#also its no shame to ask if i know an au

[sad-leon]

Hey, random question (sorry to bother you) but do you remember that name of the tmnt au that has the 2012 boys locked in a turtle pendant haunting leon? I started following it after I saw you reblog a part of it but it completely disappear from my fyp, following, and I don't remember the name because I'm bad at names 😭😭😭😭😭 I'm so sorry for bothering you :(

im gonna be honest- i dont have a clue what au you could be talking about

i've made a 2012/Rise crossover, but that doesnt have a pendant involved, nor does it involve control

imbi has a pendant, but not 2012 nor control like that

hmm, theres also Two Souls that i haven't caught up on in quite a while that involved 2012 leo haunting Rise leo, but theres not a pendant involved iirc, and also he only takes control rarely

also how long ago did i reblog this? it might have been when i was still invested in crossovers, but its been a while since then- i've been focusing mostly on rise for now

if anyone that follows me knows what au this is, feel free to leave it in my inbox :D

[ratatatastic]

do you write fic on ao3?

unfortunately for everyone involved i do!

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

So!! Connections!! We know about Piko and Fukase, but Moke and Oliver would probs have a connection too. Oliver doesn't want to be alone (being alone is the calm before the storm bc of how he “died”) and I'll tell you what happened to Moke in a sec but Tldr he instinctively feels protective over this child, because him caring was how the sequence of events start that “kill” him. -🌟

YOU KEEP MAKING THIS SO SAD MY GOD. MY POOR BOYS 😭

i do really like this idea though omg... seems so fitting for moke that he got flowerized while trying to protect someone, really cared until the end... UGH THIS IS SO SAD SOBS??

at least v3's polite enough to knock before coming in lmao, rip homeslice ✌️😔✌️

[mariana-oconnor]

Types of AO3 Summary

Option 1 - The Excerpt:

The quickest, the easiest! Find a section of your fic that contains the main premise of said fic and also showcases your writing. Copy paste that into the summary box. BOOM! Done.

Best used for any fic, unless it's so short the excerpt would be the whole fic.

Option 2 - The No Frills:

Just a description of the fic. No need for drama. No need to complicate matters. Keep it simple, keep it safe.

Example: "A short character exploration of Blorbo's thoughts after Daisy leaves."

Best used for short fics, poems and fics where the style/format is more important than the plot. Or fics that tie directly into a scene/episode from canon or another fanfic.

Option 3 - The Hook:

Draw the reader's interest by giving them a set up with no conclusion. Introduce the main character(s), introduce the status quo, describe an inciting incident, leave a question in the reader's mind.

Example: "Blorbo is a barista at a coffee shop, struggling to pay their bills, but after handsome rockstar Obrolb walks into their coffee shop they find that they have to decide whether a chance at love is worth the cost of fame."

Best used for mid to long fic where there's a strong premise and follow through. Especially good for AUs. Can be expanded for more complex plots or used multiple times in one summary for multiple characters or subplots.

Option 4 - The Sitcom One-Liner:

"The one in which [over simplified description of one of the main plotlines]" This is essentially 'boil your plot down to the very simplest statement you can, oversimplify if possible. The more bizarre or unhelpful the better.

Example: "The one in which Blorbo learns to like cake".

Best used for fics with at least a little humour in them.

Option 5 - The Rule of Three:

Three is a magic number. Find three key moments in your fic and just list them. That's it. Often ends with 'not necessarily in that order' if used for comic effect. If it's an AU, establish that quickly (i.e. 'Star NHL player Blorbo…').

Example: "Blorbo makes a friend, falls in love, and almost burns to death, not necessarily in that order."

Best used for anything, really. Three is a magic number. The human brain loves things that come in threes.

Option 6 - The Trope Lure:

Why bother describing the plot? We all know AO3 readers are here for the tropes. Similar to The Sitcom One-Liner just using tropes instead of plot. Often followed by the phrase 'that nobody asked for'.

Example: "The Space western / A/B/O / Mail Order Bride fic that nobody asked for."

Often tacked on to the end of The Hook or The Excerpt as a tl;dr.

Best used for fic that plays its tropes straight with no shame or second guessing.

Option 7 - The Pre-emptive Strike:

(Not recommended) You just wrote this fic, the self doubt is consuming you. You feel the need to apologise profusely for your existence for no apparently reason. You feel cringe, you think the fic is cringe, you want everyone to know that you think the fic is cringe in case they don't like it and judge you for it.

Example: "So I fell in love with this pairing and had to write this. It's weird and terrible. Lol! I suck at summaries! Sorry!"

Best used for no fics ever. I cannot stress this enough.

(Seriously, I am begging you, don't do this. If you're planning to use this option, rethink it and do one of the others. I guarantee you more people will want to read your fic.)

Sometimes added on to any other summary as a strange disclaimer. (srsly. don't.)

Option 8 - The Unapology:

Embrace the mayhem, embrace the deep dark depths of your soul. The opposite of The Pre-emptive Strike. A combination of The No Frills and The Trope Lure that truly gives no fucks.

You have committed crimes and you are proud of them. You know what your USP is and you're going to make sure your target market finds you. Look upon my works, ye readers, and despair!

Example: "There aren't enough tentacle fics in this pairing, so I had to write one myself!"

Best used for fics with controversial/polarising tropes with all relevant details already clearly stated in the tags.

Option 9 - The Interrogation:

What if you wrote a summary entirely in questions? What if your readers had to read the fic to discover the answers? Who knows what will happen if you do this?

Example: "What happens when Blorbo McBlorbo gets his wish and Daisy doesn't make it to the plane on time? What happens when Obrolb finds out? How will this change Daisy and Blorbo's friendship?"

Best used for... I honestly don't know. This style of summary does not vibe with me. Mystery fic maybe? Sorry guys.

Option 10 - The Multipack:

Got a bunch of shorter fics in one work? No way of summarising them all without a wall of text larger than the Great Wall of China? This one is similar to The No Frills in that you're not describing the plots themselves and similar to The Trope Lure in that often broader genres and tropes are mentioned. What links those fics? Are they all in the same fandom? The same pairing? The same challenge? Just slap that right in the summary. A chapter list with 1-2 word trope/pairing summaries can be included or not.

Example: "A collection of Blorbo/Daisy/Obrolb fics based on Tumblr prompts. Chapter 1: Regency AU Chapter 2: Werewolves vs vampires Chapter 3: Ghost!Daisy Chapter 4: Space pirates!"

Best used for (obviously) works that are compilations of fic.

Option ? - The Void:

I said The Excerpt was the quickest and easiest summary to do. I lied, well... I didn't exactly lie. What is quicker and easier than not having a summary at all? After all, that's what the tags are for.

Example:

Best used for... nothing? Write a summary, guys. Please?

[azullumi]

WHERE WE LIE ON THE EDGE OF SUMMER !!

premise— you didn’t think that being neighbors and childhood friends with scaramouche would come with many things. for one, you have a sassy loser pathetically in love with you. content tags & warning — pairing: scaramouche (w/ gender-neutral reader) | modern!au, childhood friends, puppy love, scaramouche can’t skip stones, secret pining (for scaramouche), scaramouche words of reassurance and act of service advocate, fluff, word vomit, unspoken confessions | wc: 4.8k ; one-shot

notes from a jellyfish — (repost) first fic for the eat your heart out event!! nearly lost my mind writing this, but enjoy!!

SCARAMOUCHE is a liar. 

No truths spill from his mouth, that much is certain. 

He could never understand how poets write the beauty of a single sway of grass in the wind nor see how artists condense a single moment into a small stroke of a brush and find it breathtaking when it will all be bound to rot, but he tells others that he does anyway because he is a liar.

His words would bloom withered in his mouth, a shameful garden of ache, and the petals would never feel the lingering warmth in his lips.

But he never liked the heat, the suffocating warmth, always preferring the winter cold. But it was summer when he first met you and he remembers your laughter as you threw pebbles across the water, your smile gently shaped by the warm sun.

i. standing in between here and there

“Are you okay?”

There was only a grimace of annoyance on his face when you turned to briefly look at him. 

It was summer once more and Scaramouche dreaded summer more than anyone could, much more so now that he’s spending this hot day with a stranger—a child of his aunt’s friend, who is also their neighbor. The combination of sitting under all this heat and being forced to get along with someone he doesn't know is deadly. He can't even remember what their name was. Perhaps they had uttered it once only for it to be lost among the pebbled path or to be drowned in the river.

He raises his eyebrow at you, “Is it not obvious enough?”

“What’s with this sassy lost child? Jeez.” You mumble more words underneath your breath, something along the lines of him being grumpy. The summer breeze brushes across your skin as you stare at the river, contemplating. Perhaps you were debating if this stone will reach farther than the frog who jumped across just now, or maybe you’re just thinking of the boy—who your mother had asked you to get along with—sitting silently on the grass behind you since earlier.

You throw one stone over the water. It bounces once and twice, the surface responding with small ripples, sliding across before eventually sinking. You do this many times and he watches you every single time, eyes seemingly unable to look away. But curiosity is a hungry monster that consumed him, so he speaks to rid of the itch that claws at his throat:

“What are you doing?”

“Stone skipping,” you paused, witnessing the stone jump only once before reuniting with its old friends at the bottom of the river, “wanna try?” You blink at him, waiting for his answer. There was silence then came a grumble. He stood up from his seat with an expression that makes it seem like you forced him to do so.

You handed the boy a pebble, but he had to stare at it for a few seconds before he took it from your hand. You waited with an expectant gaze, your mind somehow anticipating that he’ll do better than you—Scaramouche looks like he’s good at everything that he does.

Oh, but how your expectations came crumbling down the way your breakfast cookie fell into your glass of milk.

“Go on, throw it.” You had told him and you didn’t know that he was that much of an obedient child because he really did throw it. Just not aimed at the water. He threw it like how one would pass a ball to a friend; his stone didn’t even graze nor come near the surface of the water.

But Scaramouche had the same perseverance of a rock against the wind. He picked up a pebble and threw it once more; this time, it is now aimed at the water but it only went straight ahead, sinking slowly to the bottom.

You don’t think you’re in the right time to say anything, so you just stood still and watched the struggle of a young boy who had a small stone in his hand, with the occasional rustling of leaves as the breeze passes and with the sound of a splash prodding at the silence that envelops you like a familiar companion. You wanted to go and teach him how he’s supposed to do it, that there is a certain angle that he has to reach and he’s not supposed to throw it just as it is, but your mind seems to tell you not to so you didn’t. It’s all quite a spectacular watch, after all, it was as if you were watching your favorite show at 7 PM after waiting hours for it to go on air.

No matter how many times Scaramouche tries to throw and make the pebble bounce across the river, it always just sinks the first time it comes into contact with the surface. He’s silent, but the frustration is evident in the scrunch of his eyebrows and the increasing aggression in his movements.

“Oh, wow, you’re terrible at this.” You were the first to break the silence—your words seem to have stabbed his unyielding spirit as he groaned and just went back to where he was sitting. An act of surrender after struggling for so long.

”You don’t want to try again?”

“Why should I?” The pebble will only sink anyway. What’s the point of doing something when you know you’ll fail in the end?

“Come on, just try it once more.” But you were a stubborn one and Scaramouche doesn’t have much of a choice, not when you’re already right in front of him, taking his hands into yours and pulling for him to stand up. You drag him back to where he was earlier, still holding one of his hands even as you pick up a pebble right at your feet.

“Here, do it like this.” Your hand is warm against his, gentle, in contrast to the crumpled look on his face. You guide him, saying words that he can’t process that much as he’s way too focused trying to fan the flames that danced across his cheeks.

He throws, in the same angle and form that you have guided him into before you had stepped back to watch, holding hope that he’ll succeed this time in the same hand you held him. The stone doesn’t immediately celebrate with his other failed attempts at the bottom as it bounces against the surface. 

You cheered, the sound of laughter slipping out of your lips as it seemed to tickle the insides of your mouth the more you held it in. There’s a certain feeling of warmth that washed over him when the melody rings inside his head. The roughness of the feeling, sharp in its unfamiliar edges, is akin to a huge wave that crashed into his form, but the comfort of it as it submerges him reminds him of the afternoon light shining on the floors of his home.

“It only bounced once.” He says, trying to downplay it all to get rid of the feeling that consumes him.

“But it did. That’s what matters, doesn’t it?” The feeling only seemed to grow stronger as if it’s feeding on your every word, being fuelled by your gaze, by your smile, by the sound of your voice. He tries to drown it all by thinking of other thoughts, diving into a different topic instead, and all the while, copying you as you resume your stone-skipping activities.

“Do you not get bored doing this?”

You hum, contemplating for a few seconds before you answer: “I think everything is a little more fun when you do it during summer,” you beam at him, then return your gaze back to the river before you throw, “Like this, especially when you’re doing it with someone.”

To be honest, he doesn’t even understand what you’re saying. This childlike mindset—although, for one, you and him are just a pair of children, playing beside the river, feeling the heat prickling against your skin. The bugs only grow louder in each second that passes as the afternoon slowly comes to the pass, replaced with the onset of the evening. The sky is painted with various colors mixed together but all in harmony, oranges and reds mixed with something golden, tainted with purples.

And yet, he would always ask himself, what is even nice about summer?

“I don’t know why but maybe I’m just saying that because I like summer,” you say as if you had read his mind, as if you had noticed the lingering question on his face that asks you why. “Do you like summer?”

It takes him a moment to answer, letting the orchestra of the wind against leaves, of the stone splashing against water, of the cicada’s song last longer than his silence. He could have said no, he could have disagreed with you and argued with your answer. He could have said that he despised summer for its heat and bugs. But he didn’t and that was the problem.

“I… like summer.” There are razors in his tongue as he speaks, the utterance of the sentence making him bleed internally as he bites on his words. Perhaps the hesitation in his tone betrays his words or perhaps it was the twitch of his lips paired with the contort of his forehead that made it appear as untruthful as it actually was.

Even so, you were convinced. You gleam at him, eyes bright with excitement: “Really? You don’t seem to be one to like summer.”

“I do, why would you say that?”

You shrug, “You just seem like a winter person to me.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. In fact, that was the whole truth and the actual lie was him saying that he likes summer. He still doesn’t understand himself for saying such words—maybe it’s the heat getting into his head or maybe it's the sound of your laughter that plays over and over inside his mind.

It feels like having a crush—He slaps himself mentally at the notion.

“We should always spend summer together then.” You’ll say, watching a pebble bounce across until it reaches the other side. A feat you have only achieved twice—the second time being this moment. You silently rejoiced for your success, clenching your hand into a fist.

He responds, “So we could just watch stones bounce on water the whole time?” and this made you chuckle before you refute: “Unless you want to, but there are tons of other things to do during summer.”

This went on and on: you, just listing out whatever activities you could do and saying whatever, and him, who listens to every word you say and would give you short responses. It is not until dusk had ended and the evening came, and now, you’re standing by the doorway, saying your goodbyes to the boy who’s terrible at stone-skipping.

“You don’t even know my name, do you?”

“I do.”

You laugh, “Liar.”

ii. take a step closer, won’t you?

Summer came to visit like an old friend you had known for years.

It’s a fleeting companion, a familiar stranger bound to disappear, gone as the wind carries your scent. The sun kisses your skin very delicately, the grass will hold your being as if you were its own child, and you will miss its embrace the moment it slips out of your hands quietly. But there’s a strange comfort welling up in your heart knowing that you will feel it once more in time and you won’t have to spend a lifetime missing it—or him.

“What are you being so slow for?” The dark-haired man stops from his track and turns to look at you, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips formed into a frown. “The sun will set before we even reach the river.” It’s the mayor of complaintown, throwing his usual complaints at you. You could only roll your eyes before you run to him, catching up to his pace before the two of you resume walking.

Scaramouche, somehow, kept his promise. Although it’s not exactly a promise because the two of you didn’t make any, he did keep his word of spending every summer with you. And right now, you’re in the middle of walking through the forest near your home—an adventure, you may say, despite the fact that you have taken this path multiple times already and you’re just returning to the place where the two of you usually spend your moments under the summer sun.

The gentle murmurs of the rushing water reach your ears, eventually getting louder as the two of you draw close to your destination. Not sooner than later, a familiar scene comes into view: the small river—a stream, to be exact—in all its glory displayed before you, a path of water stretching from here to there across your line of vision, carrying memories of when the two of you played around it.

There’s a small smile embedded on your lips. It’s the thought that it's only the two of you that knows of this place that makes you warm—it’s like a secret place for you and him.

You come close to the body of water, crouching down, staring at your rather unclear image by the water, and making out the contours and edges of your face. You try to reach out to your reflection, disturbing the surface with the tip of your fingertips, and you watch as it ripples underneath your hand. Although you’re way too focused on whatever you are doing that you forgot the existence of the boy who came here with you.

“Are you just planning on staring at the water all day long?” Scaramouche says as he crouches down beside you. He speaks as if he didn’t spend his time staring at you, admiring the way the sun holds you in its embrace, while thinking that he could just look at you for hours without getting bored.

You hum, “I really don’t know what else to do now,” you draw something on the water, the surface coming in creases.

“I thought you said there are a lot of things to do in the summer.”

“Yeah, but we already did nearly all of them.” You grumble, turning to look at him with a troubled expression. Indigo orbs meet yours in a gentle gaze; Scaramouche’s gaze, tender and soft, doesn’t often match the harsh bite of his words. It leaves you wondering, confused, if this is just his way of showing that he cares or if there’s something more. But you don’t like thinking about it—fools base their thoughts on foolish assumptions, and you are no fool.

If only you know what festers underneath his skin. Looking at you like this, honey light against your skin, he thinks you’re beautiful—the word isn’t even enough to capture the essence of your being. The world seemingly held its breath for this moment as everything came to a still except for the wind that brushes against your face. He is foolishly and utterly starstruck by the existence of you, as if you were meant to be in this place, to experience this small, fleeting moments with him, to be bathed under sunlight, to breath in the air of your surrounding, the feel the coldness of water against your feet—to live.

There's you and his mere image being reflected by your eyes, and he tries to see into the waters of your gaze for something that is akin to the just adoration he holds for you, hoping that you hold him under the same light too. He may speak of words that hold no meaning, no truth, but his feelings for you are intense and unwavering that it consumes him. Won’t you pull him a little closer?

You break the stillness, your surroundings seemingly coming back to life with the sound of your voice: “What are you thinking now?”

“Just how stupid you look.” The boy answers. Liar.

You acted as if you were offended by his statement, letting out a gasp and even placing your hand over your chest to show that you were quote on quote, hurt. He only rolls his eyes at your performance.

You jest, “Why are you so grumpy? Do you just hate being with me?”

“Stop assuming things, I didn’t say anything like that.” His attention is now to the river, watching as the stream flows and as the rocks remain unmoving.

You grab this moment to take advantage of his vulnerability and inattention. Snickering, you scoop a handful of water before splashing it to him, drenching him in the process. At the sight, laughter bubbles from your throat—he reminded you of a wet chick.

“So we're playing this game?”

“You started it.” You grin, splashing him once more but this time, he was able to shield himself from your attack.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Cold!” You exclaim as he repays you the favor.

It became a battle between you two. You’ll splash him with a handful and he’ll only retaliate after like two or three of your attacks, and even so, he’ll only fight back with only so little. Nevertheless, water drips from your head, down to your face and he, too, is left there on the side of the river with you, completely drenched and with his clothes sticking to his skin. His gaze is on you and yours are on him, and the two of you break into laughter—you think you’ll remember the sound of yours and his tangled together forever.

For a moment, it felt like the two of you were children once more.

“Ah, now we’re both wet.”

Scaramouche flicks your forehead, earning a groan from you. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours, duh.” You sneeze as soon as you finish your sentence. Scaramouche doesn’t fail to notice you tremble, hugging your knees close to your chest as if to quell the growing chill. 

He abruptly stands up, and you watch him as heads over to where his bag is. He’s been carrying that since earlier and you’ve been curious as to what it contains—you didn’t get the chance to ask him earlier but now, your question is going to be answered. 

You follow after, standing and peering behind him to see the contents. Your eyes are able to make out a water bottle and some snacks—were those your favorite?—among the pile of things. Albeit you didn’t get to see anymore of it as he turned around and placed something on top of your head, obscuring your vision.

You realized it was a towel when he started to gently rub your hair and the side of your face with it, drying you with the soft fabric.

“I didn’t know you had that much prepared.” You comment, letting him seemingly take care of you. Sometimes, it feels like you’re indebted to him with how much he looks after and cares for you. It feels unfair; you take so much from him and he never takes anything from you. He never lets himself indulge, settling on here and there, but never by you. You wish he would come close, he wishes you’ll hold him closer.

“I think we’re going to get sick after this.” You ask with worry lacing your tone; the water was cold and none of you brought any spare clothes, save for the towel he had prepared. And while he’s the one who got drenched the most, he’s here, focusing on you instead. 

(You’ll always find yourself being bathed underneath all of his attention, whether you notice his gaze or not.)

“You’re the only one getting sick between the both of us.” He answers, draping the towel all over your shoulders before he goes and takes out a smaller towel to dry himself. There’s a small pout on your face when you hear his words—you can’t say anything in retort.

“Are we going home now?”

“If you want to, that is.”

The sun is already setting and darkness is slowly creeping into the day as time passes. Your surroundings are dyed with a warm golden, fading into blue. The animals that dwell in the night are revealing themselves as the ones who thrive during the day are returning to rest. Eventually, you also have to go home too. Exhaustion has seeped into you, settling into your weary bones.

“Can you carry me?”

“What? Can’t you walk on your own?”

“Oh, please, almighty Scaramouche. My legs are hurting and I’m tired.” Your hands are clasped together as you speak, batting your eyelashes at him.

Scaramouche could have complained a little more, dismissed your request, and walked back on his own, but he didn’t. And it’s not like he did not want to, but he just could not. How could he ever deny you? You were all that he could ask for, you were only asking him for one thing. Rejecting you at this moment was just like turning away from you—even though he knows that you’re most likely bluffing and are capable of your own. 

(But, oh, he’s simply nothing without you. After all, you make up half of his soul even if he’s not even a fragment of yours.)

“You’re so troublesome.” You’re his favorite problem anyway.

Dusk is settling in the corners of the forest, and in the midst of the trees and along with the harmony of cicadas, is you and Scaramouche. The dark-haired man carries you on his back while you keep him occupied with your chatter of whatever that comes to your mind.

And just as he notices every small thing about you, you can’t ignore the dark hue his skin is painted in:

“Your ears are red.”

He takes a few seconds, mumbling, “It’s too hot.”

(Maybe it’s summer that is warm, or maybe it’s you.)

The next day, however, Scaramouche got sick and you had to nurse him back to his health—out of worry and guilt. Although you held that fact over your head, treating it as some sort of trophy.

iii. aren’t we already close enough?

Something knocks at Scaramouche’s window.

That’s how most horror movies start, but this is no horror movie, and it doesn’t take much for him to know that it was just his neighbor trying to grab his attention.

Another knock came. He heads towards the noise, pushing the curtains aside, and immediately seeing you across in your own room, standing by your open window. Upon seeing the man, you enthusiastically wave at him.

You mouthed, even doing some hand gestures to throw your message across to him: “Do you wanna watch the stars with me?”

It seems like he didn’t understand what you were trying to say as he only stares at you with a confused expression. You sighed and gestured for him to wait, disappearing from his line of sight for a moment before returning with a pen and paper in your hand; you scribble something on it and he watches you with a curious gaze.

With your words written by ink, a few of it crossed out, it reads: Let’s go stargazing.

He mouths, “Right now?” In which you responded with a nod and a smile. Then you return to your pad in hand, turning to new page before writing:

There’s going to be a meteor shower tonight. Let’s watch it together.

Scaramouche puts down his reply on his paper that he has gotten as you were writing.

Where? 

The forest has a small clearing, it’s perfect for stargazing.

Right, and why are we talking like this?

It’s more fun this way and I don’t want to wake people up.

So, do you wanna go???

Okay. Yeah.

YAY !!! I’ll meet you outside.

But just as you were about to leave, he threw his pen at your window, an attempt to grab your attention although he did end up startling you.

It’s cold.

Wear something warm.

You beam at his display of his concern and give him an ‘Okay’ sign.

A few minutes flies by and you come out, jacket in hand. A certain man, with hair as dark as midnight, greets you. He’s clad in sweatpants and an oversized shirt, layered with a jacket on top—he was dressed comfily, as if he were planning on sleeping prior to this.

“Were you planning on going to sleep?”

“I was, until you called.”

“You could have just turned me down. I don’t mind watching the meteor shower alone.” You feel guilt rising in your chest, looking down at the ground you were rooted on. Thoughts whirl like a hurricane, creating a vortex of doubt that wreaks havoc inside your head. You don’t know what’s wrong with you, feeling all of these all at once over a simple and small thing. You were the one to insist, always the first one to come barging into his door.

But somewhere between your thoughts and his own, between loving you and adoring you, he knows you in ways that no one could. You’re the only one he ever knows.

“You’re not bothering me,” Scaramouche ruffles your head, messing up your hair. He speaks in the same note of his touch, soft and gentle, and it feels foreign and familiar at the same time; you want this, you could get used to this—the small thought that remains inside your mind echoes as he dispels all of your worries with just a few of his words. “Besides, I also wanted to watch the meteor shower.” With you.

“Really?”

“Where’s the stubborn and strong person who’ll drag me out of my room every summer that I know?” He flicks your forehead, making you wince and rub the spot to ease the pain. He adds, a small smile etching into the curves of his lips, “You were the one to say that everything is better when you do it with someone.”

“Well—”

“There’s no need to worry over such useless things,” He heaves out a sigh, “If I hated you, you would have known.”

He doesn’t know what took over him to have his hand seek out your face, caressing your face so tenderly like a lover would. The dance of his fingers left a trail of warmth across your skin, blooming and spreading like fire, and maybe it was your fault or maybe it was his that your face leans closer to his touch as if desiring for more of his softness. He doesn’t fail to notice the look on your face, the fire that festers within you spreading to him.

Scaramouche is mesmerized by the miracle that is you. 

He clears his throat, looking away, afraid that he’s going to be consumed by your light the more he keeps his gaze on you:

“Let’s go before we end up missing it.” His tone falters into something sweet, and his hand, too, falls into something kind—his fingers slipping into your own. You could only nod your head in response, afraid that your words would break in your tongue before you could even speak.

It doesn’t take long to reach the spot you were talking about. But it did feel like time moved slowly with the silence as neither of you let go of each other’s hand; you battled with your reasoning, thinking that it will help you walk better in the dark and not trip over anything even when you’re already familiar with the path. Or maybe it was just too cold, you don’t know; it’s not like you want to let go either.

(And in the same cadence of your thoughts, his soul whispers to you: “I don’t think I want to stop holding your hand.”)

Tonight, the stars are a witness to the wake of something foolishly beautiful. As the streaks of light fill the sky like a stroke of a painter’s brush on an empty canvas, lush grass forms into nothing as it sinks beneath your being, intertwined with his as he clutches your hand tight—the sky holds the stars as the earth bears your weight all the same. When the warm breeze leaves and when life all becomes nothing in the absence of indigo merging into golden, can you stand with him a little closer underneath the fading warm?

“Kuni.” What does his name taste like in your mouth?

“Hm?”

Scaramouche isn’t stupid, but you make him feel stupid, and he loves you stupid, like a loser stumbling over the stars in your eyes. He understands why poets write the mundane and how artists portray a fleeting moment bound to rot by time. It doesn’t take much but he spent a long time seeking comfort in the warmth to know the answer—he knew what it was when he wished you were with him to enjoy the sun.

You reside in the deeper parts of his soul, tangled in the loose threads of his being. Scaramouche prays—even when he doesn’t necessarily believe, but what is a god’s gaze for your love?—to whoever is listening that you’ll stay there forever. Can a human ever stop their heart from wanting? 

“Don’t you want to go home now?” You had asked him; the meteor shower has finished and the clouds are already hiding the vast blanket of stars above you. There’s not much left in this night, just silence and a pair of people who had nothing and everything at the same time, lying on the grass as if they’re the only ones who matter in the world. He has always existed right there beside you and he has belonged to you in ways that you may never know.

“I’m still not sleepy yet.” But his mouth gapes into a yawn and you laugh.

“Liar.”

Call him whatever you want, he just wants to stay with you a little longer.

Scaramouche may be a liar.

But he likes you, that much is certain.

taglist: @felibrary, @yunicide, @bittersweetmiko

© AZULLUMI 2024. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

[atxxzist]

this sea of despair | c.s

summary: you've always dreamed of exploring the vast lands and seas beyond the small and quiet town you grew up in... you just didn't think it'd come at the cost of your own dignity and integrity, getting thrown into a whole new world against your will where none of it matters and the only way to survive is to betray who you are in the face of choi san

pairing: choi san x f!reader

genre: pirates!au, angst, smut

WARNINGS: dubcon, sexual assaults, slut-shaming, san is a huge red flag, not a romance story sksjasjdsjs, half-assed smut, im failing to name all of them but pls go in cautiously & pls lmk if i should add something else

word count: 20.8k

you spot him immediately when you reach the top of the hill, the boy recognizable a mile away from the shirt he's wearing; the top once a white color but now a ragged and slightly dirty beige from all the years of owning it.

he looks over his shoulder when he hears the distant footsteps, a smile already on his lips before he's even sure it's you.

"hey," he greets, the soft gaze never leaving as you plop down on the grass next to him.

"hi," you return, adjusting yourself into a comfortable enough position before looking out into the horizon, seeing the sunset about to take over the sky while the waves crashes against rocks and each other.

this is your favorite place in the entirety of dune; sitting atop at such an angle with a sight makes you feel as if you have the whole world in the palm of your hand.

like if you look out far enough, you can see all the islands, other towns, and settlements in the south sea. and if you look even further, you just might be able to picture what those belonging to the north are like.

just the mere thoughts of it makes you excited--the illusion that you can achieve any and everything when you look down on a world that seems so much smaller than you.

but the place isn't just a spot for the eye candy but also safety. when you and minsoo wanna drown out the chitters and judgments of everyone else and escape into hushed whispers and sacred words you cannot say to anyone but each other.

you've known him for as long as you remember, and he always has a way to make you feel safe and comfortable; listened to and heard.

it always has felt like you found each other in a rather unfortunate world... at least that's how you see him. a speck of light in uncertain darkness.

"how's your father doing?" he asks, eyes and voice turning a soft empathetic.

the reminder brings out a low sigh, but it's an unfortunate reality you're living through.

"not well."

he was just fine a couple weeks ago, getting up and going about his routine when he fell ill out of nowhere, it came so quick and sudden, you couldn't process it at first that your own father was now stuck in bed all day while you ran across the town daily to find some kind of remedy... to no luck.

there's medicines that helps lessen the symptoms but things doesn't seem to be getting any better by the day.

"sorry to hear," he says, disheartened that he can't help you. it's hard to find any skilled doctors or expertise in such a field in a small place like dune. "keep trying. i''ll help, too, and let you know if i come across something."

"i appreciate it," you tell him, a genuine smile on your lips that he returns.

sometimes, you still wonder if not following the feelings budding underneath whenever you're with minsoo is a mistake.

if one day you're gonna grow to regret choosing your heart over safety and security, every time you're with him, the yearning and longing is felt on the surface you both won't scratch.

with how minsoo is, his nature always so selfless and self-sacrificing, he wouldn't let you. you know he still won't.

it was the day the topic finally showed its head after the both of you tippy-toed around it for so long... when it was clear as day even to those around that you held good feelings for each other.

more than gratitude and being friends.

"but i think it's best we don't," minsoo says, his delivery bittersweet as you shoot to him with fluttering and confused lashes.

you clear your throat quietly and ask, "why not?"

because usually if the feelings of love and admiration are mutual, there isn't any reasons not to try. that's how it works, doesn't it?

"because i'll only hold you back."

you go blank at his words, attempting to mentally break down what he means exactly.

"didn't you say you wanna go out of dune? explore other nearby islands and towns, maybe even step foot into the north sea one day? i don't want you to have to choose between me or your dreams in the future."

you only stare at him, your throat feeling tight and head still a little confused, he has to add, "i don't plan on leaving dune. sure, it isn't the best place there is to be, but i like it here. it's where i was born and where i hope to die."

when you finally grasp what he's trying to tell you, a small sigh of defeat leaves your chest, but he takes your hands in his immediately and looks at you so assuringly like everything's gonna be okay.

"i'm not saying we shouldn't ever, but i hope to one day have the map you've always dreamed of creating in the grasp of my hand, and maybe you can tell me all about your adventures. but for now, i want you to freely dream of those things without having to consider anything else, okay?"

you don't know how he's still able to smile in such a situation, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear and always with words that mends the doubts in you.

sometimes it feels like he has too much faith in you, and sometimes it's as if you're just chasing a false dream, but if it's to really happen one day, you'll do it for him, too.

--

you separate from minsoo on the path back to town, having to run to the only pharmacy in the town to pick up more medicines for your father.

the white building is quite small situating near the outskirts leading to the fields, and you've ever only seen one worker here who you've grown to be familiar with pretty recently.

she's a little older than you and very soft-spoken, her drive to always help the best she can is something you greatly appreciate.

walking into the empty pharmacy, she greets you immediately upon arrival and you wave as a response, watching as she bends under to pull out the bag she's already prepared beforehand.

"thank you," you tell her, pulling the few coins out of your pockets and handing it to her.

"your father doing any better?" she asks.

you shake your head, looking and sounding just as disheartened as when minsoo asked.

"unfortunately, no."

"sorry to hear," she says, also pitying you just as much as minsoo did. "if only dune were able to get exports from those in the north sea. but we have to do with what we're given. i hope you'll be able to find something better for your father soon."

you nod, a thin smile on your lips from the kind encouragement.

"yeah, i'm working on something," you answer, swiftly turning to the window and seeing the blackness that covers it entirely. "i'll take my leave now before it gets too late. once again, thank you."

you turn your back to head out when her slightly hesitant voice stops you.

"y/n."

"yes?" you stare wide-eyed over your shoulder.

"be careful, okay? i heard halateez are getting closer."

it takes you a few seconds to register what she's talking about, replying in a rather calm and casual tone, "yeah. you, too."

--

you didn't think much of what she said back at the pharmacy due to the sudden unexpectedness of it, but the closer you get to the town square, catching sight of the black and red bounty poster you've seen plastered for miles for the past months now, your body can't help but to get a chill that makes you wanna shiver in uneasiness.

halateez. they're one of the most notorious pirates crew roaming the seas of wonderland--well known for their disguises and hidden identities, now currently the biggest fear for everyone in dune because words are that they were just in the east sea a while ago, meaning as soon as they're done, they'll be heading down here.

no one knows what to expect but the fear definitely seems more real each passing day, waiting in apprehension for a mysterious ship to appear on the dock and just hope for the best.

and it might be because you're so deep in your thoughts, or that you can barely see in such darkness that the second you turn the corner to head down the road home, you hit face first into someone's hard chest causing the bag in your hand to drop and the few pill bottles to roll onto the ground.

you gasp and apologize under your breath, but there's no time to even see who it is because you're more concerned about salvaging your father's medications as you bend down immediately to pick it all up.

"again, i'm sor--" but you stop just short of finishing when you finally look up and the dark figure hovering over your body conjures up a knot in your throat, clearing it lowly and standing on your feet as you try to make out his features in the poor lighting.

he hasn't said anything despite the situation, though you're able to make out his brows as they curve at you in judgement.

your eyes lower to his chest, the black ink drawn on it intriguing you because it might be the first time you've ever seen anyone in dune with a proper tattoo.

you try not to stare too long, giving this man just one last look, finally adjusting to the lighting and seeing that he's actually quite good looking.

some intimidating features and a gaze that makes you wanna cower for sure, but he's handsome.

when he doesn't say anything, only continuously stare at you for what seems like the longest time, you apologize once more before bowing and excusing yourself, thinking of how odd such a man is on your way back home.

you wake up to what is the loudest commotion ever in your 20 years of living, looking up to where your father is resting and glad it didn't also jolt him from his sleep.

something already feels very wrong, the pit of your stomach is telling you it and the sudden knock at the door as well.

when you open it to minsoo's concerned eyes and voice saying your name so early in the morning, you know it's only gonna get worse.

but before you can even ask why he and what seems like the entire town are up so early and looking absolutely scared for their lives, the deep and roaring voice of another from a distance away makes you snap to the source, your heart beating so fast in your chest at the sight.

as if the men from the posters you were just looking at yesterday jumped straight out of them and is now in front of you--black attires, hats, masks, and all armed as they stand right in the middle of the town square as the one that spoke just now stands just a couple feet ahead of the rest.

"listen up! we want a thousand coins from each house within an hour! if you don't have it, you better find a way!" the man threatens, his right hand holding a gun that sits on his shoulder so comfortably.

cries and panics ensues instantly, your heart breaking at the distress written all over fathers, mothers, and children's faces as most of them cradles each other in a hug and cry together, then some retreating back into their house in defeat.

you turn to look at minsoo and he has the same look all over his face, sharing the same desperation as you but also disappointment and anger that nothing can be done.

"i'll get back to you soon. you let me know if you need me," he tells you much to a nod before going back to his own house and family.

you take another glance at the men in black as they just sit around and chat away like they're not ruining the lives of a community already going through a hard time.

your father is already awake when you return inside, asking you in his frail voice, "what's going on?"

"nothing," you tell him, putting on your best smile. he's sick and he doesn't need even more things to worry about. "just a town event."

he doesn't say furthermore but he does watch you go through your belongings until you pick up what looks like a jar full of coins.

"i'll be back," you assure, walking out and shutting the door because you don't want him to see or be a part of any of it.

as you await in the compacted living area for your turn, the longer you stare at the jar in your hand, the more you wanna cry because this is all you have from all the years of saving.

all of your dreams and future is in this small jar that you've spent the last few years putting all your blood, sweats, and tears into because if you were to ever get out of dune one day, you want it to be by your own doings.

a thousand coins is almost an entire year worth of living in the south sea. stupid fucking pirates.

you don't necessarily have a problem with them because just like people, there's good and bad pirates, and at least the ones that had passed through dune before were just rowdy at worst given most only came for the brothel, but they never held the townsfolk at freaking gunpoint.

at least half an hour goes by when you finally hear the voices before the knocks.

"are you sure it's this one?"

"yes. he couldn't shut up about it."

you open the door slowly with a racing heart, the two men in front glaring you down and making you feel all kinds of discomfort even through the disguises.

you don't say anything, only extending your hands with the jar in it, hoping and wishing for it to be over as soon as possible while you keep your gaze to your feet.

too long goes by when nothing happens, looking up again only for one of them to say, "we don't want coins from you." the statement making you raise a brow in confusion.

"you're y/n, right?" the other one who's just slightly taller than the first, says, with you returning a halfhearted nod. "it's been requested that you come with us."

and if they weren't holding your entire town hostage and parading around like they'll actually do what they say, you might think they're out of their minds because how in the hell do they know your name and is now demanding just the absolute craziest request.

"says who?" you reply, an edge to your voice that's starting to no longer consider the presence of these maniacs who could do anything to you.

"you don't need to know," the first one responds, the audacity to sound even more annoyed than you, before swiftly grabbing for your wrist but you're quick to pull back.

"i'm not fucking going," you spit. "i'll do anything and everything, even pay double, but if you guys think i'm coming with, you're insane."

he only laughs, his amusement clear even with the mask on.

"sweetheart, you're insane if you think you have a choice, now let's not make this even--"

it's probably stupid of you to shut the door in front of two very obviously strong men who's also taller than you, but you do it anyway and of course--it doesn't work, the one with a deeper and more annoying voice stops it immediately, pushing the frame back so hard it thumps against the wall and causes your father's voice to pierce from the bedroom.

"y/n, honey, is everything okay?"

"yes! everything's fine. please don't come out!"

when you look them both in the eyes again, backing away slowly with your throat and heart clenched as they only get closer, you're really not sure if you'll be able to get out of this.

"that your father?" the more annoying one asks again, his head tilted and mocking you through the tone.

"none of your fucking business."

but he only laughs again, like there's something so entertaining for him in other people's misery.

"oh, but it is. because if you don't come with us, you'll be putting your father in a lot of trouble."

you fume through your nose. "you wouldn't dare."

and just when you eventually loosen up and lets your guard down, not wanting to put your father in any danger, the other one comes at you so fast, you can barely react.

his hand clasp your mouth and nose tightly with something you can't even properly make out because you're busy struggling, eyes suddenly heavy and consciousness gone before all you see is utter darkness.

"seriously, what the fuck?"

"he asked us to do it."

"doesn't mean you had to. you know he's a fucking maniac."

"he also asked us to not smother her with chloroform but that also didn't happen."

"what else were we supposed to do? she was resisting."

"does hongjoong know about this?"

"not yet."

"jesus fucking christ... did she see you guys without your masks on?"

"no. but not like it matters now anyway."

you hear the conversation and booming voices for a good minute before you can fully make out your surrounding.

there's a brown nightstand in front of you with a badly lit lantern sitting on top, and when you're able to roll onto your back, you find the ceiling is made out of wood with multiple lines of thicker woods spreading across just a few inches apart.

you're constantly rocking back and forth, unable to stay still as if being swayed by the motions of water, and then comes the smell. something of fish and another you can't dissect just yet.

then it hits you. halateez and their threats, the two men walking into your house and demanding you come with them, then your attempt to fight when one of them suddenly came at you.

you wish it was all a bad dream, but you know it's not. it all feels too real and your current state is proof of it.

you turn to face the side of the wall made out of even more wood, a lone tear rolling down your cheek as you sniff the salty air when the door comes apart, causing you to jolt from your position.

standing there is a face you can actually see as you two just continuously stare at one another, your body naturally retracting and curled up because these people could do anything to you.

it's almost as if he can read your mind, shutting the door gently and telling you at the same time, "i'm not gonna hurt you, don't worry."

he looks a lot younger than any pirates you've ever seen in your lifetime... like he could be even younger than you.

"where am i?" you ask, volume barely loud enough and sounding like you're gonna break into a cry any second.

"a pirate ship," he answers, having stopped just short of the door and staring you down... but you knew where you are. maybe you were just hoping you would be wrong.

"please let me go back home," you beg, the waterworks already coming, usually not one to drop a sob story to get your ways but there's no other choice.

this is so wrong on so many levels and you actually cannot fathom it being a reality right now.

the man takes a short, almost remorseful breath, moving his gaze to the floor briefly before he locks eyes with you again.

"i'm afraid that isn't possible. the ship's already moved away from dune for a while now. plus, he won't let you leave. not anytime soon at least."

"he?" you quote, pitch high and curious.

"says who?" you reply, an edge to your voice that's starting to no longer consider the presence of these maniacs who could do anything to you.

"you don't need to know," the first one responds, the audacity to sound even more annoyed than you, before swiftly grabbing for your wrist but you're quick to pull back.

"he'll be here soon," is all he tells you about this mysterious man before going off about other things. "if you need to relieve yourself, it's the door to your right. probably different than what you're used to but you'll get the hang of it soon. dinner is at 7, and if you have any further questions, you'll have to ask san yourself. i don't know when i'll get to talk to you again."

you open your mouth to say something but a call outside cuts you short.

"jongho!"

he gives you another look, his expression unreadable. he seems to feel bad for you but it's hard to believe anyone's intentions and sincerity in your current state.

"i have to go," he says, turning his back to you, one hand on the handle when he stops to look over his shoulder to give you the final farewell, his pitch suddenly deeper as if sending you a warning. "i know it sucks, but please, try to be on your best behavior. he won't show you the same mercy."

you don't say anything, watching as he leaves and gaze drawn to the tattoo on the back of his wrist that you swear looks familiar but is unable to get a closer look.

left to your own devices, your mind is traveling at a thousand miles per hour, talking under your breath and pacing around the tiny cabin trying to digest everything just now while simultaneously trying to think of how to get the hell out of here.

san. jongho, who you think is his name, said it. san is the fucking lunatic that ordered for you to be here.

well, you definitely don't wanna be here when he shows up, searching the entire perimeter of the room for anything and even going into the so-called "restroom" jongho was referring to only to find two buckets--one filled with water and one empty, before shutting the door in defeat.

when you're just about out of ideas, plopping down on the edge of the bed and accidentally making eye contact with the porthole on the other side of the nightstand, you don't know why you didn't think of it sooner.

you can try breaking it... if you can find something, once again touring the area and busy looking over and under that when the door creaks open again, you just freeze in place.

"planning to escape?" a voice lighter but different from jongho and filled with amusement rings from behind as you swallow down the knot and spin around slowly. "i wouldn't do that if i were you."

he still has on his diguise attire or whatever the hell it is, but the second he locks eyes with you, he starts taking off just about everything, starting from his hat then his mask.

when it finally comes off, you visibily and audibly gasp.

“again, i’m sor–” but you stop just short of finishing when you finally look up and the dark figure hovering over your body conjures up a knot in your throat, clearing it lowly and standing on your feet as you try to make out his features in the poor lighting.

he hasn’t said anything despite the situation, though you’re able to make out his brows as they curve at you in judgement.

"you!" your finger weakly points at him in accusation, but the man just smirks like he finds a kick out it.

his chin nods off to the porthole and you follow, his voice soon filling up the space, "if you wanna try jumping out of that, i'll tell you now it won't work. we're so far from any lands at this point, you'll soon drown before you even know it."

now that you're able to see him clearly, his features more prominent and menacing in daylight, nothing welcoming like the boy that came before him especially with how he's literally undressing you with fox eyes, you can't help but to grow smaller and slowly retract away from this man.

"you're the one that ordered all of this shit?" you still manage to say despite the fear overtaking your body as you watch him take off the coat and pull the turtleneck off his head.

you avert your eyes to the floor to avoid the sight of his naked torso, but he seems to find something so funny about it as he laughs it off.

"i did," he replies nonchalantly, clearly unbothered even with the sincerity and seriousness of your question, only throwing himself down onto the bed with his hands behind his head as he continues to stare at you some more, never in your life have you ever felt this uncomfortable.

"why?" your voice cracks, all that anger and grief coming back up even stronger this time around. "what did i do to deserve this? i was just living my life, my father is sick and he needs me. what would he do without me?"

you're full on crying at this point, hoping and praying that maybe this man in front of you who looks like he's listening to just about the most boring past time story, will somehow take pity on you and let you go.

you've done nothing but tried your best to only do good deeds, so why you of all people?

you think of your father; of minsoo...

san shrugs, not moved by the tears or the breaking of your voice.

"i did it because i can? i did it because i want to?" he says, unsure himself much to your utter disbelief because he cannot be serious.

"so you're that fucking bored you just go around stealing lives of people because you can?" you scoff. "you pirates are so stupid."

he smirks and you regret the words the instant he gets off from the bed and starts walking toward you until your back hits the wall and you cannot go any further, really showing you where you stand in a situation like this.

you're holding your breath with clenched fists when he lowers his gaze to yours, tilting his head mockingly in a proximity too close for your liking.

"if you don't want anything bad to happen to you, i suggest you speak to me a little more fucking nicely, huh?"

you swallow the tension, staying quiet and choosing safety because you have no idea how he's gonna react and what he's capable of just yet.

then it catches your attention again while you're actively avoiding his gaze... the black ink on his chest in the shape of an 'a' and a circle around it.

that must also be what jongho has at the back of his wrist.

"good girl," he coos, breaking your train of thoughts as the pet name makes you feel all forms of disgust, the way he says it so affectionately when right now, all you wanna do is kick him in the shin.

you think if you don't say anything and let him be, he'll leave you alone, but he shamelessly rakes over your face and figure with a twisted gaze.

"you know," he whispers, breath ghosting the tip of your skin, finally looking up to meet his eyes. you hate the fact he's attractive for such a sick person, and you hate it even more the way he's biting at his lower lip. "you're even more beautiful up close."

you wonder if he can hear how loud your heart is beating, so afraid and fearful about what he's gonna do to you.

and when one of his fingers slowly creeps up to brush against your cheek, you visibly flinch, prompting a snicker from him before he backs away completely much to your relief.

you proceed to watch as he walks over to the nightstand and pulls a piece of clothing out of the top drawer, then throwing it onto the bed.

"change into this by tonight," he informs, tone calm but you know it's an order.

he isn't done just yet, going back to fetch one last thing before shutting it and putting on a show for you as he works on wearing the black top he got just now, pulling until it sits on his skin comfortably.

"i've got some unfinished business so i'll be back by dinner time. but for now, stay put and might i warn you one more time, don't try anything stupid and don't even try entertaining the idea of escaping," he states, the warnings sending a chill down your spine.

he doesn't wait for any kind of response from you, leaving the second after and lifting the heaviness off your chest even if just slightly.

this man really just came in here to intimidate you because he can.

--

there is really not much to do, especially in a small space you're unfamiliar with. you go back between sitting on the bed and looking through the porthole watching as the waves carry the ship along the dark water.

you don't allow yourself to sleep even if your eyelids are growing heavier each hour, your heart unable to be at rest with such a situation you had no say in.

you still haven't even changed into the outfit san demanded you to because you don't know why he wants you in such skimpy clothings for.

you absolutely refuse to wear it.

and although he's warned you to not even think of escaping, your mind can't help but to drift to the possibility of getting out of here. maybe not right now but in the future, it could happen.

he's a fool if he thinks you've already accepted your fate.

it's getting darker outside and you're failing at finding things to keep yourself occupied, when the sudden chatters outside takes your attention.

it's a tad muffled but you can still make out most of what they're saying--the voices sounding like they belong to the men earlier who's responsible for you being here in the first place.

"yeah, she's beautiful so i can understand, but san is still one crazy son of a bitch for doing this." you hear the laughters, such a matter being reduced to a casual discussion between the two.

"he didn't do it alone, though. we literally took the girl away from her home."

"you think san's going to... tonight?"

you don't even realize your ears are practically glued to the door attempting to eavesdrop, but you back away from it the second you finally digest the comment, not even bothering to hear the rest of the conversation.

is this why he took you in the first place and even ordered for you to change into some lingerie by the time he returns? it would only make sense because what other use would someone like you be good for?

just the thought of it sends your body into a state so scared and helpless, desperate to take back the rights of your life into your own hand but completely out of ideas as of currently.

minsoo would always tell you you're the most beautiful girl he's ever seen, and it was flattering at first... why wouldn't it be? it was until it wasn't; your appearance all anyone could talk about.

the aunties that lived next door would always tell your father jokingly that if he had just let you work at the brothel, the two of you could make way more than tending to crops and animals.

you don't have a problem with anyone who does that as a way of living, but it is simply not for you.

your beauty has done nothing in life for you but served troubles.

there's no way to tell time except for the darkness coating the porthole and the way your heart beats faster every passing minute, waiting in anxiety till san will eventually come back.

when you're just starting to doze off, managing to forget about him for just that quick moment, he finally makes an appearance again, the sound of the door opening jolting you from the drowsy state and into fear once again.

you watch him throw a mere glance at the piece of clothing still untouched on the bed.

"i'm pretty sure i gave you a clear order, no?" he looks at you, his antagonizing gaze already making you feel small.

but you stand your ground, spitting lowly but boldly, "i'm not wearing that."

he scoffs, shaking his head to the ground, honestly amazed at the amount of resistance and bravery one still has in a scene where they're clearly at a disadvantage.

he thinks you have absolutely no instincts for survival.

"what exactly do you plan to do with me?" you ask, desperate for a clearer answer, even if you have to annoy it out of him at your own expense. "where the hell are we even going, and can i please just know what's going on?"

he sits himself down on the lone chair near the door, eyes burning into yours as if shooting lasers.

"you sure have a lot of questions, don't you?"

"well i suppose you would too if you were taken away from your home by some lunatic."

san laughs at the jab, a smirk overtaking the shape of his lips after.

"curse at me some more, don't you? it kind of turns me on."

him abducting you should be more than enough proof you're not dealing with a sane person, but this seals it.

"you're out of your fucking mind," you say under your breath in utter disbelief but barely making an effort so he doesn't hear it.

"call me whatever names or insults you want, but it won't faze me, dear. i've heard it all."

you roll your eyes. "oh, i don't doubt it."

a couple seconds of fuming silence goes by before he's the one to speak up.

"we're heading to scorched bay. we'll reach it in a day or two. any more questions, princess?" he raises a brow, his tone a combination of teasing and purposely provoking you.

"why did you decide to ruin my life? why me?" your delivery a bit sarcastic and bitter, bringing about a chuckle from san. but he wouldn't really just do it because he can as he so-called claimed, right?

"that's some strong wordings, but i did it because i like you, is that so hard to believe?"

the room goes even more quiet than before, because this man in front of you who did just about the last thing anyone would do to someone they like, is saying that's exactly what this is.

"yeah, i do find it quite hard to believe."

he shrugs, still unmoved and only proceeding to stare at you with something in his eyes--a challenge--going on to say something that makes you even more uneasy than before.

"well, stick around longer and you'll find i mean every word i say."

if san couldn't get any crazier, he definitely hit his peak when he thought you'd sleep in the same bed as him.

he surprisingly didn't put up much of a fight when you obviously refused, but now you're starting to think he did it on purpose because he knew how uncomfortable the floor is, and that eventually, you're gonna end up regretting the choice.

"changed your mind just yet?" his voice in the dark making you jump slightly, but you try your best to maintain the composure.

"no," you say stubbornly.

because even if the wood flooring is hard and rough on your skin, you'd rather have that than spend the night sharing the same bed with a man you barely know.

"suit yourself."

you squeeze your eyes and force it shut, because if you can fall into darkness, this will all be over soon enough

--

san doesn't let you leave the room even the following day, only bringing you food when it's time so you'll have something and not die off--though you'd much rather prefer that at this point.

the only good thing is he isn't with you most of the day, always out and about and only showing up once in a while to warn you again, or get something before leaving for hours.

occasionally you'd listen to the conversations outside that's within earshot, none of them too interesting or important until you hear one concerning the ship's arrival in scorched bay by tomorrow morning.

you can't seem to trust san's words for now and you don't want to considering the person he is, but it only makes sense they're going in order.

after scorched bay, port cove would be up next.

you know you probably shouldn't entertain the idea, but you go to sleep tonight on the hard wood flooring with hope comforting you in your dreams and that tomorrow, there's a chance you could be free from this prison.

--

you're woken up by the much louder chatters foreign to a ship with a relatively small group of people, when the revelation of yesterday hits you, sitting up immediately only to see san raising an eyebrow at you while sitting on the edge of the bed shirtless.

"excited to wake up today, aren't you?" the way he says it, as if trying to get under your skin, but if you really want your plan to work, you have to go just the extra mile to stay on his good side.

you smile in return instead. "i've just always wanted to see scorched bay."

he smirks, shaking his head before standing up to look for his shirt.

"you're not going anywhere," he says, the same time he throws that same turtleneck over his head.

you already knew that but you still can't help but to feel a little dejected at the reminder.

"so what am i going to be doing for the meantime?" you ask.

he shrugs, grabbing for his coat on the rack near the door.

"you don't try to do anything stupid before we return, which should be before it gets too dark."

you fume lowly at the response. it's like every time you try to talk to him like a normal human being, he always has a way to make you feel less in return.

"i'll be back," he tells you and storms off.

you sigh as soon as the door closes. you need to do it quick and fast before he leaves. that it needs to be believable and there's a big chance it might not work but you need to try.

scorched bay is the closest to dune and the further the ship drifts away, the harder and longer it will be to get back to your father and minsoo.

you make yourself more presentable during the time he's gone, waiting in apprehension because as soon as he comes back, you have to strike immediately.

when the door finally creaks open again, you jump up so fast, san might think you're just that excited to see him again.

"what do you want?" he asks, already able to tell from your body language you want something.

"san," you roll his name off your tongue, making sure you sound soft and sweet, watching the way he blinks at such a tone, "i really need to use the restroom."

"go in the bucket," he replies coldly.

"no, but, i-i'm not used to it yet. can i please just go out to use the restroom? just this once? i promise i'll return as soon as i'm done."

he exhales in annoyance, unable to believe you're doing this right now.

"please?" you try again, even more desperate this time. "i also want to see scorched bay just once. i've never been out of dune. i-if i try anything, you can do whatever you want to me."

you say the last line a little too boldly though a little regretfully, the consequences of the words slipped not even in your mind at the time you said it.

"anything?" he repeats after, a smirk creeping onto his lips.

you nod hesitantly, feeling yourself shrink when he steps closer to you.

"remember your words, princess. because if it turns out you have other things in mind, don't say i didn't warn you."

--

it was obvious he wouldn't send you alone, but you were surprised he didn't go with you himself and instead sends one of his men.

he's trailing behind you, eyes burning into the back of your head and never failing to remind you that he's watching your every moves.

you walk through the crowd of townsfolk, able to see mountains and trees peaking from behind their heads, and shops and stalls everywhere.

the place similar to dune but much livelier and spacious if judging by the amount of people there are compared to the small town square back where you came from.

you find yourself smiling and stopping in place to admire the new but almost familiar setting, the hit of nostalgia already through the roof even though you haven't even been away for that long.

it makes you miss the place, and more importantly, it makes you miss your father and minsoo.

"hey," the voice from behind knocks you out of your thoughts.

you snap your neck around to san's man's stern gaze as he ushers at the road ahead.

"no looking around. we have to get going."

"i was just admiring the scenery," you reasons, much to the continuously cold shoulder.

"doesn't matter. now go." he slightly nudges you by the back to keep walking and you scoff at the physical force.

what the hell is wrong with all these men and their need for aggression?

you avoid the hair raising at the back of your neck and keep walking until you finally spot a public restroom, turning around to tell him you'll be back.

"make it quick," he says rather harshly and a bit annoyed, much to an eye roll from you as soon as you turn the other way.

the women's restroom is a small four stalls with tan brick walls, your eyes scanning every corner for an escape route--immediately landing upon the lone window sitting at the very top of the biggest stall.

it looks like it could barely fit you but you think you might make it. you have to try. you just need something to help you get up there first.

thankful that no one's here to see such madness, you step inside the biggest stall and of course, there's absolutely nothing here that could help you reach that height.

you bite at your bottom lip, trying to reframe from panicking and pacing around the open space of the stall when it clicks.

you can just use the toilet itself as a stepping stool. it's not high enough, but it's a start and you'll be able to open it up from where you are.

the rest is up to your perseverence and whether you can really push yourself up and through such a tight opening.

there's no time to think the plan more through or pick out the flaws, because the longer you're in here, the more suspicious san's man will get.

you step on the toilet seat before moving up onto the tank, reaching your arm out at this angle and easily pushing the window open by the handle as you can hear the glass thump quietly against the other side of the wall.

on your tippy-toe, you grab the other side with both arms and grip it with all your strength, scraping the walls with your feet to help your body over it.

the good thing is that it's grass you'll be falling into. the part where you didn't think through is that you'll be falling face and head first.

thankfully, it's not too high but there's no way you'll make it out without getting some form of injuries.

you probably just stare at it for a few seconds, contemplating just about everything and if you really wanna do this, until the loud knock at the door with your name echoing from the other side reminds you just once again of how much you'd rather break a neck or a leg than to be stuck on that ship for who knows how long.

the pain is quick at first, your arms having covered your face as you brace the fall and land hard against your back. it doesn't really hurt till it settles in, the ache and burn on the surface of your skin that has been scrapped on the way down.

the amount of trees luckily covers the scene, and though you're still sore and hurting from the fall, there's no time to waste as you stand on your feet and limp away the best you can.

that if you can get far enough; if you can stay in hiding for a while, you'll be free again. you can go back to living the life you once were and be able to return to your father.

the townsfolk are probably only able to help you as much as the people in dune can--as in they're completely powerless when it comes to a crew like halateez so it's best you don't trouble anyone.

the best bet for now is to stay in hiding until you're safe and then go from there.

you manage to make it to another public restroom, using the crowd and scenery to blend in, running to the men's this time because it would be harder and unpredictable if they were to try to find you.

you breathe an air of relief when you finally sit down on the toilet seat, your back and just about every bones still sore and hurting but you're just so happy to have come this far.

the front of your hands and elbows are bleeding, using the toilet papers to quickly mend away the pain for now until you can get actual help later on if you make this.

then you wait and wait, each steps whether loud or quiet into the restroom making your heart jump in uneasiness, until a ruckus outside takes you and what sounds like about everyone's attention.

that must be them--san and the rest of his men doing what they do best; doing the same thing they did to the people of dune.

the voice confirms your suspicion, though it doesn't belong to san, the familiarity still rings a memory so clear.

"listen up! we want a thousand coins from each house within an hour! if you don't have it, you better find a way!" the man threatens, his right hand holding a gun that sits on his shoulder so smoothly.

you hate them so much. every one of them.

what rights do they think they have by taking away from others and playing god?

you wish you could do something but the hard to swallow truth is you can't. if you could, you wouldn't have been in this position in the first place.

you're no different than anyone currently being held hostage and threatened by these stupid pirates.

so you wait some more. wait so long that you've lost track of time and the night has gone so quiet, you haven't heard a single footstep or any signs of life nearby for a while now.

maybe you should wait it out longer until the sun comes up at least and increase the chances of being in the clear, but it has very certainly turned dark quite a while ago and probably past midnight.

you can feel the goosebumps on your skin raise from just the realization that you're alone in the restroom at night in a town you have little knowledge regarding.

it's way too quiet and late for halateez to still be at the dock.

san said they'd be leaving before it gets dark, and surely you don't mean that much to him just yet that he'd make the ship delay their route when he hasn't even known you for a week.

you can probably make it to the town hall, recalling seeing it on your way and maybe ask if the mayor or anyone can help.

you don't know if you can bear staying here for another hour.

quietly peeking out the stall, you walk with cautious steps and a conscious fully alarmed when exiting the restroom, ignoring spine-chilling sensation you get from the setting as you make your way to the town hall following a path you believe should lead you there.

the closer you get, the smaller the anxiety brewing in your chest becomes, feeling as if safety and security is only so close, you can reach it if you just walk a little faster.

your pace picks up and for a second there, you see the light. your heart beating faster and your breath harsher from the distance traveled here, because just a little more and you'll make it.

all it takes for your dreams and such a bright future ahead to be crushed is the sudden hand that appears out of thin air and latches onto your wrist at such a speed you can't even react to as it flings your body to the side and drags you away.

you think the same man san sent found you, when the figure comes to an abrupt stop and turns around, wishing that it had been him instead of san himself.

you swallow in fear, never in your life have you ever felt so scared before.

he stares down at you still in his diguise except the mask that has come off, a burning look of anger in his eyes and you can't predict what he's gonna do at all.

you fucked up. you officially got caught and ruined probably your only chance of ever escaping.

god, you feel so hopeless.

"what did i fucking tell you?" he growls lowly into the night, feeling his grip on you get tighter with every spoken word. "i warned you, didn't i?"

you're in such shock, mind out of ideas until the only thing you can think of in the moment to still possibly salvage the situation is to immediately scream for help.

you barely get more than one shriek when san pulls you toward him, flushed against his chest and one hand gripping at your jaw to shut you up.

"if you know what's good for you, you'd shut up and go back nicely. besides, what can these pathetic people do for you? you'll end up right back in my arms either way."

you spit in his face, pushed to your absolute limit and way past the point of caring.

"fuck you," you curse at him. "i will never like you. i hate you. hate you, you hear me?" you deliver your words with such boldness and resentment despite the tears starting to brew.

you almost expect him to hit you, but instead, he hurls out a deep and sinister chuckle, wiping the spit off with his free hand and angles you to look up at him with the grip he still has on your jaw.

"since you love spitting so much, i'm 'oughta teach that mouth of yours some respect."

you have no idea what he means until he suddenly crashes his lips onto yours in a swift motion, allowing you no room to breathe except to stubbornly close off your own lips and deny him any entrance or satisfaction.

though you're desperately trying to fight back, both palms at his chest trying to push him away, he barely moves from his spot because he's so much stronger than you.

not only have you ever felt so hopeless, but now also violated as this person who's already stripped you of your future is trying to take ownership of your body, too.

it's the longest few seconds of your life when all you can focus on are the sloppy movements of his tongue, finally able to free yourself when he loosens up, pushing him away as you weep quietly into the night.

you don't get the time to mourn or cry about the fact this man just took your first kiss by force given he has no sympathy and only seems to care about himself.

"if you wanna make it through the night, you better keep that mouth shut and rethink any other ideas you have in mind, because trust me, i can do much worse."

you absolutely don't doubt he can, which is why you keep your sobs quiet while he drags you by the wrist to that godforsaken ship you thought you would never see again.

"san, it hurts," you try telling him plenty of times throughout the trip back only for your pleads to go in vain.

he doesn't care how tight he's holding onto you or how fast he's walking and that you're unable to keep up. this is your punishment for what you've done and he's gonna make sure you feel the wrath of it.

when you guys finally aboard the ship, he drags you through the few people watching just as harshly.

some wearing the same outfit as him but with masks on and some without--one of them you recognize as jongho, and then the rest in much casual attire similar to the man san sent with you in the first place.

you meet jongho's eyes briefly and you can't tell if it's sympathy that's present in them due to how fast san is moving until the door to the cabin you've been trapped in for the past days is standing in front of you.

with a quick unlock, it all happens so fast you can't even process san tossing you onto the bed until you're planted face first, turning on your back only to cower away in fear of what he's gonna do--especially now that you two are actually alone.

you're able to make out his features better in the ship's lighting, a look of unamused and anger crossing both at once that makes you regret the events of today.

he gave you a clear warning and you defied it. there's no way you're coming out of this unscathed.

and you don't wanna think about what could be even worse than forcefully shoving his tongue down your throat.

there's a few seconds of stare off as you try to predict his next moves.

"you're sleeping in the bed with me from now on. i don't wanna hear it," he tells you sternly.

you keep your mouth shut, knowing that continuously pissing san off is probably the last thing you wanna do right now, especially after having annoyed him enough for today.

"did i make myself clear?"

when you don't say anything, he walks closer that you can barely stutter out a, "y-yes."

"great. when i come back, i better see it."

and he walks out, the aftermath of the door shutting is the first peace and relief you get after being in the presence of him.

you really don't wanna do it but there's no other choice. you've ran yourself into this corner and the only way out--at least for now--is to abide by his rules.

you finally hop into bed after a few minutes of mentally battling yourself.

being able to sleep on an actual bed for what feels like a while is the upside, so it sucks that you're gonna have to share it with what is basically the spawn of satan himself.

you just hope to fall asleep fast enough so you won't have to deal with it when he actually comes back. praying that when you wake up the next morning, he'll also be gone before you know it.

but too much is going through your mind; your thoughts absolutely consuming, that before you can even black out, you hear the fidgeting of the door handle and then the opening of it, much to your disappointment.

you force your eyes shut, pretending to be asleep but the smallest curiosity has you opening just one eye to see what he's doing, having to keep from reacting when you can make out his shirtless torso.

when he senses some movements and suddenly snaps your way, you have to keep up the act of being asleep although the sounds of his clothes hitting the floor makes you extremely uncomfortable.

it gets harder to keep it up the second he starts crawling onto bed, pulling up the blanket to situate himself under and then next to you, his chest now flushed against your back and you just wanna kick him off already.

you think it can't get any worse but he proves you wrong by snaking an arm around your waist and practically crushes you with his own skin until you can feel something hard rubbing against the back of your thighs.

"i know you're not asleep," he whispers into your ear, the surprise making you flinch as your eyes open fully to darkness.

you can't see him but you can hear his genuine and amused laughter, immediately attempting to pry off his arm much to no use.

"shhh. don't try to fight it."

and maybe the weight of today finally hit you, because you don't even have the strength to fight him anymore. between sleeping in the same bed with san and him occasionally placing small kisses at your neck, you eventually manage to fall asleep.

the next couple of days goes by with you holding your breath every second you're with him.

he has become stricter; although he didn't let you out of the cabin before, he's now made it an official rule you cannot go out unless he gives you permission.

if he has to leave for his daily business, he makes one of his men guard the door outside and practically has you on watch 24/7.

if he can't bring you food himself, he'd also leave it to them. your whole entire world is basically the perimeter of this room at this point.

you have become so bored (though you've rather be bored and not have him here than be alerted with him), you begged him to let you do something or at least give you something to do.

he dropped off a bunch of books and told you to "do whatever you want with it."

he also tries to treat your injuries at one point despite your stubbornness that finally shows its head again after some time--a stubbornness that only gets worse when you discover something.

because just when you think san's already cruel enough, he goes even further to really show you just how much of an asshole he really is.

the first argument after your little attempted escape happens the night they return from port cove, when you happen to see the man who accompanied you that day to scorched bay when you needed to "use the restroom".

him and someone else were assigned to keep watch on you while the rest were out doing what they do best to the new place they just arrived in, and you just so happened to see him all bruised and battered through the small crack of the door window, or at least in a recovery state where you can still see very clearly the marks made on him.

you confront san as soon he walks into the room and starts his usual undressing for the night.

"were you the one who did that? to the guy that was with me at scorched bay?" you ask, sitting at the edge of the bed.

he almost has to do a double take, the question catching him offguard but not more than the fact you're even talking to him. you usually never do.

"yeah?" he answers, more like a question in return because why are you asking.

an inaudible gasp leaves your mouth at that, the reality setting in that this is who you're really messing with.

someone capable of inflicting physical harms onto others without an ounce of regret or sympathy.

"why?" he adds, his tone starting to sound more taunting. "you have something to say about it?" his head tilts at you mockingly, his hands stopping short at the waistband of his pants.

you gulp before speaking, "i-i just don't think you should've done that."

"and why not? he's one of my men. shouldn't i discipline him if he fails to carry out an order?"

"but it wasn't his fault."

"then whose fault was it?" he tests you, mirth in his eyes and if you could, you would punch him.

"m-mine," you stutter out.

he moves closer to you, your body naturally shrinking and your throat feeling tight.

"then should i punish you instead?" he bends down to look you in the eyes but you're quick to avoid his gaze, grabbing a pillow to stand up and head for the floor at the end of the bed.

"just being with you is already enough of a punishment," you mutter to yourself but you know he hears it, if the chuckle from behind means anything.

"i'm sleeping on the floor tonight," you tell him, setting the pillow down and immediately laying flat, regretting starting the conversation and now just hoping he'll leave you to be.

surprisingly, he shrugs it off and doesn't fight you on it.

"your choice. but if the waves ever gets too much and you wanna hop in bed again, know i'll always welcome with open arms."

the way he says it makes your skin crawls, feeling more annoyed than ever and just wanting to fall asleep for the sake of it all.

"goodnight, love," he coos the same time the bed creaks from above, your only response is to let out a slight puff through your nose.

you probably haven't said more than three words to san in the past couple of days, going out of your way to avoid conversations and only giving him the cold shoulder whenever he's around.

you still haven't slept on the bed since and he doesn't seem to care about it despite making it one of the rules you have to follow.

maybe he's so relaxed about it because he knows you can't do anything even if you act as tough as a nail; at the end of the night, you're still stuck in this stupid cabin with him.

on a day you're passing time the only way you can, he busts into the room earlier than usual and knocks you out of the page you're reading.

"get dressed," he demands out of thin air.

"what?"

"change into something more fitting, i'm bringing you out to meet the rest of the guys."

the book in your hands is forgotten, the mere idea of finally getting the hell out of this tiny cabin more enticing even if you're gonna have to meet a bunch of other guys probably like san.

you're just happy to catch some fresh air for what feels like forever.

"what should i change into?" you ask, watching him walk over to the top drawer as he pulls something out, turning back to extend an arm.

you look down at the fabric and see what looks like a white dress, taking it from him with slight hesitance.

you're about to ask more questions but he's already walking past you, only muttering out, "come out to the deck when you're ready." and leaving you with no choice but to follow his order.

you inspect the piece more closely after, seeing it's a white square neck midi dress and just wondering where does san even get these things from before eventually changing into it.

--

even if you don't know the ship too well, it's not hard to find where exactly san wants you to be; the noises hard to miss and coming from one direction only.

you've never gotten a proper look at the ship considering the only times you had the chance to, san's quick to rush you through it, you've never even realized just how detailed and cluttered everything is.

ropes and barrels almost everywhere and the sea smells much saltier out here, watching the way waves crashes against each other in front of your very eyes just under your feet.

when you make it out to the deck and feel the first pair of eyes on you, it's as if everyone else follows and you suddenly become the center of attention.

the once loud chitters comes to a stop the second you arrive and all you can hear is the background music, scanning the surrounding and seeing jugs of alcohol and men of all kinds standing around with smiles on their faces moments just before you arrived.

you swallow the knot in your throat and look for anything to detract the attention--a familiar face maybe, spotting san at a table a few feet away with two other men before noticing jongho just mere inches from you and alone.

you've barely spoken to jongho but he's the only other person here that you know. and frankly, you feel a lot safer with him given he has shown to have at least some sympathy towards you.

you walk quickly and sit yourself down just right across from him; such choice taking him aback before he eventually breaks the ice.

"don't feel like sitting with san?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"don't feel like ever doing anything with him, to be honest," you let slip even though it might not be the best idea to bad mouth him in front of his people, but jongho just laughs it off.

"why are they all even looking at me?" you add, evidently bothered by all the stares.

"they're curious about you. we all are."

you sigh and roll your eyes at that.

"you all want to see the poor soul he has under his grip?" you say sarcastically despite the lack of animosity and that jongho actually comes off quite genuine.

"no. he just has been talking about you a lot. nonstop. aside from me, yunho, and mingi, none of the other guys and seamen on the ship has really gotten a close look at you. san's a bit stingy."

"stingy is an understatement."

jongho snickers lowly.

"it took a lot of convincing to get him to finally let you out here. hongjoong said it isn't good to keep you in one place for too long... that you might start going crazy."

"well, hongjoong would be right. whoever he is."

"hongjoong's our captain," jongho says, nodding off to a direction you follow, unexpectedly meeting san's unamused gaze. "the one on the left of san. and then to the right would be seonghwa, our quartermaster. when hongjoong isn't around, he takes the lead."

you raise a brow, quite unfamiliar with all these pirate terms but you're learning.

"and you guys steal for a living?" you quip, relieved everyone has gone back to chit chatting and minding their own business as more music and voices fill the background.

you can see the conflicts written all over his face. from what you've known of him so far, jongho seems like a rather decent person it's almost hard to believe he's one of the pirates currently posing a threat to the citizens of wonderland.

"we don't steal because we want to, but because we have to. i know it's hard to believe but it's the truth."

"you guys surely don't seem to feel very bad about it, though..."

jongho is silent, a part of him knows that you're not entirely wrong. but also not entirely right.

"some of us manages to stay true to ourselves despite the circumstances and some loses it along the way. just all part of it, i guess."

it's almost as if he's talking to himself, the bittersweet tone in his voice and the sadden smile, his eyes kept to the table until he finally looks up to you again.

"i know it doesn't excuse his behaviors, but san's had it quite rough before we eventually accepted him as an official member. always been a little fucked in the head but he's reliable and gets things done, which is why hongjoong made him the gunner. his violent nature has benefitted us more than not."

you visibly grimace at such information, or maybe it's just the mention of san himself.

"so you guys just let him run loose and do whatever he wants?" like stealing the future of an innocent girl.

jongho recognizes your anger, knowing you're in the absolute right to cry, kick, and scream about this.

"hongjoong did advocated to let you go when he found out but san said you already saw his face and mine and that it would be too dangerous to let you go. i'm sorry."

you certainly wanna cry about just being let go and you won't ever tell on them but you know it's not even worth it.

"so what do you do? i mean, everyone else seems to have a role, you must too, no?" you switch the subject.

he chuckles, a soft smile on his lips after.

"i thought you'd never ask. i'm the crew's navigator. no one knows the ins and outs of wonderland better than i do. at least no one on this ship."

"really?" you beam, the first time you ever felt true and pure excitement ever since stepping foot here. "like... you also have a map?"

he nods.

"can i... can i see it?" you ask shyly, to a genuine giggle from jongho.

"yeah, of course. i was just gonna work on it."

you watch in amazement as he turns to his side to fidget at something before pulling out the rolled up map in the palm of his hand, spreading it out on the table as your eyes go wide.

"wow," you sing, one finger tracing along the drawn islands, towns, rivers, and just about everything with names labeled on each. "this is amazing."

jongho hums along, nodding.

"sorry," you apologize, blushing lightly when you realize just how excited you might've come off. "it might sound silly but it was always my dream to make my own map of wonderland."

"is that so?"

"yeah... i've studied charts, currents, winds, coastlines, and read just about almost everything from the local library regarding the geography of wonderland. of course, nothing beats actually seeing the places for yourself. i hear each maps are always a little different. some more detailed than others. still, i think it'd be fun to create one of my own."

"you can!" he says just as elated as you. "how about... i give you some papers and pens to start with? i mean, it's a start, right?"

"that'd be awesome. it would also really give me something to do in that tiny cabin."

you're actually having such a good time with jongho as he tells you about his finding, walking you through every little thing on the map until you're both joined by the addition of yeosang and wooyoung, two other official members of the main crew.

you learn yeosang is the officer, usually in charge of giving everyone else not on the main crew their daily tasks, and then wooyoung is the cook--the brilliant mastermind behind all of the meals you consume.

the three are so much more lighthearted and easy to talk to compared to san and the other two you had the displeasure of meeting first, you almost wanna be in denial that they're even remotely on the same team.

you might've gotten a little too comfortable and carried away by the presence of the three that you have forgotten about san and completely misses his disapproving gaze the entire time.

it's only when wooyoung suddenly stops mid-sentence and gulps down nervously that you ask what's wrong.

"it's probably best you return to san. he doesn't look very happy."

you glance his direction again and can feel the hostility from the distance, the way he chugs at his drink and loudly slams it down on the table after, the sight already making you dread having to be alone with him.

maybe you should've just sat with him. but then again, he did say he wanted you to meet the guys... which you did, a couple of them at least.

you frown at wooyoung's suggestion, your expression already enough of a response that you'd rather much stay here but you don't say it, instead opting to watch san get out of his seat and laser you a glare before storming off.

you just roll your eyes in return, hoping to resume whatever conversation you were having with the guys and not have to worry about what awaits you after all this.

the rest of the night goes by and you probably feel the most relaxed you've been in a long while, only trying to enjoy the small moments and not think about what horrible things these guys are capable of in spite of actually being quite nice to talk to.

hongjoong and seonghwa shortly introduced themselves after san's departure, and the longer you're with hongjoong the more you can understand why he's the chosen captain.

something about him; the way he talks and presents himself, an aura so strong that you can feel it by just briefly locking eyes for a few seconds.

he controls the topics and knows exactly what to say to keep it going.

seonghwa is a lot more soft-spoken on the other hand, the kind to let things flow and let the people around him talk rather than take charge.

point is, you had a much better time than expected, you don't even wanna go back into that suffocating cabin if not for the night slowly coming to an end.

you bid farewell to the guys and make your way back to the cabin with a tight throat, every second closer to the door makes you wish you could turn back the other way.

you can see from the small window it's pitched black, knocking twice quietly with baited breath before just twisting the knob and finding it unlocked.

keeping the door opened while you reach for the lantern on the side, you jump the second the room lits up and you're finally able to make out san's eyebrows creasing together and with a gaze that could kill while he's sitting on the end of the bed with hands planted onto the sheet, having waited for you the entire time and not asleep like you thought he was.

"had your fun?" he speaks with a tone you can't quite read into, head lowering to the pen and parchment paper jongho had given you.

you clear your throat, shutting the door behind and setting both of it down on the free space shared with the lantern.

"yeah," you answer casually, unaware to the bubbling tension and that such carefree attitude might just be making it worse, walking past him to head for your clothes sitting on top of the drawer. "the guys were a lot more tolerable than i thought."

you mumble the same time you grab your clothes, "i'm gonna change so if you can--" your words dying in your throat midway when you barely spin around and san's already standing tall in front of you, you're literally only centimeters away from bumping into his chest.

"--go out," you finish off awkwardly, the way he has you cornered suddenly shifting the atmosphere--or maybe you just haven't noticed.

"thick-skinned of you to be acting so modest now when you were just throwing yourself at everyone earlier," he accuses, that same look of anger showing but now with something else as well. jealousy.

you retract, offended at such false claims.

"what the hell are you talking about? you wanted me to meet them and i did. that was all that happened."

"all that happened, huh? well you seemed to really enjoy yourself out there with all the attention."

you're in complete and uttter disbelief, you're not even sure what to say; only feeling smaller with his voice raising over you with such ridiculousness.

"whatever, san. think whatever you wanna think, but if you can leave for just a minute so i can finally--"

the clothes fall out of your grasp when he roughly grabs at both your wrists and cuts your words short due to the shock.

"you know what i hate more than a disobedient little bitch?" he growls lowly in your face, the goosebumps on you raising at that. "a disobedient little bitch who's also a whore."

he throws you onto the bed so fast you can barely process it, your worst fear coming to life when he crawls on top of you and traps you in between his arms.

your breathing becomes hitched and you try with your utmost strength to push him away but the effort goes to waste, his hands going to restrain your own as he pins them down onto the sheet beside your head.

and as if you haven't learned your lesson the first time, you spit right in his face again and he's expectedly pissed off about it... more than he already is.

he lets go of one of your hands to shove it under your dress to your protest, kicking with your legs and pushing with your free hand so he doesn't reach the place you're most afraid he would.

"san, please... stop," you cry, all you can do is hit his shoulder pathetically with whatever strength still left in you, but of course, he doesn't listen.

you feel his fingers sneak past your undergarment and to the very spot you've always thought only a lover should feel and see. not someone like san.

the warmness of his fingers running along your flesh has never made you feel so dirty in your life, but when you look into his eyes and see the sinister smile plastered so smugly on his lips, all you can feel is hatred.

his fingers entering you makes you shutter in disgust even if you arch your back slightly and let just the smallest moan slip, you realize in this very moment where you're powerless, the only thing that still holds some of that power are your words.

so you aim to hurt.

"i don't care. you can take my body, you can take whatever you want, but you'll never take my heart. i hate you and i always fucking will!" you shout at him, some of the smugness disappearing slowly at that.

"shut the fuck up!" he curses back, his speed picking up with his anger, but you just keep going.

"you ruined my life! i was doing just fine before you came along, and i already have someone i love! if you didn't take me, i would still be with him!"

that seems to about done it, his fingers stopping the same time his chest heaves in and out with fumes brimming under his nose.

"you think i give a fuck about that? about him? about whether you two loved each other?" he gets in your face. "you're mine now and i can do whatever i want to you."

you're just about to bite back when he roughly takes your lips in for a messy kiss and his fingers in your core goes back to pumping in and out at such a pace that has you almost squirming.

you shouldn't feel like this. you should only hate everything about this but your body has a mind of its own and you can't deny the pleasure overflowing from the work of san's fingers.

he's kissing you too roughly--biting, pulling and tugging, you have to brace your hold onto his shoulders just to keep from falling out of place.

"you act like you hate it, but you actually fucking love it, slut," he pulls from the kiss briefly to say, not allowing a response from you before crashing his lips onto yours again.

it all goes on for a while too long until you feel the walls of your vagina close in on his fingers and he finally pulls out with a plop the same time he breaks the kiss.

you feel dirty, used, and pathetic after. especially still laying in bed trying to catch your breath with your core still soaking wet, watching as san says nothing but gets up and leaves the room with a slam of the door.

you haven't seen san since he stormed off two days ago after such an experience that you'd rather forget about.

every time thinking back to it, you feel disgusted with yourself for even finding the slightest pleasure and enjoyment in a moment where you shouldn't--the guilt building in your stomach whenever the scene plays out again, and all you can think of is minsoo.

it's as if you've betrayed him--letting another man touch you in ways he shouldn't be allowed to.

different people comes in and out through the day to bring you food, each of them you cannot put a name to.

it's usually at 7 p.m. where your last meal is delivered, expecting for another nameless face to show but is taken aback when you see it's jongho himself.

he has a plate of cooked fish and water on the side, greeting you with a thin smile as he steps into the room and sets the food aside.

"how's things going for you?" he asks, voice a tinge of pity already.

you've been busying yourself with the same parchment paper and pen that jongho gave you, having drawn the cardinal directions and just about almost every islands belonging to those areas that you're aware of--its existence at least.

"i'm... alive, i guess?" because you're not really living. at this point, you're merely just breathing and coping. "how about san? i haven't seen him in two days."

it's not that you care. you much rather prefer it this way, but you just wonder what else he could be doing.

"he's upset."

you scoff, genuinely surprise someone like san can even remotely feel such an emotion.

"about what?" you ask dryly because you're failing to believe it.

"he wouldn't tell us all of it, but something about you having another lover already."

you keep quiet out of incredulity, because he can kidnap you and force things against your will, but dare you say something back that holds some truth and he's like a wounded animal.

"he said he'll be coming back tomorrow," jongho informs, seeing the irritation mixed with horror that crosses your face the second you hear those words.

"listen, y/n," he continues, voice still full of that softness you know jongho to sound like, but it's similar to the first time he met you in this cabin again, almost as if he's lecturing you. "i know it sucks."

"yeah, it does suck," is all you say, at this point derived of pretty much all hopes and chances of leaving this ship.

"but if you want to raise the odds of getting out of here, you have to stay on san's good side."

just jongho saying that feels like the first slip of sunlight you've gotten in ages; the revive of hope, even if only slightly. your eyes go wide and you can only stare before blurting, "you mean it?"

he still looks hesitant but eventually nods.

"we're now heading west... we've been for a couple of days now. i'm sure you're somewhat familiar with the myths regarding the seas surrounding the west. they're bigger, more dangerous, unpredictable... especially rocky port."

you only nod and continue to let him speak.

"it's the one place the guys want to avoid, though i've been trying to convince them we should try for it. i've been studying the currents and tide surrounding the area and i think we can make it there safely if we go at certain times but they still think it's too risky. lots of pirates and sailors are known to not make it out of the area."

"my point is," he adds, shaking his head as if going off on an unrelated tangent, "you have to convince san to head to rocky port. if he's with it, he might be able to get the rest to reconsider. and if you do make it happen, i'll help you escape."

your throat closes up, too much information to process and so many questions at once, but at the same time still able to feel the thrill from just the possibility of being free.

"how exactly is something i'm still working on, but i know all of their schedules; when san goes in and out of the cabin. i'll be the one to bring you food when most convenient and when i eventually think of something."

"but how am i gonna be able to convince him?" you ask, probably the part you're most confused about.

conflict is written all over his face before he answers, "you have to win his heart. whatever you have to do, it's the only way to gain his trust."

he looks over his shoulder to the door. "i have to go. i know this is asking a lot of you in return but there's no reward without risk, and we're both gonna be taking pretty big ones, so think of it as an exchange of favor."

when you don't say anything, he excuses himself, his back facing you.

"wait," you stop, just short of his grip on the door handle. "why are you helping me?"

you can see his smile from the side, his head only slightly turned back to look at you.

"because i think you deserve to choose your own destiny, don't you also?"

and even though he phrased it like a question, it's more of a statement because he doesn't let you answer, bidding you a goodnight and walking out leaving you to digest what happened just now.

--

you don't fully grasp the meaning of jongho's words until you're left to your own devices moments later, tossing and turning in bed.

“but if you want to raise the odds of getting out of here, you have to stay on san’s good side.”

“you have to win his heart. whatever you have to do, it’s the only way to gain his trust.”

the comprehension makes your skin crawls and you feel dirty all over again, similar to the last night you saw san.

but the cold, hard truth is that this is the world you're living in now. a world that you cannot survive in unless you strip yourself bare of any ounce of dignity and self-respect you have.

that if it's the only way you can possibly make it back to your father and minsoo again, you might have to take the chance.

betray who you are and lie in the face of the person you hate the most just to have your life back in your hand, though it should've never been taken in the first place.

san returns the following day just as jongho said he would; a creak of the door while you work on correcting details of the map, unmoved from your seat all day.

you look over your shoulder and merely meet his eyes but neither of you says anything before you pull away to look back down at the map.

there's a minute of silence just listening to him shuffle behind you, the small room allowing you to feel his presence not far away, glancing back as discreetly as possible to see he's unbuttoning his now white shirt.

if you have a choice, you wouldn't do it. but jongho's words ring loudly in your ears and all you can hear is the mission you're out to fulfill and the freedom that might come from it.

you take a deep breath and brace yourself for whatever's about to happen, sure enough that you've thought it through after a night of restless sleeping.

standing from your seat, you walk over to san and you can tell even he's surprise when your hands suddenly overtakes his on one of the buttons he's working through.

he glares at you, raising a brow in response.

"what?" he says coldly.

you clear your throat before speaking. "i-i just want to help you... as an apology for the other day."

you can barely look at him, afraid that he just might be able to see through you--and as much as you hate his guts, you have to admit he's attractive with very prominent features that complements the work he does.

he smirks at your answer because for someone like san, nothing strokes his ego more than thinking he's in the right; feeling your heartbeat multiply when he slowly pulls you in closer.

you thought you were ready to sacrifice anything but every inch of space closed off between you two, the doubts start creeping up if you truly are ready, given how much you actually wanna run.

"is that so?" his breath ghosts against your skin, proceeding to lift your chin up to lock eyes that has you blinking in apprehension; just the way he's staring at you sends a jump of butterflies to your stomach.

you only nod, trying to keep yourself from faltering on the spot when he goes to guide your fingers with the last three buttons, unclasping them one by one with a tension in the air that only grows when the last one comes undone.

his naked torso sits in front of you, and though you've seen it a couple times by now, you don't think you ever truly want to admire it more than right now, tracing the lines of his abs and rubbing over the bumps tenderly by your own doing.

soon, you take it upon yourself to pull the shirt off as it drops to the floor, the sight in front of you almost too delicious but wrong at the same time.

still, you have to get on his good side, staring up at him and biting at your lips like he's the only person you're ever gonna need for the rest of your life.

he's quick and fast to fulfill the look in your eyes, pulling you even closer by your arms until you're flushed against his bare chest and now trying to hide the fear despite knowing it's too late to back out now.

"how sorry are you, exactly?" he teases, eyes lowering to mock you.

"r-really sorry," you stutter out, attempting to keep the composure.

"then show me." he almost growls but it actually comes out a lot more mellow, his head dipping in for an immediate kiss that unlike any of the ones before, you don't fight it.

instead, you wrap your arms around his neck and return the kiss like you mean it. like you don't actually loathe his guts and wanna throw him overboard.

clashing your tongue along with his and continuing that even when your back hits the sheet of the bed and he's hovering over you before pulling away, a look in his eyes never so hungry and desperate in his life.

you watch as he unbuckles his pants and sees the bump protruding from his underwear, time seemingly passing by so slow and torturous you just wish for it to be over with.

and after a couple more minutes of passionately making out (at least that's what it looks like) where he undresses you in the process, he sends his fingers down the same way they were in before the last time you two were in this position.

moans and cries of pleasure escapes your lips against your will until your vision fills itself with only stars, your skin also betraying you and shuttering when he whisper words of insults into your ear.

"you look much better like this. under me where you belong."

and when he finally spreads your legs and rules over your body the only way he can--a squirm leaving you when he buries his entire length inside your cunt, the conflict swirling in your stomach reaches its height.

you've ever only imagined doing such a thing with someone you love, your heart clenching and a lone tear escaping at the fact that won't be happening anymore.

despite still having your arms around his neck and displaying no signs of resistance, you think of minsoo and your father to get through with it.

that you're doing it for a greater good; a chance. and one day, it will be worth it, even if it doesn't seem like it currently.

--

you learn what it means to really get on san's good side. that only when you throw away any ounce of respect you have for yourself, that's when you get his in return.

he's nicer to you and talks nicer to you, a sweet tone always on his tongue every time he tucks a hair behind your ear or every time he meets your eyes--staring at them so lovingly like he wasn't the one bringing out tears from them not even that long ago.

but you go with it. of course you do. stare at him right back with blinking lashes and return the same sweet words you don't even mean, all because he finally lets you out of the cabin.

not only allowing you out when he says so, but whenever you want. whenever you wanna get some fresh air or just walk around the ship, he said.

doing so has led you into the two other boys you haven't properly met up until this point--yunho and mingi, who were almost as responsible as san for your capture, and who doesn't seem to be as approachable as the others, always with a cold look on both their faces.

it just makes sense they were the ones to help san.

but on the bright side, sometimes while on the deck, you'll catch jongho coming from his cabin or already at a table, always sending you a smile and a knowing look.

though san lets you roam freely, a luxury you've still haven't earned is being able to talk to anyone.

he doesn't seem to trust you regarding that just yet, or maybe because every time you bring it up, there's still always that tinge of jealousy present similar to the first night when you finally met the other guys.

luckily, you don't have the need to talk to anyone but jongho, who does so as he said he would--sneaking an appearance in one day when it's time to eat.

it's also the one thing you told san you'd be okay with still doing in your room even if he gave you permission to go out with the rest. all so you can get the chance to speak one on one with jongho to know where exactly the plan is heading.

"how are you doing?" he asks, sitting across from you in the spare chair as you make the end of the bed your home.

to be in your position is tough. he knows this. he didn't wanna say it. tell you what you really have to do to get someone like san to even remotely look at you as a person of your own.

"it's been alright," you answer, doubting for second if it's the right one.

if you truly have been brainwashed, used to being confined down here like a prisoner all day that even being able to go out and catch some air is considered a privilege.

you should be more bitter and spiteful because in the end, no matter how high the highs are, it's still at the cost of yourself.

"i'm sorry again. for making you do this. it's... the only way i know how to get you out."

you shake your head, again with the half-baked lies you're feeding yourself, but you need the push to keep going so that the reality doesn't set in. something positive in all of this mess.

"it's fine, trust me," you tell him, as much as you're trying to tell yourself. "i'm okay. as long as we go through with it, it won't be for nothing."

because san's actually quite tender and loving after sex; his temper and need for aggression seemingly having died down after the first night and you're at least glad for that.

jongho stays silent, maybe a part of him already knows how you're feeling even if you don't say so.

"we'll be hitting up mist island tomorrow. it'll be the first place from the west. shortly after should be rocky reef. you have about four days from now to convince san. after reef, if we don't head for port after, the guys will make a detour and it'll be too late."

"also," he adds, "it's best you don't wander while we're still in the west. again, the waves are more aggressive here and it's gonna be pretty hard on the ship for the meantime."

you nod understandably.

"no chance of us flipping over or anything?" you let the joke slip as an attempt to lighten the mood.

jongho snickers lowly.

"i hope not," he replies with the same lighthearted tone. "no, but really. we'll be fine. i've advised them to take a less taxing route."

you smile at that, though the idea of the ship overturning doesn't sound too bad, especially if it takes san with it.

jongho goes on, "by the way, just so we're clear and you're not thinking why i didn't help you sooner, if there's a place that you'll have the best chance of successfully fleeing, it'll be rocky port. i heard they have one of the best systems, as well as some of the best sailors and navigators to know the sea due to having lived in such a rough area. it will be your best bet back to dune. plus, you said your father is sick?"

"yes."

"they have good medicines. plants known for curing diseases no man was able to. if you do return, it might help your father."

you've never felt happier (at least in the entirety you've been on this ship) that you might not only be free from san's grip but that there's also a chance you'll be able to help your father if he already hasn't gotten better.

"if i'm able to convince him, how would we go at it if we do get there?"

he quirks his lips slightly. "you make up some kind of excuse and i'll fight to be the one to escort you, whatever it is. from there, i'll give you all the coins you'll ever need to get someone to take you back to dune, along with any medicines you need for your father which i should be able to acquire considering we usually tour the places out of disguise beforehand."

"and if san comes looking for me?"

"he won't. i'll make sure he won't. just stay in hiding and don't even come out until the crack of dawn. our ship should be leaving by then and i'll also make sure of that. we also won't be stepping foot into any of the south seas again and if san tries, you can put your trust in me i'll do everything that doesn't happen."

you don't know whether to be impressed or scared the fact jongho seems to have thought just about everything through.

"thank you, jongho. really." your voice full of gratitude you can't express enough in words.

he smiles in response.

"no need to thank me. i'm just trying to do the right thing, i guess."

there's a few seconds where you guys just embrace the comfortable silence until jongho speaks again.

"i have to go. stay any longer and the others might start raising an eyebrow. good luck, okay? i'll talk to you soon."

you nod. "you, too. good luck."

it sounds like enough of a thorough and executable plan, right?

you can tell san's in the mood based on the first few gestures he makes when he gets in bed, usually whispering into your ear and running his fingers under your shirt if he's up for it--and delivering just a short kiss to your cheek and goodnight if he isn't.

when he sends a quick peck to your cheek, you're not surprise he doesn't want to tonight.

they'll finally be landing in the west tomorrow so the guys must've had quite a hefty discussion considering he was gone for most part of the day.

"san," you call his name quietly in the night, taking it upon yourself to start a conversation and shifting on your side to meet his eyes in the darkly lit room.

"yeah?" he replies.

he looks so calm in such a setting, his face deprived of any malice and signs that tells of the actual man he is.

"we'll be landing in mist island tomorrow?" you ask with feigning innocence.

"yeah."

"i-is it okay if i go out tomorrow? for a little bit? i really wanna see the place." you put on your sweetest tone because it's a genuine question. you do.

you've always wondered what islands, towns, and cities beyond dune are like, but even more so what's beyond the south seas. you hear they're more prosperous; filled with riches and buildings you won't ever see down in the south.

even the people are different.

but when san is seemingly unfazed, his thumb going to caress one side of your face instead, you already know the answer.

"sorry, dear. can't just yet. not until we get to the north at least. you'll be able to roam more freely then."

the north. you think of how nice that sounds. finally seeing for yourself what you've always dreamed of, as if places from fairytales you've been reading since you were a child coming to life.

but for once, you wish you won't have to see it. wish that the west--that rocky port is as far as you make it.

you take a deep breath, sighing into the night. "fine."

at least when they're gone tomorrow, it'll give you time to really think through a believable enough lie that'll get san and the rest to where you need to be.

--

the spot next to you is empty when you wake up, your head slightly throbbing whether from how the ship fought the sea of the west last night, or maybe it's the new chatters and voices of the morning.

one of the biggest signs of being close to land are the presence of other people.

the event of yesterday hits you, recalling the ship should now be in mist island, you're quick to peek outside the small window of the door, only able to see crates and maybe the heads of a few passersby.

it doesn't hurt to just get a glance, right? it's the least san should allow you to do if he isn't gonna let you out.

you twist the knob of the door, pushing it forward only to come face first with one of san's men standing outside. of course.

but the smell... it's fresher, your nose sniffing the air like a fish fresh out of water and the cold that grazes your skin along with a breeze is different.

you're not very used to such weather and condition because you grew up in the south where it was basically summer all year long--the reason why most of the places there are named either after the sun or the heat.

"you can't be out here," he tells you sternly that you almost wanna roll your eyes to.

"i know. i just wanna look for a bit."

you quickly scan the area (at least the parts you can see) with awe, noticing along the way the light fog that seems to grace the place permanently and sticking to its name of mist island.

the buildings isn't rundown or made of bamboo and whatever woods they could find, and though it doesn't hold the familiarity of dune and the south seas with townsfolk running all over the place, citizens still populates the sidewalks and talk to each other... in a more calm and tame manner.

no running or fooling around, a certain grace in even the way they stand, but especially in the way they dress.

no clothes that looks worned or unwashed, the fabrics clean and polished to the eyes.

"ma'am?" he breaks your train of thoughts, to which you really roll your eyes in return this time.

"i know."

you give the place one last admiration before stepping back inside the cabin of doom, jongho's words playing in your head.

"you have about four days from now to convince san. after reef, if we don’t head for port after, the guys will make a detour and it’ll be too late.”

you only have three more days. tonight, they will leave for reef and you're gonna need to strike as soon as possible--pacing around the room to think of anything you can possibly use against san.

he's an asshole, but he isn't stupid.

and after a few hours of going in circle, you think it just might work.

“they have good medicines. plants known for curing diseases no man was able to. if you do return, it might help your father.”

--

it's the next night after mist island and before they can even reach rocky reef. you figure the time is as good as now, giving san at least two days to think it through instead of stalling and only having one where he could possibly rush the decision.

his chest is pressed up against your back with his hard-on rubbing at your thighs, his fingers slowly sneaking under your shirt.

he's more likely to be in the mood on days where he does very little and has more energy reserved at the end of the night. you also made sure to be extra sweet to him today since you planned this out, but now going on to stop his hand short of reaching your breast.

"san," you call, similar to the other night.

"what?" he answers boredly, at this point already accustomed to you only calling his name when you need something, which you admit you're guilty of.

you turn to face him, holding your breath before spewing the first few words of the lie you've been brewing, having thought out every possible scenarios and responses ahead of time.

"i'm not feeling too well."

not only did you make sure you were on your best behaviors today, but you also made sure to act sick whenever he was around--coughing, sighing from time to time, lower energy, and maybe be a bit dramatic so he'll notice.

it doesn't seem like he did, or maybe he just doesn't care. but he won't have any reasons to doubt if you bring it up.

"i think it may be that i'm not used to the cold or maybe i caught something, i'm not sure," you add onto the lie when he doesn't say anything, only slightly raising a brow in response.

"and how long have you been feeling like this?"

"starting yesterday. i thought i was just feeling a little under the weather and it'd go away but it seems to have gotten worse today."

you wait in anticipation, not wanting to jump ahead of yourself. it's better you be patient and calculate the responses when the timing is right, but the way he looks just permanently stuck in a trance of thinking is slowly starting to tick you off.

"it shouldn't be too bad. it'll probably go away after a few days, and if not, we're reaching reef tomorrow and can get you something there."

well, he sure does have a way to disappoint.

"but what if it doesn't?" your pitch grows higher, even turning your lips downward for a pout. "c-can we go to rocky port after reef?"

you have expected the confusion to cross san and it's exactly what happens. but you also know that as much as san claims to give a shit about you, that reason alone isn't gonna be enough to move him.

"plus, wouldn't it also be good for you guys to go there? skipping an entire island means losing an entire island's worth of coins, goods... they also have advanced medicines and remedies. you guys can take some for the journey."

you can't tell if it's annoyance crossing him or he's just in deep thoughts trying to digest your words and weighing all the pros and cons of it.

"i'll think about it," he finally says after some time, much to your relief and joy.

it's a good start. not a definitive answer but at least he isn't dismissing the idea entirely.

"i'll have to talk it over with hongjoong and the rest first," he adds, to a nod from you and a smile he doesn't fully see in the dark. "if you're not feeling well, then get some rest . i'll talk to you in the morning."

he places a kiss to your forehead before pulling back to your blinking eyes.

"goodnight, san," you coo.

"goodnight."

--

you wake up a couple times throughout the night due to the harsher ripple of water, most of them to san staring back and attempting to calm you to sleep again.

for your final wake, he takes you into his arms and cradles you, resting his chin on top of your head that's buried into his chest as you close your eyes and let the drowsiness take over.

it's almost weird how safe you can feel in the presence of him in a situation like this.

--

the arrival to rocky reef is no different than before; only thing different is the time much later in the afternoon, allowing for you to spend some time with san, proceeding to ask him briefly before he leaves if you can take a look at the place from where you are.

he says to not make it too long, taking his official leave and sending one of his men outside the door again in replacement.

and if you think the people and buildings in mist island were nice, rocky reef is even nicer. it's plausible that at this point, the further you head north, the more sophisticated it will only get.

the entire time he's gone, you keep your head straight so you don't lose focus on your initial goal--that tonight, san has to make the decision or else it'll be too late.

"i got these for you," he says, handing you a bottle of pills after returning from the long day, his black attire still stuck to his skin. "you feeling any better?"

you shake your head, quite desperate at this point. you really need it to work or else you'd have to face jongho with the news of failure.

"not really," you answer, voice timid and sick to the best of your ability.

he doesn't say anything while he changes out of his shirt, facing you again when it's off--a look on him like something dying to leave his throat.

"i talked to hongjoong and the rest."

you keep calm and let him talk even if you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

"they said it'd be good to give it a try. rocky port... jongho's also talked about it before and knows a way around it."

"r-really?" your heartbeat seems to get louder, but this time out of relief and an excitement different from any before.

"yeah," he confirms, the smile on him morphing into a smirk at the state of you. "a bit esctatic, aren't you?"

you gulp. "well, yeah. i mean, i-i wasn't sure if it was gonna happen at all."

"it's gonna happen, and you have me to thank for."

the next two days are a mix of anxiety and thrill, now that you've set the course, all there's left is to execute it.

jongho shared a knowing nod just the other day when you passed by the deck, casually and naturally starting a conversation with you before quietly slipping a note that you opened only when you were alone.

i'm glad you followed through. i appreciate it. i haven't been bringing in foods because i want to avoid any attention and suspicions for when we do eventually arrive at port. i hope you're taking care of yourself in the midst of all of this. when we're there, i'll give you the sign and just follow my lead - jongho

you still carry on your performance of being unwell so san knows whatever he got you from mist island didn't work; the pretentious state serving you more benefits than you would've thought.

other than kissing you a good morning and good night and cuddling you from behind during sleep, he doesn't initiate any other forms of intimacy, you honestly can't believe you haven't put up the act sooner.

but even if he does, you console in the hope that in just a day, you'll be free from his grip forever; that you'll do anything in exchange for freedom even if that's spending another night with san, body tangled and having to catch your breath under him.

everyone has been warned to keep off the deck aside from jongho who knows the route more than anyone, so if san isn't stuck to the bed flipping through pages of whatever he's reading, he's sniffing the hair down your neck and taking interest in the progress you've made on the 'map' so far.

--

it's the most restless night of sleep you've ever gotten, having to reframe from tossing and turning due to your back being practically glued to san's chest, but you still stare into the darkness with a heavy heart.

everything you and jongho did is for this very moment. a part of you thrilled, of course, but another is also filled with doubts with just the smallest possibility of it going wrong.

what would san do to you if he found out? if he caught you in the midst of the plan and realized everything that has been going on. what would he do to jongho?

and exactly what sign is jongho gonna use? what if you miss it? your mind races with uncertainty, scaring yourself into sleep because you wouldn't want san to suspect why you're still up and about and with a heartbeat that's about to burst.

the morning after san leaves as he usually does, you pace around the room biting your nails in apprehension, eventually deciding to fold the map you've been working on the smallest you possibly can and shoving it into the pocket of your pants.

it's the only thing in this room worth bringing if you have to make a run for it now.

the voices outside seems to only get louder the more hours go by, and just when you're thinking when jongho's gonna give you any sort of sign, the knock at the door takes your breath away.

it's jongho, his expression neutral and eyes skimming past your shoulders into the room before uttering a "come with me".

you follow behind him to the rest of them on the deck, all their heads turning at once, but you especially don't miss san's--a rather unamused look on his face that makes you swallow the knot in your throat.

"i told you, i can take her myself," san says, glaring straight at jongho.

"no. hongjoong and the rest need you. it's best you stay here. we'll be back before you even know it," jongho assures, the way he talks full of confidence and you could almost believe him.

san fumes, annoyance written all over him, but before he can object again, seonghwa beats him to it.

"jongho's right. it's best he takes her. he knows the place better, and plus, we'll need you here in case anything happens."

you watch san struggle with himself, a word on the tip of his tongue not coming out and sighing in irritation until he eventually gives in.

"fine. but no later than evening, or else i'll come to scrounge these ground myself."

a calm smile rest at jongho's lips, his body bending forward to bow slightly. "of course."

as you follow jongho off the ship, you sneak a brief glance at san because if everything goes as planned, it'll hopefully be the last time you see him.

"what did you tell them?" you ask, when at a safe enough distance from the watchful eyes of the others.

"that it's best you go see a doctor," he explains.

"and where are we going exactly?"

"somewhere far enough from here," is all he says. you don't question him or even have the time to admire the scenery, your mind too entirely occupied by a single goal.

you just keep walking, not sure for how long but when jongho finally stops for the first time, your know your legs are gonna be sore tomorrow.

"here," he says, taking off the pouch that has been sitting around his waist the entire time and handing it to you. "it has all the coins you need to get someone to take you back and extra as well for anything else. i also dropped by the pharmacy as soon as we arrived and got what i could."

you're speechless, staring at the pouch a little too long. the moment bittersweet like saying goodbye to a lifelong friend.

"thank you, jongho," you tell him the same time you take the pouch, throwing it over your head and onto your shoulder like a crossbody bag. "i don't know how to thank you enough."

"there's no need. i already know, trust me," he comforts you with a smile. "you remember what i said, right?"

you nod, repeating the words he said to you last time, "stay in hiding and don’t even come out until the crack of dawn."

"good. i'll be on my way now."

you're surprise when his back is already to you and feet about to start walking away, your voice raising to stop him for one last time.

"jongho..."

he stops in place and turns to you only halfway, "yeah?"

"how are you gonna deal with it when san finds out?"

he smiles and proceeds to tell you calmly, "don't worry. i have my ways. good luck, y/n."

you take a short breath, choosing to believe in him.

"you, too. good luck, jongho."

6 months later

at the time, you weren't sure if it was gonna work; the chances of it all crashing down higher than not... but it did.

you stayed in hiding on a hungry stomach and barely any sleep even past the crack of dawn, the ship probably already gone for hours by the time you finally peeked around the corner, each steps bolder and closer to the dock to confirm the departure of the ship that filled your head with mostly negative memories.

from then, with the money jongho had given you, you were able to get someone to take you back to dune--the look on your father's face when you returned as vivid as the day it happened, as if you came back from the dead.

it's the same look minsoo and a few other townsfolk gave you, none of them able to accurately explain your disappearance; only that it happened the same day the pirates raided.

some thought you were dead, or worse--sold off somewhere, because there was no way a girl like you would be able to survive out in the seas with a group of thieves and possibly murderers.

they all considered your return a miracle, and so did you--the first couple of days bombarded with questions of your exact whereabouts and you remember not even knowing where to start.

you remember still processing everything and mourning for the life you thought you had lost; as if given another chance at it again.

everyone you told asked if you saw the faces of the pirates that took you, but you simply lied and said you didn't. you just think everything is better left in the past, not having to dwell on it or to want some kind of retribution for what happened.

you feel that somewhat and somehow, jongho must've known this; the fact you wouldn't rat them out.

but the event gave you a new outlook on life, how you used to want to get out of such a small place but now you have no other desire but to stay here with the people you love for as long as possible.

it taught you to be grateful for what you have because in any given second, those things could be taken away.

minsoo had been caring for your father during the time you were gone, and with the remedies and medicines jongho gave you, your father was able to recover within just a matter of days.

now, you've gone back to the routine of tending crops and animals with your father to make ends meet and you wouldn't trade it for the world--life seemingly back to just as it was before. safe and secure.

you spent the first two months in paranoia, afraid every single day that just by chance, jongho would break his promise or knowing how san is, he'd find a way back somehow.

only until you realized you were wasting more time worrying than living life did you learn to give it up. if he wanted to find you, he would've already.

but just because he wasn't next to you anymore didn't mean he still didn't hold some sort of power over you, ever since sleeping with him and doing things only lovers did, you no longer wish to do any of those with minsoo.

even if you hold great feelings for minsoo--feelings you can't ever hold for san, you can't help but to think of him at any thoughts of intimacy.

there isn't a single thing you're unable to talk about with minsoo, the boy the least judgmental person you know, but you won't ever tell him what you had to give up in order to come back to him.

--

the view from atop of the hill is the same as you remember, a few months ago your breath taken away when you finally saw it again for the first time in a while.

ever since, you and minsoo has been making it more of a habit to show--even more than before.

when you look out far enough, you can still picture all the other islands, towns, and settlements--most of them you've actually been to yourself. but now, only the mere idea of it sounds good.

you like being here, exactly where you are.

"so, you ever think of finishing the map?" minsoo would always ask, and you'd always tell him 'maybe'.

he thinks it's impressive but you wish he had seen jongho's work. sometimes, you get the urge to tell him about jongho and how much he helped you. but again, it's all things you wanna leave behind.

on the way home, you pick up a couple groceries to make soup for your father, learning new recipes a hobby of yours lately on top of picking up new books.

you've adapted to the routine even if it's repetitive, making sure your father eats before sending him off to bed so you can occupy yourself with whatever book you managed to find from the library this week for the next hour before calling it a night.

you're just about to sip on your tea when the knock at the door at such an odd hour takes your attention, placing the book down on the nearby table immediately and getting up from the seat.

if it's not minsoo, you don't know who else. unless one of the neighbors wanna complain again.

you fling the door open, a snarky remark already slipping because you're so sure it's minsoo. "why are you--"

but all you need for confirmation it's not him and that life really is so cruel and unfair, is for you to come face first with that stupid tattoo that is every reminder of the hell you thought you were free from.

that black ink on his chest in the shape of an ‘a’ and a circle you wanna scrape off just as much as the equally stupid smirk on his face.

"miss me, princess?"

a/n: story has been in my drafts for over a year now & iomt san rlly helped in finally making it happen. literally got most of my pirate knowledge from the one piece live action lmfaooo

[vaokses]

How long this love can hold its breath

Series Masterlist / General Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: It has been years since your mother took you from King's Landing to join her in Dragonstone. Years since you and Aegon have seen one another. Years in which he has refused, time and time again, to marry, even as you tour Westeros meeting suitors in search of a husband of your choosing. That refusal can easily be undone with a few words: it was you she chose, Aegon.

Word Count: 3.1k 

Warnings: Alicent's abuse of Aegon. Alcohol/drunkenness. Mentions of sex/prostitution. Usual Targaryen incest stuff. Arranged marriage stuff. Angst. Hurt and kind of no comfort for now.

Some AU/Setting stuff: Reader is a bastard of Daemyra (claimed by Laenor of course), firstborn child of Rhaenyra and heir to her mother's claim. She rides Vermithor. As you'll figure out thorugh this one shot, she and Aegon had a thing when she was still in King's Landing. How relevant or impactful that 'thing' was depends on who of the two you ask. I've stretched the timeline a bit. Rhaenyra spent a few years more in King's Landing (making Aegon around 16/7 when she leaves, and the Reader, the eldest of the Velaryons, around 14/5). Instead of six years in Dragonstone, the Blacks have spent around three there in this story. Viserys still lives (and is rotting slightly slower), Aegon and Helaena did not marry.

A/N: My first work in this fandom, so i'm a bit nervous. This is a bit of a prologue/alternate PoV for a series I have in the works, but I wanted to share it as a one shot since I think it also works as one. I hope you like this!

Title is from the quote "I've hoarded your name in my mouth for months. My throat is a beehive pitched in the river. Look! Look how long this love can hold its breath." - Sierra DeMulder

It feels as if he has just rested his head on his pillow when he hears the heavy doors being pushed open, and the familiar hurried steps of his mother as she enters his apartments. 

He isn’t sure why he bothers by now in telling the guards not to let her in, since she insists on overruling his orders whenever she wishes. 

Still half-asleep, Aegon reaches for the bedsheet covering his body, wary of any attempt she might make in her anger to pull it off him. Surprisingly, his mother stops a few steps away from the foot of the bed. 

Aegon feels her piercing gaze on him, and aware the choice is between caving and chasing after her, asking her what it is she wants; or waiting for the anger at his unwillingness to follow the unspoken command -and the thrown object, or the stinging hit, that comes after said anger-; he drags his hands over his face in an effort to wake himself further and asks,  

“What is it, mother?” 

“Where in the Father’s name were you? Three days, Aegon,” He winces at the reprimand. In his defense, he truly didn’t think they’d notice. Helaena would, perhaps, but she wouldn’t seek him out either way. “You were gone for three days.” 

“I wasn’t…far. I didn’t even leave King’s Landing.” 

She starts letting out a sigh, laced with disappointment and annoyance, but stops herself short, instead turning her back to him and pacing a few steps away. 

“I know where it is you go to…to satiate your vices, caring not for the shame it brings to your name and mine, behaving most unlike your station.” 

“Then why did you ask?” 

His mother won’t turn to look at him, her back turned to him and her hands joined in front of her. 

“Your sister was here.” 

His brow furrows in confusion. 

“My sister is always here.” 

“Rhaenyra was here, Aegon.” 

“Oh. What for?” 

Alicent turns on her side, considers him with eyes widened in afront and mouth curled in disgust. The question leaves her lips slowly, a threat and a dare all at once. 

“Are you still drunk?” 

He mulls over the question for a few moments, and realizes his thoughts are entirely too calm for him to be already sober. The numb haziness of the night before remains, a comfort. 

“I think I might be,” He admits, eyes darting to the side and lingering on the pitcher of wine on a nearby table. He wonders if it is empty. “Slightly.” 

When it seems his mother is intent on merely staring at him in disappointment, he motions for her to turn away and gets dressed. 

He can’t help but feel unseemly, standing before his mother in rumpled clothes and disheveled hair, while she stands tall with not a strand of hair out of order, not a speck of dust on her dress. Then again, even at his best he hasn’t managed not to feel small, unsuited, by comparison. 

Instead of letting those thoughts linger, aided by the comfortable haze the wine from the previous night -or nights, rather- provides him with, Aegon moves to sit on a table in one of the darker parts of the room. 

Alicent follows quietly, but she doesn’t sit. 

“I come here with news. You are to be married, n-…” 

He shakes his head with a mocking laugh, the defiance as easy as breathing, after four years of holding the same stance. He might not have a say in much, but he does in this. 

“No, I’m not.” 

“Your father has approved of this union. As have I.” 

He shrugs his shoulders. 

“Then you are welcome to marry her yourselves. I shall hope for a long and happy marriage for you three.” 

Sometimes, perhaps in foolish hope, in some hollow fantasy, he thinks his impertinence amuses his mother. He might imagine it, he’s quite certain he does, but sometimes he swears she furrows her lips to hide the faintest of smiles. 

But of course, she shows no give, betrays not a flicker of amusement, of softness, of anything. Try as he might to earn any of them. 

“I did not come here to entertain insolence.” 

“Why did you come here, mother?” He asks, not able to reign in the restless movements of his hands, fingers tapping an irregular rhythm on the table. “My stance hasn’t changed. And it won’t.” 

The restlessness building within her is betrayed in the small movements of her hands that increase in intensity the longer she looks at him. With a sudden movement, she slams a hand on the table between them and leans closer. 

“You cannot go on like this, Aegon, shrinking your duty because of the denial of a caprice of your youth.” 

“It was the one thing I asked for. I haven’t asked for anything since, nor did I ask for anything before.” 

His mother scoffs in response, looking away. 

“And that is reason enough for your wish to be granted?” She asks, derisive, almost jeering. Alicent leans back, straightens her stance again. Not too unlike Aemond adjusting his posture to strike with his sword during training, he supposes. “You have gone through your entire life doing as you please, not considering the cost to your family, to your House, to me, and you expected to be rewarded?” 

But he has considered the cost, has had no choice but to consider it, when every choice, every action, it seems almost every thought, is heavy with the impact it might have on his name, on his family. He has considered the cost, but try as he might no choice, no action, has been enough. 

“It would have…It would have changed things. If you had said yes,” He argues, an argument repeated, in his head if not aloud, a thousand times over in these passing years. And yet restlessness builds within him regardless, and he finds himself grasping at the table to keep his hands from fidgeting. “It was the smart choice. You know father would have been for it. You could have kept Vermithor on our side, and given them no choice but to play by our rules with their daughter here. We might have won this war you want so b-…” 

“All I have wanted is to make sure your lives are not forfeit when your father dies. It is not war I want.” 

“Then why did you say no?” 

She shakes her head as she looks away again. 

“The matter is settled. Long settled.” 

“Yet you never told me why.” 

He wants to hear it. More than an apology for denying him a chance at happiness, more than an admission that beyond the feelings of any involved it was the smartest choice, more than anything, he wants to hear her tell him why. 

She didn’t even hear his reasons, she didn’t even consider proposing the union to your mother, or Viserys. She dismissed him, and denied him, without even a second thought. 

He wants to know the reason why. If it was because she knew of you something he didn’t, and was certain you would have rejected him even at the cost of your home and life as you knew it, he wants to know. If it was because she believes him so monstrous that she wished to protect even the daughter of her lifelong adversary from him, he wants to know. 

If it was because in his weakness and his failings he has made himself into something even his own mother wishes to see punished, or because there was something he did -because it had to be something he did, there cannot be so many that were supposed to love him and refuse to for it not to be something he is doing wrong, something about him that is wrong- that not only managed to make his mother’s love for him vanish, but also earned him her scorn, he wants to know. He thinks knowing that to be the truth would splinter him in a way he isn’t sure he’d be able to recover from, but he is tired, and alone, and he wants to know why. 

He searches his mother’s gaze, desperate for an answer, any answer. She looks back, and yet all that is reflected back at him is contempt, disappointment, and what he fears is disgust. 

“It has been years, Aegon. You are being senselessly stubborn, holding onto this…this grudge against me.” 

He makes a face at her words, and grabs the pitcher in the table before him only to find it empty, the only wine remaining being that still in the half-filled cup. 

“It is not a grudge, I-..”  

“Weakness, then,” She sentences, and he doesn’t bother hiding the flinch at her words. His gaze lowers to the table before him. “You’re being a fool, if you think after all this t-…” 

His eyes are set on the half-full cup of wine before him, and he doesn’t dare move his gaze as he interrupts, “I am not marrying, mother.” 

She considers him in silence, and though for a moment he thinks a hit is to come -he doesn’t usually get away with interrupting her-, followed by her footsteps leaving the room, his mother takes a deep breath and insists, 

“It is not me or your father who request this of you. It is your King who commands it.” 

“The King, or his Hand?” He retorts. He grabs at the cup and downs the remaining liquid, making a face at the taste of stale wine, and presses on, “I’m guessing a Baratheon, to earn Borros’ support? Or a Tully, to secure the Riverlands?” 

For the briefest of moments, when his mother’s lips press into a thin line, hands fidgeting where they rest joined before her, he thinks he finally got the upper hand. That he proved he isn’t as blind to their plots and their increasing panic at Rhaenyra’s influence as he may appear. That he proved her wrong, that he showed he isn’t as incompetent as they’d like to think, that he… 

“A Velaryon,” Alicent admits, and any pride, any satisfaction, die out like flames in a room without air. His lips part, he knows not for what since all that leaves them is a choked breath, the beginning of a question, of a name. Aegon searches his mother’s gaze, attempts to find any truth, any certainty, but Alicent looks away. Her next words sound as if heard from underwater. “To keep you from certain execution when your sister ascends the Iron Throne.” 

“Do not toy with me, mother,” He means for it to sound like an accusation, like a demand, like anything but a plea, and yet that is what leaves his lips. Betrayed by the waver in his voice, by the iron grip on the glass, he goes on, “She’s touring the whole of fucking Westeros in search of a husband as we speak.”  

“She has made her choice, Aegon. It was you she chose,” She promises, and her voice is low and warm and almost comforting, so why does it feel wrong? Why does it make him want to crawl out of his own skin? “As for the tour, it will continue as scheduled. Rhaenyra deserted her own tour before time was due, she knows better than to repeat her mother’s mistake.” 

Breathable air is lacking by this chair, in this room, and he stands up, wincing at the too-loud sound of the chair scraping against the ground. 

He eyes a pitcher of wine in another table, and crosses the distance with quick strides, refilling his cup and draining half of it before turning to his mother again. 

“Why tell me now? I-If the tour is to continue,” If she can still change her mind, “Why tell me now?” 

“Your grandsire and I believed you might take this opportunity to amend your behaviors,” Alicent tells him, “So you might save your future wife the embarrassment, so you might protect her honor, seeing as you do not care for ours or your own.” 

She hasn’t said your name yet, he notices.  

Neither has he, but he has forgotten when it was the last time that he said it aloud. Intentionally, that is, he doesn’t count any time he let it slip past his lips when deep in his cups or buried inside some whore with the wrong shade of silver in her hair -and the wrong eyes, and the wrong voice, and the wrong smile, and the wrong touch-. 

Aegon can’t even remember when it was that he decided he wouldn’t utter your name again, all he knows is that through the years what started out of spite, as a way to deny the wound and the absence; has become something else. It has become to him something like a secret, something to be hoarded, to be kept his alone. 

Because there’s pride, and satisfaction, and something rotten but his, in having known you in ways no other did. In remembering you how he is certain -he has to be, it is of the few things he has left- no one has known you. 

And so he doesn’t speak your name. Lest in sharing any of the warmth of a bond long gone he loses it, dying embers to a strong wind; lest in admitting old truths he is left behind also by the part of you that he keeps safe, a secret only his. 

But now in his head resonate so loudly that they drown anything else -like thunder, like the beat of Vermithor’s wings taking you far up into the sky- his mother’s words.  

It was you she chose. 

Thinking of you has always meant the resurgence of the memory of the goodbye you refused to grant him, of waking to the reverberating cry of Vermithor as he took to the skies with you on his back and flew you away to Dragonstone; or the memory of your disappointment and your sorrow as he avoided your gaze and your words when you met again in Driftmark.  

Yet now the memory that comes forth in his mind is another. 

You smiled at him, daring and entirely too proud. But how could you not be, when you both knew he would oblige? How could you not be, when he hadn’t been able to tear his gaze from your lips since you had asked him for something as simple as a kiss? And your voice was softer than he’d expected -or perhaps he remembers it softer than it was, perhaps he sees something else when desire was all there was-, warmer than it had ever been, when you whispered, I want it to be you. 

And what harm can your name do that his own mind hasn’t inflicted upon him already? What ruin can the uttering of such a familiar word bring that the memories haven’t wrought already? 

So he says your name. Willingly, rationally, for the first time in years.  

He thought the foolish refusal to utter your name aloud kept you distant, kept the memory of you, the idea of you, as something far from him, gone from him. But he realizes now, with the shape of your name parting his lips and the taste of memories staining his tongue like ash; that you have been a distant memory, a distant dream, for a very long time. 

And the knowledge that you chose him, the helpless hope that blooms somewhere in his chest, they cannot do a thing against the horrifying certainty that the future he wanted, the future he mourned, is lost to him regardless of your choices now. 

What can he give you now, that that Tyrell knight the rumors say you were so enamored with cannot? How can he not fail whatever expectations you have of him, as he has failed all others? How could you want him now, as what he has made out of himself in these years you’ve spent apart? 

It was a comfort, he realizes now, thinking you lost. The comfort of knowing he couldn’t fail you, couldn’t earn your scorn when he had merely your indifference. 

A bitter, wretched little laugh leaves his lips then, and he turns his head -to hide, perhaps, the tears brimming in his eyes, the weakness his mother so loathes to see from him- and looks out the window towards the distant skies. 

Alicent doesn’t move, merely stands taller, prouder, and presses, 

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

Of course, this is what he fucking wanted, but nearly four years have gone by since he asked to be allowed to marry you and was refused. Even if some part of him wants it, wants you, still, it matters not. 

It is what he wanted, before. Before everything got worse, before everything got louder, harder. Before he got worse. Before you forgot about him. 

His mother approaches him then, and though he jumps when he sees her reach for him out of the corner of his eye, she grabs onto his forearm and speaks again, forceful, determined, 

“Listen to me, Aegon. Your sister has secured her hold on the Seven Kingdoms, both through the strength of her dragons and through her eldest children’s diplomacy with the noble Houses,” His mother tells him, but he cannot hear her, not over the warring thoughts of finally, finally, finally, and too late, too late, too late. “Rhaenyra has allowed for this to happen because she wishes to extend an offer of peace, and you cannot squander this opportunity.” 

He turns to her and asks, quietly, forlorning, “Why now?” 

“What?” 

“Why now?”

Why now, that everything is worse? Why now, that he has become this? 

For a moment, a flickering moment gone in the blink of an eye, he thinks he sees sadness, sympathy, in his mother’s warm gaze. For a moment, he believes she will offer words or touch in the way she hasn’t before, in comfort or in reassurance. 

But her gaze falls from his, and her grip on his arm -too tight, almost bruising, yet wanted, needed, if it is all he can get- loosens as she lets go of him. 

“The betrothal will be announced when the tour is over. The wedding in a week’s time from then.” She tells him, detached, not unlike a messenger delivering a missive. 

And with that she leaves his apartments. The door closing echoes in his mind, and he is left behind with a loneliness he doesn’t know where to put, and a hope he doesn’t know how not to fear. 

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it, and I would love to hear your thoughts!

I am endlessly fascinated by the greens and their deeply weird dynamics, and I hope I did them a modicum of justice, even when changed in this AU and despite the influence of fanon in my interpretations of them.

[sukunasweetheart]

kimi ni todoke inspired, but with a twist?? except sukuna is suuuuper into your whole scary/creepy vibes (strange fetish) this is more just rambling, not a proper fic sorry, its a little smutty, scratching and knifeplay involved (he's quite submissive), sukuna's a whole FRREAK

sukuna in college au, where he has a strange infatuation with the horror genre-- has a deep appreciation for scary films, and is a huge nerd in this area, and many of his favourite celebrities are actors and actresses that starred in one of his favourite films. his brother yuuji is also a huge cinema nerd but he's not as obsessed with horror as sukuna is. and frankly, yuuji thinks he's a slight weirdo for being able to analyse them in a very detailed manner, whether it's the jumpscares or how realistic a gore scene looks.

and now this horror nerd discovers someone very noteworthy in his area. there's this semi-famous haunted house that operates year-round nearby his university, which he decides to visit alone, out of boredom.

...the atmosphere is alright. the decoration could use some work. the bloody sheets don't look convincing enough. it's too pink and tacky. the "ghosts" give an effort to try and scare him, but he gives them a deadpan look.

"can you try any harder?" sukuna keeps walking.

next, a man dressed like a typical serial killer walks in holding a real chainsaw. oh, boy. the "killer" walks up real close to him, to his annoyance. he takes the chance to inspect the mask on his face. he flicks it lightly with a finger.

"shit's made out of plastic. do better."

the man revs up his chainsaw.

"ha - that's the spirit." he continues walking.

there's suddenly eerie silence, now that he's almost at the exit of the haunted house. what, did they run out of ideas?

he thinks he catches a glimpse of someone in the corner of his eye. sukuna stops and turns back, but there's no one in sight. that gets the hairs on the back of his neck rising, ever so slightly. he likes that.

he feigns ignorance and keeps heading to the exit, wanting something to jump out at him. he hears little footsteps behind him, this time. he whips around again, but there's nobody.

"you're edging me, are you?" he says sarcastically with a chuckle.

you're hiding in a little pocket area out of view, when you hear the man mention something about edging. great. another fucking weirdo. sometimes, you feel like you should just get a new job.

the third time, you actually reveal yourself and stand still in view when he turns around. the weirdo just stands there and grins at you. the fuck??

oh, sukuna loves this one. you look terrifying. like you came directly from a horror film set. you give him the creeps.

"look at you... a diamond in the rough."

the fuck is this man talking about? you want to tell him to just leave already. but he just continues observing you silently, like someone analysing an artifact. you move stiffly towards him, even while knowing that it probably wouldn't be enough to scare him off.

"your makeup looks too real... do you do that yourself?"

you glare at him. it's part of the script anyway. sukuna chuckles, because something tells him that the disdain in your eyes are real.

"i know, i know. i'll get going. any chance i could get your number before i go?" he asks boldly, hands in his pockets. it's a half-hearted attempt, but he felt the need to really try at least once.

he must be joking. what kind of perverted man sees a woman looking like this and asks for her number? well, he probably isn't being serious anyway. silence permeates the area as you backtrack away from him, deciding you've done enough for your pay's worth.

"running away? a shame..."

you feel odd. many men have seen you and ended up running out screaming. none has ever tried flirting with you while you were in this getup. what a weirdo.

sukuna walks out feeling better than expected. that last section really saved it. not a totally worthless experience. maybe he'll swing by again, just to see you.

except, he doesn't really need to. because the next day you bump into him at uni - and he recognises you instantly, like the freak he is. you try to brush him off casually, but he can't be shaken off so easily. and then sukuna pestering you wherever you hid around on campus became part of your schedule.

"what's your deal? why do you keep following me around?" you eye him suspiciously, when he sits down next to you on the bench, unprompted.

"well, i'm interested in you, for one," he says casually, shrugging.

"listen... if this is because you have some weird horror fetish, then i'm not interested..." you tell him truthfully, shuffling yourself away.

sukuna laughs out loudly in response, which makes you jump.

"i won't deny having unusual tastes, but my interest isn't that shallow. if it were the case, i could probably seduce any other girl and dress her up instead of chasing after you."

well, you guess he's correct about that. you've received a couple of stink eyes from a number of girls after being seen with sukuna so often.

he's an annoying guy - when you ask other peers about him, they tell you he's stoic, mean, and rude as fuck. well, you understand the last two a little bit, but stoic? every time he sees you, he seems like the opposite. he's rather loud and overbearing.

"i'm telling you - you have a talent. why not make use of it?"

he's referring to your future acting career, apparently.

"and i'm telling you - stop with the nonsense! i can't be fooling around with a silly idea like becoming an actor. seriously."

you only started working at the haunted house for some cash. you're not even that into the genre itself. what's with this guy?

"why would it be fooling around? at least give it a try before dismissing it."

this back and forth continues, for quite a while. he even forces you to watch his favourite horror films, "for future reference".

and then he proposes a deal to you. that you try and audition for a small role as a ghost in a film. he guarantees you'll get picked, even though you doubt it. and if you don't he promises he'll never bring the idea up to you again. you decide to go with it, just to shut him up.

but guess what? you're selected for the role.

sukuna shrugs at you with a smug smile on his face.

"see? i'm always right."

he pisses you off.

and he somehow pushes his way into becoming your personal "trainer". sukuna revises your script with you, and gives you feedback on your acting. he sits you down and watches classic horror flicks with you, analysing every scene down to every frame. many things happen the more you spend time with him..... you find yourself getting more and more attracted to this weirdo. this horror nerd.

"are you paying attention? this part is important."

the film gets paused, and you very swiftly, dart your eyes away from admiring his jawline.

"i'm trying... i just can't concentrate. i'm hungry," you lie fervently.

"hungry for what? me?" sukuna grabs your face and makes you turn your head towards him.

"...no? whatever gave you that idea?" you ask, heart hammering in your chest.

"how is it that an aspiring actor can't even lie properly? maybe we need to go back and revise some of your acting lessons."

you know that he's studying to become a film director, and honestly you feel sorry for the future actors that'll be working with him.

"whatever. let go of my face, you ass." you swat his hand away.

sukuna chuckles deeply at you, eyes softening.

"you're lucky that you're cute. how about i give you a kiss? will you concentrate better then?"

"yeah... wait, what-?"

too late though, he's already on your lips. and damn, he's a good kisser. anyways, that embarks the start of your relationship with him. shortly after, the filming process for the short film begins, and it becomes a decent success. you're a little ecstatic. maybe more than a little. you get the feeling that a whole new life is awaiting you.

and your boyfriend is so endlessly cocky about it. "all thanks to me," he says, which is technically correct, but you don't want to openly admit it in front of him sometimes.

and...

occasionally...you do dress up scarily before sex as well. at first, you were quite reluctant and awkward with roleplaying in bed, but after you got used to it, you found that it's hot as hell to see sukuna beneath you, squirming as you press a knife close to his throat, grinding your clothed cunt against his boner, dressed as a terrifying ghoul.

a safe word was established beforehand, of course, just in case either of you suddenly feel like backing out.

you want to keep yourself immersed into the role as much as possible, but it's difficult when sukuna's cock is so big, hitting all the right spots. this time, you're choking him with one hand as you ride him like he's a toy.

sukuna's hands are guiding your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh, his dick aching from the soft pressure you apply to his throat. you look so utterly scary, it turns him on. he'd let you kill him, if you wanted. he fucks into your cervix, looking up into your eyes with a blush on his face, groaning openly at the insane look in your eyes.

choke me harder. scratch me. bite me. he provokes you through his gaze.

you do grip his throat harder. and then you dig your fingernails into his chest, and scrape them down slowly, leaving a trail of red marks down him. sukuna shudders under you and curses under his breath.

"just like that... fuck, baby," he moans, cock throbbing inside of you. your walls squeeze him so good.

he cums the hardest he's ever cum in his life that night - thighs trembling and sweat rolling down his temples, and it doesn't help that you lean down to sink your teeth into the side of his neck while he orgasms.

aftercare consists of him cleaning you up and helping you de-costume. when he's wiping all that dark makeup off your face, he tells you that you're pretty with his soft voice, flustering you.

and of course, vanilla sex also occurs regularly, to get away from that freaky stuff sometimes, with the gentle kisses and tender hand holding, in a missionary position, exchanging sweet, sweet gazes with each other. giving you the princess treatment you deserve for being so good to him.

in the future, you run around and play bigger roles until one of your films become a huge hit, and sukuna finishes his degree to become a famous film director... no surprises there! the best horror actress + the best horror film director goes hard... the two of you are already married at this point.

when the both of you finally get together to make the ultimate film, the internet explodes... sukuna is surprisingly bad at being professional. he's seen often taking care of you rather affectionately around the filming area, personally making sure your makeup is done perfectly, and bringing you food and water as if he's bragging to everyone else about his marriage. and it shows in the way he sugar coats his critique for you, when he has never done that for any other actor/actress he's worked with previously.

if there are some snooty coworkers that try to speak with him about the gap in treatment, he would simply scoff at them and say 'and? she's my damn wife.'

when he's working with you, it's all like:

"cut! honey, that was great, but i think this part can be done a bit better."

but when it comes to other actors:

"cut! what the fuck was that? sounded like you were reading off the damn script. get your shit together."

he's notorious for being relentless, but nobody has anything to say because all of his films climbed to the top of the industry. everyone is dying to score a line or two in his films.

and i'd like to think that sukuna himself dabbles into acting a little as well. there's probably one film where he stars as the killer, and it becomes a classic :) but the one featuring you and him probably becomes both of your biggest hits ✨

oh, and on days where you two finish filming together, he takes you home with his own car, but before that, some freaky car sex probably occurs around some corner with his windows tinted... (he's been hot and bothered the whole time filming, watching you act)

the end <3

Masterlist

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 13: Taking Out The Trash

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 13.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Blood, GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF DEATH, DEATH, BLOOD, GUTS, Threatening, Denial, Attempted Manipulation, References to attempted SA in the past, Depressing Thoughts, INSANE REVELATIONS, CONFESSIONS, Talks about weed, Super Manipulative Creepy Trash Man, Sexist comments, Homophobic Comments? Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: I'm not going to lie, at the beginning of this chapter it's cute, but the rest of it gets... UNHINGED. I mean its dark because some things are revealed that I don't know why my mind went there immediately but... Also, apparently foreshadowing with dreams is my thing now 🤷🏻‍♀️?

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"Are you sure that you're okay to start work today?" Jake asked you for the millionth time from across the large cherry wood table that proudly stood in the front window of the shop. "Because there's no shame in staying home and resting for a few more days."

He was holding a large box filled with golden barrel cactus that were about to be placed in the new window display that Jake and you were constructing. His dirty blonde hair was scruffier today, hanging into his face just over the top of his tortoise shell glasses. The red and navy flannel he wore stretched over his arms with the flexing of his muscles beneath as he watched you with interest, worry seeping into the clear blue of his eyes.

The store was as you remembered, almost blindingly green, with trailing vines that kissed your arms when you walked through the front door as if welcoming you home and the healing energy from the plants within fusing your body with newfound strength. You could feel the subtle push of roots in the earth, the unfurling of bright leaves,  the swell of fruit on outstretched branches, and the gentle bend of each petal on the vegetation inside the shop speaking to you and reassuring you. It was welcome after being trapped in a freezer for four days.

Jake didn't know about any of that.

Annie had come up with a lie that you'd been in a car accident when Butcher loaned you his car for a job. It hurt you to lie to Jake, especially when he had brought all the plants to your hospital room because he knew it would make you feel better, but you were still trying to keep that part of your life separate from him. Honestly, you worried that if Jake found out how fucked up the other half of your life was he'd fire you, so you didn't bring it hurtling in through the front of his shop like a freight train. And you really loved working here.

It felt natural for you, tending to the plants, helping teach other people how to for anything that grew while gently showing the love of gardening and tending the earth.

Jake had been pondering the idea of having workshops on the weekend at the shop after hours and he'd finally said yes.

Hopefully, I'd be able to use both of my arms by then. 

You were beyond discouraged that hadn't been able to do any of your crochet projects and you felt like a disappointment when you couldn't go to your bi-monthly crochet circle/class that you lead at the Assisted Living Facility a few blocks over. The woman on the phone from the facility had sounded so disappointed when you told her that you couldn't come and it only made you feel worse.

But it was nice to be back in the swing of things at the shop and wonderful to be back in a place that you felt at ease, but there was something tugging in your chest. It was an odd feeling, not as if you'd forgotten something, but almost as if you missed something. As if there was something that wasn't here that should be and you couldn’t put your finger on it.

A week had passed since you'd been released from the hospital and you were eager to get out from under Ben's house arrest to start working again even with your arm in a large and almost impossible cast to maneuver. You were calling it “house arrest”, because after your grandmother left, Ben refused to let you leave the apartment, stating that you needed to rest. And when you argued with him that you'd had enough rest, he'd planted himself in front of the door and refused to budge.

You were going stir crazy with nothing to do and you probably could have moved him if you really tried, but you didn't want to fight with Ben. Not when he was the person who'd brought you back from the warehouse and not when he was acting different.

Your lips press into a firm line when you think about the past week that you'd spent at home with him. Ben was going out of his way to do everything for you that he could, but that didn't mean you weren't annoyed. You'd had to practically swat him away with one of the wooden spoons in the kitchen when you were heating up a lasagna your grandmother left after he'd loudly complained that you shouldn't be standing for too long and tried to carry you back to the couch. Ben was acting like you couldn’t take care of yourself and hadn't been taking care of yourself since you moved away from home. It was odd.

And he kept doing little things around the apartment, like picking up his clothes and making sure to remember to put things in the dishwasher. Things that he hadn’t cared about before you got hurt and things that you’d yelled at him to do before everything happened. And he always made sure that the couch was clear incase you wanted to watch a movie or just read for a little while. Two things that you had been doing more often since you got out of the hospital.

But weirder still was that Ben hadn't been on one "date," since you got back. The only time he'd left the apartment was in the morning to get the paper and he always brought you back coffee or the pineapple iced tea you loved.

Yesterday he had finally allowed you to leave the apartment to go to the grocery store, because when you tried to give him a shopping list he'd said "I don’t need a fucking list I’m a man!" but then you’d asked him to repeat everything you'd told him to buy and he couldn’t.

The whole time out of the apartment you’d made plenty of jokes about the healing power of fresh air, while Ben countered by making a joke about the healing power of sex and that he'd be happy to make you feel better.

The trip to the grocery store hadn’t ended in bloodshed, even when you had to keep reminding Ben not to buy the name brand things and he'd ignored you or when Ben complained the whole time about how expensive everything was and how long it was taking you to find everything.

But the weirdest thing that happened was when the two of you were looking a produce there was a woman who kept trying to come on to Ben when you were testing the grapes and he completely ignored her. Surprising you because she looked like his type, and when she'd walked away Ben had dropped to his knees to tie your shoe because he noticed that it was loose.

When you'd teased him about it, he said that he "didn't want you to break your other arm when you tripped and ate shit on the concrete." You'd had no problem flipping him off with your unbroken hand.

But despite your insistences for Ben to try and find cheaper brands none of it mattered, because when you got to the register Ben paid for the groceries even when you’d explicitly discussed splitting the bill. The cashier had noted what a gentleman Ben was and you’d grumbled something impolite under your breath so low that only Ben could hear.

But Ben couldn't help you with everything, well, you didn't trust him to close his eyes when you needed help getting dressed or needed help washing your hair.

For those little things, Annie would come over, but she hadn't been sympathetic to your pleas to make Ben let you out of the apartment. In fact, when you hoped Ben wasn't listening she'd made a comment about exactly what you should be doing with a hot older man while being trapped in an apartment with only one bed. The raspberry vines that cling to the refrigerator had started spitting raspberries at her when she said it. And then Ben had looked over the back of the couch at the two of you and said "that's what I keep telling her."

At least when my grandmother was here she didn’t pry about Ben and me.

Your grandmother had stayed for three days following your return from the hospital, sleeping next to you on your queen sized bed before she went back to Illinois and everyday you were more surprised how much she and Ben knew each other. The easy way they spoke to one another, the jokes, the teasing, and the poker games that always ended in your grandmother winning an almost obscene amount of money from Ben all made your head spin. Especially, because whenever she won Ben would accuse her of "cheating," and she'd only roll her eyes and state that someone as old as Ben should be better at poker. But the way he'd said she was cheating was different, not as if she had cards up her sleeve, but if there was some other reason why she could cheat. It was confusing and a little frustrating, because you were terrible at poker.

You didn't understand how you could be that bad, but then Ben had poked the skin between your eyebrows that scrunched under his scrutiny and stated that you were "too easy to read" while your grandmother laughed at you.

She still wouldn’t answer your questions about how she knew Ben, but to you it appeared to be more than them running into each other a few times, it almost seemed like a friendship. You believed her when she said that they didn’t sleep together, but you didn't understand how they could have been friends. She'd never spoken about that part of her life with you before, just her childhood and when she met your grandfather. Needless to say it was like you were seeing a different person when she was around Ben.

Deep down you wondered if she was a supe, but she'd never said that before and you didn’t know why she would keep something like that from you, not when you were one too.

But when Ben noticed how discouraged you got playing poker, he let you look over his shoulder at his hand and watch him play. He was very much in his element and every few hands he would make a joke about playing strip poker to which your grandmother would reply "If you want to be naked that bad Ben, you might as well just go down to the corner and put it to good use."

When she left you were sad to see her go and even Ben seemed a little more moody than usual, almost as if he missed having her around. You missed her too. While she stayed with you, you hadn't had the nightmare, but the night she left you did. You'd woken up gasping for air, the unnatural flash of whitish blue light that raced towards the windshield from the dream vibrating against your skin. Ben had come in to check on you, without breaking down the door, and he'd sat with you until you calmed down enough to fall asleep.

But it was still unusual that Ben acted like he missed your grandmother. You'd never met any other friends that Ben had besides Legend and you wondered if Ben really was as lonely as you thought he was. In the past you'd ascribed that to the reason why he went out with so many women, but this time it only confused you because Ben hadn't been out with a single person all week. You couldn’t think of a reason why that was or what could have changed for Ben to avoid using Tinder. If anything you'd thought he would be bored sitting around the apartment with you, but he wasn't. He'd sit with you on the couch watching a movie or read the paper when you read your book, not talking about anything in particular.

There was only one subject you wanted to discuss.

The two of you hadn't talked about what almost happened on the couch when you slept together when Darren was visiting or the way Ben gently touched you in the hospital. You'd mentally compartmentalized it to being a fluke and were happy that things were going back to normal or at least normal-ish. 

But sometimes your mind would wander to how Ben acted when you were in the hospital, how he'd cupped and held your face, how he'd touched you so reverently, what he'd said about not wanting to leave you with Elijah, and how angry he looked when he found out exactly what Elijah had tried to do.

But whenever you thought about talking to him about that, you’d only shake off the urge and ascribe it to Ben wanting to try and be friends. The exact thing that you'd suggested to him the night of the party.

He's respecting me. If he wants to be friends I can be friends with him. Even if he is acting weird.

In fact, this morning, he'd walked with you to the shop this morning as if it was a normal day.

*2 Hours Ago*

Ben frowns at you. "Maybe you should rest one more day-"

He'd been saying that the entire walk to the shop, but you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of letting him trap you in the apartment for another day.

“Ben it'll be fine. I've rested enough-" You rolled your eyes at him, confused that he was making such a big deal about this. It was both annoying and frustrating you how overprotective he was acting and it was making you mad.

“What about your arm? You can’t lift anything-“ He presses.

“Jake is here for that.” You gestured with your head to where Jake was hovering behind the two of you at the register counting the till while pretending not to listen.

"That makes me feel a hell of a lot better. You think that fucking twink can lift more than me?" Ben scoffs. “Maybe I should stay.”

"Why?"

"So I can lift things!"

“Stop babying me Gramps!"

“I'm not babying you!" He rolls his eyes at the nickname.

“Yes you are! Why are you acting like a helicopter parent? I'm fine. It's been a week and I am completely and utterly-"

Ben's hand comes up and pushes back a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering for just a second too long against your cheek. The motion makes you freeze, the warmth of his skin like a siren call. "I don't think you need to come back to work so soon." He says quietly, eyes flicking up to where Jake is before he lowers his voice even more. “You were kidnapped and you got hurt. Not to mention that asshole tried to-" Ben's gaze loses any of the softness it held as he remembers what you told him about what Elijah did.

"Ben." You whisper raising your hand to gently touch his wrist. "I promise I'm okay. I'm not doing this to prove anything. I want to be here. I like being here."

"And you don't like being at home with me." Ben whispers it so low that you almost miss it. He withdrawals his hand from your cheek looking angry.

The memory of the day you walked in on Ben talking to Bean hovers over you:

"Why does she hate me so much?"

When you’d heard Ben ask Bean that it hurt you. You didn't want Ben to think that you hated him. He frustrated you and annoyed you, but you didn’t hate him.

Well, he hasn't been annoying me as much lately.

And if anything you were trying not to think about how much you liked being at home with Ben, how much you liked spending time with him. It was easier to try not to focus on that, not when Ben was acting like someone you could love.

Ben doesn't believe in love, not after everything that got fucked up with Countess. I don't think I could ever fall in love with someone like him either. Sure he's attractive, but he's so damn annoying.

"Look at me." You lay your hand on his arm to draw his gaze back to you. Ben almost looks a little embarrassed that you heard him say it and you watch his eyes flick over your head to where Jake is. You pull him through the plants to give the two of you some privacy. "I don't hate you. And I'm not doing this because I don't want to be at home with you." Your cheeks flush with the word 'home.'

Ben kept using it so casually, but to you it always meant something else. Home was the place where you went where no one judged you, where you went to be with the people who loved you unconditionally, and where you felt that you could be yourself with no judgement. Not to mention you believed that eventually your "home" would become a person. Or at least that was what you wanted to happen. Those prospects were looking pretty slim as of late and you were still on the fence about online dating.

Hughie and Annie met the old fashioned way so why should I have to go on an online site only to be rejected based on looks only?

You refocus on the conversation that you're having with Ben.

"I want things to go back to normal, before everything that happened with Darren and Elijah. And this is the only way that I know how." The mention of Elijah's name brings the memory of him on top of you to simmer beneath the surface. You were trying to forget, but every once in a while the memory would come creeping back in bringing the chill of the first frost in its wake to brush against your skin.

Ben's expression softens. "That quack at the hospital said you should rest."

"You mean the man who went to school for over four years to get a degree told me to rest?"

"Then he knows what the fuck he's talking about!"

"Ben-"

"Petals." He sighs the nickname in the soft way that makes a tingle travel down your spine. Ben had been saying it like that more often confusing you further. "You went through a lot and I'm trying to make sure that you’re okay.”

Why does he care about that?

“I am okay.” You whisper. “I’m sick of being on house arrest in the apartment. I can only watch so many of your old films before I go completely insane.”

“They’re not that bad.”

"Debatable."

Ben sighs again, but he seems to realize that you're not going to budge. You were just as stubborn as he was and you knew that he hated that about you. "Fine. I've got to do something today anyway."

"You got a date?"

You meant it as a joke, but for some reason you feel a twinge deep down that you weren't expecting.

"No." For a moment you think Ben almost looks offended by the suggestion. "Butcher's helping me with something."

"With what? You hate Butcher. And why would he want to do you a favor?"

"Because he wants to find the sick son of a bitch as much as I do!" Ben growls, the soft look in Ben's eyes goes dark as you realize who he's talking about.

You hadn't heard from Darren since everything with Elijah. Not that you expected to. Darren's things had vanished from your apartment and he was gone without a trace. Butcher had tried to track the phone Darren had, but it was out of service. You didn’t want to see him and you didn’t want to think about him, not after everything he'd put you through. It was like Darren to suddenly show up with an apology and say everything that you wanted him to. In the past you'd thought it was because he cared about you and didn't want to lose you, but it was becoming more and more apparent that Darren knew exactly what to say to get you to forgive him. He played you so easily that it broke your heart.

It was hard for you to acknowledge that and hard for you to believe that after all these years the relationship you had with your brother had been a lie, a well rehearsed play that Darren performed whenever he was in town.

And this time you weren't going to forgive him. Not when he'd given you to Elijah like a form of payment. Darren was done using you and you were ready to cut him out of your life.

At least, that was what you told yourself anyway. Sometimes when it was dark and you were all alone in your room you thought that maybe you should forgive him because he was your brother and you didn’t want to abandon him. You'd never admit that out loud, and certainly not in front of Ben, but you weren't sure if you were strong enough to turn Darren down if he reappeared.

"Oh." You look down at your shoes for a second while chewing on the inside of your cheek.

There's an awkward silence that passes through the two of you, charged with the same energy that hovered between you when you were back at the hospital. And you can’t help but think that Ben looks disappointed that he has to leave. You again wonder why he was being so overprotective, especially when he said that he didn't care about you.

That was another thing that you were starting to believe was a lie, Ben cared about you even if he didn't want to admit it, because someone who cared wouldn't do everything he had done for you over the past week.

"Petals?"

"Yes Gramps?" You look up at him mentally preparing for him to ask you again if you're okay, but he doesn't.

"Don’t get into any strange cars." Ben's lips tilt up into a smirk.

"Even if they say they have candy?"

Ben only shakes his head, but then he lingers for a second too long, as if he's waiting for something. "And try not to break anything else." He mutters and then he's gone.

Why is he acting so weird?

*Present Time*

"Because Ben said-" Jake says, snapping you out of the memory of Ben saying goodbye.

"When did you guys talk?" You look up at him from the table in shock.

"Well, I tried to come see you three days ago and he didn't let me in. He said you needed rest and that I should come back later." He explains, emptying another box of cacti.

"You came by?" You ask him confused. The cacti are in multicolored pots and you try your best to avoid the spines as you shift them over the table into position.

"Yeah. Ben said he'd tell you that I did."

"Huh."

Ben hadn't told you that Jake came by, hadn't mentioned it once and he'd had plenty of opportunities to tell you. The two of you were practically both living on the couch, because Ben was making you watch all of his old movies. You think that he was trying to impress you with his acting skills, but all it did was make you mock him endlessly for the cheesy lines and the ridiculous helmet they made him wear as a part of his supe suit. You had taken to repeating the lines from the movies at the most inopportune times to tease him and Ben had started teasing you with quotes from the romance novels that you liked.

Your cheeks flushed at the memory.

It had been embarrassing. You were reading on the couch quietly to yourself and were so absorbed in the scene that Ben had snuck up behind you to read over your shoulder. It hadn't helped that you were at a particular steamy part. He'd made a joke of wanting to re-enact whatever you wanted from the chapter and you'd stomped away to take a shower. It was getting harder to deny his requests to sleep with you, especially when Ben was acting different than he usually did and had been acting like a new person since you got back from the hospital.

"He didn't tell you?" Jake looks disappointed.

"Gramps is forgetful sometimes." You frown at the display between the two of you.

Why didn’t he tell me that Jake came by? Jake has been so sweet. He brought me all those plants and he was worried about me. Or at least… You bite the inside of your cheek remembering what Ben said about when Jake came to the hospital:

"He was fawning all over you like a fucking pussy, thought he was going to cry."

You hadn't thought about Jake at all, other than the occasional wave of guilt for leaving him without any help for a whole week. But it was weird that Ben hadn't told you that Jake stopped by, because when Mike brought you a bouquet of yellow roses Ben had let him in and stood with a cup of coffee in the kitchen smirking at you as Mike talked with you for thirty minutes about how nice the weather was outside. It made you want to strangle Ben, but as retaliation when Mike's mother came by later with a basket of wheat grass muffins and something that looked like green sludge you'd invited her in to talk with Ben. She'd sat on the couch in a bright pink mumu, rubbing his upper thigh and talking about her ex-husband while Ben glared at you every chance he got and you sipped a cup of blueberry tea and laughed quietly to yourself.

"Why do you call him that?" Jake asks while putting down a golden barrel and grabbing a fishhook cactus carefully to avoid the spikes.

"Because he acts like a grumpy old man." You snort to yourself thinking of how cute you thought it was when Ben acted all crochety and frustrated by modern day technology.

"He does." Jake laughs. "So…"

"So?"

"Are you guys together?"

"What?" You sputter looking up from the plants to Jake with wide eyes. "Why do you think that?"

"Well he's always around." Jake picks up the empty box and stacks it on top of another one. "And he always acts kind of…" Jake shrugs.

"Kind of what?"

"Jealous. He's always mad at me for some reason."

"That's just how he is. You gotta peel back the layers like an onion when it comes to him." The words are easy, but you can't help but be a little bit surprised. You were defending Ben. You’d never defended him before, made fun of him, apologized for him, but never defended him. "I mean he's-" You prick your thumb on one of the spikes. "Ow."

"Did it get'cha?" Jake snorts.

"Yeah must be losing my touch. Went soft on all my days off."

"You deserved those days off. You needed to rest-"

You roll your eyes. "Please don't say the r word again. Ben's been saying it for the past week."

"I'm serious." Jake picks up another golden barrel and arranges it on a higher platform on the display. "There's something going on between the two of you."

"You mean Ben driving me to the point of insanity?"

"No. I mean the guy is always watching you-"

"He likes to stare at my ass." You roll your eyes at Jake. "What else is new?"

His cheeks flush with your mention of Ben's interest in your body. "I don’t mean like that. He always looks at you when you're working."

Your straighten up from the floor with a fresh box of Christmas Cactus, arranging the long tendrils so that they are hanging down over the edge of the table. "What do you mean?"

"Sometimes I see him walk by later in the day when you're reading at the register."

What? When has Ben been walking by and why? Is he spying on me?

"What? When?"

Jake shrugs. "I don't know just sometimes. He never comes in. One time he walked by with two cups of coffee, but he just kept walking."

Probably for one of his dates.

"Ben isn't interested in me like that. We're just friends and roommates." When you say that your chest gets a little bit tighter. "Ben doesn't have relationships, he has flings. The guy is basically a walking Trojan ad."

Jake runs a hand through his shaggy dirty-blond hair, to push it out of his face and away from his glasses. "I don't know, you didn't see him when you were asleep in the hospital. The guy was practically daring anyone to get close, like he was trying to protect you from something."

His words make you chew the inside of your cheek remembering what your grandmother said about Ben yelling at the doctors and the nurses and make you think about how overprotective Ben seemed to be acting over the past few days.

Ben is just trying to be a better friend. He knows that I went through a lot.

Annie had also been acting overprotective as well. She kept bringing things by the apartment to make your life easier with the cast and she kept bringing by food. She'd also brought by a big bag of thrifted romance books that she had found at your favorite used bookstore Inky's Inspirations and the two of you had spent the better part of a day devouring them. She was making more time for you because you knew that she felt bad about you getting hurt, and Hughie came by too. Ben didn't share the same enthusiasm that Hughie had for conversation, but whenever Ben was mean you would glare at him and Ben would huff out something under his breath and try to contribute more to the conversation.

"That's just how he is. Ben is kinda," You wave a hand. "Protective of his friends."

"I noticed." Jake frowns. "But I guess I'll take your word for it."

An awkward silence follows and the two of you finish the display, but you can't stop thinking about Ben walking past the shop.

How many times did he do that? And why? He always seems to hate walking and makes a big deal about me walking by myself. Why would he want to walk here all the way from Butcher's?

"Why don't you go check out the display of herbs by the register? I'm not sure how to arrange the Rosemary and the Oregano."

"Sure." You shrug heading back through the aisles that spill vines onto the concrete floor, your hand sliding through the leaves as you walk, feeling the plants begin to perk up with your gentle touch. The browning leaves vanished, the drooping stems straightened, and the plants turned up to you as if you were the sun.

Being here again and having a normal day was making you feel better. At home your plants had needed some TLC after you were gone for so many days and as hard as Jake tried to maintain every single plant in the store, you knew that it was too much for him to contain. Things like that were easy for you.

The day passes by slowly. Ben had told you that he'd be there to pick you up at closing and you found yourself checking the clock. You'd never done that before. When you were working in the past you never wished for the day to be over, but for some reason the idea that Ben was going to pick you up made you almost happy.

The shiny metal bell above the door jingled as the last customer of the day entered the shop, but you don't look up from the bouquet of flowers you were arranging for a last minute birthday order that someone called in for tomorrow morning. You didn't often do them, but Jake was busy breaking down the display of flowering plants in the other window and you were more than happy to help out.

Even if it was difficult with one hand.

You could hear whoever it was coming closer to the register, the sound of their shoes clunking against the weathered gray concrete floors with every step.

"Welcome in. Can I help you with something?" You don't look away from the sunflowers in the vase in front of you, using one hand to place some holly ferns to give it a bit more green before you reach for the baby's breath that sits in a bundle on the vintage wooden bar that served as a desk for the register.

"Well I'm not sure. Do you have anything that says 'I'm sorry my friend kidnapped you?'" A familiar voice asks.

Your head jerks upwards at the sound of the voice, but you already know who it is.

Darren stands there in his traditional black army jacket. His blonde buzzed hair is blindingly white in the sunlight that comes through the wide glass windows at the front of the shop, catching the glint of the gunmetal colored hoops in his right eyebrow. His smile is sheepish, apologetic, and if you hadn’t been through what you did, you might have believed that it was genuine.

"Darren?" Your voice is no more than a whisper, surprise leaking into it as you utter your brother's name.

You didn’t actually think that he would come to see you, not when he knew who Ben really was, and not when he knew that you knew he sacrificed you to save his own skin.

"Hey sissy. Did you miss me?"

The nickname strikes a nerve deep down.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Jake glances over from the front window his eyes widening at your sudden outburst. He'd never met your brother before and he knew that something must be wrong if you were angry. Jake knew you well enough to know how composed you were most of the time and knew that for you to be angry something must really be wrong.

"I wanted to see you. Can I give you a hug?" Darren holds out his arms towards you.

"What do you think?"

"But you love hugs." He makes a step towards the end of the register.

"If you take another step I'm going to scream. What are you doing here?" You say again.

"I told you. I wanted to see you. I haven't been able to see you since-"

“Since you handed me over to Elijah to pay off your fucking gambling debt?” The baby's breath in your hand crumbles into a ball, but you barely feel it.

“See." Darren rolls his eyes and holds up a finger. "I knew you’d overreact. You’re way too sensitive.” 

“Overreact? OVERREACT? He locked me in a fucking freezer!” You spit. “He tried to-“ A cold feeling rises and prickles against your skin when you remember the weight of Elijah’s body on yours and the way his hand squeezed your throat. The purplish-black marks were still there, but hidden under a burgundy ribbed turtle neck sweater that you'd put on this morning. You figured it would be hard to explain those marks to Jake, especially when Annie had told him you were in a car accident.

“Hey, is everything okay over here?” Jake interrupts. He wipes this dirt covered hands on his jeans as he gets closer to where Darren is leaning against the front of the register.

"Yeah." You clear your throat. "Darren was just leaving."

"No, I'm not." Darren hasn't looked away from you and hasn't acknowledged Jake's presence. "I want to talk to you."

"Too bad. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say." You breathe, but you could feel a twinge in your heart. The love you had for your brother was ebbing just on the edge of the rage and heartbreak that you felt every time you think about what he did to you. It was difficult to treat him this way, not when you'd given in to whatever he wanted for so long. You hated that about yourself, hated the piece of you that wanted to forgive him.

But Darren does not move, in fact you can see the way his eyes flick over you as if he can sense that you're unsure.

"I want to talk this out." He says a little more forcefully.

"If she says that she doesn’t want to talk to you, I’m going to have to ask you to leave." Jake replies continuing to frown at your brother. They were both about the same height, but where Darren was rail-thin, Jake had a little bit more muscle to him. Not as much as Ben, but enough that he was bigger that your brother.

But you knew that it would do little good. Darren was even more stubborn that you were, and you could see the dangerous glint in his eyes that got him into trouble more times than you could count when the two of you were growing up.

“Try it four eyes." Darren's lips pull back in a challenge.

The lights overhead flicker for just a second, almost imperceivable to the eye. Jake crosses his arms over his chest in a way that you think he must believe is intimidating. “I’m going to ask you to leave one more time before I call the police.” 

"And I said that I'm not going to fucking leave without talking to my sister."

"Sister?" Jake falters looking at you, his blue eyes wide in surprise behind his glasses.

You stand there for a moment trying to think of a way out of this. There's a little voice buzzing in your ear telling you that something is wrong, but you can't put your finger on it. And an even smaller voice whispering that you should call Ben.

I don't need him to handle this. Darren and I have to talk eventually and might as well do it now.

"Fine, but let's take this outside." You walk around from behind the register. "Jake has to lock up in fifteen minutes."

"Perfect! I just need five." Darren smiles at you the same way that he always has, the smile that you'd laughed with and allowed to reassure you, but this time all it does is make all of this worse.

When the two of you get outside, the sun is just starting to sink behind the buildings, bathing everything in a golden glow. Despite the situation it is a beautiful day. The smell of the bakery next door sent the soothing aroma of cinnamon and brown sugar each time it's door opened, the warmth of the sun was on your back and shoulders, the wind had picked up just enough to rustle your hair where it was pulled back from your face in a ponytail, and you could hear the children playing in the park just around the corner where the trees sent their long shadows over the playground.

Darren shifts from foot to foot and you can see the way he's trying to think of something to say, as if he's pretending that he didn't rehearse this in his head. You wonder if he's always done that, if he'd rehearsed everything he ever said to you because he knew exactly what to say to get you to agree for so long.

"Look Darren, I don't want to talk about this. Nothing that you're going to say is going to make any of this okay. Nothing that happened was okay! You left me there with him, you brought me to him, and then you lied about why I was really there."

"I'm sorry about that." Darren's gaze softens, eyebrows furrowing in mock sincerity. "Believe me, I wouldn't have taken you there if I knew that Elijah was going to do any of those things to you honey."

"Oh that is such-"

"I will admit that I did lie about why you were there. But I knew that you wouldn't come if I told you that it was for weed and Elijah really said he just wanted you to look at the plants for a few minutes. He didn't say anything about a freezer." Darren holds up his hands as if surrendering.

"And there it is! You admit that you lied to me, that you manipulated me to get me to go with you. And then you had the audacity to say that if I was uncomfortable we could go home!" You shout at him, narrowing your eyes. "Well Darren, I gotta tell you I was fucking uncomfortable in that damn freezer and in his damn office, and where were you? Oh right…" You tap your lips with the tip of your finger. "You left me there with that fucking psychopath!"

"I didn't leave you there! I called Richie and when I came back into the office, you were gone. Elijah told me that you left! I went back to your apartment and-" Darren frowns at you. He didn't like that you weren't listening to what he had to say.

"Do you expect me to believe any of that bullshit?" You plant your hands on your hips as you interrupt him, feeling a surge of anger swelling in your chest.

Even though the two of you are technically standing outside of the shop, you can still feel the energy from the plants inside, intertwining with you, strengthening you, and waiting for your command.

Truthfully ever since you'd killed Elijah you hadn't been able to forget it. You'd never used your powers like that before, never knew that you could, and never had fanaticized about that. But now, standing outside of the shop with your brother you could feel the plants calling out to you, asking you to command them, begging you to free them. You could feel them clawing in the dirt, the roots beneath writhing and unsettled, the flowers turning to watch Darren and you. Even the trees down the street that stood as stoic protectors over the children playing beneath their feet began to bend towards the two of you.

Sure in the past you'd been connected to the world around you, but ever since everything that happened with Elijah, your powers felt different, as if there was something else brewing and prickling beneath your skin that begged to be unleashed.

"I'm trying to apologize and you won't even listen to me!" Your brother shouts. Darren was leaning down over you, not as tall as Ben, but tall enough to be bigger than you.

You'd never feared him in the past, but you saw something flicker behind his eyes, something predatory, something that you'd never seen before in all the years that you'd spent with your brother.

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say Darren. I want you to leave-" You reply, hands still planted on your hips.

"No."

"No?"

"No. I can't stop by your damn apartment because you have that asshole hovering around. He would tear me to pieces before I got a chance to talk to you. And I want to explain what happened." Darren snaps back, eyes dark.

"I know what happened! Elijah told me exactly-"

"You're going to believe him over me? I'm your brother! I'm your blood, do you really think that I would have let Elijah do any of those things to you if I knew he would?"

"I don't know anymore."

It broke your heart to admit that aloud, but it was true. You didn't know if Darren cared about you at all and if he loved you the way that you loved him, if he ever had.

"What do you mean you don't know?" He looks hurt, shoulders slumping downward. "Sissy-"

"I-" You falter.

For just a fleeting moment the anger and heartbreak you feel towards your brother recedes just enough for the love you have for him begin to trickle back in. You wanted to believe that he cared about you. Frustrated tears burn in your eyes, because a part of you wants to push him away but there's another part that clings on with bloody fingertips and asks you to listen to him.

Because Darren was your family and all you could think of was if your parents were here what would they do? All those years that you supported your brother you'd thought that you were honoring their memory by refusing to turn your back on him. You wanted to love your brother, wanted to believe that everything he was saying was genuine, and all the years that you gave in to whatever Darren asked you were bearing down on you.

"Come on sissy. I love you. You're the only family that I have left." Darren soothes taking a step closer to you when he senses how hesitant you are to push him away.

"Well-"

"Please listen to-" Darren begins to say, but his entire body is yanked backward by something.

"She doesn't need to hear another fucking word you have to say." Ben snarls, holding Darren tightly by the throat above the sidewalk.

You hadn't seen him walk up. Ben could move silently when he wanted to and right now he looks murderous. There's a fire blazing behind his eyes turning them into heated furnaces of pure emerald, practically glowing in the last slips of the sunlight that peeks behind the buildings and stretches the shadows long over the almost empty street. His mouth is pulled back in a snarl as he stares at your brother, the grip he has on his throat tightening.

The couple across the street gasp when they watch Darren struggle in Ben's unbreakable grip, but Ben doesn't acknowledge them.

"I made you a promise." Ben's voice is a low growl as he holds Darren up so high off the ground that Darren's feet kick helplessly in the air. "You should have stayed gone you insignificant piece of shit."

Darren's eyes flash to yours. "Are you really going to let him treat me this way? I'm your brother!"

Ben's grip tightens on his throat and Darren grabs on to Ben's wrist.

You stand there frozen in horror unable to speak. A part of you is screaming for Ben to let him go and another part of you is begging for Ben to do what you don't think you can. You felt so weak in that moment, unable to turn your back on your brother, on the abuser, the manipulator, and the man who used you for years.

Ben's eyes flick to yours for a moment, something passing through his gaze that you can't understand, but it gives you strength.

"Sissy?" Darren's voice sounds so broken.

"Ben. Put him down." You say.

"What?" Ben snaps, eyes flashing.

"Please. Put him down." You breathe, your eyes catching Ben's for a moment.

Ben's jaw is tight, the muscles in his torso tense, but he does what you say with a grunt. Darren's body falls onto the sidewalk and he gasps for air, touching his throat as he gets to his feet.

Darren smiles at you through the deep breaths. "I knew you wouldn't let him-"

"Leave" You say as calmly as you can, but there's a slight tremor on the edge of your voice.

Ben takes a step closer to you when he hears it, but he doesn't touch you. He's still staring down Darren, eyebrows pulled tight together, and his mouth turned down into a frown with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. You know that he's probably a little pissed at you that you told him to put Darren down, but you also couldn't believe that he listened to you.

"What?" Darren stutters.

"Leave." You repeat. "I never want you to come back here ever."

"But I'm your-"

"If you say that you're her fucking brother one more time, I'm going to rip you in half." Ben's hands clench at his sides and you know that he's holding himself back from grabbing Darren again.

“You’re my family. I love you.” Darren says, the edge of his voice cracking just a little bit, but there's something behind his gaze that makes you pause. You're not sure if it's because he's trying to hide how mad he is at Ben or what, but there is something unsettling about the way he's looking at you.

“I don’t think you do.” It broke you to say it, to admit it out loud. “I’ve let you use me all these years, sacrificing my own happiness, my own success for you, because I loved you, but I don’t think you’ve ever once loved me. All you’ve done is look out for yourself.”

“That’s ridiculous-“

“When’s my birthday Darren?” You ask him, throat tight.

He freezes. “You're kidding right? You really think I don't know when your birthday is?"

"What have I been dreaming of doing since I was ten years old?"

"Sissy-"

"Your birthday is June 12th." You reply without stuttering. "Since you were thirteen years old your dream has been to own a blue 1970 Chevelle with black racing stripes. But you can never seem to scrape together enough money to get one."

Darren visibly pauses with your answer.

"I pay attention to everything you tell me Darren. I remember everything because I love you. And if you loved me, you would know those things about me. You would actually care enough to remember that I hate surprises, that I hate that insipid nickname, and since I was eight years old the only thing that I've been dreaming about is to open up my own farmer's market."

"You're kidding right?" Darren snorts. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"And that's exactly why I don't believe that you love me. Because if you did you would support me the way that I've supported you for years."

"I-"

"No. I have sacrificed so much for you and you have never once done anything for me! So I'm asking you to leave, because as much as I love you, I can't do this anymore." The tears were blurring your vision, but you were holding it together the best you could. Ben was now standing so close to you that his arm was almost touching yours and you feel his fingertips brush the back of your hand just for a second, as if he wants to hold your hand but he doesn't.

"But-" Darren gapes, mouth wide open.

"She told you to fucking scram Dipshit." Ben snarls his eyes narrowing at your brother.

You could tell that it was taking a lot of effort on Ben's part not to turn Darren into mush and it made you grateful that he was here. Because Ben was letting you handle it, but he was there for you if you needed him to be. It was the first time that you realized how much you needed him with you.

Darren stands there for a minute eyeing Ben and you, emotions running together across his face merging with one another, his eyes darkening. And then he does something you didn't expect.

Darren begins to laugh.

 Not just a little giggle or a snort, a deep throated rumble that shakes his body as he doubles over laughing so hard that he begins to wheeze.

"Oh sissy. I've been waiting for this for years. You have no idea." Darren continues to laugh, gasping for air and putting his hands on his thighs to hold himself steady.

What the hell is happening?

"What?" You ask tentatively. Even Ben is looking at him in surprise.

"Man. I've been wondering for years how long it would take you to finally grow a fucking backbone, but wow. I never thought it would be now." He starts to slow clap. "I'm impressed."

"What are you talking about?"

The glint in his eyes was back and Darren was smiling wide, so wide that you could see all his teeth. It reminded you of when Annie and you used to watch Crocodile Hunter on tv when you were kids and would huddle together watching Steve Irwin fearlessly handle them.

Darren's smile turns more into a smirk. "Kinda a good thing too, because I don't need you anymore, not with the way business is going. Honestly, I should thank your boyfriend. He solved a major problem for me."

"What problem?" Ben snarls.

"Elijah." Darren laughs out the name. "When I found out that you were Soldier Boy and saw how friendly you were with my sister at that ridiculous fundraiser. I knew that you'd come save her and kill Elijah. Poisoning his plants and letting it slip at that my sister just happened to be a plant supe at a poker game was the only way that I could get her involved and Elijah jumped at the chance.

He was at the fundraiser? When was he at the fundraiser?

"Why would you do that?" You ask in surprise.

What in the actual fuck is going on? He planned for Elijah to take me? He purposely poisoned the plants?

You were seeing a different side of Darren. Growing up he'd always had a temper, but Darren was never conniving or cunning. He never planned ahead more than an hour. It was always you that had to remind him to do things and you that begged him to at least think ahead for the entire week.

He's not some criminal mastermind. The guy doesn't believe that pickles used to be cucumbers for fucks sake.

"He was bad for business, he was already encroaching on my territory with the weed and then he said he was going to expand into cars and I couldn't have that. So." Your brother shrugs.

"But I don't understand why?"

Ben looks just as confused as you do, but the anger has not vanished from his eyes. You realize that Ben is waiting for you to say the word for him to start in on Darren. And it made you feel grateful again that he was here with you.

"Oh sissy you're still so innocent. I almost feel bad for you, not really. But" Darren flashes another brilliant smile that doesn't seem to fit the conversation the three of you are having. "I guess I should thank you. I would have never been able to build an empire without you."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ben spits.

He was getting tired of Darren's monologuing and frankly so were you. An odd feeling prickled against your skin, splattering and splashing like oil in a skillet and the plants in the shop behind you pressed themselves against the windows as if trying to warn you. There was something wrong about this whole situation, something that you knew that you were missing, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

"And to think I was so upset when you survived that night." Darren looks disappointed, but he chuckles. "Of course my aim now is a little bit better than it was then." His eyes pulse a dangerous electric blue and an unnatural hum fills the air. "I've had the practice."

He's a supe? How long has he been a-

The thought stutters to a halt when you realize what he said.

"Your aim? What do you-"

The words are barely out of your mouth, when the cold shock of what he's talking about hits you like you'd been dunked into a bucket of cold water. The memory of the night your parents died comes crashing over you in a wave and you're transported into the backseat of the car. The supple leather beneath your fingertips, the chill of the air conditioning, the melding of your parent's voices to "Nights In White Satin," the patter of rain against the metal roof that streaked across the glass windows, and the sticky remnants of chocolate ice cream on your cheeks. The unnatural flash of white light illuminates the interior of the car, the light that seemed to crackle and pulse across the space in front of the vehicle and seemed to come from in front of the car and not above the way the cops said it had.

The same flash of light that everyone said was lightning, but now you knew better.

You remembered it all, the hum of electricity in the air as the bolt hit the car and your dad jerking the wheel and sending the car over the bridge, and the sound of your mother's scream ringing in your ears just before the jolt of the car hitting the water and everything went black.

"No." You whisper taking a step back from your brother. "It was you?"

Horror and shock clamps down around your throat making it difficult to breathe.

Why would he do something like that? They were our parents. Why would he want to kill the two people who loved him as unconditionally as they loved me?

You didn't have one unhappy memory from the childhood you spent with your parents. The house was always warm, filled with the smell of baked goods, and the love your parents had for one another and for Darren and you. Every day was fused with wonder and excitement, and the weekends were filled with surprise trips to places that you’d never been before. They cared so much for the two of you, sacrificing the big things in their lives so they could be around Darren and you.

Darren wasn't with us in the car, he said he had homework and that he couldn't come with us to my recital.

Darren smiles wider, proud that you figured it out. "I was worried that you saw me standing on the road that night in the rain. That's why I left for a few days after the accident, but when I showed up again  and you were so happy to see me, I saw my chance. You didn't know that it was me and there wasn't a need for me to stay gone."

"But why? Why would you do that?"

Darren's expression turns murderous. "Do you have any idea what it was like being second best to you my whole life?" Electricity jumps from his fingertips, flashing a dangerous blue and crackling in the air. "What it was like to be your brother?"

Holy fuck he's the electric supe. And the empire that Elijah was encroaching on was his chop shop.

The thought blazes through you and you remember what Elijah said about "expanding into automotives."

Of course Darren needed us to take Elijah out. Elijah had money and had the means to destroy Darren, but without the competition then…

You blink to bring your thoughts back together, realizing what your brother just said to you. “What are you talking about? You were never second best-"

"Yes I was!" He seethes. "You’ve always been the special one. The supe, the favorite, the golden child. I could never touch you! You're the one that mom and dad were so proud of.”

Darren takes a step forward and Ben mirrors the move, shifting his body in front of you to protect you from Darren, but Darren doesn't take his eyes off you. His face is contorted in hate, anger flaring white hot in his eyes that still glow an unnatural and dangerous bright blue. The air is full of the energy, popping and crackling along Darren's skin with every pulse of electricity.

"Darren-" You begin to say, but he interrupts.

"No." He snarls. "I'm talking now. You can't shut me up. Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this? They put you on a fucking pedestal for years. You were the one with all the toys all the talent. You're the one that they gave the Compound V to. I had to scavenge and scrape together enough money to bribe a friend of mine to swipe some from his mother's hospital."

So that's how he got it.

Anger, rage, heart break, and shock were fighting in your chest for dominance. You could feel the burn of tears in your eyes understanding that the brother you thought that you'd loved for all these years was also the man who murdered your parents in cold blood.

He tried to kill you too.

The thought was everywhere, ricocheting around in your head, the truth that Darren hid for years finally coming out.

"I was made for more. You. You're nothing." Darren spits. "You're a disappointment. Mom and dad gave you the powers and all you do is sit in a fucking plant shop all day long. What about me? I can fucking fly! I can fry someone from thirty fucking feet away! I amounted to something. All you do is make the fucking flowers bloom."

You'd heard the insult before on the lips of the men Elijah employed, the men who underestimated you. You'd heard it before in the tone of voice your brother had when he spoke to you the other night when he came to crash in your apartment and took your bed.

The energy in the air was reaching a dangerous peak and you could still feel it scraping against your skin. The plants in the shop behind you are pressed tight against the window and you have no idea where Jake is, only that you hope he's far away from whatever is about to happen.

Anger pulses hard and fast in your chest, sending a bitter taste into your mouth.  "Oh you amounted to something? You didn't amount to anything! You’re still just a sack of shit that’s I’ve been dragging around. And I can't believe that I let you do it to me for years! You don’t care about me you don’t love me-"

"Of course I fucking don’t! I never have!"

"And then you killed the two people who loved you unconditionally-"

"They didn't fucking love me!" Darren snarls. "The only thing they loved was you. A pathetic little bitch who should have just keeled over and died like a good girl."

Ben's hand comes out and grabs Darren by the front of his jacket hauling him up into the air. "Don't you fucking speak to her that way." His voice is no more than a growl, rumbling low in his chest, his own eyes flashing a deep green, darker than you'd ever seen before. His skin has taken on a golden glow, coming through the dark t-shirt and pair of jeans he was wearing and the smell of ozone fills the air around the three of you.

"What are you going to do Benny?" Darren's body is glowing a blue beneath his outfit. "Show me that famous Soldier Boy temper? Fuck, you're just as pathetic as she is, nothing more than a washed up-"

Ben isn't holding on to Darren anymore, Darren's body is flying back into the street with the force of Ben's throw, but it doesn't strike ground, it gets hit mid-air by a passing bright red minivan. Darren's body flips backwards over the top of the car and lands in the street in a broken heap.

You're still frozen on the sidewalk as Ben sails in to beat down Darren's body where it lies, but there's an awful flash of bright blue light and an SUV that was parked on the street goes flying into Ben, propelling both of them into the bakery next door to the plant shop. The loud crashing of glass and brick with the force of the hit rings in your ears.

"Ben!" You shout, but he's no where in sight.

Darren stands from the ground, one of his arms hanging limply at his side and there's a bloody gash on his forehead that drips blood down into his eye, but and when Darren smiles, blood smears the inside of his usually white teeth.

"Goodbye sissy."

You don't have time to react. The bolt of lightning catches you in the center of the chest and throws you backwards into the plant shop. There's a terrible feeling of weightlessness, before your body hits the glass windows and slams into the flowering plant display that Jake had been working on when Darren showed up.

You land on your back hard, head hitting the concrete with a sickening crack that you feel vibrate through your entire body. Pain is everywhere. There's glass imbedded in your back, the cast on your arm is cracked open, your leg is burning and you're afraid to look down to see what you'll find. You can taste blood in your mouth and feel something sticky underneath your head that you're sure is the same.

You stare up at the florescent lights of the shop for a moment, the revelation of everything your brother had done beginning to finally sink in.

He killed our parents, he tried to kill me.

Tears burn and fall down your cheeks with the thought. Emotions swirling in your chest too fast to name.

I spent years taking care of him, letting him berate me, manipulate me, use me for whatever he needed and not once did he love me. I was so stupid. How could I have been so stupid?

The plants were circling around you, calling out to you, brushing against your broken body as you continued to lay there staring up at the ceiling. Black was starting to close in on the edge of your vision, making everything go a little bit fuzzy, but your mind was awake.

He killed our parents, he tried to kill me.

You think again, but you still can't move. You feel the trailing vines of the plants touching your legs, wrapping over them, laying down over your chest, and creeping up towards your broken arm and your face. They were whispering to you, asking your permission, begging you to let them free.

He killed our parents, he tried to kill me, and he tried to kill Ben.

And with that thought, you feel the rage begin to take over, burning hot and beating against your rib cage like a drum.

The plants around you begin to glow a vivid green, binding around your limbs, their strength flooding into your body as you call them forth to help you. The healing energy wrapping you in a cocoon of energy and life, taking away your pain. Pieces of glass fall from your skin, your bones knit back together, your skin closes and the scars left behind disappear as if they never happened.

You rise from the ground, the plants that wrapped around you no more than blackened tendrils of what they used to be, crunching underfoot as you make your way towards the front of the shop. You could feel the energy thrumming through your veins, the wounds you had were gone, the exhaustion and fatigue washed away by the plants that gave what life they had to make you whole.

You'd only ever given life to things that needed you, you'd never once considered that you could take it away.

Darren is still standing in the street, looking proud of himself, but when he sees you reappear in the broken window his smile falters.

"Guess you can take a hit." Darren shrugs. "I'm a little impressed-"

"Our entire lives you’ve never appreciated me. All I did all was listen to you, do everything I could to love and support you. I did whatever you asked without question. I spent so much of my own money, sacrificing little things in my life, doing ridiculous jobs to make a little bit extra, because I thought I was helping you.”

“You did.” Darren sneers. “I never had to work-“

“I’m not finished.” You snap. “I have given so much of myself to you and all it did was enable you. Annie was right and our grandmother was right. You are a leech. All you do is take and take until there's nothing left, and you don't care who you hurt."

"Look who's finally seeing the bigger picture!"

"I am." Your heart was running a mile a minute and you could still feel the remnants of power from the plants thrumming in your veins. "You're a parasite and Ben was right, I was too stupid to see it, too conditioned to believe that you cared about me. But you don't, the only person you care about is yourself." Your voice trembles just a little bit as you say those words, but you knew it was true. "I'm sorry that you spent your entire life believing that our parents didn't love you, I'm sorry that I wasted so much of my own money and time taking care of you, and I'm sorry that after all this time there's still apart of me that wants to forgive you even though you don't deserve it."

"Oh no sissy did I hurt your feelings?" Darren puffs out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. "What are you gonna do? Throw a spinach puff at me?" He cackles. "You're so pathetic. You really think that Mr. American Dream and you can beat me? Please." Bluish white arcs of energy illuminate the air around him, catching in the long shadows, emanating out from his body. His skin has gone an even paler shade of white, his veins a dark blue beneath. "In Greek mythology Zeus is the king of the gods. And all the others bow to him." He raises a hand and the electricity dances across his palm. "Have you come to bow?"

“No, because you were wrong about one thing.” You feel your eyes shift to bright green with your words, the plants in the store behind you screaming for blood, writhing together in a tangled mass in the depths of the shop.

"And what’s that sissy?” Darren snorts.

“Ben didn’t kill Elijah. I did.” 

The building that housed "Please Don't Die" explodes behind you raining brick, mortar, and rubble on the street around where you stand. The creature that crawls forward on broken limbs and tangled roots from the remnants of the store is the size of a city bus. It looks like a large lizard, the claws easily the size of your forearm, it's head the size of a washing machine, and the body rippling with muscle woven from stems, leaves, and vines to claw it's way from the rubble on four legs.

Darren stares up at it in shock, confused at it's sudden appearance.

It opens it's mouth, revealing a mouth full of broken sticks fashioned into points, and lets loose a roar that shakes the parked cars that line the street. You could feel your body intertwined with it, the creature an extension of yourself, the rage, anger, and frustration you felt pouring through the veins of the behemoth that towered over the empty street.

This has never happened before, but it felt right. As if everything inside of you had been building from this, since the moment you used your power to kill Elijah your powers had felt different, amplified. And now standing in the street with the creature at your command it feels cosmically correct. There's a switch inside that flipped the right way and for the first time in your life, you feel powerful.

Darren tries to blast you backward again, but the lizard is faster than he expected it to be absorbing the bolt of electricity. It plows head first into Darren, knocking him back into the pavement. He lets out a yell of surprise, the sound of his head hitting the pavement echoing down the street.

You could feel your body thrumming with power, electrifying your veins, exploding from every nerve ending, and charging through skin and sinew to recreate you into something that you never knew existed and never knew you could be.

The creature's clawed hand is on Darren's chest, flattening him down into the street, and he struggles beneath it electricity crackling in the air. The lizard stares down at him with unblinking eyes, not reacting to the arcs of bluish-white light that pulse from Darren's hands.

It looks over it's massive shoulder at you, the plants that formed it’s body asking your permission, bending to your will, opening it's mouth to click in a broken language that only you understand. You can hear the little whispers of the leaves against your ears and feel the roots and vines that knotted together to form the behemoth that takes up most of the street.

"Sissy-" Darren begins to say, his eyes wide. You could see him mentally calculating his mistake, his misinterpretation of what you were capable of, and see him trying to switch tactics to save his own skin.

But you don’t want to hear any of it anymore. You didn't want to waste another second of your life listening to anything he said.

"I'm your brother." He wheezes the clawed hand heavy on his chest, pushing him down into the pavement. 

"I don’t have a brother." Your voice is cold and emotionless. "All you are is the asshole who killed my parents and used me in every way he could. And you're never going to use ever again.  Goodbye Darren."

"Wait-"

The creature's jaws fasten onto Darren's head and his last words are cut off in the rip of teeth and crunch of bone.

You stand there watching the lizard tear at his body, gazing at the bloody mangled mass that was your brother and your creation that crouches above him. Blood drips from it's bloody maw onto the pavement, staining the street red and it looks at you as if waiting for your next command, but you can't move.

"Petals?" You hear Ben say from somewhere to your left, but you don't acknowledge him. "Are you okay?"

The rush you felt from the plants is gone, the green fading from your eyes, and the sound of Darren's final gasp still vibrating against your ears. The energy is slowly ebbing from your body and you're scared by what's left behind, because that meant that everything was about to come crashing back down on you.

The creature turns and moves closer to you, pressing it's giant head against your torso as if trying to comfort you. And you raise a hand to rub the top of it’s head you can't stop staring at the body, not quite comprehending everything that has happened in the past fifteen minutes.

Darren killed my parents, he deserved this, he tried to kill me, he tried to-

There were tears in your eyes, bubbling over, as you exhale a gasp and a bone shaking sob. Everything was crashing down over you quickly and you sink to your knees.

The creature seems to follow you down, growing smaller and smaller until it's no more than the size of your hand, and clings to your jean's pocket.

Darren's body is unrecognizable, lying in pieces, and scattered over the street. People were running and screaming in terror, but you couldn't hear them. You knew that the police would be coming quickly and you didn’t know how the fuck you were going to explain any of this. Not the giant lizard, not the destruction of the building behind you, and especially not explain any of this to Jake who you hoped wasn't hurt or worse.

You feel Ben's hand come down on your shoulder. "Petals look at me, come on."

"He killed them." You murmur, the memories of your parents flashing through your mind, all of them happy and in love. "He killed them because he thought they loved me more. It's all my fault."  The memory of the nightmare grates across your skin sending a shudder through your body.

"Petals." Ben turns your face to look at him. His eyes are still filled with the force of his rage, but they are softer now, looking at you with an unreadable emotion that you'd only seen in the hospital when you woke up and Ben sat with you. His hand gently traces the curve of your cheek. "That was not your fault. Everything he did wasn't your fault. He was fucked in the head. He-"

"I can't do this." You swallow, pulling yourself from Ben and standing up on shaky legs.

"What?"

"I've got to get out of here." Your feet stumble slightly on the cracked pavement, and Ben catches your now unbroken arm to stabilize you, but also to stop you from leaving

"Let me make sure that you're okay first-"

"I'm not!" Your voice breaks. "None of what happened is okay. I'm not okay Ben I-" The sobs were coming closer together now, everything coming down hard and making it difficult to breathe. "I can't breathe. I-"

"Hey. Shhh-" Ben tries to step closer to you.

"No Ben." You shake your head, tugging your arm to tell him to let you go, but he doesn't. The tears fall faster, soaking through your bloody shirt.

Emotions were pummeling you, overwhelming you, and were making it difficult to speak and to think. The only thought you had was that you had to get the hell out of here, that you couldn't look at what used to be Darren anymore, and that you couldn't look at what used to be the shop you loved so much.

"Just wait a damn minute-" He says more forcefully, tightening his grip.

"No. Let me go."

"Petals-" He's saying it in the soft concerned way that he did whenever it was the two of you, but you couldn’t listen to it. All you could feel was the jumble of emotions in your head and the events of today beginning to press down over you. Darren's confessions and his death were crushing you into oblivion.

"Let me go Ben." You shout again, through a sob.

"I don't want to. Let me help damnit!"

"No, please." You shout, tears streaking down your face as he finally lets you go. "I need to be alone. I need to-" You gasp. "I need to go home."

The darkness was closing in quickly and you didn't know what to do. The tide was overwhelming, pulling you under with every passing second.

"Then let me take you home."

"No." You shake your head. "I have to go home." You say it again for him to understand what you mean. "I can't be here right now with this. With any of this I-"

"Please-" Ben's voice is thick and it's the first time you've ever heard him sound that way.

"No, I have to go."

And you run, leaving the body of your brother and everything you know behind, while Ben watches you go with a twinge in his own chest that he can't understand.

A/N: Lots happened in this chapter. I know the revelations and the twists were WILD. But it finally happened, Darren got what he deserved. I know we don't see too much of Ben and the reader, but in the next chapter things between them are about to become less blurry. And we get a re-appearance of Granny Di in the next chapter!

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Comments, and Likes are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series please let me know! :)

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[hp-hcs]

• smut (?) • like a record, baby [soulmate au]—poly! simp! mattheo riddle x poly! simp! harry potter x poly! gn! reader

hey sorry i fell off the face of the planet for like two and a half months i fell back into my old hyperfixation and started a new blog just for that and lowkey forgot abt this one and kinda fell out of the fandom lmfao anywhore—

inspired by that one Dead or Alive song

tws: sort of smut? it’s mostly implied and also like two sentences and also doesn’t involve the reader whatsoever?, lowkey bottom mattheo tbh, blink-and-you-miss-it reference to potential harry self harm :(, so fucking ooc omg

not edited if you see any mistakes shhh no you didn’t

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

If I, I get to know your name / Well, if I could trace your private number, baby

Mattheo huffed, resigned. It was official; he’d finally have to talk to Scarboy.

Eight years.

Eight years of avoiding the damn boy. Eight years of ignoring the sudden sharp pains that would slice across his forehead, right where Potter’s famous scar was. Eight years of waking up in the middle of the night from nightmares that weren’t his own.

His fingers reached down on instinct to mindlessly trace the prominent soulmarks etched into his wrist. His fingertips skated over the sprawling lightning bolt mark that twisted its way up his arm, its branching lines crossing over part of his faded Dark Mark.

His fingers then marched their way across his scarred skin to the other soulmark. It was an odd black circle with a smaller red circle inside, and an even smaller circle in the center. Thin white lines following the curve of the circular shape were intermittently drawn on the black part, giving it a ridge-like visual texture.

He had no fucking clue what it was supposed to be. Neither did his mother, the one time he’d worked up the nerve to ask her about it.

Potter might, a little voice in his head whispered. He was raised by Mudbloods. If it’s a Muggle symbol, he might know what it is.

Fuck. He really would have to get over himself and talk to Scarboy.

~~~

I, I got to be your friend now, baby

“It’s a vinyl.”

Mattheo paused. “What?”

“The mark. It’s a vinyl.” Harry pushed his glasses up his nose where they’d started to slip down. “It’s an old-fashioned way Muggles used to play music.”

“Music? Is it an instrument?” Mattheo asked, his eyes lingering for just a second too long on Harry’s slender fingers. Potter had taken the news of being Mattheo’s soulmate surprisingly well. He’d just shrugged and nodded, saying he already knew.

Mattheo looks between his and Harry’s exposed forearms. His skin itches to pull his sleeve down, to cover up the shameful mark of his father burned into his flesh for eternity. Harry’s arm is also scarred, but in a much different way. Both bear the same circular soulmark—the vinyl, as Potter had called it—although their other soulmarks differed. Mattheo’s was the obvious lightning bolt, while Harry’s was a cigarette, puffing out a cloud of smoke that formed the shape of a snake.

And I would like to move in just a little bit closer

“Sort of,” Harry answered his original question, doing his best to explain as his fingers tracing the identical vinyl soulmark on his own wrist. “It’s just a plastic disk. When you put it on a record player, it spins, and a little needle follows the grooves. It plays whatever music was recorded onto it.”

“Uh huh,” Mattheo hummed in acknowledgment a half-second too late, too busy focusing on Harry’s fingers. Had they always looked that good?

Harry smirked and reached over, lacing their hands together. Mattheo’s skin promptly heated up about ten degrees and the skin under his soulmark sizzled with a pleasant buzz before radiating a soft silver glow.

That’s it. They were together; now, until forever.

~~~

Mattheo’s legs shook, his teeth digging into his lower lip hard enough to bleed. “A-ah~ P-Potter—”

“Nuh uh.” The man in question, currently hidden underneath a library table, pulled off. “That’s not my name, and you know it.”

“Harry!”

“That’s it. Good boy.”

~~~

All I know is that to me / You look like you're lots of fun

They refused to call it the Yule Ball this year. After all, the war was over, there was no reason to continue separating Muggleborns and Purebloods with something as silly as a school dance.

So, much to the horror of many a Pureblood parent, Hogwarts was hosting Prom this year.

Open up your lovin' arms / Watch out, here I come

Harry was having a blast. Admin had insisted on only playing Muggle music at Prom, and it had been a wonderfully painful mix of *Nsync, Outkast, and Ricky Martin.

“You have to dance with me,” Harry demanded, pulling Mattheo out onto the dance floor by his arm.

Mattheo stumbled, still not used to the odd formal attire Muggles wore. (A tuxedo, Harry had informed him it was called.) Although he’d never say it aloud, he preferred the tux over his usual dress robes. So much easier to move around in; why were dress robes ever on the table as an option?

~~~

You spin me right ‘round, baby, right ‘round / Like a record, baby, right ‘round, ‘round, ‘round

You spin around in a circle with Hermione, both of you doing your best to teach Pansy Parkinson—Hermione’s soulmate—how to dance anything other than ballroom-style.

All three of you were laughing like mad, spinning around and around until you all got dizzy.

All three of you tried to stumble off the dance floor and back to the table you’d called dibs on earlier in the night. As you’re stumbling back, dizzy, you bump into a pair of men.

Suddenly, your outfit feels a lot stuffier than it did before. You feel hot all over.

One of the men grabs your bicep to try to steady you. His hands are slick with sweat. The other also looks rather warm, his face flushed. All three of you stare at each other as a bright silver glow emanating from three people’s wrists suddenly cuts through the dimmed lights of the dance floor.

I want your love.

[oh-no-its-bird]

One of those "Tobirama finds Madara's chakra comforting" aus but its played straight, with an as close to canon, accurately awful man that he is Tobirama. And the entire fic is just him being really, really mad about it.

He's in his lab trying and failing to somehow replicate Madara's chakra signature, or bar that, just an Uchiha chakra signature

Madara falls asleep at his desk and wakes up to Tobirama glaring silently at him not even a foot away. When he jerks up and demands to know if he can help him, Tobirama just narrows his eyes further and let's out a very terse "no." Before spinning around and marching off

Tobirama refuses to admit he finds Madara, or any Uchiha's chakra comfortable under pain of death, to literally anyone (including his brother) so he's just kind of sulking around being a fucking freak, staring at Madara extra hard sometimes then turning away, angry at seemingly just looking at him (accurate but he's also just mad with himself)

Tobirama battling his own pride to put himself in increasingly convoluted situations to be in general proximity with Madara (who, to be clear, he still greatly dislikes)

He keeps swinging between "I'm going fucking insane, what is WRONG with me?? This is beneath me, this is ridiculous! If anyone finds out I will be forced to kill myself out of shame" and mapping out a 10 step plan to somehow "accidentally" lock himself and Madara in a closet together, prefferably in a way that makes it look like it's Madara's fault

Tobirama ends up somehow stealing a portion of Madara's chakra (don't ask how that works) and making a little chakra construct out of it to keep in his lab and use like a stress toy (but it can only last so long, especially when he keeps squeezing it till it explodes every time he's even mildly stressed or annoyed)

Meanwhile Madara is asking Hashirama what the actual fuck is wrong with his brother and Hashirama is going "oh no he's was born like that actually"

[kwanisms]

» stray kids masterlist «

➮ bf!Chris × fem!Reader (× implied Minho) wc: 1.8k summary: Your boyfriend really doesn't like it when his friends pay a little more attention to you nor does he like it when you playfully flirt with them. genres/themes/au: smut; bar themes, established relationship; idol au, boyfriend!Chris warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, alcohol consumption, mc flirts with someone other than their partner (Chris), bar setting, sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! special tags: @yoonguurt @sanjoongie @millennial-fangirl MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: i will be completely honest, I forgot I even wrote this. It's been in my docs for almost a year 💀 but here it is! Thank you for reading! If you like this, please reblog and leave feedback and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), mild dirty talk, use of pet names, fingering (f receiving), mild degradation (f receiving), implied threesome. I think that's it lol

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

[01:08] — isn't this what you wanted?

It was just a bit of harmless flirting. Something you’d done a few times before. It was just your nature to flirt when you drank and Chris knew that. He had never let it bother him before so why was it any different now.

Maybe it was the way he saw Minho’s eyes roam over your scantily clad body. Maybe it was the way you lightly laid your hand on his bicep when speaking to him. He didn’t like the way Minho teasingly flexed his arm, letting you feel the muscles he’d spent so much time working on in the gym.

He didn’t like how close the two of you were standing. He didn’t like the way his friend’s eyes lingered a little too long on your ass when you turned to speak to Han. Maybe that was the final straw. The push he needed to close the gap and grab you by the elbow, leading you away from his friends and into the empty bar bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.

“Chris,” you chastised him, trying to step around him and return to the bar. He wasn’t having any of it as he pushed you against the wall, arms caging you in as he placed his palms flat against the tile walls on either side of your head.

You’d only ever seen this side of him once before. The time you were over at the dorms for a movie night and as a joke, Seungmin grabbed you by the waist and pulled you down onto his lap as you bickered with Felix about making space for you on the couch. The guys hadn’t known back then that the two of you were a thing but Chris had made it abundantly clear later that night as he was pounding you into the mattress in his room, pinning your wrists above your head to keep you from muffling your moans.

Since then, no one had attempted to make a move or flirted with you. Until tonight anyway.

Chris thought of himself as not being the jealous type but the moment he had seen you perched on Seungmin’s lap, laughing along with the guys, the green monster reared its ugly head and he wanted the world to know you were his. He could handle random guys flirting with you because he knew they’d probably never see you again. But his own members? You saw them all the time.

“What’s wrong, babygirl?” He asked, his tone low and full of what you discerned was lust. Even though you didn’t like his being jealous, you had to admit it was probably the best rough sex you’d had with him. Normally he was so sweet and careful with you, only going hard when you asked.

That night, he was completely in control and had his way with you and there was no shame in admitting you liked the contrast between the two personas.

“I thought you liked the attention,” he continued, his voice dripping with a mixture of desire and sarcasm. You felt your knees become weak as he gazed at you, his eyes darker than before. You’d really done it now and you knew you were in for a long night.

“I-I…” you stammered but faltered when a crooked smile spread across your boyfriend’s lips.

“You what?” He asked, pressing his body closer to yours, heat from him radiating into you.

“You thought you’d flirt with one of my friends right in front of me, dressed like that?” He asked, nodding down at your choice of attire.

It was a black dress, one you’d worn before and picked with the sole purpose of dressing up for Chris. You only ever dressed like this for him because you only wanted his eyes on you.

“It wasn’t like—“ you murmured but stopped when Chris brought one of his hands up, pressing a finger to your lips. “Wasn’t like that, baby?” He asked. “You thought you’d dress up a little and not expect to be the center of attention? That wasn’t your intent at all?” He asked, moving his finger to caress your cheek, a huge contrast from the way he spoke to you.

You leaned into his touch, lips parting as you let out a sigh. You felt the pad of his thumb brush over your bottom lip before he slipped his thumb into your mouth, pressing it against your tongue. The sweet gesture turned lewd as he watched the way your lips wrapped around the digit.

His own lips parted as you sucked, tongue swirling around the tip of his thumb the way it did when he had his cock in your mouth. “You’re such a dirty little slut,” he groaned, hips rolling forward to press his erection against you. “Fuck, Chris,” you moaned, his thumb still in your mouth.

“You sound so pretty when you say my name like that,” he mumbled, pulling his hand from your face and reaching down to lift the hem of your tight skirt. “Chris,” you moaned as his fingers pressed into your panties, your arousal pooling in them. “We can’t do this here,” you whimpered as he pulled aside your panties, pressing his fingers past your folds, finding your clit easily.

“The door is locked, baby,” he said, leaning in to tease your neck with his teeth. “Besides,” he added, whispering in your ear. “Who are you expecting to come in here? Minho?” He growled. “N-no,” you whined as he worked the pads of his fingers against your clit in slow circles, dragging them down to your entrance only to pull away, teasing you.

“Chris,” you managed to whine but fell silent as he lowered himself to his knees, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. Keeping your panties pushed to the side, he leaned in, tongue tasting you as he toyed with your clit. Your hands moved, tangling in his dark locks, tugging gently.

Oral with Chris was never quick or to the point. He loved to tease and take his time, coaxing you to your orgasm. This time was different, he’d never managed to have you squirming and moaning in mere minutes, tongue flicking against your clit, sucking on it. “Ah, shit,” you cursed, chest heaving as your boyfriend ate you out like a mad man.

He shifted, managing to throw your other thigh over his shoulder but keeping you propped up against the wall as he dove back in, tongue lapping at your entrance. You glanced down, moaning at the sight of your boyfriend’s face buried between your thighs. His eyes were shut, no doubt enjoying the sounds you made and the taste, hands gripping your ass tightly.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt your climax rapidly approaching. “Fuck,” you hissed. “I’m gonna cum,” you moaned. “Do it,” Chris answered. “Come all over my tongue, babygirl,” he added before continuing his assault on your core.

Your hands in his hair tightened, fingers gripping his tresses harder as your hips moved of their own accord, bucking in his face as your toes curled. You came with a whimper of his name and moaned as he licked up every bit of your release. You tried to shy away from his tongue but his grip on you held you in place. “Chris,” you pleaded, feeling the familiar knot in your stomach tighten. “I can’t please,” you whimpered, feeling tears form. “It’s too much.”

Chris chuckled, the vibrations against your soaked core causing you to tremble.

You looked down when you felt him move his mouth away and the sight had your walls clenching around nothing. The cocky grin partnered with his lips glistening with your slick. It was all you could do to not push him onto the floor and hop on his cock right then and there.

He let you down, holding you steady as your legs shook. You managed to stumble over to look into the mirror, turning on the water to wet your hot flushed face.

Chris had gotten to his feet and pulled his phone out but what he was doing you couldn’t tell.

You noticed him moved behind you in the mirror and gasped as he pulled your skirt up, exposing your ass. “Chris!” You hissed trying to turn but he forced you to face the mirror. “Don’t move,” he ordered, grabbing your panties and pulling them down your thighs, letting them fall to your feet as he brought his hand to his lips, wetting two of his fingers before it disappeared behind you and you let out a moan as you felt his fingers enter you from behind.

He’d just eaten you out in a public bathroom and now he wanted to finger you? This was crossing so many lines but why was it so hot?

“Chris,” you warned, head dropping as his fingers moved in and out of you at a steady pace. “You like that,” he asked, his free hand moving to wrap around your throat. “You like being touched in a public bathroom?” You moaned as he curled his fingers against your walls, your knees threatening to give out.

“This is so wrong,” you whined, head falling back as you felt Chris’ lips ghost over the exposed skin of your shoulders. “Would you rather Minho be in here making you feel this good?” He growled, fingers moving faster. “That’s not what I—“ you tried to explain but fell silent. “Have you ever thought about the others when I’m touching you?” He asked. ‘What the hell?’

“What?” You gasped. “No!” You felt him smirk against your skin. He was teasing you. Teasing and torturing you for drunkenly flirting with his friend. “Have you thought about them when touching yourself?” He whispered, curling his fingers again. You let out a deep moan, causing him to chuckle.

“Does that turn you on? Thinking about other men when you touch yourself?” He asked. You wanted to tell him it was ridiculous, that you only ever thought about him but that wasn’t entirely true. You had thought about Minho like that before. Of course, it was before you and Chris had even started seeing one another. You were single then and free to think about what you like.

“It does, doesn’t it?” He asked again. “No,” you answered weakly. “Don’t lie to me,” he growled.

“You’ve already told me your fantasies, baby girl,” he added. ‘Shit,’ you thought. He was right.

You had mistakenly admitted you liked the idea of double penetration. Chris found the confession intriguing. “Have you imagined yourself, full of two cocks?” He asked again,

When you were done you heard a tap on the locked door. “Shit,” you cursed, pulling your skirt down. “We gotta get out of here,” you hissed. Chris unlocked the door and smiled at you.

“We aren’t done yet, kitten,” he said, pulling open the door and your eyes widened as Minho stepped into the bathroom. “What are you doing?” You asked Chris as he shut the door again and locked it.

“What wrong, kitten?” Chris asked, turning to face you. "After all,"

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me. Content and support banners made by me using cafekitsune's template.

[mackiebeth]

i come around (when you least expect me)

Pairing(s): emo!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: After a one-night stand during a party, you find yourself in an odd gray area with your best friend's sister. It just so happens that your best friend's sister is also the person that has been making your life a living hell for the last few years... all without your best friend knowing.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, cursing, mentions of drinking/parties, high school au, Wanda lowkey kinda mean but i SWEAR its lowkey, non-graphic scenes of kissing/making out (no smut... yet...?)

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: sorry for my lack of posting, but i promised it would come soon(ish)! here's that 100 follower special i promised — oh, and thank youuuu all for the follows and support... i love you all <3 (title from 'heartbeat' by childish gambino) ... also, requests/asks are still open!

Main Masterlist | ao3 | Wattpad

...

Pain. Throbbing, aching pain. The discomfort from your current hangover surrounded every inch of your mind, physically and metaphorically. Well, almost every inch... because memories from last night were finally reaching the surface now that you have awoken, conscious and, unfortunately, sober.

The sweet lips on yours.

The feeling of skin, hot and sweaty, against your own.

The perfect dichotomy of soft hands on your body as they gripped at your skin roughly, almost primal in nature.

And they all belonged to your best friend's twin sister.

You started to get ready for the day — whoever talked you into attending a party the day before the school year began should be arrested and fined for such a disservice.

Thankfully, you planned enough ahead to bring clothes to the twins' house for today. The outfit you had chosen was relatively casual: the worn-down, navy blue sweater that had been your father's during his college years and the comfiest pair of jeans you could find.

Venturing downstairs to the kitchen, you finally felt the extent of how poorly your stomach felt due to the heavy drinking from the previous night. You opted for something easy, pulling the first box of cereal that your fingertips touched out of the cabinet. You never liked cereal too much, but anything went during difficult times like these.

As you poured yourself a bowl of the bland cereal, footsteps sounded throughout the house. They were coming closer and closer to your location. You assumed it had been Pietro.

You were... close — it was her.

When you looked up from the bowl to see who the person was, you were displeased to find the girl standing there, simply observing you with a smirk on her face. It reminded you of the villainous expressions from the television: conniving and mischievous.

"Stop staring at me like that," you sneered, trying to keep your volume low enough that Pietro would not hear you but loud enough that she would sense the harsh seriousness of your tone.

Wanda maintained her gaze, simply tilting her head as if to challenge you, "Like what?"

"Like you know what I taste like."

The faux innocence in her expression slightly faltered. Her eyebrows rose, the shock from your words evident on her face. As Wanda opened her mouth to form another witty remark, the sound of a door opening made the two of you go effectively silent. Wanda looked toward the direction of the sound, awaiting his entrance in a way that demonstrated her indifference toward last night's events. You, on the other hand, completely averted your gaze from both of the twins due to the shame that coursed through your veins.

The rational part of your brain begged for you to tell Pietro about what happened last night; it would resolve the guilt that clawed at you with each passing minute, lifting the weight off of your shoulders entirely. Yet, each time that you began to plan the exact words of your apology, any ideas you had conjured seemed to fall short. It was not as if you could search the internet for a script concerning "how to tell your best friend that you mistakenly (but not so mistakenly that you stopped it) hooked up with his emo, bitchy twin sister at a party."

Your eyes swiftly returned to Wanda, watching her inch closer to where you stood by the counter. She reached her arm behind you, leaning in close enough that your breath mingled with hers. If asked, you would completely and utterly deny that part of your mind was anticipating the vibrant feeling of her lips on yours again; however, the fleeting glance at her lips revealed otherwise.

Wanda noticed. Of course, you would fall into her trap, and she noticed. She smirked in response to your reaction before leaning away and taking a few steps back. A banana was in the hand that had been behind you. Scoffing at yourself, you cannot believe that you let her tease you again.

"See you at school, Y/N," she declared with narrowed eyes, looking you up and down once more before waltzing out of the front door.

You took a deep breath, attempting to recuperate your mind for the day ahead of you. As soon as Wanda had left, Pietro walked into the kitchen, ignorant of what had just occurred.

Standing still as if in a daze, you could only sense Pietro race around the kitchen, grabbing various items he needed for the day ahead. After a few minutes, he slowed to a stop after closing the door to the fridge. He must have sensed your unusual stillness, then he asked, “You okay? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You shakily nodded. “All good,” you forced yourself to stutter out. Not even you believed your words, but it seems as if Pietro was too busy in his own world to truly notice the lack of honesty in your reply. “I’m all good. Now come on, we’re gonna be late.”

The two of you scurried out the door in the hopes that you had not missed the bus. It was a bad habit that you both had been trying to break for years now but remained relatively unsuccessful.

As the two of you approached the classic, yellow school bus that sat on the corner of the street, Pietro raced ahead in order to save you the extra minute of running. He gracefully entered the bus, climbing its stairs with ease; meanwhile, you were audibly out of breath and tried to ignore the glances the bus driver gave to the two of you.

Pietro, like most mornings, found himself sitting with some of his friends from the cross country team, leaving you to fend for yourself. You quickly scanned the bus for an empty row so you could sit by yourself, but you quickly realized that was a luxury you could not afford after such a late arrival. While you could not find an empty row, you were about to find a single empty seat towards the back of the bus.

You shuffled your feet to the empty seat but stopped as soon as you noticed its other inhabitant: Wanda.

Bile suddenly formed in your throat at the thought of having to spend more time with her — more specifically, without her brother, your friend, and coincidentally the only person to keep her dangerous, spontaneous nature in check, present. You approached her, simply attempting to take the bus ride silently and one minute at a time. You swore to yourself internally that you would not respond to her, irrespective of whatever she may say or do.

The bus slowly pulled away from the stop and started its route toward the high school. For the first few minutes, everything seemed to be going unusually fine. Wanda sat silently beside you, wired earphones trailing from her phone to her ears. As her gaze remained fixed toward the window, you wonder if she had even noticed that a person had now occupied the seat next to her, let alone that person being you.

You naively took her initial lack of response as a victory. With a sigh of relief, you allowed your body to relax in the seat and closed your eyes for the remainder of the ride.

Then, you felt something.

The brush of something on your thigh.

You opened your eyes to scope the scene, making sure you had not imagined the sensation; however, it seemed to be just that: nothing. The only thing positioned in your lap was your backpack filled with your books for the upcoming year. You closed your eyes and began to drift away once again. Maybe you were going crazy, you pondered. (Maybe you could blame your irrational behavior last night on such insanity. Would the insanity defense work for things like that, too?)

Then, you felt it again.

Without much hesitation, your eyes shot open once more. Only this time, you were met with the sight of a hand, decorated with several rings and chipped, black nail polish, situated comfortably, almost possessively, on your upper thigh. You peered toward Wanda's face, which was still facing the opposite direction, attempting to gauge her reaction. Yet, you saw nothing; her expression was rather unchanged, leaving you more confused than anything.

Before you could think about what to do about the situation, the bus drove over a mountainous bump on the road. You internally cursed the local government officials for the obstacle, for whether it occur by accident or intention, Wanda's hand flew directly into the apex between your thighs. Eyes widened in shock, your lips drift open as you gasp from the sensation.

It finally gave you the courage, however, to shove her hand away, but not without seeing the signature smirk she acquired in the process. Anger began to boil inside you. You repeated to yourself that it was because the brunette's touches were unexpected — not that she had been victorious. In the end, you just silently thanked yourself that you had chosen jeans, or else that could have ended much differently knowing the Sokovian.

Days turned into weeks, each bringing the routine of snide comments and less-than-playful banter between you and Wanda. You still had not found a way to enlighten Pietro about your issues with his sister (both the endless torment and... that night), given that (1) she was his twin sister and (2) she always seemed to be around. The cynical part of your brain believed that her unusual proximity was purposeful — she probably just wanted to see the fallout.

While the two of you had not gone further than your typical banter again over the past few weeks, though, you still felt incredibly agitated. (You chalked it up to anger because it definitely could not be the possibility of pent-up sexual frustration between the two of you.)

However, one day differed from the rest.

You noticed early in the day that Wanda was being extraordinarily quiet. Part of you was thankful, praying that her silence would continue until the end of the school day.

It was a Thursday in late October. Like most days, you followed Pietro to his home after school, venting to him about how you were excited it was Friday tomorrow because you were simply over all of the midterms being assigned and just wanted time to relax.

(You continued to ignore the underlying guilt that sat in the pit of your stomach from remaining silent about everything that happened with his sister weeks before; you attempted to ignore it even more by rationalizing your silence, stating it was "only one time" and a "mistake that would never even happen again.")

As you entered the house, Pietro immediately drops his bag on the floor and runs up to his room. You rolled your eyes at this typical, teenage-boy messiness, and opted to place your bag on the hooks that Agatha designated for such items.

Feet padding across the wooden floors, you wandered into your happy place of the home: the kitchen. You opened the fridge, looking for a small snack that could satiate your hunger until dinner. Finding nothing of interest, you closed the door. Your body jumps, though, at the figure that had been hiding behind it: Wanda.

The patience you once had had officially worn invisibly thin.

“What the fuck, Wanda? What do you want from me?” you asked exasperatedly, the energy you once had for such shenanigans having become completely depleted after a difficult week of school. "Listen, I don't know what I ever did to you for you to treat me like this, but I'm over it."

“Are you…” She started but quickly cut herself off. Her head tilted, trying to figure out if you really did not know the answer. You noticed the way her mouth opened and shut out of pure bewilderment; while you normally would make a comment about it in an attempt to tease her in return, you figured now was not the time. When Wanda found no evidence of lies in your expression, she continued to speak, “You really don’t remember, do you?”

You threw your head back, a chuckle escaping from the back of your throat, primarily due to the exhaustion caused by this long-awaited conversation. “No, Wanda, I don’t remember! If I had, don’t you think I would have apologized by now! Don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, I would have given you an “I’m sorry” so we could have avoided all of this? So that I would not have to deal with your bullshit for the past decade? So tell me, Wanda, what did I do to deserve this?”

“First day of school. Second grade. Recess," she spat out. Her words were so quiet but uttered with such venom.

Your brows furrowed in confusion at the seemingly random series of words, "What?"

She rolled her eyes, clearly frustrated with your lack of memories. While you could not remember what made her act this way, it had evidently stuck with her for years.

"It was my first day at this school," she began, her expression turning from red, hot anger into a stoic and collected nature. "Pietro and I had just moved to the States after losing our parents a few months before. Agatha was the only family member, albeit a distant family member, who was alive and willing to take us. So, we left everything behind and moved here."

You already knew the majority of this information, mostly after hearing it in brevity from Pietro. He had never truly talked about his time in Sokovia in depth, finding it distressing and uncomfortable to recall. You only discovered this one day when you both were 9, and you had followed him to his house after school for a play date. In a state of innocent curiosity, you asked him why he called (what you had assumed to be his mom) by her first name upon entering the house. He explained the basics, and that was the end of that. You understood and respected his quietness on the subject since then.

"Pietro has always been the better twin — better at school, better at sports, better at making friends. And, I'm just... me. So, he has always been better at the whole 'socializing' thing, even as an immigrant child with little knowledge of the States. Everybody seemed to like him, I guess. I, on the other hand, refused to talk... well, for the most part, at least. Anyway, on the first day of the second grade, my first day of school here, I was sitting on the edge of the concrete, picking at the grass."

She paused her speech, shifting her gaze to meet yours. "Then, this girl approached me. I thought, 'Wow, maybe I will have friends, maybe I will have friends and will finally be like Pietro.'” Wanda shook her head, shutting her eyes as if to remember each minute, each second, of that fateful day. Her accent was unconsciously growing thicker by the minute. “So, I greeted them, introduced myself like our mama had taught, and asked if they would like to play with me. You want to know what she did, Y/N?"

She opened her eyes, locking them with yours in a harsh stare. "'You talk funny,'" she hissed. "That's what the girl had said before running back to her group of friends. Truthfully, it's not even that deep of an insult, but it somehow spread like wildfire how the 'new girl' was abnormal, how she couldn’t even talk normally, how she was dirty with her dirty shoes and probably had fleas from her even dirtier home country, how no one could touch her or else they would be 'infected' by her."

“Why are you telling me this?” you stuttered out. “What does this have to do with you being a complete and utter bitch to me for the past ten years?”

Wanda huffed, “That girl was you, Y/N.”

Every breath you had suddenly left your chest. Your eyes widened, unsure of how to respond, “What?”

“You say I made your life a living hell? Bullshit. You ruined mine. You have everything I have ever wanted: friends, good grades… parents,” she said, her tone becoming soft with insecurity toward the end. “You even got my brother, my fucking twin brother! For fuck's sake! And yet, you still had to ruin my life."

"Wanda, I'm..." you began, but all of the words you have acquired in your seventeen years of life were failing you. "I'm sorry. I- I don't..."

This time, Wanda laughed, but it was not the depressed, low chuckle like before. No, this was something else entirely, a burst of maniacal laughter that indicated an unfound level of absurdity. Your eyebrows furrowed.

"'You don't' what, Y/N?" the brunette taunted.

You decided to be honest with her, "I don't know what to say."

"Of course not. 'Little Miss Perfect' never knows what to say when she finds out she's not so perfect after all."

Your sympathy gradually faded to the original anger you had been feeling. Your eyebrow involuntarily quirked, "Hold on, now... I never claimed to be 'perfect.'"

“Oh, please,” she replied, belittling your attempts to argue her predetermined notion of you. She began to mock you, “My name’s Y/N. I have the best grades in the entire school, all my friends love me, and, at night, my parents tuck me into bed and call me their little princess…”

Slowly but surely, your vision turned red. You stepped closer to Wanda, hoping the proximity would deter her from making additional snide comments about you.

“We all have our shit, Wanda,” you sneered. “You better quit now before I give you a reason to.”

She scoffed, “Oh, really? What are you gonna do? Tell mommy and daddy I…”

Her words were cut short by the placement of your lips on hers.

Truthfully, you were unsure of why you decided that this was the best course of action; perhaps your brain was simply shut off by the rage coursing through your body. Yet, that confusion did not stop you from continuing. In fact, it did not hinder either of you from continuing.

The kiss was forceful, containing all of the emotions you both have felt since that fateful night. Her mouth pushed and pulled roughly against yours; you returned the energy just as much. There were no thoughts, no rationality, behind both of your actions — only pure lust and passion.

Your hands started at her jaw but slowly drifted upwards toward the roots of her brown, messy hair, gripping and tugging at the strands. Parting from your lips for the first time in what must have been minutes, she released a moan from the sensation and continued to drift southwards toward your neck. As her teeth scraped at your pulse point, you were finally brought back to the reality of the situation.

You used the hands that were still threaded within her hair to pull her away from your neck; although, neither of you immediately stepped away from the other. You took the opportunity of your closeness to note how swollen her lips had become, how hot she looked under the dimness of the kitchen lighting.

"What are we doing?" you mumbled into the open air, not exactly expecting a response from the Sokovian in front of you.

She remained quiet, eyes flickering between your eyes and your lips. Her tongue darted out briefly, licking over her own lips in (what you assume to be, at least) preparation for more.

So, you seized the opportunity of her quietness to continue, "I'm not... I'm not perfect, okay? My parents... it's complicated. Sure, they're alive and whatnot, but... they don't care. Honestly, half of the shit I do — the grades, even — I do it so that they might finally pay attention. So, like I said, we all have our own shit to deal with."

Her lips parted, eyes stilled and staring into yours.

"And, l am sorry that that comment fucked you up as a kid. If I had known, even as a kid, I would've not said anything like that. I know I can't reverse time but..."

This time, her lips effectively ended your speech; however, the kiss was much softer than earlier, showcasing a newfound appreciation and, perhaps, feelings.

"I know," she acknowledged in a whisper after pulling away. "I'm... I'm sorry, too, by the way. I shouldn't have acted like that — it was cruel. We can talk more about it, about our... issues, later, but um- I just want to start over. Just us."

You nodded in affirmation, a blush flooding your cheeks.

"Just us."

The two of you sealed the agreement with a soft peck.

The sound of a glass shattering on the floor captured the attention of both of you, ending the kiss with the redirection of your heads in order to discover the culprit.

In the doorway of the kitchen, Pietro stood surrounded by broken glass splattered across on the wooden floor.

With widened eyes, you said the first and only thing that came to mind: "Oh, shi—"

End.

[risuola]

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU — F. READER x GETO SUGURU, who agreed to pretend to be your boyfriend for the Christmas party with your family

Every single year your family tries to peak into your privacy, showering you with judgmental stares and questions about your love life. Why are you still single? You were sick and tired of it, so when your best friend, Suguru, told you that he’ll be staying at dorms during the Christmas, you asked him a favor.

cw: college!au, smut, fluffy, best friends to lovers, idiots in love — 3,1k words

kissmas masterlist

You had enough. Every year during Holidays, all of your family, no matter if it was your mom or the aunt that you had no idea existed up until the official dinner, pried into your business, asking countless questions about your love life. Why are you still single? Isn’t that a shame that such a pretty girl doesn’t have a boyfriend? Aaah, you’re gonna be too old to find a man if you’ll be so picky! All of which, of course, with ‘good intentions’. Totally not because they enjoyed picking at your life.

It escalated to the point that when the celebrative season began, your anxiety reached its peak. You had problems with sleeping, you were distant, you couldn’t focus and it was only a matter of time since you crumble.

“What’s going on, sweets?” Suguru, your best friend, asked. It wasn’t hard for him to notice how your behaviors changed lately, you were sharing a dorm for college and he knew you more than anyone else. For a week he wasn’t bringing up the topic, hoping you’ll tell him yourself but it got to the point that you were completely out of his reach, even though you were sitting right next to him.

“Sugu…” you whined, pulling yourself from your bed and dragging your feet towards his. “I don’t want to go for holidays to my home. They’re gonna ask me those stupid questions why I’m still single and pseudo-politely assault me any given minute for aiming to die alone…”

“Ah, right, your family can be intense,” the boy chuckled softly, putting down the gaming pad and wrapping his arms around your deflated form. “I’ll be staying here this year, so if you sneak out of your dinner, you can always find me in dorms.”

“You’re staying here? All alone?”

“Yeah, it’s better than riding back and forth to the other half of Japan,” he shrugged, smoothing your arm gently as if he’s trying to soothe your nerves along with the delicate touch of his palm. And it worked, Suguru has the incredible ability to make your heart warm. It flutters in your chest every time he’s close to you, and part of it is that you love him secretly for years now but it’s way safer to hide it than to make your relationship with him awkward.

“Maybe you’ll go with me? You could pretend to be my boyfriend,” you muttered against his shoulder. It came out quicker than you could think about it.

“Hmm, you want me to deal with your family?” You could feel his body gently vibrating as he chuckled softly.

“I mean, I know you love the dumplings my grandma makes and also you won’t be alone in here? Please, I can pay you even. My family loves you more than they love me,” you looked up at him.

“You don’t have to pay me, sweets,” he said after a moment. “I can go with you if that’s gonna save you the prying. And also for the dumplings of course.”

“I love you, Sugu,” you hugged him tightly.

I love you. These words falling from your lips were a dream to Geto and as much as he would love you to mean it the way he means it, he knows that you are not exactly thinking of him that way. You’re friends, just that, he always reminds himself, and yet sometimes he hopes, because if everything you feel towards him is just friendship, why would you look so deeply into his eyes from time to time, as if you were trying to find something in his very soul? Why would your lips press so tenderly to his cheek? And now, as he’s stuck with you in your family home, pretending to be your boyfriend, why does it feel so natural to him? Why does it come with such ease, to caress your hands, to kiss your temple and hold you so close to his chest that he can swear his own heart matched the rhythm of yours?

And what Suguru could also swear, is that every food taste much better when you feed it to him. He doesn’t exactly know what was the reason, but it was just a fact in his book. He felt himself melting underneath your touch every time your thumb would swipe against the corner of his mouth because the piece you wanted to give him was just too big and made a mess.

“Aww, aren’t you two just so adorable?” One of your aunts fake-gasped, watching you intensively as if she was suspecting something. From the moment you and Suguru stepped into your family home, everyone was just too attentive. Especially your parents, they knew how close you are with Geto and maybe it wasn’t the best idea to bring him as your boyfriend but you wouldn’t change it for anything. There was no one else you’d want to share the holiday spirit with and you were just happy to have him as your partner, even if only for few days. He was so sweet to you and deep inside you felt your heart breaking from despair that it could never be real.

“I know, right?” You replied, keeping Suguru’s hand in yours, stealing its warmth and you were yet to notice the absentminded shapes you were brushing onto his skin for the time being. “I told you all these years that I’m waiting for the right man, and it paid off to wait so long.”

“I’m honestly surprised, for some time we were all worried about you for staying alone forever. Who would give you a glass of water when you’re old and all by yourself?” The very same words you hear every time there’s any family gathering rang in your head a little louder that evening. It was all pretended, it was all fake. Suguru was your friend, you were still single. You were still lonely.

“Luckily, she doesn’t have to worry about it anymore,” Suguru spoke before you were able to gather the courage to reply. He could easily sense the tension that stiffened your shoulders, he could tell by the way your jaw flexed just slightly that what you were experiencing was making you uneasy. Sometimes you felt like he was able to read your mind but that was impossible. If he could peak inside your thoughts, he would know how special he is to your heart. How you’d give everything to be allowed to love him openly, to call him yours.

“We’re all so happy for you two,” the aunt clapped, like a monkey would in the circus and sometimes you felt like that was exactly what you were surrounded with. Just monkeys that repeat the same sentences over and over again, that routinely copy the same patterns and though the idea left a sour taste in your mouth, you were determined to push though the performance. At that moment, you were far from thinking what to tell your family later, when the show is over. That you broke up? Or maybe you’ll keep them believing that you and your best friend are indeed in love with each other? From your perspective, it wouldn’t be hard, because you are. Oh, you’re so in love, it hurt you to remember that he’s not.

It took few hours of torture, as you called it, before you were officially permitted to leave the gathering and go to your room to rest and sleep before the madness continues in the morning. Relieved that the day is finally over, you took Suguru upstairs and when the doors closed behind you, you exhaled deeply. You felt as if the weight that was sitting heavy on your shoulders for the entire duration of the day was just now dropping.

“Tired?” He asked, taking his hands off your back where he was keeping it on the way up and immediately you felt incomplete without the support of his warm palm on your body. The empty spot now felt cold. “You look quite distressed.”

“Sorry, Sugu,” you mumbled, wiping the corner of your eye. You wanted to cry, to burst out in tears. “I hated that day. Even more than usually.”

“Hey, sweets, what’s going on?” Geto was quick to cup your pretty face and make you look up to him. “Is it my fault?”

“Yeah. It kinda is,” you wept, as his thumbs smoothed the dampened skin underneath your eyes. Suguru couldn’t help but admire the way they sparkled underneath the harsh light of the led lamps in your room, but at the same time, it broke his heart to know it was his fault you were shedding tears. “But you didn’t do nothing wrong.”

“Then what is the reason?”

“I just…” you stopped yourself. You couldn’t tell him, it would mess up the friendship you spent so many years to build. You couldn’t tell him. “It’s just—”

“You can tell me everything, you know that, right?”

He meant it. As Suguru was looking into your eyes, he tried to search for an answer, for any hint that could help him understand what made you so sad. He hated to see you cry, it was what made his throat clench and if it was only possible, he would reach up and give you a star from heavens above, just to see you smile, to see your eyes sparkle so beautifully with happiness that he oh so loved on you. If he could, he would kiss the tears away, take all of your burdens onto his own shoulders. Ah, how much he would love to just kiss you.

“I just… I just wish that it could be real. That we could be real,” you said finally, so quietly it could be a whisper and your lids fell shut, covering the eyes that were too afraid to witness his reaction. Suguru was too shocked to react at first, and it’s the subtlest touch of your fingertips on top of his hands that brought him back to reality. The lack of response, the fear and shame pushed your head lower. “I’m sorry, I—”

What cut your words short was Geto’s lips that landed on yours and made the world stop. The kiss started off slow and gentle, in a way your lips were gently touching it bore the innocence of being the first. You leaned into him, desperate to not let it end, wrapping your arms around his neck as the passion was taking hold. You began to make your ways deeper as the kiss escalated, the tongues danced and swirled together and the breaths grew heavier. Suguru pulled you closer, pushing up against you, savoring the oh so sweet release of emotions that accumulated over the years. It was consuming both of you, for that very moment you didn’t care about anything else in the world, lost in the moment together with lips locked and hearts beating.

“I love you too,” he murmured against your lips, resting his forehead against yours. He was out of breath, already flushed with the blissful euphoria. “I love you so fucking much.”

“Why you never told me?” Your question fell out quieter than you intended to, all the voice got caught in your throat. It was overwhelming, the kiss still lingered over your mouth, the feelings washing over your body like a tidal wave.

“I was scared. I thought you see me as a friend and nothing more,” Suguru confessed.

“I love you for so long already,” you chuckled, pecking his lips again and again. “God, we’re idiots.”

“At least we’re a perfect match.”

“Bet we are,” it made you happy. You could feel all the tension coming off your shoulders. “The holidays aren’t so bad with you around. And I still have a gift for you.”

“You are the only gift I’d love to unwrap,” he joked, lowering his lips to spread few nips along the curve of your neck. “All I want for Christmas is you.”

“You can unwrap me, though I’m not sure how secure is the lock in these doors,” you purred, your lids closing just barely at the feeling of his breath across your skin. You felt him chuckling softly as he swooped you up and carried onto the bed.

“Let’s check.”

The single sized mattress was nearly too small for the two of you, but it turned out there was a lot of convenience in Suguru being above you. In the privacy of your covers, he was quick to take off your holiday sweater and the cute skirt you wore and you got rid of his shirt and pants – all of which you kicked off the bed, too busy with exploring his skin to even consider getting up and folding it neatly. His kisses burned, the traces of his fingers were set alight with lust and desire, you felt like if you wait any longer, you’re gonna explode.

“I dreamt about it for so long,” he murmured against your collarbone, pushing the strap of your bra off your shoulder gently, as if he was silently asking for permission, still scared to rush you into intimacy. You, on the other hand, wished for nothing more than his touch on you, you wanted to be held, to be caressed and kissed, you wanted his body and mind and soul.

“I dreamt of you,” you whispered, arching your back and undoing the bra. “You are everything I want, Suguru.”

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whimpered, lowering his head to caress the delicate skin of your chest. His touch was gentle and yet lined with intensity and passion, the desire he felt for you was palpable and the more you felt him, the more undone you became.

And then, the rest of fabric got lost underneath the sheets as his body settled between your legs. You felt his length running up and down between your folds, the slick covering him to ease his way into you. His name slipped over your tongue once he was fully in and your arms reached around his shoulders to keep him as close as possible. Suguru felt lightheaded, completely drunk in the feeling of you as he dragged his hips back only to thrust them forward again. And again. More and more, and more.

The two of you were lost in the moment, completely and so entirely lost. You were in your own world, your own space and nothing around you mattered. There was only him and you, only this feeling and you wanted nothing else, just him. He made your heartbeat rush, your legs tremble and your breath catch up in your throat as you tried to suppress the sounds by kissing his lips, his shoulders and neck. Suguru was making everything inside you come alive, as if your entire world was made of him and only him. Oh, you were so in love with him.

The cheap lights you had hanging on the wall reflected its lights in Geto’s eyes and you swore you could get lost in the golden hues of it, the cold glow of leds somehow did nothing to the warmth you felt from the boy above you. You allowed your hand to cup his cheek, exploring the ups and downs of his beautiful face, your thumb smoothing over the flushed cheeks and swollen lips. His long, luscious hair were tickling the side of your neck whenever he dived down to kiss your skin.

It was so quiet, so hushed and though you wished to scream his name out loud, you opted for whispers that carried on top of your breath were only for his ears to hear. Each time he moved, the wet sound escaped the covers, along with muffled whimpers and gasped out love confessions and praises.

“I’m so close,” Suguru breathed out, the feeling of your velvety walls tightening around him made him lose his mind, it felt divine and yet he knew he should pull out.

“Me too,” you whimpered against his throat, kissing and nipping on his skin, not at all bothered about the marks you’re gonna leave on him. Your breaths became faster, shallow as you struggled to stay present in the moment. Your mind was long gone in the land of pleasure, the sway of Suguru’s hips rid you completely of any coherence, the intensity of him twitching and flexing inside of you, time after time abusing the sweetest of spots within you. It was all too much and yet too little, you wished for this to never end.

“Let go, sweets, don’t hold it,” he purred near your ear, biting on it just slightly before his lips pressed to the side of your temple and down your face. “Cum for me and I’m gonna pull ou—”

“No, no¸ please,” you pleaded. “I’m on the pill, don’t pull out.”

“You sure?”

The nod of your head was all he needed as he picked up the pace just sweetly enough. He brought you to the edge and pushed you over it in a matter of few breaths, you were becoming undone underneath him, holding tightly onto his muscled shoulders and digging your nails into the skin there. Suguru felt himself lost in the moment, he let the hot feelings wash over him as he continued to thrust into you with yet a little more strength. The soft squeaks of your bed joined the melody of love that you played he could tell the heat in the room rose almost unbearably but that only seemed to stoke the fire within him. A smile crept onto his lips to the sight of your body squirming with pleasure as his fingers roamed along it, exploring and discovering the sensitive spots. And then, his high kicked in.

Geto never felt anything like this, the act of fucking his own hand, hidden in the bathroom he shares with you in the dorms could never compare to what he was experiencing right now. With you. It was hot, it was so overwhelmingly hot he felt that inside his veins now there was lava rushing instead of blood. His breath was coming fast as his body was getting beyond its breaking point. His mind and flesh got consumed with the passion you just shared.

Your back arched, your chest pressed against his own as the second wave of pleasure washed over you. You threw your head back, crying out his name dangerously loud, making him cover your lips with his large palm. It felt so right, so warm, so blissful.

“I love you,” Suguru whispered, dragging his hips back and forth sloppily few more times, riding the highs out slowly and once he took the hand off your lips, you breathed out the same, wrapping yourself around him, savoring the intimacy.

I love you, are the words Geto wished for many years to mean the same thing to you that they mean to him. Now they were and finally, he felt like he can breathe freely.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 8

part 1 | part 7 | ao3

He finds himself on Cherry Drive by muscle memory alone. Quarter mile past Maple Street, take the third left, the second right; drive straight through the next stop sign and suddenly the Hagan house is coming into view around the bend, bathed in dim yellow light from a flickering street lamp. A 50s era ranch house, painted brick with a detached one-car garage, weeds sprouting through the crooked old stones of the front walkway and leaves scattered across the lawn in mushy browns and orange-reds.

It's not as nice as Steve's place is.

Was.

Whatever.

Steve blinks, shakes himself fully awake; feels a jolt of fear at the idea that he just drove here in some kind of fugue state because he doesn't know what he's doing here. Tommy left for college, and fuck Tommy, anyway.

He pulls up to the house. Slows the car to a crawl.

It's dark inside, all the lights turned off except for a single table lamp in the entryway window; shaped like a sea turtle, its belly full of blue-green light. Mrs. H. loves the sea.

He wonders if they're out of town or if they're just asleep.

The Hagans go to bed early, he remembers. He spent so many nights talking in a hush in Tommy's room; 8:45pm and they'd be lying side by side on the floor beside his bed, reading comic books or sports mags and whispering about nothing. Tommy'd always thank Steve for coming over because he knew his house was a little boring; he was the kid with old parents who went to bed early and kept the radio turned down and wouldn't let them have sugary snacks even on the weekends. Steve would always just knock their shoulders together and smile 'don't mention it' because he'd hang out with Tommy anywhere.

"Anywhere?" "Yeah, anywhere." "What about in a cave?" "Sure." "Under a bridge?" "Don't see why not." "In the belly of a whale?" "Now you're just being dumb." "Am not!" "Are, too." "Oh, yeah? Well- shut up!"

That was usually the part where they got in trouble for making noise, caught red-faced and laughing while they wrestled on the floor.

There's warmth in his chest at the memory, and that part, he expects.

But also...

Something about it makes heat flare in his gut, shameful and feverish as it flashes through his mind: the phantom press of Tommy above him as he pinned his shoulders down; the way the flush on his cheeks made Tommy's freckles pop; the breathless smile he gave, so close their noses almost brushed...

A light turns turns on in the Hagans' hall.

Steve hits the gas.

He drives for a long while, feeling like an asshole for burning through their precious gas money, but too— too something to fully care. He's alone on a highway with dark pastures blowing by, with the heat on and windows down, and he's circling back toward home when Bruce Springsteen starts to play, all croaky static over the spotty radio.

Born down in a dead man's town. The first kick I took was when I hit the ground.

Steve cranks it up and sings along. The song is cheesy, and he feels stupid, but he also feels free. Like there was a shackle around his throat and he didn't notice until it was gone. He shouts along to the chorus and then just shouts in general; long, guttural screams that feel like poison being purged. Tommy, his dad, the Russians, his mom. All of it, all of it spewing out of him into the cold night air.

He misses Carol suddenly. Her acidic attitude. The way it always ate through the worst of his sullen moods.

He can picture her now: perched on someone's lap in the crowded backseat, no seatbelt, manicured hand braced on the ceiling. She'd be smacking bubblegum and twirling a lock of her hair, and she'd roll her eyes at Steve's dramatics and ask whether he was done untwisting his panties yet. Steve would say something dumb and pervy in response, like, "Too busy dealing with girls' panties to focus on my own," and she'd roll her eyes harder and go, "God, you're fucking gross."

Carol's not here, though, so he just screams about her, too.

When he get back to Forest Hills his voice is hoarse. His body is tired; his soul is light. He's thinking, like: maybe he'll be okay. He'll channel his inner Claudia or Joyce and soldier on. Resilience, and all that shit.

He's almost smiling to himself when he turns into the park.

And then he sees the flashing lights.

There's an ambulance on his lot.

—

part 9

just gonna start tagging whoever commented the day before (if your settings will let me) bc i have the memory of a goldfish @a-little-unsteddie @slowandsteddie @pennyplainknits @thesuninyaface @hotluncheddie @messrs-weasley @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @blackpanzy @disrespectedgoatman @i-have-three-feelings @sirsnacksalot @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium

[quarterlifekitty]

I wanna hear more about huntsman!Konig, if you have anything

I’m always waiting for someone to ask about my fucked up little AUs

Also, why do I keep making reader inserts that lack social skills? No….. it couldn’t be….

König leads a fairly isolated existence. Far away from the village center— it’s hard to trap animals in a place that carries the noise of humankind. So, in that way, it’s not so different from where you lived before.

But god… it’s so much warmer. He always has a fire going in the colder months. Every piece of furniture is covered in pelts. And of course, sleeping in a bed next to him… it’s like a dream.

He delivers the pig heart in a jewelry box to your stepmother. It seems to satisfy her, for the moment. But König still makes his trips to town alone, even though you no longer wear the veil. Like stolen goods, he’s afraid you’ll be discovered and repossessed, or worse— coveted by an even more depraved thief.

He’s surprised by your utility. For a princess, you have quite the work ethic. Though you aren’t a tanner, you do know the bare basics of gutting an animal. Time in the kitchens, and all that. He discovered this by surprise when he set a rabbit down in the kitchen, walked away, and came back to you slicing a neat line down its soft belly. Maybe it’s because you dressed in white when he first saw you, but he thinks you look quite pretty with a splash of red on your hands.

In the original tale, Snow White’s on a journey through her own subconscious in a sort of coming of age tale. She’s accompanied by representations of ego as she reckons with her existence being placed in the context of gender— the conclusion to her journey is acceptance of the male “other”, of seeing and being seen by the opposite sex. At least, in some interpretations.

So I imagine you as Snow White in this scenario to be going through something similar— albeit at a slightly older stage.

König is the first man you’ve ever truly known besides your father. Many of the servants in the castle were women, those that were men were mostly older, and most all of them were forbidden from speaking anything more than cordial necessities to you.

König has known the company of women, but never one so innocent as you.

He promised to keep you safe, which one would think means he cannot prey upon you. At least, he tells himself as much. And yet…

You have no idea what to do in the company of a man. Or perhaps the company of anyone. And it shows. But the huntsman really isn’t any better.

You bathe together. He isn’t comfortable with you going alone, and being out of his sight. And you’re not even socialized enough to feel the shame of it when he can see your bare skin.

The first time he touches your skin is when he has your hand gently pinned to some paper— he’s tracing it to make a pattern for his leatherwork. You’ll need a pair in the cold weather.