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moody-alcoholic · 3 days ago

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This Is Going To Hurt

Part 2 - There's Pleasure In Pain

Summary: Poly141 x reader, established relationship, medic reader, kidnapped reader, mini fic.

CW: Dead dove don’t eat, mentions of torture, suicidal thoughts, childbirth, blood, medical stuff, medical inaccuracies.

AN: Yes I know about the show 'this is going to hurt' I haven't seen it but from what I do know it's good so check it out. Also as an aspiring midwife this was so fun to write.

Part 1 - next

Enjoy <3

You don't know how long it’s been.

Hours? A day?

More people have questioned you, with new questions.

‘Where was the convoy heading?’

‘Who give you the intel.’

‘What are the Americans up to?’

Some of the questions you don’t even know the answers to. Makes it all the more easier to ignore them. It feels relentless, like it’s never going to stop. Death would be easier.

You remember one of the first things you were told in training, a dead medic is no use to anyone. You remember once during a training exercise you ignored Price’s order to fall back, instead you ran into the field to pull someone out.

It was the angriest you’d seen Price get. He screamed at you in front of everyone, chewed you out with the entire platoon watching. That was the night he told you he loved you, they all did. You’d never seen them get so emotional before, especially over a training exercise.

‘You’re not allowed to put yourself in danger like we do. You need to keep us alive, and we’ll keep you alive.’ You remember John saying that, the way he apologised for screaming at you even though he was in the right. The sex that night was amazing.

It makes you smile thinking about them. You’ve been thinking about them alot when you’re not being tortured. You have to assume they’re not coming for you, that's what you were taught. If you’re ever captured; don’t talk, don’t trade, don’t let them break you. Not that you have a choice over the last part, it’s all a test of willpower.

You wonder how long it will be before they break you. You can handle the waterboarding to some extent, these people are evil though, terrorists, the worst of the worst. They don’t care about human rights, they’re not answering to any UN or even their own countries' laws. These people could do whatever they wanted to you and there is nothing you can do.

You secretly hope they’re coming for you, you’d like to imagine Simon and John tearing up buildings to find you, breaking the rules and hunting down every last person who laid a finger on you. They’re soldiers though, they have orders to follow, other people’s lives are at stake not just yours.

You’re a liability now. They have no way of knowing what’s happening to you, if you’ve talked or where you are. You hope they know deep down you’ll keep your mouth shut. You’ll keep them safe, even if it is from a distance.

The door to your room opens and you stand. A man walks in and grips your arm tight. You’ve stopped struggling, there’s no point. He walks you past the room you’re usually taken to, it makes your stomach drop. Somethings wrong, something’s changed. Maybe this is it and they’re going to kill you.

You hear a woman scream, you dig your heels into the ground. The man says something in Arabic then continues to drag you along. This is bad, there is no way this ends well. You can still hear the woman screaming. Maybe they have someone else they’re torturing. He stops you outside a door and knocks.

A few seconds later it opens. A man is standing there, he looks young, even with the beard, he’s the only person you’ve seen without his face covered. You hear a woman groan, he moves to the side and you see a woman bent over a table with another woman rubbing her back.

You’re still taking in the scene when the man in front of you says something then pulls you into the room. The door is closed behind you, you look at him confused.

“Do you know how to deliver a baby?” He asks, you recognise the accent. He’s the person who patched up your arm.

“Do I look like I know how to deliver a baby?”

“No, but you’re a woman and a medic.” He says “She’s Khaled's wife. If this baby dies he’ll kill me.”

“Great, he's not going to like it if I kill her.” You scoff. This can’t be happening.

“You’re dead anyway.” He says, it’s like a knife to the heart. Now you want to help even less. The other woman rubbing her back asks something in Arabic.

“She’s been in labor for 13 hours, I think something is wrong, she’s not progressing.” The man asks.

“Then take her to a hospital. I don’t know how to do this, I don’t even know where to start.” You say holding your hands up. The woman screams again and it makes your head ring. You look round the room, there’s a bed and some basic supplies but not much.

The man goes over to a book he has laid out on the bed and brings it over. To your surprise it’s in english.

“This is all I have, I’ve done everything so far.” You scan over the book and turn the page, you see diagrams of anatomy and pictures of a vaginal birth. You try to think of anything you know that could help. You’ve seen documentaries, you’ve learnt some things, you close your eyes for a second pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Okay. Get her on the bed.” You say looking over at her. The man orders the women around, as she moves you see supplies on the table. You go over looking for gloves.

“Do you have anything sterile?” You ask, turning to look at him. He shakes his head.

“My bag, you must have taken it when you kidnapped me. It has sterile supplies in it.”

“We’ve used it already.” He says.

“All of it?” You ask shocked. There were enough supplies in there to last at least a week.

“We needed the supplies.” He says. You sigh pulling on some gloves. What you have will just need to do. You go over to the bed and he follows, the woman's laid back hair is stuck to her face as her friend grips her hand and whispers at her in arabic.

You let the adrenaline calm you, you ground yourself before you sit on the end of the bad. She looks down at you and grits her teeth through the contraction. Shit, you should be counting them right the time between them. You don’t have a watch you start counting in your head.

“Do you know how far apart the contractions are?” You ask. He asks the woman who replies.

“2 minutes sometimes 5 minutes.” He says. That’s good right? Means she might be ready to push soon.

“Has she had a baby before?” You ask.

“This is her 6th.”

“6th?” You turn back to look at him. You’re not sure what to do with that info though, Does that make her more or less of a high risk. At least she probably knows what to do by now, she probably knows more than you.

“Can you ask her to pull her legs up. I need to check internally.” He talks and she nods, her friend helping her get comfortable - well as comfortable as she can be. You’re not sure you’ll be able to tell how dilated she is, it’s more to check if everything feels right. Although, you’re not sure what the vagina of a woman in labor is supposed to feel like.

You smile at her, you have to be confident, she needs to have faith in you. You’re trying to be as gentle as you can, you doubt she’s had any pain relief. You don’t envy her right now, going through labor for 13 hours like this, in this heat, you do feel sorry for her.

“I can feel the head.” You say, it gives you a boost of confidence. “Can you ask her if she’s had any urges to push?”

You look over at her as she nods. You pull your hand out, you look down at blood on your fingers, your stomach sinks.

“Is that bad?” The man asks looking over.

“I don’t think it’s fresh. It could be normal, she is pushing a baby out.” You say taking the gloves off. You walk over to the table to grab a towel and he joins you.

“What should we be worried about?” He asks in a low voice even though you don’t think the women can speak English. We, there's no we, it makes a lump form in your throat.

“Hemorrhage. I’m assuming you don’t have blood.” You say, he shakes his head. So that's a death sentence.

“The cord could wrap around the baby's neck.” He says. That could be happening right now and you have no way of knowing. You turn back to look at her. There’s no way to monitor the baby right now, you have no idea if it’s in distress and that could be why the labor is taking so long.

“If she’s having urges to push, maybe she could try?” You say.

“What if that makes things worse?”

“I don’t know you’re not exactly set up for a cesarean.” You say. He sighs, you can tell he’s nervous. You should be nervous but you think the surge of adrenaline is keeping you going. Besides, what's the worst that could happen to you? They kill you? They’re probably planning on that anyway.

There’s a knock at the door and the man goes over to answer it. You watch him out of the corner of your eye hearing him talk. You look back down at the tools. You pick up another pair of gloves and a towel and go back over to the bed.

You lay the towel out and pull the gloves on as the door closes and he comes back over to you.

“Have you ever done CPR on a baby before?” You ask him. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.

“Only in practice.” You turn looking up at him confused. “I’m a doctor, well I was training to be one.”

“You should be doing this, not me.” You scoff shaking your head

“I wanted to be a neurologist.” He says, you sigh, you don’t care, you’re mad he didn’t tell you.

“Do you have something to clamp the cord with?” You ask looking over at him, he goes over to the table and comes back with an actual clamp. You take it from him and place it on the bed. The woman groans again and you look over at her.

“Tell her we’re going to try pushing, after the next contraction.” You say getting yourself comfortable and moving her legs so they’re apart. You feel awkward all of a sudden, this is definitely not something you thought you would ever be doing, especially not here of all places, as a fucking hostage.

You look down-holyfuckingshit. There’s the head.

“Push, push, tell her to push.” You call as you move your body to get your hands into position. You’re not really sure what you're going to do. Support the head right? Don’t let it fall out of your hands. You’re shaking as she pushes and the head comes out. You see eyes, a nose and mouth.

The lips are slightly blue, it makes you hold your breath.

“Tell her keep going, she’s doing great.” You say. You need her to keep going, you need to get this baby out. As soon as the shoulders are through the rest is easy, it just flops out. You look up at her and smile as you reach over for the clamp.

“I need another clamp.” You say, you place the baby on a towel.

Why is it not crying? It should be crying.

You wipe its face, nose and eyes. Cry dammit, you’ve never wanted to hear a baby cry more than anything.

“Here.” He says handing you another clamp. You turn the baby on its side and start rubbing his back. You’ve seen people do this on TV before.

“Come on, come on baby.” You mumble. When it cries you almost start too. You roll it on its back as its crying rings in your ears. You take the clamp out his hand. He has the scissors too, you nod at him.

The woman is shuffling on the bed, she’s asking something. “She wants to know the sex.” the man asks.

“B-boy. It’s a boy.” The words catch in your throat the adrenaline is wearing off now, you swallow hard you need to keep it together. Your hands shake as you cut the cord. The other woman has moved over to you holding her hands out. You nod, wrapping the baby and handing it to her.

You hear a knock on the door and the doctor leaves you. Or you guess he’s not really a doctor. You look back down between her legs. You’re not sure what to do now, you’ll have to wait for the after birth right?

She’s not bleeding out though, that’s a good thing. You’re taking your gloves off looking over at the woman stroking her baby's head. You let yourself smile, holy shit you just delivered a baby. Johnny would love to hear about that. Your smile fades as you remember where you are.

“They want to take you back.” The doctor says as he comes over to you. You nod looking at the person standing at the door. As you get up the woman calls out for you saying something in Arabic. You look over at the doctor.

“She says thank you. And she hopes you have a safe journey home.” He looks away from you. You turn and smile at her nodding your head.

“Congratulations.” You say and go over to the door.

“Oh by the way.” You say turning back to him. “The placenta, when it comes, make sure it’s complete.”

“How will I know if it’s complete?” He asks.

“Maybe there’ll be something in the book.” You say shrugging. He nods as the man in the door reaches out, gripping your arm and pulling you out.

___

The door to your cell opens. You watch as the doctor comes in carrying a plate of food and a bottle of water. Suddenly your stomach grumbles and your lips smack together as you realise how dry your mouth is.

He sets them down on the slab of concrete you think is supposed to be a bed. You look over on the plate, there’s flatbread and what looks like hummus. You don’t care what it is, you’re so hungry you’ll eat anything.

You look back over at him, if you eat you’re breaking down your defences, gathering your strength just so they can torture you more. You are so hungry though, the weaker you get the more likely you are to give up intel you know you shouldn’t.

“It’s not poisoned or anything.” He says you look over at him, you hadn't even thought about that.

“How’s the baby?”

“Good, they’re both good.” He says leaning against the door.

“Where did you study?” You ask.

“America, Princeton university.” He says.

“Fuck me, and you chose to come here?” You scoff. He doesn’t reply, pressing his lips together.

“You should eat, you might not get another chance. They won’t leave the plate in here.” He says nodding at the food.

“What? I deliver your leader's son and I get some hummus?” You spit at him, you want the food less now.

“Better than letting you starve.” He says. Starvation would be a pretty horrible way to die. You shuffle over to the plate, opening the water bottle first and trying not to drink it down so fast. You can’t help it though, you don’t even care that it’s warm, it feels like you haven’t had a drink in weeks.

When you’re done you put it back down letting out breath. You pick up one of the flatbreads and pull some off dipping it into the hummus.

“Why’d you leave America?” You ask.

“I couldn’t stand it. I thought it was the way to a better life. Then I saw all the abominations, I had to leave.” He says, you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Why are you here fighting in a war that isn’t yours to fight?” He asks, theres hostility in his voice.

“You keep blowing shit up in our country.” You say as you dip more bread.

“You’re special forces or something aren’t you?” It makes you stop chewing, you look up at him.

“I’m a medic.” You say.

“No ones ever lasted through torture the way you do. Most of them give up after a few hours, or a day.” He says. So it’s been longer than a day, you don’t know if you should be glad or not. It’s been over 24 hours and they still haven't come.

You look down at the food, suddenly it’s sitting heavy in your stomach. You remember the feeling of ingesting all the water and the feeling of it coming back out when your stomach’s full. You put the bread down and push the plate away.

“My name is Sayyid.” He says bending down to pick up the plate.

"I'm not going to tell you my name." You say. He nods pressing his lips together.

"Good luck" He says, nodding and leaving the room. You don't need luck, you need to get the hell out of here.

___

The car ride went in silence. No witty remarks from Johnny. There’s no filling the deafening silence, the only noise is coming from the engine and the wheels turning on the dirt roads.

48 hours that's how much time Lawell could realistically buy them, if Shepherd was going to send shadows after them they have to move quick. Ghost pulls the car up to the building.

This is the closest they can get to the next town without being spotted, there's an al-qatala base there. That’s where they’ll get intel, that's where they’ll find out where you are. It’s too late now though, the journey to get here was long.

“Gaz, Soap clear the place, we’ll wait here.” Price says as Ghost turns the engine off. There’s no reply, just the sound of doors opening and closing. Price watches them walk round the car and over to the front door. The building will be empty, as soon as they’ve confirmed that though, they can hide the car.

“I shouldn't have put her at the back.” Price says as he watches Gaz and Soap enter the building.

“It was the right call.” Ghost replies. Price sighs, yeah it was, he didn’t expect things to go so wrong though. Ghost's hand lands on his thigh, he looks over at him. He can see the softness in his eyes.

“We’ll get her back, John.”

“I know, I just hope we’re not too late.”

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mingumis · 2 days ago

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redemption | jww

it's a beautiful thing, to be a protector.

on the day of her fifteenth birthday, a neglected princess disappears without a word, and when she returns to the court of her family and friends after almost a decade, they find that she has been sharpened into a lethal blade in desperate need of saving.

please refer to this lore drop for descriptions of the noble families and their roles within the royal court!

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader genres/themes: angst, fluff, romance tags: older brother!seokmin, sworn siblings!hoshixreader, princess!reader, generally set in a joseon-esque kingdom but medical technology is somewhat advanced (bc i'm too lazy to come up with period-specific alternatives aha), nothing suggestive beyond kissing tw: neglectful parents, reader has some (many) issues, violence, mentions of killing and death, injuries and blood a/n: this took so long to complete sorry,, redemption is the longest completed thing that i've ever written aaaaaa it's quite rough around the edges, but it is my brainchild so i hope you will enjoy! wc: 13.8k

From your earliest memories, you’ve known that your parents haven’t loved you. It was no secret that while your mother had been ever-present during your older brother’s infancy, attentive to a fault, you had been reared by a nanny, an older great-aunt in a lesser branch of the clan whom you loved very much, but at the hands of another nonetheless. Despite your father’s assurance and your brother’s affection, there had always been a simmering hatred in your mother’s eyes whenever she’d looked at you, and you had known it, even as a child.

At first, you wondered if it was because you were born a girl, but she had had Seokmin as a perfectly happy, doting son by the time of your birth. You wondered if it was because you had been too late to receive a spot on the throne, but your cousin, Chan, had already been born a year prior, receiving the birthright of Voice and completing the Triumvirate, so your mother had had no logical reason to despise you for merely that.

You wondered if it was because you looked nothing like Seokmin, and consequently, nothing like her. Instead, everyone always insisted that you were the spitting image of your father’s youth. Adults of the royal Inner Circle and members of the court had insisted that siblings didn’t always have to look similar. After all, take a look at the Head, Heart, and Voice of the current generation; don’t each of them vary in height, looks, and demeanor?

Seokmin remains the joyful, caring child that he was, while you, tainted by your father’s disinterest and your mother’s loathing, grow withdrawn and cynical.

It’s no wonder that the court murmurs with rumors of your illegitimacy.

To Seokmin’s credit, he has never once forsaken you. He shields you from your mother’s wrath, shares your father’s brief moments of attention, pulls you into the Inner Circle as if your place within is your birthright. Despite only being a few years older, he becomes your protector.

But a brother’s love can nurture a young girl’s soul only so much. When you’re deemed too old to simper out from under your old nanny’s skirts, they send her away from the estate, back to her humble shack of a home. You remember howling and begging to be sent from the palace grounds with her, sniveling for days on end until finally, your own mother silently shot you the iciest of glares and put an end to your tantrum for good.

Neglect turns a child resentful, and in you, the hatred grows inward. There’s a tempest that brews deep inside your stomach, churning like the eye of a storm. A fear that you’ll be forgotten by all, an anger that you’ve been overlooked by the ones who should love you most in this world, a longing for a larger role than the unwanted second daughter of a second son.

On the eve of your fifteenth birthday, you slip from your room, with nothing but a single cloak in your possession, and disappear from the only world you’ve ever known.

–

“Ready for your big, dramatic entrance?”

You barely stir from your meditative state, legs folded tightly beneath you as you sit atop a neatly made bed. The inn had been clean enough, but the sounds of the other patrons had kept you awake all night. Not that your writhing nerves would have let you sleep at all, even if it had been quiet as a church.

Gathering a shallow breath, you open your eyes against the early morning darkness, spying Kwon Soonyoung in the corner through the first beams of dawn trickling through the slits of the window. The First Blade of the kingdom, of your family’s dynasty, looks like a mere boy, facial features smudged and softened by the shadows. The only thing about him that gleams through the dim are his eyes, burning intensely, the gaze of a tiger.

Your sworn brother gives you what you’re sure he considers an easy smile, but it looks like the taunting grin of a hunter watching its prey fall into a trap. It’s been eight years since you’ve run from home and arrived at the Kwons’ doorstep, begging for shelter and a chance to become a Blade. It’s been eight years that you’ve spent beside Soonyoung, training and bickering and bleeding with him. He’s the one who picked you up whenever you stumbled during the rigorous training regimen, the one who mended your bumps and scrapes and cuts and bruises. Sometimes, you still feel shivers at the realization of what a lethal weapon he is, despite it all.

“Dramatic,” you echo through a scoff, finally detangling yourself from your pose and rolling the stiff muscles of your neck. “We’re going for my father’s funeral, not to cause a scene. Besides, I doubt there’ll be much fanfare for the likes of me.”

Soonyoung shrugs, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he ambles up to the side of your bed. When he drops to a crouch to peer up into your face, you catch the barely-there concern, tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Despite everything, it makes you smile. “Why? Are you worried for me?”

It’s the man’s turn to scoff as he shoots up to his feet, turning his back on you to stare out the window towards the ever-brightening sky. “The First Blade doesn’t worry about anything except the choice of his weapon when he kills.” There’s a slight jut to his lips as he speaks, and not for the first time, you wonder how he has ever become the bloodiest killer in the kingdom.

“Well, good.” You rise and stalk over to the wooden wardrobe, where a single cloak, a relic of your past life, has been hung up. “Because I’m about two seconds away from hurling everything in my stomach up.”

–

It’s strange, you think to yourself, how you’ve forgotten the way from the city to the palace grounds to the inner quadrants that belong to your family, but the moment you step foot past the threshold of your ancestors’ estate, your body seems to remember every footpath, every tree and its roots, every door and where it leads.

Soonyoung slows his pace when he notices that you’ve fallen behind, eyes darting from the golden gingko trees lining the paths, to the intricately carved dragon gargoyles on every point of the ancient rooves, to the ripples that have been raked into the gravel meticulously by the servants. Everything is so familiar yet foreign, as if you have stepped into a world that once belonged to you but you no longer belong to.

“Come on, Tigress.” Soonyoung prompts, voice not urging but firm. “The Circle awaits, and Jihoon hates to be kept waiting.”

You nod absentmindedly and quicken your pace to catch up, nerves all but anxiously frayed now.

Soonyoung leads you to a grand pagoda beside the glassy pond in the gardens. Your mother had loved it there, so as a child, you had avoided it at any means possible. As you approach closer, voices of varying pitch and volume and enthusiasm peal from the structure, and you try not to look at the various figures of the people within it.

The First Blade stalks forward, calling out to his gathered friends. Thankfully, you’re still obscured behind him so it gives you a moment to catch a few breaths and still the hummingbird that seems to have gotten trapped inside your chest.

A tiny voice in your head reminds you of the person you are now, the one that you have trained to become in the past eight years. You’ve completed the training that it takes to become a Blade, worked your way up from the bottom, in rudimentary lessons beside five-year-old Kwon boys and girls. You are no longer the spineless, vapid girl made small by every hateful glare from your mother.

You force your head up, rolling your shoulders back and swallowing away the fear that threatens to make your knees buckle.

Killing is like dancing, Soonyoung had once told you the words of his family. The battlefield is your stage.

You were never a dancer. As much as you could keep up with Soonyoung’s intricate maneuvers in disarming, paralyzing, maiming, you could never follow through with a simple box step, feet tangling up with one another until you tripped and crumpled to the ground, glaring as he cackled. You were never a dancer but you are a performer, and you think that you finally understand the Kwon words when you walk up the steps to the pagoda and it feels like entering the fray of war.

Instantly, twelve pairs of eyes clap onto you, like lightning striking a tree. You look straight ahead, cooly meeting the stare of Lee Jihoon, the Ruby Dragon, future Head of the Triumvirate. Your cousin’s face betrays no emotions, and if he’s surprised, he doesn’t show an ounce of it. Merely, his eyes narrow so imperceptibly that only the trained vision of a Kwon Blade would catch.

Soonyoung squares his own shoulders, clasping his hands behind his back like a soldier. In the firmest First Blade’s voice you’ve ever heard from him, he announces, “Might I introduce to the Ruby Dragon, Head of the Triumvirate, and the Blessed Inner Circle, her Royal Highness, the Dragon Diamond.”

You slowly pull yourself into the same stance as your sworn brother, back and head straight, hands twined together behind your waist to keep them from trembling. A quick inhale and then the words that you’ve practiced over and over in your head since the day that you left home tumble from your lips.

“I am the second child and only daughter of the late Heart. Upon completing the training as a Blade from the Kwon Clan, I have come to offer myself to the services of the Triumvirate as they see fit, if the Ruby Dragon and His Blessed Inner Circle will have me.”

You’ve had the hood of your cloak pulled tightly over your head, but you tug it down, revealing yourself. You keep your attention on Jihoon, afraid that if it wanders through the crowd, you’ll seek out Seokmin and his face will be the undoing of your bravado.

Only a few feet before you, Jihoon, the Head of the Triumvirate, sovereign prince of the kingdom and all its lands and people, holds his head up high, slender neck straight. His carriage has remained as impeccable as you remember from your childhood, having been groomed into every bit the regal figure he is supposed to be. He’s swathed in layers of red, his color. You expect him to open his mouth, voice powerful and commanding, as he demands you to grovel at his feet for entrance into the court, but the silence stretches for a moment too long and you lift your gaze from his chin to his face proper. To your surprise, Jihoon merely grins impishly, as if he’s just caught you within an inside joke.

“I was wondering when you’d make your appearance.” The Ruby Dragon’s voice lilts delicately, as if speaking in melody.

You clamp your jaws shut tightly to prevent any hasty words from slipping through. Instead, you turn your head to Soonyoung, where the First Blade still stands at attention, expression impassive aside from a tiny twitch of his lips. You should have known. Soonyoung and Jihoon have been thick as thieves since birth.

“You knew.” It’s a confirmation, rather than a question.

Jihoon shrugs a single shoulder. “I’m the Head of this kingdom. I tend to know most things.”

More and more memories come back to you as you sweep your gaze across the Inner Circle and recall the families, their callings. Of course. The Yoon Clan and their Whisperers would have caught news of your disappearance even before you landed at the Kwons’ doormat. The Boo Singers would have coaxed the secrets out of even the wind with their song.

The realization that you might have not completely disappeared from your past life then begs the question. Did your brother–

Finally, finally, your defenses crumble and you’re seeking out the face of someone who existed as a god, radiant and warm, in the memories of your childhood. He’s there, much taller than when you last saw him, slender yet strong, like a taut bowstring. He’s older, and so are you, but he looks the same as he did when you left his side without so much as a goodbye.

Seokmin stares right back at you, gaze hardened and unyielding. The shadows underneath his eyes clue you in to how sleepless the recent nights must have been for him, mourning the death of your father, handling the responsibilities that come with being the first son, the Heart of the Triumvirate, the only child left. No, not only the recent nights, every night past for the eight years of your absence.

Suddenly, you feel your heart thudding, heavy in the pit of your stomach. Guilt trickles into your veins and poisons the bloodstream. You have no choice but to tip your head to your brother, in reverence, in apology, in condolence.

Because the irrefutable truth in the tears clinging to his lashes is that until mere moments ago, Seokmin had believed that you had been all but dead.

–

You wince at the deep pulsing ache in your head, pressing firmly and incessantly against your forehead. The lack of rest you’ve gotten the night prior finally catches up to you, but it’s too early to let go of your resolve. Once the Inner Circle had been dismissed by the Head and before he took off with Soonyoung, Seokmin had requested your presence at his wing of the estate, where you now stood, hovering before the doors to his living quarters, catching the trail ends of a conversation coming from within.

“You kept my sister away from me for eight years.” Your brother’s voice comes clipped short, a bridled emotion simmering beneath the smooth placidity of his unwavering tone. If there’s one thing that you know well, it is anger, and the myriad of ways it appears in people.

Soonyoung knows it well, too. He is the one who taught you to read it in others, after all. The First Blade waits a breath before he responds as gently as he can muster.

“I did as the princess bade me. It was her wish for nobody to know. The others who acquired this knowledge did so of their own means; I did not tell a soul.”

“You watched her grow into a young woman while I was left to think that she died a child.”

Seokmin isn’t listening. He’s losing the grip he holds over himself, throat warbling with more and more ire. Even as a child, he had been emotional, which, as the future Heart, their mother had celebrated. To be aware and cognizant of one’s feelings, understand their origins, and be able to apply them to rulings, was the mark of a wise and judicious Heart. Their father, however, had worried that Seokmin would be poignant to a fault.

You understand his concerns now. Rage at the hands of someone who knows it well could be shackled like a wolf, kept at bay until the apt time came to loosen and utilize it. Rage at the hands of a stranger is nothing but a lit candle in the middle of a forest, wick nearing the end of its life, flame lapping at the kindling at its feet.

A wildfire waiting to happen.

You rap your knuckles against the heavy wooden door that divides you from the murmured argument. Both men on the other side fall silent until you clear your throat.

“Brother, you called?”

You hear the hiccup of a heavy sigh. “Come in.”

As you swing open the entrance and press yourself inside cautiously, Soonyoung passes, stalking his exit briskly. You briefly catch a glimpse of his jaw ticking, but the First Blade merely nods at you before disappearing without a sound.

Inside, Seokmin stands before his desk, back turned towards you and head bowed. The line of his shoulders quivers as he gathers his breaths, and you wait patiently, taking in the presence of your brother for the first time in a long time and marveling at how instantly you feel at home.

When he finally shifts, looking at you over his shoulder, his eyes are guarded, careful. As if he doesn’t trust that you really are his sister. You cannot blame him.

“You’ll have to excuse the state that I am in,” Seokmin sighs again, lifting a palm to drag across his face. “It has been a whirlwind of a few days.”

You dip your head. “And I’m sure I haven’t made things any easier,” you try to break the ice delicately, but your voice sounds too thin against the gravity of the atmosphere. Instead, you offer, “My sincerest condolences for your loss of the former Heart. I cannot begin to imagine the grief you must feel.”

Your brother’s face twists into a mask of confusion to hide the contortion of pain in it. “He was your father, too,” he reminds quietly, as if allowing you the grace to mourn.

When word of your father’s death had echoed through the palace, arriving in the Kwons’ courtyards on the wings of a Songbird, you had felt no grief. Merely, your heart ached for your brother, who you knew had loved your father, from leagues away, wondering if he could hear your words of comfort for him on the breeze.

Gently, you say, “He loved you more than he ever loved me.”

No matter how kind of a lie it would be, Seokmin never holds an untruth on his tongue, so he elects to remain quiet instead. He takes another stretch of silence as a pause, and you watch as your brother gathers himself, slowly but steadily, into the prince that is required of him. For the first time since morning, his eyes are wiped dry, spine pulled into a straight, solid column, as he struggles to press his lips into a smile.

“I am glad that you are not dead, my sister.”

You bow your head again. “I’m sorry for leaving.”

“I’m sure you had your reasons.” Seokmin’s words come kindly, but his gaze searches yours, imploring for answers. Out of a primal, animal instinct, you throw your walls back up, the tiny hairs on your nape bristling. Perceptive as ever, your brother gives the smallest of nods and backs off.

“I’m sorry for deceiving you for so long,” you continue your litany of regrets, nerves grating raw until you get every single one on your list off your chest.

Your brother’s expression flickers with hurt, and he holds a hand up, halting you in the midst of your next sentence. “We–” He winces, “We’ll have to continue talking about that another time.” Seokmin exhales heavily, and you wonder if his lungs will fare alright with all this sighing. “I called you here because I thought we might discuss some family matters.”

You blink in surprise, first at the sudden formality of his tone, then at the inclusion of you within the topic. Sure, technicalities make you part of the family on paper, but you had lived the past eight years, denying your membership in the Lee dynasty, taking on Soonyoung’s dumb nickname for you in a defiant act of renouncing your given name. Just a few hours ago, your brother had thought you good and dead. You cannot help but feel unworthy of his ready acceptance of your return.

You shift nervously from foot to foot, watching impatiently as Seokmin circles the corner of his desk and sinks into his seat on the opposite side of the wooden counter from you. He tilts his head curiously, nodding at the chair before you to sit.

“I–” You start, but your voice gets caught somewhere in your throat as you realize that you’re not sure what exactly to say. Obediently, you awkwardly settle onto the cushioned armchair, grasping for some semblance of intellect. The Kwons had been a clan of few words, choosing to speak with their fists or weapons whenever they could. You’d grown out of practice in the solemn palatial manner of speaking.

Seokmin waits until he seems sure that you have nothing left to say. “The late Heart’s funeral is set to take place in two days, and almost all of the preparations have been completed. His body will be held by the Redeemers until the pyre is lit. Would you like to view him in private before the ceremony?”

Your eyes flutter shut. In the swirling depths of your childhood recollections, you catch fleeting glimpses of your father, who everyone claimed you looked like. Whenever you stared in the mirror at yourself, you pored over every feature, wondering if your father scowled the way you did, frowned the way you did, glowered the way you did. From the few snatches of memories, you had decided that he did, in fact, carry the same mask of gloom as you. You never remember your father’s smile in your own.

“No.” The word escapes before you can even think to hold it in, for the sake of sparing your brother’s feelings, at least. “No need to go through all that trouble for a wayward daughter,” you quickly amend.

To your brother’s credit, he simply moves on. “We, obviously, did not expect your presence in the processions,” Seokmin says with an apologetic grimace, as if he is the one at fault for being unprepared. “But the Kims have a daughter, Mingyu’s sister, who I believe is roughly the same build as you, and she has offered to lend you some of her clothing for the ceremony.” You nod along to his words gratefully, until he quietly murmurs, “I don’t think Mother’s old clothes would work.” Your breath hitches. Blurred edges narrow the scope of your vision, clouding your brother’s face, and suddenly, you’re back in the body of the apprehensive, frightened little girl, who trembled like a leaf at every little thing that reminded her of her mother. For all of the agonizing that you had done over reuniting with your brother, attending your father’s funeral, you had, somehow, neglected to consider the presence of your mother in all of this. Perhaps you hadn’t wanted to.

Seokmin calling your name wrenches you back into your current body, the sound of your given name and on the lips of your brother, no less, startling you into the present. He examines you wordlessly, prompting a response.

“Mother.” The name lodges in your throat until you clear it and spit it out into existence. “Is she well?” It pains you to ask.

Your brother frowns, forehead creasing and fingers coming up to knead at his temples. “Not entirely,” he hesitates. “She lives, but I’m afraid that Father’s passing has caused her a lot of mental distress. She requested for a royal pardon from the Head to be absent from the funeral processions and has left for her family’s estate.”

You suppose that you should be relieved, having been spared a reunion with your mother, the phantom that has haunted your every nightmare since childhood. Instead, a wash of disappointment bitters your tongue.

“A pity,” you say, hollowly.

There’s a knowing shadow that flickers across Seokmin’s expression that you just barely notice before it’s gone. Neither of you acknowledge the moment before your brother proceeds with his agenda.

–

“Your Highness,” the boy indulges you with a quick dip of his chin before brazenly hurrying away, as if he could not stand another moment accompanying you. The servants of the palace, overwhelmed with the preparations for your father’s funeral, had already been buzzing here and there, and your appearance, you’re sure, had not been a welcome one at all. Just within a night’s stay, you could almost taste their wariness in the few interactions you had had with them.

Fortunately, you’d been able to grab hold of a passing stableboy for the brief walk it took for him to escort you westward to the physician’s pavilion, where Seokmin had insisted you at least receive a glance over from the First Redeemer. “To ease my mind in the matters of your wellbeing, at least,” he had said with wide, pleading eyes.

You couldn’t have refused him that.

As you climb the steps to the pavilion, you reach into your oldest memories, recalling everything that you know about the clan of Redeemers. Your father’s physician had been the figurehead of the Jeon family, a man just a few years older than him, with a thin, friendly visage and the heavy twang of a dialect from the outer provinces. Satisfied with the expectation of the faint image conjured up in your mind, you turn the corner into a hallway and announce your arrival with a knock into the first door on your left, as instructed by the rude attendant.

“Come in.” The voice that answers rumbles low and deep, with barely a lilt of the accent that you thought you remembered.

When you slip past the sliding doors to the vast room that awaits on the other side, your attention lands onto the silhouette of a man in the far corner, as he attends to a large shelf almost as tall as him. From your vantage, all you can catch is his side profile, a delicate pair of eyeglasses perched atop the bridge of his nose. Black hair cropped short, face like a dagger, all of his features angled and sharp. He’s young, much younger than the blurred memories of your past, and you blink in surprise when he shifts to look up at you.

“Ah.”

“I’m looking for the First Redeemer. The Heart scheduled a meeting for me.”

The man slides a book onto the shelf from the crook of his arm, nodding a few times before fully turning towards you. “That would be me,” he finally speaks more than a few words at a time, lips quirking into a smile that looks a little innocent compared to the previously aloof expression he had been wearing. “Jeon Wonwoo.” He crosses over the distance between in a few strides, holding a hand out in greeting.

You clasp his palm with yours, admiring the slide of his smooth skin against your own, uncouth with callouses. Back in the early days of your residence at the Kwon estate, you had practically lived with a blade in your hands, determined to shed off your clumsiness and catch up to the children who were eternally more graceful than you. When your blisters popped and your raw palms tore and you cried for the first time since you ran, Soonyoung had wrapped them up in strips of cloth, muttering, “Stop crying. Soft hands make for soft people. This is you getting stronger.”

Despite his smooth, soft palms, your first impression of Wonwoo is not that he would be weak. Your face warms a little at the thought, and you lower your gaze to stare at his nose, murmuring, “I remember my father’s Redeemer being much older.”

Wonwoo laughs, a quick bark of mirth, as if he hadn’t expected to be humored, and you can’t help but grin too. “That would be my father,” he responds, pulling his arm back to his side, much to your disappointment. “I took over his position just a year ago, when he stepped down to handle the enterprises.” He gestures for you to take a seat in an armchair placed beside a massive work desk, made of glass and metal.

You obey and sit, skin prickling with anticipation. The Redeemer shuffles around his desk, pulling drawers open and picking out various items, not many of which you’re familiar with. Watching the wide expanse of his back, flush against his silken robes of violet as he moves, you swallow the tight knot in your throat, mouth dry. You drop your gaze shamefully, before the cinch of the sash accentuating his narrow waist greedily takes over your attention again.

It’s not like you haven’t been in the presence of a grown man before. Though the Kwons had provided you a private room of your own, you had preferred the barracks of your fellow Blades in training, hopelessly lonely in a silent room, leagues away from home. Once Soonyoung had offered you his blood and his life and you had promised yours to him, he had cleared away a corner of his own quarters, shoving a cot into it for you to sleep in instead. You’d seen the First Blade through most things, as he sweat through his shirts during training, as he opted to sleep bare chested during the humid summer nights, as he sagged against you, bleeding from a nasty slash that split his skin in half and left a canyon of a scar across his back.

You shut your eyes against that image, suppressing a shudder and trying to shake away the memory of panic and despair that had consumed you, imagining the possibility of losing another brother.

“Nervous?”

You jerk your head up, unexpectedly meeting his gaze, and all thoughts scatter beneath the scrutiny of his sharp eyes. Wonwoo has shut all of the drawers of his desk and carefully arranged the array of tools that picked out onto a neatly folded towel. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, which you puzzle over until you realize that your breath has caught shallowly in your chest, turning your inhales and exhales into quick, accented huffs.

Embarrassed, and a little shy, at having lost the hold you try to keep over your emotions, you give a sheepish shake of your head. “No, I just got lost in my thoughts for a moment.”

“Does that happen often?”

The man’s demeanor shifts ever so slightly, but it’s enough for you to realize that he has reoriented himself into the First Redeemer. Belatedly, you pull yourself into a proper sitting form, putting on airs to at least look the part of the royalty you’re supposed to be.

“Sometimes,” you shrug. “It’s something Soonyoung says I have to work on. Keeping my emotions under control.”

Wonwoo snorts, before muttering, “Rich, coming from him.”

You’d agree with him, but the curiosity sparked by his familiarity of scoffing at the First Blade grows stronger than the desire to tease Soonyoung out of earshot. “Are you two close? He…never really mentioned the palace to me while I lived with the Kwons.”

Wonwoo reaches for his desk, picking up a stethoscope as he hums. “Sure, we grew up together,” he smiles as he plugs his ears and holds the bell firmly against your chest. “Blades are always getting hurt, and they’re always in need of Redeemers. Breathe in.” The instruction he ends with dips low in pitch and sends a shiver up your spine, and an inhale snags within your throat in a hasty attempt to comply.

In, out, in, out, he directs, and you follow as steadily as you can manage, trying desperately not to look up at his face, down at his hands, ahead at his chest so close to your own. It feels like an eternity later when he leans back, pulling the stethoscope off. When you can finally manage to sneak a glance, Wonwoo’s nose is scrunched in concentration as he counts numbers in his head.

“Heartbeat’s a little faster than what’s considered average,” he thinks out loud, and you’re mortified, cheeks immediately flushing hot. You shift in the armchair, wondering if you should say something, pull some excuse out of your ass to explain for it, something, anything.

“There you are!”

The doors slide open, and you heave a sigh of relief when the sudden crashing of noises shatters the stifling silence that has settled over the room. You whip around to find Kim Mingyu at the entrance to the room, his giant hulking frame crumpled as he catches his breath.

An exasperated sigh eludes Wonwoo, “What is it, Mingyu?”

The Sentinel lifts from where he’s bent over, hands against his knees. “Well, I was supposed to escort the princess here, but when I got to the estate, the servants told me that you harassed a stableboy to take you instead.” You roll your eyes at your brother’s best friend, amused at the wrinkles in his clothes in his rush to find you, at the hiss of a lisp that he doesn’t seem to have corrected since childhood. “I waited fifteen minutes for you. I wasn’t going to be late on account of you.”

Mingyu pulls over a wooden chair from a corner of the room with much familiarity, clicking his tongue. “Five more minutes, and I would’ve been there.”

Wonwoo muses, “You probably overslept.” He dips his head towards you like he’s sharing a secret, and you marvel when his cheek dimples slightly. “It’s his fatal flaw.” When Mingyu huffs, “It’s my only flaw,” you barely pay him any mind, the image of Wonwoo’s smile etched into the back of your eyelids.

–

“Heard you and the First Redeemer are friends,” you ponder mildly, sidestepping a well-placed sweep that Soonyoung crouches to throw out.

The First Blade makes a satisfied hum before he straightens. “Wonwoo?” The name that he calls out curiously makes your stomach warm.

“Mmhm.”

“Yeah, why?”

“Just wondering.” “I’m telling Seokmin.” “Telling him what?”

“That it has been two days since you’ve reentered the palace and that you’re already eyeing pretty boys.”

You bite, like a fool. “You think Wonwoo’s pretty?”

Thwack.

Soonyoung cuts you a glare, but his mouth curls into a satisfied grin. He clears his throat, pulling his arm back from the smack he’s landed on your shoulder.

“We are mere hours from burning your father’s body,” your sworn brother deadpans, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. “Have some decorum.” He pulls away, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with the hem of his shirt.

You wrinkle your nose in offense, spitting, “Fuck off. Low blow.”

The First Blade snickers, which makes you snort, and for once, you’re glad for the daily schedule that he keeps that requires you to spar with him at dawn. If others had overheard the crass conversation ringing through the courtyard, they surely would have condemned the lack of grief you displayed for your recently deceased father.

After the training session, you barely have enough time to scrub and wash the sweat from your skin, before attendants are swarming over you, brushing your hair, smearing powder against your sun-burnished face, pressing you into a wardrobe of lended clothes. Mingyu’s little sister must have grown a yard in your absence because her clothes drape onto the floor, and the servants flutter about, fastening metal pins here and there to match the length to your height.

The skirt and overcoat are cobalt blue, your brother’s color, and you run your fingertips against the imperceptible pinpricks, where you’re certain that the red wolf of the Kims have been ripped from the cloth. A skilled embroiderer has hastily replaced the image with the stitching of a dragon in a white thread that shimmers silver when you pull it up to glance at the details in the lighting. As a child, you had always hated being born under a Diamond moon, feeling left out even in the assignment of a personal color. Now, as you admire the handiwork, you warm a little at the artisan’s attempt to represent your color in a manner that goes beyond just the color white.

Once the pampering has been completed, the attendants place you before a mirror before leaving your room in a flitter. The woman that reflects back at you looks misplaced in such an ornate robe, meant for noble ladies. You trace your gaze from head to toe, contemplating the face that everyone claims you inherited from your father, attention catching at the top of your cheekbone, where they caked a bunch of powder to obscure a tiny scar that Soonyoung gave you as bickering teenagers. Your hair, brushed to a shine for the first time since you’ve left home, holds only a single white pin, meant for the chief mourners to wear. You feel absurd, having dressed up for an affair that doesn’t involve you, wearing a dutiful daughter’s symbol of grief when your bleak heart doesn’t even stir for your deceased father.

You stand in front of the mirror for a long time, unmoving, until a quiet cough from outside announces Mingyu’s presence to escort you to the pyre. Mumbling out a response, you take one last breath, grasping at all the ugly thoughts that threaten to spill out from you and swallowing them back in, hoping that they’ll stay contained in the depths of your stomach at least until the day is over.

When you emerge, Mingyu beams at you so brightly that you wonder if he knows that he’s bringing you to a funeral. “My sister’s dress seems like it worked out,” he inspects, nodding thoughtfully. “She’s tall,” you comment, lifting at the hem of the skirt to reveal where it's been pinned back. “The attendants were all but convinced I was doomed and the gods would condemn me for wearing a dress too long for my legs.”

Mingyu chortles, “Well, I suppose it runs in the family.” He preens, puffing out his own chest to stretch his own height out taller before tripping over a tiny pebble, and he’s so ridiculous that it makes you laugh.

The Sentinel merely flashes you a grin, as if relieved.

As is tradition, the funeral takes place in the innermost courtyard within the palace grounds, strictly out of public view in the rear gardens that are considered sacred and visited by the gods. The pyre has been constructed extravagantly, out of large slabs of red pine, fit for a member of the Triumvirate. Onto the uppermost slab, your father’s body, wrapped tightly in white strips of cloth, has been laid. From the ground, he looks tiny, insignificant in the vastness of the world. You avert your eyes quickly, discomfort pricking at your nape.

The attendance is kept small, meant only for members of the royal family and their Inner Circle, but that means that the Kwons have trekked their way up to the city for the ceremony. Mingyu leads you beside them, making sure that you’ve been delivered safely to the clan of Blades before he slips away to his own family with a wink.

Lady Kwon breathes a quiet gasp when you tug at her sleeve with a smile before she pulls you into an embrace. In the years of your residence at the Kwon estate, she had never once complained of your imposition, taking you in effortlessly as if simply gaining another child. She now fusses over you, despite only having been apart for a few days, brow furrowed, the spitting image of her son.

“I’m alright,” you assure with a quiet chuff, leaning around her to greet Lord Kwon with a quick dip of your head.

“Mom, you coddle her too much,” Soonyoung grumbles as he also steps in line beside you. He, for once, has cleaned himself up, dapper in the gold and black of his clan. Though he tugs at the tight collar of his overcoat uncomfortably, he looks more at ease in the formal wear than you, the proper image of a First Blade. He completes his own inspection of you, lips curling in amusement, “Guess you are a princess after all, huh?”

The window of opportunity for you to retort back closes with Jihoon’s appearance and the subsequent sweeping of everyone dipping towards the Head in reverence. When you straighten from your bow, your gaze jumps across the gathering, as if lured by a silent call, to where Wonwoo stands beside his father, both wearing violet. When Wonwoo lifts his head up, he notices you too and offers a polite nod, which you return with a flutter in your stomach.

Jihoon calls the ceremony to a start, and the first order of business brings in a shaman to lead a series of rituals to exorcise evil spirits that may attach themselves in the presence of death and to help guide the spirit of the deceased to a peaceful afterlife. Once the rites have been completed, the gathering parts for one of Jihoon’s higher court historians, who has been granted the role of recording down the details of the ceremony. The attendant stands before the crowd, holding a scroll out and reading from it. “We mark today as a most sorrowful day as we part with the former Heart of our exalted Triumvirate. The late Heart is survived by the subsequent Heart, the Sapphire Dragon, his first son.” A hush settles over the gathering as the historian hesitates and hastily adds, “And, er, her Royal Highness, the Diamond Dragon, his daughter.”

You prickle at the unwanted designation, keeping your gaze cast low towards the ground. From your left, Soonyoung offers you his hand, palm faced up. You reach for it, fingers twining tightly around his.

Once the formal announcements have been made, Jihoon wordlessly hands over his post to Seokmin, and you watch as your brother takes his place at the center of the gathering, right in front of the pyre. He looks nervous, you think, and your heart aches for him, for the tint of red in his watery eyes. Before he starts, Seokmin looks towards you, and you try to press your lips into a reassuring smile.

Your brother, who loved your father despite all of his shortcomings, lets a single tear fall. “I speak before you all today so that I may impart my father’s legacy within you as witnesses. My father, the former Heart of the Triumvirate, was not a perfect man, but I knew that he loved me and that I loved him.”

You listen to Seokmin’s stories of your father throughout his childhood. Of when he broke your mother’s favorite vase and your father helped him sweep the shards away and took the blame for it. Of when Seokmin fell asleep at the desk during his Heart lessons and your father let him sleep for the rest of the session. Despite it all, you find yourself smiling at his memories of the loving father that you never got to experience.

Your brother had asked, if you had also wanted a chance to speak at the ceremony. At that time, you had instantly refused without much thought. Now, as you hear Seokmin’s speech, you realize that you wouldn’t have a single fond memory of your father to share.

The proceeding comes to an end with Seokmin, calling for whoever wants to say a personal farewell to come up to the pyre. The Kwons make their way up, leaving you and Soonyoung behind.

You watch the queue of the former Inner Circle members go up one by one to dip their head to your father’s body, murmuring quiet words to send him off to the afterlife. Curiously, you note that all of these people seem to have a myriad of things to say, while you, his child, cannot come up with a single kind word for him.

“Oh, man,” Soonyoung groans softly, “Mom’s crying.”

You follow the crook of his finger, where Lady Kwon, sure enough, dabs at her eyes as she waits for her turn, whereas you, his daughter, cannot even squeeze out a single tear for him.

The First Blade squirms at your silence, squeezing at your fingers still clutched in his. “Tigress, you alright?”

You’re mute as everyone says their goodbyes, as Seokmin receives the lit torch and presses it against the pyre, as the flames leap from slab to slab until it consumes your father’s body and swallows it whole.

Your father who leaves you, in a giant plume of smoke and ashes, with nothing but his face to remember him by.

–

You’re in a dream. You know that you’re in a dream because although it hasn’t happened in years, you’ve been here before, in this dark, directionless world with swarming shadows that bind over your body and cut you with their sharp edges. There was a time when you’d grown quite adept at identifying the illusion and had been able to force yourself awake and into reality within a mere handful of minutes.

You suck in a deep breath, hold it in your chest, and shudder as it releases, but there’s no signs of waking up. In fact, the shadows grow clearer, sharper, and bite into your arms and legs and torso with more conviction. You hold back a yelp, trying to gather your concentration into escaping. It gets harder and harder to focus when the pain shifts from stinging to burning and more and more blood sluices from the wounds.

Weak.

The first of the voices hisses, and you realize that you’ve lost the opening to escape. When the whispers start, you sink one level deeper into the darkness, rendering you paralyzed with fear and leaving you to endure through the dream until your body wakes on its own.

Useless. Worthless.

Your own parents abandoned you. What makes you think that the Kwons won’t too?

The poor Heart only has you left as his remaining family.

The First Blade is a fool for swearing his life to yours. You’ll get him killed one of these days.

Because you’re weak.

You wince feebly, straining against the tethers that the shadows have formed into, unable to do much but lie there, suspended in a web of the truths you’ve been desperately trying to outrun.

It could have been hours or days later when you open your eyes again, this time to a darkness that glows blue, not black. Moments pass as you blink at the sky above, and another handful of seconds later, you recognize the pattern of wood as the ceiling of your room. You’ve woken up from the nightmare in the midnight calm of your childhood bedroom, and suddenly, you relive the early morning of your fifteenth birthday, when you had woken up from a similar dream and decided that you had to run.

You wrench yourself out of bed, detangling your limbs from where the sweat-soaked blankets have wound themselves around you.

Soonyoung is your first coherent thought. The few times that he had witnessed your nightmares, he had sat awake with you for the rest of the night. A silent but steady presence. But he left after the funeral earlier to accompany his parents back home. He won’t be back for a few days.

You think about Seokmin, but he had all but disappeared into his quarters upon lighting the pyre, looking withdrawn and exhausted. Your brother deserves his rest and his peace.

There’s nobody to seek out, nowhere to go. You can’t stay here in the confines of your mind. You slip out into the frigid night, breath crystallizing in a white cloud that reminds you of the smoke from earlier that day. Your vision flashes with the red and orange and gold of the flames on the pyre.

Washed white under the moonlight, the courtyard flickers hazily, as if you’re still stuck within a world of dreams. The thought unsettles you. You take off, feet frantic as it leads you somewhere, anywhere. The recognition of the paths within your family’s estate when you first returned quickly dissipates as you round corner after corner. In your desperation and the confusion that the cloak of night brings, you find yourself losing your way, deeper and deeper in the bowels of the palace grounds. The palace is silent and still, punctuated only by the rough drag of your lungs as you take painful gulps of the freezing air.

Where am I? What am I doing here? Why am I back at Court? Did I really think that they’d welcome me that easily?

You slow your pace, shaking your head in hopes of defying the voices that have followed you out from the dreams. The shadows are here too. You can feel their edges tightening and nipping into your skin. It’s no longer an illusion but real life.

“Princess?”

A voice, a real human voice, shatters the ever-darkening night, and you latch onto it greedily, desperately. When you lift your head, panting all the while, he’s there, like a savior gleaming in the moonlight. The sight of him shocks you awake because there’s no way that something so gentle, so alluring would exist in your nightmares. You return to yourself haltingly, unable to look away as your heartbeat settles and then steadies.

Wonwoo has discovered you, wandering before the physician’s pavilion in the dead of night, feet and shoulders bare, having neglected a cloak to drape over your nightwear. You barely notice that you’re trembling until the Redeemer crosses over the courtyard to where you stand, pulling at his own coat to place around you, wrapping you in a swell of warmth and the scent of lilac that instantly begin to seep into your bones.

The man doesn’t say anything as he winds an arm around your shoulders and begins guiding you forward. You keep your head dipped low, eyes glued to the ground, as you follow in shame. The brief journey ends with Wonwoo tucking you into a hallway and closing a door behind the both of you. For a moment, there’s nothing but darkness and you feel the stab of panic again until you hear the strike of a match, see a tiny flame tossed into a furnace. The room that appeared as a yawning void opens up with light, and you peer around, gathering details and piecing together an impression.

Along the leftmost wall, you catch the counter of a tavern, fashioned from a long, polished slice of wood. Beneath the surface lines an array of barstools, each standing at varying heights. On the opposite end of the room, a cluster of armchairs and lounge chairs have been gathered, a hodge-podge collection of furniture. The fabrics and leathers of the seats are worn and sunken in with use, which is a comforting thought, as if people have lovingly used them as intended, unlike the pristine condition of everything else in the palatial rooms.

“Where are we?” You croak, wincing at the sound of your own voice, cold and ragged, in the warmth of the mysterious room.

Wonwoo remains quiet, pattering around the room to throw more kindling into the fire, to strike another match and start up the stove, to shake some leaves into a pot for tea. When he finally stops bustling, he returns to your side, an arm a steadying brace again at the small of your back, as he guides you to sit in one of the couches.

You sink into the plush seat, staring up at him patiently, while he busies himself to fasten the cloak still over your shoulders tighter, tugging over a blanket from another chair to pull over your lap. You want to tell him to stop, stop moving, stop fussing, but there’s such a determination set to the clench of his jaw and the crease in his brow that trying to stop him feels like a transgression.

Instead, you decide to steal this opportunity for yourself, slowly observing the man that you’ve already become so inclined towards. Without his overcoat in the way, the strong line of his shoulders outlines his figure, giving way to lean arms, narrow waist, an expanse of legs. The short clipped style that he wears his hair in, his angled face, his slender yet strong build, everything about him leans towards the image of a soldier, much like the ones who you trained as Blades beside. And yet, you recall the dimpled smile as he quietly teased Mingyu, the soft skin and slender wrists of a hand that has never felt the heft of a weapon, the lingering touches that have been nothing but gentle. The juxtaposition bewitches you, and you fall headfirst into the charm.

Beautiful, the thought forms effortlessly.

The Redeemer comes over, finally, dipping to a knee in front of you to close your fingers around a clay vessel, hot and fragrant with tea. He insists with a nod until you take a sip, hold the mouthful to savor its warmth, before swallowing it. Ever so slightly, the tension in the grit of his teeth eases, and he takes a drink from his own cup, motionless in his kneel at your feet. Several heartbeats of silence follow until he breaks it with a murmur. “This is the safe haven I’ve created, away from the court, away from the nobility.” Wonwoo wears a modestly proud smile. “It’s meant for all of us. The Circle and the Triumvirate, I mean. Though Soonyoung likes to take advantage of it as his own personal clinic.” He adds the last bit with a fond scowl.

You contemplate his words, taking another analysis of the space. Tucked away into a corner, there is a trunk, not unlike the one in his office at the pavilion. You guess that it would similarly contain a supply of medical equipment.

With every subsequent sip, the tea that Wonwoo brewed brings you an inch closer to reality. Once you near the bottom of the cup, the Redeemer finally ventures to ask. “What happened?”

You think that you would be able to answer him, if he wasn’t so earnestly peering up at you from the floor. With a sobering surge of courage, you tell him so, motioning for him to come up beside you on the cushions. Wonwoo sits so close that your shoulder brushes his and you smell the lilac that seems to cling to him like a second skin.

It’s not hard to find the words to say. After all, you’ve had this conversation once already. A few years ago, when Soonyoung had caught you readying yourself to run again, on a night so dark that the shadows swirled and suspended in the air, like ink in water. He had held you at arm’s length by the shoulders, demanded what was required of him to stop you from disappearing from your family and life for the second time.

“I have these dreams. These nightmares. Shadows cut into my skin and make me bleed, but they’re not as bad as the voices. They tell me the things that I want to avoid accepting.”

Wonwoo takes it all in stride, politely keeping his eyes off of you as he stares down into his mug and inquires, “What kinds of things?”

“That I’m not enough. That I’m going to let everyone down.”

He considers this in silence, leaving the space for you to continue talking, as if now that you’ve started, you can’t seem to stop.

“They tell me that Soonyoung is a fool for swearing an oath with me because I’m weak. Inevitably, he’s going to die because I’m going to fail to protect him. They tell me my parents didn’t love me because I’m no use to them.”

Wonwoo bristles against you, his entire body growing taut and still. “Do you really believe that?”

You close your eyes.

“It doesn’t matter if I believe it or not. It’s the truth.”

Whether intentional or not, the conversation lulls to an end, and the warmth of the room drains the adrenaline from your restless night, easing you into the blurred boundary of being conscious and asleep.

When you wake, you find yourself in an unfamiliar room, cheek pressed against a warm, worn leather. Haltingly, you come to each of your senses. The soft cotton of a blanket that has covered you overnight. The musty scent of a secret room and the drying peels of oranges laid out to combat it. Water babbling as it boils in a kettle. Pale sunlight filtering through the window slits.

You press yourself up to sit, seeking out the one presence in the room that you couldn’t stop thinking about even as you dozed restlessly. Wonwoo, despite having spent the night in this stale room, looks as undisturbed as always. He doesn’t look up from his hunch over the tea that he’s meticulously tending to when he calls, “I’m to report to the Head’s living quarters later this morning for a routine check-up. Would you like to accompany me?”

You blink, stunned at the request from the Redeemer, who has actual responsibilities within the court, unlike you. You should politely deny the offer. You should pretend to be preoccupied with other prior commitments, play the false part of a princess who is beloved and desired and important. Instead, your heart betrays your head, and you nod wordlessly.

Later, when Wonwoo has completed his business, the two of you amble through Jihoon’s courtyard, enjoying the rare sunlit morning.

“Plum blossoms,” Wonwoo says thoughtfully, tall enough that when he reaches up, his fingertips brush against the buds that are beginning to sprout their white and pink petals. “They flower in the late winter. You’re supposed to prune them right after they flower, to help them grow better.” You hum curiously, craning your neck to admire the massive tree stretching wide above. “The symbol of the Lee Clan,” you muse, “And yet only Jihoon’s yard gets to have them planted in it.”

“He probably doesn’t even realize that they’re here,” Wonwoo’s laughter makes his voice trill, and you beam at the branches, fighting to hide it away from him.

“When I was a kid, I used to beg my nanny to sneak me away from home and come over to see the flowers here,” you reminisce, the taste of the memory bittersweet on your tongue. “Our yard only has gingkos, so everything was bare during the wintertime.”

A smile plays at the man’s lips. “A nanny? That’s very princess-y of you.”

You snort in response before you can even think to hold it in, “Only because my mother didn’t want to have anything to do with me.” Wonwoo’s face falls, and you snicker at his dismay. “Don’t worry, everyone’s known this for decades at this point.”

The Redeemer’s mouth twists in deliberation as he tips his head to the side, wondering if it’s the truth or if you’re just trying to make him feel better. He flusters on, choosing to change the subject.

“My parents refused to let anybody intervene with their parenting,” he shrugs. “They didn’t let anybody coddle or reprimand us. They decided that the best and the worst should always come from the parents.” Wonwoo laughs, but there’s a misty rasp to it, as if nostalgia threatens to steal him away. Shaking his head, he reaches overhead and pinches to pluck a tiny blossom off, delicate in his lithe fingers.

You feel like Wonwoo hesitantly opens up about his own childhood as a response; you shouldn’t pry further.

“How do you know so much about flowers?” You inquire instead, absentmindedly holding a palm out when Wonwoo gestures to you and drops the blossom into your hand.

Almost instantly, the defenses come up in his expression, and you understand, feeling the walls as fervently as if they were your own. The straight line of Wonwoo’s shoulders grows taut, a shadow flickers across his gaze, and he responds through his teeth, “My mother loved flowers.”

You nod once, guilty for asking, and that’s that.

–

“There’s a whisper in the wind.” You stare back at the Yoon man, who Jihoon has appointed as his chief Whisperer. You hadn’t met him in your childhood before you left, but you’ve gathered that your brother and cousins trust Jeonghan with their lives. Nevertheless, you’re a little wary of the man whose innocent visage, you know, obscures a mischievous streak within. Even the way he got ahold of you, slipping in step right beside you as you took your late afternoon stroll amongst the barren trees unsettles you.

Whisperers, in general, have always discomforted you. Your uncle’s chief Whisperer had been a snake of a man, with an easygoing smile and eyes that flashed like lightning. Even as a child, you had squirmed even being in the same room with the man. The moment you had landed eyes on Jeonghan upon your return, you had known that he was the spawn of the serpent in your memories.

“What do the whispers say?” Your curiosity triumphs over your unease.

For once, Jeonghan’s lips aren’t upturned into a smile. Instead, there’s a slight crease to his forehead, and he looks the proper part of a man burdened with the secrets of the entire kingdom. “Lord Jeon has broken a longstanding deal with the Park clan, regarding the private ownership of their clinics, and the Parks aren’t happy.” Your head twinges, unused to the politics of business-dealing. “Why did he do it?”

Jeonghan shrugs a shoulder, dipping his head closer to you. “The Parks have always coveted the Jeons’ proximity to the Triumvirate. They think that once Lord Jeon passes, they can topple his empire.”

You frown but still don’t understand where this leads. The Whisperer’s gaze softens at your confusion before he delivers the objective.

“The whispers tell me that they want to exterminate his sons, so that there will be no heirs to inherit the empire.”

There’s a high-pitched ringing in your ears that deafens you from your own voice asking, “How do they know?”

You return to your senses just as you catch the tail end of Jeonghan’s response. “They recently hired a band of bloodswords. The whispers say that they’ve been bustling all night and morning, and they suspect that they’ll make their move soon.”

You should’ve listened to Jeonghan.

The sky had been red as blood when you woke that morning. Usually, it reads as an omen of a storm, but it had felt like something worse. Your mind had gone to Jeonghan’s words instantly, but Wonwoo is securely tucked into the palace grounds. Surely not even bloodswords are capable of slipping past the Sentinels.

You should’ve listened to Jeonghan.

When the incessant alarm in your head doesn’t let up, you decide to check in on the physician pavilion with Mingyu, who isn’t hard to wrangle up at all. Soonyoung, on the other hand, tosses sleepily in his bedsheets, grumbling something about having taken an overnight shift for Seungcheol. You frown, unimpressed, but leave him in his room with a mutter that if you, and Jeonghan, turn out to be right and Wonwoo really is in danger, he’ll be sorry for it.

Wonwoo’s not in his office. The chairs have been thrown, overturned here and there. The glass top of his desk shattered to oblivion.

Immediately, your concern rots away into dread, and it rises in the back of your throat as bile. Mingyu’s quick on his feet, already lisping through his next thoughts out loud, but you can barely hear what he says, your own mind reeling in panic and fear and despair.

“Tigress,” Mingyu barks, fingers bruising as he grips your shoulder, “pull yourself together. We need to find Wonwoo.”

You nod, mumble out your agreement. The Sentinel takes off, and you follow closely, barely aware of where he leads. Mingyu makes quick work of his hunt, like a hound closing in on a scent, and it feels like only a few heartbeats when he skids to a pause in the gateway to a secluded courtyard, one hidden away from most of the palatial grounds, most frequented by servants. The night swarms in, dark and smothering, and there’s barely a sliver of the moon in the sky to provide light but you see him.

You see Wonwoo, crumpled on the floor and trying to shove himself deeper into the corner that he’s been backed into. There’s a man merely a few feet in front of him, much farther away from you, who inches closer and closer to Wonwoo, a sickly sardonic laugh rattling out of his chest. Like a hunter, triumphant as his prize awaits.

There’s a horrid cut splitting the pale flesh of Wonwoo’s cheek, weeping blood. Staring at the man before him, he holds out the dagger that Soonyoung gave for protection in their childhood, but it’s too loose in his trembling grip. You see the Redeemer as he once was: a gentle boy, raised by a healer and a nurturer, who grew up wanting nothing but to care for others, the way he was cared for by his parents. Wonwoo couldn’t kill anyone, let alone harm them, even if he wanted to, and the thought makes your insides burn like wildfire.

“Wonwoo.” Your voice barely comes out, but he hears you, jerking his chin up. His eyes, stretched wide with terror, land on you, and the world around you tips on its axis. They hurt him, put a mark on a man who would never wish harm on another. “No,” you whisper, fingers curling tighter against your weapon, clinging to something desperately so that you don’t lose yourself in the storm. “No. You don’t get to lay a hand on him. You shouldn’t have done that.” The words escape as a sigh from miles away.

The bloodsword swivels his head over his shoulder before barking out another scoff. “Get lost, little girl. The grown-ups are dealing with business.”

The man’s words fall innocuously on deaf ears. There’s half a thought forming in your head that maybe you should just disarm him, incapacitate him just enough to have him out of the way so that you can check on Wonwoo. You look back at the Redeemer, see the cut on his face, and a roaring starts up in your ears, as the thought sputters and fizzles out.

Without a word to Mingyu, you surge forward, but you know that he’s there, hot at your heels. The man puts up no real fight; after all, bloodswords are amateur assassins. The man swivels on his feet, just in time to meet you as you reach him. You barely duck under the swing of his knife, but his movements are clumsy and unpracticed. He tries to lash out several more times, but you weave through each of his attempts.

You should kill him quickly–there’s Wonwoo to get to–but the grating noise of his awful laugh echoes in your head. How dare he laugh at the thought of hurting Wonwoo, of killing him? Your head gets loud again, you shift to the right a little too slowly, and the man’s swipe catches you across the chin, jerking your head to the side. It doesn’t hurt, you only feel the force of it and nothing else, but it’s enough. You drop into a crouch and slash at his calves with your blade, smiling when his muscles tear and his knees buckle beneath his weight.

A pitiful yelp of a cry spills from the man, but it’s too late for you to care. You wrench his shoulder, flip him around so that he’s crumpling onto his back, as you loom over him. He has no choice but to look at you now, standing before him with the blade steadying your hands. There’s a slow satisfaction that bubbles in the pit of your stomach, before spreading, warm in your veins, as you see the man’s face contort from anger to despair to finally fear. It delights you, knowing that he has realized his mistake.

The man dies screaming, and you revel in the way his voice gurgles as he chokes on his own blood before it cuts out entirely.

Other bodies thud to the floor around you as Mingyu takes care of the hoards that continue appearing, and the reprieve allows you to crouch beside Wonwoo, pressing a quivering palm to his unmarred cheek.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” You demand firmly, searching his eyes and any visible part of his body for signs of injury. “You’re okay now,” you whisper fiercely, feeling your heart tear at the sight of blood slipping from his face, over his jaw, and down his pale throat, of the panic in his usually unruffled expression. “We’re here now.”

The Redeemer shakes his head, and the dagger clatters out of his fingers as he tugs at you and you crash into his chest. “You’re safe,” he mutters, but you can barely hear his voice over the hammering of his heartbeat against your ear, the blood rushing furiously through your head.

You want nothing more than to stay in the warmth of his embrace, but you force yourself to push away and up. “You’ll be safe with Mingyu,” you promise, for the sake of yourself, if not for Wonwoo’s. You hear him call your name, a frantic howl of a noise, but rage pulses through your veins and it calls you back, back into the throng of the violence.

You advance, cutting through the outbreak of invaders like stalks of grass with a scythe. The anger, the fear that Wonwoo could’ve been hurt even worse blinds and deafens you. You move ceaselessly, bending and crouching and lunging and slashing. You dip to slice at the heels of one man, shoot yourself up and twist to tear the throat of another. A constant rhythm that never lets up, just like the Kwons taught you to, because a motionless warrior is a corpse. This is what dancing must feel like.

Just a bit up ahead, there’s another figure whirling and carving down the rest of the men with his twin blades. You take the moment to catch your breath, reel in the emotions that have gotten too unruly, fraying the edges of your minds and taking control of your body. In the middle of counting to a hundred, eyes squeezed shut, a gentle weight lands atop your head, grounding you. You don’t need to see to know that it’s Soonyoung, heat and the stench of iron nearly vibrating off of his body.

“Wonwoo?” The First Blade prompts quietly, and you can still hear malice in his voice because no matter how much more control he has over himself, you and Soonyoung are cut from the same bloody cloth. While your rage consumes your entire body in a deafening inferno, his fury makes his world go silent, like he’s swimming in frigid, subzero waters.

“We got to him just in time. I left him with Mingyu.” The words coming out of your throat sound like they’re coming from another person. They’re quiet, but the rest of your body is still so loud. Buzzing with the need to kill, kill, kill.

A muted sigh escapes Soonyoung. He drops his hand from your head to your face, fingers brushing at a spot on your jaw that smarts at his touch. “Tigress. He’s safe. That’s all that matters for now,” the man mumbles gently. “Go see him. We’ll kill the rest of the Park bastards another day.”

His promise is not enough. Your body yearns for more bloodshed, here and now, but you force yourself to nod and let yourself be tugged away from this battlefield to the next.

–

The physician pavilion has been wrecked, so there’s only one place that Mingyu could have taken Wonwoo.

The speakeasy-turned-clinic welcomes you like a second home as you step into its dim warmth, followed closely by Soonyoung. Only once you pass the threshold into the main holding room and see for yourself that Mingyu and Wonwoo are truly alive and well, you let yourself go lax, shoulders sagging as the weight of the world releases you.

Wonwoo sits on a barstool as the Sentinel hovers before him, stitching up his cheek with deft fingers. You’re so relieved that your knees threaten to buckle beneath you. There’s a moment when Wonwoo realizes your arrival and glances up, expression raw and melting with relief. You struggle to say something, anything, but your head swarms with loud thoughts of mine, mine, mine. It’s a bizarre feeling, wanting him so viscerally, when all your life, you’ve denied yourself. Distantly, you feel the stick of blood on your palms at the carnage you’ve just rendered, and guilt festers, reminding you of how undeserving you are of him.

“Tigress.” The sound of Soonyoung’s nickname for you sounds foreign and clumsy on Wonwoo’s tongue, and it startles you into stumbling a few steps forward.

You shake your head, no, as your feet crash into the stool Wonwoo sits on. Somewhere in your mind, you recognize that Mingyu’s arms come up around your shoulders to right your body as it careens forward, but all you can think is my name, my name, my name until the Redeemer calls you by your name and the infernal world around you finally hushes and settles.

He got hurt because of you, because you didn’t get there on time, because you didn’t take Jeonghan’s whispers seriously at first. All because of your own shortcomings as a Blade. The thought unravels you.

“I’m sorry.” The words spill faster than the tears do. “I’m sorry.”

Wonwoo’s nose crinkles with concern. “What are you sorry for, princess? You saved my life.”

You want to reach up, you want to hold him, but there’s so much blood on your hands. You’d only be tainting him. Like how you ruin everything else.

You get knocked into the darkness, it rushes in and sucks you under like a tidal wave, and you don’t know how to swim out.

“–ey. Hey.”

Another call of your given name. Still foreign after all this time. It rattles your entire being, and the words, barely formed and uncouth, fight their way off of your tongue clumsily.

“I let you get hurt,” you despair, fingers clenching and unfurling around empty air. “I’m not enough. I’ll never be enough to protect you. I need to be perfect–”

“Stop.”

You flinch at the anger brimming in Wonwoo’s voice. It’s foreign in your ears, and you’re not sure that you like it very much. Unlike yours and Soonyoung’s, the Redeemer’s rage feels not like a weapon but more like a manacle. Your throat burns with the desire to free him from it, so you clamp your jaws shut obediently, swallowing down the rest of the venom.

Wonwoo stands, knocking the stool backwards. The noise as it topples over and clatters through the floor returns you to the present, just enough for you to glance up and around the room, discovering that both Mingyu and Soonyoung’s presence have disappeared. You’re both relieved and anxious for it, unsure of what demons the privacy might lead you to bare next. The thought barely skims through your mind, before there’s a heat pressing into you. Confused, you look back forward, and it’s all Wonwoo. Wonwoo, clasping a hand to your cheek, the other settling heavy on your hip. Wonwoo, searing an inspection along the perimeter of your face, where you’re barely aware of a cut steadily weeping blood. Wonwoo, mumbling quietly, breath soft and warm and sweet against your mouth.

“You’re hurt,” he says simply.

It’s everything and nothing all at once. It’s so trivial that you want to brush him off. It’s so profound that you want to wholly consume the moment, greedily swallowing it away for yourself. As you dither, Wonwoo makes the decision for you.

He only tips his head back, lips brushing faintly against yours like a question, like a promise.

Once offered, you have no mind to do anything but take, take, take, and you’re pressing forward desperately, wanting nothing but Wonwoo’s touch to be burnt into your skin like a brand. In response, a quiet whine escapes him, pitched high with delight. He reciprocates with a relentless fervor, mouth melded to yours, breathing fire down your throat.

You swallow it eagerly. When your chest feels close to tearing apart from lack of air, you resentfully pull back for a moment to suck in a breath. In the lapse, the Redeemer smiles down at you, a gentle thumb sweeping over your face.

“I don’t need a perfect you,” he professes, soft and earnest. “I have never expected perfection.” As you grasp for shallow breaths, you puzzle over his words, as his polite smile widens into blatant amusement. “You don’t remember, do you? I’ve seen you before, when we were children. Multiple times, in fact.”

You frown. There’s nothing of Wonwoo in your faint recollections of your childhood, aside from the blurred images of his father. Try as you might, not a single picture of what he might have even looked like in boyhood exists in your head. After all, if he had been in your life back then, maybe your childhood wouldn’t have been as miserable as it was.

As if he notices your dejection, the Redeemer soothes you with a chaste kiss against the forehead. “No matter,” he whispers delicately. “It was always from afar anyway, whenever my father had me tag along to the palace with him. I was too quiet and shy to say anything to you.”

Despite yourself, you quip, “Even quieter than now?”

Wonwoo grins, “Hard to believe, isn’t it?” He continues a bit more seriously, brows drawn together, “You were younger than me, and the princess, but you always looked so unhappy. It was strange.” Shaking his head slightly, he corrects, “It was concerning.”

“I was unhappy,” you concede, but you don’t want to think about it, at least not right now. There will come a time when you bare your whole heart to Wonwoo, you decide then and there. He will witness the deepest and ugliest parts of your soul, and you will leave it up to his judgment if he deems you worthy of saving, of his redemption. Until then, you think that you’ll have to make do with being less than perfect for him. To have him and to give yourself to him as you are.

Wonwoo meets your gaze, knowingly, as if he understands your resolution and acknowledges it for himself as well. You smile, grow lax at the weight taken off of your chest finally, and lean in to kiss him again. Straining up to reach his height isn’t enough, despite the sharp angle that he crooks his neck at, so you urge him backwards, still clutched within his embrace, until the backs of his knees meet the edge of an armchair and you’re falling forward into him, into the seat.

He huffs out a breath, as his fingers trail along your ribcage, hot, like flames licking along your skin. You hold yours, afraid that if you move or make a sound, the spell will break and the moment will shatter. It’s not enough, the slow, intentional sweep of his hands that hold you like fragile glass.

“My mother grew flowers,” he pants into your mouth, words nearly going unnoticed by the haze in your head. “Kept flowers that grew in every season, every color of the rainbow. Raised her boys as she would her flowers, she would say.” Wonwoo’s murmurs rattle you to the core, and you wish that he had told you this when you were in a state to receive it more appreciatively.

You press a palm against his chest firmly, wincing as you deny it when he dips his head back low to get closer. Working hard to reel in your ragged breaths, you hook a finger beneath his chin, lifting his face to examine it. His pupils grow wide, darkening his gaze, and you watch it happen curiously.

Wonwoo rasps out a laugh, which sends your stomach tumbling, but you’re too far gone to care. You recognize it for what it is. He continues speaking in that quiet rumble of his, and all of your senses amplify, seeking out his voice and hanging on every word.

“I was scared that I would grow weak,” he admits like he’s telling a secret, “Flowers are pretty, but delicate. I envied Soonyoung and Mingyu, who were raised as warriors.” Wonwoo smiles and brushes his knuckles against the bruise blooming across your jaw. “Of you, even. A princess who was brave enough to become a Blade.”

You smile back, remorse bitter in the back of your mouth. “It’s not a proud thing, to be a weapon.”

“It’s a beautiful thing, to be a protector.” He argues fiercely, and his gaze burns so intensely that you think you might believe him.

–

Every passing day, every passing moment that you find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from Wonwoo, you think of your mother. You don’t glance at him because he prompts you to, you don’t pore over every shift of his expressions to gauge his emotions, you simply look for looking’s sake. The mere sight of him brings a calm that you never thought you would know in life.

Your attention is wholly yours to have and to give as desired. Without even thinking to, you give your attention to Wonwoo, even when he doesn’t demand it, because your head and your heart are magnetized to him. You realize, slowly, begrudgingly at first, then rapidly all at once, that this is what love must be.

You’ve always known that your parents never loved you. As a child, you had writhed and twisted and bent over backwards to get them to glance your way even for the slightest of seconds and see that you were smiling as angelically as you could to gain favor. You understand now that there would have been nothing that you could’ve done to receive their attention because there was no love in their heart for you. You know it but don’t think that you’ll ever comprehend it. Not when your concentration slips away from you so effortlessly, like sand through a sieve, and your thoughts scatter away from your mother to the Redeemer, merely a few feet across of you atop a barstool, head crooked into his book, fingers playing at the edges of the next page.

Love. The word tingles on the tip of your tongue and your mouth waters at the taste of it.

“You’re staring.” Wonwoo doesn’t move as he speaks, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve imagined his velvet soft voice.

Cheeks flaring hot at getting caught, you stubbornly turn your head away, looking at anything but him.

You think that Wonwoo might love you, too.

For when you can’t last longer than a few seconds staring at the wall and your gaze draws back to him inevitably, like a moth to a flame, his mirthful eyes are already on you, ready to receive your attention.

#seventeen fic #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt fanfic #svt x you #wonwoo x you #wonwoo fic #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo angst #wonwoo #mingumis

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jmliebert · 3 days ago

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♡ Halsin Being Love Smitten by an Oblivious Tav ♡

Oh, this is a good one. Halsin — strong, confident, experienced — brought to his knees by one thing he never saw coming: your sheer, unrelenting obliviousness. It’s hard to make him baffled, but you did. You actually made him baffled. Incredible.

He’s lived for over three centuries. Seen countless wonders, taken many lovers, and faced horrors that would break lesser souls. Nothing has caught him off guard for the longest time it would seem. And yet you have. Because somehow, despite his very clear interest, his smoothest moves, and his voice dropping into that deep purr — you simply don’t get it. Not one bit.

And by Oak Father, it really do baffles him.

You see, he feels it every time you walk by — a rush of warmth in his chest, the unshakable need to be near you. He listens to your every word, even your stillest ramblings, with rapt attention, laughing easily and freely in a way he hasn’t in years. It feels good to be close to you. It feels right. And he’s wise enough to know exactly what that means. He is, without doubt, utterly and completely love smitten with you… and Halsin is many things, but shy is not one of them. So naturally — he courts you.

At first, subtly, slowly… intending to take full pleasure from getting to know you better in that kind of way. A lingering touch here, a playful tease there, a deep-chested chuckle whenever you say something endearing. Surely you’ll catch on.

You do not.

You smile at him. You laugh, you listen, you seem happy to be around him. But not once — not once! — you show any sign of realising that he likes you more than a friend. (oh, so much more)

Is he being too subtle? Surely not. Halsin is experienced. He’s seen things. He’s been with partners who could read his desires from a single glance, and here he is — flexing like a fool whenever you so much as glance in his direction, hoping you’ll notice.

And Oak Father help him, he’s trying so hard. It’s like he isn’t himself anymore. He feels like a young pup wandering into unknown territory.

So… he finds excuses to touch you. Offers a steadying hand when crossing a stream (as if you’re not perfectly capable), lets his large hands linger on your waist a fraction too long when lifting you over an obstacle. Getting all worked up from the mere brush of your knees.

One day Halsin brings you fruit he’s foraged with a casual,

"If you desire more, I am always at your service.”

"You really do take good care of everyone," you say, eyes shining with pure, unshaken obliviousness. The words he wants to say—I would much rather focus my care on you specifically—catch in his throat, swallowed down by a sigh. Somehow, faced with your innocence, he just can’t bring himself to say it.

Has he lost his touch? Is he truly so out of practice? He has never worked this hard to make his feelings known. And worse—he’s starting to feel things he hasn’t in years. Frustration, longing, an almost feral urge to just grab you by the shoulders and tell you outright.

By the gods, he is horny and in distress. And he’s been horny many times, but in distress like this? No. However… Halsin is not a man who simply gives up. Not to doubt, not to hesitation—and certainly not when it comes to you. Not when he’s waited lifetimes to feel this way again. Not when he’s finally met someone who stirs the very roots of his being.

So, no more subtlety, no more lingering touches. No more charming lines that you so sweetly misunderstand. One evening, with all the weight of a man on the brink, he levels you with a look, strong arms crossed over his chest, and says in a tone that leaves no room for interpretation:

“Tav. We need to talk. And this time, I’ll make sure you understand exactly what I mean.”

Because by the Oak Father, if you don’t realise how desperately he wants you after this conversation—he might just lose his mind.

So he takes you away—away from the crackling campfire, from the idle chatter of your companions, from the weight of the world pressing down on both of you. He leads you to a quiet, secluded glade where the trees arch overhead like ancient sentinels. The stars shimmer above, casting silver light over everything, but Halsin?

Halsin is radiant.

He stands before you, broad and strong, his golden skin illuminated by moonlight. There’s something different in the way he looks at you now—an intensity, a quiet, unshaken resolve. And then, in a voice deep as the earth itself, he speaks:

"I want to lay with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine…”

Your breath stutters. Your eyes widen, because suddenly, everything clicks into place.

The lingering touches. The flirtation you had brushed off as simple kindness. The way his gaze always seemed to find you, the way his presence felt like a steady force in your current life, constant and unwavering. It was never just friendliness. It was never just admiration.

It was this.

It was him wanting you.

The weight of his words sinks into you, slow and heavy like honey pouring thick from a jar. He isn’t teasing. He isn’t jesting—Halsin is far too earnest for that. His kindness, his unwavering dedication, have only blurred the truth for you. But now, there is no mistaking it. There’s no lightheartedness in his tone—only intention. Only want.

The words roll off his tongue like a promise, rich with meaning, with want. His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it—an unmistakable need. His hand lifts, slow, deliberate, as if he’s savouring every second before he touches you. And when he does—when his large, calloused palm finally cups your cheek—your breath catches.

His warmth is immediate, grounding, real. He’s so close now—too close, not close enough. His golden eyes search yours, darkened with something primal, something deep and unspoken. He’s looking for something—truth. An answer. A silent permission for this moment to become something more.

And gods, the air between you is alive with it.

Will you give it to him?

That choice—that power—is yours.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

again, thanks for this lovely request

you can find more of my works about halsin ♡here♡ hihi

#halsin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate halsin #bg3 imagine #bg3 halsin imagine #halsin x tav #halsin imagine #halsin headcanons #halsin x you #halsin x oc #halsin x reader #halsin bg3 #halsin silverbough #halsin fluff #bg3 fluff

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ministarfruit · 2 days ago

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minifemslashfeb 2025 summary - COMPLETE!!

thank you for another swag year, yurilings!!! I did something a bit different this year and challenged myself to do a different series for every single day!!! what will come next year? who's to say...

hope everyone enjoyed and ALSO MAKE SURE YOU CHECK OUT ALL THE OTHER WONDERFUL WORKS IN THE MAIN TUMBLR TAG:

➡️ MINIFEMSLASHFEB2025 (ALL WORKS)

so so many people came out to join this year so I highly recommend scrolling the tag to see what came out of the femslash walls this humble year ^_^

have a great and yuriful day!!

#minifemslashfeb2025 #personal #WE DID IT FOLKS!!!!!!#WE LIVE LAUGH YURI'D!!!!!!!!#and I got to draw a lot of fun new things #so that was exciting for me!!

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dreamsteddie · 2 days ago

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Can't Take My Eyes Off You

Written for the @stmarchmm day one prompt “courting rituals” | Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Courting Rituals, Alpha Eddie Munson, Omega Steve Harrington - Also on Ao3

Bat divider -@popmilky | Diamond divider - @inklore

Eddie knows he doesn’t have much going for him in terms of mating material.

Despite presenting as an Alpha early at age twelve, something that should have given him some kind of status in a town like Hawkins, there’s always been something about him that makes people turn their noses up at him, close doors in his face. He’s kind of wishy-washy when it comes to the things he’s not passionate about, he smells like wet pavement and cigarette smoke, and can’t for the life of him seem to graduate high school.

He also can’t grow a beard, can’t remember to separate the darks from the lights, can’t tie his shoes without using the bunny ears method, can’t hop in place and rub his tummy, can’t-

Well the point is, there are a lot of “can’t”s in his life and never a whole lot of “can”s

The one thing Eddie can do without a shadow of a doubt is pursue delusions of grandeur with a single-minded determination. No matter how hard this shit-hole town and all its designation-obsessed inhabitants have tried to beat him into the dirt over the years, he’s never let go of his dreams. Some day, he’s going to play songs for the entire goddamn planet, making millions of dollars off lyrics inspired by all the games and books that have gotten his head shoved in the Hawkin’s High toilets over the years, and Mayor Kline will have to give him a key to the city while Eddie Munson, town freak, gives him the middle finger.

And, if all the stars align and the Big Guy upstairs he doesn’t believe in does him several solids, he’ll be doing it with Steve Harrington standing by his side.

The guys think he’s crazy—Eddie thinks he’s crazy—but Eddie is determined to give his all into courting Steve Harrington before their shared senior year ends. He’s, by and large, the most eligible Omega in all of Hawkins, even with his recent breakup with Nancy Wheeler under his belt. No amount of ditching the popular crowd, adopting a bunch of children, and becoming best friends with band geek Robin Buckley has been enough to deter the Alphas of Hawkins High, even if some of them won’t admit it.

Eddie takes great pleasure in watching every failed courting offer. Steve has always been picky about who he lets take him out, but he hasn’t taken up a single Alpha’s offer since Nancy and the rejections are getting more brutal by the day. Eddie suspects it’s Robin’s influence and if that is the case he needs to thank her profusely because Eddie goes a little weak in the knees every time he sees Steve literally turn up his perfect nose at an offer.

So, the odds aren’t looking good. Steve is picky and Eddie is famously a poor, nobody freak, not the kind of guy with the resources to properly woo a guy like Steve, but what Eddie does have is a lot of passion and a strong desire to prove himself.

So Eddie has a capital P Plan.

“Hey Buckley,” Eddie says sliding up to the girl where she’s packing up at the bleachers after practice. She gives him a scrutinizing look and clearly finds him lacking, squinting her eyes at him like he’s a little bug landed on her shoulder. Irritating and suspicious. Which, rude. “I was wondering if a fine lady like yourself would happen to know what one Steve Harrington might be hoping for in a courting” Robin clearly wasn’t expecting him to come right out and ask, her blue eyes going wide.

“What the fuck, Munson!” She crows, clearly embarrassed by his lack of tact.

“What!?” He fires back, not understanding what the big deal is. He wants to court Steve and Robin is the best source of information on how to go about it.

“You can’t just ask that, you doofus,” she hisses, lavender scent going smokey like brush fire.

“Why not? I want to court him, like, publicly. Everyone’s gonna know in a couple weeks anyway. Shouldn’t you be glad you’re the first to know?” He huffs. He knows it’s not exactly the done thing to go around telling people you’re going to court someone. You’re supposed to be delicate. Hint at it and build up little courting gifts and don’t look anyone in the eye. It’s dumb as hell and Eddie wants no part of it. Besides, so far as Eddie has seen, that method hasn’t worked on Steve anyway. Eddie may as well go about this in his own way, which includes getting insider information.

Still clearly not impressed, Robin says “You? You want to court Steve? Resident anti-conformist, jock-hating, Eddie Munson wants to court Steve Harrington. Why?” Her tone is clearly disbelieving, which, again, rude.

“Uh, I mean, have you seen him with those kids? He’s wicked hot with that whole mom thing he’s got going on.” At that, Robin gags. “And, I mean, I know he’s a jock but he’s also an Omega and he pretty much said fuck it to Hawkin’s High when he presented and refused to give up his position as captain. That was super fucking metal,” he says all earnest.

“And I like the way he smells, like a fresh cinnamon roll. And we shared an English class once and he asked me about the doodle of a Beholder I worked on instead of taking notes. And I know I’m not exactly a prime Alpha but I don’t think that really matters. At least not to me. I want to kiss him and make sweet love to him and have babies with him and -” Robin cuts him off with a hand over his mouth.

“Ok, I get it. You like him.” She says that, but she’s still looking at him like she can’t figure him out. “Alright…I don’t know if I like you Eddie but I’ll throw you a bone. Just one, got it? And if you fuck it up, I’m not helping you again.” She says, waiting for him to nod before removing her hand from his mouth.

Eddie takes a deep, overdramatic breath in like he’s just breached water. “Got it.”

Robin takes a deep breath of her own. “Steve’s been propositioned for courting 19 times since he presented and he’s only said yes to one. One-off dates not included.” She hasn’t stopped looking him straight in the eye, making sure he pays attention. “Nancy gave him a set of handwritten notes for history because she noticed he was struggling. All the other Alphas got him fancy jewelry, useless house stuff, and generic valentine's day crap.” With that, she gives him one last, long look before grabbing her trumpet and leaving, the sound of metal clanging under her feet following in her wake.

“Thanks, Buckey!” He calls out, waving his hand wildly at her retreating back. She ignores him.

Well, no matter. He’s got a courting to plan.

The thing about courting when you have $3.45 to your name after rent and gas is that you have to get creative. Which isn’t a problem, Eddie breathes creativity. If he wasn't already “The Freak” he’s sure he would be Eddie “The Creative” Munson. Really, it has a nice ring to it.

The problem comes with making something with $3.45 that is also a worthy courting gift for Steve Harrington. Which, given Robin’s tip, might not be as big a concern as he would have thought. But even if Steve would be happy with a heartfelt love letter and those peanut butter brownies Eddie knows he likes, there’s a part of him that wants to blow every other Alpha and Beta that came before him completely out of the water. Maybe especially Nancy Wheeler.

Sue him, he wants to be the best.

Which leaves him with the option of a gesture. Eddie loves a gesture, but this one is going to require some help. Luckily, Eddie knows where every gang of geeks in Hawkin’s makes their dens, even if they’re not his gang of geeks. It comes with being Head Freak. It’s his responsibility, really.

Which is how he finds himself in the Hawkins Middle AV club room being stared down by a bunch of beady-eyed thirteen year olds on the verge of presenting. Jesus, these kids are intense.

“So yeah, that’s what I’m planning,” he finishes explaining. Would it kill them to look a little impressed? He’s pretty proud of it himself. Instead of sharing looks of awe, the six of them share looks of judgement between them, obviously having a silent conversation between them like some kind of hive mind. Eddie will never admit it makes him sweat a little bit.

“You want to ask to court Steve. Steve Harrington?” the tall, skinny one asks like he can’t believe it. Eddie doesn’t know if the disgust is for him or for the Omega. Either way, ouch.

“Yes,” he replies, sweating a little more. They all share more looks, the redhead in particular is looking at him like he’s gum stuck on the bottom of her shoes.

“Why?” The curly one asks, firm and more seriously than any kid that dorky looking should have any right to speak. Seriously, he looks like a poodle in a Star Wars shirt and a trucker hat. But, Eddie knows enough about Steve to know that these are his kids, his pups, and despite how much it chafes him to have people continually asking why he wants to court Steve, like it isn’t obvious, he knows these pups are just looking out for their pack Omega.

With a deep sigh, Eddie explains for the second time in less than a week, everything he loves about Steve Harrington. At the end of his speech, the pups stare at him for a long moment before simultaneously turning their back on him to form an honest to God huddle. Seriously, the hive mind thing is looking more and more likely. Maybe he should use this for a campaign. Very Children of the Corn.

While Eddie is lost in his musing, they seem to come to some kind of conclusion, breaking up and returning to one solid, unbreakable line. It’s the other girl, hair short and at that awkward growing out length that Eddie knows all too well that steps forward. All these kids are intense, but there’s something especially severe about her, something Eddie only half recognizes.

“We will help you,” she says, quiet and solemn.

This is going to fucking fantastic, Eddie thinks, wild grin splitting across his face.

It’s embarrassingly easy to sneak a band of six middle schoolers and one elementary schooler into the school after hours. The kids met him outside the building just at exactly 4:00 PM the Friday after their meeting in the AV room just as they planned. The addition of the feisty ten year old was unexpected, but she proved herself invaluable in charming the one teacher that stopped them on their way to the radio room, spinning some tale about being so excited for higher learning that they wanted to explore the high school. Eddie thinks Erica Sinclair should run the world.

The kids are a well oiled, if slightly annoying, machine. As soon as Eddie pops the door open they’re getting to work figuring out how the PA system works and how long the range is. Dustin and Lucas insist that they move the entire unit closer to the field, and Max and Will are quick to source a cart for the whole thing. In record time they’re all piling into the coaches office, the one with a clear view of the basketball court where the team is running their Friday drills. Honestly, it feels a little like they’re highjacking Eddie’s plan, but the smiles on their face and their puppy sweet excitement softens the blow a little.

“You ready?” The curly haired one, Dustin, asks while offering him the mic.

“I was born for this, Dusty,” he says, snatching the mic out of his hand and taking his place outside the main gym doors.

Despite what he said, Eddie is nervous. He shakes his hands and bounces in place, trying to shake it off. Before he’s ready, he hears the slightly crackly jazzy intro pouring through the speakers. He counts his beats, waiting for his que. He spent hours planning this, recording the background music with the band, turning the lyrics over and over in his head, even practicing his grand entrance. He’s as ready as he can be.

God, he hopes this works.

And there’s his que, that little pause in the music just enough time for him to push open the doors to the main gym with all his strength, relishing in the dramatic banging sound.

All eyes are on him. Steve’s eyes are on him.

You're just too good to be true,

Can't take my eyes off of you,

He sings as he walks. All the activity in the gym has come to a halt, everyone too confused and curious to stop it. He’s looking right at Steve, who turns his head like he’s expecting to see someone else behind him. He’s so cute, Eddie wants to eat him alive.

At long last love has arrived,

And I thank God I'm alive,

You're just too good to be true

Eddie knows he doesn’t have a lot of time, any moment now principle Higgins and his one security lackey are going to bust through the doors to find out who stole the announcement equipment. This is the moment, the one that needs to count. Eddie saunters right up to Steve like his heart isn’t trying to beat out of his chest and kneels down like a knight to their king. He takes his hand, and Steve lets him as he sings the next line looking right up into those beautiful hazel eyes.

Can't take my eyes off of you.

He turns the hand in his own over to expose the Omega’s wrist just as the music pauses and presses a soft, lingering kiss to the gland there. A courting kiss.

Almost like he planned it, the doors burst open a second time revealing the fuming face of Principle Higgins and his goon. He turns a manic grin Steve’s way just as the music picks back up, cutting straight to the chorus. He presses one last kiss to Steve’s wrist and takes in the way his pretty, pink lips are parted in disbelief, eyes wide and then he’s running.

I love you baby,

And if it's quite alright,

I need you baby,

To warm the lonely nights

Let it never be said that Eddie Munson, for all the ways he fails to be the ideal Alpha, doesn’t have a hell of a lot of stamina. He’s been a proud runner all his life, and he’s using it to his advantage today to put on a show. He’s singing and he’s running as Higgins and Officer Jerry chase his tail like they have any hope of catching him when he doesn’t want to be caught, when he can see the most beautiful boy in the world laughing at him in disbelief as he ducks and dodges around the court.

But even Eddie has his limits and, like he said, he planned this to a T. He can feel himself running out of breath but he refuses to call it before the climax. He’s stomping his way up the bleachers, making a show of going between the rows dancing like he’s in an old hollywood musical. Higgin’s is closing in, but there’s now way he’s getting caught. Not today. He puts in a burst of speed, leaving them in the dust and putting himself right at the top of the wooden stands, singing directly to Steve who is absolutely glowing on the court.

And let me love you,

Baby let me love you…

The music gives one last swell, the Corroded Coffin of two days ago pouring their heart out for the Eddie of today. The music comes to an abrupt halt, the gym very quickly filling with laughter and applause. The kids are screaming their heads off in the office, loud enough to draw Steve’s attention to where they can be seen through the large window. The joy and disbelief on Steve’s face makes all of this worth it, no matter what happens next.

Eddie wishes he could relish in it longer, but the goon squad is gaining ground fast and he has one last message to give before he hauls ass into the next phase of his plan. He starts inching his way toward the exit, not taking his eyes off Steve as he goes. He needs him to hear this.

“Steve Harrington, it would be the honor of my life to court you with the intention of mating. Meet me at the lake at seven if you’ll hear me out.” And with that, he’s gone. He wishes he could stay to see his reaction, but he’s out of time.

He pushes through the emergency exit to the sound of hollering and clapping, all he can do now is commence with phase two.

Phase two mainly consists of picking everything up from the trailer, changing into his nice clothes, and heading toward Lover’s Lake to set everything up.

Eddie thinks this is the most nerve wracking part of the whole plan. In many ways, the whole big performance was the easy part. Eddie loves to perform, eats up the attention like a cat laps up milk. This, the full bearing of his heart to the Omega he wants to spend his life with, is far scarier than anything else. Here in the back of his van, the paper hearts and pillar candles, hand-picked daisies and hand-made peanut butter brownies, leave him completely exposed.

He wonders if Steve will show up.

He wishes he didn’t set up so god damn early. The waiting is excruciating.

The Alpha paces around, adjusts the blankets on the bottom of the van and then decides they were better before, and checks his watch every half minute like it will make time move faster. He sits and watches the hands turn from 6:59 to 7:00. Maybe Steve won’t come. Maybe this was all for nothing and he’ll have to go back to school on Monday and pretend like he isn’t heartbroken.

His watch continues to tick. 7:03, 7:07, 7:10. He’s getting ready to pick it all back up when he hears the muffled sound of tires on soft dirt. Suddenly, his heart is in his throat as he watches the distinct headlights of his favorite Beamer turn into the clearing.

Eddie scrambles to his feet, he has a plan to carry out.

He watches, heart in his throat as Steve parks. Watches as the door opens and Steve emerges, a sweet, sheepish smile on his face.

“Sorry I’m late.” Steve looks like a dream. He clearly went home and had a shower and a change of clothes. He’s wearing light wash jeans that hug his thighs and a soft looking, deep red sweater, the collar of a white dress shirt peeking out from underneath. He’s dressed up for Eddie.

There’s a long pause where Eddie forgets how to speak and Steve just stands there, clearly waiting for Eddie to make a move. Eddie comes back to himself all at one, shaking his head hard like a dog, making Steve let out a startled laugh. “What the hell?” He asks, not mean, but bemused.

“My deepest apologies my liege, I was simply stunned by your beauty,” he says with a half bow, extending his arm for Steve to take. “It is my pleasure to welcome you to Cafe Munson, the finest pop up restaurant this side of Indiana.” It’s goofy and a little ridiculous but Steve takes the offered arm with a little smile, sending a pleasant jolt through his body.

Eddie leads Steve toward the open back of the van, watching him intently as he takes it in. He gets to see as the Omega’s eyes go wide, mouth parting in a little gasp. When he turns to look at Eddie, he’s already looking back. “You did this for me?” He asks, wonder coloring his voice. All of a sudden Eddie feels a little shy, a little sheepish.

“I know it’s not much, I’m not exactly liquid at the moment, but I wanted to do something nice for you,” he says, unoccupied arm reaching up to tug a piece of hair over his mouth. Steve looks at him for a long moment before turning back to the van. There are blankets everywhere, pretty much every one from the house plus a couple he nicked from Gareth’s house after practice. The emergency pillar lights from the pantry give the space a soft glow, paper hearts hang from string from the metal roof, and a repurposed laundry basket full of tupperwares and miller lites sits in the center.

“It’s perfect” Steve says, and Eddie can’t help but believe him. Not when his scent is blooming, cinnamon roll sweet, right under Eddie’s nose.

Eddie leads him to the van, gives him his hand to help him into the back. He takes a moment to take it all in, Steve Harrington settling into a date with Eddie Munson. It’s his biggest dream come true.

He climbs in after the other boy and starts pulling out tupperwares. Steve has settled in to lean on the wall of pillows Eddie constructed for just this reason, pulling a blanket over the both of them when Eddie settles in next to him. Steve laughs with every overly dramatic introduction he makes for the food, and Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever been this warm. Neither of them brings up why they’re here, the underlying meaning behind it all. They dance around it, laughing about the kids, Steve’s sports and Eddie’s games, the look on Principle Higgin’s face when he burst into the gym earlier that day. The whole place smells like cinnamon and smoke, Eddie doesn’t think there’s a better smell in the whole world.

They don’t say a thing about courting or mating or scents until they polish off their cold pasta, courtesy of Wayne, and Eddie pulls out the last tupperware from the bottom of the laundry basket. “And for dessert, may I have a drumroll please….” Steve rolls his eyes but smiles as he complies, drumming a little beat with fingers on the side of the van. Eddie pulls out the container with a flourish, “The finest peanut butter brownies $3.15 worth of ingredients from Melvald’s can get you.” He expects laughter, maybe some light teasing as Steve has been shown to enjoy throughout the night, but all he gets is silence.

He worries, for a moment, that he got it wrong. Maybe Steve doesn’t like peanut butter brownies. Jesus H Christ, maybe he’s allergic to peanuts and Eddie has just massively fucked this up. He’s getting ready to spiral and try to fix it when Steve speaks, voice soft in a way Eddie can’t place.

“Those are my favorites,” he says. When Eddie is brave enough to look at his face again, he’s met with wet, adoring eyes. Eddie doesn't know if anyone has ever looked at him like that before. Like he was something magical. Something special just for them.

Eddie clears his throat when Steve doesn’t say anything else. Just keeps staring at him like he’s waiting for something big. “Yeah, yeah I know,” he says, bracing himself for what comes next. “I uh, I saw you buy some at the club fair last year. You bought three of them and then came back for one more before they closed the booth.” It shouldn’t be such a big admission, but it feels like he’s just handed Steve his heart on a silver platter.

“Eddie?” Steve asks, turning toward him fully.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, sitting up so they’re eye to eye.

“What you said, on the basketball court, will you ask me again?” He’s looking at him with so much hope in his eyes, Eddie almost feels like he could choke on it. Instead, he focuses in on the perfect scent of the man next to him, breathes steadily in and out.

“It would be the honor of my life to court you with the intention of mating, Steve Harrington.” As he says it, he reaches into his pocket for his last offering, his hail mary pass, his death saving throw. It’s a silly thing, cost his last 30 cents at the stationary store, but he was listening to Robin on those bleachers that day. Knows that the gesture and the picnic are all well and good, but what Steve has been missing with all those other Alphas is someone who notices the small details and holds them close. Someone who cares about his C+ in History, someone who knows his favorite brownies are swirled with peanut butter.

Someone who notices that he lost his eraser last week and has been meaning to pick up a new one.

Eddie holds out his heart one last time, it’s shaped like a 30 cent eraser. White and covered with a paper band. The best one on the market.

Steve stares at the little eraser like it contains the answers to the universe, and then he’s plucking it, oh so gently, out of his hands and cradling it in his own. Eddie waits, the ball is completely in Steve’s court now, Eddie has played all his cards.

Suddenly, Steve scent starts to bloom, even more than it did when he first saw the van. The smell of sugar, cinnamon, and yeast so strong it makes Eddie feel light headed. Eddie gets a glimpse of the most beautiful smile in the world just before Steve is throwing his arm around his neck, nudging his way into his lap to notch his head right at Eddie’s scent gland. Eddie’s arms instinctually wrap around his back, keeping him close.

“Yes,” Steve says, the sound of it muffled by the soft skin of Eddie’s neck. Eddie squeezes him tight, knows he needs to ask, just to make sure but worried he’s hallucinating. Scared to believe he’s getting everything he’s ever wanted.

“Yes?” He asks, lips trembling where they’ve found their own place at Steve’s neck, wanting to be as close as possible, just in case.

“Yes.” And Steve is pulling back, which Eddie hates, and cupping his face in is hands. “It would be the honor of my life to accept your courting offer, Eddie Munson,” he says, sure and steady and full to the brim of hope.

“Holy shit.” Eddie can’t believe this is happening. Despite all the planing and the performing and the putting his heart on the line he never actually let himself think that this would happen. Never let himself think about how it would end.

Without much though Eddie barrels forward to bury his head back into the Omega’s neck, his Omega’s neck, peppering him with fervent little kisses until Steve is giggling so hard he tips them over into the pile of pillows behind him. Eddie is full to the brim with joy, happier than he’s ever been and all of a sudden he needs to move. Needs to let the whole world know what he’s got in the palm of his hands.

He jolts up with one last kiss to Steve’s cheek, managing a quick “be right back!” before he launching himself out of the van. He hears Steve calling out in confusion, but it quickly turns into more joyous laughter as Eddie steps out of the van and starts jumping in place, punching the air and whooping into the night sky.

“Fuck you Hawkins! I’m courting Steve Harrington! I’m on top of the God Damn world!” He gets in one last double bird in the general direction of Main Street before Steve is calling him back in.

“Ok, you’ve had your moment. Now get your ass back in here and kiss me for real, you dumb Alpha,” he says, laughter still caught in his throat. And really? Who is Eddie do deny a request like that?

So excited for MMM, guys! I won't be doing every day, but I will be doing at lest a couple of full one shots and some of my normal ramblings. (Also, this is the longest thing I've ever written that wasn't an academic paper and I am low key very proud of myself)

#March Mating Madness #steddie #omegaverse #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #dreamer speaks #fanfiction #robin buckley

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the-lazyyy-artist · 2 days ago

Note

Ok so this is my first time ever doing an ask so if I’m doing this wrong PLEASE tell me. Anyways I wanted to ask for some Oliver Aiku angst. Specifically where we’re married and he’s been cheating but he’s done a weirdly good job at hiding it. But then we find out and leave him. And if you could PLEASE make it in Oliver’s POV for extra male groveling. Now again this is my first time doing an ask so if I come off as demanding or just not detailed enough please forgive me. 🤕😭🫶🏼🤕

moral of the story oliver aiku x gn!reader

Synopsis: Oliver Aiku had everything: fame, the best career, and the love of his life... but sometimes, the snake slithers into the garden of Eden to poison everything.

Tags and Themes: angst, cheating, divorce, established relationship, marriage, people asking stupid questions, aiku's human condition biting him in the ass, ooc lmao, ubers team mentioned eheh

Author's notes: Hello, sweetpea! Oh, this took me a while to write, and you're my first ever request for a drabble! haha! Thank you so much for dropping this request! I wrote it as well as I could. I drew inspiration from stories I heard from that one Reddit story that Smosh read. I forgot which episode, but I will link it here if I find it again. I hope you love it! Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

photo grabbed from Pinterest (owner unknown; will search for it and add it here)

Want more stories? Check out the Blue Lock Masterlist!

On nights, he would stay up and wonder where he went wrong.

He knew he had gotten something wrong; he wasn't stupid, but the turn of events was something he couldn't control, or at least that's what he told himself to comfort him. The dissatisfaction, the cheating, the decision.

He lost everything that he once had.

If we go back to 2 years ago, Oliver Aiku was on the top of the world. Everyone loved him, everyone adored him. He was at the peak of his career at the ripe age of 27, one of Japan's most treasured players as he played for Italy. He was every kid's dream player and every teenager's role model in sports. And most of all, he had you, the best partner he could ever have; you were the one who knew him best since childhood until now and the best support he could ever have had. In every interview he had, he would honor you, telling the world that you're his lucky charm.

He had his dream life.

He had all the best in the world.

In your two years of marriage, he lived for the moment in the privacy of your shared home more than the spotlight on him all the time. Mornings were sweet as he would hold you in his arms, whispering "good morning" in your ear. As sweet love was shared between the safety of your sheets, he knew so well that this was his heaven, having you by his side. The routine of your quiet and comfortable days was something he held close to his heart because he knew how much you cared for him every day, and he gladly reciprocated that. It was all so surreal.

You were so surreal.

But sometimes, the devil slithers silently into the garden without anyone noticing, and for Aiku, it was the playful banters he had with his teammates.

"Don't you ever find it boring?" Lorenzo asked as they all gathered back into the locker room after a productive day of practice. That question alone got everyone's attention.

"Find what boring?" Barou chimed in, his gruff voice echoing in the room. Lorenzo cocked his head towards Aiku as he replied, "I was asking Mr. Lavender Haze here. I wanna know if marriage ever gets boring." Barou scoffs, shaking his head at his teammate. "You wouldn't understand that because all you ever care about is money."

"True, but that's because money can't hurt me," Lorenzo snickered. He slung an arm around Aiku, leaning all his weight on the defender. "Aiku has given up being a player for his partner. That's something I never expected him to do. He'd always disappear every time we're out drinking."

"There are things that needed to be sacrificed for love, Lorenzo," Aiku said, removing Lorenzo's arm around his shoulders. "You'd understand once you fall in love."

"But does it get boring?" Niko asked. The youngest of the team was never one to ask or peep when they talk about relationships, but this conversation must have piqued his interest. "Two years of marriage with the same person and all you do is now a routine. Surely, you'd return to your natural self, your human tendency of being a player."

"Niko, that's why sacrifices are made. I wouldn't have married them if I didn't truly love them. Besides, I know what I was doing before was destructive and inappropriate. I changed for them, and I couldn't be happier."

Niko hummed in response and continued whatever he was doing. But for Aiku, the questions stayed in his mind for quite a while. Does it ever get boring?

That's why he'd break up his past relationships before; 3 months of being together turn dull for him. He needed excitement, a challenge. He needed the thrill of chasing and pursuing. He lived for that high. But you..

You offered contentment, satisfaction, safety, and security. Something he never felt before because he tended to cheat and lily pad. He never wanted to settle down until you came back into his life and accepted him for who he was, loved him despite his past, and cared for him more than he ever cared for himself. You were the epitome of perfection in his eyes.

It was then he realized he still wanted it.

He wanted to get high on that feeling again.

It started small. Drinks with the team would turn into them entertaining fangirls at the bar. It wasn't new that Aiku would get the attention. Girls loved how he looked: his heterochromic eyes and how he carried himself. He'd tell them he was married at first, but with the need for thrill, he eventually gave in and chatted with one of the girls.

He didn't push her away when her hand started to wander on his thighs.

He didn't pull away when her lips got too close to his.

Eventually, his thoughts turned into fruition. The devil made him bite into the apple that wasn't supposed to be eaten, but whatever.

One make-out session turned into secret texts and calls. He was so good at being so discreet, making him feel nostalgic. His excuses weren't so obvious that you'd start suspecting him of anything. Rendezvous were hidden under the guise of extra training time due to an upcoming match, and calls were excused as ones from his manager about "interviews". He was careful, but could not hide the fact that it was...

It was everything he wanted, and he wanted more. More of the thrill, more of her, while still in the safety of your love and marriage.

How could you be so blind, he asked himself. How could his lovely partner be so trusting of him? How could you still smile and kiss him without knowing he was betraying you?

How could he imagine a life without you?

Months passed, and he knew he was in too deep. He started prioritizing the "practices" and "calls from the manager" over the time he should spend with you. It annoyed you, but you knew that's one of the things you were made aware of when you married the football star. His career comes first; the sports community will always have his attention first.

The calls kept coming, and one day, you answered one on his phone.

It wasn't the voice of his manager.

You were quick to pack up and leave despite his pleas, telling you he was sorry, that it was a mistake, that it wasn't supposed to happen.

"I told you, Aiku. When you proposed to marry me, I told you one mistake, I'll leave. I trusted you with all of my life, Aiku. I accepted you and saw how you changed for our marriage, and yet you betrayed me."

He couldn't bring himself to look you in the eye after that.

He couldn't bring himself to wake up every morning, your absence making it all heavier. You weren't coming back soon, and he messed up. He lost you. He lost the life he knew he wanted. He lost the love he never deserved in the first place, yet you gave it to him wholeheartedly. You gave him a chance, and he failed.

The divorce papers arriving at his doorstep made it all worse.

He didn't want to sign it. He stared at it for too long, for days... for weeks... until your lawyer had to ring him up for the deadline.

He hated himself. For the first time, he hated every fiber of his being.

Every court meeting is like seeing the light because he gets to see you, his perfect angel. The only love he's ever known. But you would never meet his eyes. Always looking away, always so distant. He did this, he caused this. He lost the only love he ever knew.

After two whole years and several court hearings, your divorce was finalized. And for the first time in a long time, Aiku finally caught a glimpse of your eyes, the closest thing he could get to feeling your love once again, yet the words that came out of your mouth crushed him.

"I hope you realize that I will be the only one who will truly love you for you and not for your money and fame."

Aiku wasn't a crier. He never was, but he found himself breaking down at your words and how real this finally felt. He truly lost you. You were no longer his, and he's just a shell of a broken man.

He'll be haunted by the ghost of you, forever...

86 notes · View notes

aeribbon · 2 days ago

Text

runway star | kim mingyu (seventeen)

summary; when you catch someone’s eye on the runway and find the love of your life at the same time

pairing; idol!kim mingyu x model!reader

fc; yasmin wijnaldum

warnings; english isn’t my first language, some innuendos ? + i tried to write something at the end but its my first time so 🙈

an; hi i'm back ahaha 😅 taking requests if you guys ever have an idea :) + like and reblog are appreciated

navigation / masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

min9yu_k

liked by dior, vernonline and 3,4M others !

min9yu_k great show ! thank you dior and paris 🖤 #fw

username hes actually so fine its insane

username god gracious

username just fell to my knees

username y’all should have seen him in front the show that day he’s even finer irl

username "thank you dior for giving us more paris mingyu" we say in unison

username oh to wake up next to him every morning

sound_of_coups hope you’re having fun

▮ min9yu_k you guys were missing :(

username BOOMSHAKALA

username and the crowd is in love

username that face card is majestic

username why is he so hoooooot

username streets are saying he was on a date in paris

▮ username none of our business if we’re being fr

▮ username i hope they don’t end up together

▮ username that girl is so lucky

username both lips are smiling

username sometime you just gotta like and say damn

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, alexconsani, min9yu_k and 347k others !

yourusername and that’s a wrap on paris fashion week, thanks to everyone i’m really grateful now vacations are calling

yourbestfriend i’m so proud of you

▮ yourusername 🩷

alexconsani the hottest girl on the runway

▮ yourusername it’s you tho

username she has such a captivating aura it’s crazy

username that catwalk is everything

username model of the year

▮ username fr if she doesn’t get that award, blood will bleed

username ugh

username a diva in diva clothes

username mama that face card is a whole economy

username mother

bellahadid girl hmu before milan we need to hang out

▮ yourusername i miss you

username hold on who’s in the likes

▮ username lmaoo that’s what im saying what is mingyu doing here

username OMG

imnotningning you’re so fine it hurts

▮ yourusername girl says you

username basic

▮ username we sure do see you on the runway 😂

deuxmoi

liked by minwonshu, mwinstic and 128k others !

deuxmoi kpop idol and model kim mingyu from the group seventeen was seen on a supposed date in paris during fashionweek, any ideas who could this mystery woman be ?

username we can’t even see if it’s actually mingyu

▮ deuxmoi our source has clearly seen his face but didn’t want to be seen talking pictures

▮ username ofc y’all are violating their privacy

username NOOOOOOO JUST FELL DOWN ON MY KNEES

username my husband is taken what

username knetizens won’t let this last we’ll see 😂

username probably a gold digger

username mystery woman is such a funny word

username omg stop taking pic of me and my bf this is not cool

▮ username lmao girl something is wrong cause that’s actually my man

username that should be me ffs

username knetizens are going to have a blast

username you mean lucky mystery woman

▮ username FR !! that girl is on a date with thee mingyu

username girl must have manifested hard for her to end up on a date with mingyu

username i really wonder who is she

min9yu_k

liked by yourusername, dk_is_dokyeom and 4,6M others !

min9yu_k italy salute

username CRAZY PICS

username what are we mingyu ?

username oh this post is going down in the books

username girl breakfast, lunch, snack and dinner

username he’s so husband in this post wow

username just one chance

dk_is_dokyeom enjoying once again without us

▮ min9yu_k had my priorities

▮ vernonline priorities 👀

▮ username oh

username mingyu the man that you are

username born to ride forced to like and scroll

username the feed is getting prettier

▮ username something really shifted ahaha

username woof woof woof

yourusername

liked by bellahadid, min9yu_k and 235k others !

yourusername 🇮🇹

username such an icon

username serving on the runway and outside of it 🔥

username now hold on that dump is familiar

username IS THAT A MAN ?

▮ username no we can’t lose her

imnotningning omfg

▮ alexconsani i can’t believe she left us and disappeared a few days just for this

▮ imnotningning i fear we got replaced

▮ yourusername omg yall

username ok mother

username ik someone who is in italy too and look strangely like the guy in last pic

▮ username who ??

▮ username prob mingyu

▮ username who is that

▮ username is you serious 😧

username that profile mogs

bellahadid is that who i think it is ?

▮ yourusername ahaha

username that first pic is everything

yournameupdates

liked by username, ynunsual and 23k others !

yournameupdates our girl was spotted by the italian coast with a guy that appears to be her boyfriend as they packed on pda a few moments before pictures were taken !

username i wish so bad to be that guy

username lucky bastard

username tea

username oh to be fully booked on shows and still go on vacations with my little bf

username she’s so fine

username this feels so weird

username that guy looks fine

username stop posting paparazzi pictures of her private life this isn’t cool

username look at her living for the cameras

▮ username is you dumb ?

▮ username you’re literally commenting on a fan page of yn ofc you’re gonna find pictures from paparazzi of her

username yn please take me on vacations with you

username i want to live her life so bad

yourusername

liked by min9yu_k, alexconsani and 456k others !

yourusername paris then where to next ?

username so pretty

username she’s majestic

alexconsani girl wow

bellahadid mouth is drooling

imnotningning she isn’t hanging out with us anymore but at least she’s still serving

▮ yourusername i literally saw you girls last week ?

▮ bellahadid yeah but we still miss you

username she looks so in love

▮ username fr she’s got that girl in love glow

▮ username stoooppp yall are breaking my heart

username mid

username paris the infamous city of love (liked by creator)

▮ yourusername it sure is

username gorgeous

username face card is never declining i see

username i can’t wait to see her back on the runway

▮ username fr i miss her

username i want her so badly

username we’ve been acting like it had become a habit to see mingyu lurking in the likes of

▮ username exactly ?? why is no one reacting anymore

min9yu_k

liked by yourusername, junhui_moon and 3,9M others !

min9yu_k paris then new york ?

username his posts have been looking like soft launches lately

username he’s always on a date this is crazy

▮ username he is probably just eating with his manager all the time lol

▮ username nah you’re delusional we’ve got enough proofs the last months

username paris paris paris the city of love (liked by creator)

username he is so written by a teenage girl who has a dream man in mind

username i’d kill to have my mind erased and discover the existence of this fine man again

▮ username so real of you

username to share fries with him 💔

username a girl can dream

username our mingyu is single stop saying the opposite in the comments

▮ username how do you know that lol

username i’ve feel like this caption is an answer to yourname’s latest post

username you’re onto something?

▮username it might but would they know each other they're from 2 different worlds

▮ username idk but they've been camping in eo likes

username he is TEWWW fine

username stood up and clapped at how hot he is

username raw

text messages between mingyu and minghao

text messages yn and bella, ningning and alex

instagram stories update from yourusername and min9yu_k

replies in the insta group between bella, ningning and alex

alexconsani y'all are so not discreet this is crazy

yourusername he wants to soft launch ahaha

imnotningning OMG FINALLY ???

bellahadid it was awaited after 7 months

alexconsani already ?? you never lasted that long before getting bored

yourusername idk he might be the one guys

imnotningning wow

instagram stories from yourusername and min9yu_k

replies to yourusername's stories

username he kinda looks familiar even with the blur

username pls tell me this is just a friend and not your bf

yourbestfriend finally soft launching

▮ yourusername yeah 😝

min9yu_k you should have waited for me to post ahaha are you in a rush to let them know

▮ yourusername guilty

▮ min9yu_k i love you

min9yu_k

liked by yourusername, feat.dino and 3,1M others !

min9yu_k new york with you or nowhere

username that caption ????

username guys it might be over for us

username that man is taken

username nooooooo

username so fine

feat.dino you're so cheesy

▮ min9yu_k yeah and ?

▮ username dino please tell us who is she

alexconsani new york isn't new york without some pizza

▮ min9yu_k fact

▮ username this interaction is so random what ??

▮ username yn is always lurking in his likes so she probably showed mingyu's account to alex as they're bestfriends

▮ username yeah you're right omg

▮ username SHUT UP ALEX and MINGYU ??

▮ username the duo we didnt know we needed

username everybody is falling in love and i'm falling behind 💔

yourusername

liked by imnotningning, min9yu_k and 635k others !

yourusername city never sleeps and neither do i

username bold to caption this while soft laughing your man

▮ username ahaha i love her

username so pretty

username 4rd picture so wow

username NOT THE MAN MAKING A COME BACK

username she was for us, the girls,...

▮ username i can't believe it

imnotningning nato being in the city too and only seeing you once

▮ alexconsani i'm really starting to dislike that man

▮ bellahadid we need to kidnap her guys

▮ yourusername y'all really know how to exaggerate i saw you guys for brunch two times and we did a whole shopping day

▮ alexconsani that's not enough 👹

username i love this friend group

▮ username they're so funny and they really love each other jsozjjqh

username this guy is so familiar but i can't put a name on the face

▮ username me too and it's slowly killing me

▮ username guys look at username's thread on twitter this is so mingyu !!!!

▮ username hold on let me take a look

username OH

username to be in my twenties and to travel with my bf

username thread on twitter

dispatch_english

liked username, username and 76k others !

dispatch_english latest tweets from the group of models known as ''nato'' on social medias after a thread is trending on x/twitter affirming that mingyu from seventeen and model yn are dating ! what do you think 👀 ?

username lmao they do know that tweeting that just adds fuel to the rumours

username bella is the only smart girl in this group i see

username they're totally right ! idk why our society allows that

username they do deserve privacy but they kinda chose to have the lights on them at any moments

▮ username fr i don't know why they're complaining ??? i wouldn't mind switching place if it only means that !

username did they lie tho ???

username i can't believe mingyu is really dating that

▮ username do you think you're qualified to chose mingyu should date lol ? bffr girl

username if my relationship was exposed on a twitter thread i'll burn everything down

username giving them 2 months and they'll break up lol she's a supermodel who travels and he's an idol 😂🙏

▮ username damn how jealous you must be to think AND comment this

username i wish them to do well so bad like you guys can't understand i'm so ready for the content of this powerful couple

▮ username their babies are going to mog everyone

yourusername

liked by min9yu_k, alexconsani and 1,2M others !

yourusername latest travel diaries

comments are limited

alexconsani proving our point, you spend all your time with him

▮ imnotningning she isn't even hiding anymore

▮ bellahadid the world is finally witnessing this betrayal

imnotningning but you guys are so hot

▮ alexconsani you better find a guy as hot as you

▮ yourusername who says she doesn't already have one ?

▮ alexconsani WHAT ??

▮ bellahadid you gotta keep up girl

min9yu_k where to next ? ;)

▮ yourusername wherever you go 🩷

▮ vernonline being cheesy on main is crazy ??

▮ min9yu_k you're going to be worse than this one day

min9yu_k

liked by your username, ho5hi_kwon and 6,8M others !

min9yu_k 💋🌊🍔✈️❤️

comments are disabled

instagram story from alexconsani

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the sun is shining bright in your room as you open your eyes, feeling someone shifts beside you and hands wrapping around your waist.

''i had a bad dream'' mingyu whispers in your ear as he also wake up. ''oh yeah what did you dream about ?'' you ask, moving the bedsheets aside to finally face your boyfriend.

''i dreamt that you wasn't there at the fashion show where we first met, can you imagine my life without you ? i don't know how i would have survived without you, your smile, your humour, your eyes, your love.'' he presses soft kisses all over your face. ''i hope you know that i love you right ?'' he continues.

''oh trust me i know that ahaha but i think i love you more'' you tease, deciding to shower him in kisses too, ''i would have found you anyway ? i truly believe we're soulmates.'' you add, starting to feel a bit shy as the words leave your mouth.

''i'm gonna marry you one day'' he murmurs, and your cheeks grow even redder at his words. you erupt into shy laughter, your heart swelling with love.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

130 notes · View notes

maroonshirt81 · 3 days ago

Note

oooh for the carcar prompt maybe carlos can suddenly read minds?

Amazing request! Thank you! :D

carcar, 2,5k, rated m

_______________

It starts with a small electrocution.

There must be something wrong with the hotel room socket when Carlos goes to unplug his charging cable that morning. Maybe he just isn’t paying attention. There’s a fizzling sound, and then he jumps, quickly pulling back his fingers.

It’s not a huge shock. His hair isn’t standing on end, and his breathing is fine, but there’s a weird feeling afterward—like a colony of ants is living right underneath his skin. He shrugs it off, grabs his phone, checks his notifications, then goes to take a shower.

Everything is completely fine until he leaves his hotel room and runs into another guest in the elevator. It’s a young man whose eyes widen slightly when he looks at Carlos. He must be a ventriloquist or something because, without even opening his mouth, he says, “Holy shit! Is that Carlos Sainz?”

Carlos gives him an awkward wave, and the guy decides to go, “He’s smaller than I would have thought”, still without moving his lips. When the elevator stops, the guy gives him a tight smile, and walks out, leaving Carlos to wonder if he's just imagined this whole interaction. Clearly, there’s something wrong with that guy. Drugs, maybe? Or some sort of condition? Carlos hopes he doesn't run into him again.

He leaves the elevator, walking out into the hotel lobby. As usual, people’s heads turn in his direction, some eyes lighting up with recognition.

However. It turns out the elevator guy wasn’t weird at all.

It’s Carlos who’s weird.

****

So Carlos can hear people’s thoughts now.

It’s already fading. He’s sitting on the press conference couch alongside some other drivers, answering the same questions about the upcoming race as always. Concentrating is even harder than usual, with an onslaught of voices in his head now.

He hasn’t told anyone. He still isn’t quite sure if it’s real or if something is genuinely wrong with him. Besides, he can only hear thoughts that are directly about him, which hasn’t been all bad so far. Walking out into the lobby this morning, he was greeted with a cacophony of Damn, that’s Carlos Sainz! and He’s even more handsome than in the pictures. Over the course of the day, the voices have quieted a little. He can’t understand everyone’s thoughts anyway—most people in the paddock don’t think in English or Spanish, and when they do, it’s a weird mixture of English and their own language. And the ones he can understand mostly just have the same thoughts as the hotel guest in the elevator this morning.

Though, it’s quite nice for the ego to hear so many positive thoughts about himself. The worst thought he’s encountered so far was someone going, Oh, he has something green between his teeth. That’s not very sexy, after breakfast. And right now, someone is mentally giggling and thinking, Carlos is spacing out again.

He snaps back to reality, hoping no one has asked him a direct question. But no—on the other end of the couch, Lewis is talking, so it’s all fine. Carlos sits up straighter, runs his fingers through his hair.

And that’s when he hears it.

Huh. He’s kinda balding.

Carlos freezes, then quickly pulls back his fingers from his hair, eyes snapping up to stare into the gathered crowd of journalists.

Who the fuck? Carlos isn’t balding! There’s no way that thought just now was about him, right? He’s famous for his beautiful, thick hair!

But he can only hear thoughts that are about him, so someone here is clearly out of their mind. He scans every person in the room. The voice sounded familiar, but he can’t quite place it. None of the journalists seem to be looking at him, either. They’re all locked in on Lewis talking.

Carlos slowly sinks back into the couch again.

He probably misheard. The voices are already fading. There’s no way someone actually thought that about him. No way!

****

Half an hour later, he’s standing in front of a bathroom mirror, running his fingers through his hair and having a minor meltdown.

He is balding!

Nothing obvious yet, but when he looks closely, he can clearly see that his hair parts a little wider than before, the white of his scalp shining through more than it used to. His hair is still thick enough to cover it for now, but there’s no denying it. The decline has begun.

“Fuck!” he yells and bonks his thinning head of hair against the mirror.

Curse that damn voice that made him aware of this. He has a race to concentrate on and no time to think about how he would ever cover up a trip to Turkey. Maybe he should already start introducing the world to shorter hairstyles so it won’t come as such a shock. Maybe he should just own it?

There’s no time to think about it now. He has another media session in five minutes.

Hopefully, the annoying voice stays far away for the rest of the day.

****

It, of course, does not stay far away.

Carlos is in the middle of an interview when the strangely familiar voice is back, going, Damn, he looks like the interviewer just ran over his dog.

He stops mid-sentence, losing his train of thought. Unfortunately, there are a lot of people around since he’s in the media pen right outside the hospitality. Charles manages to pick up his abandoned sentence while Carlos scans the crowd for whoever keeps having these judgmental thoughts about him. Then he hears Charles talking to him in his head, as if he knows Carlos can hear it.

Carlos, help me out here, please!

So he turns back to the interviewers and smiles. Like he’s actually happy to be here.

****

The voice, apparently, follows him everywhere.

He’s on the fan stage, cracking a joke, when he notices the voice through a thousand other thoughts about him, all of which seem to be much farther away.

Someone should invent a drinking game where you have to take a shot every time he mentions smooth operator.

He’s entering his garage when the voice comes out of nowhere.

Red doesn’t look that good on him.

He’s in line for a pretzel when he hears it again.

Man, can’t escape Carlos today…

“I can’t escape you, stupid voice!” Carlos hisses under his breath. He looks around, but the paddock is bustling, and there’s no way to narrow it down to one single person.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spots a flash of bright orange.

Lando is on his way toward the McLaren hospitality. Carlos still hasn’t told anyone about the voices in his head. He still isn’t sure they’re entirely real.

Maybe he should put it to the test.

Giving up his place in the pretzel line, he scurries after Lando, managing to grab his arm and pull him into the narrow alley next to the hospitality just before he can go up the stairs.

He only realizes his mistake when "Lando" turns around to shoot him an offended look, and Carlos’s eyes land on the bunny teeth and round nose that belong to Oscar Piastri.

“Oh shit, I’m so—” Carlos starts to apologize, but he’s interrupted.

What the fuck is he doing? the voice wonders.

Carlos freezes for a moment, all the pieces falling into place to reveal the completed puzzle.

That goddamn judgmental voice was…

“You!” Carlos screeches, grabbing Oscar’s shoulders with both hands. He might be coming off as slightly deranged, which the voice immediately informs him of, but whatever— it might actually be true. Carlos feels like he’s been going crazy all day long, and Oscar fucking Piastri was the main reason, right after that malfunctioning socket.

“You have to be joking!” Carlos hears himself shout. “I’m balding? Your forehead looks like you could tattoo all the McLaren sponsor logos on it and still have space left! It looks like Sky Sports could broadcast the entire race on it!”

Wow. Cunt!

“When have I ever seen you smile in an interview?” Carlos rages on as Oscar just stares at him with wide eyes, the surprisingly colorful language inside his head never leaving his lips. “And when has a joke ever been more forcefully beaten to death than your collecting home races one?”

What the fuck is his problem anyway?

“What is your problem? I look amazing in red! Have you seen what you’re wearing?” Carlos continues, still shouting. Hopefully, the paddock is busy and loud enough to drown him out. Otherwise, this will make the news in five seconds flat.

Fuck, Oscar internally curses again. And then, during a small break in his rant to draw a breath, Carlos hears loud and clear, He’s kinda hot when he’s yelling.

The breath doesn’t leave his lips again. It gets stuck in his throat and turns into a cough—an embarrassing, choking one that turns his head crimson. Right now, he can admit, he probably doesn’t look that good in red.

Is he okay? Wait, do I care if he dies?

Carlos forcefully punches his own chest, forcing the cough to a stop. He must have misheard anyway. Oscar’s thoughts just now make that pretty clear.

“Alright?” Oscar asks when Carlos just glares at him through watery, red-rimmed eyes, waiting for another thought that will trigger his rage. Maybe that’s not the best way to go about this. Carlos still doesn’t know whether or not the voices inside his head are real.

“Would you even care if I died?” he asks, stupidly.

“Um…” Not really, go ahead. “Sure?”

Carlos wants to tear his hair out, but it’s already thinning, and he doesn’t want to give Oscar the satisfaction.

“I don’t believe you!”

Sherlock Sainz, I see…

“Are you dying?” Oscar asks out loud, still with that pointedly innocent look that doesn’t match the thoughts inside his head at all. If they’re even real.

“No.”

Pity.

“Are you having a stroke? Should I call someone?” Oscar asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

Carlos pauses, squints his eyes, and really thinks about it. Maybe he is having a stroke! It would certainly explain why Oscar’s thoughts and what he’s saying aren’t adding up at all.

Why the fuck are his lips so fucking kissable? That’s just unfair!

Carlos almost chokes again.

Okay, so he is definitely having a stroke.

“You want to kiss me?” he wonders out loud.

Oscar actually flushes red at that. He takes a step back and collides with the hospitality wall behind him.

The fuck? How does he know?

“The fuck? Why would you say that?” he says out loud.

Carlos squints again, stepping closer. He notices Oscar’s eyes flick down to his lips. Maybe he isn’t imagining things after all.

“So what, do you hate me, or do you want to kiss me?” he asks, frustrated.

Both.

“None!”

Well, this is futile. Apparently, Oscar is allergic to saying what he thinks. That leaves only one course of action. And if it’s the wrong one, Carlos can always claim he’s literally hearing voices that told him to do it. If he’s lucky, they’ll prescribe him a lobotomy afterward.

He casts a glance toward the paddock. Thanks to that step backward, they’re mostly hidden behind some weird metal crate now. Perfect.

He turns back to Oscar and kisses him on the lips.

Fuck! Can he read my mind or what?

Oscar readily opens his mouth and answers all the questions Carlos doesn’t dare ask.

Great! So Carlos actually can read minds. And he isn’t having a stroke, which is great news too. And he is—kissing Oscar Piastri in the middle of the paddock.

Tongue technique could use some work.

He’s kissing Oscar Piastri, who is having judgmental thoughts about his kissing technique!

Carlos cannot let this stand. He shoves Oscar back against the wall, tilts his head, licks inside his mouth, and that sure shuts him up.

Well, not literally, since his thoughts don’t need a mouth, but he’s going Fuck yes! inside his head now, so Carlos considers it a win.

Wish he’d grab my hair, Oscar thinks, and Carlos complies, listening to the colorful firework of curses going off in Oscar’s mind. Actually, this isn’t too bad. Carlos has never had such immediate and honest feedback on his kissing technique. He could use this. For strictly scientific reasons. Self-improvement stuff. That kind of thing.

He could. He could use it for self-improvement in even more interesting areas! Is it morally sound to have feedback sex if the other person doesn’t know about it?

Probably not…

He lightly tugs at Oscar’s hair, and that makes him mewl. No wonder the guy is going bald.

Can he lift me? No, wait. There’s no way, he’s not that—

Carlos reaches down to his thighs and lifts him up, pressing him even closer against the wall for leverage, and Oscar’s thoughts turn so filthy, Carlos might actually be blushing. He sure hopes Oscar can never read his mind in return because it’s embarrassing how much this turns him on. He’s never even thought about Oscar like that. Honestly, he’d believed Oscar was just some boring guy with a stick up his ass. Now he knows just how wrong he was.

He should fuck me like this.

Yep. Okay.

Carlos pulls back, breathing heavily, pressing his forehead against Oscar’s for just a moment before remembering that they are still in the middle of the paddock. Oscar has the same realization—they turn their heads toward the metal crate at the same time.

There’s no one there.

Their relieved breaths mingle, and Carlos lets Oscar slip back down to the ground, taking a step back to give him some space. They are quiet. With their words. Their thoughts are both going wild, but only Carlos knows about it.

Finally, Carlos asks, “Which hotel are you staying at?”

Oscar manages to keep his expression in check, but Carlos can hear every filthy detail he starts imagining upon the question.

“The Hilton.”

“Ah.” Carlos nods. Then says, “Be careful of the sockets. They are broken.”

And turns around. And walks away.

Well fuck, Oscar thinks. Guess he does look good in red.

Carlos gains a skip in his step and a grin on his face, though Oscar can only see the former.

Too bad the white pants are horrendous.

Carlos stops in his tracks. Turns back around. Fuck his morals. Oscar needs to be taught a lesson.

“What’s your room number?”

#carcar #oscarlos #carloscar #f1 rpf #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz #oscar piastri #my fics

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drdemonprince · 3 days ago

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A little positivity for your inbox :). I'm a queer, autistic generally gender-fucked individual and I wanted to share how much your posts ab building community and putting yourself out there have helped me. I moved to Chicago 9 months ago and felt like the most miserable version of myself. I had like 1 friend and felt too socially inept to pursue any other connections. My anxiety had me locked in a state of inaction. Seeing you post about the merit of just GOING to things, just putting yourself in spaces helped me feel like that was something I could do too? And so I did. I would go events (with my 1 friend) I never really knew what to do with myself I would just kind of...be there. And for a while it was really uncomfortable and I would freak out afterwards. Like every time. But it felt good to be doing SOMETHING to improve that part of my life. It was one of those things that sucked until it didn't I guess. Cut to present day and I'm a version of myself that I didn't know I could be? I go to parties where I know almost no one and I talk to people even when I'm a little scared to approach them. I have so much confidence?? I have to acknowledge that this was more attainable for me than some because I'm an autist who's able to mask. Even still, I was able to find people like me who I can unmask around by venturing out a little. It is possible. My friendship circle has grown into this beautiful collection of neurodivergent weirdo freaks who I never would have known had I kept to myself day in and day out like I wanted to. I'm also not someone whose body meets most standards of desirability, it made it harder but not impossible. Anyways, thanks for being loud and obstinate and also hopeful! You make people's lives better by doing these things. I hope you have a wonderful weekend and enjoy the little bit of sunshine being thrown our way ♥️♥️♥️

Yay thank you. I most want to share this ask so that other people can see it and think about whether your experience could be relevant to their own lives. A WHOLE lot can happen just from showing up to things a bunch of times, getting a little *less* uncomfortable being there (even if you always feel kinda uncomfortable forever, i still do!), participating in what you can, becoming a familiar face, talking to people, and seeing who you vibe with. that's the work. that's everything. and you can do it being shy/anxious/awkward/having highly particular needs/being visibly othered/etc. It's HARD and not everyone is gonna be your people but it is possible. It's a lot of work but it's worth it.

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 2 days ago

Text

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) - Chapter 11

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 6347 Warnings: death, violence, fighting, bloody wounds, angst, infuriatingly oblivious love interest, slowburn Spoilers: Young Justice Seasons 1-3 plot partially, but it ended in 2022 so catch up.

Y/N Prince - miracle daughter of Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor - and Dick Grayson - first adoptive son of the Batman himself - have been best friends since day one. They went to school together, trained together, kept each other's alter ego secret from everyone else, and they founded the Young Justice alongside their friends together.

But as time progressed, Y/N and Dick grew up and Y/N found herself wanting more than friendship with Dick. But he never seemed to indicate that he reciprocated her feelings. And when Wally died and Dick abandoned the team, Y/N realised he never would. So she heads to the one place she knows will help her become a stronger warrior so that one day she can take her mother's place: Themyscira.

Two years after his leave, Dick reaches out to his old friends to help him with a mission. But when he finds out Y/N left too, he chases after her in the hopes to bring her back.

However, when the two finally reunite, it isn't as warm as he hopes. Not to mention Themyscira becomes under siege as they go to war against Echidna, the Mother of Monsters in Greek Mythology, and her army of monstrous children.

Will Dick and Y/N be able to put their past behind them and save the Amazonians' homeland? Or will they fall, unable to tell one another their true feelings?

~~~

In the early moments of the morning - at the point where the sky has lightened enough to know day is coming but the sun hasn't broken the horizon just yet - Y/N sat on the balcony edge of the Strategy Room staring out over the rippling ocean.

Her eyelids were heavy from the long and sleepless night of planning and preparing for what was to come at dawn, but she forced herself to look out. To take in the serenity and peace one more time before she broke it. A yawn threatened to slip out, but now was not the time for rest.

Y/N let out a sigh, her mind spinning with thoughts. So much to do, so much to consider. Her, Dick and the other generals had spent the last few hours discussing and preparing the best way to dispose of the hydra and it was a solid and stable plan.

And yet Y/N's stomach churned with uncertainty, her fingers gripped the marble balcony edge as if bracing for the impact that was to come. Because it would come, she just didn't know in what form it would.

You have the makings of a True Warrior, Y/N... All you have to do is lead...

Y/N let go of the balcony for a moment to inspect her open palm. The conversation between her and her grandmother played over in her head. Despite knowing her heritage, Y/N couldn't quite understand how she of all people could possess such a power as the one she'd wielded the other night. She wasn't her grandmother, and she most certainly wasn't her mother.

'A True Warrior, huh?' Y/N muttered to herself, returning to overlook the ocean. Y/N felt no power flow through her, not even a shred of it. But her grandmother was right about one thing: she had to lead today, regardless of how it would turn out.

Looking out to the horizon, Y/N thought of her old home. Her apartment in Washington DC; her mother's home just a few blocks away; the now destroyed Justice Mountain; the Watchtower. She thought about the people and pets that occupied those spaces of her life. The fond memories she shared with them, and the memories that she would possibly never get to make with them if today turned out badly.

Her heart yearned for the loss that hadn't happened. It was only hitting her now, on the final day of Echidna's war, that she may never see all of her loved ones again without even a chance to say goodbye.

Because today was the last day of the war. Y/N would make sure of it. One way or another, it ended today.

'It's beautiful. I can see why you like it here so much.'

Y/N didn't have to turn around to see who was speaking to her, and a small smile crept onto her lips. Okay, maybe her grandmother was right about one more thing.

Y/N twisted in her seated position to see Dick standing a few steps behind her admiring the ocean, but also smiling at her. Since he'd arrived, he'd worn nothing but the clothes that had been on his back. Just jeans, a plain white t-shirt, a jacket and boots. But now he wore Amazonian armour specifically tailored for him. Leather and steel guards covered his broad chest and strong wrists, and his feet were adorned with leather sandals similar to the women.

To Y/N's amusement he wore a skirt too, made of separate strips of leather and studded with steel. His escrima sticks hung in a loop on the skirt, but in his hands he held a helmet. He looked straight out of an Ancient Greek painting. If Y/N didn't know any better, she would've thought he was a demi-god.

'Indeed,' she replied and twisted around to jump down from the balcony and walk towards Dick. Looking him up and down, she couldn't help but say, 'Wow, I never thought the day would come that I would see you in a skirt, Dick Grayson.'

He chuckled as well, swishing his hips slightly to emphasise the skirt. 'Neither did I, but I kind of get the hype now. Very breezy down there, it's good!'

Y/N shook her head but couldn't help but smile. 'Surprisingly, it suits you. Maybe when you go back to Bludhaven you should change your Nightwing costume to incorporate a skirt.'

At the mention of his home, Dick's smile dropped a little, as if remembering why he wore a skirt right now. But he fixed his smile and nodded. 'Sure. When I get home.'

He looked over her shoulder, nodded to the horizon. 'You don't get views like this back in Washington DC, hey.'

Y/N twisted to see the sun had finally peaked beyond the horizon and the sky was layered with reds, oranges and yellows as the sun slowly but surely rose.

'You sure don't,' she agreed, but her sights were set on something that laid beyond the horizon. Something she wasn't sure she'd ever see again. 'But that doesn't mean I don't miss it.'

A soft and gentle sea breeze blew up from the waves crashing up against the mountainside way down below. Y/N breathed in the salty air and closed her eyes, steeling herself to start the day.

'Would you ever go back?'

Dick's sudden question had Y/N opening her eyes to see him looking at her, his expression half-serious and half-anxious. As if he was scared to hear what she had to say but had to ask her anyway.

'As in go back to Washington DC?' she asked. 'To Man's World?'

He nodded, and Y/N found herself struggling for an answer. 'I don't know, Dick,' she finally responded. 'If we survive today, I... I don't know.'

The look on Dick's face told her that wasn't the exact answer he was looking for, but he nodded silently in acceptance. 'We should go and get everyone into position. The sun will fully be up soon.'

He was right, they said that at dawn they would set their plan into motion. But her grandmother's voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Whether he knows it yet, he loves you. And I think you better tell him how you feel in case this war goes further south. Don't you?

'Wait!' Y/N grabbed Dick's wrist as he turned to walk away.

Stopping in his tracks, he turned around, confused. 'What is it?' he asked.

Y/N really couldn't believe what she was about to do, but if there was one thing that she'd learnt while living there it was that her grandmother was always right.

'If today goes badly,' she started, forcing her erratic heart to calm down because it was beating faster than a hummingbird flapped its wings.

'It won't go badly, Y/N' Dick interrupted. 'You can't think like-'

'If today goes badly,' she insisted, cutting him off. 'I don't want to have any regrets.'

Dick looked down at her curiously, the slightest tilt of his head sending a loose strand of hair falling across his forehead. 'Regrets? What do you mean, Y/N?'

Y/N's throat threatened to close up, the usual fear she had when approaching this topic forming a ball in her throat, clogging the words up. But instead of letting it, she swallowed thickly, kept her eyes locked with Dick's. She kept holding onto his wrist to ground herself, to make sure he understood what she was about to say.

'I love you,' she said, her voice so breathless and fearful and relieved all at once. The words had come out so softly that, in her mind, she thought she hadn't said them at all but imagined it.

But Dick smiled and said, 'I love you too, Y/N. You know that hasn't changed since we met.'

Her heart sunk a little at his misunderstanding, but instead of going with it, she shook her head and said, 'No, Dick, I mean that I love you.'

She watched him, watched as he went from happy to confused to truly realising what she'd said. His smile gradually faded until he was just looking at her wide-eyed and speechless. It was a heart-wrenching, gut-sinking look, but Y/N wasn't done.

'You don't have to say anything back, Dick,' she explained. 'But I have spent too long denying this. It's partly why I am here and why you're now in this mess. Because I was too afraid to tell you how I really felt. If my fate is to die today, then I would feel more content knowing that you knew the truth. That I feel you bring out the best in me. That I get butterflies every time you laugh with me. That I will do everything in my power today, even if it means dying, to see that you get home to Bruce and the others because I love you. I just wished I had found the courage to do so long before now.'

After all that, Y/N took a steadying breath in and when she breathed out it was like all the weight held in that one secret finally lifted from her. It was such a relieving feeling that she could've cried, but instead she just smiled because even if he didn't feel the same, she was finally telling the truth after so many years of lying and suppressing.

Dick's expression was unreadable. She couldn't tell if he was angry, sad, indifferent, because he just kept staring at her with a slightly opened shocked mouth. But if he wasn't jumping for joy, there could only be one other option.

He doesn't feel the same.

She could sense tears were building and she really didn't need that in that moment. She had a war to go fight.

So she cleared her throat and said, 'That's all I wanted you to know. We should go now. They all will be waiting for us.'

As if he had been lost in his own thoughts, Dick mindlessly said, 'Right...'

Y/N quickly brushed past him but heard his slow foot steps following her soon after. The rejection wasn't as painful as she thought it was going to be. But, subconsciously, she'd made peace a long time ago with Dick's un-romantic feelings for her.

But something felt different now, inside Y/N. A new sense of reassurance and certainty that wasn't there before. Whatever it was, it spurred Y/N on towards the palace courtyard where the remaining warriors and generals were probably waiting for them.

One way or another, this war ends today.

~~~

The dawn had fully risen now, casting the quiet island in rays of warm hope despite their city's ruins. Y/N was crouched atop one of the buildings back near their destroyed camp, eyes locked onto the beast that had desecrated it.

Y/N wasn't sure what she expected from a hydra, nor from any monster child of Echidna, but even monsters had to rest it seemed. The tents they once slept in were piled and structured in a way that resembled a nest of sorts where the hydra now huddled and slept soundly in.

From where she crouched hidden, the monster almost looked harmless. Until she looked around at the scorch marks on the walls of buildings cobblestone streets. The screams of her fallen sisters still rung in her mind, but she gripped her sword tighter to ground herself. Their deaths will not be in vain.

The first phase of the plan only involved Y/N and a couple adept warriors so she hid alone. It was still early morning, and this part of the city was still drenched in shade. She had to wait for the signal.

She hated the waiting, if only because it left her with her thoughts too long. Dick was hidden somewhere around the nest as well, and she could've sworn she felt his burning blue gaze on her.

While Y/N had made peace with her decision to tell him, she couldn't help but wonder how he was feeling right now. Was he angry? Sad? Disgusted even? Or maybe - like the good soldier he was - he wasn't feeling anything at all. Maybe, like it had always been, Y/N thought about him too much, while she had never crossed his mind like that.

Come on, stop that now, she scolded herself, turning to her shield that was propped up against some rubble. She needed to distract herself, get her head back in the battle ahead. Dick Grayson would not be the reason she lost them the war.

Y/N caught her own eye in her reflection on the shield. She wore a helmet like Dick had held, and a similar outfit too. However, her armour gleamed black compared to the usual steel the other warriors used. It was obsidian-infused steel, forged specifically for the Princess of Themyscira a millennia ago.

The leather and studs of her skirt were dark too - it was as if she were a shadow, a wraith. Artemis, the Goddess of the Hunt - according to their myths - possessed armour just like it. If her grandmother was telling the truth, it was also blessed by Athena.

As she looked at herself, Y/N felt both the strength of the armour, but also the weight and pressure that came with it. She was no Athena, nor Artemis or even Wonder Woman. But she was the Princess of Themyscira now, and she'd be damned if she didn't try to fight for her home.

Y/ Npressed her sword long ways and flat against her front, the hilt pressing against her chest. 'Athena, bless us,' she whispered with her eyes closed, praying that her plea reached the goddess' ears. 'Mother... help us.'

When she opened her eyes, a flickering light from across the courtyard flashed at her. It was Dick, twisting his shield this way and that to catch the sunlight.

He was flashing the signal.

Y/N stood up, as well as the other warriors who had been hiding, and she raised her sword high. 'Aim!' Those with bows and arrows notched their arrows into the string and pulled back. 'Fire!'

Eight arrows released simultaneously, and the few seconds they flew silently was that brief moment of the calm before the storm. Everything was quiet and unmoving. But when the arrows pierced the hydra's scaly hide, the air thundered with its roar as it roused from its slumber.

But it wasn't up just yet. Y/N called out again. 'Aim... Fire!'

Another round of arrows flew down to the monster, and this time it was fully awake, clawing its way to its feet, all three heads hissing with fury. The central one seemed to spy Y/N, and as its open mouth lit up with fire, Y/N ran along the rooftop screaming, 'Move!'

Y/N narrowly missed being burnt to a crisp as the hydra fired at her, the fire burning so hot that when she snuck a glimpse behind her she saw it had melted the marble. She hated to think what she would've looked like if she hadn't moved.

Y/N leapt from that rooftop to the next, banging on her shield like a madman with her sword. 'Hey ugly! You hungry? Come catch us!'

Whether the creature understood her or not, all three heads gave her a furious glare that told Y/N she had gotten their attention. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dick and the other warriors of their group either running along the rooftops like her or down on the cobblestone streets.

Dick bashed his shield too, screaming, 'Hey! Over here!'

The left head lunged at Dick but his acrobatic skills helped him easily avoid the attack. The other warriors started doing the same, keeping the hydra looking and lunging in different ways. Constantly being disoriented.

Just what they wanted.

'Keep it moving!' Y/N called out, then started running along the roofs again, banging her shield. The others followed suit, being as loud and obnoxious as they could. The hydra did not appreciate its food running away, so it chased after them all, bulldozing through any building that did not accommodate its size.

Y/N saw the right head open its mouth to blow fire down the street at the warriors on the ground. They wouldn't survive the heat, nor outrun its reach. So she stopped for a brief moment to throw her sword at the monster. Her aim was strong and true as it pieced one its eyes, causing the hydra as a whole to stop as green blood leaked from its wound. It tried clawing out the sword but it was embedded too deep to get any purchase on it so it only managed to scratch and harm itself even more.

In its agony, it spewed fire everywhere, unable to guide its attack in so much pain. Y/N dodge-rolled out of its range once more, but one of her skirts tassels caught fire so she ripped it off before it could catch any further.

'Keep going!' Y/N called out. 'Get to the training grounds now! I'll keep it distracted!'

Y/N leapt down from the roofs finally, with nothing but a shield to protect herself, and stood before the hissing hydra. She felt the heat from the fire still spewing from its right mouth, squinted at the morning sun glinting off its talons and serpentine scales. But she just raised her shield in front of her and banged her own guarded wrist against it, over and over again. The resounding clangs that reverberated through the street drew its five remaining eyes on to her miniature figure.

And yet, Y/N didn't feel small as the monster of myth encroached on her. In fact, she'd never felt taller, stronger.

'Hey!' she screamed up at the hydra. 'Hey, ugly! You hungry?'

The monster bellowed in response, getting more aggravated with her every second that passed.

'You'll have to catch me first,' Y/N said, then slingshotted her shield at the left head. It made contact with its temple and rebounded into the central head. The impact it made sent the central head colliding into the right head as her shield rebounded back at Y/N.

If it wasn't pissed off before, it certainly was now as it reared onto its back legs, hissing and blowing fire every which way in anger. Y/N didn't waste a second more as she turned and bolted up the street. The way the houses around her rattled along with the street told her it was following her. Just as planned.

As Y/N looked around she couldn't see Dick or any of the other warriors much to her relief. Now she just needed to make it to the training grounds to finish this off.

She narrowly dove out of the way from a blast of fire and smelt singed hair as she kept running. Too close, she thought, but the street started to make an incline as marble stairs replaced flat ground. Almost there.

Just as Y/N went to climb the stairs, a large claw came crashing over her head and onto the stairs, crushing them into rubble and blocking her path. Y/N turned to face the hydra, which now sneered down at her with its small victory. With the stairs up the hill in ruins and the hydra's body blocking the way back in to town, Y/N was soundly trapped.

But she was the daughter of Wonder Woman and the Princess of Themyscira; she would not be so easily beat.

Before it could open its mouth to fire at her or eat her or both, Y/N leapt above the hydra's head just to land on it again and use it as another jump pad to leap higher.

She'd forgotten what it felt to fly, to not be weighed down by gravity and her own limitations, and so Y/N found herself smiling as she arced above the mountainside then back down again to land on the top of the stairs to the training grounds.

The hydra below hissed in fury, sinking its claws further into the stairs and began its ascent up the mountainside. Y/N didn't wait for it to reach her, instead choosing to run across the empty field as fast she could.

But she could hear the hydra reach the top, felt it chase her as the ground thundered beneath her feet. She just about reached the very middle of the training round when she felt it tower over her again.

Y/N leapt high again, as it made to squish her beneath its talons, arcing backwards this time to land atop the right head of the hydra. With one hand she clutched a horn on the hydra's head, with the other she hastily pulled her sword out of its injured eye, fluid and green blood leaking from it more as she did. It howled in agony, thrashing its head from side to side and almost sending Y/N falling to the ground.

But she held her ground, plunging her sword into its other eye. As it writhed in pain, the central head lunged at her with an open mouth, to which Y/N reefed the sword out of the eye to slice its vulnerable tongue off. Just as the third struck out at her, Y/N leapt onto its head and plunged her sword into its head.

The piercing screech that she extracted from the beast almost sent Y/N deaf, but she leapt one more time off the hydra completely, landing far away to see the now blind, tongueless and brainless hydra heads flail about in agony. All that was left was to finish it off.

Y/N dropped her sword and raised her shield above her head, allowing her power and strength to build up and concentrate before slamming the shield down on the ground.

The sound of the impact was like thunder, booming throughout the area as if a bolt of lightning struck the ground. The ground cracked around the shield, then spiderwebbed its way towards the hydra. As it did, the ground fell away, sending the hydra hurtling down into the depths of the mountainside. It screeched and roared and hissed as it fell, but no matter how much it clawed for purchase, there were no walls nor ground to cling onto.

So it fell, and a resounding thud rattled the ground as it connected with the bottom.

Y/N waited for the dust and her heart to settle before she dared look over the edge. The hydra laid unmoving at the bottom of the pit, every inch of its body pierced by rocks and spikes. The three heads splayed out unmoving, and the sight of the lifeless eyes allowed Y/N to sigh with relief.

Hundreds of rushed footsteps alerted her to more company, but when she looked behind her she was glad to see her warriors, her sisters, and Dick running towards her, cheers now echoing across the training grounds.

Calliope rushed at her, legs surprisingly healed, and embraced her. 'You did it! You actually killed a hydra!'

'No, we killed a hydra,' Y/N corrected her as she pulled away. 'If it weren't for you guys setting up that pit, I'm not sure how else we would've defeated it.'

'Are you kidding?' Dick said, drawing her attention to him. He looked weary underneath his helmet, but his smile was radiant as always. And his eyes shone with an adoration that Y/N hadn't ever noticed before. 'You singlehandedly blinded, cut off its tongue, stabbed its brain, and sent it into the depths of Themyscira. You did that, Y/N. You won us this fight.'

As Calliope and everyone around them cheered and hugged in celebration, Dick and Y/N shared a look that spoke volumes of relief and joy and everything around them faded. Dick took a step closer and that one movement had Y/N remembering what she'd told him before the battle and her heart stirred up again.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off as the ground suddenly shook so badly as if it were an earthquake. Y/N grabbed on to Dick to hold herself up as others fell over. When it settled, Y/N and Dick shared a confused look.

'What was that?' Dick asked, but the ground shook again, harder this time.

Y/N turned towards where the shakes were coming from and saw dark clouds forming over the ocean as a whirlpool seemed to form in its depths. A green light emanated from the whirlpool and slowly, rising from within it was Echidna, but also not. She didn't look human anymore, more like her monstrous children as scales replaced her skin and her hands were more like talons. With a great leap that shook the ground again and sent waves lashing at Themyscira's shores, she landed on the edge of town, decimating homes and shops as she did.

She stood taller than all the buildings in town, and with a great big swipe of her hand, Echidna knocked marble columns down and roofs off houses. But she didn't seem to care what she destroyed as she slowly made her way towards the palace.

Towards Y/N's grandmother.

'We haven't won the war yet,' Y/N said, turning to speak directly with Calliope. 'Take half of the crowd to look after those who have evacuated and hidden themselves in the northern caves. I'm going after Echidna.'

'I will not leave you, Princess,' Calliope tried arguing, but winced slightly as she took a step towards Y/N.

'You are in no condition to fight,' Y/N stated. 'I will take a handful of warriors, but if I am to not return from this fight, it is you I place my faith in to keep everyone alive.'

'But Princess-'

'Please Calliope, do as I say and go. Go!'

Calliope looked between Echidna and Y/N a few times, frustration and understanding warring on her face. Eventually she nodded, then turned to those near her and started spouting instructions.

'Andromeda! Celeste!'

Two women amongst the chaos emerged and stood before her, ready to take orders. 'Gather the remaining warriors and follow me. We're going after Echidna.' All they did was nod before leaving to rally those that remained.

'I'm going with you,' Dick said, coming to stand beside Y/N, determination hardening his beautiful features.

'I can't ask that of you, Dick,' she said facing him.

'Then don't.'

Dick raised his hand to gently cradle Y/N's neck and head, and in that one gesture she felt completely disarmed despite her holding a sword and shield.

'We started this journey together, we will finish it together, too.' he said, and Y/N knew what he meant.

He meant that from the very beginning he was by her side, when they first met at Bruce's mansion and she judo flipped him. That they had stayed by each other's side through the good and the bad, the horrific and the beautiful. And he would stay now. Regardless of if he reciprocated her love for him, their bond ran deeper and stronger than any complicated feelings could ruin.

Y/N had never felt more grateful, so she nodded her head, not daring to speak of her gratitude in case she cried.

Andromeda and Celeste came up beside Y/N and so Dick dropped his hand as she faced them the warriors that stood ready to fight behind them.

'We are ready when you are, Princess,' Andromeda said.

Y/N nodded, then looked out over all the women that watched her, looked up to her, awaiting her command. No doubt they knew death awaited most of them, perhaps all would not survive Echidna's wrath. But they would not be able to call themselves Amazons if they gave up without a fight.

Silently, Y/N raised her sword above her head and watched as slowly each and every warrior raised their weapon with her. Even Dick beside her raised his escrima sticks in solidarity.

'For Athena!' Y/N cried out.

'And for Themyscira!' the warriors cried in response.

And with that Y/N turned and began running for the palace, Dick and Andromeda and Celeste running beside her with hundreds of women warriors following behind in a stampede of steel and strength.

Y/N lead them through the decimated town, wandering through the devastation Echidna had left in her wake. It didn't take them long to reach Echidna, who stood just outside the enchanted palace gates.

'Echidna!' Y/N cried out as she threw her shield up at the giant goddess.

The weapon bounced off her effortlessly, but it did make her turn around, and it was then that Y/N was able to take in Echidna's new form.

Almost as tall as the palace, she looked down upon their small army with green snake eyes, a forked tongue flicking out here and there. A black tail with a talon on the end curled up behind her as if readying to strike. Now that she was closer, Y/N spotted fangs poking out of Echidna's mouth as she sneered in disdain and anger.

'Stand down!' Y/N continued. 'End this war now and we will spare you!'

'Spare me?' Echidna said, her voice sounding more snake-like than her original voice. 'Like you spared my children? I warned you I would make sure your kind never lived a day after I was through with you. Well... that day has come!'

Echidna held her hands out to the army and green liquid seemed to pool from her hands then flow like tar waterfalls to the ground. From the pools rose monsters from the initial battles, gnashing their teeth in absolute hunger. Without hesitation they charged at the Amazons, and the two sides collided in a mighty clash of steel and teeth.

Y/N palmed off a rat-like creature as it leapt at her face, then swung her sword at a striking serpentine monster, effectively slicing its head off and dissolving it to goo once more. However, it didn’t matter how many they killed off, the pools of tar were infinite and so the monsters kept coming.

Y/N spotted Echidna above punching at the enchanted gates in an attempt to open them. Her impact sent the invisible walls shuddering, and Y/N swore she heard glass fracturing with another punch. The world thundered as Echidna struck the gates one last time, and the protective dome that had kept the cornerstone of Themyscira safe for millennia finally shattered. With no enchantment left to face, Echidna kicked the gates down and wandered into the palace courtyard.

‘No!’ Y/N sliced at the surrounding monsters, trying to escape their onslaught but they seemed to understand her urgency and kept coming to stop her.

Out of nowhere, Dick leapt onto the back of an equine-like monster, bringing one escrima stick around its neck and pulling on either ends of it back towards him. He effectively severed the creature's head, leaping to the ground as it dissolved into goo. Andromeda and Celeste came swinging in too, knocking back the remaining monsters to clear the space around them.

’She’s broken through the gates. We must not let her reach the Queen,’ Y/N said, breath haggard and forehead dripping with sweat.

‘We won’t,’ Dick said, and the certainty in which he spoke made it sound more like a promise. He looked briefly around him. ‘Everyone else can deal with this. Lets go, we have a goddess to kill.’

Y/N nodded, then turned to Andromeda and Celeste who nodded their confirmation that they would follow. ‘Let’s go then,’ Y/N said, and she leapt just enough to gain some momentum before thundering back down to earth and slamming her shield into the ground. It was enough to knock over the oncoming wave of creatures, clearing a path through to the gates to the palace.

The four of them ran to the gates and was greeted by the sight of broken statues and walls, of destroyed gardens and, most horrifyingly, lifeless warriors who’d stayed to protect their queen. The blood that spilled from them only angered Y/N more, and so when she saw Echidna about break down the last doors before she reached the palace’s centre, she launched herself from where she stood with a battle cry on her lips and flew at Echidna with her sword raised.

Echidna turned just in time and batted Y/N away, slamming her into a nearby wall. Y/N grunted from the harsh impact, but quickly pushed herself off the wall and charged again.

‘Feeble demi-god,’ Echidna hissed, punching at Y/N this time and sending her high into the air. ‘You think you can defeat me?’

Though struck with pain, Y/N pointed her sword down at Echidna as she came flying down. As Echidna made to swipe at her, Y/N timed a hard slice to the goddess' palm, cutting from the base of her fingers to her wrist. The goddess hissed with disdain as YN landed on solid ground again. An arrow fired into Echidna’s cheek, earning an annoyed wince from the goddess. Y/N turned to see Celeste, a well-trained archer, had gotten herself into the best possible position atop a broken chunk of wall.

She notched an arrow quickly and sent it flying, this time landing near Echidna’s eye. She hissed again and made to lunged at Celeste when a spear pierced her upper arm. That drew a more pain-filled cry from Echidna as she clutched at the wound, smearing green blood over her hands. Y/N followed Echidna’s angry glare to find Andromeda almost opposite in height to Celeste on the opposing broke walls of the palace.

Y/N’s heart almost stopped beating as Dick leapt from pillars that rose high above Echidna - how he got there, Y/N didn’t want to know - and on to Echidna’s shoulder. ‘Hey Monster Lady!’ he cried into her ear, narrowly missing a talon as she clawed at her shoulder. Using his acrobatic skills, he swung from one shoulder to the other and managed to land a few blows on her vulnerable cheek. He looked so small, so ridiculous, Y/N would’ve smiled were they not in the situation they were. But a sense of pride filled her as she watched the three of them. It made her actually begin to believe they could do it. They could defeat Echidna.

‘Enough!’

Echidna’s tail whipped quicker than lightning, and before Y/N knew it Celeste was being impaled by the giant talon on its end. A broken cry had barely fallen from Y/N’s mouth before Echidna was grabbing hold of Andromeda and crushing her in her bare hands. Dick leapt from Echidna’s shoulders before she could grab him, he didn’t fall fast enough to avoid her whacking him into a nearby wall. The impact was so hard that large pieces of rubble fell off with him as gravity pulled them both down.

‘Dick!’ Y/N cried as he and the rubble hit the ground, dust spiralling everywhere so she couldn’t see anything. When the dust finally settled, she saw him lying down on his stomach, his bottom half pinned by heavy rubble.

He didn't move.

Furious tears spilled down Y/N’s cheek as she surveyed her fallen loved ones, as she looked back up at Echidna with an ire she hoped would burn the goddess to hell. Only able to see red, Y/N cried out in agony as she leapt at the goddess again, sword at the ready. With only Y/N to deal with, Echidna easily swiped Y/N into a nearby wall. Y/N clawed herself out of the hole she’d made and launched herself at Echidna again, managing to land a few blows on the goddess’ face before being punched into the air again. This time, Y/N cried out from the pain that rattled through her bones, from the muscles that were no doubt tearing and snapping.

‘I am Echidna. Mother of Monsters!’ Echidna bellowed, and as Y/N started her descent, the goddess landed the final blow as she punched Y/N into the ground.

Y/N could barely manage a scream as her body seemed to light on fire in agony. Get up. Get up! She mentally screamed at her body to move but her limbs did not respond. Even breathing was an effort as blood dripped from her mouth down her throat excruciatingly slowly. All she could do was look up at the broken roof above her, and Echidna as she leaned over her unmoving body.

‘You never stood a chance,’ Echidna hissed, although the words came in different volumes. No doubt Y/N’s hearing was busted, but she still understood the monster above her, the taunts she presented. ‘The Amazons will die today. As soon as I kill your precious queen, the gods will know to fear my name. Say hello to your dear grand-uncle Hades for me, now.’

Y/N waited for the final blow to come, to see darkness and welcome it. But she was dealt an even worser fate. Echidna left, her steps vibrating through the ground, but they became softer and softer the further away she became. Get up. Get up! Y/N couldn’t let Echidna win, not when they had so much to save, so many lives on the line.

But Y/N could feel her injuries catching up to her, felt the blood pooling in her lungs faster, felt all the broken bones and torn muscles. Echidna had broken her, physically, mentally, and spiritually. Athena… Mother, please… She was sure no one heard her prayers, not even the almighty Zeus would waste time on a measly person such as herself. Someone who had failed her people and therefore condemned them either to death or a life worse than death under the rule of Echidna.

But she did selfishly wish for one final thing. Echidna had punched her so much that Y/N laid in a crater of rubble. She couldn’t see Dick, couldn't check if he was okay. She highly doubted it after seeing Celeste and Andromeda be killed. Echidna had no mercy it seemed, and for that Y/N mustered up one last tear to fall down her face as she prayed by some hope that Dick would live.

As it did, her eyes closed, her chest stopped rising, and her body stopped feeling.

~~~

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