirit.”

Reigen getting to deal with big problems through his job, and baby Mob learning important life lessons, what more do you need?

I know who I am when I'm alone by RedWritingHood

I'm something else when I see you. The world revolves around the suffering of Kageyama Shigeo. It fails to anticipate the determination of the Greatest Psychic Detective of the 21st Century.

In which Reigen is in Mogamiland and is as stubborn as a mule - even if he doesn't know what he's fighting against or for. A great moment of Reigen being able to comfort Mob - more or less. There are struggles that come with trying to accomplish that.

Undertale

Second Contact by Ononymous

To the participants, monumental days in history rarely feel very monumental when they wake up that morning. A young man at his summer job in the middle of nowhere was about to learn this the hard way.

I love this fic, of Asogre and Frisk meeting the first human outside of the Underground, told from outsider pov. It's a fun continuation of the story, and of how a poor service employee has to be the one to deal with the mess first.

What Little Monsters Are Made Of by Mangaluva

Nobody understands why you keep Flowey. You're not always sure why you do. But you found a way to save everybody else.

A story about love, and a story about believing in someone or something, and about how it's never too late. Post-Game, exploration of the relationship that builds between Flowey, Frisk, and the rest of the monsters over the years.

Kingdom Hearts

Scar Tissue - mimiplaysgames

Terra doesn’t remember certain things. He’s not in control. Even after everything they have been through, he still has the Guardian to contend with.

A little confusing to read sometimes, but super interesting look into after effects of having one's heart stuck in various places, and how it impact Terra without him even knowing it. At the end of the day, Terra is a guardian.

Umbra, Penumbra - end_alls

Roleswap where Vanitas is the one raised with care and compassion in the Land of Departure, and Ventus… is not

A fun and interesting role reversal. In general, the concept of 'too much light' is not explored enough in Kingdom hearts, so a fic that goes into how Ventus is left so incomplete without Vanitas is great.

Affecting Eternity - b-na_hime

One new Keyblade Master. Two new Keyblade wielders. Three thousand ways it could go horribly wrong…

Riku trying so hard to train Lea and Kairi when he's never been formally trained either. Great relationship building between them and how each of them feels about being a keyblade wielder.

reflections, refracted. - vvingblade (@vvingblade)

It's been ten years since then. Time has passed, and wounds are slowly healing. Ven thought he'd moved on, that the memories no longer bother him. All it takes is a single muddled spell to prove him wrong.

Ven has some serious PTSD and it rears its ugly head. Also, Ven can kick ass when he believes his life depends on it. Great Ven characterization that fleshes out Ven a bit more than he usually is.

Final Fantasy VII

The Fifth Act by Sinnatious

Cloud has an accident with a Time materia, and finds himself in the middle of the Wastes at the start of the Wutai War. There are people to save… and for that, there are three people who need to die.

My favorite time-travel fix-it for FFVII I've found so far. Good characterization, fun interactions, and I love how much it grapples with the question of 'should Sephiroth die, when he hasn't done anything'.

A Feather's Edge by Boomchick

Rescue arrives for Sephiroth while he is still a child. It arrives in the form of a blank-faced blonde-haired hero who cannot look at him; Who tends his wounds, and speaks kindly, but whose eyes are filled with hate and fear. If only Sephiroth knew the rules of this world outside the labs, maybe he could figure out how to stop making Cloud so angry...

An interesting look into, even if Sephiroth was saved, how messed up he is since childhood and how that impacts how he views people, sitautions, and relationships with other people. Kinda wish it was a little longer, but also I think it ends where it needs to end, if that makes sense. Really love Cloud trying to grapple with being a good adult for a child while battling his PTSD over said child.

In the Woods, Somewhere - DoveFanworks

On an ordinary day, two against one would hardly feel fair. But today was not an ordinary day, and Gods damn if this man wasn’t proving to be worth every bit of their combined effort. It was ludicrous. Unheard of. Before today, he would have thought it impossible. But somehow, someway, this man, this stranger who had come from out of nowhere, was fighting off two of the most powerful fighters in the world. At the same time.

Unresolved Time Travel au where Cloud takes on the three Firsts and kicks ass! I love how thought out the fight scenes are, taking into account the abilites of everyone involved and what they're capable of. Wonderfully orchestrated, wonderful to read.

Rebound - emrald_writes

Genesis knows the moment that they step into the little town that whatever it is plaguing them it isn’t a curse.

I Love fics that have surprisingly in depth worlds that makes you feel like you're looking into a world so much bigger and more thought out than you expected. Such an interesting magic system and a fun mystery to boot. I will say, the ending feels a little strange, but the rest most than makes up for it.

As They Bask in the Material World - Traxits

Every year, Reeve tours the outer reactors. This year, Veld is unable to escort him, so Tseng gets the job. It's just his luck that the car breaks down, and perhaps the best idea was not to spend the night in Cosmo Canyon…

Hi welcome to the beginning of the 'brownie falls in love with reeve' section of this. Anyway, great and interesting relationship between Reeve and Tseng, and EXTREMELY cool take on how young Reeve would react to Cosmo Canyon.

Before She Hangs Her Head to Cry - Traxits

Reeve had been reasonably certain that no one was in his office. It seemed like a logical assumption to make, given that he was not there and that no one short of the President had a key. One day, he would learn to stop assuming anything when he counted the Turks among his friends.

Not enough people talk about Reeve and kidnapping Marlene! Love the backstory that is hinted at for Reno here, getting to see Reeve's thoughts and such, and how Marlene's upbringing shows up throughout her actions. The characterization is just, *mwah*, beautiful.

Little Birds by katineto

Marlene's Papa is gone, and she is scared—or, the kidnapping, from Marlene's perspective.

Reeve is terrible with children. I love seeing Marlene's POV in the whole mess, trying to make sense of what is going on and feeling so scared.

Through Another's Eyes by CorsairOriginal

Elmyra Gainsborough had only wanted to live a life in peace, but war keeps coming to her door. She had only wanted her arrangement with Marlene Wallace to be temporary, but now that she's a part of Elmyra's life she has to face the consequences of that decision. Director Reeve Tuesti didn't choose to become a spy, but orders from President Rufus Shinra are not to be refused. He didn't choose to admire a group of renegades, but now that they're a part of his life he can't walk away so easily. ~ "Through Another's Eyes" is an in-depth view of the major notes of Reeve's story in Final Fantasy VII, starting from Marlene's abduction by Shinra to the end of the original game--rewriting some concepts and adding elements from the Compilation of FF7, including Before Crisis and FFVII Remake.

THE PINNACLE OF REEVE FICS. So so so good! Great relationship of Reeve with everybody, and how he deals with the events of FFVII. The moment at the end when he finally meets everyone? FUCK YEAH, that's what it's all about baby! Fic that got me hooked on the inspire!Reeve characterization.

I'm Fine - WinterEvenings

“Cloud!” His eyes snap open, but it doesn’t do much good. All he can see is darkness anyway. They were trapped. It was his fault. It was all his fault.

Cloud is so fucked up as far as priorities and his own health is concerned. it's terrible and wonderful at the same time. Gotta love a good dose of whump.

[alxtiny]

Ad Astra per Aspera

Episode 2

Pairing: Pirate!Ateez x Navigator!reader

Genre: pirate!au, fluff, angst, maybe smut

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: blood, death threats, more head injury (yay), swearing, storms (idk)

Notes: sorry for the late update T.T I had to go for a two week long workshop and I didn’t get any time to write but i hope you like this chapter :>

Playlist : the emptiness machine by linkin park | smells like teen spirit by nirvana | thunder by imagine dragons

Series Masterlist | Episode 3 | Episode 1

The next morning was bright and full of promise, but you surely weren’t. You woke up aching despite the surprisingly comfortable bed. The throbbing in your head had returned, though not as intense as before, and you groaned as you sat up, rubbing your temples in a futile attempt to ease the dull pain. “What will it take for me to relax for once?” you muttered under your breath, feeling the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you.

You dragged yourself to the small basin in the corner of the room, splashing cold water on your face to wake up properly. As the water trickled down your skin, you couldn’t help but yearn for the simple comforts of a home—a soft bed, a toothbrush, clean clothes that weren’t scavenged from a pirate’s stash, it had been way too long to say that you could remember what it all felt like. The ship’s water was salty, leaving an unpleasant taste in your mouth as you rinsed, and it made you miss the fresh, clean water you’d taken for granted.

Just as you were wiping your face dry, a knock echoed from the door, followed by the sound of the lock clicking open. You tensed, still not accustomed to the idea that you were on a pirate ship with little to no privacy. You walked over cautiously and opened the door, revealing the burly looking man from the previous night.

Now that you could see him clearly in the bright morning light, you noticed things you hadn’t before. His face, though rough around the edges, had a certain charm to it—too nice for a pirate, you thought, especially with the way his face stretched wide into a cutesy, dimpled smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners, disappearing into crescents as he grinned down at you. If he weren’t a pirate, you would’ve been tempted to pinch his cheeks and call him cute.

“Good morning, Ms. Navigator,” he greeted cheerfully, his smooth voice carrying an unexpected warmth. “Here’s some clothes for you—a sort of gift of welcome you may say, they’re sent by our captain. Get dressed; he wants to see you in his room.”

Before you could ask anything, he turned on his heel and started walking away, his movements smooth and almost silent, like a cat. You called after him, your voice trailing off awkwardly. “Thank you, but…I don’t even know your name. Who are you?”

He didn’t respond, just kept walking, the only sound being the soft padding of his boots against the wooden floor. You watched him disappear around the corner, wondering how someone so large could move so quietly. It was a little creepy, to say the least.

Sighing, you closed the door and latched it from the inside, turning your attention to the bundle of clothes he’d handed you. They were surprisingly nice—an off-white shirt, brown leather pants, and a loose navy cardigan. The simplicity of the outfit was appealing, yet the stitching and the quality of the fabric hinted at something much more expensive than you’d expected from pirates. The clothes looked almost brand new, and you couldn’t help but wonder how and where they had gotten women’s clothes that fit so perfectly. You wondered if the previous owner had died at their hands or something.

Despite your unease, you put the clothes on, surprised once again at how well they fit. The shirt was soft against your skin, and the leather pants hugged your legs comfortably without being too tight. The cardigan was a nice touch, and clearly whoever chose it had a good sense of fashion. You had to admit, you were impressed, but that only made you more suspicious. There was no way this was a coincidence.

Dressed and somewhat ready, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself for whatever awaited you in the captain’s quarters. The memory of casual way he’d spoken about tossing you into the ocean still lingered in your mind, making your heart race with anxiety. You knew you had to be on your guard, but you also knew that you had to play along if you wanted to survive.

With a final glance at your reflection in the small cracked mirror by the bed, you straighten your posture and braced yourself for what was to come. The captain wanted to see you, and you had no choice but to face him—whatever that might entail.

You walked out and saw the tall man waiting for you outside. He reminded you of a beanpole at first but seeing him now made your heart flutter for a moment. His eyes were closed, his head tilted up to the sky as if savouring the warmth of the sun. The golden light fell on his face, highlighting the gentle curve of his nose and the soft shape of his lips. It struck you as odd—how all these pirates were so handsome, each one with features that seemed better suited to a noble’s court than a pirate ship. His relaxed demeanour and perpetual smile made you wonder what had him so amused all the time, and how he managed to maintain such a cheerful facade in a life filled with such horrors and chaos.

You cleared your throat, breaking the silence, and awkwardly muttered, “Uh..morning.”

Without opening his eyes, he responded in his usual bright tone, “Ah, I see you haven’t tried to kill yourself yet.”

You raised an eyebrow at his comment, and despite yourself, you couldn’t help but reply with a hint of sarcasm. “Even if I did, your captain would probably force me back to life just so he could kill me himself.”

He chuckled at that, a genuine laugh that seemed to fill the corridor with warmth. Slowly, he opened his eyes and turned to face you, his expression softening with amusement. With an exaggerated flourish, he bowed deeply. “Shall we?” he asked, offering his arm with an air of mock chivalry.

You rolled your eyes and swatted his arm away, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth despite your best efforts to remain serious. “Lead the way,” you said, shaking your head at his antics.

He straightened up, still grinning, and turned to lead you down the corridor. As you followed him, you noticed that his cheerful demeanour didn’t seem forced; it was as if he genuinely found joy in every little thing, a trait you couldn’t quite understand. Life on a pirate ship didn’t exactly lend itself to happiness, yet here he was, acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world. You had decided, this man was definitely a puppy in his past life, perhaps a golden retriever.

As you walked, the sounds of the ship began to filter through the wooden walls—the creaking of the hull, the distant shouts of men working above deck, the rhythmic slapping of waves against the hull. You tried to keep your thoughts focused on the task at hand, but the more you walked, the more your mind wandered back to the captain. There was something that seemed off about him, and those stupid sunglasses he wore even in the darkest of rooms annoyed you. You weren’t sure what kind of man you were dealing with, and that uncertainty tormented you.

Your guide, seemingly sensing your tension, kept up a steady stream of chatter as you walked. “You know, the captain’s not so bad once you get to know him,” he said, glancing back at you with a wink. “Sure, he’s a bit…intense, but he’s fair. He doesn’t waste good talent, and from what I’ve heard, you’ve got plenty of that.”

You scoffed lightly. “I’m a navigator, not a pirate, and where could you have possibly heard about me, for all you know I might be lying.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” he said with a grin, completely ignoring the second part. “On this ship, we’re all pirates. Whether you like it or not, you’re part of the crew now. But don’t worry,” he added quickly, seeing the flash of alarm on your face. “We’re not all bad. Some of us are even quite charming, wouldn’t you say?”

You gave him a sidelong glance. “Is that your way of telling me to trust you?”

He shrugged, his grin widening. “Trust is earned, not given. But I like to think I’m off to a good start.”

Before you could respond, he stopped in front of a familiar door—the one you recognized as the captain’s quarters. The cheery man turned to you, his playful expression softening slightly. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “The captain might be intimidating, but he’s not unreasonable. Just don’t lie…he doesn’t like that.”

You nodded, though your heart was pounding in your chest. The man knocked on the door, then opened it, gesturing for you to step inside. You took a deep breath, composing yourself, and walked through the doorway, feeling the shroud of the heavy atmosphere settle around you. As the door closed behind you, you were once again alone with the captain, who stood by the large window, the morning sun casting long shadows across the room. It must be his respawn point, you thought to yourself.

He turned slowly, that same unsettling smile pulling at his lips, and you felt an involuntary shiver run down your spine. “Good morning, navigator,” he said, his voice feeling sickly sweet at that moment. “Let’s see what you’re really made of, shall we?” Without waiting for a response, he continued, “Come with me. We must make haste; there’s no time to waste. We need to reach the Northern Aurora Islands within the next three days.”

His sudden urgency surprised you. He walked to the door, pausing just before opening it. “I hope you realise,” he said, his tone low and threatening, “that your position here is as good as temporary. If you put me or my crew in unwarranted danger, you will find yourself meeting your maker sooner than expected.” He let the threat linger in the air for a moment before adding, “And of course, any information we discuss in private stays between us. If I hear a word of it from anyone not involved…” He trailed off, the unspoken consequences clear in his dark look .

He opened the door and gestured for you to go ahead, his eyebrow arched in expectation. With a deep breath, you stepped out into the corridor, feeling his gaze burn into your back as he followed. The two of you made your way up onto the main deck, the bright sunlight forcing you to squint. You noticed that the captain had never once removed his sunglasses. You were tempted to ask about them but thought better of it when you saw the serious, impatient look on his face. Instead, you asked the more pressing question. “Where exactly are we now?”

He glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable. “You were taken from the slaver ship three days ago, near the Light Marshes. We’re nearing the Dark Marshes now.”

His words made your stomach drop. “I was out for two days?” you exclaimed, horrified.

He chuckled, a sound that sent a chill down your spine. “Yes, we reckoned you might not wake up at all.”

You looked at him, mortified by how casually he joked about your near-death experience. But before you could say anything else, you reached a large door at the end of a corridor. The captain pushed it open, revealing a spacious room that seemed to be some sort of meeting chamber. A large table occupied the centre, its surface scattered with maps, compasses, and various instruments—some of which you had never seen before. Your curiosity piqued instantly, your fingers itching to touch the cool metal and figure out the purpose of each tool.

But before you could act on your impulses, the captain’s hand gripped your shoulders roughly, steering you toward the table. “Sit,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. You obeyed, trying to calm the sudden rush of panic that surged through you when he walked back to the door, closing and locking it with a decisive click. Your flight or fight, mostly flight, instincts were thundering. The sound echoed in the room, setting your nerves on edge.

You took a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand. But your mind was racing with questions—the highlighted question among them being the identity of these men. “Excuse me,” you stuttered, your voice trembling slightly. “May I at least know who you are?”

The captain turned back toward you, his usual grin spreading across his face as he walked closer. “Are you familiar with the name ATEEZ?” he asked, his tone laced with amusement.

The name sent a cold chill down your spine. Of course, you knew of them. ATEEZ is infamous, a name that struck fear into the hearts of the most seasoned of sailors and even the marines.They had surfaced around six years ago and quickly built up a reputation as the most feared and ruthless pirates in all the seas. The tales of their exploits were legendary—and terrifying. Your eyes widened in horror as you processed the realisation, your voice barely a whisper as you tried to confirm, “Is that really you?”

The captain laughed aloud filling the room. “Yes, indeed,” he said, performing a mocking bow. “Captain Kim Hongjoong, at your service.”

You stared at him, your mouth hanging open in shock, unable to form any coherent response. The horror on your face seemed to amuse him even more, and he was about to say something else when another voice suddenly cut through the tension.

“I’m Yunho!” The cheerful voice was jarring, completely out of place in the heavy atmosphere of the room. You turned toward the sound, your eyes landing on the tall man who had been with you earlier. He was standing in the corner of the room, a wide grin on his face, hands on his hips as he proudly declared, “Jeong Yunho, ship’s engineer!”, he had apparently materialised out of nowhere.

You blinked slowly, your brain struggling to keep up with the situation. Before you could fully process what was happening, you let out a scream, which was quickly muffled by Hongjoong’s hand clamping down over your mouth. “Shh,” he hissed, his face dangerously close to yours. “Calm down, or people might get the wrong idea.”

You nodded frantically, and he slowly removed his hand. You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you turned your wide-eyed gaze back to Yunho. “Where the hell did you come from?” you whisper-yelled, your voice shaking.

Yunho chuckled, completely unfazed. “Oh, I was always here. You just didn’t notice me. I was fixing up some tools and stuff. Like I said, I’m the engineer.”

You looked at him in disbelief, finally noticing the welding goggles perched atop his head and the smears of grease and paint on his cheeks. “You could have at least told me you were there!” you snapped. “Made your presence known, maybe?”

He just laughed again, the sound light and carefree, as if you weren’t in the middle of the most terrifying situation of your life. Before you could say anything else, Hongjoong cleared his throat impatiently, cutting off Yunho’s laughter and drawing your attention back to him. His expression was serious once more, and the playful banter evaporated from the room.

“Let’s move on now, shall we?” he said, his tone sharp, silencing the room as you steered yourself towards whatever task awaited you.

He crossed his arms, his sunglasses reflecting the faint light filtering through the room’s small window. “As I said, the Northern Aurora Islands are where we must be in the next three days. There is a man I need to see regarding certain… business. Your task right now is to find the safest and quickest route. Even a day late, and I might miss the deadline.” His voice was low, you could barely catch the latter of what he said.

Your expression grew serious as you switched to professional mode. “The Swartz Peninsula could pose a problem around this time,” you began, examining the maps before you. “The marines usually like to patrol that area, especially with the merchant ships docked for the off-season. We need to find a better way out.” You paused, debating whether to ask the next question or not, but decided to take a chance. “May I ask who this man you’re meeting is? And what’s the deal with the deadline?”

Hongjoong’s pointed gaze flicked to you, his expression hardening. “Those details do not concern you… yet.” The emphasis on the word ‘yet’ was a clear warning. You opened your mouth to argue but quickly shut it, realising it wasn’t worth agitating him.

He nodded slightly, acknowledging your silence. “You’re correct about the peninsula, but that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To solve these kinds of issues.” There was a rising edge to his voice, a simmering anger just beneath the surface. He didn’t have much in the patience department you figured.

“Yes, sir. I’ll get to work right away,” you replied quickly, sensing the urgency.

“Alright then. I’ll leave you to it,” he said, turning towards the door. “We’ll meet again in the evening. If I don’t see significant progress… well, you already know what could happen.” His words were threateningly calm. He glanced over at Yunho. “Yunho, you’re to assist her today since you have nothing better to do anyway.”

Yunho groaned loudly. “Wait a minute! Who said I didn’t? Hyung, you can’t leave me here with her,” his previously cheerful demeanour shifted into frustration. It was the first time you had seen him express an emotion that wasn’t sheer happiness, and you had to be the reason for it.

But Hongjoong ignored his protests and continued toward the door. Yunho followed behind like a lost puppy, his face pleading. Before Yunho could argue further, the captain quickly opened the door and then slammed it shut in Yunho's face, leaving no space for negotiation.

Yunho sighed dramatically, dragging his long legs and pulling up a chair beside you. He plopped down with a loud huff, his shoulders slumping forward as he grabbed a random map from the table and started unfurling and furling it with clear boredom.

“What is wrong with working with me?” you asked, slightly offended by his clear reluctance. “I’m such a nice person. You should be honoured if anything.”

Yunho turned to you with a deadpan look. “Let’s just get this over with. Studying maps isn’t exactly how I imagined spending my day today,” he muttered, tossing the map he had been playing with back onto the table and leaning over your shoulder to see what you were doing.

You scoffed, deciding to be the bigger person and ignore his comment. You grabbed a pencil and began making notes along the margins of the map, your mind already mulling over the possible routes, calculating distances, and marking areas of potential dangers. The hum of the ship’s machinery and the distant calls of seagulls filled the silence between you.

Yunho shifted in his chair, tapping his foot against the floor, very clearly uncomfortable with the silence. He watched you for a moment, his head tilted to the side, before speaking up. “You really know what you’re doing, huh?” His tone was almost begrudgingly impressed.

You didn’t look up from your work. “Of course. I’ve been doing this a long time. And besides, if I don’t do a good job, your dear captain might just make me fish fodder, and it's too bright of a day to swim with the sharks.”

Yunho chuckled softly, his expressions lightening up a little. “Yeah, he’s not big on second chances,” he admitted. Then, leaning closer, he whispered conspiratorially, “But between you and me, you’ve got a better chance than most. He wouldn’t have spared you for even a second if he didn’t think you were useful.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He grinned. “Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help a small smile from tugging at your lips. There was something about Yunho’s casual attitude that was oddly comforting. “Alright, if you’re so bored, why don’t you make yourself useful and get me an estimate on the weather conditions?” you suggested, gesturing to a stack of weather charts on the side of the table. “We need to know if we’re going to have to face any storms or unfavourable winds.”

Yunho’s face lit up slightly at the idea of having something to do, even if it was not ideal. “Aye, aye, navigator,” he said with a mock salute, grabbing the charts and flipping through them.

As you continued to study the maps, making annotations and considering various routes, you found yourself feeling a little lighter. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be as unbearable as you thought.

Hours passed as you meticulously combed through various maps and charts. The sun was already making its way towards the west, casting streams of golden light across the room. You remained focused on your task, occasionally glancing up as Yunho wandered around, fiddling with various instruments, and scribbling random notes on rough paper. Despite his earlier complaints, he would sometimes offer surprisingly useful snippets of information about the ship’s capabilities — like its 54-knot speed and the height of its masts and stuff related to air pressure.

But soon, his restlessness began to influence your own mind. You could feel the fatigue weighing down your eyelids, words had started to swim in front of your eyes. At least you had managed to outline a few potential routes. All that remained was the daunting task of presenting your findings to the captain. Hongjoong still unnerved you, but you were becoming used to his constant threats.

Deciding to rest a bit, you leaned back in your chair, glancing over at Yunho, who seemed deeply engrossed in dismantling a peculiar-looking box. He probably wouldn’t mind if you closed your eyes for a moment. You leaned your head back, let your eyelids flutter shut, and welcomed the warm blanket settling over your thoughts.

Just as sleep was about to sweep you away, a loud bang jolted you awake. The door to the room had been flung open with such force that it slammed against the wall, rebounding with a sharp creak, causing you to startle and lose your balance. You fell from your chair, landing hard on your side with a groan. Blinking in surprise, you looked up to see a man standing in the doorway, his appearance dishevelled, his hair blown out at odd angles, and parts of his clothing drenched in seawater.

It was the same man who had suggested selling you off the night before. A flash of anger surged through you as you side-eyed him furiously, but he seemed completely oblivious to your presence. He turned his attention straight to Yunho, his voice urgent and strained.

“Storm flashes,” he panted, catching his breath and putting his hands on his knees. “They shouldn’t be happening right now, but Captain wants you and the navigator. We need to secure the ship. The waters are unpredictable, and we haven’t even hit the big one yet. The lower masts are already wavering,” he pointed behind him.

Your anger melded into confusion and then horror. You had read about storm flashes — violent bursts of wind and icy rain, accompanied by deafening thunder and blinding lightning. The rain felt like tiny blades cutting open your skin, and the wind could be so strong that it could pick people up and blow them away. Though you had never experienced one firsthand, the descriptions you had read were enough to fill you with a sense of dread.

Yunho's face had lost its usual playful expression, replaced with one of concern. He shot up from his place on the floor and nodded sharply. "We don’t have much time,” he muttered before glancing back at you. “You heard him. Let’s go.”

You scrambled to your feet, you were afraid, you couldn’t just die after enduring so much pain and not finishing what was started. You were on a pirate ship in the middle of dangerous waters, and now you were about to face a deadly storm, surely you would make it, just like the other times. Unfortunately, there was no time to dwell on your fears. You nodded, brushing off your clothes, and hurrying after Yunho.

The man at the door, who seemed to have been partially soaked by the storm’s initial onslaught, looked back at you with a calculative gaze, as if he was checking how useful you’d be, before moving out of your way. “Stay close and follow instructions,” he snapped, his voice hard. “We can’t afford mistakes right now.”

You followed Yunho up to the main deck, your heart racing with every step. The wind outside had already begun to pick up, the pressure dropping, and the skies were a deep, foreboding grey. The ship creaked and groaned under the strain of the rising waves, and the air was thick with the smell of salt and you could almost taste the electricity in the air.

Crew members moved frantically around the deck, securing ropes, fastening cargo, and shouting instructions to each other over the deafening roar of the wind. You could see Captain Hongjoong standing near the helm, his face calm but focused, barking orders at his crew.

“Get those sails down! Prepare for the storm flashes!” he yelled. His voice, though firm, seemed almost calm in the face of the chaos, as if he’d done this all before, which he probably must have. He turned his head, spotting you and Yunho. “Navigator, up here!” he called, waving you over to the helm.

You made your way toward him, gripping the railings tightly to keep from being blown off balance by the gusts of wind. Yunho was right behind you, still keeping his eye on parts of the ship that might need securing.

When you reached Hongjoong, he didn’t waste a second. “We need to find shelter, fast. The storm flashes are already upon us, and we haven’t even touched the big one yet. Can we make it past the Swartz Peninsula, or do we need to find another way?” he shouted, his voice barely audible over the wind.

You glanced at the map you had been holding tightly in your hand. Your mind raced as you quickly calculated distances and potential obstacles. “We can try to cut around the peninsula, but it’ll be risky,” you shouted back. “If we can’t make it past before the storm intensifies, we’ll be caught in the worst of it.”

Hongjoong nodded, considering your words carefully. “Then we have no choice but to risk it. Yunho, get down to the engine room and make sure everything is secured. If the engines fail, we’re as good as dead, and raise the reinforcements.”

Yunho nodded and turned to leave, but not before giving you a quick, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “We’ll get through this.”

You nodded back, gripping the edge of the helm as the first flashes of lightning illuminated the darkened skies. The ship lurched forward, fighting the rising waves, and your mind raced through every bit of knowledge you had about this treacherous part of the sea. You closed your eyes, mind going faster than light, trying to figure out something- anything that could help. Then it clicked, your eyes shot open.

There was a little passage along the peninsula that most sailors didn’t know about — but you did. Your teacher had spoken of it with a certain fondness, referring to it as one of "her places." She had told you about several of these spots, hidden pathways and secret routes that she seemed to treasure. You never quite understood why she called them hers; she didn’t own them, and it wasn’t as if she had discovered them, but there was always a special gleam in her eyes when she spoke of them.

After she passed, these places remained a mystery, an unfinished guide left behind for you to complete. When you started taking odd jobs as a navigator for small merchant ships, you began to test her secrets. You soon realised that no one seemed to know of these pathways — they weren’t on any maps, and even the most seasoned sailors seemed oblivious to their existence. They were often the easiest routes, bypassing dangerous reefs or cutting through the most anarchic parts of the sea. You kept this knowledge to yourself, claiming that you had stumbled upon them by accident, and surprisingly, no one ever questioned it. Over time, they forgot about these secret ways altogether. But you hadn’t.

And now, one of those secret routes could save all of your lives. This passage was exactly what you needed: a sea cave that ran beneath the peninsula from one end to the other. The best part was its entrance — a narrow opening concealed by a wall of sea stumps, jagged rocks that jutted out from the water and looked like an extension of the land itself. From a distance, it seemed like an impassable barrier, and most sailors wouldn’t even think to venture closer. The only way to reach the cave's entrance was through a slim strip of water, just wide enough for a single ship to slip through. You had only passed through it once before, on a much smaller vessel, and even then, it had been tight.

You glanced back at Hongjoong, who was gripping the wheel with focused determination. The wind whipped his hair around his face, and his eyes, still hidden behind those dark sunglasses, seemed to pierce through the storm ahead. "There might be another way," you yelled, trying to make your voice heard over the howling wind. "There's a passage, a sea cave that cuts right through the peninsula. If we can find the entrance, we can make it through to the other side."

Hongjoong looked at you, his expression incredulous. "A sea cave?" he repeated, his voice half-drowned by the noise of the storm. "And you’re sure it’s real? Not just some sailor’s tale?"

“It’s real,” you insisted. “My teacher told me about it. I’ve used it before. But it’s tricky — the entrance is hidden, and the waters around it are narrow. We have to be precise.”

He studied you for a moment longer, then nodded. “Show me where,” he ordered. You quickly unfurled the map, your fingers tracing along the contours of the peninsula, then pointing to a spot where the line of the land met the sea.

“Here,” you said. “It’s hidden by sea stumps, but there’s a passage through them. If we keep our heading slightly to the east, we should see them soon. The opening will be small, but we have to get through before the storm closes in completely.”

Hongjoong nodded sharply, his jaw tight. “Alright,” he called out to the crew, “adjust the sails! Bring us slightly eastward — keep a sharp eye out for jutting rocks.”

The crew moved quickly to follow his orders, and the ship began to veer slightly to the right. You could feel the sparks in the air, and tension thicker than the storm clouds above. The wind howled louder, and the first drops of rain began to fall, cold and sharp against your skin. You felt sharp crystals of ice scratch your skin. You winced, touching your cheek and feeling the smallest droplets of blood.

Yunho returned from below deck, his face serious. "Engines are secure, but we’re running hot," he reported to Hongjoong. “We don’t have much time.”

“We don’t need time,” Hongjoong shot back, his eyes fixed ahead, for the second time you saw his sunglasses off of his face, and the grey of his eyes fought against the stormy clouds with equal persistence. “We just need luck.”

You leaned forward, squinting through the rain, searching for any sign of the sea stumps. The waves were growing more violent, the ship pitching up and down with increasing force. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the water for a brief moment. And then, you saw them — dark shapes protruding from the sea, just where you expected them to be.

“There!” you shouted, pointing. “There’s the entrance!”

Hongjoong steered the ship toward the stumps, navigating carefully through the narrow waters. The crew held their breath as the ship drew closer to the hidden opening. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your fingers gripping the edge of the helm so tightly your knuckles turned white.

The ship inched forward, titling dangerously and straightening back up, the waves slapping against the hull with a deafening roar. You looked at Hongjoong, veins in his neck protruding from the strain of it all. The narrow strip of water seemed impossibly tight, but the ship kept moving, squeezing through with painstaking slowness. You held your breath, praying silently that you had made the right call, that the cave was deep enough for a ship this size.

And then, with a final heave, the ship slipped through the opening and into the mouth of the sea cave. The walls of the cave rose up around you, sheltering you from the wind and rain. The noise of the storm outside seemed to soften, though the roar of the water echoed loudly against the stone.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your breathing, the creak of the ship, and the steady drip of water from the cave ceiling. You had made it — for now, at least.

Hongjoong turned to you, a rare grin breaking across his face. "Not bad," he said, his voice echoing off the cave walls. "Now let’s see if we can get through the rest of it alive."

Without missing a beat, he raised his voice to command the crew. “Wooyoung, assess overall damage while we still have light!” he yelled at the man stationed at the lookout post. “Yunho, get on with the minor fixes. Take Mingi and San if you need help.”

You wondered briefly, who the other men were, breaking from your thoughts on hearing a chorus of “Aye, Captain!” behind you. The deck was suddenly alive with a flurry of movement, ropes being secured, and tools being fetched.

"Move aside, miss," a soft voice spoke over your shoulder, startling you. You turned and found yourself face to face with a tall man who looked like he had been resurrected from a shipwreck — dark circles under his eyes and a pallor that suggested he hadn’t slept in days.

"Ahh, who the fuck are you?" you exclaimed impulsively, unable to mask your surprise.

The man remained unfazed. "Park Seonghwa," he replied evenly. "Quartermaster and occasional helmsman, which is what I must do right now if you’d so kindly give me some space."

You blinked, momentarily thrown by his calm manner, before stepping back to allow him access to the helm. He slid smoothly into position beside the captain, his hands deftly taking control of the wheel. Hongjoong moved away, satisfied, and motioned for you to follow him.

You broke away from the spot where you were frozen in place, trailing behind him as he made his way to a small covered area behind the main mast. The rain was still pounding down outside the cave, but inside, it felt almost eerily calm.

"You have proved your worth, Miss Navigator," Hongjoong began, his voice low and thoughtful. "I’d like to keep you around since you are of use. Not that you have a choice, of course." He paused, looking you over with that keen gaze of his. "This is not where our journey ends. According to you, our estimated time of arrival should be…?”

You thought for a moment, running the calculations quickly in your head. “Approximately nine hours until we leave the cave, and then another day or so to reach the eastern port towns of the Northern Aurora Islands.”

He nodded, seeming pleased with your response. “Yes, that’s good. We’re much ahead of schedule, which I must say I appreciate. It means we have time to do just one more thing, which I will brief you on once we’re on the other side. Until then, you can rest or do whatever you need — maybe get your head bandaged again; it seems like the wound has reopened.”

His fingers lightly touched your chin, tilting your face so he could inspect the injury. For a brief second, the world seemed to narrow down to the space between you and him. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his thumb brushing the edge of the bandage. The moment felt oddly intimate, a flicker of something almost like concern crossing his eyes before he released you.

The second his fingers left your skin, the throbbing in your head returned wanting nothing but revenge. You winced, realising he was right — the wound had indeed reopened. You sighed, resigned to another trip to see the doctor. At least, you thought, the prospect of visiting the surprisingly gentle physician wasn’t so bad. It even made you feel a tiny bit happier.

You nodded at Hongjoong, bidding him a quiet goodnight. “I’ll get it checked out,” you promised, relieved to have some time to rest before he decided to thrust another herculean task upon you.

Hongjoong gave a small, satisfied nod. "Good. We’ll reconvene after we’ve made it to the other side," he said, his expression returning to its usual seriousness. "Rest while you can."

As you made your way below deck, the noise of the crew bustling around, repairing the minor damages and securing the ship, faded into the background. You felt a strange mix of exhaustion and relief settling in.

You found your way back to the makeshift infirmary, knocking lightly before entering. The familiar sight of the doctor — with his soft, steady hands and kind eyes — was a pleasant sight after what you just went through.

"Back again so soon?" he asked with a gentle smile, not phased by the events that transpired outside, his eyes flicking to the reopened wound on your head.

You managed a tired smile in return. "Seems like I just can’t stay out of trouble," you replied.

He chuckled softly, motioning for you to sit down. "Let’s get you patched up again, shall we? I’m starting to think you might be enjoying my company a little too much."

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, finally allowing yourself to loosen up for the first time in hours. “Of course, you’re currently my favourite person—apart from the part where you agreed to throw me off the ship. That was not cool."

He pouted in defence, looking genuinely affronted. “Hey! I never said that. I just said I didn’t revive you just for you to get killed anyway. It took a lot of work, you know!”

You laughed harder at his expression, amused at how his serious attitude melted into a childish pout. "Fine, fine, I’ll let it slide,” you teased, only to yelp softly when he lightly smacked your shoulder. “Sit still and let me work,” he scolded, but there was a teasing lilt in his voice that made it hard to take him seriously.

You apologised, still trying to stifle your laughter, and as the conversation fizzled out into a comfortable silence, you felt the tension ebb away out of your body. His hands were steady, the familiar scent of herbs and clean linen filling the air as he patched you up again. You closed your eyes, the soreness slowly slipped away, as his magic worked wonders on your injury. By the time he finished, the pain had pretty much vanished.

"Thanks," you mumbled, your voice heavy with the sleep that was already threatening to pull you under. A yawn escaped before you could hold it back, and when you blinked your eyes open again, you found Yeosang staring at you intently, a strange emotion flickering in his dark eyes—something that you couldn’t understand yet.

He quickly blinked and turned away, busying himself with packing up his supplies. When he helped you stand, there was a soft smile on his lips, though his eyes avoided yours. Without a word, he walked you to the door. “Goodnight,” he said gently as you stepped out, his voice as soft as the smile still lingering on his face.

But just before he could close the door, you hesitated. "Wait," you called, making him pause. He raised an eyebrow at you. "You never told me your name."

His eyes widened slightly as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. Then, his expression softened, eyes crinkling at the corners as his lips stretched into a smile. "Kang Yeosang," he replied, his voice gentle. “How very nice to meet you.”

You smiled back, the name rolling around in your head. “Hmm… Yeosang,” you tested, a soft giggle escaping your lips. “A pretty name fit for a pretty boy.”

For a moment, Yeosang stood frozen, eyes wide as if he didn’t quite process what you’d said. “Y-you think I’m pretty?” he stammered, his cool, calm facade cracking.

The realisation of what you’d just said hit you like a tidal wave, and your cheeks immediately flushed crimson. "Goodnight!" you blurted in a panic, not waiting for his response as you quickly turned on your heel and rushed down the hallway, your heart thundering in your chest.

Behind you, you could hear Yeosang chuckle softly at your antics, but you didn’t dare look back. You practically ran into your room, slamming the door shut behind you. Pressing your cold hands against your burning cheeks, you tried to calm yourself down, heart still racing. Had you really just called a pirate—*that* pirate—pretty? What was wrong with you?

You flopped onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief as the events of the day replayed in your mind. You had somehow managed to make it through a storm, navigated through a secret passage, and now… you’d gone and flirted with the ship’s doctor. Just amazing.

Despite your embarrassment, a small smile tugged at your lips as you thought of Yeosang's flustered reaction, it was kind of cute. You still slapped your cheeks to remove these thoughts from your brain.

Slowly, exhaustion caught up to you, and your racing thoughts began to fade. You drifted off to sleep, your heart finally calming.

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

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