#also the burning birds scene was inspired

[clonerightsagenda]

Since I finished Scavengers Reign I should continue my adult animation binge and watch Blue Eyed Samurai next

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) Chapter One

Pairing: Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest. Now, with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plans bring you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tags: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut 

Word Count: 67+ and counting (of the whole fic)

Chapters: 10/??

Warnings: Minors DNI! 18+! May contain disturbing, gruesome, and graphic sexual scenes. Graphic violence. Blood. Obsession. Mentions of abuse. Mentions of substance abuse. Trigger warnings will be given at the beginning of each chapter. 

Link to Masterlist: Masterlist

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Author note: Hoteliers, This is my first attempt at a fanfic, but I was just so inspired and wanted to post it somewhere after writing like +67K words (and counting). So here goes nothing I guess?

<3 Stay Smutty

Chapter One - The Commercial

Content Warning: None but let me know if I missed any!

“Power is of two kinds. One is obtained by the fear of punishment and the other by acts of love. Power based on love is a thousand times more effective and permanent than the one derived from fear…” - Mahatma Gandhi

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Your fingers find the brass handle as anxiety builds in the back of your throat. 

Are you nervous? Why are you nervous? The commercial seemed so inviting and everyone seemed so nice - even if it was a bit glitchy in some frames. If they are indeed as altruistic as they appear, then you’ll be fine! 

But, what if they don’t accept you? 

Nonsense, you just need to show that you care, that you can help. After all, Princess Morningstar wouldn’t turn help away, would she? You were there in the courtyard a few days ago when Heaven’s clock ticked down from one year to 6 months: 182 days right before your eyes. Damn… But it gave you an opening - a reason to repent as opposed to just showing up out of the blue and inventing some backstory in an attempt to explain your sudden desire to achieve redemption. It was an opportunity you couldn’t refuse. 

“Okay, so the Extermination is coming in six months instead of a year. No big deal…” 

As you stepped into the Hotel, you couldn’t help but be underwhelmed by the state of the place. From the outside it seemed big and glamorous - despite the random bits of cell phone tower and… was that a mast from a ship? On the inside, it was worse. Way worse. It wasn’t gross, it was an array of stuff… that was probably the best way to put it. The carpet was torn, the wallpaper peeling, parts of the wall had been tacked together with newer planks of wood to repair unknown sources of damage. It was… Well at least it didn’t smell… that bad… 

Emerging into the foyer, small suitcase in hand - after all, you didn’t own much - you searched for the front desk, but the only thing resembling any sort of check-in area was a bar where a cat-bird thing was organizing bottles. 

To your left was a small inlet before a fireplace, fit with television and radio where two demons sat, listening to a blonde haired bellhop pace.

“… well just handle it! Right!?” The girl grabbed at her hair.

No, not a bellhop. Princess Charlie Morningstar. God, she looked just like her dad. The only thing she got from Lilith was her height. Probably a good thing…

Your heart sank at the sight of her. Biting back the flood of memories threatening to spill down your face, you take a deep breath and enter. 

“Yes,” a grey demon stood, a waterfall of dark hair brushed the floor as she walked. “We will.” She grabs Charlie’s shoulders, forcing her to stop pacing. 

They still hadn’t noticed you. Was this eavesdropping? Were you being rude? That wouldn’t make for a great first impression. 

You took a few hesitant steps forward hoping they’d hear your heels clack against the wood.

“Oh please,” the spider-looking thing sitting on the couch scoffed, staring down at his phone as he talked. “Ya’ had less than half a chance before you started all this salvation bullshit. And now… ain’t no silver linin’, toots.” 

You cleared your throat, having practically snuck up on the group. 

“Oh my gosh!” The blonde squeaked as the grey demon with ridiculously long hair pulled a spear on you, stepping before the Princess. 

You dropped the suit case immediately, raising your arms to show you meant no harm.

“Who are you? What are you doing sneaking around?” She demanded.

Your eyes flit to the “X” eye patch, then to the silver tip mere inches from your nose.

Oh shit, this girl’s the Fallen. Relax, you accounted for that. So long as she doesn’t recognize you…

“I’m sorry!” You squeak, taking a half step back. She follows, her spear not leaving your face. “I tried making noise but you must not have heard me. I was just looking to check-in but…”

“Huh!” The Princess gasped so loud it made your ears pop. 

Pushing the ex-Exorcist - huh, funny - aside the blond grabs your shoulders and squeezes. “Are you a guest!?” Her eyes sparkled. 

“Well, yeah. I was hoping…” you didn’t get a chance to finish before she brought you into a hug so tight you couldn’t breathe. She lifted you off your feet and spun you in a circle before placing you back on the ground. 

“Yay! Vaggie, our very first guest!” She sang. 

“Hey!” The spider finally looked up from his phone. “I’m sittin’ right ‘ere ya’ know?” 

Did he have six eyes or two? Hard to tell but the pink dots decorating his face blinked when he did. 

Creepy.

“Okay, hun,” the Fallen drops her spear, taking Charlie by the arm in an endearing way, but you really knew it was to hold her back. “Let’s give our guest some space. Let her breathe. She can’t be redeemed if you suffocate her and she dies… Again.” 

“Right,” she laughs, reigning herself in. “Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!” Her arms fan out to the room, gesturing to the rundown establishment. 

You musture a genuine smile, not because you’re impressed with the place but because the Princess’ happiness was infectious.

“My name is Charlie!” She takes your hand in hers.

“My name is Thestral,” you answer between the vigorous shakes rolling up your arm. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” the Fallen pulls Charlie away from you. “I’m Vaggie. The guy on the couch is Angel and Husk is behind the bar.” 

Angel gives you a mindless wave, frowning at something on his phone. The bar cat tips his hat to you before pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

Was the bartender supposed to drink the supply? Also, wasn’t it barely nine in the morning? 

“Let me get your bag!” Charlie snatches the hardback suitcase before you have a chance to protest. Dragging you by the elbow, she insists upon a tour.

The Hotel was cute - if not a weird hodgepodge of thrown together dimensions. The bar was clearly cut from somewhere else, the piano room is definitely not of this century, and don’t get you started on the pool. All in all however, it was cute. You could see yourself here, in the library reading late at night with a glass of red, in the music room practicing your piano, on the back balcony enjoying the breeze and screams of innocents. It wasn’t perfect - nothing compared to the luxury you experienced before Hell - but it felt home-y. 

“This is you!” Charlie pulls a key from her pocket as she stops before a door. “Angel is to the left and Alastor is just across the hall.” Grabbing your arm once more, she drags you inside.

It’s cute but humble - something you’d expect from a bed and breakfast and not a city hotel. The room is huge, with a four post bed wrapped in white sheets, neatly tucked into the sides military style. To your left is a small sitting area with a couch and coffee table. Past that were two doors, one leading to a small walk-in closet and the other a tile bathroom.

Frankly, coming from sharing a cramped city apartment in Cannibal Town to this was a huge step up as far as you were concerned. 

“Here you are!” She dropped a black key in your hand, a cat’s eye decorating the handle. Finally, a room to call your own. “Nifty cleans on Sundays and…”

“Wait, my room gets cleaned?” You scrunched your nose in confusion. 

“Of course! We don’t want you to have anything to worry about when you stay with us. Redemption is the goal, afterall!” Charlie sang. 

That was going to be a problem… 

Charlie stood staring at you for a long moment, her eyes sparkling in the low light. Her hands cupped her chin as she smiled at you with such emotion you were surprised her face didn’t split in half right there. She looked like a small child, waiting for a candy bar or something. 

God, you didn’t realize how enthusiastic she would be about all this. Now is definitely not the time to tell her you had no intentions of being redeemed. You were just here for the chaos. Frankly, any normal person would feel guilty right about now, but not you. 

Oh, you had far bigger plans for Ms. Morningstar, she just didn’t know it yet. 

“Okay,” Vaggie steps up, grabbing her by the collar. “We’ll let you get unpacked. It’s Sunday so brunch is at eleven in the kitchen. We’ll come get you and show you the way. If you need anything there’s a rotary phone by the bed, just call Husk at the bar. He’s always there…” 

“A rotary phone?” You scrunch your nose.

Sure enough, a black rotary phone sat on the bedside table. What century was this? Cannibal Town was stuck in the 1900s but at least they had cell phones. 

“Yeah, the Hotel Manager is a bit outdated with his tastes…” Vaggie grumbles. You sensed tension in her comment but didn’t ask for further details.

“Anyway!” Charlie puts a hand on your shoulder. “We’re really, REALLY glad you’re here.” She breathed in your face, her voice cracking with the threat of tears. 

God, she even had Lucifer’s mannerisms…

You huffed, blowing off the extra emotions her smile pushed into you. “Thank you for taking me in.”

Watching as the Exorcist pulled the Princess back down the hallway, you shut your door and collapsed against the wood. 

“Fuck,” you breathed. Charlie was going to be someone you could only handle in small doses. 

The Princess definitely didn’t recognize you and neither did Vaggie. She might be Hell Royalty but she was oblivious. 

Did she know about Vaggie? Maybe she did and has already accepted it. This place is about second chances after all. 

It didn’t take you long to unpack, after all you didn’t have many personal possessions. A few sets of clothes, some boots and heels, your toiletries and makeup… The suitcase was only half full when you packed it with every possession you owned. Now all you could do was stand before the mirror in the bathroom and stare at yourself as the anxiety began to build again. You fixed your red lipstick over and over until it drove you mad. Throwing the makeup back into your bag, your mind turned to your outfit. 

You were dressed in black slacks which sat high on your hips, fanning out at your legs. Tucked into your waistband was a white button up, giving you the hourglass appearance. Your silver hair was twisted into a bun at the back of your head, a metal clip holding it in place. Your eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, your yellow irises emitting their own form of light. 

Out of all the animalistic appearances in Hell, you were gifted the rare form of a somewhat normal human shape. No tail, no ears, no horns - well, in your normal state anyway. It was just you, with skin as pale white as Charlie’s and a nose tipped in black. You stood a normal five foot four, but in heels you could argue five and a half. You didn’t have canines as sharp and distinct as others, but hey who needed them? You preferred fighting with your hands, anyway. 

Frankly, you were boring compared to the Sinners and Natives of Hell. The most interesting note was the tattoo which spanned your back from shoulder blades to your hips, but that wasn’t important at the moment. 

Your mind returned to your clothes again. They were nice, nothing too flashy and definitely not Velvette brand, but were they too much? Weekend brunches in Cannibal Town were always such a classy affair, something you were expected to dress up for despite the messy array of food which was served. 

Was that expected here? 

As if on cue, a door opens in the hallway and footsteps echo across the carpet. 

Perhaps you should ask. 

Racing to the door, you peak your head out to find Angel heading to the stairs, his nose stuck in his phone. 

“Uhm, excuse me?” You chirp. It was barely audible and he wasn’t paying attention but you were a new voice, which definitely drew him from whatever battle was playing itself out on his screen. 

“Oh, hey!” He tucked the cell phone back into his pocket. His face contorted into a smile, he was doing his best not to show his frustration but it was still quite obvious. “They put ya’ right next to me aye?” He leans against the doorframe, one arm on the wall, the other three at his hips. “Just a fair warning. I can get a little loud. If ya’ know what I mean?” He winks at you, a knowing smile spreading across his sharp teeth as he elbows your side.

God, he was tall, he’d have to be like six foot three or something. 

Up close, and with his attention fully on you, you could finally study his eyes: right eye sclera black, left white. Someone owned him, but with restrictive conditions. 

You already knew the answer: Valentino. Hey, what can ya’ say? You did your homework. 

“Do you guys dress up for brunch or is it more casual?” You smiled, doing your best not to stare at the pink dots blinking back at you on his cheeks. Still creepy. 

“Oh, uh, I dunno, toots. I normally just go in whatever I have on.” He gestured to his pink striped shirt and long boots. 

Casual it is then.

“But if ya’ prefer. I could go in nothing at all,” he purrs, his eyebrows wiggling at you suggestively. 

You couldn’t help but giggle. You got the sense that it wasn’t genuine flirting. That he was trying to make you smile more than anything else. He enjoys entertaining others like that. Probably why he became a Porn Star - and such a famous one at that. 

His face lit up at your laugh. 

“Great, the wire in this bra is killing me!” You mime a pain in your back, eliciting a laugh from the spider demon himself. 

“I like yous,” he holds out a hand to shake. “Names Angel Dust.” 

“Thestral,” you shook his furry hand - he had so many, you wondered how he went shopping for shirts. 

“Thestral? Like the dead horses from ‘arry Potter?” 

“You know your JK Rowling?” 

Angel had to have died in like the 40s/50s - from what research you did before coming here. How did he know about the books and movies made popular in the 2010s? 

“Yeah, she ended up down here after she died. Kept writing weird shit about her characters. Really changed my views on the Potterverse. It was shocking for a while but you can only be so entertaining on Sinstagram and Vitter for so long these days.” He shrugged. 

“Huh, for some reason that doesn’t surprise me, but thank you. The last place I lived, everyone was expected to dress for meals and I just wanted to be sure.” 

“No problem, toots. If ya’ don’t mind me askin’, how long yous been down here? If ya’ didn’t know about the Potter thang, it couldn’t have been that long?” His accent: New York? 

“Just shy of six years, actually,” you rubbed the back of your neck anxiously, feeling the bubbles beginning to fester inside you. 

You’ve done work to gather information before, but you’ve never had to act like you were now. You were always behind a mask… How many details were too many to share? 

“Oh, damn, just shy of being a Fleshy!” He smiles. 

“A Fleshy?” You scrunch your nose.

“Yeah, the living or whatnot.” He pulls out his phone again, frowning at the notification screen before pulling up an app. Something was definitely bothering him. “Hey, whatcha say we head down a little early? I can pull up her Vitter page and show ya’ some good ones?” The spider demon smiled, frustration weighing down his eyebrows. He had a single gold tooth which sparkled in the low light. 

“Sure!” You tried to respond not too excitedly. 

This was the plan. Get in early with one of the Hotel mates and use it as a way to get information on the others. 

You had thought it was going to be Husk. What bartender didn’t love gossip? But here was Angel offering himself up on a silver platter. 

You only had about an hour before brunch was served, but those sixty minutes laying in the alcove by the fireplace were the most hilarious minutes of your life. Angel had you laughing so hard you were crying. Things were going well. Despite the constant text messages from Valentino you pretended not to notice chime across the screen.

At about eleven, a small girl named Nifty - who introduced herself as the housemaid - emerged from the kitchen to announce that brunch was ready, and as everyone piled into the room and found their designated places, you realized you didn’t know where to go. It was like being the new kid at school walking into the lunchroom with a sack lunch and not a friend in the world to rescue you. 

“Hey” Angel waved you to the only available seat left, which just so happened to be at the head. ���Sit next to me, will ya’?” 

Relief.

“No! That’s Mr. Alastor’s seat!” Nifty protested from her place by the oven. Her entire body practically vibrated with energy. 

“Mr. Alastor?” That name definitely did not come up in your research.

“Relax, Tiny. Smiles is on the terrace this morning drinkin’ his tea.” Angel leaned back in his chair, one set of arms folded behind his head. “What he doesn’t know won’t kill ‘em. Or maybe it will and we can finally be free o’ him and his creepy, ol’ timey ways. Either way, we’ll be fine.” 

You blinked a few times before hesitantly falling into the seat. Nifty gave a great sigh as she watched you sit, not liking it but allowing it. She busied herself with serving platters of food, her lips twisted in a pout.

It’s a chair. You didn’t think it was that big of a deal? Maybe he was one of those people who was territorial with their things? 

As you sat and passed the food around, you couldn’t help the hairs which prickled on the back of your neck. How could you have missed another guest at the Hotel? You swore you wrote down everyone you saw in that glitchy commercial and did thorough research before coming here. You were never this sloppy. 

“Can I get you anything to drink, Thestral?” Charlie was at the fridge with five different bottles of liquid in her hand, eagerly awaiting your answer. 

“Coffee would be great,” you smiled through a mouth full of eggs, one hand over your face to be polite. God, Nifty was a great cook. You usually never ate breakfast but this was amazing. 

The Hotel inhabitants sat and talked like family. This place has only been open what? Two weeks? And already they got along like they’ve lived together for years. It was kinda cute actually but spelled issues for your plans. A close-knit group like this - especially so fast - only meant it was going to be harder to work your way in. Sure, Angel hung out with you for the past hour and you had a great time, but that was just surface level stuff. You were going to need to dig deeper. 

“No! Nobody look at me,” Husk grumbled from a few seats down. “That machine is a nightmare.” He motioned to the silver espresso machine sitting on the corner countertop behind you. 

It looked brand new, barely been touched! A machine like that probably cost hundreds and they weren’t using it?

“I’m sorry.” Charlie frowned from her place by the fridge. “We’ve had it for a while and no one can figure it out. Husk took a look at it last and although he tried, we got nowhere. Nifty bought beans for it and everything…”

A small smile found your lips, “Mind if I take a look?” 

“Goodluck with that kiddo, that machine is cursed,” Husk buried his head in his arms, the orange juice in front of him bubbling with alcohol - which you would guess was more booze than orange at how much of his flask you saw him pouring into it earlier. 

Seems like everyone knows, as no one glanced his way when it happened, but no one seemed to mind his drinking habits this early in the morning. Most likely a recurrent behavior then…

Husk was an old soul, probably the oldest one in this room. The cat had a history of gambling debts which mysteriously disappeared one day - the day he fell from power. You didn’t know the exact details but you heard it wasn’t pretty afterwards. The Vees swooped in pretty fast and gobbled up what remained of the fallen Overlord’s territory. It’s part of the reason they are where they are now. You wondered if the others knew about him? Maybe, seeing as how he’s found himself at the hotel built on second chances. 

Taking the beans from Nifty, you quickly check over the machine. It’s a simple Breville Barista model, nothing too top of the line, but still a commercial appliance. 

You wonder who they sent out on the errand to get this because they clearly had no idea what they were getting. This thing was meant for a high end coffee chain, to be used for hours straight, not sitting in a run down hotel’s kitchen. Regardless, you knew the model and how to use it.

Preheating the machine, you fill the grinder with beans before asking, “Hey Husk, pick your poison.”

He blinks at you a few times before answering. “Double espresso.” 

Simple enough.

Clicking a single wall basket into the portafilter, you fill the metal device with ground beans before tapping it flat. Sliding it into the machine with a click, you grab two shot glasses and watch as the brew fills to the line, the fresh scent of chocolate, caramel, and nuts fill the kitchen. You pour both into a white glass and send it down the table to Husk who sits dumbfounded at the end of the kitchen. In fact, everyone had stopped eating completely to watch you work.

Anxiety bubbles in your stomach as you count the eyes boring into you. 

Oh, fuck. You drew too much attention to yourself. 

“Fuck, kid. This is good.” Husk chirps from the end of the table, having taken his first sip. “Where’d you learn to do that?” 

“I worked at a cafe just outside Cannibal Town when I first got here,” you rub the back of your neck, an uncomfortable laugh escaping your lips. “They had a machine just like this, but far bigger.” 

That was true. After you fell, you were set up with a place to stay and a job at the local coffee shop which sat inbetween Cannibal Town and the border zone. It didn’t only serve certain… appetites, but was meant for a wider audience. You served everything from finger cakes (yes, fingers in the cakes) to bagels and cream cheese alongside the coffee creations. 

“Oooh, Cannibal Town. This kid’s got bite,” Angel laughs. “I didn’t know you swung that way.” The spider demon shovels another pile of eggs onto his plate. He ate a lot. 

“Oh, no. Not really, I just happened to… land there.” Technically you weren’t lying. 

That first day in Hell was brutal. You smacked into cement face first, a pile of blood and broken bones. Luckily the streets weren’t crowded, and you were found and taken care of before anyone even noticed. 

“So you just stayed in Cannibal Town for fun?” Vaggie didn’t look impressed. In fact, she looked suspicious - ever the hypervigilant soldier she was designed to be. 

“Well…” There it was, the rubbing on the back of your neck again. By the end of today, your skin was going to be raw. 

God, why was this so much easier with a mask on? 

“Hey!” Charlie cut in, clearly sensing your discomfort. “You don’t have to tell us.” She cups your hands within her own. “You’re here now and that’s all that matters. We can get to know you at your own pace. Don’t push yourself. Okay?” 

You offer her a sweet smile.

Wow, the Princess was really buying your act - or lack thereof, by how anxious this job was making you. 

“Now, do you know how to make a cappuccino?” She motioned back to the machine. You silently thanked her for the change in conversation. 

A genuine smile formed on your lips, “what kind of milk?” 

The rest of the brunch passed quickly after you showed off your artistic masterpiece that was to become Vaggie’s coffee. The Princess ordered the beverage for her girlfriend, and after making a butterfly out of the milk atop the bubbles everyone else quickly got in line and ordered their own. 

It didn’t bother you, in fact it made you more comfortable. You got to observe their behavior and interactions as a silent third party noting the ways in which they teased each other. 

Husk could be a grump but you got the sense that he was a big softie. You couldn’t tell if Angel was actually flirting with the cat demon or just pushing his buttons, either way, the barkeep slunked out, flask in hand, with red cheeks. 

When the chair started rattling, Nifty was prohibited from drinking anymore caffeine. She put up a pretty good fight but as soon as she saw a bug, she took off after it, needle in hand. 

Angel returned to the couch, face in his phone, clearly stressed about something. 

After helping with the dishes - Charlie protested but you insisted - she invited you to join the three of them by the fire where you had found them earlier that morning. You didn’t really have anything else to do, other than to try and win over the Hotel natives. 

You could go hide in your room - the Lord knows your social meter needed the break. The group was welcoming but was… a lot. Especially Charlie, but the Princess and Vaggie had questions about the commercial and how Sinners were handling the recent date change for the Extermination. You shrugged and offered whatever you could - which wasn’t a lot. 

“They’re desperate,” you answered. 

“That’s right, they’re desperate. Maybe desperate enough to try anything to escape the Extermination,” Vaggie smiled, smacking her fist against her hand. 

“Worked for me,” you shrugged, watching Angel from the corner of your eye. 

Your heart melted a little for the spider demon. Valentino was known to be ruthless and manipulative - and the way he treated women… It was why you never took a job from the Overlord, let alone gave him a card. In fact, none of the Vees had your card. You didn’t like them, but you didn’t need to see how it affected Angel to decide that. 

“This would be a perfect time to recruit more Sinners for the Hotel! We should get more rooms ready!” Charlie beamed. Of course she would find a way to spin this into something good. 

“Cute idea and all, but are you really gonna go out in all this?” Angel turns his phone around, videos of the Doomsday Distract flash across the screen. 

It was pretty chaotic, but when was that place not on fire? 

“Well, it’s not like all Sinners are going to show up on our doorstep like Thestral did.” Charlie offered, motioning to you. 

She wasn’t wrong… 

BOOM! 

Ah, perfect timing, Princess. 

The entire Hotel rocked as dust and debris filled the foyer burning your lungs and eyes. 

“Show yourself, Alassstor!” A voice echoed from outside. 

The four of you ran to the now collapsed wall, veering into the streets to get a better look. Husk simply rolled his eyes and took another drink. 

He was used to this? 

Floating above the cobblestone streets was a yellow blimp equipped with an army of… eggs? 

“Who are you?” A voice chimed from above, but it was… different - static-y…

“Who am I? Who am I?! I am the great Ssssssir Pentiousssss!” Deep within the zeppelin stood a black and yellow snake at the helm. He was dressed to the nines in army regalia. 

Hmm, Sir Pentious? Had you heard of him before? You wracked your brain trying to think but nothing immediately came of mind. He had resources - clearly Carmilla Carmine supplies him by the brand on the metal - but was he a threat? He did put a hole through the building. 

You spun studying his dirty work. 

A missile? Sloppy, but still a step up from the lowest rung of demon. 

“Inventor, architect of dessstruction, villain extraordinaire!” The snake twirls his arms, gesturing to himself and his work. 

You scoff. Yeah right… 

“Ooh you tell 'em boss!” The eggs chime. 

What the fuck…? The eggs are sentient? Now that’s kind of interesting. 

Testing the waters, you let an invisible finger of power slip from you and slither over to the zeppelin. It poked and prodded till it found a way through the metal before coming to rest by the snake demon’s tail. Gently, you caressed his form, searching for the power his soul possessed. 

Yes, he definitely still had his soul, but from what you gathered - or rather, lack of what you gathered - this demon was no more a threat than a mosquito was to an elephant. But a better question was, what brought him here? 

A chime of static fills the air, like little bolts of electricity, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. 

What the…?

You spin, checking behind you to find the source of the static snaking its way down your spine, but no one was there. 

Charlie yelps, bringing your attention back to the group, as a trail of shadow crawls between her feet, giving way to a demon in red materializing from the darkness. 

How did he do that? 

The demon’s back was to you, his attention fully on the blimp. You didn’t recognize his silhouette. His deer ears, hooves, and antlers were pretty iconic, but you didn’t know any demon like that. He wasn’t a Hellborn, his profile didn’t fit any of the creatures Hell bred. So a Human Sinner then?

The demon stood before you, a red suit complete with red-tipped black boots, and black slacks. His jacket was long, ending at his knees. The hair atop his head was cut cleanly, red and tipped in black, and tousled ever so perfectly.  

Yeah, you had no idea who this guy was. Which did not sit well with you. 

Nifty materializes on his shoulder. When had she slipped out here? “Ooh, he’s a bad boy,” the tiny demon sings. 

Okay then…

The demon lifts her from his person and drops her gently onto the cement. “Ha, well if all that's true, you'd think I'd have heard of you!” 

His voice isn’t just static, it’s like a radio? 

The snake drops his smile. “I attacked you literally last week.”

The red demon cocks his head.

“We've done battle, like... 20 times.”

The demon brings both hands to his staff. No, that’s not right, microphone? “Well, you must have been really bad at this.” 

You snort, but do your best to stifle the giggle into your palm. 

The demon stiffens. You swear you see his shadow elongate in your direction. A trick of the light? An hallucination? You look to Angel for direction but he’s too busy watching the interaction, clearly entertained. 

“Silence! Now cower! For when I've ssslain you, the almighty Vees will finally acknowledge me as their equal.” 

Nifty reappears on the demon’s shoulder, garnering his attention. “Ooh! Wait, who are the Vees?” 

“Oh, nobody important,” the red demon sings. 

Nobody important, eh? For someone to so easily dismiss the Vees like that they’d have to either be stupid or think themselves more powerful - in both cases, they’re stupid. I agree, independently, the Vees are more annoying than anything. One by one they weren’t a threat, but all three together… 

Testing a theory, you let that tendril of power sneak from your core, and just as you had Sir Pentious, you let it slither to the base of the demon’s shoes. Delicately prodding…

SMACK! 

A slap hits your power so hard it sends your head spinning. You fall backwards into Angel who wraps his arms under your shoulders to steady you. 

“You okay, toots?” Angel whispers in your ear, your vision spinning. 

Holy shit. 

It was either the sheer force of the blow or the dizziness in its wake, but you swore you saw faces laughing at you in the shadows. 

“Uh,” you shake your head, willing the sting to subside. 

Jesus, what was that? You’ve never had a reaction like that before… 

“I think so?” You find your feet. “Just all the excitement… Caught me off guard.” You give him a fake laugh. He shrugs it off. 

What the fuck…?

The next thing you know, Charlie’s grip is on your arm. “I promise it’s not always like this!” 

From the corner of your eye, you see Vaggie shake her head. “Yes it is..” she grumbles before swearing under her breath in… Spanish? 

Patting Charlie’s arm, you assure her that it doesn’t bother you. That Cannibal Town - and anywhere else in Pentagram City for that matter - were far worse than this place. Which was true. The only place you could get any peace and quiet was the Wrath Ring - way out in the country. Not that you’d been to the Wrath Ring… Technically… 

The attention is finally turned away from you when an array of tendrils shoots from the red demon’s form. They descend upon the blimp, shredding it to pieces. The eggs spark into a panic as their helmsman desperately shouts commands. 

Maniac laughs bubble in the demon’s chest as he slowly gets to work. It takes a moment before you realize it, but he isn’t taking his time because he has to, he’s doing it to toy with the snake demon. He enjoys the destruction. 

You watch as the tension in the demon’s shoulder slowly diminishes with each attack. The pure enjoyment brings a small smile to your lips. 

So this guy enjoys chaos just as much as you do, huh? 

“Um… Alastor!” 

Ah, so this is the famous Mr. Alastor? 

The Princess slowly approaches the demon, but it isn’t fear you smell wafting off her person, it’s… anxiety? “I think he’s had enough.”

Vaggie is on Charlie’s heels in an instant, her hands flying to her back to summon her spear just in case. 

So little Ms. Morningstar wasn’t afraid of him, but Vaggie sure as Hell doesn’t trust him. Interesting. 

“Nah. He’s got a few more hits in him.” Angel crosses his arms, clearly entertained by the onslaught. Despite the chaotic scene before us, his eyes occasionally flit to the red demon - keeping him within eyesight. 

Hmm, Angel didn’t trust him either. 

You take a step forward but Angel pulls you back, shaking his head. 

The snake demon falls from the zeppelin, landing face first with a smack on the pavement. You couldn’t help but grimace. That had to hurt. 

Alastor twirls his staff - microphone? - as an egg falls and breaks into pieces at Charlie’s feet.

 “Thanks for another forgettable experience!” He sings.

Okay, that you do laugh at. This guy was pretty witty, you had to give it to him. 

The four Hotel Natives shoot you a look of disbelief as you giggle into your hand. Looking between you and the red demon, fear slowly etching across their brows.

Alastor’s shoulders stiffen as he turns, finding the source of giggles rumbling through your chest. His smile is pulled taut across his cheek, but the look he gives you… it wasn’t confusion necessarily swimming behind his eyes, more so like he didn’t know what to think. 

The giggles die down as your cheeks heat under his gaze. 

Was he not used to people finding him funny? 

“Thank you… For letting your guard down!” The snake’s tail whips forward and rips the corner of Alastor’s suit from his person. A small chunk of fabric gives way. “Aha! Yah!” The snake celebrates before noticing the purely demonic smile overcoming the red demon’s face. “Oh, shit…” 

The red demon’s antlers grow as an aura of green overtakes the atmosphere. From his microphone an explosion of green bursts through, sending the snake demon flying across Pentagram City. 

Hmm… Why didn’t he just kill him? He’s just gonna come back. The mosquitos always do. 

“Well, it looks as though I need a visit to the tailor!” The demon inspects his jacket. Despite his jovial attitude, you could see the irritation in his eyebrows. 

A mask. This demon was wearing a mask. 

Finally, now that the chaos was over, you had a chance to inspect the red demon. He must have felt your eyes on him, for when he finally looked up, his gaze was locked with yours. Your cheeks heated under the pressure of his gaze. His eyes, glowing like red crystal in direct sunlight, made your legs feel heavy and your chest tight. 

Was it getting harder to breathe or was it just you? Are you… Are you intimidated right now? No. You’ve never been intimidated by a demon in your life. Angels maybe, but never a Human Sinner. What was wrong with you? 

“And who might this be?” Your heart fluttered at the purr in his voice. 

Twirling his microphone behind his back, he took a step towards you, standing tall at his full height. He had to be an entire foot taller than you, now cast in his shadow. It felt eerily colder in the shade, but there was something else there too. An extra presence you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

The demon was dressed to the nines. His red suit perfectly tailored to his form. It splayed out around his hips, accentuating a waist line supporting a broad chest. His hair was cropped short around his angular face, his eyes half-lidded as they bore into you. The red of his irises practically glowing. He was a classy demon, clearly not of this century. He regarded you with a sense of curiosity - an aura of green still lingered, however. It was meant to intimidate you, not necessarily threaten you. 

Okay, this guy thinks he’s tough shit, huh? 

Before Charlie had a chance to intervene, you thrust your arm forward, meeting his eyes, not backing down to his overwhelming sense of self importance. 

“Thestral, pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Alastor.” You offer him a soft smile. 

You took the shift of stiffness in his shoulders to mean that you had made the wrong move. This was a demon who carried himself quite highly - probably used to lesser demons cowering in his presence, not laughing at his jokes or meeting his eyeline let alone offering their hand first. At that, he didn’t know what to make of you, which made you dangerous. Which made you a target of interest. 

Shit. 

Day one and you’re already fucking up the whole “lay low” part of the plan.  

“Oh, darling, you flatter me,” he takes your hand. “Just Alastor will do.” 

A shiver rolls down your spine as the tips of his claws scrape across your skin, so sharp they could cut flesh. They probably have, but you weren’t worried. He couldn’t hurt you anyway. Not really.

“Well, ‘Just Alastor,’ thank you for the entertainment.” You cross both arms behind your back mimicking his stance. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Angel’s jaw drop. 

“Of course! I live to please! I’m not the Hotel Manager for nothing!” There it is again, a small shift in his body language. He didn’t know what to make of your lack of fear. 

The static is interrupted by a laugh track, sounding as if from a live studio audience - from a radio.

“So does that mean you’re going to do you’re job?” Vaggie takes a step forward, motioning to the half destroyed wall of the Hotel. 

“Of course! Can’t let my new project fall into disrepair already! What would the papers say?” With a snap of his fingers, black ink demons appear with construction tools. 

Five. Five faceless demons. Which means he owns at least five souls. But that was not nearly enough power to equate to the destruction you had just witnessed. 

By the time you turn back to him, he’s already strolling down the cobblestone path and off into Pentagram City. You couldn’t help still feeling watched, however, like the sensation of his red eyes still on your form, but nowhere to be found. 

You spun but again, no one was watching you. 

“Word of advice, stay away from him,” Vaggie crosses her arm in Charlie’s, ready to lead her back inside. 

“Yeah, Hairclip,” Angel Dust appears behind you, poking at the silver metal in your hair. “You got a lot of balls on you to stand up to that one.” 

“What does that mean?” You scrunch your nose in confusion. 

“Well…” Charlie takes a step forward, touching the tips of her fingers together with anxiety. “Alastor can be a little…”

Before she has a chance to respond, Vaggie and Angel offer suggestions. 

“Creepy.” 

“Unpredictable.” 

“Insane.” 

“Murderous.” 

“Bloodthirsty.” 

“Aren’t those basically the same thing?” Angel shrugs. 

“He’s a bad boy,” Nifty chirps by your ankle. 

Where did she come from? 

“Temperamental,” Charlie offers with an awkward smile.

Why did that not feel like a compromising adjective? 

“The point is, Alastor is dangerous. It would be best not to poke and prod him too much,” Vaggie runs a hand through her ridiculously long hair, huffing.

Poke and prod… Shit! Shit! Shit! That force I felt slap my power away earlier, was that him? Did he know it was me? No! No! No! This wasn’t good. This was anything but good. 

The blood melted from your face. 

“Hey toots, you don’t look so good. Maybe we should get ya’ back inside?” Angel’s arm comes to rest on your shoulder, leading you towards the doors. “Don’t sweat it too much. He’s harmless as long as you’re not a threat. He won’t lay a finger on ya’, we won’t let him. Right gurls?” 

“Right.” They chime as you made your way through the double doors. 

This job just got a lot more complicated…

SCREECH! 

“What the fuck is that?” Husk yells from behind the bar, his claws over his ears. 

The television by the fireplace hisses, having turned itself on. 

“Welcome home!” The box sang. “I’m going to make you wish that you stayed gone!” 

The screen jumped through a few stations of fuzz before settling on a news broadcast. Vox, the media demon, sat behind a reporter’s desk, going on and on about… the Radio Demon? 

As if in response, the radio in the foyer screams to life, making the five of you jump. 

“Salutations! Good to be back on the air!” You recognized the old timey voice as Alastor’s.

“What the fuck is goin’ on!?”Angel screamed over the noise. 

Vaggie ran over to the television and ripped the cord out of the wall. No good, the television continued to flash images of Vox screaming as if he could hear and respond to Alastor’s radio. 

The Exorcist fisted the cord in frustration before pulling her spear from the Void. Charlie stopped her, however, preventing her from destroying the only piece of real technology in this building besides the coffee maker. 

The Hotel Natives and you were subjected to the torture that was Alastor’s and Vox’s tantrum, until finally, they both shut down. 

“Holy Jesus, what the fuck was all that about?” Angel screamed, his ears ringing from the noise. 

“Fucking Vox and his ego,” Husk grumbled from the bar. The cat poured himself a drink. 

“Ahhhhhh!” A eardrum splitting scream pierced the air, making you all, yet again, jump and cover your ears. Vaggie ran to the radio and shut it off rescuing whatever was left of your hearing from… well, whatever the fuck that was. 

“Was that part of Alastor’s bit?” Angel asked the room. 

No one answered, for no one knew the answer. Seems Alastor is a big mystery around here. 

“Drink anyone?” Husk raised a bottle of whiskey in question. 

Fuck, after that you needed one. Silently cursing yourself for your lack of thoroughness in your research, you joined the bar cat. 

You huffed as you sat on the stool.

“You good?” Husk asked, pulling out a menu.

“Yeah,” you rubbed your temples, willing the forming headache away. “Just a lot of homework to do.” 

____________________________________________

It was late, the sky turning towards darkness as opposed to its usual red light. 

The Greed Ring always smelled like metal to you. Not copper, like blood, but like the cold steel of coins. You weren’t in the Greed Ring, of course. Sinners couldn’t travel out of Pride - technically. Yet the stench clung to them nevertheless. 

You landed at the bottom of the cement path leading to the mansion, outside the gates. 

Normally your meetups were discreet, often conducted in the shadows of terraces, rooftops, or alleyways. Oh so rarely did people invite you inside. 

But not this time. This employer loved appearances so much so that he rented out a mansion on the edge of town just for this: a meeting that would last five, ten minutes tops. The vanity of Greed…

The demons next to you jumped as black smoke began to curl away revealing a hooded figure. 

“I believe I am expected,” a deep voice growled from beneath the fabric. Concealed in shadow, the shark demons opened the gate to let you pass, their guns shaking in their hands. Nearing the door, another set of demons stepped to the side, their eyes filled with fear. 

Ugh, how you so enjoyed the scent of terror as it wafted in waves from their forms. Pathetic, honestly. 

You found Crimson sitting before his fire, a glass of whiskey in hand, his hat set on the table next to him. The imp rubbed the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, clearly it had been a long day. The servant standing next to him, whiskey bottle and towel in hand, leans down to alert him of your presence. 

“Huh? What?” The crime lord jumps to his feet. “Already!?” He lets out a joyous laugh, before finding his hat and setting it between his horns.

Out of the corner of your eye, the waiter slinks from the room. The liquid in the whiskey bottle jostling as he shakes in fear. 

“Chaz is swimming with the fishes already, aye!?” Both hands grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket, he stands before you, offering you a seat at the end of the table. Sliding into the head chair, he offers you a drink, which you refuse of course. 

He takes a long sip of his whiskey, letting the burn sink in before continuing. “Did he suffer?” 

You frowned.  No questions. He knew this. That was part of the deal. It was always part of the deal. 

“Ah, come on, can’t fault a guy for trying?” He laughs, but you aren’t amused. 

As if on cue, a shark demon enters the room, dropping a suitcase onto the table before skittering out of the room. Crim opens the case and turns it towards you to reveal fat stacks of cash lining the case’s bottom. 

“It’s all there, I assure you.” He lights a cigar and leans back in his chair. “Pentagram City currency, not the Native stuff.”

You ignore the money. You knew it was all there. You knew none of the bills were traceable. Crim was a pro when it came to moving money around. You didn’t have to worry about covering your tracks from this job like the last ones. Honestly, you didn’t deal in money that often. Your trade was in souls, but Crimson was a Hellborn, and head of a mafia gang at that. You’ve never done business with a Hell Native, so you were hoping your reputation was enough of a threat to keep him quiet. 

But, the money wasn’t why you took this case. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, knowing he could see their yellow glow - the only part of your face anyone ever saw - before slipping a black gloved hand from your cloak. His eyes find your fingers, uncurled before him expectantly, as the scent hits your nose. 

Fear. 

You knew this diphsit wasn’t stupid enough not to be afraid of you. Was it the sight of your claws? Or the red still staining the leather? 

“Right. Right.” He dug into the hidden pocket of his jacket, producing an obsidian calling card. The flames from the fire flicker across its metal surface as he holds it out to you. 

Finally, you had won this card back. It had taken forever to track it down after the last person you entrusted it with lost it in a game of cards. Of all the things to wager! You’d have killed the demon, but senseless death wasn’t part of your repertoire. 

The card disappeared from the Pride Ring soon after, passing amongst the hands of Hell as it made its way downwards. It eventually became useless, a piece of metallic junk which eventually landed in Crimson’s hand. He figured out what it was, of course he would. He had eyes and ears everywhere - even in the Sinner’s Ring. So when he appeared in Pride a week ago and summoned you in the dead of night you knew you had to do whatever you could to get the calling card back. 

Even if it meant taking down a low level mark and solving some petty personal drama. The calling card now safely tucked away in the leather of your shirt, you stood and made your way to the door. 

“Ain’t you gonna take the money?” Crim motioned to the suitcase still sitting open on the table.

With a flick of your wrist the case closed, locked itself, and slipped into the Void. 

As you exited the room you could hear the imp demon call out after you, “Pleasure doing business with yous!”

Crim was known to be a man of his word, or he’d soon find himself a dead man…

Link to Chapter Two!

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

[coldwayhome]

Hi could you do an apollo x reader doesn’t matter what it’s about. Thank youu!! I really love your writing!!

love songs on the radio ☀️

synopsis: domesticity with apollo (and some reflection)

tags: blurb i am sorry. reader has no gender (apollo’s pov, usage of ‘you’ instead of ‘me’ or ‘they’.. sorry), idk what else to tag it’s pretty lowkey!

notes: so i may have went a little overboard.. i hope this is okay 🤍 i love apollo’s character in the rrverse but i mayyy have overdone it. please send feedback this is new ! (also, so sorry it’s short!! i wanted to get it done before my inspiration died.. i will try to continue if you like it!)

he prays this isn’t a dream, for a blessing has been bestowed upon him through early morning bird songs and harmonic sunrise musings. he thanked every god he’d ever done right for the scene playing out in your shared kitchen. the sun-bleached & salt-stained windowsill rested the speaker that was playing soft music (the music you were swaying to; the swaying which caused him to grin).

the sound of his bare feet patting on the wooden floor alerted you of his presence behind you. chirping a morning greeting, you continue your place at the countertop. apollo couldn’t get a good glance at what you were working on from his position in the hallway, but he had a clear view of the baking being done when he sat at the counter stool. even if he couldn’t see, though, his nose still worked. your wildflower and honey-filled pancakes could wake him up out of a dead sleep.

conversation was passed, and apollo felt himself becoming drowsy (despite waking up ten minutes prior). the whistling of the tea kettle and the sun rays weaving through the sheer curtains seemed to encourage him to rest again.

heavy-eyed as he was, his battering heart, syncopated and burning gold, could not stop his wandering mind. he had sworn countless times before that he wouldn’t listen to the voice within, but it tended to steal his attention at times.

during these times, apollo tended to think cynically. (it’s just where is mind takes him, he’s sure you’d understand). what if, in another life, you had taken another lover? or what if, in another life, you had never met him? and when the fates finally give up on him, where would you go? he’s sure he’d chase after you in every lifetime. but, there will always be a grave in the garden, and he will crumble without your roothold on him.

one look at your tranquil appearance, lips chapped and hands busy, was enough to push the notion away. words fell flat on his tongue as you looked back with a beam, seemingly beckoning him closer to you. how could he refuse?

as he resumed his spot behind you, bronzed and hardened arms around your waist, he knew that this love will never falter.

[sweetcarrotsandroses97]

Spring | JJK

Hello darlings!!!

Pairing: royal guard!Jungkook x princess!Reader, prince!Jimin x princess!Reader (ft. Yoongi & Hoseok)

Summary: In which you, princess of the Gyeongdong Dynasty, were in the middle of wedding plans. An arranged marriage that would guarantee your father's bloodline to stay on the throne.

Or in which you are assigned a new royal guard that swore to protect you with his life. Jeon Jungkook. That's his name. A name you could never forget. A name that, slowly but surely got engraved not only in your memories but also in your heart.

Love, politics, betrayal and desire. All in ancient history. A love that never should have happened, two souls that wouldn't be allowed to be together.

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of past life, reincarnation! AU, implied soulmate! AU, flashbacks, ft. Yoongi and Hoseok, modern! AU, lost love, yearning, strangers to lovers???, all the feels, crying, there's a kiss, sweet and soft koo, hurt/comfort, (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 10.4 k

A/N: Hello, darlings! Welcome the the finale of "Four Seasons"! I know you guys have waited a looong time for this part to come out but it is finally here so let's see how Jungkook and our Princess will end their love story!

This whole story was highly inspired by "Moon Lovers" and the ending it should have had, (in my humble opinion). I included different scenes of other movies/shows/dramas that I liked with the hope you will like it as well.

Also thank you guys so much for 200 followers! Take this as my thank you gift, darlings!

Thank you so much for all the love this series got and thank you for sticking up with me to see the end of this journey and hopefully the beginning of many more! Please let me know your thoughts in the comments, darlings! Happy reading, everyone!

💜 Boraghae ARMY 💜

~Taglist for Four Season: @valhallawhispers @lovingkoalaface @seokout @ackercute @jksusawife

~Tagging people who were waiting for the finale (I apologise if you didn't want to be tagged) @jjanjankook @junghoseok07 @vminkookgf @allie-is-a-panda

We have lived through centuries, carrying many lives, carrying many deaths. Carrying a world only remembered by our pure soul.

Jungkook opened his eyes, it was still dark outside. He sighed, reaching over his nightstand and picking up his phone. His eyes burned with the sudden light coming from the small device as he turned off his morning alarm.

The phone rested on his chest as he hesitated whether to get up and go to work or probably call sick today once more. Yet a sudden weight getting on the bed made him sigh once more. His other hand blindly searched for his large and sweet dog to pet him lazily while remembering Bam was running out of food and he needed to buy another bag, that meant he had to go to work once more.

With a soft groan, he sat on the bed, searching for his slippers before he stood up and walked out of the bedroom with Bam hot on his heels.

The sun was barely out yet the sky was already painted in beautiful hues of blue and orange. Decorated with the soft looking clouds that seemed to have been delicate brushes over a painting in the museum Jungkook worked at.

Loneliness encapsulated Jungkook's heart as he gazed at the beautiful sky, he almost felt as if there was something missing in his life or rather, someone. He felt empty, divided and there was nothing that could fill that void in his soul.

He tried getting into cooking, but the soft ache was always there. Working out was the solution for some time but as soon as he was back home, that melancholy drowned his soul once more. It made him ache, dream and yearn for something he didn't even know what it was but he felt like he needed it to survive.

Spring had arrived a couple of weeks ago, the trees were blooming with beautiful pink flowers and the petals fell on the ground softly, creating an enchanting path to walk by. The parks were full of greenery and the birds began to sing after the crude winter. Warmer days were to come.

Jungkook found himself walking through the same streets like every morning to get to his full-time job. He walked monotonously, his earpods on only to stop people from talking to him, not that it had happened many times but there was something about today that he didn't wish to interact with people. The least he did it, the better.

No music filled his ears, the walk was monotonous; monochrome even. Without an ounce of colour in his life even when spring was flourishing around him.

However, the sudden smell of fresh roses invaded his senses and he was pulled back from his mind and looked around the crowd that walked alongside him but were unaware of his mundane existence.

Many people surrounded him. Many people continued their paths while he stood rooted to the ground. The scent so soft and calming it made his heart skip a beat without thinking about it. But the feeling was lost before he could fully grasp it. Something clawed at his heart to search for such a unique scent, to go after the person who owned it but the idea dissipated from his mind like fog in a spring morning as someone bumped his shoulder softly and Jungkook was forced to continue moving with the crowd who carried him away of his very first taste of spring.

You stared out of the window of your car, your chin rested over your knuckles as you lost yourself in your thoughts. You noticed the beautiful cherry blossoms have already bloomed, spring has arrived sooner than you thought. But despite the mesmerising view outside of your car, you felt nothing about the pink petals that signalled a new season has started.

Almost as if your heart was frozen. Many called you that. Ice Queen. For people have rarely ever seen you smile. As if it was physically harmful for you to do so. The public always had its eye on you given that you were the only and beautiful daughter of a very important politician, your life was surely of entertainment to the media.

"Did you check the files I sent you yesterday?"

Hoseok, your best friend and personal assistant, spoke next to you. His voice brought you back from your thoughts. You turned to look at him with that emotionless expression he had already gotten used to as you spoke with a dry voice.

"Of course. If I'm going to buy something, I inform myself well, Hoseok. You already know the drill."

He sighed, opening his phone as he checked a new message from your father.

"Is there anything that caught your eye?"

You took a deep breath, your fingers playing with the bracelet you never took off as you spoke with that same bored tone he honestly hated in you. Not because Hoseok had come to terms with it meant he liked it. He had once heard your beautiful laughter. Your precious smile was enough to illuminate a whole room. But that had been long ago. Many years had passed since those golden days. Days when you didn't have responsibilities, when there were no explicit expectations. Days when you both were only children.

"I want to see the paintings. The Gyeongdong Dynasty is known for their magnificent art but I won't be convinced until I see such art pieces with my own eyes."

Hoseok sighed yet again. If he got a dollar for every time he sighed these days he'd already be rich.

"Stubborn as ever."

He muttered under his breath and you turned around to look out of the window, hiding the minuscule smirk that threatened to break over your cherry red lips.

The car stopped in front of the Leeum Museum. You looked at the building, hearing how Hoseok stepped out of the car, just as your driver. Your best friend walked around the car and opened the door for you. With graceful movements you stepped out as well and stood tall on your ground as Hoseok closed the door behind you.

"I'll call you when we’ll be getting back."

Hoseok spoke to the driver, the older man bowed down at you both before he got in the car again and drove off. You stood in front of the museum, admiring the beautiful architecture. Soft wind made your hair fly slightly as you began walking to the castle of arts with Hoseok trailing behind you.

A sudden melancholy filled your heart with each step you took towards the building. As if you had been missing something and were only about to find it. It clawed at your heart and you shuddered at the feeling. Suppressing it as the double doors opened for you and you entered the elegant and modern museum, wanting to stay and leave at the same time.

"Today Miss Lee will be visiting us for her purchase, Jungkook."

Yoongi spoke as he leaned back on his office chair while twirling a pen between his fingers. Jungkook nodded, hands clasped in front of him as he listened attentively.

"She is an extremely special client, one of our main buyers. I am trusting you to tend to her every need. Don't mess with her. Let her roam around and when she decides what artefact she'd want to buy, bring her here. I'll sign the paperwork."

Jungkook looked at his boss and friend with curiosity in his big doe eyes.

"Is there anything specific I should know about her?"

Yoongi sighed deeply, twirling his chair a bit to the right as he looked outside the beautiful gardens of the elegant museum.

"You really don't follow the media, do you? Miss Lee (y/n) is known to have a very difficult temper. She has never been seen smiling and her attitude is as cold as ice, according to netizens. Don't follow her too closely, don't even look her in the eyes. We can't lose such an important purchaser as her."

"I understand."

Jungkook reassured with firmness in his voice, feeling something oddly familiar at the mention of the stoic woman's name. Something within himself he wasn't quick enough to grasp.

"You may go, she is expected to arrive any minute now."

The younger man nodded, bowing softly before he left the classy and minimalist office. Jungkook descended the marble staircase that led to the offices above only to come face to face with Jung Hoseok himself.

"Mr. Jung."

He acknowledged. Hoseok turned to look at Jungkook before a warm smile appeared on his delicate and beautiful features.

"Ah, you must be Jeon Jungkook, right?"

The latter nodded, extending his right hand forward. Hoseok shook his hand firmly before the both men began walking back to the gallery.

"I apologise. I wasn't notified when Miss Lee arrived. I'd like to introduce myself to her."

Jungkook spoke with professionalism in his deep voice. Silently earning Hoseok's silent approval about the younger man.

"Of course. I left her in the ancient relics hall. Let's go there, shall we?"

You had ventured on your own when Hoseok left you to search for the man who was going to accompany you and assess you in your purchase. You didn't pay him much thought as he disappeared around the corner, leaving you alone in the large and beautiful house of arts.

Your feet carried you through the halls, your heels clicking in the marble floors and echoing among the walls that told centuries of history.

The exhibition of the Gyeongdong Dynasty was one the public have been waiting for a long time now. Curious as ever as to what item were you to purchase as preservation of cultural treasure as per your father's own political project.

There was something terribly familiar about the artefacts you saw kept in glass boxes. Historical treasures were kept intact, there was jewellery from noble families and even the royal families of the dynasty that were managed to be restored.

Paintings, clothes, old parchments, vases and even toys were all around the place. You walked over to the hallway where the artefacts of the royal families were kept. Ignoring the heaviness in your steps, the sourness in your heart, the odd feelings that clawed at your heart.

A big glass wall allowed you to witness the mesmerising view of the gardens, cherry blossoms in all their resplandor bloomed at the very background, pink petals decorated the outer grounds and a small fountain was at the centre of the small yet lovely garden that you felt a sudden urge to go to.

You watched it in silence. The soft and pink petals falling behind you with delicate motions. Spring had arrived. But your heart was frozen. Cold as it missed something you yearned for yet didn't know what it was or how to find it. An empty feeling that had lived within you for as long as you can remember.

With a sigh, you forced yourself to avert your eyes from the garden and focus back on the artefacts around the big room. You watched replicas of the dynasty's royal robes. A dress colour orange picked your attention the most, perhaps for its intriguing details or beautiful tailoring. Maybe because of the extravagant colour but you found yourself staring at it for quite some time. A heaviness weighing your heart down as you forced yourself to move forward from the dress you knew once belonged to a princess.

You passed the row of robes and dresses in glass cages, focusing on the paintings hanging on the walls with their respective description below.

First family of the Gyeongdong Dynasty.

Second family of the Gyeongdong Dynasty.

Third family of the Gyeongdong Dynasty.

And so on. It was mostly a man and a woman in the painting, some had children others did not. And you guessed they were the kings and queens of the long lost dynasty that brought the land to prosperity before the Goryeo dynasty started.

You stopped in front of a painting of a man and a woman, both quite beautiful in the art piece. The woman in the painting was holding a baby in her arms and you couldn't help but tilt your head slightly at the strange familiarity you felt towards the beautiful portrait.

There were no names of the people in the painting, the Gyeongdong Dynasty had suffered quite the loss of information when the palace caught fire during the last family of the bloodline. However, you couldn't stop staring at the woman in the portrait. You didn't know why, but it almost felt as if you were watching yourself in a mirror.

You felt as if you resembled her, as if your soul recognised her even when you hadn't seen such a portrait before. The man however made you nostalgic over their sad story.

According to the description of the painting, the man and the woman were married and had a son but she had died of a heart disease. He never remarried and historians said the queen was deeply loved by her husband.

The more you looked at the painting, the heavier your heart felt. It was a family portrait. A family portrait that told a sad story. It made your heart clench in your chest and you took a step back, as if the painting was cursed by the heavens and you had to walk away from it.

Perhaps you needed to stop taking that herbal tea Hoseok always pestered you to drink on an empty stomach.

You felt your stomach sink when you saw the next painting. You recognised the man from the last portrait. The young king. His queen was by his side in the large throne hall and all the officers stood in front of the throne in line. You saw a man, standing next to the queen that wore dark robes and had rough and large hands clasped in front of him.

It felt as if you were dreaming. Watching a movie or remembering something you had forgotten as images flooded in your mind and you found yourself drowning in the violent waters that was the mind.

---

A soft smile was plastered over your features while still facing him. However, he ignored what you said and commented, his voice a bit more distant than before.

"You will trip if you walk like that."

It was a statement rather than a possibility and that had you frowning up at him. If he was going to be like this then your little trips to the city and nearby villages were going to be a bit dull, at least until you got to your desired destination.

"I won't! I don't lik-"

But your sentence got cut off when, just as he predicted, you tripped with a small rock. You gasped when you felt your body being pulled down to the ground by gravity, the heavy skirts of your dress not allowing you to gain back your footing.

It was only when you felt a firm hand grasping yours and a pull over your body when you were back on your feet.

"I told you you would trip over."

Officer Jeon said, his voice cold and distant but you were able to catch a tinge of humour behind his words. A soft blush painted your cheeks when you realised he was still holding your hand in his surprisingly warm one.

Out of a sudden you felt shy, retrieving your hand from his grasp and taking a couple of steps away from him as you hadn't noticed just how close the two of you were a mere second ago.

"That... that was- it wouldn't... aish. I don't like for people to walk behind me, I feel like I'm being followed. Just... just do me the favour, could you? Just walk next to me, I promise you won't get in trouble."

He sighed, looking around before agreeing with a silent nod.

"And, thanks by the way. For not letting me fall down."

He bowed slightly, the both of you continuing your path down to the city.

"I was just doing my work, Princess."

You had to bite down on your lip to keep the smile from shining all over your face. He indeed took that vow to heart. You thought. Looking up at him, you noticed just how handsome your personal guard was and a warm sensation spread all over your body.

"So... tell me. What's your name? How would you like me to call you?"

Your question made him look down at you for a split second but you continued to watch him with curiosity. If he was going to always be with you, at least you could be friends?

"I am the First Officer of the Royal Guards, Jeon Jungkook. You can call me as you please, My Lady."

Jeon Jungkook.

---

"Thank you for coming with me to the city."

He bowed down at you, not saying a word. When he straightened back up he was met with the sight of you holding a small bag towards him.

"You can have them, you looked like you wanted some of them. I won't be able to finish them all anyway."

Jungkook took the bag from your hand hesitantly, his fingers brushing yours for a split second before the contact was broken.

"I appreciate your generosity, Princess. Rest well."

You smiled a little wider at him, your hands clasping in front of you.

"You rest as well, Jungkook."

With that being said you entered your room, sliding the door shut. Only when Jungkook saw that you had closed the door did he begin walking back to his own room.

---

"You have good skills but your posture can be improved."

At Jungkook's words you lifted your gaze, meeting his dark brown eyes with your own once more. He gestured towards your bow with his chin and asked, his voice gentle like a summer breeze.

"May I?"

You nodded, handing him your bow. The warmth of his fingers brushed yours and you had to bite back a smile. He crouched down and picked up the arrow that had fallen from your grasp a moment ago.

Jungkook positioned himself and you watched his every move.

"You are too tense while holding the bow, if your hold is firm but at the same time gentle it will give you stability."

You listened carefully to his explanations as your eyes were glued to him and for the first time since he became your personal guard were you able to admire him. Properly admire him.

Your gaze landed on his focused face, on how his eyes were put on the target mark and nothing else. Then, you travelled to his lips and marvelled on the way he was pulling back the arrow until it touched the corner of his lips softly. His jawline was defined as if it had been sculpted by the gods.

His broad shoulders carried years of training and you could see how his muscles could be traced even with more than one layer of clothing. His veiny hands held the bow and the arrow with expertise and you found yourself trapped in a trance in which only Jungkook existed.

He fired the arrow, hitting the target in its centre. You looked amazed at the clean shot he did and he commented, giving you back your bow.

"Would you like to try again, Princess?"

You nodded and took the bow. Jungkook walked where the rest of the arrows were and picked one up. He handed it to you and you took it softly from his grasp. You positioned the arrow and prepared yourself to shoot.

You silently gasped when you felt a large hand over your left one, the one holding the bow and it took you less than a second to realise it was Jungkook who was guiding you. You smelled his scent from behind you and felt the light pressure of his body at your back but it wasn't uncomfortable, on the contrary, you felt safe being this close to him. It was... Soothing, to say the least.

"You need to relax your hand a bit more."

Following his instructions, he smiled.

"Good, now take a deep breath. Straighten up a bit more and concentrate."

You did as you were told, closing your eyes and relishing in the comfort Jungkook provided. The warm feeling of his hand over yours was nearly overwhelming. The moment you opened your eyes again, the only thing you could focus on was the target. Letting go of the arrow, it travelled through the air with a mute noise and landed directly on the mark.

A gasp left your lips and Jungkook let go of your hand just as you turned around and looked up at him. Your smile showed pure happiness, a happiness he was responsible for and for some reason, that settled a spark of proudness in his chest.

---

"I care for you, Princess."

You closed your eyes, letting the tears fall freely down your cheeks.

"You can't."

Whispered words reached his ears. Making his heart shake with the need to hold you, promise you that it was going to be alright.

"But I do."

You opened your eyes, looking at Jungkook through blurry vision. His eyes were filled with tears and you felt an ache in your heart at the sight of his tears.

"You weren't supposed to. You were only meant to protect me, Jungkook. That's it, nothing else."

He sighed, his eyes lowering to your trembling hands resting on your lap. He had a sudden urge to hold them. To hold you. To comfort you.

"I know. Love is blind, Princess. No-one gets to choose."

---

Your eyes were locked with his, not daring to break the eye contact that was grounding your thoughts, in a way at least.

"I'm begging you to put yourself in my shoes, it is not correct for me to write to you in such a way. Your fiancé is in the palace and you could get in trouble if someone finds out."

The way he said "you could get in trouble" not "me", not "we". It was you who he was worried about. His heart feared for you and the fact of such care brought tears to your eyes.

"It is not appropriate, Your Highness."

He bowed slightly at you, a lump forming in your throat as realisation hit you. You were losing him. You were losing the only man who could ever own your heart. The man you cared for over everyone else. The man you loved. You were losing your Jungkook but, was he really yours to begin with?

You could never claim yourself as his so no, he wasn't yours. He wasn't yours to love and care, he wasn't yours to be with you out of what was needed to be.

You took a deep breath, holding your head high and swallowing the lump in your throat. You were never going to say you loved him, you weren't going to put yourself in such pain. You didn't want his pity. The misery it'd come afterwards.

"You are right,"

This time, Jungkook flinched at your tone. Your words were void of any emotion, a sound that he used to know was as warm like the summer days felt now cold like winter.

"it is not right for us to write to each other. It will not happen again."

Even though that was what his mind desired for you to say, his heart hurt at your words. As if someone had just stabbed him directly in the heart. Your words had such an impact on him. Not because you were the Crown Princess but because he loved you. He loved you with all his body, soul and mind. He loved you more than love itself. But he knew the cruel reality. Jungkook knew that you both could never be together.

---

"Yes. You?"

He nodded. Not hearing the commotion from before. The intruders had been defeated by the remaining palace guards. He could hear Yoongi talking to the king about investigating the bloodbath that had just occurred in the throne room.

Jungkook looked down at you. The hand that once rested on your shoulder travelled down your arm until his fingers locked with yours, holding your hand and giving it a firm squeeze in reassurance.

But the moment was short-lived. The moment in which you lost yourself in his dark orbs and relished in the feeling of his touch as innocent and reassuring as was to hold your hand.

You saw, in a matter of milliseconds how his eyes shifted from you to something standing behind you. His sword clanked to the floor and his hand left yours, leaving it cold once more. You suddenly found yourself in his arms as he twisted you both. Being him who's back faced the entrance way.

You gasped at the motion. But nothing could have been worse than the pained groan he let out a mere second after he spun you around.

Tears gathered in your eyes when you saw one of the remaining intruders holding a bow, pointing it at you. Your eyes widened when you saw an arrow had pierced him on the back.

"Jungkook!"

He began to slump forward and you did your best to ease his fall. The hand that held the bow you had used to defend yourself clattered to the floor as you knelt on the ground, while Jungkook nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck.

Jimin, who stood next to the entrance way, had seen everything unfold before his eyes. He was quick to run towards the last intruder and kill him with his own sword before he turned back to you and watched how you held Jungkook in your embrace.

"Jungkook! Stay awake, you have to stay awake! Do you hear me? Jungkook!"

---

“I just remembered,”

He stood up, his hands leaving your grasp and you felt them cool down without the warmth of Jungkook’s large hands over your own. Your gaze followed him while he searched in one of his drawers until he pulled something out and walked back to you. 

“I made you something for your birthday but with everything that happened, I never got the chance to give it to you.”

You were glad you were sitting, if not, you would have probably fainted with the amount of love you had for this man. Had he really made you something despite the terms you were in before the engagement ceremony? Did he really love you that much?

Of course he did. 

When Jungkook loved, he loved with all his heart. And right now, you were the owner of that heart of his. He gave it to you without a second thought and his little actions kept proving it to you over and over again. He grabbed your left wrist and you looked down, watching as he tied a red braided bracelet around your skin. He tightened it with the perfect amount of force, tight enough for it to not fall but not that strong that it would hurt your precious skin. 

“Do you like it?”

You couldn’t take your eyes off his gift. It was a beautifully braided bracelet with small pearls in it. 

“It’s perfect.”

You whispered. Afraid that if you spoke any louder the moment would be ruined. His heart skipped a beat with your words.

“No-one has ever given me such a beautiful gift. Thank you, Jungkook.”

He scratched the back of his neck, clearing his throat and looking away. But you were having none of that so you, once more, grabbed his hand and made him look at you. Your (e/c) eyes met his big doe ones and you said, with tears prickling at the corner of your eyes.

“Thank you, Jungkook. For everything.”

He smiled, a warm smile that made butterflies go wild in your stomach. 

“You are very welcome, my princess.”

---

"Aren't you cold?"

That voice he enjoyed so much reached his ears, making him look up at you. He smiled. Shutting the book as his arm rested next to him. Your feet crunched the snow below as you made your way towards him.

"Not really, princess. I kept myself busy."

You smiled. Looking up at him as your hands clasped themselves in front of you.

"Aren't you cold, Your Highness?"

His voiced concern made your heart flutter. You feared he could hear just how fast your heart was beating inside your chest.

"No, I just came from taking a walk with the Crown Prince."

Jungkook kept his gaze on you yet you were aware how something flashed in his eyes at the mention of your future husband. It was there in those dark orbs you loved to get yourself lost into, a second in which he let his emotions take control over him. Where he was vulnerable to your watchful eyes.

But it was gone as you blinked. He gave you no time to question whatever you had seen in his gaze as he asked you next.

"Are you ready for your wedding day?"

The atmosphere turned sombre. As if clouds had hidden the sun of a summer day during tea time. Soft snowflakes began falling from the darkening skies in a soft motion. Delicately even.

"You know I'm not. How could I?"

The smile that once adorned Jungkook's handsome features was now gone. A sad look covered his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that."

You took a deep breath. The little bubble of happiness and freedom he provided was now popped and you were brought to the harsh reality. You didn't say anything but you could feel his eyes on you as the both of you walked slowly through your private gardens.

The playful and innocent mood like a summer breeze had been clouded by the cold winds of winter. Of reality.

---

"You came."

You breathed out. Not really believing he was standing there, in front of you when you were literally getting married tomorrow.

"You called."

Jungkook answered. A fond smile was painted over his pink lips. His eyes twinkled with happiness upon seeing you. His hand reached forward in an unconscious manner. But he paused his motion before his palm graced your cheeks with his loving touch.

He lowered his arm and cleared his throat. Speaking once more to break the silence that fell between you two.

"I will not ask how you managed to send that note to me, Princess."

You let out a short laugh, blessing his ears with such a pure sound. A melody his heart cherished more than life itself.

"I have my ways, Officer Jeon."

He snorted at that, his frame relaxing in your presence as he leaned his side to the tree. His eyes never leave your own.

"Can't you call me by my name, Jungkook? Just once?"

Your plea made his eyes harden. You asked for the impossible but you desired more than oxygen to hear your name in his voice. That sweet voice that lived in your mind rent-free. That would console you in your memories when you were sad and would bring a smile upon your face in the most random times of the day.

"I cannot, Your Highness. It is against His Majesty's order to address you improperly."

You frowned.

"Even if I am asking you that?"

He sighed. A hand running though his dark hair. How you wished you could run your own hands through his locks. You could bet on your life they were as soft as cotton.

"I can't, princess. I'm sorry."

Silence stretched between you both. Somehow, the air felt colder, breathing got more challenging upon your rejected request.

"Why did you want to see me? Did you miss me that much?"

Jungkook said, trying to lighten the mood. A playful smirk over his lips. You looked up at him, your eyes as transparent as the lake's water; revealing your soul.

"I don't know if you'll want to speak to me after I say what's been on my mind for the last two days."

He lifted an eyebrow at your response. Curiosity got the best of him as he took a step away from the tree, now standing fully in front of you. The soft snow continues to dance around you.

"It can't be that bad, now can it? Just tell me, Princess."

You took a deep breath, your pulse quickening. This was it. The opportunity to speak your mind. To reveal your most intimate desire to him.

"I don't want to get married, Jungkook. I don't want to marry the Crown Prince. Jimin is worthy of the throne but... I don't love him."

He remained silent. His eyes turned from playful to serious the moment you mentioned your marriage. And he listened. He listened with all his attention to each word that left your lips.

"I can't marry a man I don't love. I want... I want to be with you. It is you who I want to marry, to spend the rest of my time with. Only you can make me happy, Jungkook and it breaks my heart every time I am reminded you won't be at the other end of the altar tomorrow."

Tears began to cloud your vision. But you tried to blink them back. This was what you had been trying to say to him. Yet your most desired thing in the word was still to get revealed.

"I want to leave, I want to leave this place, Kookie. I don't want to be a princess if it means I cannot be yours entirely. I burn for you, in every extent of the word. I cannot breathe when you are not near, I cannot think when I cannot see you close to me. You are everything to me."

A lump began forming in his throat. He felt exactly the same. Jungkook was glad you spoke of this first, you revealed your soul to him, your thoughts, your heart. You needed him. You lived with him, for him. It'd be a pointless life if you couldn't share it with him, he saw that now.

But the surprise when he heard you next couldn't be hidden even if he had wished to do so.

"I want to run away with you, Jungkook. "

---

"What are you doing outside at this hour, Jungkook?"

He untangled his hands from behind him and let them rest by his side, his eyes never leaving yours. Not knowing how his gaze alone was enough to make your heart thump wildly inside you.

"I couldn't sleep. I'll assume you are here because of the same reason."

You nodded, he took a step forward and your breath hitched in your throat. The action of inhaling was already painful as the air was cold, as cold as your neglected heart. Was he really going to take the risk of being this close to you? Another step. Perhaps he was. Then another. He certainly was.

It wasn't until he stood so close to you that you could feel his warm breath dust over your cold cheeks that you silently gasped and took a step back on instinct.

If anyone saw you both, there'd be problems. You didn't want that, not for Jungkook at least.

"And because I missed you. I had to see you. You do not only own this kingdom, you own my heart too and I couldn't live another day without seeing you, my Queen. For you are the one who rules my heart and soul."

You savoured the way his sweet words sprinkled your sour soul with sugar. It was delicious. To think that you were his, that he loved you, that he thought of you, dreamed of you. That he wanted you, perhaps even more strongly than how you wanted him.

You allowed yourself to drown in his sweet words. If only for a moment. Just a moment. A minute. A second would suffice. You didn't ask for more. You didn't want more. The only thing that you needed was his love and he gave it to you on a silver tray.

"Do you really want me that much?"

He nearly flinched at the way your voice was so soft, delicate even. Carrying emotions that were only reflected in your eyes.

"I want you with every fibre of my body and I can't stop thinking about that day. The day when you wanted to leave this place, I only want you to know that if the circumstances had been different, I would have escaped with you but taking you with me only meant death. I would rather die every day for not having you by my side than being the reason for your demise. I love you too much to do that to you."

You didn't realise you were crying until he reached his hand to wipe the tears but you took a step back. Hurt flashed in his eyes and that alone was enough for more tears to roll down your cheeks.

"You can't touch me, Jungkook. Not without the King's permission. Not even in an innocent way."

Your mumbled words reached his ears and he lowered his hand, he clenched it in a tight fist by his side but you didn't notice. Not when your eyes were glued to his own.

"And I understand why you didn't run away with me. I love you too much to get you killed. I'm so sorry I even proposed it on the first place."

His own eyes reflected the sadness in his soul in the form of tears. They glistened under the moonlight, little tears that he refused to let go; to set free.

"Do you really want me that much?"

A question you had already asked. A question he had already answered.

"Do you really want me that much, Jungkook? Even when I am another man's woman?"

He had to physically hold himself back so as to not take another step towards you. It pained him. His feet ached. His heart ached. It was painful to have you so close yet so far away at the same time yet he knew it had been like that since those warm summer days. Since the very beginning of the forbidden love story you developed with your royal guard.

Even when I am another man's woman...

Those words would repeat themselves in his head until the end of his days. A tear rolled down Jungkook's cheek, the chilly air hitting him and making him shiver.

You weren't his. Not anymore. You had never been his. At least not in this lifetime.

"You could never be tainted for me. You are and will always be perfect to hold my heart in your hands. And in our next life you will be mine, and if not in our next one or our next one after that. "

---

"Congratulations, Your Majesty."

Your steps halted when you heard his voice. A big banquet was held to announce your pregnancy to the village. Your father had come to bless you himself, he even told you he'd be staying during the last trimester of the pregnancy as he didn't want to miss the moment his grandchild were to be born.

You could only smile at that thought. But a gulp in your throat upon hearing that voice dissipated the thought, like fog when the sun came out. You turned around, eyes meeting with Jungkook's dark orbs.

A soft smile graced your lips yet he noticed how it didn't reach your eyes.

"Thank you, Jungkook."

There were so many things unsaid between you both. But have words ever been enough? He could see the sadness in your soul, the remorse, the longing and the love that existed in you. How Jungkook wished to go back to those summer days when everything was perfect, when you were happy along with him. When there existed no such barrier between you two of you being married to another man.

You could see it too, how his posture was tense, his eyes sharp with swirling storms of emotions in his dark gaze. You felt the yearning, the pain, the heartbreak from his part. And it crushed your heart even more for you knew he loved you but Jungkook couldn't step closer to you. Literally and figuratively.

He didn't know what else to say, all the courage he had managed to gather in the ceremony was gone now. Leaving him standing before you. His Queen; owner of his heart.

"I do not wish for this encounter to be like the last one, my queen. I only hope that you find the happiness you deserve for I cannot express how proud I am of you. Your child will resemble you in many ways, I am sure of it."

You wanted to run to him, hold his hand and wipe the tears that threatened to escape his eyes. But you could not. Dare not step such boundaries for his sake.

"You must find your happiness too, Jungkook. Live your life and live it right so that we can meet in our next lifetime."

---

A sharp pain made you gasp as your knees hit the floor, your dress puffing out around you. Jungkook was by your side the next second, concern was written all over his face while worry filled his eyes.

"Your Majesty, what's wrong? Please, talk to me."

You took a deep breath between your gasps and whimpers. Your hand grabbed his in your pain-induced mind, trying to ground yourself onto something, someone.

"I-It hurts... Jungkook, it h-hurts."

Your water broke the next second but you felt as if there was something wrong, this was not how a natural birth was supposed to start.

"Please... something's wrong. It- it hurts so much."

Tears gathered in your eyes as you tried to suppress the scream that threatened to escape your throat. You felt him let go of your hand, positioning his arms beneath your kneeling figure only to be lifted by him the next second.

Your arms circled his neck on instinct as you curled yourself in his hold. Jungkook began walking back to the palace at a fast pace, the weight of your body grounded his mind while at the same time numbed his senses. If you hadn't been in so much pain at that moment you would have noticed how his hands were trembling.

"Hold on, my Queen. You'll be fine, I'm here. It's alright."

He cradled you against his chest firmly, not wanting to let you go ever again now that you were in his arms. His heart feared for your safety, you were only eight months pregnant by now, he knew the risks of pregnancy and Jungkook knew he wouldn't be able to live if something were to happen to you.

Tears soaked his robes, your hand fisted his collar. Your small whimpers were like poisonous needles piercing his heart. It hurt. It pained him to see you in so much distress.

"Hold on, love. Please."

---

"You called for me, Your Majesty."

He bowed down at you and you sighed, realising how much you hated when he bowed at you when you'd go on your knees with only a word falling from his lips. He had that power over you. That way to command you. To make you feel.

"Jungkook."

The man before you lifted his gaze and your eyes met his once more. Had it been within any other circumstances, you'd have smiled and ran toward him. How you wish you could embrace him, how you wish you could kiss him and declare your love for him. How you wish you could love him freely.

You were sitting between blankets and cushions, taking rest after the hard labour. The prince lied next to you as he slept soundly while being wrapped up in luxurious fabric.

"I haven't seen you in a while."

He smiled. Not that smile that reached his eyes or that warmed your insides. It made you shiver with the sadness within it. Like a cold breeze on a winter day.

"I was told you were to rest, my Queen. Captain Min ordered me to give you some space, at least until you are feeling better."

You smiled, gesturing for him to sit in front of you, which he did. A moment of silence passed between you both. Your gaze lingered on his handsome features, drawing a map of him in your mind.

"I missed you."

He sighed at your whispered confession. Those words clawed at his heart with nothing but a heavy guilt that existed within him.

"My Queen... please."

You took a deep breath at his pleading, his begging. You looked aside as your heart constricted in your chest.

"Forgive me."

He looked at you with eyes full of emotions you weren't quick enough to grasp. Why must love hurt so much? Jungkook shifted his gaze from your figure, focusing on the little bundle where the prince, your son, slept peacefully.

"Congratulations on your baby. May prince Ha-joon live a long and happy life with his family."

---

"Kook!"

Ha-joon had said. Your hands felt cold against the warm cup, your soul froze when you looked up. There he was. Jeon Jungkook. You hadn't seen him in days. And before today there were only small peaks here and there followed by short greetings.

Jungkook turned to look at you, your eyes met his from across the garden. You felt your breath hitch in your throat at the mere sight of him. Your hands trembled around the cup, forcing you to put it away.

He bowed down at you slowly yet his eyes never left yours. Emotions invaded your body as you stood up from your chair. Hoseok noticed your actions and sat up, Ha-joon left his side and ran with his little legs where Jungkook was.

Your royal guard smiled down at your son and Hoseok stood up from the ground, walking the steps to where you stood.

"Your Majesty, are you alright? You look pale, should I walk you to your chambers?"

But you shook your head, your eyes following Jungkook's figure as he approached you with Ha-joon by his side. The little prince was telling him something that you couldn't hear and he smiled widely. Flashed him that bunny smile you loved so much and had missed just as fiercely.

Jungkook bowed down at you once he stood in front of you. Ha-joon looked up at the man next to him and mimicked his actions. Your heart clenched at the sight. Having the man you loved and your child who was your husband's son before you was too much for your heart.

It clenched inside you, it burned, it ached.

"Your Majesty."

Jungkook acknowledged you. You nodded softly at him and he rose to his full height. Ha-joon doing the same.

"Kook! Play, together."

Hoseok watched the interaction from where he stood. His own heart clenched at the sight of your hidden pain. You have always been an open book for your best friend. You had been able to hide your love from your father, even from your husband but not from Hoseok. He had known you his entire life. He knew you, he knew the core of your heart. He knew your unspoken words. He knew.

"Only if the queen allows it, my prince."

Jungkook's eyes found yours once more. A sad smile painted his lips. Ha-joon was a clear resemblance of you but also of his father and Jungkook was reminded once more of what he had lost the day you married Jimin. Of that dream that he wished would become his reality was instead a mountain of ashes. Of burnt dreams and wishes.

You smiled tightly at the pair in front of you, not wanting to deny sweet Ha-joon of his free days and innocent happiness.

"You may play, but please be careful."

---

"Jungkook."

His name coming from your lips was the sweetest melody he has ever heard. He had missed it. He had missed you. His eyes locked with yours and he nearly gasped at the sight of you laying on the soft bedding, your skin was paler than usual, your eyes were tired and your body was beyond weakened.

"Your Majesty."

He acknowledged you. Bowing softly at you without tearing his gaze from you. He saw you shift in your position, laying on your left side so you could see him properly. You smiled and in an instant his dark world was lightened by your existence. 

"Come closer, Jungkook. Come here."

Your hand extended towards him as if trying to reach him. He couldn't hold himself back any longer upon your innocent request as his legs moved with a mind of their own. Nearly jumping until he was kneeling by your side, his hand holding yours ever so softly.

“I heard… I heard that you are sick, my Queen. Is it true?”

Jungkook asked almost shyly. Not meeting your eyes as his own gaze was fixed on your joined hands. 

“It is.”

He sighed at your response. Feeling how his heart clenched within him. Tears watered his dark eyes and a lump grew in your throat at the sight of his sadness. 

“Don’t cry, Jungkook. Don’t waste your tears over me.”

He looked up at you, his expression hurt with your words. A frown was between his brows, eyes watered with his materialised sadness and a soul that he could no longer carry on his own. 

“How can you say that to me? I am dying with you, my Queen. Only you are capable of causing me the greatest pain yet it is you who eradicates it as well.”

You squeezed his hand, feeling your chest aching. Your mind was shutting down as you gazed at the man you loved with your entire being. 

“Forgive me.”

He shook his head, refusing to let his tears roll down his cheeks as his eyes roamed over your face as if trying to memorise all your little details in his mind. 

“It is I who should beg for forgiveness. I cannot protect you from this, I have failed you. I cannot prevent you from leaving me.”

A tear left the corner of your eye as you looked at him with so many unsaid things and raging emotions you were never able to pour out. It was too much. Too much love. Too much longing. Too much sadness. Too much anger. Your heart couldn’t take it any more.

“Maybe you can’t make me stay, but you gave me the opportunity of knowing what it was to love. Even when we couldn’t be together in the end, I still love you. I will always love you, Jungkook. In each… in each lifetime.”

—

A choked gasp left your lips as the memory dissipated from your mind like morning fog during a summer day. You didn't even realise you were crying until you sniffled and your hand came up to your face and your skin was wet with your own liquid sadness.

What kind of dream was this? What kind of cruelty had fate bestowed upon you? What kind of crime did you commit to feel this pain? You had loved, you had been loved only for it to melt like ice in those warm summer days when everything was perfect. You couldn't help the sob that escaped your lips as the realisation hit you:

You were the queen of the portrait. A representation of your old soul trapped in your past life as the unfortunate lover.

It wasn't a dream. It was a memory. Your memories from your past life and that love you were once denied to have. 

Hoseok was nearing the hall of ancient artefacts when his phone rang and he stopped in his tracks. Jungkook halted beside him and waited in silence.

"I'm sorry, I have to take this. I left Miss (y/n) at the end of this hall. You shouldn't have difficulty finding her."

Jungkook bowed softly, his warm eyes meeting the ones of Hoseok as he spoke in his professional voice once more.

"Don't worry, Mr. Jung. I'll do my best to assist her."

Hoseok nodded before he accepted the call and walked away, leaving Jungkook to sigh to himself before he ventured on the journey of finding the eccentric politician's daughter.

He walked among the centuries of history around him, through the halls that held art and a lost empire through time. Something about his line of work had always intrigued him. It made him wonder just how insignificant life was. Years, decades and centuries of history, of people that once walked on this Earth were now kept in glass boxes, a strange way of trying to preserve what should have died years ago.

It made him think about all the lives, all the deaths, all the heartbreaks from the past. All those untold stories buried in time. In every aspect, in every lifetime, in every way. It was simply melancholic to acknowledge all the history around him.

Jungkook walked, allowing his mind to wander as he thought of the beautiful politician's daughter. He thought of the times he had seen her, seen you in important events. Always looking so beautiful, always captivating the media. Always perfect, always next to your powerful father.

He reached the end of the hall but there was no sight of you. A sudden tightness gripped his heart fiercely, as if he were in pain, as if someone clutched his heart in its claws and it bled out.

As if on instinct, Jungkook walked to the royal hall. His feet moved on their own, his mind spiralled with all kinds of thoughts. With dream-like memories that he would have sworn were from one of those historical dramas he knew were popular among the hopeless romantics.

The sound of a sob echoed over the walls and it was as painful as being stabbed on the heart. He turned around with urgency only to spot you looking at a painting, your back was facing him while your left hand covered your mouth.

"Miss (y/n)?"

Your eyes widened when you heard that voice. That voice that was lost in your thoughts. That voice that was from your forgotten memories. That same voice that had broken your heart was now stitching it back together.

You turned around, your misty eyes met his in a dance of emotions you were, for once, able to dance along. Pink petals from the cherry blossoms in the garden behind fell slowly and when your eyes locked with Jungkook's he saw it as well.

He saw everything. All those memories, all those experiences. He saw his love. His sadness. His life. His reason for living. His flower. His darling. All in ancient history.

Jungkook saw his past life with you.

Like a movie in front of his eyes. A dream he wanted to reach. A memory he had promised to not forget but time was cruel and it was buried in the depths of his soul.

"Jungkook? It's you, isn't it?"

Your voice brought him back from his forgotten memories. He looked at you with a familiarity and a strangeness in his eyes. It was enough to make tears roll down your cheeks while his own eyes watered at the impossible sight before him.

"...princess? H-how?...."

You sobbed and he walked toward you. Unable to resist the sight of your tears. Perhaps this was the first time he met you in this lifetime but your souls have been in love for centuries. Your heart hadn't changed, his feelings remained the same. Love cannot be killed, not even by death.

He stood at arms length, eyes gazing down at you with the urge to know the truth. To know if you were that missing piece in his life. To know if this lifetime was worth-living.

"You found me. You said you'd find me."

Was this a dream? Was this a false memory? Was this real? He deeply needed for it to be real. Jungkook felt whole when he looked down at you. As if you were the missing piece for this puzzle called life. And you? You didn't know if he still wanted you. If Jungkook was your Jungkook. Your lost lover. Your forbidden romance. Your unfinished story.

"In every lifetime, princess."

His hand flexed next to him with the urge to touch you. To hug you and never let you go. To kiss you. To finally kiss you after all those denied moments he had before. To love you like he had dreamt long ago.

You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand and something on your wrist caught his attention. It was a subtle glimpse of a red string around your wrist and he knew, in that moment he knew.

"You still wear it huh?"

A smile appeared on your lips at the same words he had spoken to you. A long time ago. Once upon a dream. In another lifetime. And the same answer is what he got. The same words that you had replied to him. The answer to his lovely sentence.

"I never took it off."

He was referring to your red bracelet. Something you remember always having, never truly knowing how you got to possess such a beautiful item but it simply felt right to wear it. So you did, you never took it off. As if it was engraved in your skin, almost like Jungkook's name was written in your soul and his whispered love was locked away in your heart.

"Can... Can I hold you?"

There was desperation in his voice. It sounded almost bitter that it pulled on your heartstrings. You nodded almost immediately. Burning just as him to feel him once more, to touch the man you had missed for centuries. To be held by your one and only love.

You were in his arms the next second. His hands pressed you against his chest as your own circled his waist. A long lost hug. A missed love. A romance out of time. But it was a timeless love nonetheless.

Something clicked inside you once you were held by Jungkook. As if your heart had been filled with his life, as if your broken soul was stitched back with just his simple touch. As if memories had been unlocked after your skin touched his.

"I missed you. I missed you so much, queen of my heart."

His hold on you tightened and you couldn't help but bury your face in his chest. How he had wished to do this in his first lifetime. How he wished he had been able to hold you like this. How he wished he had had you before just like this.

All the pain was gone. The tears were dried by his love. His hands held your heart so softly and purely you didn't want to part from him. You couldn't. You wouldn't. You wouldn't let go of him like that once more. You weren't going to lose him again. Not after all that pain, all that heartbreak, all those tears and all that yearning. Not again. Never again.

"I missed you too. So much, so much..."

Jungkook rested his chin at the top of your head, closing his eyes as he held you softly but firmly. It made him wonder just how much time you had been robbed in your past life. He realised just how evil fate had been to break you both like that. To separate two lovers is the worst cruelty of this fallen world.

But now, those cold days are over. Winter had passed. Even after centuries of living buried in the freezing snow, warmth had finally touched his heart. The soft rays of the sun were melting his once frozen soul. Your love did that. Only with you was he able to live in warmth. Only with you existed that flame in his heart that kept him alive.

You looked up at him and he met your gaze midway. It was magical. To look at the eyes you had unknowingly missed so much. How your soul was mourning the loss of Jungkook, how your life was always grey and cold was now warm and coloured in pink. Like the petals falling behind you.

One of his hands cradled your cheek and you smiled. Your heart was beating wildly in your heart at the proximity, at the love, at the emotions that came flooding like a waterfall from the sky.

You stood on your tippy toes only to press your lips against his. It was soft, delicate. Like a spring breeze. A kiss full of love. A healing kiss. A kiss that should have happened a long time ago. Jungkook kissed you back, burning at the feeling of your soft lips against his.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss and you sighed, tightening your grip around his waist as he poured all those long lost emotions into that kiss. A kiss he had wished he could give you centuries ago. All the love, all the yearning, all the heartbreak, all the feelings of missing you, missing your warmth, your love, your touch, your existence were poured into that kiss.

A sealed kiss of timeless love.

"Don't ever leave me again."

He whispered against your lips. voice desperate with the promise of your love. Of your devotion. Of eternity.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Your answer was said in a soft voice, only meant for Jungkook to hear. He pressed his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes as he felt the memories slowly come back to him. During those golden summer days, rainy autumn evenings and cold winter nights. Everything about his life with you came back like a soft spring drizzle over his soul.

Perhaps fate had been cruel when he separated you from your Jungkook with death. But it now gave you the opportunity with your rightful lover. That soulmate you were destined to love since the very beginning of life.

Through life and death, only time gets in between. Through tears and pain, it is love that keeps the hope alive and through silent feelings and absent minds; it is time that keeps them together in a dance with a melody only meant for the tangled lovers to hear.

In every lifetime, in every way, in every universe and in every season. Love is stronger than death. 

February/16/2024

~Masterpost

Please let me know your thoughts in the comments, darlings!

**I do NOT give my consent for this or any of my works to be posted or translated into any other platforms or languages. 

[rays-of-fire-and-ice]

An Unwavering Light - Chapter One

Rating: T/Teen for violence (in certain chapters), coarse language, and mature themes, including ones about trauma and depression.

Setting: begins before the confrontation with Aizen and co. in Fake Karakura Town arc, and goes from there to the manga's end.

Music to listen to: Swan Song by Shiro Sagisu (YT | Spotify), Compassion by Shiro Sagisu (YT | Spotify) Recollection I (YT | Spotify), II (YT | Spotify), and III (YT | Spotify) by Shiro Sagisu, Spiritual Bond by Shiro Sagisu (YT | Spotify), Here to Stay by Shiro Saigsu (YT | Spotify), and Ceremony Commences by Shiro Sagisu (YT | Spotify).

Synopsis: During the confrontation against Aizen, the unthinkable happens. For Hitsugaya, a vow is broken, and for Hinamori, her future is unknown. With everything in shambles, how can they piece their lives back together? Or their bond?

AN: And so it begins. This has been years in the making, starting very close to when I first read BLEACH. Thank you to everyone who voted in my last poll, where the story of Toshiro and Momo's reconciliation was the winner.

For those who haven't been following me, this fic is primarily about how Toshiro and Momo reconcile after Aizen's defeat. While this will be a chaptered story, I aim to write most of these chapters as though they could be standalone fics, so if you haven't reach the previous chapter, you hopefully don't feel out of the loop.

This story will be a long one (at this stage, I’ve planned for about 20 chapters, but we’ll see how we go) and is based on this massive list of headcanons I wrote last year. It will include scenes from other fics I’ve written (and were inspired by/based on the headcanon list to an extent) but either from another character’s perspective or changed in some ways.

This first chapter was a hard one to write. I have never really explored what happened to Hinamori in the months leading up the Fake Karakura Town arc, but I knew it would involve coming to terms with her trauma and accepting, in part, that Aizen was not the man she thought. It would also involve her having to find the strength to go confront him on the battlefield. I hope I did her justice in this chapter.

Finally, the figurines Hinamori has in her room are based on these dolls from Usaburo.

With all of that out of the way, let's get started! I hope you all enjoy this!

Disclaimer: BLEACH and it’s character’s belong to Tite Kubo.

Next chapter >>

_____________________________

She was surrounded by darkness. She turned – or at least, thought she’d moved to turn – to search around her. She opened her mouth to speak to the void around her, but heard no voice come from her throat. There was nothing to feel, hear, smell or see.

Has she done it right? The instructor had warned her she may not get there until another few attempts.

Then, after a blink, something small and bright sprun to life. Even from the long distance she stood at, she knew it was flames, resembling a campfire. She frowned when she couldn’t see any wood or kindling burning, the fire simply burning on it’s own.

She’d always been wary of fire, especially when it was not one within a firepit or a lantern, but she knew in her gut this one was not like others. When the voice comes form the flames, a whisper that gradually becomes a call, she stepped towards it.

_________________________________________

The curtains flutter in the gentle breeze, brushing over the windowsill in slow, undulating waves. Outside, one the division’s zanjutsu instructors yells commands at those in his class, nearly obscuring the chirping of a nearby bird and the chattering of officers that pass by underneath the window.

Hinamori listens to all of this and watches the shadows of the curtains dance across her quilt. There’s something hypnotic about it, almost meditative.

She wants to stay in this trance, be lost in it for a few moments longer. Her head is heavy, but empty for once. She doesn’t let any particular thought stick or take hold, just lets it be vague and pass by until it fades, like the afterimage of a bright streak of light.

But one thought persists. A memory, too recent and fresh to forget. She let’s it go by, but it keeps coming back, trying to get her attention.

It’s a minute later when a leaf blows in, landing on the quilt, just below her knees. She frowns at it, and her furrow only deepens when another joins it. They’re different shades; one a golden brown, the other flame red. Autumn is here, but it only felt like summer yesterday.

She tries following the curtains’ shadows again, but the leaves broke her concentration, and the memory creeps closer and closer, until it’s all she reflects on.

Hitsugaya’s face comes to mind, eyes wide and lips parted, speechless at first. It had been the first time she’d properly seen him in weeks – not in streaks of color while rushing at him with her sword raised, or at a distance while following him to Central Forty-Six. Ad she's stood before the screen, sorrow and guilt had outweighed the small flutter of gratitude that he didn’t turn his back on her. The way his expression had softened to one of concern, it makes her heart ache just as much now as it did then.

He cared, even after everything she did against him, he cared.

When he’d told her, in his own way, that an apology for her actions wasn’t needed, she’d never felt so relieved in all her life. She wouldn’t blame him for not forgiving her, but she didn’t know what she’d do if he hadn’t. She dreaded the idea of them growing apart and becoming strangers to each other.

She’d never thought of a life without Hitsugaya, as if somehow he would always be there until the very end.

But then, she’d never thought of a life without Aizen either.

And it was this same way of thinking that had led her to asking Hitsugaya to not kill her captain – former captain, she tries to correct. Her request had broken what little peace there’d been between them, and she’d become so lost in trying to justify it to him and to herself she doesn’t remember how Hitsugaya’s face looked, nor did she notice Yamamoto cast hakufuku on her. When she next awoke, it was in her room, with Isane at her side.

With a deep breath in, one that lifts her shoulders and chest, some of that weight in her head shifts, coming forward to make her neck crane forward. She had been granted an opportunity to make things right, and she had wasted it.

Yet, for all of her guilt for her actions against Hitsugaya and others, and for the shame of losing control in front of the Captain Commander, she can’t shake off the belief Aizen never meant for any of this.

Someone had to be controlling him, or something must have overcome him and compelled him to turn his back on all of them. She knew him. She had been by side for most of the time she was his lieutenant. He had told her things some of the other officer never knew – his favorite books, about the house he grew up in, memories of his student years at the Academy, even his favorite stalls in the Junrinan. Surely he would never do something so harsh without a good reason. He’d always said that to fight for something right and good you sometimes had to go against the laws set up others, after all.

But it doesn’t stop it from making it right that he'd left her behind. How could he have left Fifth Division behind? Why had he?

A knock breaks her reverie. Her throat is coarse from heavy breathing, and her hands on verge of cramping from clutching her quilt.

“It’s Funai-kun and I, Lieutenant,” comes Takagaki’s voice from behind her door.

Hinamori shakes her head and clears her throat, trying to take out the nerves out of her tone. Then, she manages to lift her lips into a smile. “Come in.”

Takagaki slides the door open, allowing Funai to walk in with Hinamori's lunch on a tray. Both are Fifteenth seat in the Fifth Division. If they saw any of her previous anxiety, they didn’t betray it with their own polite smiles.

“I hope we didn’t disturb you,” Takagaki says, trailing into the room.

Hinamori shakes her head. “It’s all right, I was getting a little peckish actually.”

“Guess we came just in time,” Funai chuckles. “Takagaki-san here made your meal today.”

Takagaki looks away, a slight flush colouring her cheeks. “I’m not a great cook, not like others in the Division. I hope it tastes okay.”

“I’m sure it’ll taste great,” Hinamori reassures. “You’ve been taking lessons from Hanae-san from Tenth Division, right?”

Both Funai and Takagaki blink at that.

“Y-Yes,” Takagaki eventually answers. “It’s been me and a group of other seated officers. He’s taught us a lot since we started.” Her smile returns, now thoughtful. “Um…thank you for remembering, Lieutenant.”

Hinamori’s lips widen into a grin. She tries to remember small things about her subordinates, and she at least still has that ability with her now.

Takagaki nods to Funai. “I better get back to the kitchens. I’ll leave the rest to you.” Then, she bows to Hinamori. “I hope you enjoy your lunch, Lieutenant Hinamori. Please let me know if there’s anything not to your liking.”

“I doubt that will be the case. Thank you for preparing my meal.”

After Takagaki leaves the room and Funai starts to lower the tray, a stronger gust of wind blows through. It gives him pause; then, he spies the leaves. “Apologies, Lieutenant, I didn’t see them until now.”

“It’s all right. The wind is pretty strong, I suppose,” Momo offers lamely. “I should’ve picked them up before."

Funai only chuckles nervously and puts the tray on top of her set of drawers. He picks up the leaves and throws them back outside, then goes to lean forward and close the windows.

Hinamori raises a hand. “No, allow me. I should’ve done this earlier.” She pulls the quilt aside and angles over to the window. While pushing the curtains aside and closing the windows, she tries to ignore the disquiet stare boring into the back of her head. It’s as though she is a fragile vase, at risk of tipping over.

He’s being kind, she chastises to herself, he cares about you. Everyone here does.

Windows closed, she sits back again and Funai visibly relaxes.

“How is everyone?” Hinamori asks, trying to distract both herself and him. “I could hear one of the instructors out there before. Sounds like he’s working everyone hard.”

Funai retrieves her lunch and lays the tray over her lap. “He certainly is. Everyone is keen to learn, of course.” He shrugs. “Otherwise, it’s business as usual. I’m sure Isawa-san could fill you in on more details.”

Hinamori nods. After giving thanks for the meal, she takes up the chopsticks. “Have you been drawing or painting lately?”

The answering smile is similar to Takagai’s one from earlier. “Ah, no, not recently. I haven’t found much inspiration lately.”

Hinamori frowns while taking up a heap of rice. “I hope it’s not because of work.”

“Oh, no! Of course not!” The nervous edge to his voice says otherwise. “It’s just a dry time for my art, that’s all. I’ll find a bit of inspiration at when I have time, you know how it is.”

It takes everything within Hinamori to not let her mind wonder to the implication he’d unintentionally brought up. Still, her gaze briefly darts to the sketchbooks lining the bottom shelf of her bookcase. Something flickers across Funai's face, akin to a look of horror, but at her unfaltering smile, he manages to hide it with a clearing of his throat and looking off to the side. “A-Anyway, I’ll leave you be. I’m sure you’ll want to eat in peace, and I have to find Hirose-chan.”

Hinamori blinks at the honorific. Had they gotten closer? She has to resist the urge to grin, the previous pang of darkness falling back, while picking up a tamagoyaki. “Her gardening group, I suppose?”

“Yeah, just maintenance this time.” He gestures to the window. “Being autumn and all, not many plants we can put in the ground, I guess. Not that I know much about gardening.”

Hinamori chuckles. “That is for Hirose-san to know.” She bows her head at the same time he does. “Thank you for bringing me lunch. Please tell Takagaki-san it’s delicious.”

“I will.”

“And…”Hinamori raises her head. “I hope you find inspiration soon. Please remember to not strain yourself with work.”

Funai gives a tense nod. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Hinamori watches him leave, not returning to her meal until the door closes. She’s lost her appetite, but doesn’t want to leave the dishes empty. With the window closed, the orders of the zanjutsu instructor are muffled, the wind swooshes against the walls, and save for her chewing and the clinking over chopsticks to bowls and plates, all is silent in her room.

It leaves her with nothing to do by ruminate, and that all too familiar heavy haze sets back into her head.

__________________________________

You do not need pity.

The room is dark save for a thin beam of moonlight cast on the wall. It had been silent until now, and Hinamori can’t remember what she’d been thinking about for the last few hours.

She twists on to her left side, facing Tobiume. Her zanpakuto is propped up against the wall, next to her set of drawers, the hilt shining dully.

 It’s coming from a good place, Hinamori responds. They mean well, and they care.

Even so, pity is not what you need, Tobiume argues. They should see you as the leader now that he’s gone.

A pang runs through Hinamori’s chest. Even the implication of him hurts. I’m not fit to lead.

Because you haven’t done anything to change things! Simmering heat radiates of the blade. We need to do something, or else we’re stuck here!

“I know I should! You don’t have to…” Her eyes burn with the threat of tears. Tobiume has been more temperamental than usual in the last few days. You’re angry with me.

The heat falters, and gradually cools to a warmth like that off a candle. No, I’m not. I want to see you get better.

Hinamori sighs. Pushing her quilt aside, she slides out of bed and kneels before her weapon. She ignores how much effort all of her movements seem to take, as if someone had tied weights to her limbs.

“I’m sorry it’s taking me so long,” she rasps. “I want to get better, but I don’t know how. It’s all so confusing.” She stares down at her knees, her forehead almost touching Tobiume’s scabbard. “You’ve always been there for me, and I take it for granted.”

You’re stronger than you realise, master. Do not doubt your skills.

Hinamori shuts her eyes and remains silent. It feels like everything she had learned and improved on is gone, vanished like Aizen. It's as if he took them with him, and all that is left within her is everything weak.

This is why you do not need pity. You risk stewing in it. If you continue to lie here, your mind and skills will grow dull, but they’ll never vanish. You’re strong, and you can always be stronger, but you are still strong. You need to show them you are not broken.

Hinamori sighs wryly. “It wouldn’t be the truth though. How can I be strong when all I want is for everything to back to what it was before?”

And with that she stands and returns to her bed. Tobiume is silent for the rest of the night.

__________________________________

Aizen is always in her dreams. Sometimes they start with him as the benevolent captain she knew, then he morphs into the cold figure that stood over her while she bled out. Other time, he has morphed into something monstrous, grinning at her and telling her she’ll never leave him, that she’s too devoted to him.

Waking from these nightmares becomes less of a shock with each one.

__________________________________

“The gardens are looking great.”

Genji raises his head from the paperwork he holds. “Hm?”

Hinamori points out the window to the next courtyard over. “I’m guessing that’s Hirose-san and her group’s work. It looks like they removed some plants and trimmed the bushes.”

Genji smirks. “It took quite a bit of effort. I may have been dragged into it too.”

Hinamori chuckles for the first time in weeks. “She has a way of pulling us into it, doesn’t she?”

Setting aside her longing to be with her division members with a sigh, she turns back to Genji. Ever since she began her recovery, he would visit every few days, sometimes bringing her a meal, other times just to check in on her and converse about casual going-ons  happening around the division.

Today, however, she couldn’t help but be hopeful when he entered with the documents in hand. “Did you need me to look over those papers?”

“No,” Genji says, shaking his head with too much vigor. “These are just my notes from today’s Lieutenant’s meeting. I believe you should know what was discussed.”

“Oh…” Again, she has to set aside her disappointment, this time with a forced smile. “Then, please tell me.”

Genji shifts the chair – a new piece of furniture that’d come not long after it was decided she needed to rest and recover in her room -- closer to Hinamori’s bed and tilts the documents for both of them to see. As he speaks, he points to the relevant lines for her to read. “We have been asked to take on more surveillance in our jurisdiction. Given recent…events, the Captain Commander felt it was best to maintain a watchful eye over all areas of the Soul Society and World of the Living to ensure the Arrancars don’t breach any of the recent kido defenses we’ve put up.”

Hinamori frowns. “These numbers…he wants more than half of the Division’s performing these duties.”

Genji only nods.

“But what if they’re needed for…?” The thought of the impending conflict makes her stomach churn.

Genji sighs through his nose. “There hasn’t been any intel from Twelfth Division about when that battle may be. They still predict it will occur in winter.”

Hinamori presses her lips together, and in the silence, tries to banish the memory of her asking Hitsugaya to not kill Aizen. She tries to understand why this strategy bothers her, as though something were missing. No, as though something were being kept away from her. “We have to be prepared by then. The zanjutsu and kido lessons won’t be enough.”

Genji’s shoulder tense a fraction. He doesn’t meet her gaze as she says, “Yes, of course, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, no, I…” She raises a hand, tempted to lay it on Genji’s shoulder, but then thinks better of it. “That wasn’t a critique of how you’re running the Division! You’re doing an exceptional job, especially given the circumstances. I feel much better knowing you’re leading everyone right now. I don’t intend to keep you in such a position for long, though, and I’m sorry this is the way things have turned out. I want to support you, however I can.”

Genji is slow to smile, and his eyes become glassy. Hinamori senses it’s not from sorrow or concern. He bows his head to her. “Thank you, Lieutenant. But please, continue to rest and recover. Everyone is cheering you on.”

Hinamori swallows against the tightness building up in her throat. “Thank you. I’ll keep doing my best.”

__________________________________

The occasional whispers don’t escape her. Whether they’re just outside her door or window, or a simple look exchanged between two of her officers, she knows what they’re not saying to her

“I heard the Lieutenant is still unwell. I hope she gets better soon.”

“I only transferred to the Division a week before Aizen’s betrayal. It’s so sad here.”

“I wish Captain Aizen were here.”

“How can you say that?!”

“Isawa-san seems really tired these days.”

“Did you hear about the new plan? You think they’re trying to distract us from the war?”

“The Lieutenant seems to be in a bad way.”

“Don’t talk so harshly! Lieutenant Hinamori will recover, she’s strong. She'll definitely get better."

“…But what if she doesn’t?”

__________________________________

Why had she become a Shinigami?

It’s a question that floats to the surface of Hinamori’s mind almost every night while she tries to sleep. Every time, she pushes it away, afraid of how the answer will lead to Aizen.

__________________________________

Hinamori dreams of the first time she saw Tobiume. She’d come to her as a fire, small but steady, in middle of a dark space. When she’d walked towards it, Hinamori gradually felt dry grass beneath her feet, and her arms brushed branches and leaves. The air was cold, but warmed as she neared the flames. The strongest smell was of burning wood, but beneath it is the slightest hint of something sweeter and floral.

A voice had wafted from it, a whisper at first, then growing louder as she approached the fire. She couldn’t comprehend what the voice was telling her at the time, but she knew she needed to listen, that whatever it said was important.

When she came to a stop, the flames continued to dance in front of her, memorizing and strangely familiar. Going against every instinct she’d had from childhood, she reached out to the scorching heat. To her surprise – and a disappointment didn’t understand – the fire lurched away from her. She leaned further in, and still it avoided her, diving in and around her hand no matter which way she angled it.

The voice had stopped too, and save for the sizzling and crackling of the flames, there was silence.

When Hinamori wakes from this, she doesn’t feel relieved to have had a dream for once that wasn’t about Aizen. She dwells on the silence until it’s buzzing in her ears.

__________________________________

Though Hinamori rarely does so, she’s allowed to leave her room for brief periods. For her visit from Nanao today, she meets her in the Division's gardens. Sitting on a bench under a Japanese maple, the sun is warm on her face and hands and the breeze, though cool, is gentle. It's not usually this warm in September, but she's glad for it. It’s been a long time since she was outside, and she takes in long breaths of fresh air.

For a moment she wonders why she didn’t step outside more often, but maybe it was the nature of the restrictions put on her. It was meant to ensure her recovery, that she wouldn’t strain herself by going to far and making herself more fatigued than she already is. She can’t help but think it’s for another reason, one she dismisses quickly.

“I think you’ll find this one interesting for it’s plot.”

Hinamori takes the book from Nanao. “Petals on the Wind. It looks…different.”

“It’s from the World of the Living,” Nanao explains. “I got it when I was posted on a mission last time. It has an intriguing mystery that kept me guessing and a slow build up for the relationship between the two main characters. There’s references to events and devices from the World of the Living, however, so you may need to set it aside every now and then to do some research.”

Hinamori places it atop of the latest editions of Seireitei Communication at her side, then gestures to the second book Nanao holds, Another World Through a Flower Pot. “And that one?”

“It’s written by a former officer of the Ninth Division. It’s about the lives of two women, one from our world and the other from another world, who can communicate with each other through a flower pot.” At Hinamori’s raised brows, Nanao chuckles. “I know, it sounds strange, but it was oddly touching. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

“I've always trusted your judgement.” Hinamori takes the other book and puts both of them in her lap. “Thank you for these, I really appreciate it. I’ve run out of books to read in my room.”

“It’s no trouble, I had a feeling that would be the case. You've always been a fast reader.” Nanao adjust her glasses, raising them further up the bridge of her nose. Behind them, her eyes are soft with sympathy. “We miss you at the Women’s Association meetings, and I miss our discussions about books.”

“Well, you’ll have to come by again once I finish these.” She pats the stack of books. “ I miss our discussions too, I don't get to talk about what I read with a lot of people. I’ll be sure to send a message to you when I’m done reading these.”

“Please do.” Nanao's smile slowly falls and she looks to the side, rueful. “I’m sorry, but I have to return to the barracks. Captain Kyoraku and I have to go over some reports, and you know how he can be.”

Hinamori can’t help but sigh. Despite the obvious hesitations from her fellow lieutenant – in her pauses before she spoke and the concern she would catch in her gaze at certain points --  this short time with her had been the closest thing to normal she’d experience in months.

“I understand,” she says while they both rise from the bench.

Nanao pauses mid turn. Pursing her lips, she looks back to Hinamori. “I know I asked before, but…are you really all right?”

Hinamori forces a smile. “I know how it may seem, but I really am much better than before. I’ll be back to my duties before you know it.”

Nanao puts on a forced smile of her own, unable to hide the concern from her eyes. “Of course.”

“I’m afraid I can’t accompany you to the main entrance, I’ve been told I shouldn’t go any further than the main barracks and it’s courtyards.”

“It’s quite all right, I’ll see myself out.” Nanao bows to her. “It was good to see you. I’ll be sure to visit when you've read the books."

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Hinamori watches her leave. As soon as her friend is out of sight, she falls back against the bench. This fatigue isn’t getting any better, but the weight in her mind is floating somewhere far away. She tries to keep it that way as she straightens and slowly returns to her room.

__________________________________

While reading the Seireitei Communication that evening, Hinamori gets stuck on the haiku poem submissions from Izuru. They all speak of nature, but differ in certain ways; one is about change, another about autumn, and another about the unknowable quality forests can have. As always, she enjoys them and can understand why he has a following for his writing.

She sometimes extends her sense to check on his reiatsu. When she can sense it, it’s as she’s always known it: a strange swirl, dark and weighed down, but not unfriendly.

She wonders if he ever contemplates coming to see her. She’d been told he came to visit her a twice while she was unconscious in Fourth Division. She’ll apologise for her actions when she next sees him. Knowing him, he will too.

Maybe they’ll just pick up where they left off, discussing their divisions’ matters and then move on to their hobbies or how they can get Renji to come with them for a dinner. They can reminisce about their Academy days. But given what happened, can they still do that?

No, she knows, it can’t be like that. They’re changed now. She considers him a friend still, and if him visiting her was any indication, he still does too, but there’s no telling what their friendship will look like now.

Maybe, if she’s brave enough and can see it won’t affect him too harshly, she can ask him how he’s coping with Ichimaru’s betrayal. It will be to comfort him as a friend, but selfishly, it’ll also be to see if she can learn anything from him. Did he have nightmares about what happened? Did he still cling to how Ichimaru used to be? Did he wonder why he betrayed them or believe he had a good reason to?

She shakes her head. She won't burden him with such questions. She already does it to herself, and it only makes her head heavy and her mind spiral far away from the present.

__________________________________

She often asks Genji if he’s heard word about how the advance team are doing in the World of the Living. He always shakes his head and says, “Nothing yet, Lieutenant.”

Why had they not received word from them? Were they struggling? Were they communicating with the Soul Society at all? They must be, otherwise there’d be rumblings amongst the captains and lieutenants and a new team would be sent to retrieve them. Was the information they were sharing something only the Captain-Commander is meant to know?

Sighing through her nose, Hinamori takes a sip of the tea Genji had brought her and leans back against her pillow. She watches the rainfall outside and listens to it pattering on the roof. It must be this weather that has her thinking about Hitsugaya.

The last time she saw him arises in her mind again. This time, however, she tries to recall his surroundings. She’d been so focused on him, they’re blurry, but she remembers a window and a floor similar to the ones in the Soul Society. There was a cabinet behind him, with photos on top and other items. Was there a small shrine there too?

Then there as what he wore. It was the first time she saw him wear anything from the World of the Living. If not for the gravity of the situation, she would’ve dwelled more on how strange he looked. She’s grown so accustomed him to seeing him in uniform and with his haori. Without them, he’s closer to looking like the Soul she first met the in Jurinan.

To think he’d once never wanted to be a Shinigami. He’d planned on staying with his Granny, taking care of her and their house. She wasn’t blind to the way he was treated, it dawned on her not long after she was seen with him in public. She never understood why he was ostracized by her friends and the Junrinan's residents, but in more recent years, she began to wonder if his powers had something to do with it.

Bowing her head, she looks at her reflection in the tea. She’s not like the girl from the Junrinan she once was. She seems so far away now, almost forgotten. Where did she go?

__________________________________

That night she again dreams of when Tobiume first came to her. Only this time, Hitsugaya is on the opposite side of the flames. He looks like how he did when they were children, his young face and his green yukata illuminated by the firelight. He looks into the flames, and doesn’t respond when she calls out his name.

He only takes notice of her when she’s at the fire.

“What’re you doing here?” she asks. She blinks at the sound of her voice. She sounds younger and looking down at her arms, they're shorter and her fingers lack callouses. Is she younger too?

 “You told me to come here,” he says, like it should be obvious.

She frowns at him. “I did?”

He slowly walks around the fire to stand at her side. “The others couldn’t make it,” he says, folding his arms. “They’re too busy.”

“Others?”

“Ayumi and Tatsukichi.”

“Oh…Why did I want us to gather here?”

His brow furrows deeper and gives a stuff shrug.

Hinamori looks around, but the firelight only shows the two them. “Did I also ask Kira-kun, Abarai-kun, and Rangiku-san to come?”

 “Who?”

“They’re my friends too.”

“I don’t know them.”

She doesn’t know why she asked. This is clearly a Hitsugaya from the past, but there’s something about him that doesn’t quite fit how she knew him at this age.

He jerks his chin at the fire. “This thing doesn’t like me.”

She blinks. “What do you mean?”

He pulls the sleeve back from his arm and raises it. There are rivulets of water running down his skin. “See?”

She acts on instinct and grabs his wrist to pull him away. She freezes when can sense rather see another presence. She subtly tries to search, but Hitsugaya still sighs. “What’s got you distracted?”

“Don’t move, Hitsugaya-kun.”

“Ha, you finally call me by name.”

“Shh!” Then, quieter. “There’s someone else here.”

Rather than the roll of his eyes and comment about her being paranoid like she expects, his eyes widen and his posture tenses. This alertness reminds her of the Hitsugaya she knows in the present. “Where?”

“I’m not sure, but they’re here.”

She can sense they intend to harm them. Heart racing, she thinks to search for a weapon but can’t see anything. She could feel around for and break off a root or a branch, but she knows it’ll be useless against whatever this is.

The fire, as if picking up on her panic, has become erratic. The flames dance in every direction and grow taller, twisting around as embers fly high into the darkness and fall around them.

Then it comes to her, as if it were the most obvious solution.

“Hitsugaya-kun, we need to get into the fire!”

Hitsuagaya stares at her as if she’s lost her mind. “What?!”

She’s already backing herself into it, and with her grip on his wrist, she’s pulling him along.

“Let go of me, Hinamori!” he yells, struggling to get out of her grasp.

“It’ll be okay, Shiro-chan,” she tries to reassure, even as she feels her hand slicken with the water forming on his arm.

Her back is scorching when she steps into the fire. Just as she knew, it doesn’t burn her. It feels right to be in here. She stops halfway in. “This fire will protect you,” she promises. “It’ll never hurt you.”

“We can’t go in there!” he yells. "You need to get out of there!"

It’s as if she snaps out of a trance. Despite how right it feels to be in these flames, it’s wrong to bring him in here. As a tear falls down her cheek, she releases her grip. Hitsugaya's arm, having struggled to break free, goes flying in an arc. Water drops fly off his limb and evaporate in the hot air.

This fire was ignited by her, but it’s not for her. It’s not Tobiume. The realization comes to her as a flare of pain races up from the soles of her feet up to her head. Then, from the darkness, another hand clasps Hitsugaya’s wrist. With a scream, she tries to reach for Hitsugaya from the flames. Her hand, though whole, feels as if it’s on fire.

“No!” she screams. “Let him go!”

Hitsugaya repeatedly smacks and kicks the attacker behind him, showing none of the combat training he'd learned for decades. It does nothing to loosen the grip they have on him. Then, above his head, there’s a cold smile from the being.

“I’m sorry!” she cries out to Hitsugaya as the being's face comes into the fire light. “I’m sorry!”

Hinamori flings up from her sleep with a strangled sound caught in her throat. Her arms are out in front, as if still reaching for her childhood friend. She stumbles into the bathroom to wash the thin sheen of sweat from her face and shaky arms. After changing into new robes, she lies back down a few minutes later.

She stares at the ceiling, watching it turn from dark grey to pale yellow as the sun rises.

__________________________________

The next day, Hirose, one of the Division’s Twelfth seats, comes by with a bunch of flowers. Hinamori can’t help but grin when receiving them, her mood lifting for an instance at the sight of the bright chrysanthemums and cosmos.

For a moment, there’s a sense of the old normality, but she tries to not let it stray too far into the past as she chats with her subordinate. It becomes harder when Hirose spots a vase on her bookcase and uses it to put the flowers into. It’s one she’d bought many years ago. She had hoped to one day put it on her desk when she became a Lieutenant, but it never left her old or current quarters.

__________________________________

It’s three days later when Hinamori is in the middle of reading one of Nanao’s novel and she remembers Rangiku’s birthday was yesterday. She hasn’t returned from her mission in the World of the Living, that gave Hinamori some time to think about what to give her when she was back. She can’t go out and buy anything, and she doesn’t want to trouble her officers with buying something on her behalf.

Hinamori puts the books aside, then with some effort, rises and slips out of her bed. On unsteady legs she comes to her bookcase. She’d read most of the novels stacked on the shelves, but would Rangiku be interested in any of them? She isn’t much a reader, and what little she does read is often limited to magazines and short novels packed with either melodrama or light-hearted content. None of Hinamori’s books contain either of those things, and the only magazines she had were old copies of the Seireitei Communication – ones that feature articles or creative contributions from her friends.

She glances at the purple vase on the middle shelf, still with Hirose’s flowers in it. A few days on, they’re beginning to lose their vitality, with several petals already drooping and fading in colour, and their sweet scent is developing a sour undercurrent.

Next to it are tiny figurines, a gift from Hitsugaya and Rangiku for her birthday a few years ago. They are of a boy, short-haired and in a blue kimono, and a girl, pig-tailed and in a floral white and red kimono. Their proportions are reduced to two spheres each – smaller ones for their heads and bigger ones for their bodies. They stand next to her each on their tiny platform and beam at her. For a moment, she can’t help but smile back at them. To this day, they still remind her of her and Hitsugaya when they were children. She’d even been tempted to paint the boys hair white not long after receiving them, but was too embarrassed by the idea.

There’s nothing here she wants to part with, and she scolds herself of even thinking of giving Rangiku something she has here rather than give her something new.

Her gaze floats down to and lingers on the sketchbooks on the bottom shelf. Perhaps she can draw her something, but what? Hinamori had always wanted Rangiku to sit for her to draw her portrait. Or maybe a simple letter, apologising for actions and telling her how much her friendship means in times like this. It isn’t much, but it will have to do for now.

Withholding a wince, she bends down and takes out the newest sketchbook. As she straightens, she opens to a blank page. But it’s not. It’s of a drawing, one that gives her pause. Then, sends a wave of nausea through her and a slip of cold rippling her back. Her breath catches in her throat, and she drops the book as if were on fire.

It doesn’t snap shut, falling with the portrait facing up. One of many, she knows. She stumbles back to her bed, almost tripping over her own feet and unable to look away from her drawing of Aizen. He smiles serenely at her, that peaceful expression she always associated with him. She barely hears Tobiume’s cries over her heart racing in her ears. In that moment, the memory of him smiling coldly at her overlays it for a flash.

She collapses on to her bed, then scrambles for the window and throws it open, heaving a lungful of air. She fights against the urge to throw up, covering her mouth.

“Lieutenant!”

Higuchi, her Seventh's seat, and Genji stand in the courtyard below her window, doused in the orange light of the setting sun and in the middle of a conversation until she forced her window open. In her peripheral, officers and new recruits had been trailing into the main barracks, but stopped at Genji’s alarmed cry.

“Hold on, I’ll be there!” Genji calls out as he rushes to the nearest barracks entrance. Higuchi hesitates, then sprints to follow his superior. Most of the officers and recruits move on, but a few linger, exchanging worried and knowing glances.

When Genji and Higuchi reach her room, Higuchi guides her to her bathroom. Still, Hinamori peers over her shoulder at Genji. He stares at the sketchbook on the floor, unmoving and unblinking, wide-eyed. Slowly, he picks it up. Sorrow flickers across his face, but as Higuchi leaves her and shuts the door behind himself -- upon her weak instance to do so -- her Third seat’s face turns to something stony.

She wishes she had Genji’s strength.

The next several minutes pass in a blur. She emerges from the bathroom several minutes later, her stomach emptied and a foul taste lingering in her mouth despite washing it out. While Higuchi helps her settle back in, Genji hurriedly leaves and returns with a glass of water. She has no appetite and requests that noone prepare her dinner. Higuchi, ever paternal, still insists on at least a bowl of chestnut rice, and too fatigued to put up a fight, she agrees to it.

It’s not until her officers reluctantly leave the room she notices the sketchbook has been put back in it’s place. She can’t stand to look at any of them. How foolish she’d been. Had she not been hesitant to look at them weeks ago?

He’s in all of them. And not just there; he’d given her some of the novels lining her shelves, with small messages written on the first page of each.

Tomorrow, she’d ask Genji to move them and the sketchbooks into her closet. She tries to ignore the thought of her cowardice, that she would ask another to this instead of doing it herself. She wants to cry, but can’t find the strength to do so.

At some point, an officer brings her a small bowl of chestnut rise. She doesn't take a mouthful until it’s gone cold and the sky has darkened to night. When another officer comes back, it’s not even half eaten. It sits in her stomach, lying there like she does. Suspended somewhere, heavy and immoveable.

That night Hinamori watches her alarm clock tick over from the last day of September to the first day of October. Another month closer to winter.

__________________________________

Ever since the incident with the sketchbook, she has lain in bed doing little but eat and sleep. She couldn’t even focus on reading or having conversations with officers who came to visit or bring her meals. Genji never brought up the sketchbook, and like others, he became more wary of his words and his gaze ranged from pity to disquiet, more obvious than before.

Isane comes to check on her every few days. They check her physical condition, then she asks her the usual questions designed to her to speak her mind. She's more happy to see her friend than she is divulge how she feels; it should feel as though she were getting things off her chest and letting go of the weights in her mind and limbs. It helps in the moment, but when Isane leaves and Hinamori is left alone, it returns quickly.

She’s never been so tired in her life, nor so heavy in the mind. It becomes worse at night, especially when everyone but her is asleep.

Now, two weeks from the incident, it's no different. She stares out at the gap between the curtains, searching for the stars between the gaps in the clouds.

She faintly recalls star gazing with Hitsugaya when they were children, and even more recently. It's had been last year on her birthday, with her and her other friends. They'd all gone out to dinner, but Hitsugaya only joined them for the stargazing. To see everyone there, happy to be with each other, knowing they could turn to each other when needed, it made the moment one of the happiest memories she has.

It stands in stark contrast to now. Can they go back to days like that? No, not go back. Can days like that happen again in the future?

The thought does not bring the usual self-pity and hopelessness. It sparks something at the back her mind. It's enough to make her want to move.

With what little strength she has, she slides to the edge of her bed and reaches for Tobiume. In the silence, her zanpakuto’s reiatsu becomes a small fire, warm and comforting. The fact she does this, after barely speaking a word to her master, makes a lump form in Hinamori’s throat.

Taking her weapon, she scoots away from the edge, rolls on to her opposite side and lays her zanpakuto over her comforter. Keeping a hand on the scabbard, she shuts her eyes. Tears fall from them not long after.

Hours later, she sleeps without dreams. She wonders if Tobiume somehow blocked them from her, or maybe, she’d reached a state where she’s too afraid to dream but too exhausted to force herself away from rest.

Regardless, she sleeps through the whole night for the first time in months.

__________________________________

It’s a surprisingly warm day, with a gentle breeze blowing through her room and not a cloud in the sky.

Rather than watch the shadows of the dancing curtains, Hinamori closes her eyes and enjoys the warmth. It penetrates through her skin, touching her bones. A glimmer of peace briefly sparks in her heart. It’s like rediscovering a lost but fond memory, or coming back to an old friend.

She at once clings to that ember of peacefulness, but also allows the lump her throat to form and the tears to quietly course down her face. They are not the same as ones she’d shed last night or in the last few weeks when she was alone. They are not of guilt or sadness or hopeless or denial.

Something freeing, something that felt like the unlocking of a door, but not yet the opening of it.

__________________________________

“They’ve really improved with their kido. Even so, I know they miss you’re training lessons.”

Hinamori smiles out at the field of recruits practicing their kido on targets against the far wall. It's most natural smile she's given in a while.

“I miss giving demonstrations,” she admits to Genji. “They’ve all come a long way, the instructor has been teaching them well.”

He grins. “I’ll be sure to pass that feedback on to him.”

They stand above the training grounds on one of the balconies. Even though her mood had been low, Hinamori decided that morning she needed to leave her room. Genji had been hesitant at first, but she brought him around when she reminded him of Isane's recommendation that she get fresh air whenever she felt up to walking around.

Even so, he'd given her a blanket to wrap around her shoulders against the cold winds. It ruffles in the wind now, and she’d rather throw it off, but she knows the officer would worry if she did.

She and Genji continue to watch the recruits in silence. She makes notes for each one, from their postures while casting spells to the resulting beams that strike the targets. She’s heartened to hear the cheers and claps when someone hits a target, and mostly sympathetic encouragement when someone doesn’t. There’s still a sense of comradery, much more so than when she’d been advised to rest months ago.

Still, she doesn’t fail to notice two recruits sitting on the sidelines. They’re waiting their turn, but one of them bows her head. Her friend puts a hand on her shoulder, and it’s as if something in her breaks. She folds into herself and her frame shakes.

Another recruit comes over and kneels before her. He asks her what happened, and Hinamori can catch pieces of what she says. “It’s…I haven’t been able to…Aizen.”

However, her other friend nods sympathetically. “I’ve also been finding it hard.”

“We all have,” says the other. “We…and Fifth Division…stand strong.”

“Oh no,” Genji says under his breath.

“Do you know that recruit?” Hinamori asks without looking away from the scene.

“No, she's new, but…” He can’t finish his sentence. He turns towards the entrance they’d come out of. “I’ll go and see what’s happened.”

Hinamori remembers the whispers, had caught glimpses of low moral from outside her window as officers came and went in the courtyards. She's certain Genji has had to deal with situations like this on an almost daily basis since Aizen left them behind. Something about this moment is different, however, and she can’t stand by and watch anymore.

“No,” she says firmly. “I’ll go.”

Genji frowns at her. “Are you sure? I can handle this.”

She shakes her head and offers a small smile. “How about we both go, then.”

By the time they get to training grounds, the three recruits have been joined by a few more. The concern they show warms Hinamori’s heart, and she’s slow to approach them.

One notices her, then another, and soon, everyone’s eyes are on her. They speak her rank and name, most bowing, other’s too surprised to do so. Seeing them all, up close for the first time in over a month, something shifts in her. The warmth in her chest dims, and in it’s place is something contracting.

She’s seen gazes like this before, on battlefields and in scenes of destruction. Shinigami looking to her for orders, Souls looking for answers. They’re shocked by her unannounced appearance, but just as quickly, they’re seeking from her. It’s the same gazes they gave to Aizen, looking to him, up to him. Knowing he would lead them to right place, to sooth their hearts and deal punishment to Hollows who threatened their world.

He would go against the laws if meant championing a greater good. She keeps staring at her subordinates, and for the first time in far too long, anger simmers in the pit of her stomach.

What good reason would he have to leave us behind?

“L-Lieutenant Hinamori.”

She snaps out of her reverie. The crying recruit, still supported by her friend at her side, bows her head. “I-I…F-Forgive me, I-I’m not…”

Hinamori breathes, her shoulders rising a fraction before lowers. Then she bows her to. “It’s all right. I didn’t mean to draw attention.” Then, straightening up and addressing everyone. “I was watching your progress with Isawa-san. I didn’t want to interrupt your training, forgive me.” When no one speaks, she thinks to fill the silence. “I know I haven’t been present for the last month, but I can see you’ve all greatly improved. When I’m in better health, I hope return to giving demonstrations and assist you in becoming even better.”

She’s emboldened by the smiles and nods from some around her. “I know these three months have been hard on everyone,” she says, loud enough that her voice echoes around the training grounds. “It hasn't escaped me, and I am deeply sorry that I have not been there to lead you all. I am getting better...but Fifth Division is nothing without it's officers. Without your all of support and strength, we would not be where we are today. So, please, keep going, and we can continue to make Fifth Division a great place to be!"

The speech doesn't draw an enthusiastic response, but most are smiling and nodding and few even cheer. If she'd been more prepared, she's certain she could've come up with better words.

While Genji directs everyone else back to the kido training, Hinamori turns her back to the weeping recruit. "What's your name?"

"Tanaka Mai, Lieutenent," the recruit responds.

"How long have you been with the Fifth Division, Tanaka-san?"

"Three months."

"I see...I'm sorry it's been like this for you."

"Ah, no, please Lieutenant, y-you don't need to apologise." She glances at her supporting friend, and then at the other who had knelt before her. Fresh tears well up in her eyes. "I looked up to him, Lieutenant. I wanted to be like him."

It hits Hinamori's heart, and she can feel the cracks web through her whole body. For a flicker, she sees younger self in this recruit. And not just her, in her friends too, who have similar crestfallen expressions as her.

She can't be here. She doesn't know what to say without also breaking into tears.

She bows, her hair falling and obscuring her face. "I understand." Then, abruptly rising, she turns in her heel and marches to Genji. "Isawa-san!"

Genji's concern makes her wince inwardly, but she quickly instructs him assist and apologize to Tanaka and her friends on her behalf. She departs in an instant, needing more space and air. She ends up in the courtyard outside of her room. She wipes the tears that threaten to spill down her cheeks as she paces around the maple tree and bench. A few officers pass by the courtyard, and she offers a weak greeting to them, and then in turn bow and are quick to move along, sensing it wasn't the best time to speak with their lieutenant.

After several minutes she comes to a stop and ends up looking at her bedroom window. She'd sat behind it for months, rarely coming outside. Rarely thinking of anything beyond what had happened.

She sense Genji approaching before she sees him.

"Lieutenant," he says softly as he approaches. "Are you all right?"

She doesn't turn to him. "I'm sorry for how I reacted back there. If I had prepared myself better, I would have been able to handle it."

"No, it's understandable, you don't have to apologize. Please, don't think about it."

"I have to, as their Lieutenant."

He doesn't argue, because on some level, he must know she's right. On some level, he may even resent having to step up to higher duties, and she wouldn't blame him.

For a minute in the silence between them, she shuts her eyes. They burn, and her mind whirls with the threat of panic and having too many heavy thoughts tumbling around. She breahtes, takes in the fresh air, just as Isane said she should.

There's no going back now.

“Isawa-kun.” She turns back to her Third seat. “Captain Aizen…he really betrayed us.”

She’d wanted to end it as a question – he really betrayed us, didn’t he? –but she needs it to be a statement, as much to herself as to show Genji her acceptance.

He tenses, and when his gaze darts away, it strikes her that maybe his hesitancy this whole time had not just been out of concern to her. He had shown determination when looking at her portrait of Aizen, but maybe, like her false smile, it was his way of facing this. She was not blind to her Division’s suffering, to the effect his betrayal had on all of them, but had she somehow underestimated how deeply it ran?

“Yes, he did.” There’s the slightest waver in Genji's voice. It’s enough to make Hinamori bow her head to him.

“I’m sorry for leaving you with so much work. I said before I would get better, and it’s taken me so long To tell you the truth, I don’t know how I can lead us out of this.”

Genji stumbles for words, but when she raises her head, he’s rendered speechless. She hopes her expression convey her will to right the wrongs Aizen left behind. “But I won’t give up. I am still the Lieutenant of the Fifth Division, and I want to continue to be. I will need you and other seated officers’ advice once I recover. Together, we can bring the Fifth Division back and help everyone.”

Genji's eyes brighten. He ducks his head, and again his voice catches. “Of course, Lieutenant Hinamori.”

__________________________________

Why had you become a Shinigami?

The question emerged six days ago, and for the first time in weeks. Today, it comes to Hinamori while she eats breakfast and causes her to stop chewing. Rather than push it away, she clings to it. It’s the only thought that isn’t of her past actions, the pity of those around her, or of Aizen. The question is a glimmer in this darkness, a tiny speck of light that promised something more than the ruminations swirling around constantly day and night. If she’s going to get better, this seems like the best place to start.

When she reflected on it in the last week, the thought ended up leading to her former captain just as she'd feared, but she is quick to divert him away.

Now, setting her breakfast aside, she crosses her legs and places Tobiume in front of them, making her zanpakuto a focal point to concentrate on. It’s almost like jinzen, but without the full connection to her zanpakuto to enter her inner world.

A meditative trance comes over her, causing her to let out a long, deep breath. There had been a reason before Aizen, before she even got accepted into the Academy. It was more vaguely defined, tinged with childish optimism and naivety, and somehow it persisted well into her first days in the Fifth Division, even after the horrific things she’d been on battlefields. Even after realising the gap between the wealthy families and those who came for the lower districts. Even when faced with realities that came with being a Shinigami, that she could not save every life or help every Soul.

You wanted to be a light.

Her zanpakuto’s interruption doesn’t startle her. She’d felt her presence in the back of her mind, mediating with her on the question.

“I wanted to help others,” she rasps. “I thought the Shinigami who brought me here was one of the kindest people I met…” She sniffs, throat tightening on the verge of a sob. “I don’t even remember what they look like now.”

It’s natural for a Soul to forget their time in the World of the Living and how they arrived at the Soul Society.

“It was considered strange that I kept my memories for as long as I did.”

She senses Tobiume nod. You wanted to find that Shinigami who led you here.

“I never did.”

It stopped bothering you at some point. Not long after you met your friends.

The faces of Izuru, Renji, and Rukia come to mind briefly. It feels like more decades ago than it was when they first met. They weren't the first Souls she met with the same potential as her, but with Renji and Izuru in particular, she knew not long after meeting them she would still be friends with them for many decades to come. Maybe it had been the few personal interests that had intersected, or that they were just the first fellow students they really spoke to in the Academy.

Truthfully, she thinks it's because of the fight they put up against the Hollows in the training mission that had gone wrong. She had run into the fray against the Huge Hollows, and they'd followed. Somewhere in that back her mind in that moment, she knew she would fight back to back with either of them. If they were willing to follow her into a battle like this, even when she made a sudden decision as that, or to protect someone none of them has really known, she wanted them to stay in her life.

But after that battle, when Aizen and Ichimaru had come to save them, it all changed. She resists the urge to stop thinking there, to keep pushing through and see this train of thought to it's end.

Yes, her and Izuru in particular had changed. It had been a gradual thing, taking place over a month or so, with all three of them unable to forget what happened, but with Hinamori and Izuru learning more about the two Shinigami who saved them. Izuru's motivation shift slightly, going from becoming a Shimigami to appease his family's wishes, to wanting to serve under the men who had saved them.

For Hinamori, it was almost a seismic shift; her goal changed to wanting to serve under Aizen, and maybe even become his lietuenant. It was almost a trenous thought at the time, hoping with Ichimaru would step down as his lieutenant. She'd never forget the burst of hope that filled her when he announced that he was moving on to become Third Division's captain; she'd been a Fourth seat then.

Looking back now, it's strange her first thoughts after a life-treatenign situation were of Aizen and Ichimaru, and not of Hisagi ro thanking either of her freinds for coming to assist. She had been younger the, but even so, she would've hoped she had the capacity to at least think of thanking them. Renji had known better, would rarely talk about either man afterwards and would wonder how Hisagi was doing or how either her or Izuru could become so awestruck by Aizen or Ichimaru.

"I changed after that day," she reiterates, shaking her head to herself. "That's all it took."

You were younger then, Tobiume offers, and inexperienced. You flew in to save someone in need. Doesn't that align with your original intentions?

Back then, she had gone to help Hisagi without a second thought and despite her fear. She didn't know him, but he was injured and out-numbered. She couldn't leave him. It went against everything she stood for.

She thought Aizen had stood for those same things. It's one of the reason she had admired him so deeply. She saw who she thought was the embodiment of everything she wanted to be, but believed she could only ever become a pale imitation of him. He had been too good, too perfect in many ways.

But even as she served under him, had she not still wanted to help others? Had it always been because she wanted to impress him or try to be like him? A lot of those instances had been without his presence or knowledge. The back of her eyes burn.

"I never lost it," she realises, voice becoming raspy. "Even now, I still want to..." I want to help others. I want to help my friends.

He had become her reason to reach the level she had, but he hadn't taken away her original goal. If he hadn't taken that away, maybe she he hadn't taken other things with him.

With a sob, she bends over Tobiume. A tear lands on her scabbard, and another on her quilt. She rubs her eyes and Tobiume soothes her in the back of her mind.

I told you, she says, you're stronger than you know. You still have these skills, master. They never left you.

After several minutes, Hinamori calms her sobs. She brings up Tobiume and presses her forehead to her hilt. "I'm so sorry, Tobiume. Thank you, thank you..."

A zanpakuto, she recalls from one of her instructors, is a reflection of their wielder. When you communicate with your weapon, you are communicating with yourself.

How had she not realised it sooner? She had been so focused on him, she didn't see what was still within her and in front of her. She still had her friends, her subordinates, and in time, she would strengthen herself again. She didn't know how for the latter, but she had been working the other two, albeit in a fumbling and unsure manner.

That sensation, of the unlocked but still closed door returned. Now, the handle turns, and she doesn't know what lies on the otherwise, but she will face it.

He had his reasons for betraying them, whatever they were, but he had not taken her own reasons to stay on as lieutenant of the Fifth Division.

__________________________________

It’s two days later when the zanjutsu instructor is back in the dojo, yelling just as loud as the last time.

There is no breeze today, or birds chirping in a nearby tree, and most of the leaves have fallen from the trees. It’s all she can hear.

On unsteady legs, she rises from bed and manages to bend over and grab Tobiume’s hilt.

Master? Her zanpakuto questions.

Hinamori slowly comes to the middle of her room, barely managing to stand straight. “Let’s practice.”

Are you sure?

“You told me I do not need pity.”

Something flared through Tobiume; it felt like a hope and a determined smirk. Good!

Hinamori assumes the stance the officers in to dojo below have. She positions her feet, steady on the ground, and holds Tobiume with both hands, the sheathed blade’s tip pointing towards the ceiling. She breaths in and out deeply, trying to dispel the weight in her mind and tremors running through her limbs.

She listens to the instructor and the officers responding cries. Not wanting to draw attention for the fear of an officer rushing in thinking something’s wrong, she keeps her mouth closed and follows the movements they would.

On her first swing, she loses her balance and topples to the side, landing on her bed. She ignores Tobiume's concerned cries and gets back up. "I'm fine," she tries to reassure. "I just have to keep going. Believe in me, Tobiume."

She definitely rusty, continually losing her footing in the first volley of practice strikes, but she does not let it deter her. She keeps raising her sword and bringing it down, falling back, then stepping forward doing it again and again.

It becomes a rhythm; then, at some point, muscle memory. She forgets about the weight in her limbs and mind, and she’s more free than she’s ever been.

_________________________________

Hinamori wakes an hour before the sun rises. Not feeling the urge to shut her eyes again, she gets out of bed and takes up Tobiume. She sneaks to a training ground -- one away from the barracks that house her subordinate -- and performs her zanjutsu training.

The extra space allows her to arc her zanpakuto higher and her foot work to go further around.

She’s never felt so free. The thought makes her stop. She lowers Tobiume to her side.

She’s been doing this for almost two weeks in secret. Why did she have to hide this? Wouldn’t it be encouraging for her subordinates to see her up like this?

The thought of her turning up to training gives her an unexpected anxiety. It comes with thoughts of unsure gazes and the dread that she would not be able to show them she was getting better. What if she slipped in her foot work? What if fatigue made her movements sluggish?

I can’t risk them knowing about this, she thinks. I’ll keep training, but…

One step at a time, master.

__________________________________

It's four days later when she makes way down to the Fifth Divison's library. It's the late hours of the night, when everyone is asleep. She takes a lantern with her and uses it to browse the shelves. There's no new books in the ficision section, but that hadn't been why she'd come down here.

She rounds the corner and ends up with the instructions and guides. She grabs the tomb she needs, then rushes back to her room. It of the kido spells, most of which she already knows. Still she studies the guide as if she were back in the Academy.

In the coming days, after she hones her zanjutsu skills in the early hours of the morning, she practices the hands movements and chants the incantations in her mind before breakfast. When she's certain she has memorized enough spells, she begins to study how they can be combined. She'd come up with combinations in the past, but she'll need stronger ones for the upcoming war.

She's caught out of bed practicing her hand movements and mouthing a chant by Isane almost a week later. An awkward silence passes between the two, and all Hinamori can do is sheepishly look at the tray Isane holds with her breakfast on it. Eventually, her fellow lieutenant smiles and says "You seem to be in good spirits, Hinamori-san."

After a bout of surprised laughter, Hinamori replies, "I, uh...I wanted to get back into the basics, I suppose. I'm not actually casting them of course!"

They go on to have a rather lively conversation about kido. Perhaps it's not as big a deal as Hinamori thought. If anything, it might show the Fourth Division's lieutenant that she's on the mend. Soon, she might be able to face her subordinates in one of their training sessions.

__________________________________

Doing all of this practice isn't enough to make her completely forget what happened, nor does it draw away the heaviness completely.

Even so, she feels stronger. No longer are her footsteps shaky and she can sleep through most nights. She's getting better, and it's a revelation she can't fully believe some days.

Her subordinates notice something is different about her. They visit more often, telling her about what's been happening in their personal lives, and she steps outside more often, even sitting in on one of Hirose's gardening groups.

Today, she watches them come and go in the courtyard, and she can tell the mood in the Division is shifting. The only strange thing is Genji seems to be attending more meetings in the afternoon.

She can't stop, she reaffirms to herself. She has to keep going. It's nearly the end of October; the war will be on the horizon soon.

__________________________________

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

Hinamori can’t help but frown when her Tenth seat enters carrying her breakfast. “Imai-san.”

“Apologies, Isawa-san usually brings your meals on Friday morning, doesn’t he?”

Hinamori nods. “It’s not a problem. Is he unwell?”

Imai shakes her head and lays the tray across Hinamori’s lap. She notes two of her subordinate's red-painted nails are chipped. “He had to attend an emergency meeting.”

Hinamori’s eyes widen. “Has something happened?”

“No. He didn’t say much, but he mention that the advance team have returned.”

“Thank you, Imai-san.” Then, remembering. “And please thank whoever made this for me.”

“Of course, Lieutenant. Please enjoy.” After her Fourth seat leaves, Hinamori can barely eat with the butterflies in her stomach. Hitsugaya and the others have returned.

She casts out her senses, and sure enough, Hitsugaya’s reiatsu is there. Slightly more faint, shes sense Rangiku’s and Renji’s near him. If she had to guess, they’re all in First Division meeting hall.

Would they come visit?

Why would they?

Her shoulders deflate. After what happened, she wouldn’t blame Hitsugaya for being hesitant. Why has she even thought he would?

More importantly, why had they returned? Was their mission over? What had they discovered about the enemy? About these Arrancars? She’d only heard snippets and rumors spreading amongst her officers in their whispers and conversations they have while passing her room or below her window.

She munches on her breakfast, unable to cast the thoughts aside.

Later, Imai comes to collect her tray. She’s disappointed again when it’s Higuchi rather than Genji who serves her lunch to her. The day turns to sunset, and when there’s a knock, she can’t help but eagerly call out, “Come in!”

Sure enough, Genji has her dinner. “Good evening, Lieutenant Hinamori.”

“It’s good to see you Isawa-kun.”

He comes to the stand at her bedside, but doesn’t lay the tray down. “Sorry about this morning, I had to attend an emergency captain and lieutenant’s meeting.”

“Yes, Imai-san told me.”

Genji lowers the tray to her lap, and rather than make small talk or excuse himself to leave, he lingers at her bedside.

Hinamori isn't surprised by the awkward pause. Still, she had hoped she wouldn't need to prompt Genji. Had the Captain-Commander instructed Genji to not tell her what was discussed? Or was Genji simply concerned about the effect debriefing her would have?

Knowing him, it's the latter.

"Isawa-kun, whatever happened at the meeting, I want to know," she says, gently. "I am still a Lieutenant of the Gotei Thirteen, and if it concerns the Fifth Division, I wish to know. If you're not allowed to speak about it, however, I understand and I will consult with Lieutenant Sasakibe if I need to."

Genji frowns at the floor. After letting out a long, silent breath, his gaze reaches hers. "The Advance Team returned from the World of the Living. Captain Hitsugaya gave a full report on their battles in the World of the Living. These Arrancar, Lieutenant...they are strong."

Hinamori lips part at the news, unsure how to respond, but she nods for him to continue.

"They returned in light of a human, Inoue Orihime, is believed to have sided with the Arrancars."

"W-What?" Hinamori stammers out. Then, she recognises the name. "She was one of the Ryoka that tried to save Kuchiki-san. How do they know she has betrayed us?"

"She was training in the Soul Society only yesterday with Captain Ukitake and Kuchiki-san. Captain Ukitake was the last to see her before she vanished. However, she made it back to the World of Living, evidenced by her healing one of Kurosaki Ichigo's wounds while he was asleep."

Hinamori can only shake her head. This conflict had inspired acts of betrayal from all sides. Why would she do this?

Noticing Genji's hesitation, she decides to put the matter aside for now. “Go on, Isawa-kun. Is there something else?"

He nods, but doesn't continue right away. He loosk out her window, at the gatherings of officers in the courtyard, having either come back from missions or outings to the Rukongai. “We know who will be required to attend the battle against Captain Aizen and the Arrancars.”

Hinamori's hand flies to her throat when it involuntarily clamps up.

“It will only be captains and lieutenants. All ranks Third seat and below will remain in the Soul Society while the captains and lieutenants wait in the fake Karakura Town.”

“I-I see.” A thought occurs to her in horror. “That doesn’t mean you will have to be on the battlefield in my place, does it?”

“Ah, no! The Captain-Commander assured me that no one from Fifth Division is expected to be there.”

No one from Fifth Division should go with them, is what he really means she suspects. They could compromise the battle, serve only as a weakness to the Gotei Thirteen’s forces. She tries to ignore the tiny furl of bitterness in the pit of her stomach. Surely this order came from a place caring, too. “That’s a relief.”

Genji nods.

“And what did you mean by ‘fake Karakura Town’?”

“The Captain Commander wants all officers to fight at their full capacity. To avoid human causalities and any destruction to Karakura Town, Twelfth Division used Tenkai Kecchu to create a copy. The real Karakura Town will be transported to the edge of the Rukongai when the enemy is expected to make their move.”

She’s never heard of the technique. She’s about to ask what it is when Genji raises his hand.

“Please, Lieutenant, you should eat.” She wants to insist on knowing, but when his gaze falls to the ground, she notices how slumped his shoulders are. He’s weary, and likely feels guilty for having told her about the upcoming battle. “I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have burdened you with all of this, especially this late.”

Hinamori watches her Third seat for a moment longer, then takes up the chopsticks. “Thank you Isawa-kun. I appreciate that you told me this, and that you brought me dinner.”

Genji manages a faint smile before he bows and leaves without another word. Hinamori lets the chopsticks fall back to the tray and stares into space for so long her food gets cold by the time she remembers to eat it.

__________________________________

Hinamori can't get the plan out of her mind. It follows her in her training and even as she eats her meals. Did it mean the Captain-Commander foresaw the conflict happening sooner than expected? Or is he simply planning ahead to catch the enemy offguard?

She had brought it up with Isane on her latest visit, but her fellow Lieutenant couldn't offer much more than Genji had. Hinamori took some comfort in seeing she too was worried the conflict might be coming to them sooner than they'd hoped.

At night, Hinamori can't help but imagine the scenario before she shuts her eyes to try and sleep. The captains and lieutnenants facing Aizen, Ichimaru, Tosen, and the Arrancars. It meant her friends would be there. Izuru and Hisagi would have to stand on the same battlefield as the captains who they'd once served. No one from Fifth would be there to confront Aizen.

It's a relief none of her subordinates had to be involved, but that bitterness from her conversation with Genji always finds a way to influence her thoughts. Everyone on that battlefield will be expecting her to stay here, recovering from everything that's happened. They think she's at her weakest physically and mentally.

I've done little to show them otherwise, she thinks pitifully while practicing the hand movements for a kido net spell.

You still can, master, Tobiume tries to encourage.

How do you mean?

When Tobiume doesn't answer immediately, Hinamori halts her practice and waits. Her zanpakuto spirit's answer makes her frown.

You've been thinking about it, whether you've realised it or not.

__________________________________

It's two days later when Hinamori dreams of the fire. She’s alone with it again, and it's calmer than before. There is no threat, but still she steps into the flames.

She goes in facing it, letting it wash over her face first, then her torso, then her arms and legs. This time, she knows for certain these flames are hers and hers alone. Tobiume's voice echoes around her, saying too many things at once, but somehow Hinamori can understand it all.

This is where she should wake up, for a presence enters her space again. It's same one as last time, and she's terrified to turn and face him.

He won't leave unless I face him, she realises.

She looks to the flames around her, brushing over her limbs and whipping through her hair. She tries to take strength from them as she turns.

He stands on the other side, smiling. He reaches for her, but she steps back. The flames grow in intensity, whipping against the intruders hand. he doesn't flinch away, however. His hand remains hovering in the fire, and she can only watch as it starts to burn his flesh. He still smiles at her.

Not long after Hinamori opens her eyes, she cringes and grabs hold of Tobiume before marching towards the training grounds. Tobiume rages with her, the heat of her flames coursing through Hinamori's veins. Her slashes through the sky and attacks on a training dummy are harsh and brittle.

She's certain before she awoke her heart had been pulled in a violent tug of war between letting him burn or pushing his hand out of the flames to safety.

_________________________________

She returns to her room as the sun begins to rise. Tobiume is silent, but Hinamori can sense her presence in the back of her mind. It's as if she's waiting on something from her.

What is it, Tobiume? she asks.

Her zanpakuto's spirit says nothing still. She's usually quick to speak her mind, prompted or not.

Hearing an officer from down the hallway, she decides to leave it and quickly returns back to bed. Had they seen her just now?

She frowns when she dtects the officer's reiatsu and notices his footsteps are hurried. Genji runs past her door and down the stairs. She parts the curtains in time to see him rushing across the courtyard towards the Division's main entrance. A Hellbutterly follows in his wake.

Something has happened.

_________________________________

For the next hour, Hinamori alternates between pacing around her room and sitting and waiting for Genji to return. Anxious jitters thrum through her, threaten to break limbs out into quivers and shakes. She casts her senses out, but he's still in the First Division.

The sun has risen and most officers make their way to the mess hall for breakfast. No one is alarmed that Genji is not there, likely thinking he's either out running errands or getting breakfast elsehwhere.

They don't anticipate the news she already knows.

The war is here. She can sense it in the air, as though a lock had been snapped open, unable to hold back what it tried to contain. It’s in the way the reiatsu she can sense at First Division all waver, heightening and decreasing in intensity. It’s the only explanation she can think of.

 With a shaky breath, she stops in the middle of her room. How will she react with Genji gives her the news? How will her Division react? No doubt some will want to go out to the battlefield, but most, she thinks, will be tense. The outcome of this battle didn’t just determine the fate of the Worlds they protect. It was a battle against the captain they once followed, the man that betrayed them and left them shattered in their wake. A being powerful enough to fool everyone and leave the Soul Society unscathed.

She again replays the battlefield scenario in her mind. Her friends, zanpakuto drawn, staring down Aizen and his accomplices. They’ll get hurt, may not even come out of this alive. It’s an inevitability she faces every time any of them go to battle. It’s as much a part of her life as eating or breathing.

She returns to sitting on the edge of her bed. Her fingers dig in and clutch the fabric of her robes, white-knuckled. She’s expected to stay here while the fate of the Soul Society and her friends is decided. Her division is expected to stay out of the way, when their former captain is one leading an attack on them.

She thinks back to that day Nanao came to visit, when she had briefly wondered by she didn’t step outside of her room more often. She hadn’t wanted to give the thought any credence, but it had stuck itself to the back of her mind. On some level she sees the restrictions as an imposition,  as an attempt to keep her under watch. She had played along with it, remaining where she needed to be and doing as she was instructed. It was why the training she did in secret was so liberating.

She shakes her head. It was this sort of thinking that got her into the situation she was in now. She has no one to blame but herself for her past actions, and perhaps they were right to enact these restrictions for that reason.

But they are her actions.

He won't leave unless I face him.

She turns her head to her weapon, laying on to of her quilt. Tobiume, she beckons.

Her zanpakuto’s spirit makes her presence known in Hinamori’s mind, but says nothing.

“Is this what you meant?” she says. “That I have been thinking about ignoring everything to go and confront Captain Aizen?”

Tobiume again says nothing, but a flare of reiatsu comes from her blade. It’s as good as saying ‘yes’.

Hinamori lets out a long breath, as though finally getting something she had on her chest for months. It'd be reckless, no better than when she blindly followed Aizen's wishes when she thought him dead. How can she confront him?

With a grunt she forces the thought away. Her stomach roils and her heart thumps against her chest. She can’t stay here, waiting and hoping. She has to go to the fight. Had she not been training for this very moment?

There will be consequences, perhaps dire enough to ensure she is never a Shinigami ever again, but she can’t sit idly by. She has to face him. She doesn't want the pity of the captains and other lieutenants; she somehow has to show them she is strong enough to stand with them. That she too would do anything to protect her home.

She casts her gaze back to her subordinates. coming and going from the mess hall. Most seem content, but there's still grave expression and an air of somberness around them.

What good reason would he have to leave us behind?

"Tobiume," she says, and despite the steeliness of her voice, her heart flutters with uncertainty. "What I want to do is reckless."

It is.

"I don't know what will face me when I go there, or what will face me when I return, but I cannot stand by and let Captain Aizen hurt my friends and threaten the Soul Society." She bows her head to her zanpakuto. "I know I have put you through much these last two months, but please...will you fight with me now?"

Her zanpakuto's reaitsu flares, becoming a raging fire for a few seconds, as though she were giving a roar. Without question! I will aways fight alongside you.

_________________________________

She received her orders from a Hell butterfly before Genji returns. She is to stay in the Fifth Division and will be protected by her Fourth and Fifth seated officers. There's a wartime exception, allowing Shinigami to carry their zanpakuto, and to be alert for any unusual activity in the Seireitei.

Genji returns with similar orders hlf an hour later, and it sends the division into a frenzy. Officer race back to their barracks and spread the word to those bewildered by the sudden change.

Eventually, Genji arrives at her room, with their Fourth and Fifth seated officers in tow.

"There has been rapid developments after Kurosaki Ichigo invaded Hueco Mundo," he informs her, kneeling at her doorway with his head bowed. “The Captain-Commander has reason to believe that Cap – that Aizen will invade the World of the Living today at midday.”

The air is swept from Hinamori’s lungs in a gasp. How can it be so soon? She had thought it would be a day or more. She didn’t have much time to prepare.

Genji mistakes her apprehension for worry. “You’ll be safe here, Lieutenant. I’ll be coordinating everyone from here. We will be following the Captain-Commanders orders for our officers to be posted in the Rukongai in case the Arrancar somehow make it here. If they come into contact with Aizen, they are to not engage in battle with him.” He struggles to get the next sentences out. “Given that we were under the influence of his shikai, it means we are susceptible to fall…under an illusion. If he uses that on us…”

“Understood,” she says, not wanting to hear the rest. “Thank you, Isawa-kun. I'll stay here.”

After Genji leaves and she thanks her Fifth and Fourth seats, Hinamori shuts her door. She swallows back the bile that rose from lying to Genji and her officers. She’s slow to move to the centre of her room. Despite the shock of it, she is not deterred by the information Genji provided; this is only a setback she needs to overcome.

She only has three hours to come up with a plan. Her only exit is either her window or her balcony. Most of her subordinates would be dispatched to the Rukongai within the hour, and there would be just under a hundred still in the barracks based on what Genji showed her last month.

She wont be able to convince the officers posted at her door to let her go outside, and refuses to use hakufuku on anyone. If she escape and uses a concealment kido, she could bypass most officers and find an isolated area to create a senkaimon. Where would be isolated in a time like this? What concealment spell would work best and not leave a trance until she's long gone? Who are the biggest threats to her plan? She winces at how much this mindset reminds her of when she planned to escape the cell and confront Hitsugaya months ago.

Without realising, she turns her head to the figurines on her shelf. The boy and the girl continue to smile at her, but she cannot return it. Hitsugaya will be at the battle. What will he think? He'll lecture her after the battle, obviously; perhaps tell her how foolish her actions are ad not speak to her for some days. But maybe, he'd understand. Like her, he too is dedicated to his occupation and the protection of Soul Society and it's residents. Despite his perchant for following code of conduct and laws of the Soul Society, she could imagine him doing something similar to her if he were in her place. Hadn't he done so only a few months ago?

You came to help me, she thinks. Even when I wouldn't listen to you and didn't want to believe what you were saying, you came to help me. Perhaps now, I can come to help you. Other Shinigami come to mind, friends and subordinates. I want to help all of you too, as you have done for me.

Joining the simmering anger is a determination strong enough to rid her of the anxious jitters and hone her focus on forming a coherant plan.

________________________________

She stares at her reflection, having just finish tying her ribbon over her hair cloth. She has looked like this in months, it’s as if she’s staring at a ghost. The bags under her eyes are gone at least, and despite appearance, she is not the same Soul who once wore the same clothes and accessories. When she returns from this battle, she’ll have changed again. Hopefully for the

Stepping out the bathroom, she glances at her lieutenant’s badge lying on her chest of drawers. When she picks it up, there a weight to it that hadn’t previously been there. She ties it around her arm with reverence. Despite what she’s about to do, she vows she will honour this position on the battlefield.

Strapping Tobiume to her hip, she then summons for a Hellbutterfly. While waiting for the creature, casts her senses out. In line with Genji’s information, the captains and lieutenants gather at fifteen minutes to midday together at the central Senkaimon. Their reiatsu gradually vanish one by one as they pass through the gateway.

I’ll be seeing you soon. Despite the anxiety and steely determination running through her, she can’t help but smile at the thought.

The Hell butterfly flies through her open window. The curtains flutter around it and behind the branches of the trees in the courtyard sway too and fro. The Hell butterfly lands on her shoulder, and she leans forward closes the window.

After the last captains goes through the Senkaimon, she waits. In that time, she stares at the books Aizen gave her, at the sketchbooks will with drawings of him, and at her reflection in the window.

I will face you, she vows, schooling her expression to one of stern resolve. You are a traitor to the Soul Society, an enemy to all the Worlds.

After fifteen minutes, she takes in a long breath, and at the exhale, she raises her hands. This is it.

 I will show you that you do not affect me or the Fifth Division anymore.

She’ll only have a minute at most before her Fourth and Fifth seat realise she’s not in her room. She whispers the incantation for a high-level concealment kido. Before she even utters the last word, she walks to the door to her balcony. Her limbs thrum with anticipation and nerves as she slides it aside quietly.

Then, she leaps up to the railing and bolts off, flying through the air, her gaze on the sky high above. Before her feet touch the ground, Tobiume's flames heat her blood, ready for battle, and her heart soars with a determination that surpasses any shame she has for escaping like this.

But then, the memory of Hitsugaya in the World of the Living comes to mind. She’d ask him not to kill Aizen. Sorrow briefly pricks at her heart. Forgive me, Hitsugaya-kun she thinks, feet only a few meters from the dirt..

As soon as she lands, she sprints in the directions of a training ground in the woods. Everything passes her in a blur.

I’ll show you and everyone else I’m better now.

_____________________________

Next chapter >>

[nebulousbrainsoup]

EVOLVE

PAIRING: biker!kang yeosang x fem!reader GENRE: romance, strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, lil bit of angst, teeny bit of comedy SUMMARY: more often than not, a life lived in Night City is carefully crafted, slotted firmly between preapproved lines—or it is if you value keeping it. whispers of freedom float just beyond the city's neon lights, and it's only through a chance encounter with the most unlikely of characters that you finally start to hear them. TAGS/WARNINGS: explicit content, minors do not interact!, biker!yeosang, biker!seonghwa, misuse of lore terms, extensive control of emotions, artificial intelligence, food, shady government tampering, mysterious disappearance/implied death of unnamed bg character, near-death experiences, mild motorcycle wreck, injury, language, discussions of government corruption, alcohol consumption, discussions of being unhappy with life, unbetaed & barely edited, pov shifts, inspired by outlaw teasers/posters & @hwaightme's This World (Bai is well aware of my shenanigans); tell me if i missed anything pls! WORD COUNT: 12.6k PLAYLIST: Don't Stop - ATEEZ ; Control - Halsey ; Paranoia on Main Street - Demi the Daredevil ; ERROR - The Warning ; Ghost - Halsey ; Virtual Reality - rey ; Aqua Regia - Sleep Token ; AMOUR - The Warning ; BURN IT DOWN - Linkin Park ; Z - The Warning ; mercy - KiNG MALA ; EVOLVE - The Warning A/N: it's finally here, and with a playlist too!!! (yes it's a lot of The Warning, but this whole fic is ERROR-coded i had to) this fic has taken me close to a month to write, it is my baby, so pls treat it with care <3 i have to give world's biggest shout out to Bai for inspiring this absolute beast and for giving me the privilege of tipping my hat to it and her in my first full-length ateez fic. i hope it lives up to expectations. much love, ash tagging the homies: @jaehunnyy & @justhere4kpop

nsfw tags under the cut ; masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee?

this work is 18+. this is a friendly reminder that if i catch a minor interacting with this work, they will be blocked. so don't :)

A/N 2: y'all remember the opening to the Kingdom performance of Rhythm Ta? "The disease is human emotion"?? well, that was echoing in my head on a very obnoxious repeat, and this fic (and its smut scene) absolutely reflects that. you've been warned. NSFW TAGS/WARNINGS: explicit consent included, protected sex, yeosang keeps a condom in his wallet (don't do that!), they're both switches p.2, outdoor sex, pet/nicknames (doll, angel, Sangie), hair pulling, lil bit of marking, yeosang's voice, oral (fem receiving), handjob, decently fast-paced, also emotionally charged; lmk if i missed anything!

It was always unnerving, delivering in this Sector. He'd done so countless times without incident, but even so, Yeosang could feel the infinite eyes of the Guardians upon him. His first trip to this particular building had left him shaken, turning down any more legitimate, above-board deliveries for the rest of the night and hightailing it back to the rest of the Blue Birds as soon as his duty was done. Mars had been less than pleased, scowling at him as he scolded, “As far as they can tell, you’re a delivery boy. There will be no reason for suspicion until you run.” A valid point, certainly, but one Yeosang had trouble reminding himself of while trapped in that neon maze. 

The next night, he dutifully shoved down the nausea that crept up his throat and the shudder that threatened to rip down his spine as he stared up at the looming steel pillar in front of him. Plastic bag in hand, he took a deep breath and pressed the building's buzzer, trying to find comfort in the shadows and the familiar blue of the lights.

The intercom crackling to life startled him, nausea welling up inside him again as he spoke, “Blue Bird Delivery with an order for Y/N.”

“Come in, I’ll meet you down in the lobby!”

It took a moment, that first night, to recover from hearing a human voice rather than the monotone, robotic rasp of a Guardian coming from a government building. He hadn’t expected life or warmth to greet him amidst the blinding lights of the lobby, but both did as you stepped out of the elevator, still in your lab coat and gloves, smiling softly and subtly at him as you patted your pockets. “Shit, I forgot what I owe you.”

Something about the way he looked as he tilted his head in confusion, helmet still on and bandana still pulled up around his nose, had you focusing all your remaining willpower on not doubling over in laughter. “You paid online. You don’t owe me anything.”

His turn to bite back laughter came then, standing there with his arms folded and his lower lip between his teeth as he watched the gears in your head turn.

“Long day, hm?” The words left his mouth before he even registered them, and as your eyes snapped back to his visor, his heart jumped into his throat. 

To his surprise and relief, you laughed, and the tension in both of your bodies drained simultaneously. “It’s two in the morning and I’m having my dinner delivered to work,” you countered, “you tell me.”

Behind his mask, Yeosang smiled. “Have a good evening.”

Nothing about the anonymous man on the moped should have piqued your interest. But that same night, as you settled in the empty employee cafeteria, the stranger seemed unwilling to vacate your mind. Sure, he’d joked around with you; that was unusual in this Sector with the plethora of Guardians milling about at all hours, but not unheard of; and it was a little odd he hadn’t taken his helmet off. Neither of those things, you thought, were good enough justifications for the thought that circled your mind on repeat until sleep finally began to take you; when can I see him again?

As luck would have it, the answer turned out to be “soon” and “frequently.” You and your team were already a week behind the requested lead time on your current build, and as the days dragged on, the microchip’s flaws only seemed to multiply exponentially—much to your annoyance; you’d warned the design team, after all. Of course, the longer it took, the worse the hours got. By the time you made it home after twelve or more hours locked in the clean room, being leered at by eyeless creatures and pulled into at least one far-too-heated debate over a fix or adjustment every two hours, it was all you could do to make it into bed. Cooking was not an option; you lived on delivery.

It wasn’t always Blue Bird—they seemed to reserve themselves for the late night and early morning; but when it was, it was always him. The same jacket, same jeans, same fingerless gloves and bandana obscuring his features, and the same warm, silky baritone greeting you from underneath it all. He rarely joked with you again, seeming to become skittish as more of your team members stayed later and the late-night Guardian presence increased, but you continued to exchange basic pleasantries. Your manners wouldn’t leave you in the face of tighter security. Still, you couldn’t blame him in the slightest—you yourself wanted to have a word with whatever psychopath had designed their ‘faces’—but you couldn’t help missing the teasing lilt his voice held that first night. 

Around a month after your late nights became mandatory, you had trudged into work as usual, with four hours of sleep and the largest coffee cup in your arsenal the only things keeping you upright, and the chaos you were met with nearly made you walk back out. Your production manager was nowhere to be found, leaving you and the rest of your coworkers to scramble to find something, anything that could direct your workflow for the day. It was you who, in sorting through the papers in and on the desk in his office, figured out why. Every ounce of your self-control went toward keeping your eyes from shifting to meet the cameras as you shoved the incriminating papers back where you had found them, rising to your feet to sift through the mess on the desktop once again. Somehow, even with your shaking hands and unfocused gaze, you managed to find what you were looking for, pulling the newest revision of the drawing from a stack you were positive you’d already searched. Hidden, maybe, you thought. 

Returning to the clean room and pinging your team melded hazily into going over the drawing, which faded into you handing out tasks on autopilot until, finally, you were left alone at the work table you had claimed as your own. Falling back into your chair, you finally let yourself acknowledge what you had seen—drawings. Dozens of them, tucked—no, pointedly hidden away between the various books and manuals stored in the bottom drawer that, until this point, you could have sworn was always locked. They weren't unusual for your production manager to have in the slightest, under normal circumstances—their desk was usually covered in white sheets.

But between the loyal employee’s unannounced “sick day” and the amount of White-Out painted across months of drawings for new tech you and your team had been having unprecedented trouble with… These weren’t normal circumstances, and you figured they wouldn’t be coming back to work any time soon. Before you could lose yourself wondering what exactly this development would mean for you and your team, the whirring of a camera lens zooming snapped you out of your thoughts, and you quickly buried yourself in your work once more. Prying would only get you in trouble.

The morning passed in a blur, you spent your lunch hour staring at the stark white wall behind your newest, least jaded coworker’s head as they prattled on, and before you knew it, those still intent on keeping eight hour shifts were beginning to filter out of the building. The ever-present hum of machines and voices slowly dwindled until you were alone with the buzzing lights overhead and the sound of your own breathing. Most days, this was when you got your best work done. No one else was here to bother you, fewer people meant fewer Guardians breathing down your neck, and you could make any snide comments or use any language you wished without offending the sensibilities of anyone nearby. But tonight, once your last coworker had waved goodbye and the click of the door shutting behind them had finished echoing ominously behind them, the usually comforting silence that enveloped you brought with it a sense of unshakable dread. Shifting uncomfortably, you let your eyes wander over the empty clean room, lifting your head nearly imperceptibly. 

You wanted to leave. Every hair on your body was standing on edge, and every fiber of your being was screaming at you to run, to get as far away from this Sector as you could. Something was going on here, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that the crosshairs were zeroing in on you next. But running—leaving, you corrected yourself; you have nothing to run from—early would only arouse suspicion, wouldn’t it? You’d lived your life slotted neatly between the lines the government had drawn, but that hadn’t kept you from hearing the horror stories of those who toed those lines or, heaven forbid, stepped across them. There was no reason to feel this way. 

Until.

For as large as the Guardians were, the things were nearly silent in their movement. If you hadn’t tinkered time and again with their abilities yourself, you’d believe the stories that they could teleport. It was in front of you in the time it took you to blink, and you nearly jumped out of your skin as your eyes met the chrome monstrosity that was its ‘face.’ Gingerly setting down the delicate tools and microchip in your shaking hands, you set carefully practiced neutrality on your face and suppressed a shudder as its message began to play.

“L/N Y/N. Requested by Upper Management. Follow.”

In seconds, ice filled your veins. If anyone had asked, you’d tell them, truthfully, that it was survival instinct alone which carried you to your destination. When you finally came back into yourself, you were staring at the imposing wooden doors you knew belonged to your location’s operational manager. Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you knocked, and were immediately met with your manager’s voice ushering you in.

“Hello, sir,” you greeted, bowing lowly as you shuffled over the threshold.

“To you as well, Miss L/N,” he offered in return from behind his desk, snapping shut the file in his hands. “Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss.”

“So what’s our next move, then?” Yeosang chewed on the inside of his lip thoughtfully, listening to the silence on the other end of his comms grow ever louder. “Seonghwa?”

“If I had an answer, I’d tell you,” his companion spat back, leaning further down over his handlebars and pulling ahead of him. It didn’t matter that they needed a new game plan within the next few hours, he was done talking. With a sigh, Yeosang sat back, rolling his own throttle forward to keep pace as he fell in behind his friend. 

Night City sped by in a blur as they rode in silence, eyes and ears trained to the streets they were patrolling. Small houses gave way to apartment buildings and local shops with no movement on the streets, but still the tension in Yeosang’s shoulders rose with each passing minute. Finally, as they passed into the city center and neon skyscrapers began to loom over their heads, he could stand it no longer. He felt like he was suffocating, and they were miles off-course for their patrol anyway. 

“Mars. Something feels off,” he called, pulling off his throttle and sitting up straighter.

There was silence for a beat as the other man pulled further ahead, and Yeosang watched his helmet turn. “What are you seeing that I’m not?”

“Nothing, I just have this feeling—”

“Well, keep an eye and an ear out, and we’ll deal with it when we have to.”

He sighed, tossing a narrowed side-eye Seonghwa’s way before turning his gaze back to the streets and leaving him with his thoughts. Maybe it was just this Sector, he reasoned. The artificial gaze of the cameras, drones, and Guardians was enough to put anyone on edge. Couple that with the time he’d been spending here, making deliveries of all kinds, and of course he was feeling on edge. It was nothing.

It took another block for the itching anxiety to come back full-force. “Mars.”

A sigh crackled over his comms. “I don’t see or hear anything, Hermes. It’s probably just the surveillance systems getting to your head.”

Yeosang sighed, nearly resigning his edginess to paranoia again. Until, out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. “On your left, look.”

A person was quickly making their way out of the government building he brought most of Blue Bird’s above-board deliveries to, oblivious to the two motorcycles sailing in their direction. He saw the moment Seonghwa made his decision, weight settling further over his handlebars as he shifted into a higher gear. In moments like this, he thought—moments where his desperate search for adrenaline dragged someone else a little too close to the line they delivered others across; the moniker of the ancient god of war fit his friend a little too well. 

He knew the drill by now; fall back, open mid-distance communication with whatever unit was patrolling here for clean-up—just in case he cut a little too close to you—and meet back—wait.

His head snapped up from his watch, abandoning his redirect halfway through in favor of surging forward to catch up with Seonghwa. “Mars, don’t!”

The shout had Seonghwa’s helmet snapping up in alarm, his weight shifting back and throwing both him and his precious Suzuki Hayabusa off-balance. For a moment, he tried desperately to downshift and tame the beast under him, a cause that quickly became lost between his own speed and the downhill slope of the street. You had frozen in your tracks at the sight of the two machines barreling toward you, one now out of control, and Yeosang’s heart skipped a beat or two as the events in front of him began to unfold in slow motion.

You had been sent home early—well, early for you, anyway; the weight of your new position heavy on your shoulders. Production manager. It was everything you should have wanted—everything you had wanted at one point; but the thought of coming in to work tomorrow morning, moving your meager belongings out of your locker and into your former boss’ office to pretend everything was fine had bile rising in your throat. Your meeting with upper management had shed no light on the mysterious disappearance of the last person in charge, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that a target had been painted on your back now, too. Maybe that was just paranoia, though—you had no plans to sabotage any products, after all. What reason would anyone have to make you disappear?

Lost in your thoughts as you began the trek home, you failed to drag your eyes from your feet, only noticing the two headlights careening toward you when the rumble of their engines was close enough to feel in the ground below you. You froze, stunned as your heart jumped into your throat. Was this the dread you had been feeling? Was this the curse of your new position? There was little you could do about it now, you supposed, staring down what you were sure was certain death. It was silly, but you couldn’t help wondering whether your new delivery boy friend would miss you.

“Shit!” Seonghwa hissed, the curse crackling in Yeosang’s earpiece. 

Your shoulders tensed and you took a step back and raised your hands, clearly bracing for the oncoming disaster. Mere seconds before your fate would have been sealed, he watched the unimaginable unfold in front of his eyes; Seonghwa, heeding his words of caution, threw his weight to the right, sending his bike skidding away from the both of you. The grunt he let out as he hit the pavement weaved together with the screech of metal on asphalt, a discordant symphony echoing through his helmet. You added no harmony of your own to it, only flinching as the man who would’ve been your doom rolled to a halt at your feet, visor reflecting familiar blue neon as he stared at the sky. He saw rather than heard the breath you let out, watching your shoulders drop from your ears as you stumbled away from Seonghwa’s prone form.

“What the fuck,” you gasped out, one hand splaying out over your chest as you caught your breath. Adrenaline was coursing through you, leaving your heart pounding and hands shaking as the other biker sidled up next to you.

“I’ll say,” the man below you grumbled, slowly climbing back to his feet. He winced as he settled his weight on his right leg, limping heavily as he made his way back to his friend and leaned against their bike. “You should probably look before you cross the street next time.”

“I was halfway into the road, you ass!” You fumed, snarling at the man before you in stark contrast to the last time you’d met a masked stranger. “You could’ve gone around me—it’s not like you were driving a car!”

Yeosang couldn’t help the giggle he let out at the sight of you—mild-mannered, eternally frazzled you—standing toe-to-toe with the infamous Mars, masked vigilante leader of the Blue Bird biker gang. He bit his lip quickly, hoping his mic hadn’t picked up the quiet noise. 

No such luck, it seemed, as the other man whipped around to face him. Somehow, the visor was more intimidating than the scathing glare he knew lay behind it. “Something funny?” 

He shook his head, the action dizzying him just slightly when coupled with the weight of his helmet and the adrenaline cooling in his veins, and raised his hands in surrender. “Nope,” he hummed, nodding over to the wrecked Hayabusa. “You think you can get that thing to the shop, or do I need to do it for you?”

Seonghwa shifted his weight, testing his injuries lightly. “Help me get her up and I’ll take it from there,” he muttered.

Something about the man with the cruiser was familiar, you decided, as you watched the pair cross to the bike and set it back upright. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but between his voice and the way he carried himself, he reminded you of someone. You’d never seen either of their bikes before, though, and both of these individuals struck you as the type who were connected to their respective machines. You were still racking your brain for the answer as his friend pulled away, sparing you no apology, and it wasn’t until he reached up, tugging at the chains around his neck with familiar, skeleton-gloved hands, that it hit you.

“You’re the Blue Bird Delivery guy.”

Yeosang froze in his tracks, blinking and stunned as he scrambled for an excuse. “I, uh…”

“Your friend just almost killed me. The least you could do is be honest,” you prodded, crossing your arms over your chest.

The way he looked down told you there was a sheepish smile on his face, and you wanted nothing more than for him to finally remove his visor so you could bask in it. “Yeah, I am.”

“Does my near-death experience mean I get free delivery next time?” you quipped. The laugh that left him this time was full-bodied, heard even through the thick padding and metal of his helmet. You decided then and there that you would stop at nothing to hear that sound again. 

The grin you gave him in exchange was sunny, another mark of your warmth in the midst of Night City’s eternal chill. “I might be able to arrange something for you, sure,” he hummed, his smile evident in his tone. “But that might end up being my paycheck you’re cutting into.”

You shrugged. “I’ll tip the difference.”

“Then there’s no point!” Another cheery laugh bubbled up from him, and you found yourself leaning closer to the delivery boy-turned-biker as you shared in his joy. For all the leather and mystery, he didn’t seem all that intimidating; he was nothing like his counterpart had been. He seemed shy and maybe even friendly behind the facade, and the interactions you’d had with him before seemed to corroborate your guess. Again, that familiar feeling of longing that had struck the first night came back to you as he took a step back toward his bike.

Luckily for you, your mouth worked faster than your brain. “Would you want to maybe go get coffee with me?”

Your inability to read his expression meant the silence you were met with had you wanting to pull your words back into your mouth; to rewind time so you’d never spoken; so you’d looked up and seen Delivery Boy’s idiot friend speeding at you; so you’d never ordered from Blue Bird in the first place—

“I can’t, tonight,” he muttered. If he removed his helmet, you would be able to see the tips of his ears turning red. “But maybe another time?”

Your heart sank. When would you ever have time again? “Um, maybe. We could exchange information?”

He tensed, shaking his head gently. “I know where to find you.”

Again, you felt yourself deflate. “Can I… Could you at least tell me your name? So I know who to contact if your friend ever tries to kill me again?” Your attempt to lighten the darkening mood was half-hearted at best, but you tried for a weak smile.

For the third time that night, Yeosang froze. It felt like every camera and Guardian in the vicinity had their lenses trained on him as you asked what was, to anyone other than Yeosang and the rest of his friends, the simplest question in the world. This time, he recovered quickly, unwilling to draw more suspicion to himself than Seonghwa already had with his stunt. “Hermes.”

Your brow furrowed, and he found himself wanting to swipe the crease between them away. “Just Hermes?”

He nodded, stepping back to his bike and tossing his leg over the body, feeling suddenly like a rat in a trap again. “Just Hermes, for now. You can find out the rest later.” He sent you a wink as his bike roared to life under him, only to hang his head when he realized you couldn’t see it. 

You tilted your head at him as his shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Hermes?”

“Yeah, I, uh… I shouldn’t try to flirt. Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

Staring after him, still in the middle of the street, that longing feeling pulled at you again, following his dimming taillight over the horizon.

He was flirting?

“You did what?!”

Yeosang flinched. He was very rarely on the receiving end of Seonghwa’s wrath, but between the wreck and his… slip up with you earlier, he found himself squarely in the sights of Mars. 

“What was I supposed to do, give her my full legal name?” he argued, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning, trying to at least somewhat match the energy in the warehouse. “That would’ve been a death wish.” 

“So you gave her your callsign instead?” Yeosang shrugged, earning a scoff in return. If he were being honest with himself, he didn’t know why he’d done what he’d done either. “What you should have done was hopped on your bike and come straight back here, like we always do.” 

His eyes turned to the floor, and for a moment, everything was silent. “She recognized me,” he muttered, quiet voice still managing to echo like a whipcrack between them.

“You took your helmet off in the middle of the city?!” Seonghwa was on his feet now, yelling, and Yeo might have been scared, if not for the panic flashing behind his friend’s eyes. 

“No, no, I’m not that stupid.” The older man settled, leaning back against the beam beside him once more, arms crossing over his chest. “My voice, and the gloves, I think. She didn’t say, but she pinned me, and I panicked. I couldn’t just turn tail and run; that would’ve looked worse.” 

Finally, a smile cracked the cold demeanor Yeosang had been facing down, and the tension between the two men split as Seonghwa shook his head in exasperation. “If you make me wreck my baby again, I’m making you pay to fix it.”

The comment earned a hearty eye roll as he shifted his attention back to the bike he’d been outfitting upon Seonghwa’s arrival. “As if Yunho makes you pay.” The other man hummed dismissively, and he chuckled quietly. “Could’ve gone a lot worse, anyway. She could’ve had the Guardians on us in seconds for you running her down.” 

Seonghwa frowned, staring thoughtfully at his freshly patched bike for a moment. “She could have. Why didn’t she?” He murmured, eyes flickering back up to Yeosang.

“I… hadn’t considered it.” The younger blinked, matching the elder’s frown and sitting back on the ground. Why wouldn’t you call the authorities on them? They were at your beck and call, hiding just beyond the gates of the building you’d been in front of at the time. Most people in your Sector would have quickly taken advantage of the convenience, leaving the two outlaws to flee for their lives. It wouldn’t have been the first time, nor did Yeosang think it would have been the last. 

“Do you know what she does there?” He blinked out of his thoughts, shaking his head. “You might consider finding out, since you’re friendly enough to be recognized. She’s clearly not as far up the government’s ass as some of the rest of them; she could be a good in, since we just lost our last one.”

His frown deepened at the suggestion, stomach turning at the thought. “She might just do grunt work. I deliver to her a lot—she’s always there.”

“Worth a shot, though. I’ll take anything we can get at this point.”

“Maybe,” he hummed, chewing on the inside of his lip. 

It was an excuse to see you, at least.

After your little run-in with Hermes and his friend, Blue Bird Delivery was out of service in your Sector. You couldn’t help the pang of disappointment that echoed in your chest every time you checked their app; you’d been hoping that your lack of a report would have kept the authorities off their trail. No such luck, it seemed. The longer time dragged on with no Blue Bird and no word from your faceless friend, the more your worry grew, and after a week and a half of radio silence, you were beginning to lose hope that he was just lying low somewhere. Until, two weeks after you had nearly been run over, their delivery started up again. You couldn’t help but smile as you clicked through your usual order from your favorite restaurant and watched as it was confirmed.

Fourty-five minutes later, your phone pinged to signal its arrival and you made your way to the lobby with a spring in your step. You barely bit back the smile that threatened to take over your face—keenly aware of the Guardian stationed outside of the elevators—as your phone buzzed again, this time to signal the ringing of the building’s doorbell. Forgoing the usual pleasantries, you quickly made your way to the door, this time stepping outside and letting it shut behind you. 

It was unbelievable, really, that you’d managed to peg the edgy biker from two weeks ago as this same moped-riding, unassuming delivery driver. You thanked whatever being was listening for your attention to detail.

He offered you a small wave, fingers twitching in the air, and if there had been a doubt left in your mind that they were the same person, it would have left then. You bit the inside of your lip as you stepped forward and took ahold of the takeout bag in his hand, bowing to and thanking him.

“So, about that coffee,” he murmured quickly, his words overlapping with your own pleasantries as you both stood upright again. You blinked, head tilting in mild surprise as he continued. “When are you off work?”

“I, uh… I could be off in like an hour and a half?” You offered, smiling subtly at his visor.

“I’ll be waiting. I hope you’re okay with motorcycles.” 

You could hear the little smile behind his many masks, and your heart fluttered. “I’ll see you then.” 

“Will I get to see your face?” He stopped in his tracks at your bold question, and you clapped a hand over your mouth. “Sorry, I— If you’re not comfortable—”

“If you don’t mind a little bit of a drive, then maybe.” 

You looked at the ground, taking your lower lip between your teeth to force back your grin. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

It was a risk, Yeosang knew, revealing his identity. Seonghwa wouldn’t be happy when he found out; but what was another bout of his anger in the grand scheme of things, really? If the risk turned out to be worth the reward, he’d end up back in his friend’s good graces at record speed—and he had a gut feeling that would be the outcome. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of curiosity and wonder he’d experienced when you greeted him that first night, full of bright life and warmth in the middle of a desolate steel tundra. Something about you was different from the others that roamed your Sector—you’d proven that tenfold two weeks ago; and Yeosang was more than happy for the opportunity to figure out exactly what that was. Meeting you, really meeting you, was the first step. 

It was a risk, sure, but a calculated one.

The closer the clock ticked toward your designated meeting time, the antsier Yeosang got. He’d finished the rest of his deliveries in record speed and closed things down for the night, stopping back by the warehouse just long enough to inform Seonghwa of his plans and make the shift from delivery boy to biker. The elder was yelling something after him that Yeosang didn’t quite catch, tossing a wave over his shoulder before the door clanged shut behind him. He was back in your Sector in record speed, anticipation building in his veins the closer the clock ticked to your meeting.

And as it ticked past, he began to feel trapped. More and more as the seconds ticked past into minutes, he found himself glimpsing his watch, glancing warily over his shoulder and at the door of your building, waiting for you to emerge. Five minutes turned to ten, and ten to twenty; he’d nearly considered calling this a lost cause before you finally made your way from the building, eyes darting around the street as you stepped onto the sidewalk. He watched your face fall just slightly as you saw no sign of him, only to brighten in the next moment as he flicked his headlight back on. Stepping out of his hiding place, he pulled one hand out of his coat pocket, giving you the same wave he had earlier in the evening. He looked ridiculous, you thought, halfway between your delivery boy and the biker you’d met briefly—the same long, black and red leather coat, but this time sporting the same helmet and goggles he wore on his moped.

Barely biting back your grin, you nearly skipped over to him, and he beamed behind his bandana. “I wasn’t sure you were still coming,” he hummed.

You looked down and huffed a little sigh, feeling heat rising to the tips of your ears. “I’m sorry, paperwork just took a little longer than I expected tonight. I’m still adjusting.” 

He shook his head. “Don’t worry. I know what your hours can be like.” Again, you heard the smile in his voice, and you wanted nothing more than to see it. “I wouldn’t have blamed you, anyway. If I were going out to an undisclosed location with a mysterious, masked stranger, I’d be wary, too.”

You giggled softly, and Yeosang’s chest got tighter. He wanted to bottle up that sound and wear it around his neck, close enough for him to pull out and listen to any chance he got. “You don’t feel like a stranger.”

The blush that rose to Yeosang’s cheeks was, frankly, embarrassing, and he was more thankful than ever for his need to remain anonymous. “Neither do you,” he murmured in return.

Reaching down to the backpack he’d dropped at his feet, he unlatched the helmet from it, offering it out to you. “When do you have to be back at work?”

You blinked, tilting your head at him and taking the offered helmet. “I have tomorrow off, actually. New position, new hours.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it when we get where we’re going, then.”

You’d been entirely unprepared for the feeling of riding a motorcycle, much less riding one with Hermes. When the growl of the engine kicked up beneath you, you’d found yourself clinging tighter to his middle, earning a low chuckle that you felt more than heard. The city streets gave you some time to adjust and by the time you reached its outskirts, your heart rate had mostly returned to normal. As he took you past the little rows of houses that marked the beginning of the edge of Night City and into the warehouse district that followed, though, it picked up again. 

What were you doing? 

You hadn’t told anyone where you were going or who you were with; you didn’t even know who you were with, not really, anyway. A few passing interactions didn’t count for “get to know you” material, in your humble opinion. His friend had nearly killed you, or at the very least nearly put you in the hospital. You had no clue what this man looked like and only had one name, which you were nearly certain was, itself, an alias. 

This was easily the stupidest decision you had ever made.

As he pulled to a stop just before the city limit, the desert sprawled out in front of you, and you loosened your hold around his middle. To your surprise, he noticed immediately, turning over his shoulder to glance at you before pulling your hands tighter around him again. 

“Only a few more minutes, I promise. Hold on tight.”

His voice was like magic, washing over you and soothing your nerves. It brought with it the familiarity and warmth you’d come to associate with Hermes; the warmth of the sun in a place where it had been blotted out. Shifting closer to him and squeezing him tighter, you nodded. “Let’s go.”

Riding through the desert was a rush entirely different than puttering through the streets of the city. Hermes had shifted his shoulders forward, picked his feet up, and sent you sailing into the cool night. You shivered as the wind whipped around you, slipping your cold hands under his jacket to seek heat you couldn’t find through the leather. He jolted slightly at the contact, helmet tilting back toward you for a split second, and you thought you felt him laugh again. It was terrifying, cold and dark, save for the strip of road illuminated by the headlight.

But it was also exhilarating. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as his speed climbed, and although you were freezing, the excuse to curl closer to Hermes was not unwelcome. It felt like freedom, being even five minutes outside of Night City, seeing never-ending darkness rather than eternal, artificial light, being here with someone you barely knew, taking the risk of a lifetime. Your initial fear was gone, replaced entirely with childlike wonder, and you let out a quiet giggle, relaxing just slightly as you gazed out at your surroundings. 

You were almost a little disappointed when, as promised, Hermes began to slow a few minutes later, just as you were cresting the top of a bluff. When he had killed the engine and steadied his bike, he carefully pulled your arms from around him, swinging off of it to offer you a hand. You took it readily, leaning heavily on him as you stood on wobbly legs. He let out a quiet laugh as you stumbled into him just slightly, and you found yourself thankful for the helmet you still wore. Once you had gained your footing, he let you go, letting you remove the cumbersome thing before reaching for the pack he’d secured onto your back before your ride. 

“Sorry again about that,” he muttered, “I really didn’t think before I decided to bring things along. It was either you or the storage compartment on the back.”

You shook your head, running a hand through your hair. “Don’t worry about it, I needed it as much as you did. Holding onto my stuff the whole time would’ve been a pain.” Breathing a pleased sigh, you set your loaned helmet on the seat and turned to him.

He’d removed his own helmet and goggles, leaving only the bandana hiding him as he crouched in the sand, digging in his backpack. It was a little hard to tell whether his black hair was purposefully slicked back or simply still stuck in the same state his helmet had put it in, a few strands falling into his eyes. As he tucked them behind his ear, eyes narrowing in annoyance, your attention was drawn to the movement, and your gaze landed on the birthmark beside his left eye. Your jaw dropped open just slightly as you stared, taking a step forward and kneeling in front of him. Even with half of his face still hidden from you, you could tell Hermes was a fitting name for him—he truly did have the beauty of a Greek god.

Steely gray eyes flicked up as they registered the movement, and you felt the wind knocked out of you under their intensity. Just as quickly as they had snapped to you, they softened, and once again, you were left wondering how to reconcile your delivery boy with the vigilante-esque biker in front of you. 

“I brought some blankets, snacks and soju. I figured we could stay for a little while, get to know each other,” he murmured, looking out to the horizon. 

Was the dim light playing tricks on you, or were the tips of his ears turning pink?

You beamed at him, smiling wide with your teeth for the first time since you’d met, and Yeosang felt his heart flutter. It did that more frequently lately, it seemed.

“Sure, yeah. Does food mean I get to see the rest of your face?”

This time, you heard the giggle that left him, the sound wrapping you up like a warm hug. “That depends. You’re not going to drag me back to the Guardians by my hair if I end up being a wanted criminal, are you?”

“If I wanted to do that, I would’ve sent them after you and your friend two weeks ago.”

He sighed, breathing another laugh and looking at the ground, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair. Seriously, though. I might actually be a wanted criminal, and I might actually need you to confirm whether or not you’re going to turn me in.”

You blinked, brow furrowing for a moment. He couldn’t be serious. Sighing, you gave in. “No, I won’t drag you back to the authorities. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured, standing and pulling a blanket from his backpack. “Do you want to face toward or away from the city?” 

You glanced behind you, back in the direction you had come from. The neon lights shone like a beacon in the distance, a slow gradient from electric blues and purples to fiery oranges and yellows as the city spread. Red tinted the edges of the amoebic mass of industry, giving the impression of a spreading fire or trickling blood. You shuddered.

“Away, please,” you murmured, and he nodded, spreading out the blanket to overlook the edge of the bluff, out into the quiet of the desert. Setting his bag at its edge, he gestured to it and moved back to his bike, pointing the headlight out in the direction you would be facing. You settled in, curling in on yourself and rubbing your arms for warmth against the chilly night. 

Before you could dwell on it too much, something warm and heavy dropped onto your shoulders. Glancing up, you found Hermes had shed his coat and settled it over your shoulders, leaving him in a tank top and you blushing. You hadn’t expected a toned body underneath the puffy Blue Bird jacket he always wore, and you could barely tear your eyes away from him as he situated himself next to you. He was a little more than just fit, if his arms were anything to go by.

“So,” he began, leaning back on his hands, eyes fixed with yours on the horizon. “New job, you said? What are you doing now?”

You heaved a sigh, pulling his jacket tighter around your shoulders as your eyes turned to the ground. “Production management,” you murmured dejectedly. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shift to face you. “I got… Promoted, I guess. I don’t know why, because there are other people who’ve been there for years that I’m sure would be better at this than me, but…” you trailed off, sighing again, and when you glanced up, the concern in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. “I didn’t ask for it, but I couldn’t really turn it down.” 

His eyebrows creased for a moment, something like disgust or anger flashing behind his gaze. “Why not?”

You shifted uncomfortably, gnawing at the inside of your lip for a moment. “Well, I would’ve been stupid to, for one. And no isn’t a very well-received word when you work for the government.”

He hummed thoughtfully, looking back out over the horizon. “You didn’t have any sort of warning?” You shook your head, catching him glancing at you from your peripheral. “Don’t people usually give a two-week notice or something?” 

“They do when they don’t disappear without a trace.”

Yeosang shot upright at your words, eyes wide as he turned to you. “They what?”

You startled just slightly, turning to better face him. “He disappeared. No word, no sign. I got promoted the same day.”

“That’s… disturbing.” 

You nodded, shifting to rest your chin on your knees, and he shifted closer, settling one arm behind you. Leaning into his side, you sighed. “It happens, sometimes, when people step a little too far out of line. Par for the course in Night City.” You heard him scoff and felt him nod as he wrapped his arm around you, giving you a quick squeeze that had you relaxing immediately. 

“I’ve been wondering something,” he mused, breaking the silence that had begun stretching between the two of you. “Why didn’t you call the Guardians that night?” 

The question caught you off-guard and you sat up straighter, brows furrowing together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, your building was right there, when you almost got flattened, and I think anyone else in your position would have taken full advantage of that fact. I know others in that Sector have—my friend’s had some pretty close calls before.” 

You frowned, painting careful neutrality back on your features as you stared at the ground. If anything were going yo betray you, it would be your eyes. “I didn’t really… This isn’t a trap, is it? We’ve been over me not ratting you out, but how do I know you’re not trying to trick me into saying the wrong thing? I haven’t even—”

“Seen my face?” he finished, and you nodded. “Look at me, Y/N.”

Slowly, you raised your eyes, your heart skipping a beat or two as you caught sight of his bandana, now resting just above his collar. Excitement surged in your chest as you let your gaze flicker over his features, quickly morphing into confusion and a bit of panic. “You look familiar,” you murmured, shifting away from him. “This has got to be a trap, please don’t—”

“Y/N,” he soothed, his quiet baritone settling your frayed nerves just slightly. “I wouldn’t have anything to do with the government if my life depended on it. Which, I rather prefer the opposite thing I’ve got going on instead.”

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, memories of his face flashing behind your eyes at lightning speed. Every bulletin, every news story, every poster that had displayed that same silhouette, described the same features you were staring at now, right down to the birthmark you’d been fantasizing about kissing. There were never any photos, but your mind had put together a decent enough replica.

Kang Yeosang was not the monster you had heard described in the media, you didn’t think. If he were, why hadn’t he taken his chance and poisoned your dinner? Why hadn’t he killed you the moment you were outside the city limits? Why hadn’t his friend just run you over? Where, in the slew of calls for his immediate arrest and reminders of how dangerous he and his friends were, was this man; the one who greeted you pleasantly, who made you laugh, and whose own giggles in return could warm you for days? You didn’t know what was real, what to believe anymore.

Despite yourself, you laughed. He tilted his head, an amused and wary expression on his face. “I’m sorry, I don’t— this is just—” you tried, gesturing between the two of you. “My delivery guy is Kang Yeosang, one of the most wanted criminals in Night City. It’s kind of ridiculous.”

The giggle that graced your ears was louder without barriers to cover his pretty little smile, and you beamed back at him, chest tight and warm. 

“Isn’t it dangerous for you to be out and about like that?” you questioned.

He shook his head. “It’s better to hide in plain sight, actually. The Guardians rely so much on facial recognition, anyway, that as long as I stay covered up, I’m not at much risk. The delivery job gives me a good excuse to do just that.”

You nodded thoughtfully, gaze turning back to the desert. “That makes sense, I guess. Are the rest of them doing the same thing?” 

“More or less.” 

“So… your friend from the other night, is he one of your vigilante buddies?”

He was silent for a long moment, and when you glanced back at him, his smile had been replaced with a pensive look. “The less I tell you, the better.” Your heart sank ever so slightly, but you nodded, hoping you hadn’t overstepped too far. “Just… For your own safety, you know?”

“Yeah… That makes sense. Sorry.” 

He turned to you again, tilting his head like a curious puppy, and you bit back a giggle. “Don’t be. I’m sorry for being so mysterious.”

“Don’t be,” you echoed, nudging him with your elbow. “It’s your life on the line, and I rather prefer you right where you are.”

If you could frame a moment, you would choose this one, when Yeosang blushed a shade of pink that was barely noticeable in the dim light, smiling shyly as his eyes turned to the ground. “I’m glad,” he murmured, voice only audible thanks to the complete silence around you, “because I prefer being here, too.”

It was your turn to blush as you reached for his backpack, pulling a bottle of soju from it and cracking it open, tilting the opening toward Yeosang. Cocking his head again, he followed suit, clinking the necks of your bottles together. 

“To being here, then,” you offered, heart fluttering at the return of his sweet smile.

“To being here.” 

With the tension broken, the silence between you two became comfortable, and you unfurled your legs from your chest, shifting to lean against Yeosang. After breaking into the snacks and a few swigs of soju, he finally broke the silence again. “You never answered my question, you know.” 

You thought for a moment, and he found himself holding back a giggle at the sight of the near-pout on your face. When the realization seemed to hit, you perked up quite comically, eyes wide. “Oh! I don’t really trust the authorities anymore. After…” you sighed, chewing on the inside of your lip. “I’ve never really liked them. They’re creepy, I know what they can do, and it’s… I don’t think like what they represent, I guess. I’ve never had the guts to do anything about it, but I’ve always kind of kept my distance. And after my old boss went missing, I didn’t really… I haven’t felt right getting them involved in anything.” 

He listened intently as you rambled for a moment, eyes locked onto your face as he searched for any form of deception. He couldn’t think of a single reason why you would lie to him, of all people, about your dislike for the guardians, and he was relieved when he read you as truthful. Hwa was right, then—you could be a helpful asset.

Nodding as you finished, he turned his gaze back to the horizon and capped the bottle in his hand. “That’s kind of what I thought too, at first, and it built from there pretty quickly. I guess that’s the Captain’s fault, though.” 

“Hongjoong?” You questioned, taking another stiff glug of your drink. 

That was a name that put you on edge to speak, like its utterance would summon its owner. Yeosang only hummed in confirmation.

You tucked yourself further into his side, tucking your legs up again as you picked at the label of your bottle. “I kinda thought you guys were a myth before tonight.” The look he gave you was something adjacent to offense, and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from your throat. “I don’t mean it in a bad way! The stories have just always been so much larger than life. I thought you were a legend the rebels of the city cooked up to keep hope or something.”

He laughed at your explanation, securing the arm that rested behind you around your waist and squeezing you into his side. You hid your face in his chest as heat rose to your cheeks, hoping he couldn’t feel your blush through the thin material of his tank top. 

“You did not,” he teased, shaking your shoulder lightly. When you didn’t raise your head and only mumbled something unintelligible in response, he sat up straighter, the hand that had been holding him up coming to lift your chin. “Oh my god, you did,” he teased when you wouldn’t meet his eyes, tongue caught between his teeth. He let out that distinct, adorable giggle, and you couldn’t stop your lips from twitching into a smile. 

“Yeah, I did,” you murmured, still plenty embarrassed. 

You felt him shift more than you saw it, turning your head to figure out what he was up to. Freezing for a moment as you found his face inches from your own, you glanced between his eyes and lips. His fingers shifted from under your chin to splay out over the side of your face, and you saw the ghost of a smirk tug at his lips.

“You’re blushing, Y/N,” he hummed, making you impossibly more aware of the heat in your cheeks and under his palm. 

When you didn’t respond, he hesitated, a small blip of wariness in the confidence on display in front of you. Before he could pull away completely, in a feat of bravery you didn’t know you were capable of, you pulled him in until your lips crashed together.

The little noise of surprise he let out was muffled between you, but he recovered quickly, pulling you tight against him and meeting your kiss with just as much fervor. He was quick to grab at your thigh, pulling it over his hips and tugging you into his lap. Hands settling on his shoulders, you barely noticed his coat falling from your own before his hands left you to catch it. He pulled back with a low hum and a smile as he settled the garment back where it had been, this time wrapping it in his embrace with you.

“Still think I’m just a myth?” He prodded, earning a scoff and an eye roll from you.

You smirked, though, as you looked back at him, eyes flickering over his own flushed face. “I don’t know, let me check again.”

You were almost sorry to swallow the giggle that left him, but any regret quickly melted away with the feeling of his lips on yours. This one was slower, soft and exploratory, a stark contrast to the sudden heat of the last. He dragged your chest flush with his own slowly, one hand splaying out between your shoulder blades while the other slid around to your opposite hip. The movement had goosebumps prickling over your skin and, despite the warmth of his body and the coat around you, you shivered. He hummed against your lips and held you ever so slightly tighter, hands beginning to wander across the expanse of your back.

When you finally broke for air, Yeosang’s hands settled at your waist, doing little more than steadying you as you breathed each other in, foreheads pressed together and eyes closed. It was like time had frozen around you, the silence of the desert night suspending you in an alternate reality, and it felt as though even the slightest movement would send you careening back to the doom that awaited you in Night City. Neither of you spoke, neither of you stirred; for a few short moments you wondered if you had forgotten how to breathe. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Yeosang broke the silence.

“Do you want me the way I want you?”

There was a rasp to his already deep voice that hadn’t been there before, and when you finally opened your eyes, he was already staring up at you, the desire burning low in his gaze making your breath catch in your throat. Swallowing thickly, you nodded, one of your hands slipping into the hair at the base of his skull. He hummed lowly, pleased, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a smirk, and guided your hips to rest more firmly against his own. You let out your own quiet sigh at the evidence of his arousal pressing against your core, quickly sealing your lips again. He met you once again with passion, an undercurrent of desperation and urgency in the way his hands ran up your body, pushing his coat off of your shoulders. Your grip on his hair tightened as he slid them under the hem of your shirt, and you swallowed the moan he let out, matching it with a quiet whine of your own.

His hands settled on your waist again, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he pulled back from you just long enough to speak, “Tell me.” You huffed, trying to guide his lips back to yours, but he held you fast. “I need to hear you say it, doll.”

The pet name had you whining, nodding eagerly as you squirmed against him. “Yes, Yeosang, I want you. Please.”

Your permission was all it took. In seconds, his lips were back on yours and his hands were exploring every inch of skin they could as his hips rolled up into your own. His explorations left your shirt bunched up, and as the cool night air met your skin to contrast pleasantly with the warmth of his hands, a shudder lit down your spine. His lips parted from your own to pepper open-mouthed kisses and teasing nips down the pillar of your throat, hands dropping back to your hips to drag you more solidly against the bulge in his jeans. You both let out breathy, broken moans and found each other’s eyes, desperation reflected back at the both of you. Your hands fell from his shoulders to slink under his tank top for a moment, fingers wandering over the toned muscles you found for a moment before running over his waistband, tugging at the buckle of his belt.

“Eager,” he murmured, leaning up to nip at your pulse. He ground up into you roughly as he shifted under you, one hand settled firmly on your hip while the other splayed over your shoulders. You barely registered his words, too preoccupied with the need coursing through you, when he spoke again. “Flip with me.”

You complied easily, letting him roll you onto your back and settle between your legs. His gaze was hungry as he ran his hands down your thighs, hesitating when he reached your waistband. A nod seemed to be all he needed to unfasten them and drag them down your legs along with your underwear, leaving you bare to his gaze and the night air, one or both of the sensations sending a shudder lighting down your spine. Feeling exposed, you moved to close your legs, but in a flash, Yeosang was settled firmly between them, fingers kneading at your thighs as he hovered at eye-level with your core. 

He lapped a fat stripe over your folds and it was over for you both. The groan he let out and the hungry way he dove back in had you whimpering in seconds, legs twitching where they rested over his shoulders. His tongue worked over you a little clumsily at first, but the moment he found the things that had you gasping or whimpering, he was zeroing in on them, building you rapidly toward a peak you weren’t quite ready to fall over.

“Sangie,” you gasped, reaching down to tug at his hair and drag him up.

His eyes, closed in reverence of his position and your body, snapped open, and he sucked hard on your clit. You whined, pushing back against the top of his head. “Yeosang,” you tried again, “need you t’... Need you.”

He hummed lowly, pressing a kiss to your folds before pushing himself back up, caging you in with his body. 

“You’ve got me,” he murmured, leaning down to mouth at your neck again.

You whined in protest, hand finding his hair again to pull his lips to yours, earning a low chuckle from the man above you. Reaching for his belt, you ran your nails over the front of his jeans, pulling a hiss of your own from his lips. When fumbling blindly with his belt buckle became a lost cause for both of you, he sat back on his heels, unfastening both his belt and his pants. He paused only to pull his wallet from his pocket and a condom from his wallet before he was shoving his jeans and boxers down. You let out a quiet moan at the sight of his cock, flushed and leaking, propping yourself up on an elbow and reaching for him.

The look of him as you wrapped your fingers around him was a memory you wanted to keep forever. His eyes rolled back in his head and his hips twitched up into your touch, a broken moan falling from his lips. His fingers tightened around the foil packet between them as you slowly pumped his length, his breathing quickly becoming ragged. Within moments, one hand was snapping down to grab at your wrist, halting your movements. 

“You keep at that much longer, angel, and I’m not gonna last.”

You grinned, lip caught between your teeth, thumb swiping over his weeping slit. He heaved an unsteady breath, head rolling back again, before he focused back on you, glaring.

“Fuck me already, then,” you quipped, mouth ticking up in a smirk.

He huffed another laugh, shaking his head as he tore the foil open, reaching for you the moment he had a hand free to pull you in for another kiss. He lowered you to the ground as he rolled the condom over himself, gasping into your mouth at the friction, and you clung hard to his shoulders as he settled back over you. You whined as he parted from you again, tugging at his head to urge him back, but he grabbed your wrist, lacing your fingers and pinning your hand to the ground as he lined himself up with your entrance. 

“You’re sure about this?”

As touched as you were by the check-in, it made your jaw twitch in irritation. 

“Yes, I’m sure, fuck me, Yeosang–!” His name morphed into a long, drawn out moan as he pushed into you in one quick, fluid stroke. His own low sound melded with your own, crafting a harmony that would be echoing in your mind for weeks. 

He paused for a breath, leaning down to kiss you quickly, catching your bottom lip between his teeth. You whined as he shifted within you, breath already coming in short; you were desperate for him, and if he weren’t just as desperate for you, Yeosang would have taken more time to commit the sight to memory. But with the way your walls were hugging him—and the way you had already begged him, the sight of the rapid rise and fall of your chest and the knowledge that he caused that—he couldn’t wait long or this would be over before it had even really started.

The moment you felt him begin to move, really move, within you, you let out a gasp, the hand he didn’t have pinned snapping up to tangle in his hair. You pulled him forward as he fucked into you, pressing your foreheads together, and he followed your lead eagerly, catching your lips in a sloppy kiss. It devolved quickly into little more than you moaning into each other’s mouths, hips rocking together rapidly as you chased bliss together. He was warm, strong and sure above you, and the night around you faded into nothing with the way his body covered yours, leaving both of you once again suspended in a world of your own making. Your cries and whines of pleasure echoed out into the nothingness of the desert, and for once you didn’t bother silencing yourself—out here, there were no repercussions for your pleasure. 

For the second time that night, you mused over how Yeosang—a man you were taught was the enemy, trapped in a prison of his mind’s own making—felt like freedom. The build of the high you were chasing now reminded you of the rush of adrenaline that had coursed through you on the back of his bike such a short time ago, and you pulled him impossibly closer to you, needing to feel his body flush against yours in the same way. A quiet grunt left him as he dropped down to his elbow, stuttering for only a second before picking his pace back up. You settled your feet on the ground, using the leverage to tilt your hips up, and with that small shift, you were seeing stars. His cock was hitting that perfect spot inside of you, his lips were chasing yours every chance he got, and his grip on your hand was tightening; you could tell he was just as close to his peak as you were as he sighed your name against your lips.

He feels like freedom. The thought echoed in your head again, this time louder, and your heart skipped several beats in quick succession. Your chest, throat and core all tightened together, and you pressed your lips against Yeosang’s lips with purpose as your orgasm crashed over you like a wave. You swallowed the drawn-out moan that left him as your walls milked him dry, his hips twitching against your own. He pulled back while you were still lost on cloud nine, wanting to drink in the sight of you, and when his eyes caught the tearstains on your cheeks, his headlight tinging them gold, his stomach dropped. But your eyes blinked open as he wiped them away, a hazy, blissful smile on your face, and he felt himself relax just a bit.

“What’s wrong, angel?” he murmured, and your chest clenched at the concern in his voice. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

You shook your head vehemently. “No, Sangie, you were perfect. I just… It felt really good to let go,” you admitted, turning your gaze away from his own. “I haven’t ever been able to, with the whole…” You gestured back toward Night City, and he raised his head to stare back at it, frowning.

WIth a sigh, Yeosang nodded, slipping out of you to sit up. You whined in protest, grabbing at him, and he placated you with a kiss before shifting around to clean both of you up. Once you were dressed again, the cold quickly having become unbearable without his heat, he tugged you into his lap.

“I’m sorry you’ve never had an experience like this before,” he hummed, pressing a kiss into your hair, “but I’m glad I could provide it, and I hope you’ll let me again.”

You smiled brightly against his chest, nodding. “Any time, Sangie. I’m just sorry so many other people miss out on this.”

“Me too.”

“It felt like freedom,” you murmured after a stretch of silence. “You feel like freedom.”

Another moment you wanted you imprint on your brain; the grin he gave you before he yanked you in for another kiss.

When he returned to the rest of the Blue Birds for patrol the next night, Yeosang was keenly aware of Seonghwa’s eyes boring holes into the back of his skull. No doubt he was curious about the details of the previous night’s escapades and itching to give him an earful for wandering off with a government employee and no backup or contingency plan. Sure enough, when the gang split for their respective patrols, he was the one left with their leader. It wasn’t unusual by any stretch, but since the change to his callsign, Seonghwa had been putting Yeosang with other people more frequently to give everyone a chance to adjust.

As they set out, silence stretched between the two riders, and Yeosang couldn’t shake the discomfort it brought. After only a short fifteen minutes, he had to break it.

“You’re mad at me.”

It was purposeful, he was sure, the way he could hear Seonghwa’s drawn-out sigh over his comms. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“But I didn’t,” he countered, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“You could have gotten yourself arrested.” 

Yeosang scoffed. “What’s the difference, these days?” The silence that met his ears spoke volumes. “Look, I know you aren’t happy about it, but I did it, and I survived. And I think you might be right—she might be on our side, she just doesn’t know it yet.”

Another sigh. “What does that even mean, Yeosang?”

“I figured out why she didn’t call you in.” Silence, this time, but where he had been pointedly keeping ahead of his companion, Seonghwa sat back just a bit, slowing his pace to ride with him. “She doesn’t trust them.”

“Who does?”

“Like eighty percent of the population. Can you be civil for long enough for me to explain, please?” Silence met Yeosang’s ears, but it was miles better than snark. “She’s worked on the things—she knows their wiring and their programming back to front. She could be a very valuable asset to us.”

“So you’ve said—I fail to see how this is more than grunt work.”

“She just got promoted to the position our guy was in before.”

Seonghwa’s helmet whipped to face him for a split second. “Okay, now that is something. Did you convince her to help us, then?”

Yeosang chewed on his lip. “Not yet, but I think I can.”

The deep breath that echoed through his earpiece set his nerves on edge. “You’d better work fast. She’s good at her job—the things our guy was blocking from release are almost ready to be delivered to the masses, according to my intel. We need her position back as soon as possible, and there are already plans in motion.”

There it was. His stomach dropped and bile rose in his throat. “You’ve already called a hit on her.”

“In my defense, I didn’t know it was this girl you’re head over heels for.”

“Says you,” he spat, uncharacteristically nasty, eyeing the way his companion’s shoulders rose. “It wouldn’t have mattered anyway.”

Silence once again, heavy and tangible, hung in the road between the two men.

“If we only resort to death and violence, we’re no better than they are.”

Seonghwa’s scoff echoed as he revved his engine, pulling ahead once again. This time, it didn’t seem like he would be falling back. “I can give you a week. Either convince her or get over her. It’s your choice.”

Yeosang scowled, watching with a glare that could kill as his friend faded into the horizon. He didn’t need a whole week.

Two days later, when you were once again working late and in desperate need of a meal, Blue Bird Delivery was out of service once again. Your heart sank and bile rose in your throat at the implication, and you promptly locked your phone, suddenly too sick to eat. You drowned yourself in your work for the next hour or so, blissfully uninterrupted. It wasn’t until your phone pinged in your pocket, signaling the building’s front buzzer, that you were pulled back into reality. Blinking the measurements and notes from your vision, you frowned, clicking the front camera onto your computer and opening the intercom. “Yes?” 

“Blue Bird Delivery with an order for Y/N,” came the quick reply, Yeosang’s voice crackling through the speaker. You rubbed your temples and sighed heavily, feeling like the weight of the world had been taken off of your shoulders as you relaxed. 

“I’ll be down in a minute.” You bit the inside of your lip, holding back your grin as you made your way downstairs and through the front door as fast as possible.

He seemed even more on edge than usual tonight, shoulders tensed up nearly to his ears, you noted when he came into view. This time, it was you who used his greeting to cover your question. 

“Are you alright?”

He hummed quietly, barely loud enough for you to hear, and turned on his heel, leaving you stunned and confused, a million questions running through your mind. Did he regret taking you out? Did he regret the sex? If he wasn’t here to talk, why was Yeosang bringing you food that you hadn’t been able to order in the first place? He had seemed happy for the rest of the night, holding you close, watching from the street as you had made your way into your apartment building and waved to him from the window, pouting just slightly before you’d arrived that he couldn’t kiss you good night. In a slight daze, you made your way back to your office, locking the door behind you before settling in to eat. No matter how bitter the food would taste now, you needed to eat, but you certainly didn’t want anyone disturbing you. 

Pulling the bag open, your eyes immediately zeroed in on an unfamiliar shock of blue tucked down the side of it. You squinted for a brief second in consideration of it, quickly thinking better of pulling it from the bag. Removing the takeout containers resulted in the paper falling down into the bottom of the bag, and as you set it below your desk as you had made a habit of, readying it for the remnants of your dinner, you glimpsed the message scrawled on it.

“1 hr. -H”

You swallowed thickly, anxiety coiling in your gut. What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

He was waiting in the same place he had been before, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. You hesitated as you approached him, and his heart sank. He wanted so badly to touch you, to kiss you, to pull you to him, but he couldn’t risk that emotional breakdown happening in the center of Night City if this went south. Still, he offered you a half-hearted version of his little finger wave.

“What’s with the passing notes?” You questioned, attempting to laugh off the awkwardness. 

“I need you to make a decision.” If you weren’t nervous before, you certainly were now, heart pounding against your ribcage as you bit back a retort about your relationship being too new for ultimatums. “I can either be here as an opportunity or a warning.”

“Should we go somewhere—” you started, only for him to cut you off with a raised hand.

“We’re safe enough here, and I don’t want to waste gas. This is a blind spot for surveillance.” You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself for comfort. This didn’t feel good. “The rebellion needs someone in your position. Your previous boss was—”

“I know,” you cut in. “I found the forged documents ages ago, before I even took over.”

He went silent, head tilting to the side. You wished you could see the puppy-like look under his disguise.

“He wasn’t sneaky. He didn’t destroy any of the evidence—I found it all the morning I got promoted. The drawings, the inspection sheets, all of it. Are you here to ask me to take over for him?”

Yeosang hesitated. “Well, I was going to, yes. The issue is, you’re a little too good at your job, and if you keep being good at it, I and my people will start losing our footing. And…” He paused, taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the way you were staring at him with narrowed eyes. “There might already be a hit out on you from some of the higher-ups. So it’s kind of a ‘help us or die’ situation.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “There’s no other alternative?”

“Not unless you wanted to end up running and hiding for the rest of your life like we do.”

Your decision, and therefore your reply, was instantaneous. “How do I do that?”

If you could see his face, you probably would have laughed at the stunned look Yeosang was giving you. “What?”

“I don’t want this life anymore. I’ve spent my entire life making absolutely sure I fit the mold, and it’s been absolutely terrifying every step of the way. I’ve lost coworkers, friends, even family members for bullshit or unknown reasons and I—” Your voice broke and you paused, regaining your composure. “I felt free with you the other night. I want to feel that again, as often as I can.”

He was quiet for long enough that dread settled back in your stomach. When he finally broke the silence, you could hear the mask fall away from his voice. “Let’s go for a ride, then. We’ll figure this out together.”

You grinned, waiting impatiently for him to settle over his bike before climbing on behind him, wrapping tightly around him, this time in excitement rather than fear. Like the first night, you felt him laugh. “Hold on tight, doll, you’re in for a bit of a bumpy ride.” 

Despite knowing he was talking about more than poorly paved roads this time, your heart soared. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Hermes.”

mdni banner | support banner

© June 2023 nebulousbrainsoup | all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate my work.

[eekshade]

Muse

Steve Rogers x m!reader

Word Count: 1605

Warnings/Info: pre-serum Steve, art school Steve, no pronouns used so could be read as a gn!reader, flustered Steve <3, reader goes through Steve’s sketchbook w/out permission but Steve’s okay with it (just embarrassed), was slightly inspired by that one scene in atsv

Steve was currently anxiously pacing around your apartment, looping through the kitchen to wrap around the couches in a large figure eight path. He was in a deranged panic as he ranted about his upcoming finals, not only were finals a stressful time in general but Steve was also in, according to him, the worst art block he’s ever been cursed with.

“Steve.” You try to gently call out to him for the second time, he (again) doesn’t seem to hear you because he continues to make his way to the kitchen in order to restart his pathway.

“Steven, just-,” you grab his shoulders as he walks by where you were standing; forcing him to look at you, “stop for a second.” It came out a bit harsher than you meant but at the very least he was finally still.

“What?” He says, his voice a fine mix between annoyance and embarrassment, as he attempts to shrug off your hands, a blush dancing across his cheeks. You pull your hands back and mutter an apology.

“Instead of storming around, how about we sit down and take this step by step.” You offer and he quickly walks to the main couch while nodding softly, mostly to himself.

You sit down next to him, placing a hand on his knee, ”How much time do you have before it's due?” You ask in a tone one would take when talking to a crying child, soft and quiet; almost a whisper.

“Around three weeks.” He sighs, scooting closer to you (silently praying you won’t notice).

“Alright…” You break eye contact in favor of looking around the surfaces of the furniture, “That’s enough time, I believe.” You stand having found what you were looking for.

“Here’s the plan, let's try and get you some motivation before anything.” You grab his sketchbook off of the small dining table that sat across the room.

“What do you mean?” He asks cautiously, watching the way your hands grip the book when you walk back over to him.

“I think you should start with something you find easy, to lull yourself back into it.” You sit beside him once again, closer than before, “What do you find easy to draw?”

“I don’t really know…” He laughs sadly, “Everything sounds too hard right now.”

“That’s fine, we could just flip through and see what you draw the most.” You smile at him, causing his heart to melt; distracting him from what you had just said.

“Wait, god no, birds!” He yelped the second he processed what you had just said, “I could draw birds.” He tried to reason, but it was a moment too late.

You opened the book to a random page only to be met with a portrait of you cooking a stew for him while in his kitchen, presumably from when he was sick. He nervously watched your face, the fear of you hurting him (emotionally and/or physically) left as fast as it came, once he saw the small smile that was etched on your face as you gently traced your fingers along his pencil strokes.

You turned to look at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, but any plan on saying something was abruptly taken from you at the sight of him, his face was mere inches from yours, biting his lower lip rather harshly, blush burned onto his cheeks, already staring at you. You try not to linger on the butterflies going on a mini rampage in your stomach, you quickly turn back to the sketchbook and flip the page. The next page only makes you smile more, it shows you again on both pages, this time you seem to be from his memory.

The page is flipped again to show you and Bucky laughing while playing cards with his sisters, you flip the page once more to reveal you reading with a dog laying on your legs. Laughing under your breath; the realization finally hitting you. You go to try and flip the page one more time, you wore a knowing smirk, that only grew when Steve snatched the book from your lap. You look at him but he won’t look back at you, his eyes glued to the sketchbook that sat on his lap, you laugh at his bashful demeanor.

“I’m sorry, this is weird - you just - sorry.” He fumbles over his words, after a small moment of consideration he leans forward and shoves the book into his bag, which sat on top of the coffee table.

“Wait Steve, it's okay.” You softly take his hands into your own, gently dragging him back down to where he was before.

He looks at you sadly, “God, I really am sorry.” You look at him with pure admiration and slight pity for making him so panicked.

“Please don’t look at me like that.” He whines, he breathlessly looks down at your lips for a second so brief you almost missed it.

“Like what?” You ask, eyes drilling into his.

“Like it's okay.” He whispers.

“It is.” You smile at him, “You're an artist, I can’t get mad at you for making art.” Your voice gets louder (although you're still not talking at full volume) and you lean back an inch or two at most and let go of his hands; trying to make sure you aren’t misreading the situation.

You laugh and run a hand through your hair, trying to make him comfortable again, “So, what, do you want me to pose?” You laugh at your own joke, which causes him to laugh along with you.

“Alright so, what’s it really about though?” You ask calmly while fidgeting with your hands not knowing where to put them.

He quickly stops laughing and gets flustered - not nearly as much as before, “Oh well y'know, it's kind of hard to explain without sounding like a creep.” He averts his eyes from you.

“I give you my permission to sound like a creep.” You smirk at his eye roll.

“That means so much, thank you.” He replied sarcastically, finally meeting your eyes.

“Anytime, Rogers.” You say with a wink, you notice he blushes a bit at that. “Well, go ahead.”

“You really wanna know?” He appears to have gotten more comfortable with the conversation.

“Yes! Of course I do.” You exclaimed exasperated.

“Okay - well, I think you have a good…like body.” He sounds unsure, he pauses for a few seconds to think, you open your mouth to make a joke but he cuts you off, “No, wait! Just please let me finish before you say anything, okay?” You nod.

He takes a deep breath, “You’re like my muse, I don’t think I’m using that right.” He laughs, “I mean, before I do an actual piece I need to warm up, and in order to do that, I typically draw you and sometimes Bucky.” He seems to throw that last part in half-heartedly.

“I think it's because I’m around you so much, it's just easy to properly capture you, you and Bucky.” He added.

You stare at him quietly with a smug smile.

“I’m done. Please say something.” He whines out nervously.

You lean forward, your foreheads now touching, “And Bucky?”

“Yeah, of course, you just ended up on a bad few pages is all.” He defends himself very quietly, you smile at the attempt.

His eyes keep flickering between your eyes, lips, and hands, not bothering to hide it anymore. “Steve,” you say, making his eyes stop moving for a moment to keep them on yours. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?” He whispers so quietly you almost miss it.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask breathlessly.

“Yes, god, please.” He quietly whimpered.

You grab his jaw and finally push your lips against his, you bring one of your hands to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging, this pulls out a soft moan from him, your teeth clashing together. It’s a bit of a mess but neither of you care. He whines as you pull away from him to catch your breath, you look at him as he sits beside you; lips red and wet, soft pants coming out from behind them, eyes glossed over, cheeks dusted pink. He looks back at you, with an almost sad look on his beautiful face.

“Are you okay?” You rest your forehead on his once again.

“No.” He admits, “I don’t think I am.”

“Why?” You look down and take his hands into yours, playing with his fingers slightly, before locking them together.

“Because I don’t know what this means.” He sighs and his eyes are glued onto your interlocked fingers.

“It can mean whatever you want.” You look into his eyes, “I’ll be right here with you.”

He smiles warmly at you while keeping those sad puppy dog eyes, he leans in and pecks your lips. It was short but long enough to feel his emotions vividly through it. He lets go of your hands and leans back, for a second you fear he didn’t mean it, but he then grabs his bag off the table and pulls the sketchbook and a pencil back out of it, then flipping to a new page.

He turns to you, “Is your pose offer still open?” He looks at you brightly.

“Of course it is.” You laugh and strike the most dramatic pose you could pull off.

“I love it.” He laughs warmly, he hesitates briefly before grabbing your limbs and face, posing you how he pleases. “You're perfect.” He mutters as he starts his rough draft.

| MARVEL MASTERLIST |

[tabbyhoney]

Gorgeous

Inspired by "Fear of you" written by @sleepwalkersqueen

Note: Hello! I am very new to all of this posting stuff on tumblr so I hope this will be received atleast okay. But considering how nice most people are here I think it is safe in a way(atleast I hope so). And my first little story is a fanfiction for a fanfiction. Since I still have an absolute brainrot from the story "Fear of you" from @sleepwalkersqueen and it kinda kicked me out of my writersblock that I had for... Like 5 years? So yeah that is hopefully ending now.

Disclaimer: mentions of torture, english is not my first language, mention of mutilating, mention of psychological abuse

Summary: Howashi Amayas first thoughts while meeting with Takami Shinyo back in Tartarus for the very first time.

The moment I walked into the tiny cell my breath stopped and it felt like it may never return again. Leaving my lungs hollow just like my heart felt since forever.

Not because the whites from the walls and ceiling that looked clearer than the clouds in the sky, with the harsh lights from the room that burned my eyes. It wasn't the smell of something rotting away aswell. Or even how tense the room felt when I stepped into it, a pair of eyes glaring at me.

It was the colour of the sun going down in the horizon. The sky that turned this golden orange making everything feel peaceful and free. The sun that held this ruby colour one could sink into. Like the most beautiful reddest strawberry one could eat.

A red richer than a rose but just as many thorns.

Sharp eyes that looked way too clear for being forced to stay here in the most high security prison in the world, Tartarus.

If it weren't for the eyebags forming under his eyes I would have thought he might aswell just be a doll, too perfect and pretty for a human.

His golden hair that looked a little too sticky to be clean still hold something so beautiful it reminded me of the fukuroda falls.

And yet all this thinking about how good he looks made this scene even more absurd.

The silvery metal that covered half of his face, like a biting dog that needed a muzzle. His hands tightly held by heavy chains. Strapped onto some weird chair that doesn't let you sit but instead forced you to stand. No comfort in being a prisoner.

The beautiful red that was behind his back were pierced with metal rods and more chains. I could smell the never ending blood that came out of the pierced parts of the rods. How rotten it smelled, like a bird at the side of the road that was hit one too many times with a car.

A caged bird. A caged dangerous bird that for some reason made the most dangerous villain in this facilty look like they are weaker than this kicked chicken. They were stronger than him.

Takami Shinyo, imprisoned for theft and taunting a hero on duty. Multiple tax evasions, smuggling and so much more I can't remember.On his file was written he killed people but that was never able to be proven, for now.

Since he was captured by the No. 2 hero Endeavour he behaved god right awful. He only ever gives snarky comments and made the most hilarious awful bird puns. He fighted off any guard at any given moment and he even bit someones finger off that later was never found and so the poor lad lost it forever. He refused to eat and drink properly resulting in having to force feed him, that also explained why he bit off the finger, the guards lost their humanity just like all the prisoners afterall.

But even if he would have behaved any better I can't even blame him. Being tortured and having to endure the panic of mock executions surely messes with ones head even if he did that since day one.

Now I even had to start questioning why I am here in the first place, why I agreed to be here.

Perhaps deep down it was because Endeavour has been trying really hard to get one of the people involved with Takami-San out of this floor and I felt pity. Him trying to find someone that would be a better person for the position in his eyes. Resulting in him interviewing the entire facilty staff before he saw me walking around at the higher floors and ultimately decided I was good enough, atleast in his words and with the few words we shared with each other. Even though I was not a guard but a therapist but that seemed to make him even more sure. Laughing and telling me how much of a lost course he is, still finding it a good opportunity to break his soul more, what a cruel hero.

And now here I was standing, staring at the chained man that I only saw once at another time. Flying in the sky like a free bird. Not caring what anyone might think about a mutant using their powers they have since birth. How admirable.

If I could go back to that moment, before everything else started to go down hill. How he escaped the highest security prison to ever exist and how he tortured Imawamashi maybe while escaping, what a man. I wouldn't go back.

Maybe I would allow him this freedom he deserves, because if I know one thing for sure that is that Shinyo is not a bad person, maybe a bad human sure but not bad.

But to relive this very moment? Me staring at him with wide eyes and the most professional phrase one could say to their new patient.

"You're so gorgeous"

[caesarflickermans]

SPARKS OF REBELLION (THG SERIES)

Plutarch Heavensbee has been, for several years, part of an undercover group aiming to overthrow the Capitol. All the group needed was a spark. AO3 THG series centred around the origins of rebellion in the Capitol.

She smelled like white roses serves as the introduction with President Snow’s second wife, Virgilia Snow, who seems a mere trophy wife. When she discovers the past with its books, political theories, and rebellions, she begins to see the world anew. The secret relationship that is slowly developing between her and Plutarch Heavensbee might also help to change hearts and minds. [Light themes of abuse present, warned before corresponding chapters & explained in the end notes]:

Summary: Mrs. Snow was married to her husband for more years than her fingers could count and Mr. Heavensbee had great plans laid out for the nation that would get him removed from the precious thing called ‘life’ if found out. Somehow, both collide at an evening dinner, share a few interests, and repeatedly have to remind themselves that they shouldn’t be that foolish. But one can rebel against the President in more ways than either of them imagined. Or: The story where Plutarch Heavensbee has to add one more liability to the list of “people to protect” and it is getting awfully crowded.

Burning Bright in the City of the Night is a oneshot about Tigris that bridges the events of the prequel with the trilogy. Questions such as 'how did Tigris and Snow fall out?’ or 'why did Tigris join the rebellion?’ are answered here. Also the lesbian realisation hitting hard:

Summary: Snow lands on top, Coriolanus had said. But Tigris hadn’t thought about the fall that would follow from its peak. This is where discarded stylists go when they are no longer of use. One-Shot to bridge the prequel with the trilogy, and how Tigris became a tiger.

Birds of the Capitol takes place during the original trilogy when the first sparks ignite the country. Explored through three point of views and various flashbacks, the rebellion's work behind the scenes is revealed.

Summary: The Capitol rebels were awaiting a spark to light a fire across Panem. No one expected a tribute from District 12 to inspire them once more. Their anticipated plan was finally coming into motion, but at what cost? And how had they found each other? Plutarch Heavensbee came from an old Capitol lineage. But something caused him to abandon his privilege for a better vision of Panem. Caesar Flickerman was the mere host of the Hunger Games. But his proximity to the tributes was a worthwhile tool for more forces than the regime. Virgilia Snow once married the President. But her silent existence by his side had long been corrupted.

[mollysunder]

What If Jinx and Local Cuisine (LC) Were in Cahoots?

A writer for Arcane confirmed that Jinx does have friends that will be revealed next season, and I realized LC might actually fit the bill as one of them.

First, I should explain what kinds of traits make people gravitate towards Jinx.

From the few scenes we see of LC, he actually demonstrates the kind of traits that would make him compatible for Jinx's circle. People in Zaun, from regular chempunks to Inx members admire (and even champions like Sylas) Jinx because she satisfies/inspires their desire for revenge against their oppressors in Piltover. These are people that accept the necessity of violence and choose to go further by reveling in it as a source of catharsis.

What does this have to do with LC? Well the first time we meet LC is at the brothel where he was seen wearing the Wolf's mask. The Wolf is a part of a twin personification of death in Runeterra, known as the Kindred. The Lamb represents quick and painless death and wears a wolf mask, while the Wolf wears a white lamb mask and represents violent and painful death. The Wolf associated with punishment because when you refuse the Lamb's "gift" by resisting death the Wolf will relentlessly hunt down the fying to tear them apart to make them submit.

LC's association with the Wolf, related to violent death, has fueled speculation on his purpose going into season 2. Even if you don't subscribe to the theory that he's related to the princess beheaded by Ambessa and he's on a revenge quest, the show chose to depict him as an entity kills with a violent passion.

If the theory's true why wouldn't LC want to see Piltover burn as much as the Medardas if the theory's true? The princess theory offers solid motivation for why he wouldn't just be targeting the Medardas, but Piltover too. While Noxus is the warmongering expansionist empire that killed the princess, Piltover is the nation that facilitates its survival as vital trading partner to the empire. The advent of the hexgates has likely only improved the efficiency of Noxian warband supply lines. People like the Medardas invest in Piltover to keep themselves wealthy and on top, hell the practically run it now.

A righteous thirst for revenge and no compunction with violence against Piltover makes Jinx and LC potentially birds of a feather. If that's true then LC could theoretically fulfill a critical component for Jinx's operation, information.

For Jinx to pull of even half her exploits she needs an intel source, and LC is the most obvious connection. LC is the only character from Zaun that can regularly move between the two cities on legitimate business to meet his high profile clients like Ambessa without drawing attention. If most of his Piltovan clients act like Ambessa, then they probably talk about sensitive topics at and around him all the time, like the one between Ambessa and Jayce that led to the refinery raid. LC is probably the best source of informal knowledge on ongoing developments in Piltover's highest circles of society.

There's no way Jinx could pull of the heist without prior inside knowledge. The shipment raid and the heist all happened on the same day, Progress Day, within a handful of hours. Jinx would have had to know that there was a hexgem to steal in the first place, because that was a guarded secret. Even the first time she robbed a home in Piltover required an outside party, Ekko, to case the joint for her. Instead of robbing a nice trinket from a great house for Silco as an apology, which she was entirely capable of, instead she KNEW to target the hextech workshop. Jinx knew where the guards would be posted and what abandoned building to set on fire and rig with explosives. Almost like she already had intel on the hexgem and decided to strike when it was convienent.

I'd also like to include the fact that even in the concept art for Jinx's hideout we see Jinx in the zone on her work bench while a mysterious figure comfortably leans into her space.

While the figure has few discernible features that matches with most of Zaun's cast in the show and the concept art, there is one determinable feature. The figure has a sleeve with a red and gold stripe pattern similar to the one LC wears at the brothel.

The mysterious figure also lounges on the rail in a similar fashion to how we the audience were first properly introduced to LC.

Personally, I think it makes sense for Jinx to make friends with figure like LC because not only do the have similar goals, Silco would likely approve of it too. Silco doesn't like Vi or Ekko because they threaten his relationship with Jinx, someone like LC, who doesn't work for him, but is still under his purview won't do that.

And honestly, LC gives the same vibes as Chadd, a violent, organized, and prominent member of the Inx (Jinx followers), just with less hero worship.

Sidenote: Wouldn't it be hilarious if it were the case that the only reason Jimx knew how to break into the Kiramman's home is because LC told her about it. You can bet this dude went on jobs as an escort to atleast one Councilor's party in their home.

[presidenthades]

Once again, I am doing a series of my behind-the-scenes thoughts for The Golds while I do light edits for formatting, typos, and continuity. Here’s Chapter 4!

For this chapter’s title, I picked the Crone’s lyrics from “The Song of the Seven” because Old Willow—who is a crone, as a wise older woman—is so important to this chapter.

Detective Aegon was one of the things I was most excited about as I wrote this fic. The idea was born when I read that TGC interview where he said Aegon is “intelligent and has a keen eye for the weak spots for others.” I extrapolated that as Aegon being observant about what makes people tick, which made me think about Sherlock, then I realized my version of Aegon would love being a detective. He gets to run around the city, meet interesting people, and feel a bunch of adrenaline/endorphins/dopamine.

I think Aegon is also very driven by the pursuit of dopamine. In canon, this manifests in his heavy dependency on wine and sex. In this verse, he gets tons of dopamine from his interactions with Jace. But since Jace is preoccupied with the pregnancy and governance and court, he’s deprived at the moment. So in this chapter, he explores his newfound detective hobby which makes him a bit less dependent on Jace for gratification—but not much. Still a simp for his wife 🥲.

Aegon is a night owl, Jace is an early bird. This isn’t an issue in the early days of their marriage because…well, they’re pretty much having sex whenever they’re in the bedroom, and sleep is optional 😂. But the honeymoon period tapers off right around when they discover the pregnancy, and it’s also when Jace’s LIWs are getting accustomed to their roles. The LIWs in particular are jarring for Aegon. LIWs are supposed to have lots of access to their mistress’ rooms, which isn’t a big deal in a traditional marriage where the husband and wife keep separate rooms, and the husband usually sends a message in advance if he wants to “visit” his wife at night. But Aegon has moved in with Jace, and whereas he views the LIWs as intruding on his private time with his wife, the LIWs view him as impeding their ability to do their job.

I decided that Arryk likes Aegon more than Erryk does (another reason the twins choose different sides in the Dance), and that’s why Aegon thinks Arryk is more fun. Erryk was more judgmental during Aegon’s debauchery days whereas Arryk was more chill. As a result, Aegon learned to tell the difference between them, because he wanted to be sure which twin he’s been saddled with. But Aegon likes to mess with people, so he deliberately gets Erryk’s name wrong because Erryk is annoying/inconveniencing him by dragging him to Viserys.

In the show, Aegon/TGC throws some truly hateful glares at Viserys, but at the same time his dialogue shows he longs for his father’s approval. Here, Aegon clings to that resentment (simmering not burning) but is much less interested in Viserys’s approval. He has plenty of approval and affection from Jace, so even though it stings that Viserys doesn’t care, Aegon can shrug it off more easily because he has something/someone better.

Viserys’s story in the show about the horses and coloring, and various comments about how he would’ve been happier as a simple country lord than as king, inspired me to give him amateur agricultural interests. He’s never done any actual farming, but he likes to read about it and daydream about his alternate universe life.

As I hope I made clear in the scene, Viserys is having this conversation for Jace’s benefit rather than Aegon’s. His favoritism for Rhaenyra’s line continues to abound in this universe, and he follows the old-fashioned school of thought that pregnant woman should refrain from having sex, ostensibly to protect the fetus.

In an early draft, Alicent was the one who had a similar conversation with Aegon to leave Jace alone. Alicent’s desire for this conversation was born from her own experience of being relieved not to have to continue having sex with her husband while pregnant. But I changed it because a) Alicent already has enough haters and I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire, and b) it was more thematically appropriate for Viserys to have this talk, since this is a story about Aegon’s journey to fatherhood and I always planned for him to have some kind of “confrontation” with Viserys near the end of the fic. So I needed another scene that highlights the friction between Aegon and Viserys…also I had a lot of fun with the agricultural metaphors 😂.

When Aegon wanders the city at the beginning of this chapter, he is content but aimless. Although he thinks this is exactly what he wants—freedom to do nothing of consequence and just run around—deep down he wants something more purposeful. He needs some kind of goal/target or he falls into a bored malaise, as he does later in the chapter. The detective adventures eventually fill this need, then later taking care of Jace after her kidnapping, then eventually assuming a role in the game to protect his family.

House Tyrell has no history of being kings, and they still seem like they’re finding their footing as lord paramount of the Reach at this point in time. House Hightower is a very old and revered house with a history of being kings, so I feel like Aegon and his siblings may have inherited an ancestral disdain of the Tyrells 😂.

Jace loves roses, but I imagine a Tyrell lady at the garden party getting snooty about how “roses are so very Tyrell.” Similar to Jace’s feelings about colors, she feels like sigils—especially something as common as a rose—shouldn’t belong to any one family.

I did a lot of research about pregnancy for this fic. I came across a few stories of pregnant people getting nauseated during sex because of the jostling movements. I thought that would be very unfortunate for Jace and Aegon…so I made it happen 🙈. And it adds to Aegon’s growing feeling that his presence is a burden during Jace’s pregnancy.

The LIWs are there to make Jace’s life easier, not Aegon’s. So Jace views them as very helpful while Aegon (who is actually a “private” person at heart re: how he wants to live his life) sees them as intruders. This change isn’t sudden but gradual, taking place over the span of several weeks, like the frog in boiling water metaphor. It doesn’t occur to Aegon to protest until it’s too late, and even then, he sees how the LIWs are helping her a lot and he doesn’t want to take that from her. So he doesn’t say anything to Jace.

The LIWs have a designated solar they could hang out in, but they’re eager to stay close to Jace while she’s ill and nauseated. I also think they’re following Rhaena’s example, and Rhaena is used to having free rein to Jace’s rooms. And I don’t want to throw even more shade on Elinor, but her crush on Aegon is compelling her to go to Jace’s rooms fairly early in the morning in the hopes of catching him shirtless 🤭.

Overall, the line “there was no room for Aegon in Jacaera’s chambers when her ladies occupied it” encapsulates a lot of his feelings of being squeezed out of Jace’s life while she’s dealing with so many other things.

I read in a fanfic somewhere (no idea which fic) the theory that dragons are assumed male until they show signs of gestation or lay eggs. I like this theory because it helps explain why so many dragons seem to be male, and F&B has a line quibbling about the rumor that Vermax laid eggs at Winterfell (I think it’s Eustace who lambastes the theory that dragons can change sex). If Vermax did lay eggs, the “assumed male until otherwise proven” theory jives with him being called male previously. Also, I don’t know how dragon anatomy works, but one can assume that it’s difficult to tell males and females apart as hatchlings, and by the time they develop reproductive parts, you don’t really want to be examining them too closely.

I also wanted to make Vermax female so she and Sunfyre could parallel Jace and Aegon. Jace’s first pregnancy coincides with Vermax’s first gestation, and there’s some foreshadowing with Vermax’s three eggs later 👀. Also, I make the dragons’ personalities reflective of their riders’. Vermax is very docile and calm, while Sunfyre is a horny daredevil.

In this chapter, Aegon is still struggling to come to terms with impending fatherhood. He can’t help but feel like the pregnancy has been coming in between him and Jace rather than bringing them closer together, he’s got a lot of his own daddy issues to work out, and he’s still in a “I do what a want, no responsibilities” mindset. But even now, he secretly wants to grow and mature out of this; he imagines placing a dragon egg in his child’s cradle, and it gives him some warm fuzzies.

I imagine there’s a lot of conflict between the maesters and Targaryens whether it’s safe for pregnant women to ride dragons. The maesters wouldn’t consider it safe to ride horses, and riding dragons seems even more dangerous. Meanwhile the Targs are confident in their dragon bonds protecting them. My headcanon is that Rhaenyra and other female dragonriders, unless they’re exceptionally bold/reckless, at least spend their first pregnancy on the ground to be safe. But if that pregnancy goes well, they’re a lot more confident about flying during later pregnancies. Jace is already a cautious person by nature, so she would abide by the maesters’ recommendations.

Jace honestly doesn’t need to/shouldn’t do so many Small Council things right now, but she’s an overachiever. In the modern world, she’s the kind of person who volunteers for all the extra projects at work so she can prove herself. Aegon calls himself a lazy person with a skewed sense of what is urgent, but in this case, he’s actually right about Jace doing too much. One of his weaknesses: he thinks Jace is so perfect that he hesitates to tell her when she’s in the wrong.

Ever since the witch shouted at Joff during the wedding parade, Joff has been thinking a lot about her. She’s been trying to research what the witch said but she’s reached a dead end, so now the only avenue is going straight to the source. I dropped hints in Chapter 2 of the Handbook that Aegon was Joff’s curse tablet dealer, so she goes to him for help. Aegon is a skeptic about witchcraft at this point in the story, but we know that changes later.

Joff has a talent for insulting Targ men where it hurts. Daemon bore the brunt of it in the Handbook, but now it’s Aegon’s turn with the “big baby” comments 😂.

I’ll probably come up with more backstory for Old Willow in Joff’s fic. I imagine her to have genuine powers of some sort (foresight/prophecy at the very least). She isn’t super powerful, but the people around her respect/fear her as the real deal. She makes her money mostly by doing non-magic witchy things, like brewing moon tea, which is in higher demand and more affordable than the occasional curse tablet.

Joff has a prickly personality, but she can and will fight people in defense of her sisters 🤺.

The puncture wounds on Old Willow’s body are from the longshoreman hook that the Tyroshi sometimes carries around. Her death is over-the-top because, as is established in later chapters, the Tyroshi is a sadist. He decides to kill her because she supplied the love/beauty charm to the whore Daisy, so he deems Old Willow guilty as an accomplice.

Because Joff has been thinking about Old Willow a lot, she’s also been thinking about the curse tablet she used several years ago. I’ve deliberately been ambiguous in the story text about what exactly Joff did with the tablet, but many readers have pieced together that Laenor’s death was involved somehow. So Joff has been thinking a lot about her father’s death, and the guilt she’s feeling seeps into her reaction to Old Willow’s death. Old Willow’s death does greatly inconvenience Joff’s little quest, but Joff is also feeling a lot of things about murder victims and the loved ones they leave behind.

Old Willow’s murder was very different in early drafts. Originally the Tyroshi wasn’t involved at all, and Daisy was the murderer because she blamed Old Willow for the love/beauty charm wearing off, and the random whore on the street played a bigger role in helping Aegon investigate. But as I reassessed how I wanted the second half of the fic to go, I reorganized the side characters’ roles and reduced the unnecessary minor characters so they didn’t distract too much from the main story.

Aegon sometimes makes questionable decisions (is it really a good idea to bring a 9-year-old princess to Flea Bottom without any guards at night?), but he has a few “eldest sibling” instincts that foretell what he’ll be like as a father. He tries to keep Joff out of actual trouble (don’t anger the locals, don’t open the bottle that might be poison), shows empathy to her (realizes this must be the first dead body she’s seen even though Joff acts dark and morbid), and gives Joff time to sort through her messy emotions about the witch’s death (lets her investigate the hut instead of immediately dragging her out—although he could also be criticized for letting a kid linger around a dead body). Basically, as a big brother/uncle/good-brother, he’s pretty indulgent and lets Joff explore her interests so to speak, but he intervenes if he suspects imminent danger. After Cheeseball is born, Aegon is understandably very protective of him. But when Cheeseball grows old enough, I see Aegon as being willing to let him run around and potentially fall and scrape his knees, because that’s just a natural part of life and relatively harmless—but Aegon would absolutely stop Cheeseball from running off the edge of a cliff.

I made Joff an early bird because I wanted to thwart the trope that dark witchy character = night owl 😄.

Bethany likes teasing Elinor about her crush on Aegon, hence the little exchange about Elinor making a good posset. But if Bethany suspected Elinor actually wanted to seduce Aegon (which she doesn’t), I think Bethany would draw the line and might even tattle on Elinor. We see in Chapter 5 that Bethany takes her duty to Jace seriously when it matters.

Aegon is right about Jace not enjoying gruesome murder stories, and telling her about his and Joff’s adventures right then would’ve kept her awake for a long time. But his quality time with Jace is limited so he doesn’t get a chance to tell her about it before the feast disaster. The miscommunication trope can be tricky because it’s so easy to make the people involve ridiculously stupid for plot reasons, so I was trying my best to lay the foundations for genuine reasons they wouldn’t have the opportunity to talk to each other. And the miscommunication doesn’t last for long. I think it’s a week at most between Aegon and Joff going to Flea Bottom and the feast.

Just like Vermax and Sunfyre parallel Jace and Aegon, I wanted Syrax and Caraxes to parallel their riders. Rhaenyra has plenty of thoughts about Aegon as Jace’s husband, but she views it as a good thing if a couple has a healthy sex life, hence Syrax’s lack of concern. Meanwhile Caraxes shares Daemon’s antipathy toward Aegon/Sunfyre 😂.

Gyles is jittery because the Tyroshi has been increasing his demands for payment, which Gyles can’t fulfill. A little foreshadowing for later in the chapter.

I priced a bottle of moon tea at three pennies because that’s the price of a fresh fruit tart during Robert’s reign. Ignoring things like inflation, I thought that was a good benchmark: affordable for the smallfolk, but for a whore who’s barely making it on the streets, she has to choose between the moon tea or eating that day. Aegon has selfish motivations when he gives her the entire crate in exchange for information, but it’s a huge windfall for her, especially if she can sell or trade the moon tea she isn’t using herself.

Old Willow warns her customers that magic always has a price (a recurring theme in ASOIAF). I’m sure she warned Joff when she first bought the curse tablet, and the consequences of that event led Joff to stop digging as much into magic the last few years. But Joff is tempted when she gets her hands on the glass candle, and she learns that lesson again later in this fic.

Aegon compares the whore to a courtier because he’s realizing that all people are fundamentally the same, they just wear different clothes and have more or less money. No matter what level of society, everyone loves gossip/scandal.

The rumors of Daisy’s death are not entirely true, but they’re not too far off the mark, and you can see how the rumors developed based on the true version (as told by the madam). Usually the rumors are worse than the truth, but in this case, parts of the truth are even worse than the rumors.

The description of the Garden’s building is intended to evoke a sense of lukewarm attempts to prettify something miserable at its core, like the girls who work there. I added the detail of the woman drinking on the roof because if she falls and breaks her neck, oh well, it’s not like her life was that great 😢.

Undercover!Aegon is the obvious next step in the evolution of Detective!Aegon. Other than his hair color, he doesn’t have as striking Valyrian features like Aemond and Daemon, and he’s mingled enough with the commoners that he can imitate their mannerisms. (Just imagine Aemond trying to pull off that disguise 💀.)

Even though Aemond is right there, Daeron chooses to run to Aegon for advice on girls/women instead. Aegon actually managed to marry the woman he wanted while Aemond is stuck in a flirty limbo, so Daeron concludes that Aegon is the more successful brother 😂. S2 might change my mind, but S1 Aemond is NOT a womanizer/smooth talker/expert on the fairer sex. The same applies in this AU, although Aemond is fairly well-versed in one particular woman…but even so, he still puts his foot in his mouth a lot.

Aegon is NOT shy about nudity lmao. He seems pretty content to loaf around in various states of undress in canon, and so is he here.

I love writing parallel scenes. In Chapter 3, we got Jace having sisterly bonding with Joff and Helaena, and now it’s Aegon’s turn to have brotherly bonding with Daeron and Aemond. And again, Aegon’s traits as a brother foretell what he might be like as a father. He caves underneath Daeron’s puppy face and indulges Daeron in a city outing so he can buy presents for Joff, but when they’re about to enter a sticky situation with the investigation, he tries to send Daeron home. Just imagine what Aegon will be like when Cheeseball gets his first crush 🥰.

Aegon’s statement “I never make Jace angry” was the universe setting him up to make her angry 💀. But Aegon was also kinda right about how groveling stops Jace being angry, because we see him talk his way out of the doghouse in Chapter 5.

I am convinced by the Episode 8 last supper scene that Aegon and Aemond have some brotherly telepathy going on, and that telepathy is even stronger in this verse where they’ve spent more time together in the Stepstones. Hence their ten-second silent exchange where they plan what to do about the mysterious noise in the hatch.

Notice that Aegon instinctively reassures Ronnel and cleans him up a bit. Big brother/dad instincts coming in 🥰. Aegon categorically refuses to help Ronnel with the bathroom (Ronnel wasn’t asking for help anyway, he was asking permission to go), but when it comes to his own kid? See Chapter 10 and how Aegon very studiously helps Cheeseball pass gas 😂.

Gyles and Ronnel know who Aegon is, but they call him “milord” because they aren’t used to interacting with highborns and they figure that address is suitable for anyone of noble birth. Aegon isn’t fussy about addresses and titles so he never corrected them.

Aemond has been doing his homework about dockworkers while at Driftmark. He wants to impress his future grandfather-in-law 😆.

Daeron and Ronnel are the same age, but Ronnel looks younger. Daeron has grown up on a rich diet and ample physical training. Ronnel has never gone hungry, but he doesn’t get as much variety in his diet as Daeron does, and the physical labor that Ronnel does (helping his father make pies) isn’t very conducive to body-building.

Daemon followed the Targbros because he’s nosy and curious about what would get all three of them out of the castle on an important day for Aegon. He got bored during the shopping trip and but became intrigued again when they discovered the abduction, and now he’s piecing together why Aegon has been acting so oddly the past week. Daemon is sticking around for the adventure so he can gather more information about Aegon’s doings, and because a kidnapping ring in the city is something that would interest most people. But also I think Daemon has been bored with domesticity and he wanted a bit of adventure 😂.

This is the point when Aegon forgets about the feast. His acquaintance/sort-of-friend has been violently kidnapped. That’s a big deal! And this is the kind of adrenaline rush that he enjoys. If he did remember the feast, I think Aegon would still embark on the rescue mission, but he would’ve at least sent a message back to the castle (or convinced Daeron to bring the message back).

I am sorry (not really), but I couldn’t resist making the pun “a stream of grizzled seamen trickled through” the brothel 🙈.

Yes, the madam got very excited by the prospect of three pretty Targaryen men. Can’t really blame her.

The madam mentions her “halfwit” guard. This is actually the brother she mentions in Chapter 6, whom the Tyroshi kidnaps to force her into helping him. I imagine the brother as a sweet and innocent guy, so I like to think he makes it out of the ordeal just fine and returns to the Garden. All the girls there like him, and he’s a large guy (I keep imagining someone like Hodor), so he can intimidate most customers who get too rowdy.

Currency fluctuates a lot in the ASOIAF universes, but at one point a gold dragon is the price of a horse. So that’s a lot of money Aegon is offering the madam, although of course as a prince, it isn’t much money to him. 100 gold dragons is apparently a reasonable ransom for a younger son of a noble family, so when the madam asks for 50 gold dragons for the building, she’s basically saying two of her building is equivalent to a ransom for Oscar Tully or Garmund Hightower.

Aegon claims not to care about royal titles or privileges, but he can still be a snob about things like carrying around a ridiculous amount of money (he’s got people for that). As Queen Clarisse Renaldi once said, “It’s not appropriate for royalty to jingle.”

“Help me, I’m drunk” was 100% inspired by “Get help” from Thor 3. I feel like all the distraction names are pretty self-explanatory. But in pretty much every variation, Aegon is the distraction because he’s a showboat, while Aemond ninja murders everybody.

One of the warehouse guards uses the phrase “pretty girl,” which is Aegon’s pet name for Jace, so that triggers him in addition to everything else.

The rescue is when Gyles becomes Aegon’s number one hype man. I had to delete some scenes with Gyles later in the fic because they didn’t flow well, but there’s a scene where Gyles says he wants to teach his son good values like loyalty, and he cites his loyalty to Aegon as an example.

The Garden’s girls stick around to watch the arrests. The night’s events improve their opinions of the Targs (Aegon in particular). There are other factors, like Aegon’s chill managerial style and him selling the brothel for almost-free to Liane, but this is part of the good karma that pays off later when Jace needs help.

Aegon does enjoy the gratitude he receives for the rescue, similarly to how in canon he laps up the crowd’s adoration during his coronation. So that dopamine hit adds to the appeal of continuing his detective work.

The Gyles & Ronnel reunion makes an impact on Aegon because it’s the first time he’s really seeing a loving father-son relationship and affection. It’s sort of a turning point that plants a seed in his mind of what sort of father he wants to be to his unborn child, because now he has evidence there’s an alternative to what he grew up with. Also, note how Aegon feels like a voyeur to this emotional intimacy, but he’s entirely unaffected by physical intimacy like what happens at the brothel.

Originally the chapter dragged on longer with a scene where the Targs help Gyles and Ronnel move their stuff into the Red Keep, because Aegon offers Gyles a job on the spot. There was a whole comedic bit where Gyles reveals the giant cheese wheel that got him into trouble with the Tyroshi. But I decided it would be better to end the chapter where it did, with Aegon realizing his mistake 🤭.

Chapter 5 commentary here

[cantstoptheimagines]

Ace (John B Routledge | Outer Banks)

Summary — When questions begin to arise, you decide to be vulnerable.

Warnings and Other Tags ➳ Mostly fluff with a little bit of angst (and maybe some hurt-comfort, I guess); truth or dare; anxiety about coming out to one’s partner (due to bad reactions from a former relationship); mentions of sex; some moments of physical affection (kissing, hugging, etc.); crying; John B being a good boyfriend!

Notes ➳ Word Count is 2,493. ➳ Reader uses feminine pronouns (she/her) and is asexual but not aromantic. She is also referred to by traditionally feminine nicknames (babygirl, sweetheart, etc.). ➳ This is loosely inspired by the scene of John B and Sarah in the abandoned church. He was so understanding and the communication between those two in that scene made my heart cry, I loved it so much. ➳ Also, I found this beautiful gif set by @saws2004​! It offered some inspiration for this piece! You’re so talented, keep up the great work! ➳ This work has a visual edit as well as an inspiration playlist!  ➳ 🖤🤍💜

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John B wasn’t a bad guy. Not at all.

He was a good friend to the pogues, and an even better boyfriend to you. Honest, sweet, caring, protective. He was the perfect package, wrapped up in a bow and stashed away in your heart for you to keep safe.

But there were moments when you could tell he had questions that he seemed afraid to ask. His eyebrows would furrow when you pulled away from a kiss with a frown, claiming you had to go home before it got too late.

He’d bite his lip and tilt his head when his hand traveled beneath your shirt to rub your back, only to be gently removed from your body and placed back onto his lap, far away from your skin.

Not to mention the times he’d invited you to his room. Any semblance of a smile always disappeared from his face when he’d noticed your eyes shift into an unreadable emotion. Then, quietly, you’d ask if the two of you could sit on the front porch instead. And, ever the kind soul, John B would agree in a heartbeat, watching as your demeanor slowly let go of any tension after he did so.

Every act of affection that stemmed from a desire to be close to you seemed to be either ignored, dismissed, or subtly rejected. And despite the confusion that burned in his eyes each time, John B never questioned you or your actions.

JJ, his best friend, on the other hand, wasn’t as savvy in the department of social graces as the rest of the pogues.

You sat next to John B, surrounded by your other friends, at a late-night campfire. The sun had gone down, but each of you were still roasting marshmallows and making s’mores as you played a game of truth or dare.

So far, Kie had called her father’s restaurant, using Sarah’s phone, to repeatedly ask about a menu item that didn’t exist until he realized it was her. Sarah had jumped in the marsh next to the Château, despite its freezing temperature.

Pope had admitted to not studying for his most recent history exam, which was something only he thought was outlandish. JJ, meanwhile, revealed how he had egged some houses on Figure Eight a few nights prior, resulting in him running from Deputy Shoupe.

You and John B were the only two who hadn’t taken part in the game so far. And JJ seemed determined to change that.

From across the fire, his eyes met those of your boyfriend. John B, lounging comfortably in an old lawn chair, raised his eyebrows expectantly with a smirk. You glanced between the two as you tried to keep the marshmallow you were roasting from catching on fire.

“Bird!” grinned JJ. “Truth or dare?” 

John B sighed, “Truth.”

“Boring, but whatever, dude,” scoffed JJ, before a mischievous grin spread across his lips only seconds later. “How’s the sex?”

You froze, slowly turning to look at John B. His hand shifted to rest against your knee, thumb running over the fabric of your sweatpants in an effort to settle your obvious bout of nerves. His eyes, however, remained on JJ while the others commented about how gross and nosy the question was.

“I’m not answering that,” he said, his voice stone-cold. “Choose a different question, man.”

JJ’s smirk widened and his eyes glimmered with curiosity, “Why? Just tell us! Or are you afraid we’ll judge your kinks—?”

The pit in your stomach suddenly became too much. You abruptly stood, tossing the stick you had been using to roast your marshmallow to the ground. You could feel your friends’ eyes burning into your back as you briskly walked in the direction of the Château.

John B was following you in an instant, calling out your name. You could also hear Kie, Sarah, and Pope all scolding a genuinely confused JJ, who repeatedly exclaimed, “What did I say?! I don’t know what I said!”

Tears burned your eyes and your heart felt like it was sinking in your chest. Everything in the living room of the Château was prepared for a classic pogue sleepover, which you no longer wanted to be a part of.

John B barely avoided being hit by the screen door when he came in after you. He placed a hand on his hip, the other resting on his head as he watched you pace around the room to collect your things.

“Don’t go,” he muttered, sighing when he noticed you trying to hold back your emotions. “Please, don’t go.”

“I’m not staying here,” you said, pulling the strap of your duffle bag onto your shoulder. “Not after that. I can’t.”

He gently grabbed your arm when you tried to push past him. His arms then wrapped tightly around your shoulders, pulling you against him. Your face quickly hid against his chest and then you let out an initial round of sobs.

Your arms wrapped around his waist. Meanwhile, John B did his best to soothe you, tilting his head to kiss your temple. He shushed you as his hands carefully rubbed your shoulders and back.

John B’s stomach sank and a frown grew on his lips. Your cries were muffled against the fabric of his sweatshirt, but they still pained him.

“It’s alright. JJ’s just an idiot. You know that, don’t you, babygirl?” he whispered, kissing your temple once more. “I love you so much, okay? So, so much. More than anything—”

“I’m sorry, John B. I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want,” you cried, fingers digging into his back. “I’m sorry I can’t kiss you, or let you touch me half the time, or have sex—”

His eyebrows drew tighter and so did his hold on you, “Sweetheart, I don’t care about that. If you don’t want to, that’s your decision. I’ll wait for you.”

Slowly, your tears were starting to run out. You shook your head against him, suddenly pushing him away and taking a step back, “You don’t get it. This isn’t a choice.”

John B could see the way you began to retreat within yourself. He couldn’t let you stuff your emotions away, never to be seen or heard. Your eyes were swollen as you looked at him, quietly taking his hand and allowing him to lead you to his couch.

He quickly took away your duffle bag and tossed it onto the floor, silently watching as you hid your face in your hands. Your shoulders rose and fell in a pattern of deep breaths.

“I’m such a mess,” you whispered.

“Hey, no!” exclaimed John B, scooting closer and wrapping an arm around you. “Don’t say that! That’s not true! You know that’s not true!”

“The last time I talked to someone about this was in my last relationship. And he didn’t take it very well,” you continued quietly, brushing away some leftover tears. “I don’t want a repeat of that, John B. Never again. I love you so much and I don’t want to let that go.”

“Baby,” he muttered, “whatever it is, you can tell me.”

You turned your head to meet his eyes. Their sparkling brown hue, eased by his concerned features, nearly made you start crying again.

“Johnny,” you took a breath, “I’m asexual.”

As soon as those words drifted into the air between the two of you, John B’s expression shifted. It was different than you expected though. Unlike the anger and disgust your previous boyfriend had exuded when you had come out to him, John B’s eyes showed something else entirely.

Realization. 

A million thoughts were going through his mind, mostly of how ignorant he was to not connect the dots before now. All those times he had felt you were rejecting him completely were, instead, moments when your sexuality had been trying to shine through so you could truly be yourself. Though, sadly, at the same time, you had been trying to shove it down out of his view.

Everything began to make sense. The way you prevented him from kissing you for too long. The instances when you had kept him from tucking his hands beneath your clothing and caressing your bare skin. How you avoided his bedroom like it was your greatest fear.

How, despite his statement only moments ago, he couldn’t just ‘wait for you’. Because you’d most likely never feel for him in a sexual sense. Instead, those feelings would probably be more romantic than anything.

“John B? Please say something.”

He snapped out of his thoughts, finding himself lost in your worried eyes. Tears were starting to appear again. You were clearly expecting him to be angry or upset with your confession, but all he could feel was an overwhelming sense of adoration.

You braced yourself for the worst. It was hard, but you couldn’t stop your thoughts from reminding you of the screaming, the accusations, and the pain from the last time. Preparing for another round of tears, along with a potential break-up, you stared down at your shoes.

“Hey,” he whispered, placing his hands against your cheeks and encouraging you to meet his eyes. “I love you.”

“But—“

He stopped you in your tracks, giving you a watery smile, “I love you.”

“John B—“

“I love you.”

You took a deep breath, unable to stop a quiet, appreciative laugh from escaping your lips, “I love you too.”

“I wish I had known sooner,” he muttered, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable. And I hope you know I’ll never force you into something you don’t want.”

“Thank you,” you replied, caressing his ribs through the fabric of his sweatshirt.

He pulled away with a smile and raised eyebrows, “Do you want me to kick JJ’s ass?”

You chuckled, shaking your head as his thumbs traced over your cheeks, “Not right now. Maybe later though.”

He grinned, brushing away any leftover tears that fell down your cheeks. His eyes softened and he lost himself for a moment, leaning in.

Your sudden inhale brought him back to his senses. John B’s eyes shifted into an apologetic haze when he took note of your furrowed eyebrows.

Quickly, he moved to kiss your forehead rather than your lips. Against your skin, he whispered, “Sorry. Force of habit. I’ll try not to do that anymore unless you say it’s alright.”

Admiration bloomed within your heart. Listening to his reassurances, your love for John B seemed to increase tenfold.

“I love you,” you muttered. “More than you realize, John B.”

He smirked, pulling away again to stretch his arms as he feigned an arrogant expression, “I am pretty great, aren’t I?”

You scoffed, lightly shoving his shoulder, “Don’t get a big head.”

He only chuckled in response, hands moving to hold yours, gently swinging them back and forth. Then he asked, “Are hugs still on the table? Forehead kisses? Cheeks? What about cuddles?”

You smiled with a glance at your feet. Shyness overwhelmed you in an instant, leaving you barely capable of replying with a soft, “Yes. To all of those.”

“Good,” he whispered, gently stroking the backs of your hands with his thumbs. “C’mere.”

He welcomed you into his arms, wrapping you in a tight, warm hug. It was hard to not find comfort in his arms. All thoughts of any negativity from your former relationship were slowly washed away as you realized, with John B, you had nothing to worry about.

He loves you for who you are. Not for what you can offer him physically. He wanted you emotionally.

The next afternoon, you sat on the dock behind your house, waiting for your friends to pick you up in the HMS Pogue. As the boat appeared, you smiled at the sight of Kie, Sarah, and Pope waving at you excitedly.

John B was behind the helm, steering close enough to the dock for JJ to help you get on. You could already see the anxiety in JJ’s blue eyes.

“Hey, I’m really sorry about last night,” he said quietly, trying to make sure the others couldn’t hear him so the conversation would be as private as possible. “I didn’t mean to make you upset or overstep like I did. John B talked some sense into me after you left.”

“And by talked, you really mean punched, right?” you asked, smiling when he suddenly placed a hand on one of his shoulders with a wince as though he were remembering a particularly painful hit.

“Little bit,” JJ chuckled nervously. “We cool?”

“We’re cool,” you smiled, glancing over your shoulder at your boyfriend, who was doing his best to appear lonely, puppy dog eyes included. “I better get over there before he starts getting too pouty.”

JJ nodded with a grin, offering you a friendly pat on the shoulder before he went to join Kie, Sarah, and Pope on the casting deck. Meanwhile, John B greeted you with a gentle kiss on the cheek, allowing you to stand at the helm. Each of his arms took up space on either side of you as he continued steering the boat.

“I got some beads this morning from the craft store,” he said.

You furrowed your eyebrows, looking at him over your shoulder, “Yeah?”

He nodded, but his brown eyes sparkled as if he knew something you didn’t, “Made myself a new bracelet.”

You looked down at his hands. The right was on the wheel, gently steering, and seemed to only be decorated with the same bracelets he wore on a daily basis. You looked at his left instead, which was on the main gear of the boat.

You froze at the sight of it. There, on his wrist, was a lone bracelet. It was obviously handmade. Instead of string, it was made out of fishing line, which made you smile because that was such a John B thing to do. The beads, however, were what caught your attention.

Black, grey, white, purple.

Black, grey, white, purple.

Black, grey, white, purple.

The bracelet was continuously made up of the same four colors, repeating over and over again in a beautiful pattern that you, along with your heart, recognized in an instant.

Quickly, you brushed away a tear that attempted to fall down your face. Even though it had welled out of happiness and adoration for your loving boyfriend’s actions, you didn’t want the others to butt in on such a special moment to ask why you were crying.

John B smiled when he felt your fingertips trail over the beads. After a moment, he encased your hand in his, making it so you were holding onto the gear while his palm rested on top.

You felt him kiss your temple and reached back to stroke his hair with your free hand. And then, against your skin, he whispered, “Be proud, babygirl. I can make you one too if you want.”

The first gif is not an indication of the Reader’s appearance. I only wanted a reference for John B trying to comfort and reassure the Reader.

[ishouldbedoinghw]

You Can't Erase Me

One Piece fanfic, part 9: Tavern Wench

Previous parts are in my pinned masterlist.

A woman enslaved by the celestial dragons is found by a man with red hair. Angst and comedy ensues.

A/N: Y'all know the drill. This and some future chapters of this story have been inspired by music I love listening to while writing or planning out scenes in my head. I highly recommend the Derina Harvey Band for some rock-inspired sea shanties, and I also really like Karilene's album inspired by the story of Anne Bonney.

TW: Some self deprecating language, alcohol consumption, Shanks

I might make a playlist of the specific songs that inspired this chapter, and I'll also link the songs used for specific moments because they really helped shape this chapter and the sort of energy I want to portray.

As we neared the town once again, the sun had sunk low in the sky, throwing its last rays over the sea in hues of orange and a slight pink. I held onto Shanks's arm, as he had insisted he had to be the one escorting "the lady" inside since he was the captain. Despite evidently wanting to look "manly", he still sported a hideous pair of shorts and dirty sandals.

How in the hell is he expecting to go dancing in those anyway?

Our party consisted of the wretched ginger, Yasopp, Benn, Roux, and myself, the former two having burst into some out-of-tune melody about their son John and how he'd lost his limbs to cannonballs or something. I had to admit the song was pretty funny, but I refused to give Shanks the satisfaction of a laugh, so I bit my tongue to keep a straight face.

The "tavern" as Benn had described it, was huge, and nothing like the little bars I had pictured. A massive name of lights almost covered one side of the building, and hoards of people were crowded around double doors, yelling and laughing at each other.

DELILAH'S JOINT

In truth, the place wasn't all that fancy, just a large, almost circular building that looked like it may have been a barn in a former life. The lights looked like the newest installment, as the white paint covering the walls was peeling in many places. I tried to focus my hearing to catch any music leaking through the doors, but all I could make out was the chattering of the crowd.

"Move, you're stepping on my foot!"

"Why couldn't I just stay home, there's too many people here."

"It's too bad Loreley left this place, I loved being able to hear her sing."

"What's your favorite on her new album, mine has to be the one about Delilah."

"That's everyone's favorite, mine is Merry, the one about the Straw Hats."

"That's because you're a freak for the cyborg."

"Franky is hot and you know it, and at least I don't keep Roronoa's wanted poster in my room."

"Shut up-"

"Oh my God, is that Hawkeyes?"

The warlord? I tried to peek over the heads of the crowd, but even my new glasses couldn't help see through people.

"Oi, Mihawk's here!" Shanks piped up cheerfully, also scanning the crowd, "We've gotta get him to join us for drinks-"

A sweet, almost sultry voice silenced everyone. I couldn't even hear the hum of bugs or twittering of the birds.

"It's Emily-"

A thunderous roar swept through the crowd, cheering and chanting Emily's name.

"-and you know what time it is."

No, I did not know what time it was, and I certainly didn't appreciate the way people started pushing and shoving each other to get through the doors. It took one look from the crew to get people to skirt around us, but the feeling of so many strangers looking at us was still overwhelming.

Shanks' arm moved to curl around my shoulders as he herded me and the crew inside and to a large table near the back wall. The inside of the tavern was smaller than I assumed it would be, but it was densely packed with people adorned with jewels and heavily perfumed. The sweet smells mixing in the air all but stung my nose, my eyes burning as I fought to adjust. The light was dimmed, but glowing blues and purples illuminated the floor and walls.

"Emily" as I'd heard before, was a tall, lithe woman with waist length white hair and breezy, iridescent blue silk draped around her. She was the spitting image of a siren in folk tales, with bright beckoning eyes and a slight quirk at the corner of her mouth. It only took one glance around the screaming crowd to understand that she knew the effect she had on people. I didn't even know I was capable of blushing until she glanced in the direction of the crew.

Although, I had a hunch her gaze was directed at Shanks.

I sat there for a minute, watching the lights ebb and flow, and as my attention became focused on the way the patterns of the lights hitched over the uneven floor, the roar of the the crowd became a dull buzz. It was Benn that had to nudge me, his eyes shining with delight, after the show started.

The sound of the first note seemed to explode from the stage,' jolting me in my seat. Yasopp seemed to find that funny, slapping Roux on the arm as he cackled.

The actual song, however, was light and eerie, like some haunted lullaby. Emily's hips swayed with the rhythm, and long strings of beads hung around her waist, following just behind her movements.

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth-

Back and forth

Back and

forth

Back

and

forth.

Where had I heard that song before?

I was swaying back

and

forth.

I was singing slowly, I couldn't wake the baby.

Why won't the cage stop swinging? Who is making all the noise? Didn't they know the baby was sleeping? Didn't they know the father would be angry? I wanted to eat, I wanted to live-

I was scared. Why was I back here? I'm not supposed to be here.

One

two

three-

A hand. On my arm. I was supposed to be alone up here.

A murmur. A squeeze. A shake.

A loud, crisp slap. I came to life, chest heaving, with a burning left cheek.

"What- What the hell?" I spluttered, grabbing my face.

"Welcome back, Pipsqueak."

Pipsqueak? No one on the crew calls me that-

"Oi, up here," the voice said again, this time with fingers snapping in my face.

"Stop that-"

"You're in no place to be givin' demands, 'Squeak."

The voice belonged to a large-statured woman who was currently looming over me with a scowl. Her hair was gray and a little coarse, and her right eye was covered with a black patch. As old as she looked, the woman was all lean and tough, with weathered skin that reminded me of Benn's. A pirate, perhaps? She left the impression she'd spent a lot of time in sun and salt water.

"Did you- slap me?" I blurted, unable to think of anything else that sounded more intelligent.

She barked out a laugh, deep and throaty.

"Real funny joke, girl. What I'd like to know, Loreley, is why you're starved-looking and shacking up with Red-Hair." She leaned in closer, squinting at me. "And also why your eyes are fuckin' yellow."

Loreley? I'd heard someone mention the name Loreley outside, it had sounded like a musician or something.

"My name isn't Loreley, what the hell are you talking about."

She snarled and pushed me back over. "Bull-fuckin'-" She stopped, gazing at my face. "Shit."

She backed off of me then, tilting her head as she continued to stare. Then she just shrugged and turned away, saying, "My bad, kid, thought you were someone else."

What the hell? "Wait-" But she'd already disappeared, leaving me alone.

Shakily standing up, I did my best to gather my surroundings. The walls around me were significantly more weathered than the hall I had just been in, and were covered in brightly-lit mirrors. Everywhere I turned was my own reflection surrounded in light bulbs. The place was also a mess, with chairs, fabric, and- makeup?

I was in some kind of dressing room.

Where the hell am I, and where is my crew? Panic seized my chest, and I struggled to breathe. Stumbling a bit, I tried to find a door, a window, sunlight, sound, or anything that could lead me out.

The woman hadn't seemed interested in me after I had turned out not to be Loreley, but would she be angry if I escaped? Was I a prisoner?

A door to my right burst open, and a hoard of blue-clad girls chattering excitedly scurried in, each claiming a mirror. I quickly turned away, face burning, after some of them started to undress.

I could see the last two girls coming through the door in my peripheral, and before I could look away, they made a beeline for me.

"I told you it wasn't her, dumbass." The shorter girl said. She resembled Emily a bit with her long blonde hair thin frame, or perhaps it was just the gauzy blue fabric she was dressed in. It seemed she was playing on the siren aspect of the singer as well, with fake pearls and seashells scattered on her hair and around her neck.

"Shut up, at least I didn't miss an entire line because I forgot the most popular song in this fucking hemisphere." The other girl shot back in a bit of a deep voice. She was nearly twice the height of the blonde, with pastel pink hair tied loosely behind her neck.

"Oh that's rich coming from you," She put on a dramatic forlorn expression, holding her head in her hands. "Quickly! is this the blue dress song or the white dress one!"

She earned a light shove for that, the pink-haired girl's face a bright red at her comment.

"Where am I?" I blurted, gaining back their full attention.

"Um- backstage? The dressing room?" The pink-haired girl looked confused. "Aren't you here to replace Bernadette during the shanties?"

"What?"

The blonde shrugged, starting to pull shells out of her hair. "Listen, maybe the newbie's still out in the hall-"

"Wait a damn minute-" And the pink haired girl pulled her friend closer and whispered hurriedly, glancing at me every so often. The only thing I could make out was a "fucking Delilah" and a few light snickers. My heart was pounding too loudly in my chest to really eavesdrop.

After finishing their private discussion, the taller one turned and clasped her hands together. "Okay, girlie, our boss you met earlier? The old grouchy one?"

I nodded, unsure where this was going.

"Well, she seems to be convinced you can dance after meeting you exactly once, so we are gonna dress your ass up and test that theory."

"What the fuck-"

"Yeah, I'm not sure what's happening either, but I don't get paid to ask those questions."

"You bitch and moan plenty on the clock, so-" The blonde started before being muffled by her friend's hand over her mouth.

"I'm not on for another hour, so I'm the one who gets to watch this shit fail."

I wasn't sure whether I should be offended or not.

----

In the next few minutes, I had been stripped of my clothing, and laced up in some off-white, ruffled dress and a pearlescent corset.

'Tavern wench' was what the pink-haired girl, whose name I learned was Maria, called it.

While I wasn't a fan of how my shoulders and scarred neck were exposed, I couldn't deny I looked damn good in that corset. The laughter I'd received at the market today was almost forgotten as I studied how my figure looked.

It was amazing how much feeling pretty could matter to a person.

I studied Maria as she bustled around me, picking up various bottles or brushes. Her face was brightly colored in dramatic stage makeup, her lips and cheeks shades of pink similar to her hair. It looked lovely on her, and I couldn't help myself from saying-

"I like your hair, it's really pretty."

I should've known something was up when she got a devious glint in her eye as she politely thanked me. After a beat, she reached up and ripped the hair straight from her scalp, making me jump back in horror. I wanted to scream when the wad of hair landed in my lap-

It was a wig.

Maria was cackling her ass off, holding her stomach and slapping the table, knocking a couple of bottles over.

"I will never get tired of pulling that shit." She said, trying to gather herself. Her real hair was cropped close to the scalp, similar to mine, and a deep brown.

I shakily set the wig down on the table in front of me, not loving the idea of the residue of someone's scalp resting in my hands.

What I did love was how at ease I felt around Maria. I hadn't interacted with anyone but the crew or a doctor since I washed up. After making sure I knew the crew was fine and that they knew where I was, Maria had been very considerate of my personal space without coddling me. I felt like a woman getting ready with another woman, not a little girl acting as a doll. It was nice not being treated like glass.

"Here." She was in front of me now, holding a brush dipped in red. "For your cheeks and lips. Rouge is old-fashioned, but I think it'll flatter you," she said, dabbing at my face. "It's more historically accurate too."

After painting my face, she stood back and studied me, heavy brows pinched. Turning and rummaging through a cabinet above me, she said, "So, how'd you end up on a crew with the Red-Hair Pirates, if you don't mind me asking."

I chewed on my lip, unsure of what to say. Both Benn and Hongo had warned me plenty of how the mark on my back couldn't be discussed with people, although they wouldn't tell me why.

I decided on "They found me at sea." followed up with, "I don't have any family around."

She hummed, pulling a couple of wigs out. One was a red shade close to the color of my own hair, and the other was long, black and curly. She held the red one up close to me, then let out a tsk and laid it next to her pink one.

"You know who Loreley is, Jett?" She asks, running her fingers through the black wig.

I was happy to have a question I could answer truthfully. "I've heard her name; she's a musician, right?"

"Yep, she's more of a local legend at the moment, but everyone I know that listens to her stuff is hardcore into it." She squints, and adjusts one of the straps on my dress. "Honestly, you look a lot like her. A little taller maybe, and the eyes are a different color, but I'm surprised more people here haven't trampled over each other trying to get your autograph or something."

"It seems like you know her personally."

"I do," Maria said, holding the black wig up to me now. "She got her big start right here in this building, we all know her. It's why the boss made such a big deal about thinking you were her, she's practically her daughter."

I had wondered about that, why Delilah has seemed so insistent on interrogating me. I still wasn't sure why she'd insisted on me dancing tonight, but at least she wasn't still standing over me.

"Loreley is the whole reason the rest of us are even here. She's the one who got Delilah to open up her place to let other performers get in front of a big crowd." She was pulling the wig over my head now.

"There," she said, securing it. "Your hair color is sick, but it looks too much like hers, you might confuse people and get some unwanted attention."

"Plus," she added, pulling her own wig back on, "Now no one can tell you're Red-Hair's girl, makes it a little safer."

"Oh- I'm not-" I stammered, shaking my head.

"Oh? No? Just your captain, got it." She paused, thinking. "Is he, you know, with anyone?"

"Not that I'm aware of? What-"

"I always thought Beckmann was more handsome, but he's old enough for it to be a little weird-"

"Please stop talking about the guys I live with that way," I groan, "I'm sorry, it's just weird for me."

"Understandable," she quips, leaning into the mirror and adjusting her hair. "You have no clue how many people come here begging to see Emily, or ask us what her favorite food is or some shit."

I giggled a little, remembering how many people had gone feral watching the white-haired girl.

"Emily's the next one to go big, I think. Delilah's picky about who opens for her most nights, so she shows a lot of faith in her."

I hum, nodding my head.

A voice calls through the door in the corner. "Delilah's first set is starting, the newbie better her head into what she's doing here."

"Don't be rude, Goldfish, she didn't faint of thirst over your girlfriend or something."

The voice spluttered, and the door slammed. I could still hear muttering as they stomped away.

"Alright girlie, time to figure out how high the boss is," Maria says, ushering me to the door. "Even if you don't know what you're doing, you'll look great, so no one will really care-"

"Maria!" A different voice this time, it sounded like the girl Maria had been with. "Hey, Maria!" She sounded more panicked this time. "Bernadette was supposed to do Calico Jack, and Delilah won't let either of us do it."

Supposed to do what?

Maria groaned, looking extremely agitated. "Well, shit."

She turned and jogged away, returning with a rum bottle, a similar kind to the ones all over the Red Force. After taking a large swig, and grimacing as she swallowed, she handed it to me. "Drink up, and good fucking luck, babe."

[maidenvault]

favorite aspects of sandor and sansa's relationship?

I'm always here for a really dark representation of the "Beauty and the Beast" story/trope, and I really find their dynamic one of the richest examples of this kind of dynamic I've found. It's obviously a motif that is close to GRRM's heart, as he worked on the 90s BatB show and ASoIaF has multiple relationships playing with the trope in different fascinating ways. (And very on-brand for me to be into it given my interest in gothic romance, lol. Sansa does feel significantly inspired by classic gothic lit heroines in some ways. Her outer meekness, inner strength and convictions, association with birds, and innocence that contrasts her with the very troubled man she's strangely drawn to is totally Jane Eyre.)

And I love that even though their scenes together can be really dark and disturbing and he obviously can be really horrible to her, their relationship (such as it is at this point) is also one of the surprisingly hopeful aspects of the series. Ostensibly the power dynamic between them is one thing, and Sandor is always talking about the strong ruling the weak being just the natural order of things and all, but we're not supposed to think Sansa's simply naive and stupid and he's right - it's a trauma response and total bullshit. He and Sansa have suffered in similar ways and find they're both basically helpless pawns in the world they're in, despite his physical strength, despite her social status. The fact that he was burned for playing with a toy knight shows he didn't always scorn the ideals she believes in and was once just like her. But he has the potential to be an honorable knight in his own way and she has the potential to be a just leader. They see more in each other than the roles society has created for them and their connection seems to represent a chance to break cycles of trauma.

I have talked...a whole lot more about why I ship them before, and I feel like I summed it up best in response to this ask. For a ship I don't read a lot of fic for (I'm mostly into this fandom for the meta) it's a big one for me...Anyway it looks like you're new to the series so welcome to the agony, lol. I envy the ride you're going on for the first time!

[teejaystumbles]

Talk to me about BtOM and/or its sequel? I've seen some of the webcomic and would love to know more

Hooo boy! Thank you so much for your interest! This is going to be a long post! BtoM is my original webcomic, set in the Aztec empire in the 15th century, before the arrival of the Spaniards. It's not trying to be historically accurate but I did quite a lot of research at the time to get cultural stuff and place settings right. It features, as main characters, Metztlitototl, a boy who fell from the sky; Mictlantecuhtli, god of death; Tezcatlipoca, god of, heh, a shitload of things LOL, and his highpriest Itztli, a human. They try to navigate their feelings for each other while finding out where Metz came from. It's a gay love fantasy drama. (while I and the characters often refer to Metz as a "boy", he is not underage) I came up with the basic story idea over twenty years ago and developed it over the years (with the help of a writer who is not part of it any more) into a fully fleshed out story. At the moment it spans six full chapters with about 30-40 pages each; the seventh and last chapter is still unfinished. I have taken huge breaks over the years, coming back to it again and again. I have always promised that I will one day finish it and I still intend to keep that promise. The shutdown of smackjeeves had me loose my main platform for hosting the comic and while I have plans to make my own website, at the moment it's hard to direct people to where to read it easily. That's why I set up a new tumblr for it, but editing all the pages and making the posts is also a huge effort I struggle with. (So sorry!!! I will try and be better!)

It's hard to share stuff because it's a comic script, not a novel, but I'd like to share something from chapter seven, Mic and Itztli trying to figure out who or what Metz actually is-

Itztli is sleepless, he roams the temple grounds restlessly, deep circles under his eyes. He coughs violently and spits but doesn't see the blood mixed with his spit. At dawn he comes upon a secluded area where a fire must have been burning not long ago, a qualming brazier and lots of footprints make him curious. He inspects the scene and finds almost but not completely erased drawings in the earth, depicting... Metztlitototl? What is the meaning of this? Is that... the boy? "It is as I thought." Itztli whirls around at the voice, and Mic stands before him (not the skeleton, but the "nice" Mic). Itztli squats down immediately, heart pounding. "Lord of Mictlan." Mic ignores him. He looks around, sees traces of burnt incense, and even a feather of a bird, hinting at a blood sacrifice. Without looking at Itztli, still studying the area, he says: "Tell me about the night you found him."

The sequel is a very indulgent PWP that has them figuring out their feelings even more and basically all four of them end up in a polyamorous relationship haha. It was my pleasure project to write when the mood struck and has reached the same length as the main story document (oops LOL)

My favourite is not the main character Metz but Itztli, my precious poor boy who'd do anything for his capricious master. He's probably the reason the sequel exists because they needed more space to flourish <3

The main characters, Metz and Mic, are soft and lovely and I love them to bits but they are also, well, easy. Also, Mic is obviously inspired by Dream. My teenage self had a type (and still has). xD

Feel free to ask me more detailed questions! I will endeavour to post more comic pages soon!

[a-driftamongopenstars]

it's time to write talos principle fanfiction. I need to put these feelings out of my system.

After everything is settled, Byron learns that his dreams don't have to stay dreams any longer, but become a reality he has yearned for.

Inspired by one of the ending scenes with Byron looking at the stars.

also on ao3

The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit.

James Joyce, Ulysses

Byron twirls the thin stem of a flower between his fingers. He wishes that he could smell it, but all he can do is imagine the subtle sweet fragrance that one would expect from such a skirt of white petals. Yellow particles dust his metal fingertips. 

He looks up, meeting the sunlit valley of green and mountain blue with his gaze. Somewhere up ahead, a V-TOL crosses towards one of the newer cities. Behind it, a flock of birds shapes into a V. 

Byron sighs. Byron closes his eyes. 

Byron dreams. 

Of smells and touches and distant horizons on planets without a name. But for once, he is not constricted with fear that his time might come too soon or would be fully given to a cause, collapsing onto itself with crippling doubt. No more. 

There is time. He will be spurred by hope, pushing up his heels to reach higher and higher, but not too high, before he falls like Icarus on melting wings of hubris. 

He has so much more to do, more than ever, but that's the thing, isn't it? Not bound by circling arguments nor a fruitless dried to-do list to prevent the roof from falling on their heads, but standing in front of an open field, ripe with harvest. Every door waiting to be opened, waiting to share its secrets. 

When he opens his eyes again, the changed night sky is brimming with hope. Stars, all calling his name, look at me, Byron, no, look at me, I'm closer, I'm sooner. 

And he looks at them all, reaching up his hand to touch the colours, blue and golden. I will see you soon. 

If his heart could ache, if he could make it, it would have clenched so tightly at the thought. If his eyes could wet and burn, if he could make them, he would have wiped the tears from his metal cheeks. 

If he could dream a dream come true, he would, he can, he does.