#he actually has a decent time this chapter too

[ultravioletqueen]

Imagine a father yuu as well! Someone who is very serious with the adults around him but lets his silly dad side show with the kids. Spoils his kids rotten even as adults and they still have a strong bond. Maybe has a fading hairline with gray hairs but always looks profesional in work.

Poor man was just returning home after work and a FUCKING BLACK CARRIAGE runs over him and ends up in a scene that looks from a horror movie that one of his kids showed him with people that looks like cultists and almost faints by lack of sugar😭

Yuu dad agrees to work in nrc as janitor but refuses to sleep in ramshackle dorm bc of his allergies so he stays in other dorms and gets to know the other kids.

Yuu dad dosen't hesitate to annoy the little shit of Ace bc thats what you get for being annoying! He makes a lot of dad jokes that makes ace cringe but he never admits that finds some of them really funny.

Yuu dad tries to take care of grim like a pet but ends up learning the lesson after a fireball almost burns the little hair he has left, he ends up treating grim like a naughty child he needs to watch over and discipline but he always does with love and celebrates grim progress and help him learn from mistakes.

Yuu dad must be used to fix things in the house back home and that helps a lot when fixing up the ramshackle dorm into a decent place and deuce is the first one to jump and help him! Deuce loves the possitive attention from yuu dad and always goes for him for advice(whenever is just homework, mechanic facts, how to properly aproach girls,etc) yuu dad always gives the best advice.

Father yuu feels so much concern for riddle, no parent should mold their children life's like that and no children should feel like they owe their parents perfection, because perfection dosen't exist and yuu dad wants riddle to know that.

Riddle feels fluffy inside when yuu dad teachs him things and is so patient with him that makes him want to cry, he is used to being corrected in a harsh and destructive way that seeing yuu dad way to teach being so gentle and actually educative is so strange to him but it feels right.

Ooof Leona is such a hard case, bc we know that Leona has 0 patience for men and probably in the start he would see yuu dad as a pushover who lets kids mess with him and that laughs at lame jokes, saying that dosen't take him seriously is an understandment(he reminds him of his brother for the good and the bad).

But at some moment of chapter 2 Leona realizes that this man is nice but dosen't mean that he would stand his bad attitudes, he is straightforward with leona but he always is the first to congratulate him for the effort he sees he makes and this makes yuu dad worthy of respect in Leona eye's even if he dosen't admit it.

Azul was living a nightmare with yuu dad when he started to prove all the things wrong with his contracts(is even worse if yuu dad is a lawyer) and in the start he saw him as a big obstacle that he had to get rid off, but even in the worst moments he had to admit that the will of yuu dad had surprised him and his capacities to identify scam were impressive.

After all that jazz with the contracts he started to have a genuine respect for yuu dad, even sharing some hobbies like the collecting of coins with him! Even if azul dosen't understand the dad jokes he genuinely thinks that yuu dad is someone he can trust in days were he starts to feel that body dysmorphia again and he knows that yuu dad has open arms an ears for him.

Kalim is way too energetic for yuu dad and he even has to tell him to slow down things for his heart sake, he has to tell him many times that he is too old for enduring a magic carpet ride without having a heart attack for the height.

If yuu dad has health problems like asthma, diabetes or pulmonar diseases kalim has no problem on paying on the bests of medics to get him meds that actually work for him and get him all the inhalers he needs, yuu dad has the right to have fun and he can't have fun if he dosen't have his meds! Kalim also really apreciattes when yuu dad talks about his kids to him and he expects to meet them someday!

Similar to leona Vil commited the horrible mistake of thinking that yuu dad is just a spineless old man that acts like a doormat with the younger ones, but he shut his mouth real Quick when this sweet old man started to yell and berate for poisoning adeuce and grim and THREATENING him that if he ever pull that stupid move again he will not hesitate to kick him out of the dorm and making him sleep on the BUSHES, lets just say that vil learned in the hard way to not mess with yuu dad.

Besides picking a new wardrobe for him(nobody is going to wear those shorts/sandals with socks on his guard) vil also gets potions for yuu dad that can be used as meds in case that he needs them, vil dosen't want the moral support of the group to have an asthma/heart attack for not having something as basic as his meds.

Idia would never admit it but it really warms his heart how yuu dad takes care of him and ortho even is sometimes annoys his insistence, but he knows that his harsh words mean well and that yuu dad just wants idia to take care of his health to not end like him.

Ortho always remembers yuu dad when he has to take his meds and idia downladed a program of medical emergency "just in case" that all the stress of yuu dad finally gets to his heart, idia also melted the first time that yuu dad called him "champ" or "son" bc that sounded so homely that almost make him cry.

For malleus yuu dad is a very interesting human, he dosen't seem to care that he is one of the top 5 wizards in twisted wonderland and he seems more worried about how pale he looks and how he should aproach other teenagers instead of just standing there looking menacing.

Yuu dad teaches malleus how to read the room, and malleus is sincerely amused with yuu dad will to scold him even if he knows that malleus is way more powerfull that him, to yuu dad malleus is just like any other teenager he had meet but with superpowers that look straight from one of his kids comic book(manga??? He dosen't remember) and malleus is more than willing to listen to yuu dad talking about his wife and kids he misses so much(like how yuu dad listens to him talking about gargoyles) and makes him think about how would be meeting yuu dad's family, he really apreciattes all the advice and patience that yuu dad gives him and in exchange he got malleus as his guard dog.

I'm doing nothing right now, and to kill time (because I can't write requests from here), I decided to bring up this TWST idea that's been plaguing my mind.

A Yuu who's a parent

And I'm not talking about a Yuu who's a teenage or young parent, no, I'm talking about an adult Yuu, of legal age, who has had a job for YEARS, EVEN HAVE MULTIPLE CHILDREN!!

Who had the bad luck of being run over by the black carriage while doing something mundane like taking out the trash or coming home from work😅

Can you imagine the characters' reactions to an adult man/woman appearing out of nowhere at the entrance ceremony? Not even a member of the staff, just a random human without magic who is suddenly surrounded by teenage boys (almost the same age as their children).

An adult Yuu can probably "make themself understood" better by Crowley than a minor Yuu, since they understand the gravity of the situation and their basic civil rights, especially how to negotiate. Of course, that doesn't mean the Ramshakle dorm room is spotless, but at least it's fixed faster than in canon.

OH GOD, GRIM! Part of me thinks Grim would have more patience/respect for an adult Yuu, and the other part knows that's a complete lie. Although at least Grim seems to have more trust in this new maternal/paternal figure in his life.

Did you see how Inosuke gets when Tanjiro is friendly to him? That's Grim every time YuuMom/Dad says something maternal/paternal to him or is friendly/patient with him.

Ace is still a little shit at first, obviously, but I think he softens quickly, just like in canon. DEUCE, on the other hand, is almost immediately bland. Yuu reminds him so much of his mother that it's not even funny. If you thought these two were protective of the normal Yuu, brace yourself. This is THEIR PARENT NOW, AND THEY'RE THE ONLY ONES WHO DISRESPECT THEM>:(

Their relationships with the other dorm leaders would be just as funny and/or cute.

Riddle DEFINITELY needs a Yuumom/Dad in his life the most. Even though their first interaction was probably fatal (no parent, ESPECIALLY a JAPANESE one, would put up with Riddle's tantrums), I can see Riddle being naturally drawn to them these days.

This kid needs a father/mother figure who makes him understand that making mistakes is a way of learning, and Yuumom/Dad help make learning fun! Just like the Robinson family.

I also get the feeling Riddle would like to know the basics of the original work/world of Yuu (especially if they work in a field like a doctor or lawyer) and it ends up being a two-way street, with Riddle learning about Yuu's world and them learning about Twisted Wonderland.

Leona, another who needs someone to recognize him as his own person and not as a hindrance or a lesser version of his brother. It's obviously one of the hardest to have a positive relationship, but not impossible. Especially after Book 3, where Leona sees Yuu in a more respectful light instead of annoying.

They do the typical things you'd think of as a parent-child relationship, like when Yuu does certain things like scold Leona for sleeping too much, skipping classes, and straightening his uniform—things Leona complains about but doesn't stop them. It's a rare kind of positive attention.

Or when Yuu congratulates him on something specific they NOTICED he's improved, when they let him wander around the ramshakle dorm, etc. Let's just say it's an unwritten rule in Savanaclaw not to mess with Yuumom/dad from now on.

Azul also has a certain trick. He probably had more trouble with an adult Yuu than a student due to, well, life's advantages (any adult knows that contracts made by minors aren't valid—) and ends up having a mixture of fear and respect for them.

Fortunately, there's also a certain soft spot for Yuu, especially because of his age and paternal/maternal attitude. they probably reminds him of his mom.

For that reason, it's not unusual for Yuu to end up going to the Monster Lounge from time to time just to catch up with Azul, make sure he's not doing anything suspicious, and get something to eat. The usual.

KALIM. LOVES. YUUMOM/DAD. Yuu can barely keep up with all his energy, but it's contagious.

Jamil will have to get Kalim to tone down the intensity a few notches for the sake of Yuu's blood pressure, especially if he wants to surprise them with a magic carpet ride. they liked it! they swears! Just let them know next time!

they are also a great source of comfort after Jamil's Overplot. Let's just say that with their help, Kalim is trying to learn a few things about social norms.

Have you seen that typical mom/dad style of dress? Mothers in plain/patterned blouses and fathers in knee-length pants? Yep, that's Yuumom/dad. And Vil won't STAND IT. Practically their first interaction is picking out a new wardrobe for them. IT BURNS HIS EYES--

Aside from that, I can see Vil being genuinely flustered when Yuu criticizes his behavior, whether out of habit or because, well, parents are good at making points (and knowing the entertainment industry, very few adults care THAT much).

There's also the fact that Yuu's compliments are painfully sweet and genuine, like that "you're such a handsome young man!" meme, and Vil can't help but feel more arrogant than usual when Yuu compliments him like that. Parental stuff.

Idia ironically has a good relationship (within reason) with his parents, but that doesn't mean he's scared of Yuu at first, precisely because there's nothing more terrifying than seeing them angry.

He's also bothered by Yuu trying to get him out of his room so often, or by joining Ortho in bringing him food that isn't fast food. Damn it, he gets it!

He's a huge tsundere, which is why he hasn't banned them from Ignihide after all.

Malleus is definitely the one who most relies on Yuumom/dad's positive attention. Not only does this human lack fear of him, but they treats him like a normal teenager, with normal problems, even going so far as to scold him when he deserves it. What does Yuu care if he's a prince? He speaks to people with respect!

Yuu has so much power that he can make Malleus apologize by sounding arrogant, stop him from electrocuting people, or make him think about his actions, all because Malleus would rather put aside his ego than think that his new friend/father/Mother figure is angry with him :(

Thanks to this, Malleus goes to the ramshakle dorm even more often than expected, whether it's to tell Yuu something new he learned about the school's gargoyles, ask for advice on how to make friends, etc.

I like to think that this Yuu is very homesick for being around the kids, especially if they have children at home waiting for them. Which probably does something unusual: it causes the principals to unite to pressure Crowley to return home as soon as possible.

They have grown attached to Yuumom/dad, yes, but the thought that Yuu's children don't have their parent, that they are waiting for their return, that they are suffering, twists their stomachs.

Until then, They'll be in charge of protecting Yuu as much as possible until they can return home to their family!

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Let me know if you want me to share any more ideas I have for Yuus!

[ssreeder]

Ollo! I was tagged by @transboysokka to post my last line written! thank you!

I am in the midst of editing the last part of the next chapter of ITF, so this is just randomly in there somewhere but it was the last line I tinkered with:

Jee found it endearing how he felt the need to share his joy with Zuko, and Jee was astounded by how patient and docile Zuko was with the other boy.

(as you can probably tell we have successfully made it to the market, and Sokka is happy)

I don’t know who to tag so… @erisenyo (i know youve been tagged but I know youve got more lines to share lol) @witchering10123 @y-s-t-v @somethingfoamy & reverse tag @transboysokka your turn, & anyone else who wants to play!

[waywardsalt]

beating back my own ambitions like look i have a hard enough time reigning in my own ideas dont be pulling this shit

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Get Me Out of Here || Rook Hunt

You’re isekai’d into a trashy novel and stuck as a tragic side knight character. All you want is survival, but your boss is Rook Hunt—a poetic, eccentric duke.

Now you’re caught in his chaos and, worse, you kinda don’t mind.

Series Masterlist

You’re a completely normal person. You eat normal meals at normal times, sleep the normal amount of hours (give or take a few, who needs all eight anyway?), and hold down a regular, soul-crushingly normal job. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills and lets you indulge in your one true love: reading web novels for five hours straight like some kind of feral literature goblin.

Your current obsession? The Lady’s Tragic Love. It’s the sort of story that you can’t put down—not because it’s good, but because it’s so excruciatingly terrible that it loops back around into comedy. The heroine has all the personality of a wet tissue but somehow manages to ruin everyone’s lives with reckless abandon. It’s almost impressive.

You rub your temples as you skim yet another chapter. “Oh my God, this woman has the moral compass of a black hole,” you mutter.

The plot makes less sense the deeper you go: the heroine starts off as the daughter of a down-on-their-luck noble family. Her father racks up an unholy amount of debt, so she’s forced to marry a viscount who—get this—is actually a nice guy. Like, genuinely kind. He agrees to marry her in name only to protect her from debt collectors, even offering to fund her hobbies.

And what does she do? Poison him. Poison him!

"Okay, maybe she's misunderstood," you think, in the kind of delusional optimism only a web novel enthusiast can muster.

Nope. She poisons him because she "can’t stand looking at his face," which is only mildly unattractive and not the ogre-like monstrosity the text implies. Also, he was literally helping her stay alive.

“Oh, sure, let’s kill the only decent male character in this hellscape. Why not?” you hiss, scrolling furiously.

After committing literal murder, the heroine sets her sights on an archduke, who is tall, handsome, and very much engaged to the so-called villainess. The villainess is stunning, kind, intelligent, and inexplicably hated by everyone because—checks notes—she’s too perfect?

At this point, you're gripping your phone so hard that it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in half. “Why is the villainess the villain? This should be the heroine’s title! She’s practically speedrunning how to be the worst human being alive!”

But no, the heroine gets rewarded for her nonsense. The archduke doesn’t fall for her (because he has taste), but the crown prince does. The prince, apparently a sucker for chaos, marries her. Instead of being happy with her new title and riches, the heroine spends her days scheming to ruin the villainess’s life because, in her words, “How dare the archduke choose someone that isn’t me?”

You pause and reread that line. Then reread it again.

“WHAT?!” you yell so loudly that your downstairs neighbor bangs on the ceiling.

It’s a spiral of nonsense that drags you through emotional whiplash until you finish the last chapter with a migraine and a full-blown existential crisis. You stare at the screen. "Why...why did I do this to myself?"

You stumble out to your tiny balcony to clear your head, phone still in hand. The cool night air washes over you as you lean on the railing, your brain buzzing with rage and confusion.

“Why does she get a happy ending?” you grumble. “She’s a walking red flag factory! The villainess deserves to be queen, and the prince deserves a lobotomy for his taste in women!”

In your frustration, you kick the balcony railing. Unfortunately, your landlord hasn’t exactly been diligent about repairs. The rusted screws holding it in place give way with a terrifying screech.

“Oh, come on,” you say, deadpan, as the railing collapses beneath you.

You plummet ten stories down, bouncing off an awning like some kind of cartoon character before landing face-first in a suspiciously placed fruit cart.

As darkness creeps in, your final thought is not of regret, nor fear, but of pure, unfiltered pettiness:

“I hope my next life is more exciting… and I never have to read about this heroine again.”

With that, you pass out, blissfully unaware of the absurd fate that awaits you.

You wake up, groggy and disoriented, and immediately ask yourself the first logical question: Why the hell am I alive?

The last thing you remember is gravity betraying you and a suspiciously convenient fruit cart breaking your fall. But when you sit up and look around, it’s very clear you’re not in your crappy apartment anymore. For starters, this place is way too clean, smells faintly of vanilla, and—oh, is that sunlight streaming through those beautiful glass windows? Not the dim, depressing flicker of the streetlight outside your old place?

Something is very wrong.

You scramble out of the bed, which is definitely not your rickety twin-sized monstrosity held together with duct tape and misplaced hope, and start poking around. The furniture is elegant, the carpet is plush, and there’s an oil painting on the wall that practically screams, Welcome to Generic Medieval Europe™!

The realization slams into you with all the subtlety of a freight train: You’re in that garbage web novel.

You pause, frozen, your brain throwing up a million red flags at once. Your knees almost buckle. "Nope. No. Absolutely not. This is some kind of cosmic punishment," you whisper to yourself, clutching your temples.

You creep towards the ornate mirror on the other side of the room, your reflection getting clearer with every step. “Please,” you mutter, “if there’s a single merciful entity out there, don’t let me be the heroine. Or the villainess. Or, God forbid, one of the male leads.”

You finally reach the mirror, squeeze your eyes shut, then crack one open. And there you are: just some random face.

“Oh, thank God,” you exhale, slumping against the wall. You’re not the heroine. You’re not the villainess. You’re not one of the tragic walking disasters that make up the main cast. You're just… some person. A total nobody.

But just as you’re about to bust out your victory dance of mediocrity, something catches your eye. You lean closer, squinting.

Wait.

No.

NO.

You’re that nobody.

You’re the tragic commoner knight who gets blackmailed by the heroine, coerced into doing her dirty work, and ends up assassinating the villainess for her. The same commoner knight who dies in three chapters because the heroine throws them under the bus as soon as the villainess's fiancé finds out what happened.

You stagger back from the mirror like it’s cursed. “Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. I did not reincarnate into this medieval soap opera just to get unalived in the dumbest way possible,” you say, pacing the room like a lunatic.

Your character’s life flashes before your eyes: the abusive father, the crippling family loyalty, the gambling debts. This poor soul had it rough even before getting turned into the heroine’s personal murder minion. And you? You’re not about to pick up that torch.

So you grab some parchment and pen what might be the most passive-aggressive resignation letter of all time.

“To Her Highness, the Crown Princess,

Kindly do your own dirty work from now on. My father can gamble himself into oblivion. I’m out. Good luck with your reign or whatever.”

Satisfied, you sign it with an unnecessarily large flourish, slap it on the desk, and prepare to bounce.

You’re halfway down the hall when you almost walk face-first into him.

Rook Hunt, the walking embodiment of “this guy doesn’t belong in this novel but here he is anyway,” stands there with his golden hair and overly dramatic smile. He’s loud. He’s eccentric. He’s dressed like he’s about to break into a musical number about the beauty of life. Oh, and he’s also the duke whose household you served in as a knight before you quit.

“Mon ami!” he exclaims, throwing his arms wide like you’re long-lost lovers. “You’ve returned to me! What an exquisite twist of fate! Shall we celebrate the beauty of reunion?”

“No,” you say flatly. You attempt to sidestep him, but Rook doesn’t just let things go.

“You cannot leave me again! Do you not wish to resume your role as my loyal knight?”

“Absolutely not,” you snap on instinct, because why on earth would you willingly dive back into this mess? But then it hits you. Wait.

Rook isn’t part of the main plot. He’s not the crown prince, not the archduke, not the villain, and definitely not one of the doomed love interests. He’s just… there. A minor character. A colorful extra who pops up to sprinkle poetic nonsense into the plot and then wanders offstage.

Your brain kicks into overdrive. If you stick with him, you’ll be close enough to the action to keep tabs but far enough to avoid the heroine’s nonsense. Plus, salary. And minor characters like him rarely die!

Your decision solidifies. You plaster on a winning smile and nod. “Actually, on second thought, yeah. Let’s do that.”

“Magnifique!” Rook practically beams as he grabs your arm. “Come, let us bask in the splendor of returning home!”

You follow him, letting his endless stream of poetic babble wash over you. Is this the best plan? Probably not. But it beats getting murdered for a heroine who couldn’t find her moral compass with both hands and a map.

You make it back to the duke’s grand estate—because of course it’s grand. Every aristocrat in this godforsaken novel seems to have a mansion the size of a small country. Rook practically floats through the gates, his dramatic energy causing every passing servant to give him the “not again” look. You follow, still trying to process the reality of your current situation.

After an unnecessarily flowery tour of the place (you’ve been here before in this body, but you let him talk because it’s easier than interrupting), he finally stops in the courtyard. He turns to you, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Now, mon chevalier, reclaim your rightful position as my trusted bodyguard!” he declares, flinging his arms wide as if inviting the heavens to applaud him.

You blink. “…Respectfully, sir, why do you need a bodyguard?”

He pauses, staring at you like you just asked why water is wet. Then, with an infuriatingly serene smile, he says, “Ah, but the shadows are filled with secrets, my dear knight! The beauty of life is in its mysteries, n’est-ce pas?”

You squint at him. “Okay, but that doesn’t answer the question.”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because the wolves, mon ami. The wolves.”

You freeze. “…What wolves?”

Rook straightens up, tilting his head as if contemplating the meaning of the universe. “Ah, they are everywhere and nowhere. In the forests, in the halls, in the hearts of men. Who can say where danger truly lies?”

This man just said a whole lot of words without saying anything.

“Right,” you say slowly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “But you’re, like, ridiculously strong. I’m pretty sure you could take on any wolf—metaphorical or not—by yourself.”

“Ah, mon chevalier,” he says with a wistful sigh, placing a hand on his chest like he’s reciting a Shakespearean soliloquy. “Strength alone cannot protect one from the unexpected, the unseen, the poetry of peril!”

You stare at him, trying to figure out if this is some sort of elaborate prank. But no. This man is completely serious.

“So… wolves. Poetry of peril. Got it,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “I’ll, uh, just… go patrol or something, I guess.”

Rook claps his hands together, beaming. “Ah, magnifique! I knew you would understand! Truly, you are a gem among knights!”

You slink off, still scratching your head. You’re 90% sure the wolves are a metaphor for absolutely nothing, but who are you to question the logic of a trash novel? At least the pay is good.

You quickly realize this trash novel is trying to trash you right back. It’s like every corner you turn, fate has decided you don’t deserve a peaceful life.

Walking through the garden to calm your nerves? Someone leaps out of the hedges with a dagger. You narrowly dodge, trip over a decorative fountain, and the attacker runs off, cackling.

Trying to enjoy the roses because you’re starting to think, “Hey, if I gotta die, at least let it be aesthetic?” Nope, arrow. Right past your ear.

By the fifth assassination attempt (some guy “accidentally” dropping a potted plant from a balcony), it clicks. The heroine must’ve decided since you’re not doing her dirty work anymore, she needs to eliminate you before you spill the beans. But, unlike her, you have brains.

So, you write a letter.

Dear Villainess and Esteemed Archduke,

I hope this letter finds you well, though considering the general chaos surrounding us, that feels optimistic.

I am writing to inform you of an unfortunate situation involving a certain someone (cough the crown princess cough) who has, shall we say, less-than-noble intentions toward your continued existence.

To clarify: she asked me to assassinate you. I know, shocking. However, as someone who values integrity, personal safety, and not being murdered by shady royalty, I’ve decided to step down from my position as her unwilling assassin.

This does mean she may hire someone else to handle the job, which is unfortunate for you but also none of my business anymore. I’m not sure how you typically handle murder plots, but I suggest taking precautions, like perhaps not smelling your roses or standing under precariously placed flower pots.

Lastly, while I am admittedly a pawn in this chaotic mess, I felt it was only fair to let you know what’s going on. I wish you both a long, unassassinated life.

Warm regards,

Your Local Retired Assassin

P.S. Please don’t kill me. I’m just the messenger.

You thought this letter would buy you peace. Instead, it bought you an invitation.

And by “invitation,” you mean you’ve been dragged into a private meeting with the villainess and the archduke, who are both sitting across from you now, looking like they’re deciding whether to thank you or strangle you.

“So,” the villainess says, her voice like ice. “You’re telling me the crown princess is plotting to kill me?”

“Uh, yes,” you say, your palms sweating. “But, like, not me anymore! I’ve retired. Permanently.”

The archduke raises an eyebrow. “Why would she want to kill us?”

You glance at the villainess. “Uh… because you exist?”

Before the villainess can stab you (she looks ready), the door swings open, and in saunters Rook.

“Ah, my friends!” he says, grinning ear to ear. “How serendipitous that we are all here. I believe I can shed some light on this matter.”

You gape as Rook launches into a detailed explanation of the heroine’s convoluted scheme—exactly what she’s planning, who she’s hiring, and even the color of the dress she’ll wear while gloating about it.

The villainess and the archduke exchange a glance, then rise, thanking Rook for his “invaluable insight” before sweeping out of the room, leaving you and Rook alone.

You turn to him, your jaw still on the floor. “How do you even know all that?”

Rook just winks at you. “Ah, mon chevalier, the shadows have ears, and I am their maestro.”

He struts out, humming a jaunty tune, leaving you sitting there, more confused than ever. At this point, you’re half-convinced Rook is either a genius or just making stuff up as he goes. And honestly? You’re too tired to figure it out.

You’re stationed at the edge of the garden, trying your best to blend into the scenery while the tea party unfolds. Rook, as usual, is the life of the gathering, passionately chatting with Vil and Epel, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You’re in your usual "bodyguard mode," which mostly consists of staring off into the distance and trying not to fall asleep. It’s peaceful—for once—until Epel casually drops a comment loud enough for even you to hear.

"Rook, you finally got them back, huh?"

Your brain screeches to a halt.

Got you back? Back? What does that mean? What is there to get back? Was there something to get back in the first place?

You barely have time to process any of this before Rook, in the most Rook way possible, interrupts with a flurry of poetic nonsense.

“Ah, young Epel, the winds of fortune have indeed graced me with their bounteous song! But let us not dwell on the past, for the present blooms before us like a radiant garden of opportunity!”

You blink. Did… did that mean anything? Epel seems to think it doesn’t, judging by the way he rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath. But you’re too busy processing the odd look on Rook’s face to care.

Because, for the first time ever, Rook looks nervous.

His usual serene confidence is still there, but there’s a hint of something else—a faint pink dusting his cheeks, an almost imperceptible shift in his tone. And why the hell is your heart fluttering at the sight?

You squint at him, trying to decode whatever is happening here. Is he… embarrassed? Flustered? Can Rook even be flustered?

Before you can spiral further into overthinking, you notice Vil’s sharp gaze cutting through the moment like a knife. His violet eyes lock onto yours, and an infuriatingly amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

Oh no. He knows.

Vil, of course, pretends like nothing’s happening, smoothly pouring himself another cup of tea and joining the conversation like the consummate aristocrat he is. But every so often, you catch him glancing at you with that same entertained expression, like he’s just discovered a juicy secret.

You try to shake it off, refusing to let yourself be dragged into this nonsense. But Rook’s flushed face lingers in your mind, and every time he smiles at you for the rest of the party, you feel the heat creeping up your own cheeks.

Great. Just great. Whatever this is, it’s going to haunt you for days.

It started with an uproar in the palace—a desperate, urgent call for help sent to Rook, Duke of Hunt.

"The wolves are attacking!"

You were mid-sword practice when the messenger arrived, breathless and frantic. He handed the summons to Rook, who took the parchment with an amused smile.

"Wolves, you say?" he mused, tapping his chin dramatically.

"Yes, my lord!" The messenger practically collapsed from the effort of delivering the message. "They’ve breached the outer gardens, and the prince and heroine request your immediate assistance!"

Rook looked at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ah, mon chevalier, do you recall what I told you once about wolves?"

You blinked, frowning. "You mean the thing about being surrounded by wolves one day? I thought you were joking."

Rook’s grin widened. "Oh, I never jest about wolves."

You opened your mouth to demand clarification, but Rook waved the parchment dismissively. "Alas, I must decline."

The messenger froze. "W-What? But…you’re the Duke of Hunt! The greatest tracker and marksman in the kingdom! Without you, the palace is doomed!"

Rook leaned forward conspiratorially. "Tell me, mon ami, what makes you think I’d risk life and limb for the likes of the heroine and her precious prince?"

The messenger stammered. "B-But—"

Rook held up a hand, silencing him. "No, no. I simply cannot. My schedule is far too packed. Why, just this morning, I promised my chevalier here that I’d help reorganize their weapons rack." He turned to you with a wink. "Isn’t that right?"

You rolled your eyes but nodded. "Yep. Super busy."

The messenger left, looking utterly defeated. You figured that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Over the next two hours, messengers kept arriving, each more desperate than the last. Rook refused them all with increasing flamboyance.

One messenger was sent away with, "Alas, the stars are not in alignment for such a hunt!"

Another was dismissed with, "The winds whisper that this is not my destiny today."

Finally, a personal plea came from the heroine herself. She barged into the estate, dramatically throwing herself at Rook’s feet.

"Oh, noble Duke!" she wailed. "You are the only one who can save us! Please, I beg of you!"

Rook tilted his head, pretending to think it over. Then he glanced at you, his expression suddenly sharp beneath the veneer of cheer.

"And what of my chevalier?" he asked.

The heroine frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You’ve made quite a nuisance of yourself lately," Rook said lightly, though there was an edge to his voice. "Why, only yesterday, you sent someone to ambush them in the gardens, did you not?"

Her face paled.

"I might reconsider," Rook said, his tone taking on a singsong quality, "if you promise to leave them alone from now on."

There was a long, tense pause. The heroine’s expression flickered between rage and fear before she finally forced a smile. "Very well. I promise."

"Splendid!" Rook clapped his hands and stood. "To the hunt, then!"

You stood there in stunned silence as he walked out the door, bow in hand. When he turned back to flash you a grin, you couldn’t help but mutter, "What the hell just happened?"

Rook’s laugh echoed through the halls, and you were left wondering yet again if you’d ever fully understand this ridiculous man.

It’s payday, baby.

You’ve never been more excited to hold a pouch of jingling coins in your life. Your day off couldn’t have come at a better time, and you’ve already decided to treat yourself. No assassination attempts, no cryptic poetry, no Rook yammering about beauty—just you, the market, and sweet, sweet retail therapy.

After wandering for a while, you stumble upon a fruit stall, and your eyes light up. The produce is incredible—vividly colored, juicy, and nothing like the waxy, suspiciously glossy stuff you’d get in your original world. You don’t even know what half these fruits are, but they smell amazing, and you’re buying them all.

As you carry your haul back to the manor, an idea hits you like a freight train. You’ve been craving dessert—specifically, something you can’t get in medieval Europe. Something simple, sweet, and utterly anachronistic.

And that’s how you end up in the kitchen, surrounded by fresh fruit, flour, sugar, and whatever else you’ve managed to scrounge up. You’re determined to make crêpes. Yes, you know they weren’t invented yet, but the cooks don’t even seem to know what a waffle is, so they’re not going to stop you.

It takes a bit of trial and error—because, shocker, medieval kitchens are not equipped for finesse—but eventually, you’ve got a plate of soft, golden crêpes filled with fresh fruit and drizzled with honey. It’s so beautiful it almost brings a tear to your eye.

You’re mid-bite, mentally congratulating yourself, when Rook materializes out of nowhere like some kind of dessert-seeking missile.

“Mon chevalier! What marvel have you crafted here in this humble kitchen? The scent alone rivals the sweetest perfume!”

You freeze. This is fine. He’s just curious. There’s no reason to panic. Subconsciously, you scoop up a bite on your fork and offer it to him, your body on autopilot.

Rook doesn’t hesitate, leaning in and accepting the bite with the elegance of a prince at court. “Magnifique! Truly, you have woven magic into this creation, mon cher!”

You relax slightly, pride swelling at the compliment—until he takes your hand and licks a stray drop of honey from your finger.

Your brain short-circuits.

Before you can even form a coherent thought, Rook grins at you with that infuriatingly charming smile of his, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek.

“You are as talented in the kitchen as you are with a blade,” he says, his voice warm and soft, as if he hasn’t just dismantled your sanity.

And then he’s gone, striding out of the kitchen with his usual jaunty step, leaving you standing there like an idiot, replaying the sensation of his lips on your cheek and his tongue on your finger.

You slowly sink to the floor, crêpe in hand, trying to process what just happened.

“Why,” you mutter to yourself, taking another bite of your crêpe for courage, “does this keep happening to me?”

Life had been…dare you say it, pleasant recently. No assassination attempts, no tea parties and no surprise arrows whizzing by your head. You were almost convinced this world might not be so bad after all.

But like clockwork, the plot reared its ugly head.

You were outside, basking in the rare serenity of a quiet afternoon, when the shouting began. You knew the voice instantly. It was grating, furious, and way too familiar.

Your abusive father—the original you’s deadbeat excuse for a parent—had somehow crawled out of the woodwork.

“You useless brat!” he snarled, stomping toward you. “How dare you stop sending money? Do you think you’re too good for your family now?!”

Oh, for the love of—

You crossed your arms, already done with the theatrics. “First of all, family implies mutual care and respect, neither of which you’ve ever provided. Secondly, kiss my ass.”

The man’s face turned a deep shade of purple, veins bulging in his forehead. He raised his hand, and you didn’t flinch. You weren’t scared of him. You were just irritated that he had the audacity to show up and ruin your vibe.

But before his hand could even swing down, an arrow whizzed past, slicing through the air with deadly precision. It nicked his cheek, leaving a shallow cut, and he yelped like a scolded dog.

You turned, and there he was.

Rook.

But this wasn’t the poetic, flowery Rook who praised sunsets and waxed lyrical about everything under the sun. No, this was Duke Hunt. His bow was clenched tightly in one hand, his expression colder than you’d ever seen. His eyes locked onto your father, sharp and unyielding, and for the first time, you truly understood why people called him a hunter.

Your father stumbled back, clutching his cheek. “Y-you’ll regret this! I’ll get my revenge!” he spat, turning tail and running like the two-bit villain he was.

You didn’t even watch him go. You were too busy staring at Rook, your heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the fact that, dammit, he looked good like this.

You silently scolded yourself. Really? Now? This is when you’re going to have a revelation about your feelings? Pull it together.

Rook’s gaze softened as he looked at you, and without a word, he closed the distance between you. Before you could process it, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a firm, steady embrace.

You stiffened for a moment, but then it hit you—you were shaken. You hadn’t realized it until now, but the encounter had left your hands trembling. And Rook…he didn’t say a word. He just held you, radiating warmth and reassurance, as if he knew exactly what you needed.

Slowly, you relaxed, leaning into him, letting the tension bleed out of your body. For once, there were no witty remarks, no poetic musings, no cryptic riddles. Just Rook, steady and solid, and the quiet comfort of his presence.

You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Maybe life here wasn’t so bad after all.

It was the hunting competition trope—the bread and butter of every third-rate villainess novel ever written. Noblemen rode out in droves to massacre innocent wildlife in the name of prestige, while the women gathered on the sidelines to swoon over who could kill the most majestic creature.

Normally, you'd find this whole affair ridiculous, but today? Today, it was a strategic opportunity.

Rook and you had cooked up a plan. After bagging his game, Rook would publicly gift it to the villainess, cementing the stance of his household against the heroine. A subtle yet unmistakable message to everyone present: this duke’s house wasn’t here to play politics; it was drawing battle lines.

Rook was, predictably, ecstatic about it all. “Ah, mon chevalier, what a splendid opportunity to honor beauty and justice with the art of the hunt!” he proclaimed, twirling dramatically as he readied his bow.

What you didn’t anticipate was his strange fixation on a handkerchief before he left.

Throughout the day, noblewomen approached Rook, each one batting their lashes and holding out dainty, embroidered handkerchiefs. It was practically a parade of desperate peahens.

“Oh, Lord Hunt, a token for luck!” cooed one particularly persistent lady, pushing her frilly kerchief toward him.

Rook clasped his hands to his chest with exaggerated reverence. “Ah, mademoiselle, your thoughtfulness moves me beyond words, but alas, I cannot accept. To carry such a treasure into the wild would be to risk its loss, and I could never bear such tragedy!”

Another woman attempted to loop her kerchief around his wrist directly. Rook gracefully dodged, as though she were offering him a live snake. “My dear lady, your artistry is unparalleled, but the only adornment fit for this hunt is the pure, untainted spirit of nature herself!”

By the third rejection, you were practically biting your tongue to keep from laughing.

But then came the curveball.

“Ah,” Rook sighed as he approached you. “If only I had a handkerchief imbued with sincerity. A simple, honest token to guide my aim and steady my heart!”

You blinked at him. “What, like…this?” You pulled out your completely ordinary, unembellished handkerchief and held it out.

Rook’s eyes lit up as though you’d just handed him the Holy Grail. “Mon chevalier! How perfect! How divine! This humble square of cloth shall be my guiding light!”

Before you could protest, he tied it around his arm with a flourish and rode off, looking like he was ready to star in his own personal opera.

From his place in the pavilion, Vil Schoenheit took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea, his sharp eyes locking onto yours with a glint of pure amusement. The smirk tugging at his lips seemed to say, Oh, I know exactly what’s going on.

Meanwhile, Epel squinted between you and Rook, his expression shifting rapidly as though he’d just cracked the secret to immortality. He whispered something to Vil, who nearly choked on his tea before regaining his composure.

What the hell is going on? you thought, baffled.

Fast forward to now, the present, where the plan was supposed to culminate with Rook triumphantly presenting his prize to the villainess. Simple, elegant, strategic.

So why, why, was Rook standing in front of you holding a literal griffin?

“Uh, Rook,” you whispered through gritted teeth. “What are you doing? This is supposed to go to the villainess.”

But Rook was having none of it.

“Ah, my loyal chevalier,” he declared loudly, drawing the attention of every noble in the vicinity. “It is only fitting that such a prize goes to the one who inspires my steadfastness and resolve!”

Your jaw dropped. “Rook. No.”

He turned his radiant smile on you, looking like a proud schoolboy showing off a crayon drawing to his teacher. “Yes!”

The gathered nobles erupted into murmurs, and you could already feel the weight of every single judgmental stare. This was not part of the plan. But despite your internal screaming, a small, annoying part of you couldn’t help but feel…flattered. This was a duke, and you were just a knight. A very confused, very underqualified knight, sure, but still.

Vil, still seated with his ever-present cup of tea, took another long, pointed sip, his eyes glimmering with amusement.

This was the drama he’d signed up for.

The hallway leading back to the room where Vil, Rook, and Epel were sitting felt oddly silent, the muffled voices of their conversation barely filtering through the door. You weren’t one to eavesdrop—but when you heard your name, well, curiosity got the better of you.

"Just confess already," Epel was saying, his tone exasperated. "We’ve all seen the way you look at them."

Vil chimed in, his voice tinged with amusement. "Epel is right for once, Rook. Love is about timing, and yours is abysmal."

"But love is an art, mon ami," Rook replied, his tone unusually hesitant. "It cannot be rushed. It must unfold naturally, like the petals of a flower in spring."

"Okay," Vil drawled, clearly unimpressed. "But what happens when someone else plucks your ‘flower’? Say, the gardener they’ve been spending so much time with?"

The silence that followed was deafening. You leaned closer, your heart pounding, hoping—no, needing—to hear Rook’s response.

Instead, you heard nothing.

The stillness stretched unbearably until you couldn’t take it anymore. You shoved the door open, startling all three occupants. "What are you talking about?"

Vil raised an eyebrow, the picture of nonchalance, though the corners of his mouth twitched with mischief. "Perfect timing, as always. I’ll leave you two to sort this out."

He grabbed a very reluctant Epel by the collar and dragged him toward the door. "Wait, I wanna see what happens!" Epel protested, but Vil shut the door behind them with a decisive click.

Which left you and Rook alone.

You crossed your arms, leveling him with a look that you hoped masked the frantic hammering of your heart. "So…what’s this about a confession?"

Rook’s usual composure faltered. For once, the poetic, perpetually self-assured Rook you knew looked…unsure. Vulnerable. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his gloves, and he avoided your gaze, staring instead at the floor.

"Rook," you said softly, stepping closer. "Please, just tell me what’s going on. I need to know."

He finally looked up, and the raw emotion in his eyes was enough to steal your breath.

"Mon chevalier," he began, his voice low and trembling, "I have loved you from the start. At first, it was the camaraderie of equals, a kindred spirit I admired. But when you returned from the heroine’s side, defying expectations and staying true to yourself…you captured my heart completely."

You blinked, stunned. "Rook, I—"

He continued, the words spilling out as though he’d been holding them back for far too long. "You never treated me like I was strange. You accepted me as I am, even when others mocked my passions or dismissed my eccentricities. I never truly needed a bodyguard. I just needed you. Near me. Always."

His voice broke slightly on the last word, and you felt your resolve crumble.

You sighed, but it wasn’t from exasperation. It was the sound of relief, of something clicking into place. "Next time," you said, stepping even closer, "just tell me your feelings directly. It’ll save us both a lot of trouble."

Before he could respond, you reached up and pulled him into a kiss.

It was everything a first kiss should be—long, searing, passionate. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you flush against him as though he never wanted to let go. You melted into him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, and for a moment, the world outside that kiss ceased to exist.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Rook’s lips quirked into a smile as he whispered, "Your lips are the sweetest arrow, mon amour, and they have pierced my heart beyond repair."

You burst into laughter, burying your face in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound. "Gods, Rook, only you could ruin a moment like this with something so cheesy."

He chuckled softly, his arms still secure around you.

And as you stood there in his embrace, you couldn’t help but think that this ridiculous, trashy novel world was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

The parlor was warm with the golden light of afternoon sun filtering through the windows, but the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. You stood near Rook, his arm casually draped across the back of your chair, as Vil and Epel looked at you expectantly.

“Well?” Vil prompted, raising a perfectly arched brow.

You glanced at Rook, who smiled encouragingly, as if to say, go ahead. Clearing your throat, you announced, “We’re…together.”

Vil sighed dramatically, setting down his teacup with a soft clink. “Finally. I was starting to think I’d have to intervene.”

Epel, on the other hand, froze mid-sip of his cider. Slowly, he set the glass down, stood, and walked over to you. His expression was a mix of grief and dread, like someone had just informed him of some terrible, life-altering news.

He placed both hands firmly on your shoulders and looked you dead in the eyes. “Good luck,” he said, solemn as a funeral bell. “This is a life sentence, y’know.”

Rook chuckled, clearly amused. “Mon cher Epel, you wound me! Surely being with moi is more of a treasure than a trial?”

Epel turned to him, unimpressed. “Treasure? You follow people for fun. You recite poetry to wild animals. You can’t even eat pie without analyzing its existential meaning. I mean, who does that?”

You were already laughing, shaking your head as you patted Epel’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Epel. This is a sentence I’m more than happy to serve.”

Vil smirked behind his tea, watching the scene unfold with obvious amusement. “Frankly, I’m just relieved we won’t have to endure any more of his tragic sighs every time you left a room.”

Rook clasped a hand to his heart in mock offense. “Oh, Vil! My sighs are poetry incarnate!”

Vil didn’t even blink. “Your sighs are the sound of unspoken melodrama. Spare me.”

Epel plopped back into his seat with a long groan, running a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I guess congratulations or whatever. At least now we can all stop pretending we don’t notice him staring at you like some love-struck puppy.”

“That’s rich,” you shot back, grinning. “You’re the one who looks like your pet rat just died every time we get close.”

Epel huffed. “I’m just saying! Now you gotta deal with him being even more poetic! And clingy! You thought the prince and heroine were bad? Wait till you see Rook when he’s in love. You’re doomed.”

At the mention of the prince and heroine, Vil made an exaggerated sound of disgust. “Speaking of those two… Honestly, has anyone ever been so painfully predictable? The prince has all the charm of wet cardboard, and the heroine—don’t even get me started on her hair ribbons.”

“Ah, the heroine,” Rook sighed wistfully, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Always so delightfully transparent. Her schemes are like open windows to her soul.”

You snorted. “If by soul, you mean her desperate attempts to turn everything into a sob story, then yeah, sure.”

Epel leaned forward, grinning. “Did you see her crying at the hunt competition? Like, girl, it’s a competition. What did you think would happen? That the griffin would apologize and hand itself over?”

Vil smirked, tapping a manicured finger against his chin. “Or how about the prince declaring his ‘eternal devotion’ to her at the banquet last week? I nearly choked on my wine.”

Rook chuckled, turning to you with a soft smile that was far more genuine than his usual theatrics. “Ah, but let us not waste all our words on such trivialities. This moment, mon amour, is one of joy.”

You leaned into him, your laughter subsiding into a contented smile. His arm slipped around your shoulders, holding you close as Vil and Epel continued their playful bickering in the background.

For the first time since you’d been thrown into this absurd world, you felt completely at ease. If this was the result of being trapped in a trash novel, then so be it. You were exactly where you wanted to be.

Trash Novel Masterlist

Complete Masterlists

[punkshort]

Swept Away | Epilogue: Smooth Sailing

Pairing: sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Your new job at The Parador allows for some exciting perks.

Chapter Warnings: language, angry!joel, oral (m!receiving), smut (18+ MDNI), office sex, unprotected piv sex (reader has implant now as previously mentioned, we're safe), spanking, praise kink, mentions of substance abuse (not Joel or reader)

WC: 6.1K

Series Masterlist

Ten Months Later

It was still surreal sometimes to walk into an office with your name and Creative Lead printed on a nameplate next to your door, but after a handful of months, you were beginning to feel like less of an imposter.

Admittedly, it wasn't the type of job you had been applying for. You tried to use your experience as a production assistant to get your foot in the door with a talent agency, but you weren't having any luck. When Joel offered you the job in his marketing department, you didn't think you were qualified for it, but after discussing the duties with Caroline Harris, the creative director, you discovered your background would be well suited for the job. He must have known you would have instantly taken a liking to her because after a few more days of soul searching, you accepted the offer.

It felt strange in the beginning, and sometimes you still felt paranoid other employees were looking at you like you didn't deserve your success, but you felt confident all the hard work you did in the past several months spoke for itself.

And as it turned out, you were actually really fucking good at your job.

You left your office door cracked and set your things down on top of the chest of drawers behind your desk. Smoothing down your simple, grey dress that fell just above the knee, you sat down with a sigh in your leather chair and booted up your computer. While you waited for it to turn on, you sipped your coffee and glanced at your phone.

Zoe: Remember to call me later, I have news! I'm dating someone new!

You grinned and tapped out a quick response, promising to call before it got too late on the East Coast. Zoe never found out the truth about you and Joel, but you figured by now it didn't matter much. As far as she knew, you were still planning the "wedding", but it was just delayed until the hotel was built in Fiji, meaning you had a decent chunk of time to come up with another cover.

You saw a flash on your computer screen, indicating the monitor was up and running, so you placed your phone down to type in your password, then gasped excitedly when you were reminded of a Zoom call you had scheduled with Ellie.

Even though hiring Ellie wasn't technically your idea, Joel told Caroline it was because as he had told you at the time, he wouldn't have given her a second thought had you not been so taken with her work. So Caroline put you in charge of overseeing her progress, as well as a few other things for the new hotel.

It had been almost a month since you last spoke to Ellie and you were thrilled to get an update. The little video popped up, briefly displaying her name before she turned her camera on. You grinned from ear to ear when you finally saw her, specks of paint adorning her face and hair.

"How are you still up? Isn't it, like, three in the morning?" you asked.

"Yeah, but you know I do all my best work at night," Ellie replied before flipping the camera around so you could see her studio. There were a few drop cloths down, splashed with all sorts of colors of paint, and about six easels, all of which held paintings in different stages.

"Don't look at those yet, they aren't done," she said, and you laughed.

"You're the one in control of the camera, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled. You could hear her converse sneakers scuffing along the canvas drop cloth while she took you across the room. She flicked on a light and you gasped at the shock of color.

"Oh, my god!" you exclaimed.

"Man, I was feeling so inspired last week, I just couldn't stop. We had a little tropical storm blow through and it just created all these beautiful scenes. Like, beauty amongst the wreckage, you know?" Ellie was saying as she slowly walked around the room, panning the camera to each painting so you could get a good look.

"Oh, wow. Ellie... these are stunning. You've made such incredible progress, I'm so impressed!"

She finished her lap around the room and there was a pause in the video before her face returned to the screen.

"Yeah, thanks. It's going really well. You know how nervous I was in the beginning, I didn't think I would be able to make the amount of paintings you were looking for, but at this rate I think I'll have them done ahead of schedule."

"Well, I always knew you could do it. You're so talented and you see things in such a different way than everyone else. I swear, your work is going to make the hotel really stand out," you gushed before taking a long sip of coffee.

"You gotta thank Joel again for me," Ellie said, flicking off the light and heading back into the main part of her studio. "The amount of money he's paying me is keeping my bills paid so I can focus entirely on this."

"I will. I'm sure I'll see him later this afternoon. He'll be so happy to hear about all your progress."

"I'll take a few pictures and text them to you before I go to bed. That way, he can see for himself," she promised.

"That sounds perfect. Is there anything else you need? How's Dina?"

You spent the rest of your thirty minutes catching up with her about her girlfriend, laughing as she told you how Dina finally wore her down and they adopted a cat. Just as she was telling you how the cat stepped in some paint and walked across one of her paintings, she yawned.

"Go get some sleep. We'll touch base again next month but in the meantime, if anything comes up, you know how to reach me."

She gave you a little wave before ending the call and you sat back in your chair, your office filled with silence once again.

The rest of your morning was spent reviewing potential candidates for a pianist position in the hotel lobby. On one screen you had a video of a candidate playing and on the other, their resume and list of references. All of them were natives from Fiji, just like Joel had promised Glenn.

By noon, you had whittled down the candidates to your top five. You were making a little pile with your notes written on bright pink post-it's when you heard a gentle knock on your door.

"Come in," you answered distractedly.

"Hey... busy?" Liam said. You looked up and smiled before shaking your head and offering him a seat.

"Just getting some resumes ready for the pianist job. I have to set up some interviews after lunch. What's up?"

Liam sighed dramatically and collapsed into a chair.

"Your boyfriend is on a tear today, I needed a break," he said, curling his fingers into a loose fist so he could examine his cuticles.

"Why? What's going on?" you asked, setting down your pen, curiosity piqued.

"Well... first, Jack kicked his ass during his boxing lesson, which he always fucking hates," Liam said with a roll of his eyes. "Then he found out there was a delay in shipping the marble flooring, but I told him that shit's coming from Italy and it's custom!"

"He really hates when there's any delays in construction," you said, wrinkling your nose. You had seen your fair share of his outbursts over the past few months as the hotel in Fiji slowly became a reality. Joel always said, Time is money, baby. The longer this takes, the less money I make.

"Then Tommy called to tell him some wood or... something... got damaged in a storm they had down there recently, so now he's waiting on another shipment from the states."

You buried your face in your hands at that point, knowing exactly the type of mood Joel was in just one floor above you. On one hand, you were always thrilled whenever Joel and Tommy spoke after they finally hashed things out and made amends six months ago. But on the other, you would have much preferred Tommy call with an update about his wife, Maria, or TJ, their son.

"And about ten minutes ago, Chrissy spilled his coffee," Liam finished, dropping his hand to his lap and crossing his legs. "Only saving grace was she spilled it on the floor and not on him."

You cringed when you imagined how stressed out poor Chrissy must have been in that moment. She was a trooper, you had to hand it to her. She had been Joel's secretary for almost three years and every time you saw her she looked more meek and frightened than the last time.

"So, what you're saying is I should surprise him and take him out to lunch."

Liam's face broke out with a huge grin and he lightly clapped his hands.

"Would you mind? I think it would really help. He's always so much easier to handle after he sees you." He was really laying it on thick now and you knew it.

"I already agreed, you can drop it," you laughed, locking your computer and grabbing your purse.

"It's not an act," Liam said, following you out the door towards the elevator. The floor was quiet, most employees likely out to eat already. "I mean, yeah, maybe sometimes I try to flatter you into helping us out, but I'm serious. It's like you're chamomile tea on legs."

You arched an eyebrow at him when the elevator doors slid open. "Chamomile tea?"

"Is a tranquilizer dart better? Or lion tamer?"

You pursed your lips, thinking it over when you pressed the button to his floor. "Yeah. I like lion tamer."

Liam laughed and pulled out his phone to check his texts.

"This is perfect timing. He's about to wrap up a meeting and he doesn't have another one until two." Liam slid his phone back into his pocket and gave you a pleading look. "Please feel free to take your time."

"Oh, come on! He can't be that bad," you said with a hand on your hip. The doors opened up and let you out onto the executive floor, on the opposite side of the building from Joel's office, which is why it was so impressive you could hear him shouting from where you stood.

"Is the door open?" you asked quietly.

"Nope," Liam replied, giving you a look that said I told you so.

You swallowed nervously then lifted your chin with confidence as you made your way past the conference room towards his office. When Chrissy spotted you, she practically jumped out of her chair.

"Oh, my god, thank you," she whispered, her curly brown hair bouncing across her forehead with every step she took. She clasped her hands together and held them tightly against her chest.

"Don't thank me yet, I haven't done anything," you replied, but gave her a reassuring smile anyway. "Why don't you guys go to lunch? I'll take it from here."

The speed in which they tore out of the office was Olympic level.

You perched on the edge of Chrissy's desk as you waited for Joel's meeting to be over. Through the door, you could hear some voices through his phone, as well, one of which you recognized as the project manager for the hotel in Fiji. You looked down at your hands, ignoring the raised voices in the next room, and stared down at the huge diamond ring on your right hand. Splaying your fingers wide, you admired the way the light caught the little facets of the diamond, smiling a little when you saw rainbow flecks dot the walls of the mostly empty floor.

Ages ago, Joel had asked you to keep the ring he got you to use in Fiji. You nearly had a heart attack until he realized how it looked and he nervously clarified he wasn't asking you to marry him, just that he felt the ring was always yours and he couldn't bring himself to return it, so he bought it.

You smiled to yourself when you thought back on that day. It was just after he finally said I love you for the first time. It was a little ridiculous to think he would be asking you to marry him when it took him months to say those three words, but your heart still skipped a beat in that half a second of confusion.

After your pulse slowed, you accepted it with an awkward laugh, putting it on your right hand where it had remained ever since. You knew there was no use arguing with him about gifts and money anymore. When he bought you something, he was relentless until you took it.

Actually, you've grown to kind of like it.

Or, maybe you just liked the idea of Joel thinking about you when you weren't around.

Through the door, you heard the phone call cut with a terse farewell and then, the tell-tale rustle of men's dress pants with the clearing of throats. One man was still talking, his voice forcibly calm as he assured Joel that he would get back to him by the end of the day with the correct numbers on some payroll report, and then the door swung open. Men poured out, some hurrying past you without even realizing you were there, their faces red and their jaws clenched. The ones that did notice you gave a quick nod of acknowledgement before hurrying away, as if they were afraid Joel would remember he had one or two more biting comments and call them back in.

When the last of the men filed out, you heard Joel bark, "Shut the door," and then the creak of his leather chair under his weight. A man you vaguely recognized pulled the door shut behind him before spotting you. He was frazzled and exhausted when he exhaled and loosened his tie.

"Good luck," he said, and you laughed softly. You watched as the last of the men filed towards the elevators, their padfolios and phones overflowing in their hands as they shuffled onto the car and disappeared behind the closed doors.

The floor was quiet now. Joel's office was the only one with a light on.

Biting back a smirk, you pushed off Chrissy's desk and straightened your dress before rapping your knuckles on his door.

"What the fuck now?" came Joel's sharp voice from the other side. You pushed the door open and crossed your arms, waiting until he dragged his gaze up from his desk. When he realized it was you, his expression instantly softened and he stood.

"Sorry," he grumbled.

"It's okay," you replied, stepping inside the room, shutting the door behind you. Joel rounded the desk and raked his fingers through his hair. You bit your lower lip, gaze quickly drifting down his broad frame. He was wearing a white dress shirt with his dark grey suit, the coat abandoned over the back of his chair. It was the first time you had seen him since you left him asleep in bed early that morning.

"What's goin' on, baby?" he asked as he crossed the room to pour himself a drink. You made a face at the amber liquid and he swiveled around, raising the glass of whiskey in your direction.

"Want one?"

"No, Joel. It's barely noon. I came to see if you wanted to get lunch, but I'm guessing today's not the best day," you said, closing the distance between you to smooth down the front of his shirt with your palms. He lifted the glass to his lips and tossed the drink back in one go before setting it down on the bar and wrapping his big hands around yours, pressing them firmly to his chest.

"'M sorry, not havin' a great day."

"I can tell."

"You hear all that?" he murmured, bringing one of your hands up to his mouth. His lips brushed over your knuckles as he gazed at you through tired, heavy eyes and you smiled. Moments ago, those eyes were firey and filled with rage.

But not when he looked at you.

"Some of it," you admitted. "What's wrong?"

Joel exhaled through his nose and dropped his hands to your hips, giving them a little squeeze and pulling you closer. "You weren't there when I woke up this mornin'."

You rolled your eyes playfully at him and he gently pinched your side.

"I told you I had to get up early so I could get ready for work-"

"'N I told you to bring your stuff over last night," he countered.

"Joel, I hadn't been home in days. I needed to make sure the place was still standing and water my plants."

Then, he said something that sent shockwaves through your whole body.

"Just move in with me, then it ain't a problem anymore."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and you forgot to breathe for a moment.

"What?" you asked breathlessly. But Joel just shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Move in with me," he repeated. "Plants, too."

"Y-you... you want me to move in with you? Like, permanently?" you repeated in disbelief. Joel smirked down at you and nodded.

"Yeah, like, permanently. The hell you think I mean? Get rid of that place, you know I don't like that neighborhood," he said, then lifted his chin when he heard his email program chime somewhere behind you.

"Joel... are you sure? That's a big step for you," you replied, feeling completely knocked sideways by his blunt request. Sure, he had the room. His house was the closest you'd ever come to being inside a mansion. Hell, to you it was a mansion. Six bedrooms and four bathrooms with an in-ground pool, tennis court, steam room and gym was only ever something you'd seen on television. But living in Los Angeles told you there were plenty of houses three times the size of his.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I want you with me all the time," he said, kissing your cheek before leaving you by the bar so he could check his email.

"My stuff, too? I can't imagine my shitty television in your house," you joked. Joel just nodded, his eyes pinned to his computer screen.

"Your stuff, too. I want all a'you. Even your coffee pot."

Joel collapsed angrily into his high back chair to answer the email while you sneakily slid back to the door, quietly flicking the lock before slowly walking towards his desk. You knew most people were at lunch, but you still didn't want to risk it for what you had in mind.

"Okay," you said softly, hip pressing against the hard wood, fingers nervously digging into the complex design carved into the edge.

"Okay, what?" he murmured, focus still fixed on the email. You watched his scowl deepen the more he read and you knew he was slipping back into that mood you found him in earlier.

"Okay... I'll move in with you."

His eyes snapped up to yours and for a moment, the scowl smoothed out into a pleased grin.

"Good. Start packin' tonight. Don't wanna be wakin' up anymore without you," he said, then his eyes dropped back down to his email. "Messes up my whole day when I do."

You giggled and rounded the desk, intentionally slotting yourself between his eyes and the computer.

"Is that why you're up here screaming at everyone? 'Cause you woke up without your sugar baby?"

Joel leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes at you.

"Quit it. You ain't a sugar baby."

"Didn't answer my question."

Joel laced his fingers together and dropped them in his lap with a sigh. "Sure didn't help."

You gave him a fake pout and leaned forward, hands bracing yourself on each arm of his chair. "I'm so sorry," you whispered, mouth hovering over his as you spoke. You could see his muscles tighten under his shirt when he heard the seductive tone in your voice. "Want me to suck your dick and make it all better?"

The corner of his mouth tugged into a devilish half-smirk, email long forgotten.

"Feels like it's the least you could do," he replied, his voice deep and gravelly. It sent a shiver down your spine and you grinned.

"The least I could do? What else do you want?" you asked before allowing your lips to brush delicately over his. You could taste the whiskey there and you licked your lips.

"Wanna bend you over this desk and fuck you. Hard."

A soft moan slipped past your lips right before his mouth crashed into yours. His tongue opened your mouth, licking feverishly past your teeth, giving you a stronger taste of the whiskey and mint from the gum he was likely chewing in anger during the meeting.

"I think that can be arranged," you gasped when you pulled away from his kiss. His dark eyes lit up when you sunk to your knees, his legs spreading wider when you began to unbuckle his belt. Two fingers rubbed against his lips, hiding his smile while he watched you pop the button on his slacks and slowly work the zipper down.

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest when you dipped your fingers past his waistband and felt the stiffness of his cock hiding just underneath a thin layer of fabric. Your eyes flickered up to meet his and with a sly smile, you said, "Hard already?"

Joel shrugged with a shit-eating grin.

"Been hard since you walked in the goddamn room, baby."

You bit back a smile, chest bursting with pride and, yeah, it turned you on to be the one who made this big, scary man all soft and weak. Rubbing your thighs together, you inched forward to gently pull his stiff cock over the top of his underwear.

You tutted under your breath and frowned, both of you watching your hand slowly slide up and down his shaft.

"Poor thing," you murmured, smiling when you heard his breath stutter after your thumb swiped over the bead of arousal pooling at the tip. "Look at you. All worked up and angry the whole morning when all you needed to do was call me. I would've come up to help you."

Joel gasped, fingernails digging into the padded leather armrests when he felt your fingers tighten around him.

"Then fuckin'... goddamnit - fuckin' help me now. C'mon, quit teasin' me and suck it," he commanded through clenched teeth.

You raised an eyebrow at him and your hand paused.

"Say please."

"Please," he whined without hesitation. The sound made you weak, eyelids fluttering for a second before you shook it off and met his gaze again.

"Good boy."

He smirked down at you, some snappy response on the tip of his tongue but it disappeared when your wet lips wrapped around him, tongue darting forward to flick teasingly at his slit, all while maintaining eye contact.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, allowing his eyes to close and his head to tip back when you took him deeper into your mouth. Before he reached the back of your throat, you swirled your tongue around his girth, moaning when you tasted a new drop of precum.

"Yeah, baby, just like that," he murmured when his hand found a new home on the back of your head. Carefully, he urged you down, hissing when you hollowed your cheeks and took him as deep as you could handle. Joel forced his eyes to open so he could admire the pretty little mess he made of you. Your lips were swollen and wet, stretched wide over his considerable length while you focused on keeping your breath steady and your gag reflex in check.

He could have came from the sight alone.

You pulled back with a gasp, saliva pooling around the corners of your mouth as you dragged in deep lungfuls of air. Your hand picked up where your mouth left off, twisting your wrist and spreading the wetness up and down his shaft as you caught your breath for a second.

"You taste so good, Joel," you whispered, locking eyes with him again. "Might just have you come down my throat, instead."

Before he could answer, your lips were wrapped around him again, sucking and moaning around his cock like it was the sweetest thing in the world.

"No," he rasped, fingers tightening their hold in your hair. "Wanna - fuck you," he added with a deep groan. Even though he knew he shouldn't, he let you keep going, his hips involuntarily bucking up towards your mouth as he spoke.

Right when you began to get carried away, your head bobbing faster and your wrist flicking quicker, he yanked you off with a shared gasp.

"Sorry," he apologized, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before reopening them. "Too close."

You stood up, thumb swiping your lower lip with a cocky grin. Then, Joel watched as you shimmied out of your panties, dropping them in his lap before hiking up the skirt of your dress to your mid-thigh.

"Whenever you're ready, sir."

He chuckled darkly and stood, thighs trembling for just a quick moment before he swiveled a finger in the air.

"Turn 'round."

You did as you were told, palms pressed flat against the top of his desk, tilting your hips back so your ass jutted out, just barely covered by your dress.

With one hand he pulled the material up, exposing you to the tinted windows behind him. His other hand came down with a sharp smack across your skin, the action so fast and unexpected that it took you a few seconds to register it.

"Again," you whispered over your shoulder, this time bracing for the hot sting of pain across your ass. When he gave it to you, you moaned, arousal pulling tight between your legs, then you dropped your head limply between your shoulders as the pain blossomed into pleasure.

"That's my girl," he growled in your ear. His knee pushed your legs open and you held your breath when he leaned back to slide his cock through your folds before lining himself up at your opening.

"Breathe, baby," he whispered, and you let out a shaky breath right as he pushed inside.

"Shit," you panted, arching your back and digging your fingers into the dark wood of his desk while he continued to ease inside of you, muscles only relaxing when he finally buried himself to the hilt and his lips returned to the shell of your ear.

It wasn't the first time he fucked you in his office. In fact, both of you were very eager to take advantage of the new situation only a week into the start of your job. But it didn't matter how many times you'd done it because it was still always a thrill. There was something incredibly hot about this powerful man fucking you on his desk. Or his couch. Or his chair.

Or one time on the conference room table long after close of business.

Joel set a quick pace right away, knowing full well your time was limited before people began to return from lunch and inevitably came looking for him. One hand remained firmly on your hip while the other drifted up to squeeze your breast through your dress, fingers giving your nipple a little pinch just so he could hear you whimper for him.

"Always ready for me, ain't you?" he groaned, teeth grazing over your earlobe. His breath was shallow, soft pants against your skin matching the rhythm of his hips. "Christ, baby. So fuckin' wet. You love takin' my cock like this, huh? Or was it me askin' you to move in that did it?"

"Both," you moaned, tossing your head back to rest on his shoulder, eyes gliding shut and mouth falling open as you focused on the intense pace he set. The tip of his cock brushed steadily against that spot inside you that had your knees going weak and you could feel that warmth in your stomach turning into fire the harder he fucked you.

Joel's eyes lifted to glance at his door when he heard the faint sound of voices filing off the elevator. Lunch hour was wrapping up, and so was your time. He clenched his jaw and pounded into you faster, the telltale sound of skin slapping against skin the only noise echoing in the room.

"I... locked it," you gasped, falling forward onto your elbows, hips sparking with pain against the hard wood of his desk. He grinned and straightened his spine, watching the way your ass rippled against him every time he slammed into you.

"Good. 'Cause no one gets to see you like this 'cept for me."

You nodded dumbly, unable to form words as your orgasm began to swell, threatening to destroy you. Your pussy started to pulse around him, stars littering your vision and you slapped your palm over your mouth to muffle the sound when you came.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he groaned, hips losing rhythm. Breath growing sharp. Fingers digging deep and eyes rolling to the back of his head. You whimpered when he pounded into you one last time, stilling as he pumped you full of his release, broken moans tumbling from his lips until he was spent.

Almost immediately, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you up and pressing you protectively against his chest.

"You okay?"

"Mhm," you hummed, admittedly still in a bit of a daze but you were starting to snap out of it. His ragged breath in your ear was all you could hear, his pounding heart against your back all you could feel, and it was enough.

Without warning, he slipped out of you, but kept his arms circled around your front, pressing sweet kisses behind your ear and down your neck. You melted into him, knowing how much he enjoyed holding you after, at least until he caught his breath and came back down to earth.

"I love you."

Those three words still managed to send a tingle down your spine and brought a lazy smile to your face.

"I love you, too," you whispered, twisting your neck so your mouth could seek out his. His beard was untamed and prickly against your lips, tickling you and making you giggle.

"C'mon, get yourself decent," he teased with a playful grin and a smack against your thigh. He stepped backwards to fix his clothes while you swiveled back and forth, searching the ground for your panties.

"Lookin' for these?" he asked, holding them up between two fingers when you turned around. You reached out to grab them but he pulled them back, shoving them in his pocket before tucking in his shirt.

"You're gonna make me walk around the rest of the day without underwear? With your come dripping out of me?" you asked. You already resigned yourself to your fate and pulled down the skirt of your dress.

Joel pinched your chin and pressed a quick kiss against your lips.

"Yep. Just the way I like you."

"Dirty man."

"Just the way you like me," he laughed, dodging your hand when you reached out to smack him against the arm.

You opened your mouth to say something back when his desk phone chimed and the red light in the corner lit up. Joel finished buckling his belt and glanced up at you to make sure you had fixed yourself before pressing the intercom button.

"Yeah?"

Chrissy's nervous voice filtered through the speaker.

"Mr. Miller, just confirming your dinner reservation for tonight. Still expecting three people?"

"Yep," he replied, then thought about it for a quick second before pressing the button again. "Thanks, Chrissy. Why don't you take off early, after my two o'clock?"

You grinned, practically sensing her shock through the wall as you sat down in the chair opposite his desk.

"Uh... okay. T-thank you so much!"

"No problem," he said, then the red light turned off and he slumped down tiredly into his leather desk chair.

"Where are we going tonight?" you asked, crossing one leg over the other while you watched him shake his computer mouse back to life.

"Sarah picked this time. Some Mexican spot she wanted to try," he murmured, already fixating on an email in front of him. After some encouragement on your end, Joel had reached out to Sarah around the same time he called Tommy for the first time in years. While things had been rocky and awkward at first, it got easier over time. Eventually, they committed to dinners every other week, and after maybe the fourth one, Sarah had asked to meet you.

You were nervous leading up to it, but the moment you met you knew you'd get along. She was smart, beautiful, funny and had the same smile as her dad. She told you both a little bit about high school but preferred to talk about her soccer team or the play she was trying out for.

She didn't mention her mom much, and you didn't want to pry. From what Joel had mentioned, her mother ended up having some substance abuse issues in the past, which caused a strain on her relationship with Sarah. He felt horrible when he found out, told you that he felt like he should have been involved more to protect her, but you reminded him that he was there for her now and that you were proud of him for stepping up.

Despite it all, Sarah was a great kid. Every time you saw her, she opened up a bit more, smiled wider and laughed louder. After your dinners together, you could see the change in Joel: he was happier, too.

"Sounds good. I like Mexican," you said, fidgeting with your ring while Joel quietly replied to an email. The scowl was gone, his shoulders were looser and there were no more angry taps on the keyboard.

You opened your mouth to announce you should get back to work when he suddenly spoke.

"Why're you wearin' the ring on your right hand?"

Your eyes flickered up to his face but he looked like he was still absorbed in an email.

"This ring?" you asked, holding up your hand. It was the only ring you wore but you didn't know what else to say. You'd been wearing it on your right hand for months and he never said a word.

"Yeah. You wore it on your other hand in Fiji," he said, tearing his eyes away from the computer to look at you.

You stood up from your seat and gave him a curious look. "We were pretending to be engaged then, if you recall. We're not engaged now."

Joel smirked, the corners of his mouth dipping down when he shrugged, then stood to walk you to the door.

"Huh. Suppose you're right. Someone oughta do somethin' 'bout that."

You threw your head back and laughed before coming to a stop at his door and turning around.

"You just asked me to move in with you. What happened to the commitment-phobe I fell in love with?"

He grinned and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close so he could press a gentle kiss against your lips.

"You're right. I'll wait a week," he joked, then gave your ass a little tap before opening his door for you. "Thanks for lunch," he added as you walked past Chrissy, who was mid-whisper to Liam, no doubt telling him about Joel's sudden burst of generosity. You gave them both a little wave and tossed a wink over your shoulder at Joel leaning against his doorway, hands shoved in his pants pockets with a sly smirk on his face after his fingertips grazed the wet fabric shoved in there.

"See you tonight."

"Can't wait," he said, watching you disappear around the corner towards the elevator bank.

"So, you ate?" Liam confirmed, holding a leather bound journal and pen in his hand as he approached Joel. Even though the answer was no, he still nodded in response. "Good, because I have a couple things," he continued after clearing his throat. "Ellie's painting arrived yesterday, I'm having it gift wrapped right now. I got a call back from the guy who's renting you the yacht. He's good for Saturday. The captain and crew know the deal, too. Drop the anchor, make the food, pour the champagne, and disappear after dinner's cleared up. They have a little boat they can take back to land so the yacht's all yours til morning."

A slow smile stretched across his face and he looked down the hall again, towards the elevator bank.

"Reschedule it for next week. I made a promise."

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[rivalcobalt]

Okay actually yknow what, I'm just gonna do this on here cause I've been agonizing over this for too long

Firstly to prove I'm not insane, and I guess to his credit, the author has mentioned ONS as an inspiration-slash-thing-with-similar-vibes on twitter (archived):

That said, I feel like this really undersells it. Like, you can argue about how much inspiration you can take from a work, and ONS itself takes insane amounts of shit from Devilman, but even still it feels very much like a different story, and not like... the entire first half of the book being largely what you'd get if you just ported the plot of S1 of ONS over into a YA novel with and then altered who the love interest was.

This is long enough already (talking like nearly 4 pages point form on google docs) so I'm just copying it over as is. I only read the book once, so honestly this may have even missed some things. I'd put more effort into this but honestly idk how many people are gonna see this anyways.

Tl;dr no fucking way did you just "watch this while editing"

The Flood || unnamed apocalypse virus

Man-made virus

Kills most of the human population (ons' explicitly kills off 90%, the Flood has killed near 9 billion (earth's population when it was released)/appears to be a comparable rate)

Intentionally caused by Angels cult/Hyakuya Sect + JIDA (revealed in manga/LNs only)

Angels cult || vampires:

Signaturely wear white robes/uniforms + capes

Ons vampires are associated with (fallen) angels

New Nazareth/Sanguinem (city for cult/vampires that protagonist escapes from)

Don't want any more of their kind made (Angels forcing Angel parents to drown their newborns, vampires noted to be generally opposed to making more vampires for unexplained reasons; iirc only progenitors are able to sire and they're supposed to get permission from the vampire council first)

Angels cult || Hyakuya Sect

Religious cult

Doing human (S)eraph experiments

Benji & Theo/Yuu & Mika are children of cult members who use them as test subjects

Causes virus on purpose (manga/LNs only)

Responsible for creating Graces/Horsemen of John (manga/LNs only)

Benji || Yuu:

Only successful version of the (S)eraph experiments

Not fully in control of powers yet/powers emerge over the course of the story

Child of Angels/Hyakuya Sect cult members

Brought to New Nazareth/Sanguinem under the age of 12 and lives there for 4-5 years before escaping

Grow up in New Nazareth/Sanguinem with Theo/Mika during those years

Important family member dies as they try to escape together

Son of cult members

Posesses (S)eraph abilities from being experimented on by cult

Joins ALC/JIDA in their front-line forces after escaping and being found by Nick/Guren

Seraph || seraphs (humans possessing seraph gene and have ability to turn into them)

Aim to wipe out humanity (but this can be controlled by protagonist with effort)

Very powerful

Created via human experimentation on children by the religious cult that caused the virus

Picture of Yuu in complete seraph form in ons tweet from author

Theo || Mika:

Curly/wavy blond hair and blue eyes

Protagonist's childhood best friend

In love with protagonist, debatably reciprocated

Child of Angels/Hyakuya Sect cult members

Grows up in New Nazareth/Sanguinem with protagonist, but didn't escape with them

Wants to get protagonist away from ALC/JIDA and live with them

Seen in whites of the vampires/Angels for the majority of the story

Remains affiliated with the vampires/Angels (Theo sides with Angels & Mika is turned)

Soldier for the Angels/vampires

Protagonist often recalls memories of being in the cult/vampire city together as children

Protagonist thinks of them as someone they'll never see again after escaping (Theo stayed with cult, Yuu thinks Mika is dead)

Mika is revealed to be the son of the first vampire, a fallen angel, meaning he's also an angel (manga only)

Other (S)eraph besides Benji/Yuu, but not a fully functional one (Theo injects himself with a failed version of Seraph, Mika's seraph gene is dormant)

Theo's angry outbursts may be based on Mika's anger (though who they lash out at is very different)

Theo's character differences from Mika are almost all traits commonly found in other characters also influenced by Ryou Asuka (betrays protagonist, parallel to protagonist due to similarities but on opposing sides of conflict) (not sure if author knew about Mika being heavily from Ryou or just subconsciously knew the archetype via consuming other anime/manga/JRPGs/etc or just a really funny coincidence)

Upon escaping New Nazareth/Sanginem, Benji's dad/Mika is killed

Nothing can be done to save them

Bleeding out as Benji/Yuu tries to save them as a specific similar imagery (plus I guess gaping hole wounds specifically mentioned (from being shot in the head/arm thrust through stomach respectively))

Specific memories of looking at a map together to plan their escape

Yuu/Benji is forced to keep running alone to the only way out (only bridge out of Acheson/only tunnel out of Sanguinem)

Cult is using human experiments to create humans with the seraph gene/martyrs to turn into Seraph

(S)eraphs aim to wipe out the rest of humanity

The name. Are you kidding me

Protagonist is the only fully successful experiment

Main character and childhood best friend are children of parents in cult

(In the end) main character and childhood best friend are both (S)eraph experiments

The way the Flood is killing Benji has similarities to Yuu in his incomplete seraph form

Dripping blood and black fluid (Yuu: from wings and left eye, right sclera filled with blood and left eye may have burst upon transforming, Benji: from wounds from Seraph decomposing him)

Spitting up black fluid

at a later incident, Yuu's seraph form is triggered by multiple organs rupturing. Benji's organs are liquefying inside him and coming up in chunks as part of the Seraph transformation

Theo's death after injecting himself with Dominion-12 focusing on his shot-through left eye looking like a black hole is similar to Yuu's left eye blacked out by anime gore censor circle in incomplete seraph form

Same type of post-apocalyptic setting: 

Plants beginning to cover over a wrecked city (only a few years after the virus broke out, so not super heavily overgrown yet)

Skyscrapers and concrete brutalist architecture specifically shown. Downtown core type of stuff

Graces || Horsemen of John

Created by Angels/Hyakuya Sect (result of Flood virus/called by 6th trumpet (seraph) of seraph experiments)

Beasts that kill humans, just to finish killing off the population

Can be called upon/created/controlled by (S)eraphs

Described as both horselike and spiderlike

Ribs protruding out of chest, fangs, mouths in unusual places, and I think wings (not sure about Graces on that one) are common traits

Picture of a Horseman included in author's tweet about ons

ALC || JIDA

Wear all black

Surviving humans outside of New Nazareth/Sanginem

Fight against Angels/vampires

Rescue Benji/Yuu after they escape New Nazareth/Sanguinem

Secretly aim to use Benji/Yuu's (S)eraph abilities for their own gain

The Watch || Shinoa Squad

ALC/JIDA Moon Demon Company front lines squad

Comprised of teenagers

Protagonist joins them after escaping New Nazareth/Sanguinem to fight back against the Angels/vampires

Cormack is debatably based on Kimizuki (red/pink hair, asshole personality, rare bits of kindness show through exterior (when Cormack prioritizes giving Benji his jacket to block smoke while ALC is on fire, but not nearly as nice of a guy under it all as Kimizuki)

Aisha is like… maybe bastardized Mitsuba if you just take her emotional outburst parts, but I might be reaching on that

Nick || Guren 

Leader of ALC & the Watch/Moon Demon Company (strongest section of front-line soldiers in JIDA)

Black hair & eyes (Guren's eyes are dark purple, but could be interpreted as stylized black)

Finds Benji/Yuu after their escape and brings them into their group

Nick is literally just Guren in personality if you age him down a few years and add autism and make him nicer under the exterior. Like even the way he talks and him being mentioned dramatically stomping his leg up on furniture during speeches 

Heading ALC/JIDA's intentions to use Benji/Yuu for their own gain

Dehumanizes protagonist yet also having a bit of affection towards them (more debatable for Guren, but he has some rare moments of being caring towards Yuu in a more older sibling/fatherly way)

Erin || Shinoa

Another leader within the ALC/JIDA (though Erin isn't a soldier/in the Watch)

Sympathetic towards Benji/Yuu, protests against Nick/Guren directly for how they treats them

Pastel pink/purple feminine aesthetic

Wears hair at least partly in braids

Benji & Theo's reunion in Reformation Faith Evangelical Church || Yuu & Mika's reunion on the battlefield in Shinjuku

Reunite at first major battle protagonist participates in, but not their first (iirc both only have one minor fight between joining ALC/JIDA squad and this one)

One approaches other from behind, other only realizes who they are a moment after turning around

On opposite sides as ALC/JIDA vs Angels/vampires

"[Name]? Is that you?"

Benji holds a knife to Theo's throat || Yuu stabs Mika through the chest

Theo/Mika went along to fight specifically to find Benji/Yuu

"Abandon everything and run away with me" || "I came here to follow you. I couldn't let the city take you alone. If it wants you, it has to take me too."

Theo/Mika wants to separate Benji/Yuu from the ALC/JIDA (but Mika has good reason, while Theo wants Benji to come back to the cult)

Forced to separate again at end of fight

Picture of Yuu stabbing Mika from this scene is also on ons tweet from author

In general, first half follows the escape from Sanguinem/New Nazareth leaving behind a dying family member who tried to escape with the protagonist but died to let them get away -> get found by JIDA/The Watch upon escape and rescued by Guren/Nick with the intention of using Yuu/Benji as a weapon against those he escaped from due to his nature as a human experiment -> join JIDA/The Watch, meet other members and the leader Guren/Nick -> do some missions with them -> reunite with previous friend-slash-love interest they had left behind (Mika/Theo) at first major battle as soldiers for opposing sides and are forced to part again progression, which isn't super unique but still very specific, and given everything else... yeah

This is by far not the first time an English work has copied a Japanese work and was praised for originality, but "gay trans YA novel rips off mediocre gay vampire shounen" has to be conceptually the funniest and yet there still seem to be 0 google results about it

[kanekisfavoritegf]

PERFECT LOVER: The Life of Nanami Kento the 35 Year Old Virgin

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: Kento Nanami, a 35-year-old introvert with a tendency to avoid social interactions, has made a conscious decision to steer clear of romantic entanglements. However, everything changes when he meets a new colleague at his birthday party, (Satoru's Idea). From the moment they meet, he is mesmerized, finding himself increasingly unable to resist her magnetic presence. Like taking a bite of forbidden fruit, he becomes ensnared by the allure, delving into a realm of infatuation and finding himself unable to break free. As he delves deeper into this newfound connection, Nanami begins to realize that he craves more than just a fleeting experience and yearns for more than just a fleeting taste of what she embodies.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 1.8K

Part 2 1/2 was added to the beginning! So if you have already read it, skip to where it says “TWO DAYS LATER.”

CHAPTER THREE:

The drive from Kento’s apartment was short enough to make you consider walking next time. If there was ever another situation in which you’d be leaving Kento’s apartment in the morning.

“And where the hell have you been?” You practically jumped out of your skin at the sound of Yuki’s voice. You turned around to meet her smug face from across the hall, smirking like she knew something you didn’t.

“Such a warm welcome from my favorite neighbor,” You quipped, unlocking your door.

“You were at Kenny’s, right?” 

“Kenny? Who i�� Oh! Kento. Yeah.”

Yuki followed in after you, her eyes lingering on the clothes you threw into the washer. It was only then that she realized you were wearing her university’s graphic tee. This might have been an ordinary occurrence any other day, but not when you spent the night at her old university friend and coworker’s house, especially not Nanami’s.

“You didn’t sleep with him, right?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good.” Yuki sighed.

“Good? Is he dating someone?” You felt your breath hold as you wondered aloud, only releasing it once answered.

“No, he doesn’t date.”

“Like at all?”

“Nope.”

“Is there a reason?” 

“It's not my story to tell.” Yuki shook her head. “He is touchy about the subject.”

You only nodded.

“Not even casual hookups?”

“Hey! No.” You would have been offended at the harshness of Yuki’s voice if her expression of horror had not been so amusing, “He is off limits.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is the lonely virgin; one hookup with you, and you will ruin him.” It was a little surprising to hear Kento was still a virgin, but not because of his age, but his demeanour. The way he carried himself. Indeed, he must have had someone he wanted to be with that intimately; surely someone would want him so intimately, but then again, you only knew him for a few hours; who knows what he is actually like.

“You make it seem like I am some succubus.”

“You might as well be Y/N.”You only rolled your eyes at her. “Listen to me, Y/N,” Yuki’s hands cupped your face like a child needing grave warning. “You can not deflower poor Kento.”

“He isn’t a child.”

“I know, but–” Yuki lost the words on her tongue, knowing no explanation would do it justice. “Just don’t. He isn’t Satoru or Suguru. He is a decent man, and if you slept with him, hell, if you kissed him, it would lead to places I don’t think you’d want to go to.”

“You hummed a sound of agreement and went to your bedroom to change. Thoughts of Kento are still in your mind; the more Yuki speaks about him, the more you want to pull back each layer of him to see what exactly makes him the way he is. 

Yuki’s words still echoed in your head as you showered “hell if you kissed him, it would lead to places I don’t think you’d want to go to.” But it was already too late. Kento Nanami was undeniably curious about you, just as much as you to him.

TWO DAYS LATER

“Hello, Mr. Nanami! If I read my email correctly, you are supposed to be showing me around today.” 

This was the first time Nanami had been caught off guard. For some reason, you stood in front of him in business attire, a skirt cut just above the knee, black stockings and a white dress shirt hidden beneath a black cardigan.

 He stared down at you as you stood before him, a nervous smile painted on your face as he did so. His expression was even more blank than he had given you three days ago. It almost seemed like he was angry, but the more he stared at you quietly, you couldn’t help but feel as though he may have just forgotten you. And the very idea of Nanami forgetting you made you slightly (very much so) annoyed. 

Was kissing strangers after housing them in his very nice, very clean apartment a common occurrence for him? Was walking around in shirts too tight around women clearly captivated by him an everyday experience for him???

Okay, you understood it wasn’t technically a kiss to be written in the history books and that it was you who kissed him. But that didn’t take away the feeling of aggravation snaking its way up your spine.

“I’m Y/N.” You stated.

“I know.” Was all he said in return, turning to his desk and logging into the company computer, leaving you standing there awkwardly as he faced his display screen.

You peered over his shoulder, letting a few braids dip down and lay across his chest as you watched him. 

Nanami only let out a shaky breath as you did so, doing his best to ignore the heat that came off of your body as you pressed into him from behind. It didn’t help that you smelled like vanilla and chocolate; whatever perfume you wore was slowly snaking its way around his neck and choking him.

Choosing not to acknowledge your closeness, he focused on your name, typing it in slowly as he waited for an email mentioning you. When it failed, he then searched the word intern, and sure enough, it popped up. In his spam, a place where all emails specifically from Satoru Gojo were sent.

NANAMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII, I need a huge favor: babysit the new hires and show them around the office. I missed the flight yesterday, so I’ll be back next week.

Thanks!! 

Satoru.

“How does one miss a flight and choose to return in a week, not the next day?” You asked, a small giggle escaping you. Kento only shook his head, huffing slightly, before turning back around to face you.

“I’m Kento Nanami.”

“I knew that.” You replied shortly, and if Kento could kick himself in the knee, he would ten times over.

“Yes.” 

“Yes?”

“Yes,” he repeated bluntly. Stay here one moment. When I return, I will give you a tour of this department. I shouldn’t be over ten minutes.”

Before you could even respond, he had vanished, disappearing down a corridor and around a corner, leaving you standing there, slightly bewildered.

Kento silently cursed himself in the supply closet. 

He was hiding.

 In a closet.

 Kento Nanami, the 35-year-old virgin, was hiding in a closet because a pretty woman smelled nice. It didn’t help that you had said his name the way you did. 

Smooth and slow and utterly… normal. Kento knew he couldn’t blame all his perverted problems on the object of his desire, no matter how much he wished to.

He sighed heavily, knocking his head into the door in front of him before opening it and emerging once again into reality. 

All he needed to do was keep himself calm and composed, not let his eyes drift to your lips, preferably avoid all eye contact, and not mention last weekend under any circumstances.

When he approached his desk again, you weren’t alone. Suguru stood over you as you leaned against his desk for support.

“Oh, it’s Mr. Nanami!” You pointed out, bringing Suguru’s attention to Kento as he approached you.

“Mr. Nanami?” Suguru smirked at you with a tilted head. 

“Should I not call him that?” You panicked for all of 3 seconds before Nanami cut in.

“No, no. It is fine.” Letting out a shuddered breath, “Call me whatever you want.” A weak smile went with his words as he twisted to meet the other man.

“Don’t you have a meeting to be in? Where is Yuki?”

“She is already in there stalling. I thought I’d welcome the new hire once again since Satoru has decided to skip his duties. Geto shook his head at the thought of Satoru sipping on mimosas and eating fresh fruit instead of doing his job, his very well-paying job.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you anymore. We can grab lunch or something later!” You suggested before sliding your way to the blonde man. “And you.” Nanami held his breath as you pointed his way, “You owe me a tour.”

“That I do.” Kento said, throwing a tight smile at Geto, trying to mask the ridiculous feeling of jealousy that began blooming in his chest. All Geto gave back was a knowing smile, a smile that you and Kento alike mistook for one given to yourselves, adding to the tension in the room.

***

Walking through the office was probably one of the most awkward experiences of your life.

Whenever you tried to open a conversation, Kento quickly shut it down or stirred it toward work. 

This would have been fine had he looked you in the eye at least once as he showed off every inch of the new environment.

“This is our break/rest room. A couch, blankets, pillows and noise-canceling earphones are stored away for when you need to sleep.”

“Ooo, that sounds amazing.” You peered inside since no one was currently rested. 

“Yup. All you need to do is flip the card to the red side, lock the door, and then, for at least forty minutes, peace is yours.”

“We pull many all-nighters here as the marketing team; with such a small group, taking forty minutes to one-hour breaks is pretty common.”

“Do you often sleep here?”

“No,” was all he said as he glanced over you, making his way to the kitchen, assuming you’d be following behind him promptly.

With each passing second, your patience wore thinner, and you couldn’t help but huff in annoyance.

As you stood in the final room of the floor, Nanami continued to drone on about the new kettle and fridge space, practically facing the wall opposite you.

“What is your problem?” You snapped at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Why aren’t you looking at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

“I am not talking about now; I am talking about this whole tour, or better yet since I approached you this morning.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You won’t look at me.”

“Y/N–” Kento started.

“You can call me Miss L/N,” You corrected, “I was nervous at the idea of starting a new job in a higher position than before, especially with all of you guys, who already know each other so well, so to be shown around by someone I “knew” it gave me a little bit of comfort. But if this is a problem for Mr. Nanami, then I can wait for Sugu- Mr. Geto, or Yuki to show me around after their meeting. “

“No.”

“No?” You repeated back at him.

“I am sorry.”

“Okay???”

“I struggle talking with women.”

“And looking them in the eye?” 

“Yes. To women I am attracted to, I struggle.” He now faced you fully, the tips of his ears burned bright red. You would have found this cute, had it not been utterly shocking.

Oh.

“It is ridiculous, I know, but I am trying to get it under control, so don’t worry about me. I am sorry if I have made you uncomfortable in any way.” And before you could respond, Nanami was back at his desk. Leaving you gobsmacked in the middle of the office Kitchen.

“Oh.” You whispered to no one, hand reaching out and touching your lips.

Preview...

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"CHAPTER FOUR" UPLOADED

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 29 || The Confessions

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, fluff, & angst.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.4k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——THE WORRY YOU EXPERIENCED WAS unnecessary though and the night goes entirely different than you expect it to. Who knew you'd have to be more worried about Gojo rather than the dress you wore...

The two of you were quick to part ways once you were inside, him taking a seat at a table decently far from the bar while you took your place there. Your back was to the man the entire night and he even wore these stupid glasses that made him look like one of the three blind mice.

You teased him about it for a while but he simply ignored you, claiming that he needed the eyewear to look inconspicuous.

So now you sat at the bar alone, glancing around for a specific blonde-haired male who was supposed to be there somewhere.

You waited and waited, ordering a drink or two while you were at it. Time flew by and as you waited, you'd look back to where Gojo was and send him a questioning look, silently asking where the hell Nanami was.

Gojo would shoot you a text saying he has no idea and you'd roll your eyes at him. A few minutes of waiting turned into thirty, then an hour, then two.

By that time, you were annoyed that of all the people you'd been watching the entire time, not one of them was Nanami Kento. Before you could send Gojo your millionth glare of the night, an arm was slung over your shoulder and his voice was in your ear.

"Don't cuss me out but..." Gojo murmured cautiously, "I just found out he actually comes here every other Friday night..."

Your eye twitches, "Tell me you're joking."

"I'm sorry sweets," Gojo says, chuckling a little as he pulls away from your ear.

You turn your head to face him with a glare, "I've been sitting here waiting for two whole hours because of you."

"I'm sorry, truly." He apologizes softly, "Lemme' make it up to you."

A brow is raised, "How?"

Gojo nods his head over to the dance floor, "With my amazing dancing skills," He offers enthusiastically, "That way your night won't be completely wasted!"

"No." You decline flatly.

The man pouts, "Oh c'monnnn, just one dance? I promise you'll feel better after."

With a heavy sigh, you move his arm off your shoulder and turn to slip out of your chair. For a moment, Gojo keeps pouting, assuming that you're rejecting him again before a hand goes to his tie and you drag him toward the dance floor.

He stumbles after you for a moment and then smiles happily when he realizes where you're taking him. The second your foot hits the dancefloor, an arm goes around your waist and you're spun around to meet Gojo's face before you even realize it.

He pulls you in close and he's got this gushing smile on his face even though you're still glaring at him. Gojo slides a hand to one of yours, forcing it up and around his neck and then following suit with your other hand.

"This isn't the kind of dancing I thought you meant," You tell him quietly.

There are a few other people dancing around the two of you, all of which appear to be couples.

"Gotta' fit in with everyone else, love," Gojo says, slowly swaying to the gentle music in the background just like those around you.

You sigh heavily, "This doesn't make up for anything."

"Then what will?" He asks, "I really didn't mean to waste your night like this."

You shrug in response to him.

There's this piano being played in the background and the whole dancing situation feels all too romantic.

You didn't like it at first but as Gojo continued to dance with you, easing your body closer and closer to his own, you slowly started to enjoy it-- even if only a little.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

At some point, both his arms are wrapped around your waist and yours are comfortably up around his neck. You keep trying to avoid his eyes but it was impossible with the way he just stared at you as you slow danced.

When you do look at him, you move a hand to take those ridiculous glasses off his face.

Gojo smiles when his eyes meet your own unobstructed, the sight of his happy expression melting your heart in indescribable ways. You take his glasses and tuck them down into one of his pockets before bringing your hand back up.

"Told' you they looked stupid," You try to explain your actions so you don't seem weird.

He hums, "I thought they looked pretty cool..."

You simply shake your head at him and return to focusing on your dancing, swaying gently as the piano has long since stopped playing, and now a radio of songs is what's guided people to dance. There were a few songs that made you want to stop dancing, especially when Choso popped into your mind at one point.

Gojo notices the distant look in your eyes and tilts his head at you, "What's wrong?"

You shake your head, "Nothing-"

"Don't lie to me, I can tell something's on your mind," He interrupts, moving to give you a slow twirl before pulling you back into his body, "What're you thinking about?"

You avoid looking him in the eyes, "Someone else."

"Oh wow, thinking of another guy while you're dancing with me?" He utters playfully, trying to lighten your mood.

You chuckle but his words hold the truth, "Yes, actually."

"Choso?" Gojo asks.

The way you're still avoiding his eyes tells him everything he needs to know. For a moment, he doesn't say anything and neither do you. You two just keep dancing as the song playing changes.

There's this mellow beat that flows into your ears, a song titled Old Love by yuji & putri dahlia. It's a beautiful song and it makes the moment of you slow dancing with Gojo all the more unnecessarily romantic.

You rest your head against the crook of his neck and Gojo lets out a sigh. There's no reason why you should even be dancing with this man still but you didn't exactly want to stop.

Gojo starts thinking back to the song that played a few minutes before the current, "Y'know, earlier... I was uh, I was thinking about you and him while that one song played," He says suddenly.

You grin, "What song?"

"Slow dancing in the dark," He explains, "I think the artist is named Joji... Ever heard of it before?"

You move away from his neck and meet his eyes, "I mean it just played not that long ago so, yeah."

He chuckles, "I mean before today, sweetheart."

"Uhh... Once before, yeah," You shrug a little. Then, you narrow your eyes at him, "Why'd that song make you think about me and Choso?"

"Well, did you hear the lyrics?" Gojo sighs.

"I did," You hum, "But I don't get how it relates to me and Choso..."

The man you're dancing with sighs heavily and his eyes dart off to the side, "Do you know what the song is about?"

"Uh, a failing relationship, I believe..." You murmur, not one hundred percent sure.

"Yeah," He agrees.

You raise a brow immediately, "Are you saying me and Choso are gonna fail?"

"No," Gojo chuckles, "The overall meaning of the song applies more to me and you, even though we're not in a relationship."

You blink and simply listen to his explanation.

"That one part where the song is all, you should be with him, I can't compete." Gojo quotes, "That uh... That made me think of you and Choso I guess."

"Is that how you feel?" The question that leaves your lips makes him tense up, his eyes carefully falling on yours once more.

Gojo gazes at you in thought for a long moment before saying, "Might' be a little cliche but, yeah."

"So you actually think like that?" You ask softly, "You wholeheartedly think I should be with Choso and not you?"

"Well..." He trails off.

His explanation fails to find his tongue, words floating around in his brain as he tries to come up with a good way to answer your question.

"Do I think you should be with him, yes." Gojo eventually gets out. "Would I rather you be with me, of course."

The look in your eyes softens, "This whole thing is hard for you, isn't it?"

His voice gets caught in his throat for just a second, "Wh-What?"

"I mean, having to know that once the list is over..." Your gaze drops down a little, "You're supposed to help me get with Choso. Doesn't... Doesn't that hurt you?"

Gojo feels his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he processes your question. Of course it hurts him, not that he wants to express that to you though.

"Nah," Gojo lies, chuckling loosely, "I'll be fine-"

"You're lying." You cut off, your voice gentle, "You can't tell me that helping the woman you love get with another man doesn't hurt you."

"So what if it does?" He shrugs, "S'long as you're happy, I'll be fine."

The air goes somber, the looks exchanged between the two of you filled with all different kinds of emotions.

"That's so toxic," You scoff, turning your head away.

"How? I'm putting my feelings aside for your happiness, what's wrong with that?" He questions.

"Everything," You try to emphasize the importance behind what he's doing as best as you can, "You're just gonna put aside your love for me so that I can be happy? That's terrible. You may be an asshole but... to a certain extent, you don't deserve that-"

"So what do I deserve then?" Gojo breathes out, his voice dipping down into something almost hurt, "Tell me my love, what is it you think I, as your blackmailer, deserve?"

You swallow down a heap of emotions, "A better situation," You say.

He tilts his head as he peers down at you. Even without your eyes on his, you can feel how emotional his gaze is, "And what better situation is there for me that doesn't involve you?"

The strings of your heart are once again being tugged on, this one more aggressive than the last. You can't help but shut your eyes for a moment and shake your head in disbelief.

"Maybe one where you're not blackmailing me," You whisper, still avoiding his eyes. "Perhaps then, and only then, would you have experienced the joy that is having your love reciprocated."

Gojo starts chuckling at your claims, almost as if it's untrue. "Sweetheart, there is no greater joy for me than loving you, even if it's not reciprocated."

You finally brought your gaze to his and it was as though time froze. Dislike courses through you at the way the moment became so intimate, so personal. The way your eyes flick back and forth between his left and right as you search for some sense of focus, trying to still the rapid thoughts in your mind, doesn't go unnoticed.

"That isn't joy, Satoru." You murmur to him, "That's misery."

"It's not," He argues.

"Loving someone so deeply and having it constantly ignored can't be joyful." You explain simply.

Gojo laughs, "You don't get it."

"Don't get what?"

"How deep it goes."

"Tell me then," You request, your eyes never leaving his blue ones.

Gojo rests his forehead against yours, "Tell you how deep my love goes? Sweets, we'll be standing here all night-"

"I don't care," You tell him, "I'll never be able to wrap my head around why you love me if you don't explain it to me."

His lashes flutter into a slow blink, surprised to hear that you don't understand the way he feels for a second time that day. Has he not made it clear enough? Do his actions truly not speak louder than his words? He supposes they don't, seeing as his actions merely contradict those intimate claims of his.

"I love you for a lot of reasons," Gojo starts off, his voice completely open and vulnerable to you as he begins to express himself. "It wasn't a love at first sight kinda' thing or anything but I have felt this for a long time."

"Even before the list?" You ask.

"Mhm," Gojo hums, smiling a little as he recalls the moment, "I think I fell in love with your voice first."

"M-My voice?" You gasp, chuckling a little at how he'd fall for such a ridiculous thing.

"Yes, your voice." He continues, "I even remember the first thing you ever said to me."

"Hi?" You say, mocking your past self.

"No," Gojo goes to correct you, "It was actually 'let me know if you need anything'," He quotes.

Your brows furrow, "That was the first thing I ever said to you??"

"Yeah," Gojo chuckles a little, "You didn't say hi when we were introduced to each other, you just waved at me."

"Did I really?" Your eyes widen, "Oh my god that's so embarrassing..."

"It was cute." He snickers.

You visibly cringe, "No it wasn't, why the hell didn't I just say hi...?"

He shrugs, "You were shy."

"Did you say hi?"

"Nope."

For some reason, you feel like you couldn't even remember the day you met him. It was earlier that year, during the summer when you first moved in with Shoko but you don't remember the day exactly.

"Wait really?" You ask in suprise.

"Yep, Shoko just said 'Gojo this is my roomate, roomie, this is Gojo' and called it a day." Gojo recalls flawlessly, shrugging a little, "Then, you spoke to me for the first time later that day when you ran into me in the kitchen."

You raise a brow, "And you mean to tell me that's what you fell in love with?"

"Yes ma'am." Gojo says confidently, "Your voice made me feel all giggly inside."

"You're joking."

"I'm serious," He laughs, "Ask Suguru."

"He'll lie to take up for you."

"Not true..." Gojo pouts.

You shake your head at him, "Anyways, keep explaining why you love me because so far you've just explained how you experienced love at first sound."

Gojo laughs at your words, the sound oddly comforting. "That's exactly what it was too. Wish' I talked to you more back then."

"Think things would be different now?" You ask curiously.

"Mmmh... Maybe," Gojo shrugs. "But who knows."

He then goes to continue his explanation of why he loves you.

"Anyways, I really mean it when I say I love everything about you." Gojo proceeds, "The first time I heard you laugh I think I was on cloud nine."

"So you just love the sounds I make then?" You scoff, raising a brow in question.

"I mean I love your face too, you make the cutest expressions-- especially when you're all pouty about something." He rambles, a beautiful shade of happiness reflected within his features as he expresses his thoughts.

You smirk a bit, "Yeah?"

Gojo chuckles, "Oh and when you do that, god that's so fuckin' sexy."

There's this constant smile on your face for some reason, your brows furrowing at his words, "Me saying yeah?"

"Yes." He sighs, "Or like when you get this tone with me that makes me feel kinda' small? Not in a demeaning or belittling way but it's like you're talking to a lost puppy and I dunno," Gojo shrugs, "I just fall for it."

"When have I ever done that?"

"Literally any time you've asked me if I needed help with something."

"Oh..." You hum, recalling past times, "Well that's because you were acting like you couldn't find anything in my apartment..."

"I couldn't."

"Whatever."

"Your smile," Gojo points out, "I'd kill to see it on you forever."

You giggle, "Murder is a bit excessive, no?"

"Is it?" He questions casually.

"Yes, Satoru."

Gojo moves to twirl you around again in sync with whatever song's playing now, "I meant it when I said I'd do anything for you."

You follow his motions and then end up right back in his arms, "Right..."

"I'd sacrifice the very thing I love just to see you happy." Gojo claims proudly.

You scoff, "Thought' I was the thing you loved?"

"You are."

His words bewilder you, "Then that makes no sense."

"It won't." Gojo shrugs.

"You're so confusing," You point out to him with a sigh, "I'll never understand you."

"I don't seek understanding from you, love." He voices out in a soft tone.

You arch a curious brow, "Then what do you seek?"

"From you?" Gojo smiles, the sight making him appear peaceful, "Simply seeing you happy, that's all."

"Then, logically speaking, wouldn't dropping this stupid list make me happy?"

"You may think it'd make you happy but..." He trails off, losing himseld to his thoughts, "N-Nevermind-"

That was odd. How else are you supposed to view freedom from the list if not blissful? What is he not telling you?

"No, what is it?" You push further.

"Nothing."

A frown takes over your features, "You're lying."

"I can't tell you." Gojo results in saying.

"Why?"

"Because I just can't."

You hate how he doesn't explain himself, wishing that just for one moment he'd let you into the mess that is his brain. "Everyday you only confuse me more, you know that right?" You tell the man.

Gojo's eyes are gentle on yours, "In due time you'll find clarity when you think about me."

"Will I?" Your tone is soft, the moment of tranquility between you two never subsiding.

He glances away for only a second, "I hope so."

You think you can live with that so all you hum is a simple, "Okay..."

After which, you and Gojo continue your slow dance. It's all too romantic but you've still yet to grow the desire to stop. You guess he was right about this making up for the two hours you wasted.

"Can I ask you something now?" Gojo suddenly questions, his eyes now back on you.

"Sure." You reply, your fingers moving to play with the lowest strands of hair on the back of his head.

He finds himself relaxed under your touch but his mind and heart are so anxious, "Is there anything you love about me?"

You scoff obnoxiously, "Love? About you? That's a strong word, Satoru..."

His brain freezes for a moment. Gojo takes his time processing what you've just said before uttering, "You didn't say no."

"I..." You catch yourself stammering, unknowingly glancing down at his lips and losing yourself in thought before finally answering him, "N-No, there's nothing I-"

"What is it?" Gojo cuts off, seeing straight through you.

"There's nothing." A lie, there is one thing and you hate yourself for adoring it the way you do.

He scoffs, "There's something, I know it."

"There's not one thing I love about you, Satoru." Another lie, you can never get over the feeling of his lips on yours, "Like, maybe. But Love? I..." Your words fade for a moment, "I don't feel that emotion for you whatsoever-"

"Liar." Gojo cuts off yet again, he's persistent with getting it out of you.

"What would I possibly love about you?" You ask, playing dumb.

He shrugs, "I dunno, you tell me."

"I hate you," You say, tone void of ill emotion, "Did you forget?"

"I'll never forget that." Gojo responds, voice soft but passionate, "But you can hate me and still love one thing about me. Whether it's something I say or do, you're allowed to love something about me, there's no crime in it."

You get quiet for a long moment, simply staring up into his eyes. After which, you look off to the side. Love is such a strong emotion and you hate to feel such a thing for something that Gojo does.

"There's nothing." You result in saying yet again.

"Not even my looks?" He asks.

"Nope-"

Gojo grows frustrated with you and tips his head into the direction you're looking in, trying to get your eyes back on his, "So what is it?"

You sigh heavily, "It's noth-"

"You stuttered the first time I asked and I saw the way you looked at my lips," He points out, "What is it that you love about me?"

"Nothing, Satoru." You sigh, pleading for him to leave you alone already.

"Tell me."

"No."

"Please?" He begs.

You remain stern, "No."

He's got part of his answer, "So there really is something?"

You don't reply.

"I fucking knew it." That fuels him to a new degree and you feel his arms grow tighter around your waist, "What is it? Tell me please, I won't stop asking until you do."

"Keep asking then." You murmur.

"I will." Gojo says, having no plans on letting it go now, "Tell me. What is it that you love about me? What do I do that makes your heart race?"

That question can be so simply answered. His kisses-- it's the one thing that's always made your heartbeat pound against your chest to a new degree.

"What about me makes you go weak in the knees?" Gojo continues, his voice lowering into something desperate, "Tell me, sweetheart. Please."

You swallow the sudden lump in your throat, "I'm not telling you."

You shouldn't be experiencing such an emotion anyways, it's wrong.

"What is it?" Gojo pleads, his voice so utterly desperate that it makes you feel weird.

You groan, "Nothi-"

"My touch?" He asks.

"What? No-"

Gojo keeps questioning you, "The way I look at you?"

"No."

"My voice?"

"No."

"My confessions?"

"No."

He sighs, "Then just tell me."

"No." You repeat.

"Please? I'll do anything," Gojo's voice almost breaks? It's nearly a whine the way he pleads you, almost like he can't go on without knowing what it is you love about him, "Just tell me what it is and I'll leave you alo-"

"The way you kiss me." You finally blurt out.

Silence.

It envelopes the two of you completely.

Your eyes are everywhere except his and he feels like he can't even breathe properly.

Did he hear you correctly? The way he what? Kisses you? You love that about him? Damn is his heart about to fall out his chest.

"Wh-What?" Gojo breathes out, his eyes are so wide, almost even teary. "T-The way I what?"

Your voice is barely audible, "The way you k-kiss me, Satoru..."

He blinks.

You repeated it and his entire body just felt warm. He's never experienced an emotion to this degree. What is this? Is this what it's like to have his feelings reciprocated? Even if only a little...

He's just staring at you, eyeing your flushed face, seeing how embarrassed you are, and feeling the slight nervous tremble in your body. Gojo was infatuated, taken over with thoughts and emotions of you.

He couldn't even breathe properly. His mind was running rampant, his heart was throbbing so violently in his chest, and he thought he was sweating. Chills ran up his spine as he replayed those words you just uttered.

And the emotions he experienced got no better when you carefully dragged your eyes up to his.

Time had stopped, nothing else in the world mattered except for you and Gojo physically couldn't help himself.

You watch the way his eyes go glossy and he pulls you impossibly closer to him, his face nearing yours. Was he on the verge of tears?

"I'll never do anything else then," Gojo whispers, his voice sounding almost distraught yet whole at the same time.

His head tilts to the side and your brows furrow, "Wha-"

It happens. His lips are on yours before you have another moment to process.

It was so sweet too, his lips impossibly softer than ever. You couldn't think straight anymore as his lips moved over yours, feeling your body melt into his arms.

The man's overwhelming love for you engulfed all of his senses and he nearly lost his mind-- his kissing growing eager as his tongue pushed into your mouth.

You gasp, "S-Satoru-"

He wouldn't even let you speak, beginning to walk you backwards and off the dance floor. You stumbled against his body, your lips slipping over his as he released a sweet little whine into your mouth.

Your hands slid down from around his neck and to his arms, trying to brace yourself for his sudden aggressiveness. You didn't fight with the kiss but you were definitely surprised when you heard a wolf-whistle from someone nearby, followed by your ass lifting onto a table slightly.

When did you get this far off the dancefloor?

Gojo's hands were all over you. They went from your back to your legs, sliding along your thighs and feeling you against his palms. All as you lost your breath within the heated kiss you shared with him.

You heard a chuckle, followed by a 'what a beautiful couple' comment from some older woman-- the sound making you move a hand to Gojo's chest to try and push him away for a second.

Instead of pushing him away, your hand simply flattened on his chest as he sucked on your lower lip and then slid his tongue right back into your mouth. Soft smacks could be heard coming from your lips and you hated how public the sight was.

"Sat-, hah... S-Satoru, please-," You uttered against his mouth, to which he simply groaned against you.

You should've never told him you loved his kisses.

The man moved his hands under your thighs and then he moved to wrap your legs around his waist, then lifted you up.

"I love you," Gojo breathes, just barely, into your mouth. It's almost a groan the way his voice leaves him, his mouth devouring your own eagerly.

Your heart is so heavy as you simply kiss him back, feeling your body being carried off somewhere else. Gojo was so passionate with the way he kissed you, almost as though he feared you'd slip away from his grasp at any given moment.

You don't know where he was carrying you to and you think you stopped caring at some point.

You truly did love kissing Gojo Satoru, despite the conflict that follows feeling such a dangerous emotion toward such a simple action. You loved it regardless.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: ???

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[aemondloverr]

𝐀 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐎𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒 • 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 • 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: At breakfast, an important event is announced, and you and cregan spend time in Wintertown, just outside the wall.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: A bit of gossip, bratty brother, denial of feelings, and a jealous man.

𝐰𝐜: 6.9k💀

𝐀/𝐍: I think I'll take a bit of a break after this just because I need to lock in for school :( NGL this is a boring ahhh filler chapter but it’s necessary for pacing☝️🥸 I PROMISE. Or else it would be going way too fast. Trust me. I want it to get freaky already too. There ARE some cute things in there tho.

This may come as a surprise or not a surprise but I feel like I should’ve said this earlier 😭…This series is a Medium-burn. Not SLOW but to get to the best parts, you gotta make it to the end😔

This was originally going to be a one shot and then I thought up a backstory. Then it was 3 parts. And that was a GREATLY underestimated number. Now it’s going to be 6 or 7 parts now so uh…😃 yea…

p.s I did NOT proof read

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩:

You don't want to fall back into old patterns, let alone complicate your current situation. It hurt you to hurt him the way you did but you have to be strong...and yet, deep down, something inside you yearns for the familiarity of his presence, the warmth of his smile, the feel of his touch…

You lift the lid of the food he brought and your eyes land on a small piece of paper tucked among the food. It's a note, penned in a neat and familiar handwriting. The ink is dark, the words written with a strong and decisive hand.

As you read the words, you can almost hear Cregan's voice in your mind, the deep timbre of his tone echoing in your ears.

It reads:

"I hope the food is to your liking. Sleep well, Princess..."

C.

A note so kind yet you were so cruel.

Tonight was not a night you slept soundly, but rather, a night you pondered your words.

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

 The next morning…

Cregan rises from bed and quickly begins readying himself for the day, thinking of the promise you made to spend the day with him. After some time, he finishes preparing and makes his way through the castle, heading towards your chambers, his heart thumping in his chest. A part of him feels wary of what mood you’d be in today.

Dismissive? Angry maybe? Would you make snide remarks or would you be on the more kind and tolerating side?

There is a knocking heavily on your door and you’re awoken. All you can do is groan in bed.

“Who is at my door this early?… its just past first light...”

Cregan’s smile widens at your groggy grumble from within the room and he responds, his voice holding a hint of amusement.

"Who do you think?"

“Just…wait outside. I’m not yet decent.”

He steps back from the door, leaning against the wall as he responds.

"Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

He can hear the faint sounds of movement coming from within the room- sheets being thrown aside, bed creaking lazily, your tired groans and mutterings. You walk over to your wardrobe and take off your shift, quickly replacing it with a dress. It’s the thickest you have, though not near thick enough to shield from the biting cold of your room after the fire in the hearth is burnt down to just embers.

After you put on your dress, you attempt to put on your corset by yourself, but to no avail. As Cregan waits outside, his ears perk up, hearing the sound of you struggling with your corset. His expression turns to one of slight amusement, a hint of a smile on his lips as he imagines you cursing and mumbling, trying and failing to lace it yourself.

“I don't know why I bother with this stupid, silly thing..." you mutter.

His amusement only grows, and he has to bite back an actual chuckle.

"Cregan?! Could you grab someone to help me, quickly!”

Cregan’s ears perk up again as he hears you call from within the room, and he pushes off from the wall and walks up to the door, responding in a quiet voice.

“Sure, but can’t I just-”

He was thinking of coming in and helping you lace it up himself but he cuts himself off as he realizes how improper that would sound, color rising to his cheeks. He clears his throat and responds again, trying to sound casual and nonchalant.

“Never mind that. I’ll- I’ll go get someone.”

He quickly locates a handmaiden or a maid in the nearby corridors and explains the situation and she nods and follows him back to your room, her own mind undoubtedly wondering what's going on.

As Sara, the handmaiden, walks in, she finds you standing there in your half-laced corset, a look of relief on your face. She can't help the small smirk that graces her own lips as she looks at you, no doubt imagining all the things that could have led to this situation - a hasty morning tryst, possibly a stolen night of passion… but none of those are the case of course.

"Thank you Sara…"

She smiles at you as she takes over the task of lacing up your corset, pulling the strings taught, cinching it tightly.

"My pleasure, Princess. Anything else you need this morning?"

"Could you brush my hair...? Style it perhaps, the Northern way?"

You want to dress the traditional style of their people if you want them to have a reason to favor you. Sara grins and nods quickly, already reaching for the brush on the nearby table.

"Of course, Princess. I'd be honored to style your hair. Just have a seat, and I'll have you looking Northern in no time!"

You take a seat on the chair in front of the vanity, and Sara moves behind you. She gently runs the brush through your hair, as she gathers sections, braiding and twisting it in a traditional style, the ones great ladies of house Stark wore.

Sara hums gently as she works, her fingers moving with practiced ease. Every now and then, she glances up to study her work in the mirror, making sure the braids and knots are in their rightful places.

"You have very lovely hair, Princess. It's a pleasure to style it."

"Thank you it looks lovely."

She finishes the last braid and gives it a final twist, securing it in place with a small pin. She steps back, a satisfied smile on her face as she admires her work, eyes sweeping over you from head to toe and taking in your now-styled hair and laced corset.

"There. All done, Princess. You look like a proper Northerner now!"

You stand from the seat, pleased with the finished product, smiling ear to ear.

"Absolutely gorgeous," she murmurs, her tone filled with approval and appreciation.

She can't help but smile back at your radiant expression, feeling very satisfied with her contribution to your appearance. However, a knowing sparkle in her eye betrays the fact that she's just dying to ask...

"May I ask who it is you're getting all dolled up for, Princess?" Of course she's caught right on.

"Dolled up? Why this is quite casual, is it not?" You get up, crossing the room to put on the pelts too large, given to you by Cregan the previous night.

Sara giggles and rolls her eyes, unable to hide her knowing smile. She follows you across the room as you move to don the pelts, eyebrow raised in slight suspicion.

"Oh, of course. I can definitely see how getting your hair braided and fussing over a corset can be 'quite casual', how silly of me Princess!"

"Oh quiet about him. I'd just like to be presentable, in case townspeople see me..."

It's quite an obvious lie. And Sara is clearly not convinced by your flimsy excuse, but decides to tease you a bit more anyway.

"And does this have anything to do with the fact that Cregan is waiting outside, looking oh so impatient to see you?"

Right on the money.

"No...A Princess should look the part at all times, is all..."

"Of course, Princess..."

"Id planned this outfit before I came North. So yes it's pure coincidence."

No royal ever packs all of their own bags for long trips so clearly, another lie. She looks you up and down one more time, taking in the complete picture of you in your Northern-style hair, corset, and pelts.

"Well, I'll admit, Princess, you look absolutely stunning. I don't think Cregan will be able to keep his eyes off you." She winks playfully, laughing at the heat creeping onto your cheeks.

"Sara Shh!! He's right outside the door!!"

Sara laughs and puts a hand over her mouth, trying to muffle her giggles and responding in a hushed whisper.

"You're right. Wouldn't want the poor Northern Lord to overhear us speaking of his obvious affections, now would we?"

"Are you trying to give me away? Quiet!”

Sara laughs again, unable to contain her amusement at your flustered state. She nods and responds in a mock-serious tone.

"As you wish, Princess. My lips are sealed. I'll refrain from mentioning the Lord of Winterfell's pining heart. At least when he's close by."

Sara watches you leave, and she can't help but feel a pang of sympathy and amusement at your flustered state and denial, knowing full well the truth. You like him just as he likes you, though, you hide it better than he does.

"Have a lovely day, Princess," she calls out after you, tone dripping with sarcastic sweetness.

 You just roll your eyes as, you often do.

Sara laughs heartily at your eye-roll, enjoying that she's managed to ruffle your feathers a bit. She gives you one last wink and watches as you walk out of the oom, eyes following you all the way to the door.

Cregan is leaned against the wall, waiting patiently for you to finish getting ready. He hears the sound of the door opening, and he looks up, his eyes widening when he sees you emerge from the room. His gaze slowly trails over you, taking in the sight of your braided Northern-style hair and the fit of the corset beneath the pelts that seem to swallow you whole.

“Shall we go to breakfast?”

He nods, unable to tear his gaze away.

"Yes...yes, of course. Then to the market after." he manages to choke out, voice slightly hoarse. He walks next to you in silence, his eyes fixed straight ahead. His heart is pounding in his chest, his stomach tied in knots. He can't really bring himself to speak, mind still filled with thoughts from the previous day. 

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, but  your expression is neutral, tension in your shoulders. The silence hangs heavily between the two of you, an unsettling reminder of the argument from yesterday.

The silence is awkward and neither of you want to talk.

Cregan steals glances at you as you walk, and unbeknownst to you, he's still fixed on the way youv'e readied yourself this morning.

Thats how she'd be dressed of she was the lady of-

He stops the thought in its path before he could even finish it, taking a deep breath as to not get flustered.

As you descend the stairs of the great keep and step out into the yard, eyes turn towards the two of you. A few Stark guardsmen standing nearby do a double-take at your appearance. Some of them whisper to each other.

Cregan notices the looks and glares, a hint of possessiveness flaring in his eyes as he guides you towards the entrance of the great hall.

He keeps one hand on your lower back, fingers splayed over the pelts. The noise and activity of the room die down somewhat as the people inside catch sight of you, many of them whispering and murmuring amongst themselves.

“Remove your hand please…” You whisper.

He looks a little hurt, a tinge of disappointment in his voice when he responds, trying his best to act unbothered.

"Sorry. I...sorry. I forgot myself for a moment…"

To your surprise, everyone in the hall stands in your presence.

“No no please, be seated.”

The Lord opposite you hurriedly stands to pull out your chair, practically tripping over himself to do so. The rest of the Lords and Ladies take their seats once more. He's clearly a little flustered by your appearance, eyes roaming over your face with a look in his eye that you cant quite place.

Cregan watches the lord, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. He can feel his possessive nature flaring up again, not liking the way the he's shamelessly ogling you right before his eyes.

Not that cregan hadn't been ogling you himself as well.

"Thank you. you are too kind!”

The Lord blushes slightly at your words, his eyes still taking in the sight of you in pelts and braids. He stutters, his voice hoarser than before as he responds..

"It's- it's nothing, my lady. It's an honor, truly, to host a guest as fine as yourself here at Winterfell."

“It’s my honor entirely. Winterfell is very beautiful!”

The Lord practically beams with pride at your compliment. The few other lords and ladies gathered at the table also nod in agreement, clearly flattered that a Southron princess is complimenting their home.

Cregan can't help but roll his eyes at the lord's reaction, silently amused and somewhat annoyed at the man's obvious attempts at currying your favor.

Sounds of forks and cutlery clattering against plate fills the hall as everyone eats.

Maybe you could use this to get back at Cregan…

The idea forms quickly in your mind, a small smile slowly spreading across your lips. You play into the lord's ego, leaning in slightly and giving him an appreciative smile, your eyes sparkling with charming sweetness.

"You flatter me, my Lord," you murmur, your voice lower and velvety-soft.

"Could I ask you something, princess?"

"Yes?”

He leans in slightly closer, as if sharing a secret, his voice lowered to a whisper.

"I do hope you won't think me too forward in asking, but...do you have plans for this evening?  

You take a moment to pretend to gather your thoughts, letting the Lord bask in his excitement and anticipation. You glance across the table, meeting Cregan's eyes for a split second before looking away again.

“I do not. Why do you ask?”

The Lord is clearly flustered by your closeness and your sweet demeanor as he responds.

"Hunting parties today, my princess. We- we have a few set to head out to the Wolfswood a few hours before noon."

“For what purpose? Is there an event or something of the sort?” 

"Yes, there is a feast this evening in your honor. It's tradition here to hunt when there is a...guest of importance on an extended stay at Winterfell. It is considered good fortune and-"

Cregan cuts in, unable to refrain from interrupting once more, his eyes fixed on yours as he adds,

"And an opportunity to display one's skills to our guest. To prove one's worth, as it were."

Just the response you wanted. Jealousy.

“That’s a similar tradition we do in the South also, except it’s for the King usually.”

The Lord nods in agreement, his heart practically beating out of his chest, bursting at your apparent interest in him.

"Quite true, my lady. It is a custom that goes back centuries here in the North. And we take great pride in honoring our guests appropriately."

“Well let us make this a bit more interesting for the people, shall we?”

The room falls silent as you stand up and tap your glass gently, all eyes turning to you, including Cregan's. The lords and ladies at the table watch you expectantly, wondering what you're about to say.

“Good morning, lords and ladies. I’ve been made aware of the feast to come this evening in mine and my brother's honor,”

Nods and murmurs of acknowledgement come from the other lords and ladies around the table. They all seem eager to know more about the upcoming feast, clearly looking forward to the celebration.

“I’d like to pose a challenge for those participating later at noon…Whoever brings me the largest game shall win my hand at the dance this evening!!”

There are gasps and low murmurs of surprise from the lords and ladies around the table at your declaration. Many of them are clearly taken aback, and a few look even envious at the prospect of being your partner at the dance.

Now that’s something worth raising a glass too.

A few of the lords and ladies around the table immediately raise their cups, clearly excited and motivated by your offer. They all toast to the challenge, already making silent plans on how they can outdo the others and win your favor.

You take your seat again as the lords and ladies around the table continue their conversations, most of them now talking about the upcoming challenge and the possibility of winning your favor at tonight's feast. Cregan sits across from you, his eyes fixed on your face, a mixture of irritation and disappointment in his gaze.

You question him, feigning obliviousness.

“What’s wrong?”

Cregan's eyes narrow slightly as he looks at you across the table, his jaw clenched.

"You know exactly what's wrong. You're offering your hand as a prize to the first hunter to bring you a big stag. What game are you playing at?"

“It’s just a bit of fun, lighten up!”

Cregan's eyes flash with irritation as he grits his teeth, clearly not amused by your nonchalance.

"Just a bit of fun, is it? Offering yourself up like a prize to be won? Can't you see how dangerous and foolish you're being?"

“Do not argue at your own table with your guest. It is impolite and rude, Lord Stark”

Cregan's jaw clenches tightly at your rebuke, a flicker of anger in his eyes. But he holds his tongue, reluctantly swallowing back the retort that nearly spills from his lips. He knows you're right, but it doesn't make him any less angry about the situation.

He forces a tight smile.

"Yes, of course, my princess. Forgive me for my lapse in courtesy."

You begin to talk to the lord beside you again. Cregan watches from across the table as he continues to talk your ear off, his eyes fixed on you. It takes every ounce of self-control he has to bite back the words that threaten to spill from his mouth, resisting the urge to snap at the man for hogging your attention.

He stabs at the food on his plate like an angry child.

“I did not catch your name. Lord…?”

The Lord blushes slightly at your question, clearly flattered that you're showing an interest in him.

"Oh, forgive me, my princess. How foolish of me to forget such an important detail. I am Lord Harwin Flint, the son and heir to Lord Cedric Flint of Widow's Watch."

“Quite a long way you are from Widows Watch.”

"Indeed, my lady. Winterfell is not the closest place to my home, but the Starks are an ancient and respected family, and I’d feel honored to be in attendance at such a splendid feast."

“Of course,” you smile before taking another bite of your food.

*****

Soon after, breakfast concludes.

The lords and ladies around the table begin to stand up, signaling the end of the morning meal. A few of them cast glances in your direction, clearly still thinking about the challenge you proposed earlier.

Cregan stands up as well, his jaw clenched and his eyes fixed on you as you rise from your seat to leave the great hall. He walks beside you in silence for a few moments, eyes occasionally stealing glances in your direction. The air between you is thick with tension, though he makes no attempt to break it yet.

“What is it?"

Cregan glances at you, surprise briefly flitting across his face that you seem to have noticed his subtle glances. He considers you for a moment before speaking, choosing his words carefully.

"That young Lord Cedric. He seemed rather... taken with you."

His tone is neutral, but there's a hint of jealousy or possessiveness in his words.

"Well I am a Princess so..."

His jaw clenches slightly at your words, his jealousy evident in his expression. His eyes flash with a hint of anger as he responds.

"True, but the way he was looking at you... it was more than simple admiration."

He pauses, his voice dropping lower as he continues.

"He didn't just see a princess. He saw a woman to admire and possibly court."

"Oh nonsense-"

"No, I'm serious. I saw the way he kept glancing at you, the way he blushed like a boy when you thanked him. He was smitten, Princess."

He stops walking, turning to face you directly, his expression dark and intense.

"You can't tell me you didn't notice."

“Were you not staring at me too…?” I tease “for quite a long time might I add…”

"I was merely observing... as any lord does when a royal guest is in his domain."

He takes a step closer towards you, his gaze locking onto yours.

"And you're deflecting. We're talking about Lord Cedric, not me."

“Observing…I see…” I say sarcastically.

Cregan's smirk widens at your sarcastic tone, obviously amused. He takes another step closer to you, reducing the distance between you even further. His eyes never leave yours as he speaks, his voice now a low rumble.

"Oh, yes, 'observing'. I was observing your every movement, your every expression, your every reaction to Lord Cedric's attention."

He leans in slightly.

"And I didn't like what I saw."

"My conversation with Lord Cedric is not for you to like or dislike. Matters of the Princess of the realm are no matters for that of the Warden of the North"

"You're right. You are the Princess of the realm, and I am the Warden of the North. However, that does not mean I cannot have opinions or feelings regarding your interactions with my men."

He pauses, his gaze flickering over you for a moment before he continues.

"Lord Cedric is young and inexperienced. He doesn't appreciate the significance of your presence here- "

"We will speak of this no more. I did not come here to listen about how you don’t like when lords fancy me.”

Cregan's expression tenses at your firm tone, his jaw working with suppressed frustration. His eyes linger on you for a moment before he responds, his voice taut and strained.

"As you wish, Princess. But just remember, the North is a place of bluntness and honesty. Here, we say what we mean and mean what we say."

He takes another step towards you, his eyes not leaving yours as he continues, his voice low and intense.

"And I mean it when I say that I'm not fond of seeing you with other men."

You sigh, annoyed and walk away.

Cregan watches as you walk ahead, hands balling into fists as he tries to control his emotions.

He quickens his pace to catch up with you, strides long and purposeful, closing the distance between you in just a few steps. When he reaches your side, he reaches out and gently grasps your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

You turn abruptly.

Cregan's grip on your arm tightens for a moment before he releases you, his eyes locking onto yours. His expression is a mix of anger and something else – something you can't quite place, but it makes your heart beat a little faster.

"You can't just walk away from me like that."

“Then walk faster.” You pull your arm away.

For a moment, he looks as though he's about to grab your arm again and pull you back, but he restrains himself, letting out a frustrated huff instead.

"So, you're going to act like a petulant child now?" He asks, his voice laden with sarcasm.

"I am simply protecting my sanity and I will not allow you to destroy it. Not again."

Cregan's expression darkens at your words, his jaw tensing as he recalls the history between you. His eyes narrow, the memory of past hurts and disagreements stirring up his anger.

"I destroyed your sanity? Pray tell, how I managed to do that?" he retorts, his voice sharp and filled with bitter sarcasm.

“Can we not talk about this right now? It’s far too early in the morning.”

Cregan lets out a frustrated huff, his patience clearly wearing thin. He takes another step towards you, closing the gap between you even further. His gaze is intense and unwavering as he responds, his voice low and filled with an underlying hint of anger.

"You can't just bring up such a serious accusation and then refuse to elaborate. You're acting like a child."

You stop in your tracks suddenly. “You will do well to remember who you are speaking to. I’m here because I have to be, not because I want to. So save your interrogation for a later date.”

Cregan stops walking as well, his eyes narrowing at your response. His jaw clenches as he bristles at your words, his anger flaring up once again.

"And you would do well to remember who I am as well," he retorts, his voice filled with a hint of condescension.

"I am the Lord of the North and the Warden of this castle. You may be a princess, but you are a guest here. It would do you well to remember that, and show me the respect I am due."

“I don’t owe you anything-“

Cregan's anger spikes at your impudent response.

"You don't owe me anything, huh? You come into my castle, eat my food, expect me to house and protect you, and you don't think you owe me anything?"

“I didn’t ask you to-“

"I offered you my hospitality, and in return, all I ask is a little respect."

You take a breath, sighing because you know he’s sort of right. He is providing you. But it wasn’t your choice to come here in the first place.

“Fine then if you’re so desperate for it” you mutter, just to shut him up.

He crosses his arms over his chest, his stance still tense as he responds, his voice now calmer but still laced with a hint of sarcasm.

"Oh, gracious of you. I didn't know asking for basic decency was such a challenge for a Princess such as yourself."

You simply roll your eyes as you always do.

As you continue walking through the streets of the Wintertown, the people pause in their activities, their heads turning to watch you as you pass. Some stare openly, their curiosity and surprise evident on their faces as they whisper to each other. Others bow their heads reverently, their gazes filled with awe and admiration.

Cregan walks beside you, his gaze constantly flickering from you to the people around you, watching their reactions with a mixture of pride and possessiveness.

There was no time to keep glowering when you’re supposed to be looking the part so you quickly change your expression.

You give a polite smile and the people respond to your smile with smiles of their own, some even offering timid waves or friendly greetings as you pass by.

Your friendly waves and acknowledgments only seem to deepen the impact you have on the people around you. A few of the women even whisper amongst themselves, their eyes flicking towards you with a mixture of envy and admiration. Men watch you with respectful gazes, clearly noticing your beauty and regality.

The aroma of various stalls fills the air – the scents of freshly baked bread, exotic spices, and roasting meats.

Your irritation slowly starts to subside as you take in the vibrant atmosphere around you. Children laugh and play nearby, their youthful energy filling the air. The smell of street food beckons your taste buds, and the scent of fresh herbs and spices hangs heavily in the air.

Cregan glances over at you, noticing the way your face softens as you watch the children play. Though he tries to hide it by quickly redirecting his gaze.

Pussy.

Merchants and vendors take notice of you and Cregan and offer you various goods and trinkets, hoping to win your favor. Some present intricate jewelry, others, beautifuly crafted knives, and some offer the finest produce from local farms. They seem eager to please you and you cant help but take their gifts and buy their many things.

And Cregan, well he cant help but find your kindness towards his people a desirable trait, So much so, he almost forgets the reason for his foul mood.

Your mood has brightened with your now-many things in your hands, and you stumble upon a dress. Its made of fine materials, intricate details and its black and rich red color catching your attention. Cregan follows behind you as you approach it,

"Ma'am, who made this magnificent gown? It's just lovely! and these gloves as well? The shoes even? Theres a whole set?!"

The shopkeeper, ancolder woman witha friendly smiles, steps forward to greet you. She beans at your compliments, face lighting up with pride.

"Thank you Princess," she says. "My husband and I are the seamster and seamstress who crafted this dress. The finest kmaterials money can buy. The gloves and shoes are his work also!"

"How much for the whole set?" You see another fabulous dress "Oh and that one there too,"

The shopkeeper moves quickly to fetch the dresses and present them to you, holding them up so you can see the front and the back. "Excelent choice milady," she says witha smile "Teh set of the first dress, with the gloves and shoes will be...lets see...Thats 215silver stags." She tunrs her attention to the second dress. "As for the second dress, that one will be 150 silver stags."

You think on it for a second before deciding. You practically throw your bags onto Cregan to take out your coin purse. "Oh would it really kill to buy a few more dresses? I think not. I'll take the other two dresses there and the necklance and the-" At this point, youre buying out they entire stock.

He eyes widen and she quickly fetches the other dresses, the necklace and a few more acessories, presenting them to you. "Anything else you'd like...?

"One last thing! The-" Cregan gently puts a hand on you arm, interrupting you sentence. He casts a glance at the growing pile of bags and items you are to purchase on the shop's counter, obviously overwhelmed.

"No more," He groans with a hint of annoyance in his voice. Hes already suffering enough from the many bags hes having to carry. "Youv'e already got enough to fill a small carriage-"

"Here hold this."

Cregan lets out an exasperated sigh as you hand him yet another item to carry, casting a tired glance at you, eyes silently questioning why you need so many thing.

You turn back to the Shopkeeper. "Im afraid this is all I can get...for now. If it were upto me id buy your entire stall, but i must heed the advice of your Lord before he collapses."

He smile faulters when Cregan shoots her a stern glare, warning her not to test his limits any further, sighing as he adjusts the bags in his arms once again.

"Lets go already," He orders firmly, gestering for you to walk ahead.

You give 4 gold dragons "For you and your husband. May You make the most beautiful dresses."

The shopkeepers eyes widen in disbelief, mouth agape as she looks at the hefty payment in her hand. She looks up at you, eyes brimming with tears and gratitude. "Thank you, milady," she stammers, ver voice trembling slightly. "You are too generous. i will pass this along to my hisband, and we will surely amke many more beautiful dresses in your honr."

"I do hope so. Good day to you miss." You take the box and teh small bag with the jewelry meanwhile Cregan is still annoyed about being relegated to the status of your personal pack horse.

Except you don't ride him like one. I mean, maybe you will-

He hadn't realised that something as mundane as shopping to brighten your mood so much. But he can't deny the genuine happiness on your face and he find himself unable to stay anooyed for too long. He casts a sidelong glance at you, observing your joyous expression as you carry the dresses and other items.

By the time you reached the gate, cregan almost couldnt hold it any longer. He looked positively frazzled and his breath comes in short puffs, face flushed with exertion.

You still stride ahead and he follows after you, steping heavily, silently pleading for compassion an undrstanding. You seem oblivious to his struggle. That or, you simply dont care. People give amused glances, finding the sight of him lugging your items aound quite comical.

The guards at the hate cant help but let out quiet chuckles, amused by the sight of Cregan struggling and he asks them for help. He feels a pang of embarassment at having to ask for their assistance.

"Of course can give you a hand." He hoists them over his shoulder and his friend still fights to keep a straight face, the supressed laughter threatening to burst out at any moment.

Creganhands over a couple of bags and boxes, grateful for the assistance, but still feeling a bit humiliated at the specticle hes become.

Reaching the keep, you hold open the door. "Up to my chambers, thank you."

Cregan nods mutely, body aching and cheeks flushed from exhertion, and he looks completely drained. He struggles up the stairs, following you to your chambers.

"Just a little more ways away."

The guards enter your chambers aswell, still trying not to laugh. You let out a little chuckle yourself and its not helping at all.

Cregan casts a resentfull look as you do so. He sets down the bags and packages, back aching. He lets out a sigh of relief and rolls his shoulders in attempts to loosen the tension in his mucles.

He collapses into the chair beside your bed to relax his body

"Uh, excuse you."

"What?" he asks with a tinge of irritation

"You can relax in your own room."

He rises from the comfortable chair, departing to retire to his own chambers. He had hoped for a moment respite after carrying all of your things, but he cant blame you for wanting him gone.

you walk towars the door, opening it for him. Hes muttering under his breath, dicontent quite obvious in his tone. Something about "Women" and "Too many bags" as he walks past you.

After he laves, you begin to undress in order to try on your newly purchased ones.

That same moment Cregan leaves your room, Jace emerges from his. He observes his disheveled state, out of breath and hair ruffled. Jace then unexpectedly pushes open the door without knocking, anger evident on his face.

You almost yelp, covering your body with your dress. He takes in your half state of undress and it only makes him angrier.

"What the FUCK Jace?"

"What the fuck to you too, what were you doing with Cregan??" he asks, voice coming out in a low, heated tone.

"What are you talking about?? You cant just barge in here like that!"

His expression hardens, shoulders tese and jaw clenched. "I saw him leaving your room. You wanna tell me what the hell is going on between you and him?"

"Lower your tone, nothing is going on, he only-"

Jace scoffs, disbelief evident on his face. "Only what? Why was he in here in the first place?"

"First of all, dont speak to me like that young man. You speak with respect or your turn your ass right back around and leave. Secondly, He'd carried all of my bags from the market for me. and turn around"

He just rolls his eyes, and faces towards the door so you can put your dress back on "He carried your stuff from the market? And that warrented him being in your room?"

"I asked him to bring it to my room so yes."

He found your explanation unsatisfactory and crosses his arms. "And that required being in your room while your'e undressing? Really??" he turns back around

"Do you even hear yourself right now? Why would I have undressed while he was in the room-" The realization of what he was implying suddenly dawns on you.

"I thought..." he trails off awkwardly.

Oh gods he think we really- "I didnt fuck him if thats what you're asking, alright? Gods..." your cheeks heat up at the words coming out of your mouth. Well thats definately something you never saw yoruself saying.

You might even wish that what you said wasn't true.

"I wasn't saying you did-"

"Yes you were."

He lets out a sigh and reluctantly meets your gaze. "Alright maybe I was, but can you blame me? seeing him come out of your room while you were undressing... what else was I supposed to think?"

"Youre supposed to think rationally. If you wanted me to send you home so badly, you coudve just said so."

His expression falters and his features soften as he realizes the weight behind your words. "I dont want you to send me away," he says quietly, voice barely above a whisper, "Im just..i dont know, i overreacted."

"You keep doing this and I'm sick and fucking tired of it. I shouldn't have to threaten you for you to behave yourself..." you scold him with a disapointed tone. You thought he'd fixed his out of line behavior.

His shoulders sag, expression one of embarassment. "I overstepped I'm sorry..."

"Sorry isn't enough, this needs to change sooner or later. If you have concerns, you let me know, respectfully."

Jace nods, his head lowered in genuine remorse. "I will..." he promises.

"Go to your room."

He turns to leave, shoulders slumped in shame.

"And on more thing."

"yes...?"

"There is a feast tonight. I expect you to be cleaned up and presentable within the next few hours."

He lets out a small sigh. "Alright. I will. Anything else?"

"Knock next time. Please." He nods a third time and shuts the door behind him as he leaves.

"Gods that boy..." you mutter to youself. You make sure the door is locked this time as you undress again. "Hes so rash sometimes..." Youre still replaying the scene in your mind.

You continue to undress, shedding your outer layers until youre left in just your undergarments. Your top exposes a generous amount of skin and leaves very little to the imagination.

Knock knock knock.

"What do you want now Jace???"

There is a moment of confusion as you assumed it was Jace on the other side of the door. You call out again, your question lingering in the air, until the person on the other side replies.

"It's Cregan."

oh. "Yes?"

to your surprise he asks, "May I come in?"

"No I am not decent yet... what is it?"

cregan sesitates for a moment, clearly thrown off by your responce. he lets out a small cough, trying to maintain his composure. "Forgive me, I didnt lean to intrude. I...I just wanted to check in on you." He talks in a hushed tone now. "I heard you...arguing with Jace."

"Shouldn't you be resting?"

You let out a sigh and so does he.

"I was going to, but then i heard the commotion in your room and I couldn't help but worry."

"How much did you hear...?"

He pauses for a moment, mind racing as he tries to decide whether or not to be truthful. You were worried he heard the part where you said-

"I overheard most of it..."

Fuck.

"I know. it wsnt a plesant conversation to listen to."

He shakes his head to get the thoughts out of his mind. They're becoming dangerously more frequent for both of you.

"Well how much is 'most of it' ?"

Cregan leans against the doorframe, voice more quiet as he recounts what he had overheard. "You scolding Jace for barging in and jumping to conclusions about us... And.." Oh no here we go. He hesitates for a moment, voice getting even quieter.

"I heard you discussing the...less the appropriate implications he made about our...activities" He blushes furiously and awkwardly clears his throat. You silently cover your face on the over side of the door.

"Im so sorry you had to hear that..."

He shakes his head, trying to wave off your apology with a nonchalant gesture. But the blush on his face betrays his true feelings. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

"Its...Its alright," He assurs you "I shouldn't have listened in the first place."

"No we were too loud. Thanks for checking in on me." You reply

Cregan nods, his embarassment slowly fading as your words sink in. "Of course,"

You silently scream and punch the air, cursing Jace in your mind. Thinking back to those...activities, you blush too. You know he heard what you said.

"Okay.. Well um...Good luck on the hunt then. Go catch something big for me."

"You know I will," He replies, trying to sound confident. "I'll bring home the biggest buck you've ever seen."

"If you say so..." you taunt.

He grins, conficence rising at your doubtful tone. He cant let that go unchallenged. "Oh I do say so. I'll get that dance, just you wait."

"Off you go then."

As Cregan heads off to the stables, he can't shake the feeling of your prescence from his mind. The thought of you and the implications made still lingered, stirring up a maelstrom of emotions within him.

Maybe the things you said you hadn't done with Cregan, you wish you had.

He really just doesn't want any other lord to end up dancing with you. The image of another man, holding you in his arms makes his stomach churn uncomfortably. His mind fills with the image of him dancing with you and his heart quickens.

But then his thoughts take a more intimate turn and his imagination spirals out of control. Him holding you close, bodies pressed together, an embrace that borders on indecent. He can almost feel your warmth just thinking about it.

Cregan knows he shouldn't be thinking such things but he cant help it. That image of you, so close yet so far from his grasp, is consuming his mind and burning in his core like a raging fire.

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

𝐀/𝐍: SUMMARY: THEY JUST KEEP GETTING LONGER AND LONGER. I'm sorry for the boring filler guys (and for dissapearing) 😔 see you at part 4 when the feast happens. At the end of the feast things get a little heated xp

Don’t be afraid to leave me a suggestion in my inbox or the comments. And if you want to be tagged in the next chapter, just sign up for my tag list. The link is at the top of the post!

@beebeechaos @iv-vee @aemondwhoresworld @6ternalsun @obscure-beauty @cregansfourthwife @msmarvelknight @kingdomzeldaquest @littlebirdgot @squidscottjeanseans @jellybeanstacey0519 @r-3dlips @fakem0net @shiggynuggiez @deemee3 @melsunshine @lipgloss05 @cherryheairt @lovevouuu @darlingcharling-blog @pearldaisy @allexlacazette

[glaciertea]

Tickets for Two

Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader two-shot

Part 2

This is part one of this story that's been on my mind for quite a while.

Summary: Working the graveyard shift at a movie theater has it quirks. It's not the best thing, and it's not the worst.

Well, there is one thing that keeps you from leaving this job.

The huge, gorgeous man who comes in every Thursday.

CW: Nothing for this chapter, just having a crush on Miguel.

Word count: 1.7k

There was something about Thursday nights in the movie theater that always made you exhilarated.

It wasn't the smell of freshly stale popcorn that stunk up your nostrils or the fact that you were able to score the after-hours time slot on this day. The ones many would kill to have because after 9 p.m., the place is a barren ghost town. Oh, no. It wasn't one of those reasons. 

It was him.

Throughout the year and a half you managed to survive working here; you've never seen a man like that before in your life. Yes, you've seen your fair share of attractive people come in and out; of course, this was a place to watch the latest hit-or-miss films. But this one, this one was different.

Tall, high cheekbones, a jawline that could shapren diamonds merely by looking at them, those piercing eyes, and those muscles. You always have to pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming.

He started coming three months ago for the ‘Traditional Thursdays’ feature presentation. Your theater would show old movies from the 1930's ranging to the 2020's or 2030's. It was a nice addition, as your boss wanted to have that “retro-style feel,” and it was pretty successful… if one were to go at the 9 p.m. slot. That frame usually brought in a decent amount of customers, but you were happy to not deal with that anymore.

You managed to get in the ten-to-one schedule block. It was a ghost town during those hours, especially with the midnight showings. You would lounge behind the concession, eyeing a few nightcrawlers emerge, but you would wait for him.

He would walk through the sliding doors exactly at midnight. Never a minute early, never a minute late. The actual film doesn't begin until 12:10 to showcase the following week's feature and a trailer or two. 

So it gives him enough time to head in your direction. He has become a regular for you, always ordering a medium black roast coffee, a small popcorn, and a pack of gummy worms. It got to the point where you realized the items were never going to change, so you made it a habit to have them prepared for him on hand. You barely speak because you don't know what to conjure up, and you certainly don't want to make a fool of yourself, so you stick to the basic “Here's your order” and “Enjoy your film.”

He always responds with a “Thank you” or an “I appreciate it,” and each time, your knees will wobble. His voice was smoother than the butter that you poured on the popcorn. He had you weak. His chiseled profile, his domineering height—he was too good to be true. You want to know more about him, but he's very much to himself. You are intimidated by him; his demeanor can make him seem unapproachable, but that only draws you in more.

There will be a day you will finally find the courage to strike up a conversation. One day.

You just weren't expecting it to be today. You manned the concussion stand, eyeing the time and counting the milliseconds. It was, of course, slow, but you loved it. Easy money to you.

His order was fresh and ready to go; he was going to stroll in less than a minute, and you had to put a lid on your excitement. And like clockwork, he came in and made his way right to you.

Putting on your best smile, you placed the snacks and beverage on the counter. “I got everything ready to go, sir. Piping hot and a new batch of popcorn made.”

“Actually, I want to switch it up. I'm sorry for the inconvenience.”

Your brain practically malfunctioned. Not from the request, but from the fact he uttered more words to you. Your reaction must have given something away as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“If not, that's fine. I don't want you wasting supplies on me.”

Scolding yourself, you shook your head and waved your hands. “No, no! No, sir, it's not an inconvenience at all. I'll gladly ring you up with a new order. Anything for the customer.” You despised saying that phrase as it got so many ungrateful, smug idiots out of problems they decided to cause. But for him? You would repeat it endlessly.

Discarding the usual and clearing the order from the register, you nodded. “What are your taste buds tingling for?” Did you really say those words in that order? Your body suddenly wanted to combust.

The man raised a brow as you chuckled nervously. “That sounded... less dumber in my head.”

His lips turned upwards at that, and your heart stopped. He smiles? He can smile! You never once saw him do that, but if you did, you managed to miss it. He managed to look more radiant; how was that possible?

“Well, my taste buds are craving pretzel bites, fruit snacks, and... can I make my medium roast into a large?”

“Yes, sir, I'll try to get it done before the film starts.” 

“No hay necesidad de apresurarse. Take your time.”

“Okay.” You squeaked out, hiding your flustered state from him.

Miguel rested his arms on the countertop and observed the way you moved back and forth, blending new beans and meticulously placing the hot pretzels in a bag. 

“Here you go.” You reached down and took a packet of fruits and propped it nicely on the pretzel bag. “Steaming and raring to go.”

“Are you usually precise when making these orders?” Miguel pulled his wallet out and paid for the meal, leaving a nice tip.

“Kind of. Maybe it's because I have more time to do these things, and I like my regulars to enjoy nice treats.” You grinned and went to clean up his usual. “I hope you enjoy.

“I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Definitely keeping sure. Thank you again.”

You didn't know what meant by that as he took up his things and headed off to catch the film. You put your hand to your chest and calmed your heart rate, going on about your night. You honestly believed that would've been the end of that interaction and that the following week would revert back to the same old, same old, but you were far from it.

The next Thursday, he was there, but fifteen minutes earlier, asking for a new item from the menu alongside the other treats. You were once again thrown off, but that didn't mean you got to be near his presence more, and if not longer. 

It started off with small extras. A bag of pretzels, sized up on the popcorn, an extra bag of candy—nothing too extravagant. However, as the weeks coasted by, the orders got bigger. A hotdog, flatbread pizza, sliders—those meals took you longer to make, but you did not mind one bit. 

You got to chat with him constantly; when Thursday rolled around, you had that extra pep in your step. The conversations ranged from his tedious office filled with people of the same personality, the many tales of strange movie customers from you, or anything that springs to mind. He was awkward, loveable, and sweet, and your crush for him only grew more with each visit. To the point that it was overwhelming.

And it wasn't blowing away anytime soon. 

You were fixing him up a basket of curly fries and chicken tenders casually yapping away when the topic of movie genres popped up.

“I'm into animated movies. They seemingly are able to convey more emotions than actual humans.”

Miguel enjoyed watching you; he honestly preferred looking at you than the film he was supposed to see. “I enjoy them as well. They tend to have moments that resonate with you on a higher emotional level.” He tapped his finger on the glass counter. “Do you have any favorites?”

“Hmm.” You rubbed your chin before moving back over to the fries and dumping some extra salt and pepper on them (they barely had any flavor to them). “I like a good Lixar film. It's funny how they're able to give certain things sentiment. Rather it's inanimate or not, they find a way. I mean, they gave a torso and sweater emotions. A sweater!” You poured the fries into the plastic basket and moved onto the tenders. “Now in particular, I love Bouillabaisse. Up is a heartbreaker, but I can understand the older man's pain. Searching Elmo is so gorgeous, especially for the time it came out. And Coco, that's a tearjerker. That ending scene when he's singing to her? Gets me every time.” 

“I enjoyed all those as well.” Miguel took a sip of his freshly brewed coffee. “Especially the last one.”

“Oh yeah?” You grabbed some tongs and flipped the tenders to cook them evenly. 

“Sí. A bit of a bias though.” 

“A bias?”

“I share the name of the main character.” He stared right into your eyes as he said that.

“Miguel.” It was velvety as it slid off your tongue.

Was that a suave way of him giving his name? It never occurred to you that you actually never learned his name. He knew yours because of the required name tag, but you were glad to know it now and took it with no complaints.

“It fits.” You smiled and finally finished and rang up his meal. “I shouldn't keep you from the movie. I hope everything is of satisfaction for you.”

“You already know it will be.” He paid and reached for his goods when he stopped.

You crooked your neck and looked down to make sure you didn't miss anything. His usual and the new meal were there, so you didn't know what was up. 

“Is everything okay? Did I mess up your order?”

“Everything is fine. I only want to…” he snatched up a napkin and scanned, even going as far as peering over the counter.

“Miguel?” 

“Do you have a pen?” 

“Yes?” You took one from under the register and handed it to him.

“Thank you.” He scribbled down at lightning pace and folded it half, sliding it across to you. “I'll see you then.” He bowed his head, snagged up his meal and left. 

You had to wait several seconds to recover from your shock when you hastily snatched up the napkin and opened it up. You drew your lips to your teeth to prevent yourself from screaming. 

There were ten digits written in blue.

[dp-marvel94]

Real -Chapter 1

Summary:

While hiding from his parents in Gotham, an ill-timed encounter with his neighbor, Jason, has Danny pretending to be his own twin. Fortunately for Danny, the more he pretends the easier it gets. Until he is not pretending at all. Or: Danny names a duplicate and via ghost logic, said duplicate ends up becoming real.

Next->

Also on AO3

Notes:

This story was written thanks to @jackdaw-sprite who commented on a Tumblr post a wrote asking what I should write next with "I haven't read nearly as many of your works as I'd like to before saying which ones I'd like to see continued, but there's one where Danny names a duplicate, and because of ghost logic, the duplicate becomes real. It feels like such a neat idea to play with!" So here I am writing a whole fic about it! Structurally, this is still very much half-fic outline with some important scenes written out. I'm not planning on expanding it beyond what it is. Still, I hope you enjoy the story. :) A note for readers, those here for the DC content especially: this is very much a Danny heavy fic. The focus will be on Danny and Jamie's relationship as the clone goes from just a duplicate without its own life, to a real person with his own identity. The Bats, Jason especially, will be present, and important for Jamie becoming his own person. But those relationships are definitely secondary to Danny and Jamie's.

After a reveal gone wrong, Danny runs from his parents and the GIW. Soon, he finds himself living in a crummy apartment and trying to keep a low profile. He doesn't have very much, so he is very excited to find an actually in decent shape couch that someone was throwing out. It's late so, figuring no one will see him, Danny duplicates to have two pairs of hands to get the furniture up the stairs and into his apartment. 

Of course, Danny does get spotted by his neighbor, Jason, who offers to hold doors open and help with the unwieldy couch. Names are exchanged: Danny and, after a pause as Danny realizes he has to come up with something for his duplicate, Jamie. The "three" manage to get the couch inside. But now Jason is worried about what appears to be a pair of twins, 16 years old at the most, living alone in the apartment with one ratty couch and a bookbag between them. Jason isn't pushy or overly concerned, but he does make a point to check on his new neighbors regularly. 

After the second time running into Jason and being asked about "Jaime," Danny realizes he's going to have to pretend to be his own twin. Duplication is very helpful for that, though he tries not to do it too often and for too long; it does use a lot of energy. He'll just have the "twins" make regular, short appearances together. It's not like he's trying to get close to anyone in Gotham 

But inevitably, short appearances escalate into having dinner with Jason. The first is a one off; man claimed he made too much and Danny didn't really have money for food. Plus it was really good. Accepting the hospitality just this once wouldn't be that bad. Of course, "Jamie" has come to dinner too.

One dinner leads to more meals with his neighbor, to Jason trying to teach "the twins" to cook more than easy mac. 

Jason's youngest brother meets the "twins" when he pounds on the door during dinner and barges in, complaining that "Father is being unreasonable" and had ground him.

Damian and "the twins" end up huddling in Jason's apartment during Danny's first rogue attack since he arrived in Gotham. Jason ran off as soon as the alert went off, claiming that he was needed at the fire station where he worked. He pointedly says that Damian can stay and look after his non-Gothamite neighbors since he's grounded. The preteen is prickly but does stay put. Danny starts to get restless, unable to re-merge and starting to fear that his energy will waver and "Jamie" will pop out of existence. He nervously eyes the door and Damian threatens to stab him if he tries to leave, saying that "Todd is apparently fond of you both and will be quite peeved" with Damian if something happens to Danny and Jamie. 

Well.... Jamie will definitely disappear if Damian stabs him. So Danny manages to maintain his duplicate for five hours, more than twice as long as any time before. By the time the threat is over and Danny can go back to his apartment, he is straining, desperately trying to hide how exhausted and shaky he is from the excursion. He loses hold of the duplicate as soon as the door is closed.

Despite the hardship, maintaining a duplicate is somehow so much easier after that. He can stay duplicated for longer and gradually, he realizes controlling the secondary body is becoming easier. At the beginning, he needed a lot of effort and control to pilot the duplicate, having to mentally direct it to speak or move. He played "Jamie" as being shy and quiet, so there was less talking to dictate. But overtime, the need for mental prompting becomes less and less. Playing "Jamie" became more automatic, more instinctual. Almost like the duplicate runs on auto-pilot, mostly acting how Danny himself would, though more reserved. To an outside perspective, it looks like "Jamie" is finally getting comfortable and coming out of his shell. But to Danny, this was a relief, spending less energy running his duplicate and less time worrying about being found out.

Slowly, Danny meets more of Jason's family. One of Jay's brothers, Tim, runs into him at his coffee shop job and, blinking sleepily, asks which twin he is, before realizing that Danny is wearing a name tag. This leads to Danny's coworkers finding out about "Jamie" and his "twin" visiting him at work.

As the act grows and more people end up meeting "the twins," Danny spends more and more time pretending to be a pair of twins in more and more ridiculous situations. Playing both of them gets easier and easier, more and more comfortable until the twins can banter, share inside jokes, and tell stories from their childhood. Maybe it is intentional, maybe it's subconscious. But slowly, differences develop to differentiate the twins. "Jamie" is growing out his hair. He loves toast and watching documentaries about history. Danny, more and more convincingly, pretends to have a brother until at some points... it no longer feels like he is pretending.

Despite his new friends, Danny is still so lonely. The apartment is still almost bare, the money he gets from his job barely enough. It's never the job he wanted; he wants to be in school now, applying to colleges so he can get into NASA. But he can't do anything to draw attention to  himself, not with the government breathing down his neck or the danger of the vigilantes running him out for being a “meta”. And he misses his friends and sister so badly.

One particularly hard night, when he is heartbroken and hurting, Danny lies on his second-hand mattress in the dark, weeping. He mourns his parents turning on him, his heart aching for Sam, Tucker, and Jazz. He wishes more than anything that he was not alone right now.

Suddenly, there is a yanking on his core that leaves his gasping. A full body pulling sensation that almost feels like being peeled, except somehow it does not hurt. A second later, it is over and through his blurry eyes, Danny can barely make out a figure kneeling in front of him. Arms coax him into sitting up and pull him into a hug. Danny cries for a long while, not thinking about what just happened, not thinking about what... or who... is holding him. He just accepts the comfort, savors the feeling that he is not alone.

Finally, after the tears slow, Danny pulls back and looks. He lets himself realize what he is looking at. And as he takes in eyes like his, the feeling is something between awe and fear. There is a light in the blue eyes, a spark that he does not recognize. 

And as the brow wrinkles in confusion and the mouth slowly works, words spiral out. Words that Danny could never have predicted.

"If we... if you keep doing this..." Each word is slow and deliberate, as if each takes great effort. "This...." One hand motions slowly, vaguely, as if un-used to movement. "Jamie won't be a lie anymore."

Danny is stunned. He stares for a long while, unable to process. He does not understand what the words mean, why the spark in those eyes makes him just as elated as it makes him afraid.

So he takes the duplicate's hand and pulls the ecto-energy back inside himself. He reabsorbs it and "Jamie" disappears. And Danny thinks.

Slowly, he realizes how easy staying duplicated has become, how distant and foggy memories from his duplicate's perspective are. He replays the words in his head. 'If you keep doing this... Jamie won't be a lie anymore.' He wonders if they mean what they suggest, and most startlingly.... he wonders where they had come from, if not from himself.

For a few days, he avoids anyone who has met the twins or claims that his "twin" is busy whenever someone asks. But inevitably, his trusty neighbor Jason notices the avoidance and invites himself over to cook dinner. Reluctantly, Danny duplicates; there is clearly no avoiding this conversation.

The dinner is awkward. Danny has a hard time looking at Jason.... and an even harder time looking at his seeming twin. None of the three say much and by the end, their neighbor huffs a sigh and says his piece. 

“Look. I know that no one, especially two teens, live in a shitty apartment in Crime Alley if they can avoid it. I don't know if you got kicked out, ran away from home, are hiding from something. And I don’t care. I won't ask. But I was an alley kid. I lost my mom younger than both of you, ended up on the street. I know what it's like just scraping by, trying to survive all on my own.  That's why I look out for the kids here. I want to help you guys, no matter what your story is.”

Danny stammers out a disbelieving thanks. He is touched, really, despite the fear of discovery, of vulnerability quivering in his heart. Jason is a good guy and it feels good to have someone who cares. But... the maybe-not-a-lie sits on the couch beside him. A story he could never hope to explain...

Jason smiles, ruffling both of the twin's hairs. He stands to leave. "Take care," he says, almost afterthought. "You're lucky to have each other."

"Jamie" seems to lean, just the tiniest bit closer to Danny at the words. 

Jason leaves and it is just Danny and his duplicate. The half ghost releases a breath, letting some of the tension release. He reaches to reabsorb his double and-

A shaky hand grips his forearm. Danny looks, meeting the blue eyes. The spark is back, just the smallest hint in the posture that something is different. Slowly, the brow wrinkles, becoming something worried.

"What is it?" Danny finds himself saying, as if he expects a real response.

"Have... each other." Again, the words are slow as if just the act of thinking is hard. "Not a lie."

Now Danny's brow is wrinkled. "Not a lie? Are you saying that's true? Or asking if it is?"

"Not a lie." The words repeat. "Jamie not a lie."

Danny's stomach knots. He’s heard his duplicate speak dozens of times, even been surprised by some offered puns. But this…

“Not a lie.” One more repeat, this one faster, surer, almost desperate.

Danny looks up again. “Jamie.” He says the name. He’s spoken to his double before in front of other people, as part of the act. But this… it feels as bizarre as it feels right. “Jamie…. Are you… real?”

For just a second, there is something like hope in the other’s eyes. Then, the brow furrows in great effort. “Yes… No….” One more longer, unsure pause. “Becoming.”

“You’re… becoming real?” The words are breathy. Danny isn’t sure whether they make him feel that same hope, or if he feels sick.

The half ghost looks away, staring down at his lap. He doesn’t know what this is, how this is  happening. A moment of panic stabs. Is he sick or insane? Or… is it a trick? A trap?

Danny reaches with his mind, trying to feel. A parasite infecting him? Another ghost, trying to overshadow. There is a connection, a bundle of a dozen fine threads. It is a link to… something not quite separate. Danny feels the almost presence at the end, the not-quite himself he is speaking with. And… It is like cradling a baby bird. Small, fragile, and so young. No malice, just pure innocence.

The half ghost looks up again. His hand shifts, feeling the cold flesh. His fingers press, the almost flutter of a heart beneath the skin.

The awe from that late night rises, a question echoing in his head. What happens if he lets this  continue? 

He… won’t be alone. Danny remembers that night, crying on his mattress and desperately wanting comfort. And all those times hanging out with Jason. The jokes and banter started as an act to sell the lie. But… weren't they so much more now? Danny had pretended to have a brother and in pretending had imagined one… Now that brother, that twin sat beside him. 

But at the same time… fear spiked. What would happen if he didn’t stop this? Could he even stop this if he wanted to? It feels inevitable, unstoppable. Not if he stays living next to Jason. But… if he tells the truth? Or if he runs, starts again somewhere else. He could reabsorb his duplicate now and let this whole thing fade into memory. Jamie would disappear…

A wave of fear surges from outside himself. Danny meets terrified eyes. Something in him softens, crumples.

“Jamie?” Danny asks again and can almost feel the heart-flutter solidifying. “Do you want to be real?”

There is a pause, the fearful face becoming something narrowed eyes and sure. “Yes.” So much determination. Danny feels the one thread of dozens snap.

“Alright then.” Danny heaves a sigh, deciding. 

He will hold out as long as he can. He will stay duplicated, keep Jamie here until he’s not a duplicate at all. Jamie will be real.

[bobafetts-princess]

Stranger and the Bear Pt1

Summary: A handsome stranger has been warming a stool at the bar you work at. What happens when ghosts from the past make an appearance?

Pairings: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: drinking, a touch of Logan smoking the cigar, abusive relationship mentioned (no abuse shown), I think that’s all for this chapter

A/N: if you saw this on ao3, I’m the same person! I’m deep in a Logan crisis and have been thinking about moving my Logan fics over to tumblr so his resurgence has given me the boost I need!

Part 2 can be found here

“Hey stranger!” You shout to your newest bar customer, tossing a coaster in front of him before turning around and grabbing his usual.

“Hey Bear,” he responds, his deep voice silky and rough at the same time.

“I can’t believe you still call me that,” You laugh, “it’s been like, three months.”

“You mentioned it first, so I ran with it.” He smiles and winks playfully at you, the most lighthearted you’ve ever seen him. The tall and handsome stranger had first come into the bar you work at a few months ago, ordering a whiskey neat and a beer.

You’d given him your name in the hopes that he would give you his in return, but no luck. “My childhood classmates called me care bear though, they claimed I was as sweet and cuddly as a care bear,” you tell him, smiling at the old memory.

“Care bear, huh?” The stranger had said, deep voice rumbling through his chest. “How about just Bear?”

“Ooh! I like that,” you say before asking him what he would like to drink.

The two of you had fell into an easy camaraderie, always some light flirting, at least from your end. You’d never asked his name and he’d never offered. Your stranger was a good looking man, neatly trimmed facial hair and sideburns, usually in a leather jacket and form-fitting jeans. He was the definition of ‘hate to see them leave, love to watch them walk away’ and you looked forward to the one or two days a week he would come in. He was always respectful, drank the same thing, and left a decent tip.

The evening passed in a blur, patrons coming and going but your stranger stayed where he was. You refilled his drinks at the exact moment he was finishing the last, that was your routine. You’d refill his drinks and he would hang out for a few hours. He watched you work, sometimes from behind dark sunglasses, sometimes through hazel green eyes.

“Hey Bear, c’mere.” Your stranger asked, cigar hanging from his mouth. You made your way towards him, thinking about how no matter how much he drank, he seemed perfectly sober. “You from ‘round here?” He asked, no sunglasses today. You could see his pupils were blown and for the first time in two months you wondered whether he was actually buzzed. He smelled like good worn leather and the cigar he was smoking. You had to prevent yourself from closing your eyes when you inhaled his scent.

“Uhh, sorta kinda. Why?” You told him, shocked at the personal question, and also embarrassed.

The truth was that you weren’t from here, you’d moved here to be with an ex-boyfriend and it had ended badly. You’d gotten home from work one night to find the locks had been changed on the apartment as well as his phone number. Come to find out, he’d been sleeping around on you since you started dating and decided he liked his side piece more. So you’d called your boss, Sally, begging for somewhere to stay and she rented you the studio apartment upstairs. You struck up a deal, the apartment for half price as long as you closed the bar down every night.

When your ex’s side-piece decided she didn’t like him as much as she'd originally thought, he’d begun stalking you and things had gone downhill. He tried to get physical with you once but Sally had threatened him with a shotgun and he hadn’t shown his face again. That was ABOUT the same time your stranger had started coming to the bar, and for some reason you felt safer when he was there.

Apparently Sally did too because on nights he showed up, she took off early and let you close down by yourself.

“So I presume you know that guy in the corner over there? He’s been watching you most of the night.” He told you, clamping the cigar between his index and middle finger. You began to turn your body in the direction of the person he was talking about but a warm hand a-top yours stopped you. “Don’t make it obvious, Bear. Don’t want him to know.” His eyes raked down your body as he was speaking, drinking you in. You weren’t wearing anything fancy, fitted jeans and a black cropped tank with the bars logo on it, but the way he was looking at you made goosebumps cover your skin.

Forcing your mind back to the issue at hand, you glance in the corner, keeping your body facing your stranger. When you caught sight of the face in the corner, you paled. It was your ex, and Sally was gone, her shotgun locked in her office.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Your stranger asked, noting your expression, his hand rubbing back and forth across your knuckles. If you hadn’t been worried, you would have blushed at the way his hand held yours and the nickname he called you.

You forced your voice to sound normal when you spoke again. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just ghosts from the past.” You forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes and were surprised to look up and find your strangers face held concern and a touch of tenderness.

“I’m gonna stick around late tonight, Bear. So keep ‘em comin’.” He told you and you felt a bit safer.

You worked the night away, one eye on your next drink ticket and one eye in the corner where your ex sat, unmoving. Your stranger did the same, only he kept one eye on you and one eye on your ex. At ten till close your voice rang out into the emptying bar, “last call!” The few that were still hanging out left not too long after, leaving you, your stranger, and your ex in the bar. You chose not to acknowledge that you knew it was him, hoping that the dark shadows of the bar would convince him that you didn’t notice who he was. After a few tense moments he stood, heading towards the front door so you turned to your stranger.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, Bear.” He said, the sultry tones of his voice soothing you. You took a glance at his retreating back before turning around and starting your wipe down of the back bar. A rough hand grabbed your wrist, pulling and making your body spin. It happened so fast that you didn’t get a good look at the face until it was the only thing in your line of sight. It was your ex, which shouldn’t surprise you but somehow it did. Your voice caught in your throat and you couldn’t attempt to shout for help from your stranger, your fear paralyzing you.

“I thought your miserable ass left this fucking town.” He snarled in one ear, face pressed against yours.

“You would think that when I left you, you’d have tucked that tail and ran back to mommy and daddy. Why are you still fucking here??” He sneered and you could smell the alcohol on his breath and when he pulled back, your wrist in his hand, you could see that his pupils were blown wide. He was high too, but you didn’t know what on. You didn't know why he was so obsessed with you, it wasn't like you had a great and powerful love. You thought his feelings were just hurt because you didn't take him back. “You stupid. Fucking. Bit-“ But he didn’t get a chance to finish because his body was ripped away from yours. You blinked and saw your stranger standing over him as he lay on the floor where he’d been thrown.

“Attacking a woman while she’s alone?” He snarled, that deep vibrato now a growl. He picked your ex up by the front of his shirt, his strength shocking you. “You piece of shit. Picking on a woman half your size while she’s alone?” He growled, shaking your ex while he was holding him up in the air. “What kind of an asshole gets off on that?” Your legs were shaking so bad that you sunk to the floor, the butt of your jeans wet from the beer and liquor that had been spilled during the course of the evening.

Your ex looked terrified, used to always being the bigger in a fight but he looked like a teenager next to your stranger. His mouth was moving wordlessly, almost like he was trying to make sounds but was too frightened.

“I’m not gonna hurt you tonight, but I swear to god if you come back, I’ll rip you limb from limb. And I’ll be here every night to make sure she stays safe. Get outta here before I change my mind, you piece of shit.” He snarls, dropping your ex unceremoniously on the floor in a heap of fear and embarrassment. He scrambles to his feet, sprinting towards the front door, letting it slam behind him. You see your stranger following behind him to lock the door before your vision starts to swirl with the beginnings of a panic attack.

“In through your nose. Out through your mouth. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.” You repeat over and over to yourself when you feel a large, warm hand on your shoulder and a low gravelly voice speaking in your ear.

“Bear. Bear. Are you alright?” You continue your breathing, adding a small nod to ensure your stranger you were fine.

“I’m gonna pick you up. You live upstairs right?” He asked and in the back of your mind you wondered how he knew that. But thoughts left your mind as strong arms wrapped underneath your legs and behind your back. Your heart rate was slowing, and your panic attack subsiding, so when he asked you which way the stairs were you were able to answer. His strong body carried yours up the stairs and into the studio apartment you resided in, slowing as he crossed the threshold.

“I’m okay to stand. You can put me down.” You told him, but he seemed hesitant and you swore he clutched you even tighter to his body. “Really, Stranger, I’m okay.” You said, smiling up at his kindness.

“Logan.” He whispered as he lowered your legs onto the ground, arm staying around the small of your back until he was sure you were okay on your own two feet.

“What?” You asked, not sure of what he said.

“Logan. My names Logan.” He repeated, fingers digging into the exposed flesh of your hip, biting slightly.

“Okay, Logan. It’s nice to not refer to you as Stranger in my mind.” You giggled. You stepped reluctantly away from his embrace, heading towards your ‘kitchen’. “Would you like a drink, Logan? All I have is beer and water.”

You heard him clear his throat and when you looked at him, he looked like he was warring with himself.

“Uhh, ya, sure Kid. Bear. I’ll have a beer.” He said and for the first time since you’d met him, there was a twinge of uncertainty in his voice. You popped the top on two, handing him one before heading to the small couch you had, a mere 10 feet from your bed. He followed, sitting next to you and doing his best to make sure he wasn’t touching you, but the area was so small that your knees touched anyways.

“So that was my ex. He was stupid enough to try and get physical with me once. Sally threatened him with a shotgun. I didn’t think he would be stupid enough to try it twice.” You tried to explain without going into the entire sordid story.

“I’m going to tear him in half.” He answered, taking a long pull of his beer and you felt ashamed at what the dominance in his voice did to your lady bits.

“I don’t think he’ll be stupid enough to try this again so hopefully I don’t ever have to worry about him again.” You assured your stranger.

“Logan.” You mused aloud, a small smile crossing your face.

“Ya, Bear?” He answered, thinking you were going to ask him a question.

“It’s such a normal name.” You snickered.

“What’s wrong with my name?” He asked, faux defensiveness in his voice at your teasing.

“I’ve wondered for WEEKS what your name was and it’s Logan. It’s so normal. It suits you though. I like it.” You smiled at him, hitching one knee up on the couch and turning your torso towards him.

“I’ll be comin’ by more often and stayin’ until the bar is locked down. Just to make sure that moron doesn’t come back.” He told you, venom in his tone, but in a way that had you suppressing a shiver. You wondered what he sounded like first thing in the morning, his voice filled with sleep. “What’re you thinkin’’ about, Bear?” He asked, almost knowing your thoughts. You flushed, embarrassed to be caught in your thoughts.

“Nothing, just how you manhandled him. I think you humbled him.” You lied through your teeth, hoping he wouldn’t realize you were thinking about HIM manhandling you.

“He’s a lightweight. Pushin’ people around that are smaller than him.” He told you, eyes skimming over you. You heated at his gaze and wondered to yourself how long it had been since you’d gotten laid. When you couldn’t remember immediately you’d decided it had been too long. “People like him always need to be manhandled, otherwise they don’t learn their lessons,” You glanced at his beer, bartender habit, and stood to get him another. Yours was still half full, so you only popped the top off of one and brought it back to him. You felt his eyes glued to your frame as you walked and tried not to let it go to your head.

“You didn’t have to do that.” He told you, even though he took the beer from your hands when you stretched it out to him.

“Thank you Logan. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there. How did you know I lived upstairs though?” You asked, the memory hitting you quick.

“I’ve heard you speak to the woman about rent. Sally? And I’ve stayed after a few times when I come by to make sure you get to your car, and you never come out of the building. The lights go out though.” He told you, unashamedly. You were struck by the kindness of this stranger. He was looking out for you and you hadn't even known. He watched out for you and all you'd ever offered him was a warm smile and a cold beer. Your breath hitched in your throat as you muttered out a small thank you to him, but he simply shrugged and took a long pull.

"I don't know how to thank you." You admitted to him but he waved you off.

"Don't worry about it, kid." He said, finishing his beer. You decided it was better off to just thank him in a different way, probably with free booze. You decided in that moment that this man would never pay for another drink in the bar again, and you felt that Sally would agree. You would speak with her about it first thing in the morning, after you filed a restraining order.

[zevrra]

JJK.3

synopsis: random hc’s for the men of jjk; college/frat boy edition!

tags: 21(+) only, tw for drinking/being drunk, age gap, some aged up characters, modern au, college au, jjk headcanons, all sfw, short & sweet, ask box open, jjk x reader

creator’s notes: i plan to turn all of this into a multi-chapter series so give me some ideas for what the “mc”(reader) should be! or just overall drop some ideas for it in my ask box that would be cool :3

CHOSO—

forensics major with a minor in chemistry and music

only knows gojo, geto, and nanami through volleyball

supports the team solely bc his freshman brother, yuji, plays

is not in the frat but gets invited to every party

also because he's the best dj any of them know

doodles on himself with a pen

has all the piercings

his ears are decked out with mostly studs

has a right eyebrow piercing, bridge, septum, and snake bites

probably has his nipples pierced too (he lost a dare)

hangs out with geto so they can share nail polish when he paints his nails

is the quiet one at parties who's awkwardly sitting on the couch while he sips his drink

once he's drunk he's entirely different, way more open and talkative

would talk your ear off about music if you let him

or the several different ways blood can splatter and how it'll never look the same twice

is a LIGHT WEIGHT!!

sleeper build

is an alt/grunge boy through and through

is a drummer!

TOJI—

is the frat's “overseer” and the volleyball coach

is actually a decent coach but really he just got lucky to have a great team that makes him look better than he is

gets noise complaints all the time about the frat

does not care, he's at the parties too

is a horrible, horrible influence

probably acts more like a bouncer than anything

provides the alcohol

does not let a single soul under 21 in though

is the hot dad every girl wants

sweatpants and tight shirts all day everyday

has beef with gojo

only because gojo ends up damaging the house and getting into wayyy too much trouble

takes everyone out to eat after games, has too many beers, puts the tab solely on gojo and dips

is a very, very handsy drunk

has to be watched at parties when he gets too drunk cause he’ll hit on all the girls

NANAMI—

a business major with a minor in biology, hopes to open his own small time clinic one day

plays on the male volleyball team, is a middle blocker

works out all the time, has a schedule for everything

is known for his "dark academia" style

hates large parties

the only reason he's ever at a party is because he was dragged there by gojo and geto

you can find him in the other room petting the dog

doesn't drink a lot at parties, will maybe have one if he's in the mood

is the rightful dd!!

literally the only voice of reason

always gets you your fav food after parties when he knows you're a little tipsy

would 1,000% rather be home reading

if he ever gets drunk, has to be inside his own home

he's a sleepy, "admits to everything" drunk

you've strictly forbidden gojo from being anywhere near nanami when he's drunk

probably in charge of all snacks for any party

considers gojo a friend but not a friend you’d invite to your wedding

would invite choso to the wedding though

is def saving himself for “the one”

GETO—

double major in psychology & philosophy, has a minor in art(sculpting)

doesn't do any sports but goes to every one of his friend's volleyball games

he and gojo 100% have matching tongue piercings

contacts during the day, wears reading glasses at night

wears nothing but baggy, oversized clothes

def has a streetwear aesthetic

sleeper build 2.0

is an orphan but was adopted into a very well off family

got into college solely on scholarships though

has known, and been best friends, with gojo since childhood

can drink gallos of alcohol and hardly feel tipsy at all like he’s a heavy weight!!

can out drink anyone, even toji

a flirty, flirty drunk

bi king!!!

participated in an orgy once

has the highest body count out of all the men (besides toji ofc)

an instigator especially when it comes to gojo

gojo and him are in charge of inviting people to the parties

also has his nipples pierced but no one knows, not even gojo

covered in tattoos, def has a throat tattoo along with full sleeves and even some on his thighs

him and choso hang out just to paint their nails and drink tea together!!

GOJO—

majors in astrophysics, minors in astromath

plays on the same team as nanami, is a setter/spiker combo

still is addicted t to sweets

has to have sweets to study

is 50% jock and 50% nerd

thinks math and science is so cool

has a matching tongue ring with geto

has a style that screams "old money" (he def came from old money tho)

def think he could pull a “surfer” style off too

a nepo baby too

a horrible influence especially when he’s drunk

“I’ll give you $20 to break this antique vase.”

when he gets drunk-drunk he is just as flirty as geto but is a little more shy

tipsy gojo, talkative, flirty, comedian!! runs all over the place, makes friends easily

absolutely drunk gojo, timid, gets quiet and watches everything and everyone, would 100% tell you in a quiet voice that he loves you before he HIDES

not a light weight at all he just constantly goes over his limit to end up black out drunk

turns bright, bright red as soon as alcohol hits his system

questioning bi!! (experimented with geto once when they were younger)

lost a dare and had to get a horrible tattoo on his ass

the tattoo is squid doodle from spongebob but really badly drawn because a friend def did it

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 4.5 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters contain mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: explicit content: mentions of jerking off and of fingering/cum play

☆word count: 852

☆a/n: please enjoyyyy this one made me v soft

☆join the discord server here!

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Campus is encased in ice, frozen on the spot in a magical way. Jungkook has been admiring it as you walk together, and he wonders where the magic of the moment truly lies. Is it in the ice coating everything, or in your presence next to him?

He pushes the thought away, trying to focus on what you’re saying.

“And then I was sick the whole night,” you say, retelling him a story of the first - and last - time you drank vodka.

He laughs. “You’re not supposed to drink a whole bottle to yourself, you know that?”

You glare at him, your eyes narrowed. “No way,” you let out. “I would have never guessed that.”

He grins at your sass, teasingly nudging you with his elbow. You shriek, almost slipping on a patch of ice, but he’s quick to grab your arm, steadying you. You look up, startled, your eyes going wide as you meet Jungkook’s gaze.

His heart picks up in his chest as blush creeps on your cheeks, and he’s struck thinking you truly are the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. He can hardly believe last night happened - you’re too pure to have partaken in the action that unfolded in your bedroom, like maybe he stained you. And he wouldn’t be surprised if he did. His heart clenches in his chest at the thought, and he lets go of you.

“You okay?” he asks, gulping.

You nod, taking a deep breath as you look away from him. “Yeah. You?”

Jungkook chuckles. “How could I not be, when I’ve got you by my side?”

He immediately cringes at the words, at the truth they hold, and his thoughts slide to Taehyung. What would Taehyung say if he heard what Jungkook said? If he knew the kind of things Jungkook thinks about you?

You roll your eyes, looking up to the sky as if searching for salvation. “You’re annoying, you know that, right?”

“You love it, peach,” Jungkook teases, trying to ignore the way his heart warms in his chest.

It’s been doing that on and off since yesterday, since he kissed you like you were the last two people on Earth. He hates it, hates the roller coasters that it’s been taking him on. It makes him feel vulnerable, and it’s not a feeling he enjoys at all.

Not when it brings back a share of insecurity he thought he’d gotten rid of when he started college.

You make a noncommittal sound, and then lead Jungkook towards the library building, though you both have no intention to go in. Jungkook follows you, listening to you as you start talking about a class you hate - biochemistry? - and he laughs when you tell him how the professor barely speaks English to begin with.

“I have a professor like that in econ too,” he admits. “I’m sure she is incredibly intelligent, but it’s so hard to actually understand what she’s saying that I feel like we’re never talking about the same thing.”

“Right!” you exclaim. “It’s annoying. Like we’re a good college, they could at least make sure the professors speak decent English.”

Jungkook agrees, but he doesn’t say anything. Indeed, his attention is elsewhere. He notices your friend in the distance, the shy one, and his lungs freeze for a second before he grabs your arm, pulling you in the other direction.

“What are you doing?” you let out, sounding slightly offended.

“I’m hungry,” Jungkook states, offering you a lopsided grin that he hopes serves as a good enough distraction. “Want to go home and grab something to eat?”

You frown for a few seconds, looking up at the sky. The clouds have been slowly dispersing, and blue peeks from behind them, revealing that the sun has started its descent towards the horizon.

“You’re always hungry,” you reply, letting out an annoyed huff.

“And what about it?”

You laugh at his words, and Jungkook grins, his heart skipping a beat in his chest yet again.

Taehyung, he reminds himself. 

He desperately needs to get a grip of himself before things get out of hand. Though, he reckons they’ve gotten out of hand already. They’ve gotten out of hand when he jerked off under your watchful gaze yesterday night, fingering you with his cum after. They got out of hand even before that, when he decided to kiss you and pull you on his lap until all the thoughts he’d been trying to ignore since the beginning of the semester last year came forth, screaming in his head until he couldn’t ignore their existence anymore.

He sighs, burying his hands in the pockets of his pants as you walk, if only so that he doesn’t reach to grab your hand. He’s like a kid next to you, like a dumb teenager who’s never seen a girl before. 

He hates it, almost as much as he loves the excitement that it brings. It’s all too confusing, but he figures that, as long as the power outage is still going strong, he can pretend that it doesn’t matter.

Reality is bound to hit again soon anyway.

Read chapter four here!

☆☆☆☆☆

hope you guys enjoyeddd!! jungkook is such a mess lmao :') let me know what you think!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[fourorchid]

“Obedient Thing”

— Chapter 4 —

Description: The monotony of your day to day life as a lab assistant is suddenly interrupted upon meeting Viktor, a researcher at the academy, who has a gaze that pulls you apart and knows exactly how to piece you back together. His voice, his actions—they’re dizzying, frustrating—but madly addictive. Curiosity and happenstance seem to render you incapable of avoiding him as you come to terms with the newfound feelings he’s unintentionally (or maybe intentionally) stirred within you.

Chapter Index:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 (here)

— Viktor x fem!Reader | ~3.0k—

Content Warning: masturbation (fem!reader)

**If you are not 18+, please do not interact**

Disclaimer: Chapter four is out! I wasn’t sure how I felt about this chapter when I started but it grew on me hehe. And the next part is already in the works so stay tuned! As always, I appreciate any comments or feedback, Enjoy ~

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After the first instance of agreeing to work alongside Viktor, Jayce took it upon himself to send you off to Viktor whenever he felt necessary. His reasoning for doing so being a.) his research and Viktor’s research are of the same specialty and had a decent amount of overlap, b.) he knew Viktor had a tendency to overwork himself while also being resistant to asking for help, and c.) he loved to stir the pot. And this way you couldn’t get mad at him because the ball was technically in your court. No misleading or meddling here, just an opportunity and your choice to take it. Thankfully, it’s been a very rare occurrence as you both already have a lot on your own plate; but Jayce was still smug about it.

Meanwhile, you find the pull you wish you were strong enough to refuse becoming more tangible. Like there was an actual tether connecting you to Viktor—and it was only getting shorter. You just couldn’t get him out of your head. But then, the few times you found yourself in his presence, you were borderline incredulous. You couldn’t help it nor could you make any sense of it. You were hopeless.

As you pack up your belongings and wave goodbye to Jayce after a long Friday of test trials and data recording, you notice how hungry you are. Feeling particularly accomplished with the work you did this week, you decide to treat yourself to dinner at your favorite bistro in town.

Usually, you would order it to go but you figured it might be good to dine in today. Because sometimes you just need to take yourself out to dinner. Definitely not because you recently found out that Viktor also frequents this restaurant—of course not. Just some self-care in the form of french onion soup and a hot sandwich in nice dining ambience. Obviously.

You walk through the brisk evening air towards the restaurant with your mouth watering at the thought of the meal. As you enter, the cozy atmosphere wraps around you like a blanket, soothing the chill on your skin from outside. Thankfully, it’s not too busy despite it being a Friday evening and you are able to find a small empty table in the corner of the restaurant. You browse the menu, pretending you might try something new before settling on your usual paired with a glass of white wine. While you wait for your order to arrive, an equation from today’s testing was still nagging at your conscious. You move to take out your laptop to look over it again in the meantime when, suddenly, a familiar voice floats over the clatter of the restaurant.

“Hello, Miss y/n.” His demeanor is calm as he speaks. “May I?” Viktor asks to join you. As you look up at him to respond, you notice his eyes are almost mesmerizing in the dim, warm lighting of the restaurant.

You haven’t seen Viktor in a few weeks now and you naively assumed the break would help you be less affected by his sudden appearance—you were mistaken.

“Um, sure.” You nod, pausing after you speak. Viktor lowers himself into the seat across from you. “So are you following me around now?” You quip in feigned suspicion.

“No, not stalking—simply happenstance.” His tone is lighthearted as he leans his cane against the edge of the table. “Fate, perhaps.” He adds matter-a-factly. Something about his demeanor seems slightly more playful outside of the academy building.

“Right.” You let out a small unamused laugh at the notion.

You notice the waitress approaching your table as Viktor turns to provide his order. As he talks, you note how his side profile is especially sharp. You count the moles that are dotted across his face in such a delicate and almost precise way, a few more lead down his neck meeting his collar. Seemingly random, but such a perfect addition to his complexion that you start to believe every act in his creation must’ve been intentional by nature itself. And the way his voice resonated as he spoke was so deep and rich, alluring in a way that makes one too entranced to do anything besides listen. After a moment, the waitress whisks herself back to the kitchen and Viktor returns his attention to the conversation. You do your best to hide the fact that you had been blatantly staring.

“So—a skeptic, hm?” Viktor tsks. He looks at you giving way to that all-too-familiar inspecting gaze of his. “You don’t believe in fate then, Miss y/n?” He adds, amused.

“I don’t have enough evidence to come to a conclusion.” You explain flatly.

He raises an eyebrow at your response, clearly intrigued. "That is fair. I suppose nothing is really certain until you can prove it empirically, hm?" He leans back in his chair, his gaze stays on you as he continues. “Are you this analytical in all aspects of your life?” Viktor wears a nearly imperceptible grin as he points out your deflection.

You are caught off guard by Viktor’s ability to—once again—see right through you. “No, I just enjoy opposing you.” Your tone is sarcastic and almost childish as you respond.

“Do not threaten me with a good time, Miss y/n.” Despite his joking demeanor, his words have an edge that makes your stomach flip and your face become warmer. He gives you a knowing look.

After a pause, you cut through the tension as you begin to speak. “Why do you look at me like that?”

“And how is it that I look at you?” Viktor replies, unaware.

“Like you’ve got me all figured out.” You roll your eyes, acting as though frustration was to blame for your cheeks reddening.

“Well, that is because it’s not very difficult to decipher what you feel judging by how you look at me.” He speaks in a controlled manner, pretending to be indifferent to the fact that you are hanging on to his every word.

Intuition tells you it’s a trap. But it is a trap that is so incredibly tempting to fall into.

“And how do I look at you?” You take the bait.

Viktor breathes out a short hum before answering. "With curiosity—but there is something else there. Something deeper.” He pauses before deciding what word to choose.

“You look at me with a kind of...hunger."

His gaze becomes more intense as his words hang in the air between you. He leans forward on the table, his voice dropping to a low, rough cadence.

"It is okay to have an appetite, you know."

Before you can attempt to answer, the waitress returns with your orders in tow. The interruption is a welcome one, giving you a moment to compose yourself as the food is placed on the table.

Viktor pulls back a few inches, a small smirk forming on his face.

"It appears that fate is giving us a breather." He looks at you.

“It seems so.” You say, more tense than before.

The waitress leaves you both to your meal and you find yourself wishing she would come back, wanting any distraction that could act as a buffer between yourself and the man sat across from you.

You take a second to regroup, deciding to focus on the food in front of you instead. You want to deny Viktor’s observation but you are at a loss. As you both begin to eat, the clattering utensils and soft chatter of the restaurant around you fills the break in conversation. You find yourself staring mostly at your plate as you feel Viktor’s eyes trained on you. Observing. Calculating. You try to give him nothing to work with but as you are starting to gather, he is rather adept at reading between the lines. His voice drags your attention up from your meal as he speaks.

“You are awfully quiet, Miss y/n.” He notes.

You swallow as you take your napkin to your lips before speaking. “Would you prefer I talk with my mouth full?” You snip back.

Viktor nods. “A fair point.” He takes a second, looking up as he thinks before continuing his answer.

“I suppose I would rather your mouth be used differently, yes.”

His expression darkens ever so slightly as the words fall from his lips; coated in filthy insinuation but spoken so casually—almost unassuming if you weren’t paying attention. Every nerve in your body catches fire at his response. You clear your throat, hoping to collect yourself before you speak.

“You know—I don’t think I’m the only one with an appetite.” You mock Viktor’s choice word from earlier through clenched teeth. You try to pivot the spotlight onto him but the attempt was shaky at best.

He quirks an eyebrow at your statement. He sets his fork down to clasp his hands in front of himself on the table as though he were about to negotiate a deal.

"I never said you were." He concedes.

You take a sip from your wine glass, the dryness coats your throat as Viktor continues.

“Though, I am not sure you can keep up with mine." He purrs the taunt in a low rumble. You choke a bit at the implication.

“You seem to have a habit of assuming things about me.” Your tone is biting and sharp as you respond. You take another spoonful of your food to distract yourself from the feelings swirling in your stomach.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying this back-and-forth you two are having.

"Well, to my credit, I think I have hit the mark a few times."

His gaze locks on yours as he continues.

"But by all means—let's prove me wrong then."

His voice drops, his tone taking on a sinful quality.

Your confidence wavers at the challenge. Viktor is rather forward but the words he chooses leave too much—or perhaps too little—to the imagination. It’s arousing and frustrating all at the same time. You don’t back down, but your heart thumps in your ears as you counter.

“And how do you suppose we do that?” You hold eye contact as you provoke Viktor into actually admitting what he’s implying. To your surprise—he does exactly that.

“Simple.” He begins, leaning forward. His voice is barely above a whisper, sending a chill down your spine.

“I’d take you right here, on this table.”

He leans back, his eyes never leaving yours. His disposition is cool and composed despite the fever of his answer. You try not to let Viktor’s words have power over you but it’s too late. Heat concentrates in your abdomen at the explicit image he had painted. You glance around the restaurant, suddenly reminded of the public setting you were in.

“Oh really? In front of everyone here?” You choke out a half-baked objection, finding the notion entirely absurd.

His gaze is fixed on you as he listens, unfazed.

"You are right, that would be quite the public display." He admits. His eyes trace over the features of your face, ending on your lips before returning to meet your stare.

"But it still made you feel a certain way, did it not?" Viktor points out, saying what you had left unspoken.

Your body betrays you in its response, the muscles in your thighs flexing unconsciously, your breath hitching almost imperceptibly. His words swim through your head. He’s absolutely shameless, you think. A scoff flies from your throat as you shake your head in disbelief, trying to ignore the warmth spreading over every inch of your skin.

But Viktor catches it all, every micro-reaction, both conscious and subconscious. He takes your silence as your answer.

“Oh? tapping out already?” He taunts, his tone mocking concern. A soft smile perches on his face, in direct contrast to the lascivious things coming from his mouth.

You feel yourself reach a boiling point. “And, pray tell, what makes you so sure you can deliver? You spit out, your voice tight as you question Viktor’s abilities in a pitiful attempt to punch up.

A low chuckle escapes him, his confidence unshaken by your challenge. He leans forward a fraction more, the space between you becoming increasingly intimate.

"I do not make promises I can't keep, Miss y/n." He responds simply, his gaze never wavering from yours.

You aren’t sure if it’s the sirenesque nature of his voice or the sincerity held in his stare, but his statement rings entirely genuine to you—even in the heat of the current moment. You’re not sure if this quells the sensation pooling in your gut or feeds it.

Then, as if reprieve granted by the universe itself, the waitress returns to ask if you both had finished your meal. Suddenly, you remember that oxygen exists and that you should probably breathe some of it.

“Yes, thank you.” You move to fetch your wallet but Viktor beats you to it. Before you can object she flits away with his card to get the bill.

“I can pay for my own meal.” You say weakly. Your mind has reached its threshold for clever banter. And it’s not like Viktor seemed to follow typical social convention when he was talking to you either.

“I know you can.” Viktor replies, stern but theres a softness in it as he smiles gently. Like he was appreciating your determination in defying him but also not denying your autonomy. It had you entirely disarmed.

“I don’t intend on being indebted to you.” You hiss, the words come out as a slight insult to Viktor’s character—something you didn’t really believe but couldn’t help yourself from saying.

“I do not do debts, Miss y/n.” Viktor replies simply, his voice steady and firm. And you know it’s true. But at this point, you were so drunk off him, you might fall for anything.

You nod, accepting his answer without argument. Once the bill with Viktor’s card returned, you both stand up and begin pulling your coats on to leave. Viktor finishes himself and moves to help you, holding the coat open behind you as you push your arms through the sleeves. You don’t even object. The proximity has you so warm now, you find you might need to actually take the coat off instead. The smell of his cologne fills your senses, it’s clean but distinctly masculine. Before pulling away, he leans over your shoulder, his breath tickles your cheek as he speaks in a low, almost whisper.

“If you are still hungry, Miss y/n, you know where to find me.”

To punctuate his point, his hand grazes your waist with intention before pulling away. You shiver at his words and barely-there touch. Your entire being thrums with need like you’ve never known.

You both leave the restaurant, heading your separate ways. The friction from your legs as they rub together while you walk is torturous, even for the short distance it takes to get back to your apartment. You can feel how worked up he had gotten you from just his words alone.

You don’t know much about Viktor, but what you have learned so far are two things.

One, control comes naturally to him. It’s not a matter of force—it’s innate, effortless. A calm, calculated sort of power. Intimidating—teasing, even—but not unkind.

And two, you are in denial. The way it made you feel was exhilarating in the most unexpected but impossible-to-ignore way. So much so that you’ve been pushing back on it with all your might out of discomfort, possibly fear as well.

There was a point in your life up to now where you believed if you didn’t call something by name, it had no real power. A ridiculous notion—but it had gotten you this far.

But feelings—feelings like those you were experiencing right now—were real, named or not. Spoken or not. Understood or not. And what you felt was something that threatened to be acted upon or else it would become maddening.

And with each passing second, you start to care less about it making sense.

You close the door to your apartment behind you. Immediately, you take yourself to your bed, not even shedding your clothes to lay down as you reached lower beneath the hem of your skirt. With no abandon, you begin to satiate the burning inside of you.

Your fingers reach to the heat already pooled there, coating yourself in the evidence of what he could do to you. Your fingers trace the sensitive spot that sends a bolt of unrestrained pleasure through you. You repeat the motion, moving faster. You feel yourself get close already, but you pull back. You want to draw it out—like he would.

After a moment, you grow impatient, and you lead your hand to your entrance. You feel yourself buzzing with a new kind of need, plunging one finger in to start, then another. You draw them in out slowly at first, taking the time to savor the idea. But you crave more as the hunger inside you screams his name. You even let the word slip past your lips while you tremble in a desperate and pitiful attempt to feel the real thing as your fingers reach as deep as they can go. They move hard and fast in and out of you, almost as if you weren’t in control of it. You are so close—so close, the pace you keep yourself to is unbearable, overstimulating; but nowhere near enough. You whine and writhe as you keep yourself on the edge.

Eventually, you can’t take it anymore. The coil he had helped build inside you suddenly snaps of your own doing. You shake violently as your release ripples through you in hot, heavy waves. As small whimpers and moans escape you, his voice, his actions, that knowing gaze—they are all seared into your memory. And you have found yourself in complete and utter surrender.

What else was there to do besides submit?

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[daryltwdixon]

The Ruins of Us: Chapter 1

Summary: You’re deep in the woods, hungry and focused on survival, when a familiar face from your past appears, gruff as ever, crossbow in hand. After an uneasy reunion, he lets you follow him back to his camp. Memories of shared moments—summer days by the lake and clumsy hunting lessons—surface as you fall into step behind him, feeling a hint of the ease you once had. 

Notes: If you're rereading, you might notice some changes in the passages, dialogue, etc. I was posting my first draft and have learned a lot since then! So now I'm just going back and editing where I see fit :) enjoy!!

There is nothing quite like the feeling of true hunger.

Your stomach growls, a phantom hand clutching at your abdomen—tight, unrelenting, painful. The sound has become a companion, familiar and unwelcome, a constant reminder of how long it has been since you last ate. But it does nothing to distract you from the snare you are tying together.

Soon. You’ll catch something soon.

God, it has been years since you last wondered where your next meal would come from. The feeling isn’t entirely foreign, not with your upbringing. You’ve learned to survive from what feels like the moment you were born. If only you’ve thought to grab actual necessities when you left your apartment the day the world ended. But no. You haven’t imagined you’d end up here—deep in the Georgia woods, sweating through the heat, living off stolen canned food and whatever rodents you can catch in these flimsy little traps.

Maybe by now, you should have found a group.

Family is gone. Probably dead, knowing your drunk mother. You hadn’t seen anyone that day—just ran. Bolted when you got caught in the endless traffic on I-85. You tried to go home. You really did. To see if anyone is alive. To see if…

But the bombings in the city, the dead flooding the streets--it had made the decision for you.

So here you are. Alone. Weeks later, still in the woods, still starving, still setting snares in the hopes of a half-decent meal.

A sharp snap of a twig makes your head jerk up, thoughts scattering. Your fingers tighten on the makeshift trap as you scan the trees, heart thudding. Then, movement. A flicker of tan through the brush. Relief eases through your shoulders when you spot the slender legs, the delicate hooves stepping cautiously into view. A deer. You sigh quietly. It is a comfort to see something alive, something that isn’t rotting and snarling its way toward you. But frustration coils in your gut just as fast—you wish you could hunt the damn thing.

The only weapon you have is a shitty kitchen knife, stolen from some long-abandoned house a few days back. That same night, you’d found a can of corn kernels in the kitchen and, in your excitement, sliced your palm open trying to pry it open. The wound still throbs beneath its bandage, a strip of fabric torn from your own shirt. God knows how long it has been since that has been cleaned. You stare at the deer, your stomach twisting in hunger. What you wouldn’t give for a gun right now. But even if you had one, it wouldn’t do you much good. You are alone. And the sound of a shot would carry through the valley, bouncing off the ridges, calling the dead straight to you.

You turn back to your snare, cursing when the shoelace you're using snaps apart in your hands. So much for roasted rabbit. Then—another sound. Not a twig snapping this time. Something else. A low, guttural snarl. Your head snaps up, and you aren’t the only one. The deer freezes, ears pinned forward, tail stiff. From the left, stumbling into the clearing, comes the thing you’ve been dreading. A corpse. It moves with jerky, uneven steps, tripping over its own feet. You barely spare it a glance before turning back to the deer.

Go, you will it. Go, before it’s too late.

But the deer doesn’t move. It stands frozen, locked in place, staring down the dead thing inching closer and closer. Your fists clench. If you stay hidden, the dead man won’t notice you. The deer, though? It won’t last long. If you scare it off, you’ll reveal yourself. If you wait, you’ll watch the deer get torn apart.

You make up your mind in an instant.

Lunging to your feet, you raise the knife, charging toward the corpse just as something slices through the air—Something fast and sharp. It grazes your cheek as you stumble sideways, the deer bolting at last, crashing into the trees. The dead man hits the ground, unmoving, an arrow buried in the side of its head.

“Goddammit!”

A rough voice cuts through the woods, and your breath hitches.

You scramble back onto your palms, heart pounding, watching as a man steps out of the trees with a crossbow in hand.

“I’ve been trackin’ that damn deer fer miles,” he snaps, “what’ja do that for?”

His arm swings wide in exasperation, crossbow and all, and you barely breathe as he stalks forward.

You recognize him.

The light brown hair, the gravel in his voice, the way he yanks his arrow free from the corpse’s skull and slides it back into place with sharp, practiced movements.

Your lungs forget how to work.

He turns, crossbow lifting—right at you.

For a moment, you stare down the weapon, the bolt aimed straight for your eyes. But then, he hesitates. The crossbow lowers slightly. His face, now fully visible, twists in confusion.

Daryl Dixon is staring you down in the clearing.

“What the—” he starts.

“I—I—” The words stutter out, breathless, useless.

His blue eyes lock onto you, scanning you up and down. Then, in two steps, he is in front of you, grabbing your arm and hauling you to your feet.

The second you are steady, he lets go and takes a sharp step back, eyes still narrowed, still searching.

“Y/N?”

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x flashback x

“Daryl, what the hell!” you exclaimed, your voice high with laughter as he pulled up to your house, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. He was leaning lazily out of the driver’s side window, arm slung over the door, sitting in the kind of junked-up old truck that looked like it might fall apart if it hit a pothole too hard.

“C’mon,” he waved you over, eyes glinting with mischief. “Merle’s finally outta the house, and we can go out to the lake.” He reached behind the seat, fishing for something, before shaking a bottle of vodka out the window like it was a winning lottery ticket. “And I got the goods.”

You didn’t hesitate. You were already running up to the rusted-out truck, hands gripping the open passenger-side window as you leaned in, squinting at the interior. The ceiling fabric was torn, cigarette burns dotted the upholstery, and the floor was littered with crumpled wrappers and old butts. You glanced at him, unimpressed, but he was still grinning like an idiot.

“Where the hell did you get this?” you asked, giving the dashboard a dubious once-over.

“Merle left it at the house after he took it off some guy yesterday,” he said, completely unfazed. “Get in.” He reached over and popped the passenger door open for you.

You slid in without a second thought, the warm leather sticking to your thighs as you pulled the door shut behind you. Before you even settled in, Daryl threw the truck into reverse, peeling away from the curb with a reckless smirk. But you just laughed, gripping the door as the wind rushed through the open windows, carrying your laughter into the thick, humid air. The streets of Atlanta blurred past, the city glowing in the late afternoon sun.

When you arrived, Daryl pulled up to a dirt patch near the lake, the tires crunching over gravel. The place was empty—no one else dumb enough to be out here in the sweltering heat. You hopped out, the bottle of Tito’s in one hand as you made your way toward the water, your feet kicking up dust. Daryl was right behind you, cigarette pack in one hand, lighter in the other. Without hesitation, you unscrewed the cap and took a swig straight from the bottle, relishing the sharp burn before passing it to him. Just as he took it, tipping it back to his lips, you started peeling off your shirt, then shimmied out of your worn jean shorts. You caught the way his eyes flicked to you over the bottle’s rim, how his lips pursed slightly around the vodka as he swallowed. But you didn’t linger on it—you were already wading into the water, the cool relief washing over your sunburnt skin.

For a second, you thought he might stay on shore, but then you heard the shuffle of fabric behind you. A glance over your shoulder told you he was stripping down to his boxers, shaking his head before following you in. The lake water swirled around you as he stepped in, and before long, the two of you were lost in it—swimming, splashing, passing the bottle back and forth between cigarettes. The hours melted away in the haze of laughter and sun-warmed skin, the alcohol sinking into your limbs like a slow burn, leaving everything feeling weightless.

Eventually, you both drifted back toward the shore, sprawling out in the dirt with your clothes balled up beneath your heads as makeshift pillows. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, painting golden streaks across the water, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything was still.

“Working on college applications?” you asked lazily, arm draped over your forehead to shield your eyes from the glare.

“Pfft.” Daryl scoffed, voice thick with dismissal. “Yeah, right. Merle’d never let me hear the end of that one.”

You turned your head slightly, looking at him. His profile was sharp against the backdrop of trees, jawline taut, the scruff just starting to shadow his chin. Something about him seemed different—rougher, older. It was crazy, really, how you had known him since you were kids, watched each other grow up through scraped knees and fistfights, and now… now you were barely eighteen, on the edge of something bigger, something neither of you really understood.

A long silence settled between you, thick and heavy, until he spoke again, voice quieter this time. “We should just get outta here.” His gaze stayed fixed upward, serious in a way that made your stomach tighten. He took another slow drag of his cigarette, then exhaled, turning to look at you, his eyes searching yours for something unspoken.

You shifted onto your side, propping your head up with one hand, trying to keep your tone light even as curiosity stirred in your chest. “Where would we go?”

He shrugged, a little self-conscious now, like he was embarrassed for even saying it out loud. “Dunno. California… New York. Anywhere but this shit hole.” There was a quiet wistfulness in his voice, a rare crack in the armor, like he was daring himself to picture something beyond the life he had always known.

You smirked, rolling onto your stomach, your arm brushing against his. “But wouldn’t you miss dear old bro?”

Daryl gave you a sideways glance, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Merle’d barely know I was gone.”

“Now we both know that’s not true.” You poked his arm, teasing, but there was a flicker of something deeper beneath your words. No matter how much shit Daryl talked about his brother, you both knew Merle’s grip on him was stronger than he let on.

Daryl rolled his eyes, flicking your arm in return. “You’re dumb,” he muttered, but there was something unreadable in his gaze, something quiet and lingering.

You grinned, nudging him playfully. “But you love me.”

In that moment, you weren’t sure what to call the shift in the air. Looking back, it made all the sense in the world, but then and there…you couldn’t put your finger on it. 

The way his expression flickered—just a brief hesitation, a beat too long where his eyes held onto yours, the space between you shrinking even though neither of you moved. Your smirk faded slightly as you got caught in that moment, in the way the air seemed to change, charged with something . Your heart kicked up, and you didn’t know if it was the vodka or the way his skin just barely brushed yours in the dirt, but suddenly, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you, stretched out by the lake, the sun casting golden light through the trees, your skin warm where it touched his.

The moment lingered, thick and electric, before the shrill buzz of your phone shattered it entirely.

You blinked, reality crashing in as you fumbled for your phone, flipping it over in your palm. The screen lit up—ten missed calls from your boyfriend.

“Shit,” you muttered, the glow of the screen casting blue light against your face.

“Jesus, Y/N, what does the prick want now?” Daryl muttered, but you were already pushing yourself upright, scrambling for your clothes.

“I gotta go.” The words felt heavy, like you didn’t quite want to say them, but you said them anyway. A pang of guilt settled in your chest as you pulled your shirt over your head, barely able to meet Daryl’s eyes.

There was disappointment there, even if he tried to hide it. He leaned back, perfecting that indifferent expression he’d mastered over the years, but you could feel it in the way he exhaled slowly, his fingers twisting the cigarette between them like he wanted to say something but wouldn’t.

He didn’t say a word as you hurried back to the truck, but you could feel the weight of his gaze, a quiet understanding passing between you, something neither of you knew how to put into words.

----------------------------------------------------------

x flash forward x

“I left GSU when everything went to shit,” you reply, brushing off your jeans and glancing up at Daryl. “Been out here for weeks.”

He doesn’t react at first, just shifts his weight and chews the inside of his lip, eyes flicking past you toward the trees. You tilt your head, watching him closely. There’s something off about him, his rigid posture, the way he shifts uneasily without looking at you. You take a small step closer.

“What about you? How’d you end up alone out here?”

“I ain’t alone,” he mutters, adjusting the rope of squirrels draped over his shoulder.

You pause, meeting his eyes. His face is unreadable, but something in his voice makes your stomach twist.

“…Merle?”

He nods, and you exhale, the tension in your chest loosening just slightly. Merle’s an asshole—an especially stupid one. But you know how much he means to Daryl, and in some backwards way, how much he means to you too. Growing up with Merle was like growing up with a dog that had been kicked too many times—never quite sure whether to bite or nuzzle you, whether to bark out a laugh or bare his teeth. He was rough around the edges, mean to anyone who didn’t know him better, but he had never let anything happen to Daryl, and by extension, nothing had ever happened to you either. 

“Where are you guys camped out?” you ask, scanning the tree line, suddenly hyper aware of how exposed you both are out here.

“Couple miles from here,” Daryl says, still not quite looking at you.

The quiet between you stretches long. There’s something about the way he’s speaking—clipped, restrained, like he’s only giving you the bare minimum. It’s strange. You and Daryl were never like this. He was never much for talking, but things had always been easy between you, comfortable. At least for most of your lives. But now, after all this time apart, after everything… there's something different. A weight in his shoulders, an edge to his voice, like he’s carrying something heavy and doesn’t want to set it down just yet.

Even though your school wasn’t far, it had been ages since you’d seen him. Not since… well, it didn’t matter now. Whatever happened back then was nothing compared to what had happened in the weeks since the world ended. And honestly? You were just glad to see him, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the apocalypse of all things might be enough for both of you to move past it.

“Do you…” you start, studying the lines of his face, the way his expression twitches slightly before settling into something unreadable. “Can I come with you? What’s up?”

He exhales, shaking his head before finally meeting your eyes. There’s something reluctant there, like he was already expecting this conversation. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course you can. C’mon,” he mutters, turning on his heel and walking off, giving the dead man a rough kick as he passes.

It’s a long, quiet walk back, and you trail behind him, your head buzzing with questions. Where was he when things first went bad? Had Merle been with him the whole time? And where the hell was his pop? The thought makes your chest tighten. You don’t ask, don’t even want to bring it up, but you hope to god the old man isn’t waiting at their camp. Daryl’s dad had always been mean, always angry, always looking for a reason to take it out on his boys—and sometimes, even on you. His mom hadn’t been any better, drinking herself into oblivion before dying in a fire years ago. It wasn’t like you didn’t know what it was like growing up with a parent who’d rather drown in a bottle than raise their kid, but Daryl… Daryl had always gotten the worst of it.

He stops so abruptly that you nearly crash into his back, stumbling slightly before catching yourself. The squirrels draped over his shoulder brush against your arm, and you recoil instinctively. He glances back at you with an amused smirk, then jerks his head forward.

There, standing motionless in the distance, is the deer from earlier.

You freeze, heart pounding as you watch the elegant, long-legged creature step cautiously through the clearing. Daryl’s already raising his crossbow, moving with the quiet, practiced steps of a tracker. You reach for your knife, feeling his eyes flick toward you at the movement.

“It was the only thing I could grab,” you whisper, lifting the dull kitchen knife slightly in a sheepish shrug. His lips twitch, barely holding back a grin.

Shaking his head, he turns his attention back to the deer, positioning himself carefully, muscles flexing as he grips the crossbow. You watch him, watch the way he moves—focused, steady.

He’d tried teaching you how to track once, back when life was simpler. You’d been clumsy at first, stepping too loudly, scaring off the smallest of animals, but you learned quick, picking up his tricks until you could match his silence. Even now, you instinctively follow his lead, moving carefully, keeping your breaths shallow as you inch forward in tandem.

Daryl’s eyes never leave the deer. Yours don’t leave him.

You don’t know when it happened—when he stopped being just a boy you knew and became this. This version of him, hardened and sharp-edged, more sure of himself than you’d ever been. He’s always been strong, always been capable, but this… this is different.

He exhales slow and steady, lining up the shot, his arms flexing as he draws back the bolt. Then—he releases.

The arrow flies, sinking deep into the deer’s hindquarters. The animal jolts, letting out a sharp, pained cry before stumbling forward and taking off into the trees. Daryl doesn’t hesitate—he motions for you to follow as he moves, quick and quiet, stepping over branches and loose dirt with that practiced ease of a hunter.

You do your best to keep up, but the heat, the exhaustion, the ache in your limbs from weeks of running on empty all start pressing in. Your breath is heavy as you weave through the trees, pushing forward, willing yourself not to fall behind.

But then there’s a scream. High-pitched. Frantic. Almost like a child’s voice.

Your steps falter, stomach twisting as the sound echoes through the trees. You glance at Daryl, but he’s already picking up the pace, muscles tense, crossbow gripped tight in his hands. You push yourself faster, heart hammering.

Eventually the screaming stops, but there are voices now. Many of them.

Muffled at first, scattered through the trees. Then clearer—closer. People moving, talking, shifting in the underbrush. Not frantic, not desperate. Steady. Familiar with each other. A group.

Daryl slows just enough to glance back at you, something hesitant flickering in his eyes. It’s close to caution—but there’s something else, something closer to reluctance. Like he knows what’s waiting up ahead, and he doesn’t want you to see it.

And then, as he pushes past the last of the branches, you emerge into the clearing—into the middle of the voices, the movement, the people.

Chapter 2 is here