#it’s 15k words

[shellshocklove]

okay so the finale to brat is coming this week most likely 💚

[kkshowtunes]

google citing ao3 as a source is so unhinged

[atxxzist]

this sea of despair | c.s

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

pairing: choi san x f!reader

genre: pirates!au, angst, smut

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

word count: 20.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"not well."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

more than gratitude and being friends.

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

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

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

"because i'll only hold you back."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

"your father doing any better?" she asks.

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

"unfortunately, no."

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

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

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

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

"y/n."

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"are you sure it's this one?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"none of your fucking business."

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

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

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

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

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

"seriously, what the fuck?"

"he asked us to do it."

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

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

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

"does hongjoong know about this?"

"not yet."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"jongho!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you think of your father; of minsoo...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

you absolutely refuse to wear it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he thinks you have absolutely no instincts for survival.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"no," you say stubbornly.

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

"suit yourself."

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

--

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

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

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

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

after scorched bay, port cove would be up next.

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"go in the bucket," he replies coldly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you hate them so much. every one of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

god, you feel so hopeless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"did i make myself clear?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"but it wasn't his fault."

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

"m-mine," you stutter out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you sigh and roll your eyes at that.

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

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

"stingy is an understatement."

jongho snickers lowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he chuckles, a soft smile on his lips after.

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

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

he nods.

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

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

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

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

jongho hums along, nodding.

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

"is that so?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you retract, offended at such false claims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

so you aim to hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"he's upset."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he still looks hesitant but eventually nods.

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

you only nod and continue to let him speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he glares at you, raising a brow in response.

"what?" he says coldly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you nod understandably.

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

jongho snickers lowly.

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

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

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

"yes."

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

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

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

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

"and if san comes looking for me?"

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

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

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

he smiles in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"yeah?" he replies.

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

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

"yeah."

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

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

even the people are different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i'm not feeling too well."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

well, he sure does have a way to disappoint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"goodnight, san," you coo.

"goodnight."

--

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

"not really," you answer, voice timid and sick to the best of your ability.

he doesn't say anything while he changes out of his shirt, facing you again when it's off--a look on him like something dying to leave his throat.

"i talked to hongjoong and the rest."

you keep calm and let him talk even if you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

"they said it'd be good to give it a try. rocky port... jongho's also talked about it before and knows a way around it."

"r-really?" your heartbeat seems to get louder, but this time out of relief and an excitement different from any before.

"yeah," he confirms, the smile on him morphing into a smirk at the state of you. "a bit esctatic, aren't you?"

you gulp. "well, yeah. i mean, i-i wasn't sure if it was gonna happen at all."

"it's gonna happen, and you have me to thank for."

the next two days are a mix of anxiety and thrill, now that you've set the course, all there's left is to execute it.

jongho shared a knowing nod just the other day when you passed by the deck, casually and naturally starting a conversation with you before quietly slipping a note that you opened only when you were alone.

i'm glad you followed through. i appreciate it. i haven't been bringing in foods because i want to avoid any attention and suspicions for when we do eventually arrive at port. i hope you're taking care of yourself in the midst of all of this. when we're there, i'll give you the sign and just follow my lead - jongho

you still carry on your performance of being unwell so san knows whatever he got you from mist island didn't work; the pretentious state serving you more benefits than you would've thought.

other than kissing you a good morning and good night and cuddling you from behind during sleep, he doesn't initiate any other forms of intimacy, you honestly can't believe you haven't put up the act sooner.

but even if he does, you console in the hope that in just a day, you'll be free from his grip forever; that you'll do anything in exchange for freedom even if that's spending another night with san, body tangled and having to catch your breath under him.

everyone has been warned to keep off the deck aside from jongho who knows the route more than anyone, so if san isn't stuck to the bed flipping through pages of whatever he's reading, he's sniffing the hair down your neck and taking interest in the progress you've made on the 'map' so far.

--

it's the most restless night of sleep you've ever gotten, having to reframe from tossing and turning due to your back being practically glued to san's chest, but you still stare into the darkness with a heavy heart.

everything you and jongho did is for this very moment. a part of you thrilled, of course, but another is also filled with doubts with just the smallest possibility of it going wrong.

what would san do to you if he found out? if he caught you in the midst of the plan and realized everything that has been going on. what would he do to jongho?

and exactly what sign is jongho gonna use? what if you miss it? your mind races with uncertainty, scaring yourself into sleep because you wouldn't want san to suspect why you're still up and about and with a heartbeat that's about to burst.

the morning after san leaves as he usually does, you pace around the room biting your nails in apprehension, eventually deciding to fold the map you've been working on the smallest you possibly can and shoving it into the pocket of your pants.

it's the only thing in this room worth bringing if you have to make a run for it now.

the voices outside seems to only get louder the more hours go by, and just when you're thinking when jongho's gonna give you any sort of sign, the knock at the door takes your breath away.

it's jongho, his expression neutral and eyes skimming past your shoulders into the room before uttering a "come with me".

you follow behind him to the rest of them on the deck, all their heads turning at once, but you especially don't miss san's--a rather unamused look on his face that makes you swallow the knot in your throat.

"i told you, i can take her myself," san says, glaring straight at jongho.

"no. hongjoong and the rest need you. it's best you stay here. we'll be back before you even know it," jongho assures, the way he talks full of confidence and you could almost believe him.

san fumes, annoyance written all over him, but before he can object again, seonghwa beats him to it.

"jongho's right. it's best he takes her. he knows the place better, and plus, we'll need you here in case anything happens."

you watch san struggle with himself, a word on the tip of his tongue not coming out and sighing in irritation until he eventually gives in.

"fine. but no later than evening, or else i'll come to scrounge these ground myself."

a calm smile rest at jongho's lips, his body bending forward to bow slightly. "of course."

as you follow jongho off the ship, you sneak a brief glance at san because if everything goes as planned, it'll hopefully be the last time you see him.

"what did you tell them?" you ask, when at a safe enough distance from the watchful eyes of the others.

"that it's best you go see a doctor," he explains.

"and where are we going exactly?"

"somewhere far enough from here," is all he says. you don't question him or even have the time to admire the scenery, your mind too entirely occupied by a single goal.

you just keep walking, not sure for how long but when jongho finally stops for the first time, your know your legs are gonna be sore tomorrow.

"here," he says, taking off the pouch that has been sitting around his waist the entire time and handing it to you. "it has all the coins you need to get someone to take you back and extra as well for anything else. i also dropped by the pharmacy as soon as we arrived and got what i could."

you're speechless, staring at the pouch a little too long. the moment bittersweet like saying goodbye to a lifelong friend.

"thank you, jongho," you tell him the same time you take the pouch, throwing it over your head and onto your shoulder like a crossbody bag. "i don't know how to thank you enough."

"there's no need. i already know, trust me," he comforts you with a smile. "you remember what i said, right?"

you nod, repeating the words he said to you last time, "stay in hiding and don’t even come out until the crack of dawn."

"good. i'll be on my way now."

you're surprise when his back is already to you and feet about to start walking away, your voice raising to stop him for one last time.

"jongho..."

he stops in place and turns to you only halfway, "yeah?"

"how are you gonna deal with it when san finds out?"

he smiles and proceeds to tell you calmly, "don't worry. i have my ways. good luck, y/n."

you take a short breath, choosing to believe in him.

"you, too. good luck, jongho."

6 months later

at the time, you weren't sure if it was gonna work; the chances of it all crashing down higher than not... but it did.

you stayed in hiding on a hungry stomach and barely any sleep even past the crack of dawn, the ship probably already gone for hours by the time you finally peeked around the corner, each steps bolder and closer to the dock to confirm the departure of the ship that filled your head with mostly negative memories.

from then, with the money jongho had given you, you were able to get someone to take you back to dune--the look on your father's face when you returned as vivid as the day it happened, as if you came back from the dead.

it's the same look minsoo and a few other townsfolk gave you, none of them able to accurately explain your disappearance; only that it happened the same day the pirates raided.

some thought you were dead, or worse--sold off somewhere, because there was no way a girl like you would be able to survive out in the seas with a group of thieves and possibly murderers.

they all considered your return a miracle, and so did you--the first couple of days bombarded with questions of your exact whereabouts and you remember not even knowing where to start.

you remember still processing everything and mourning for the life you thought you had lost; as if given another chance at it again.

everyone you told asked if you saw the faces of the pirates that took you, but you simply lied and said you didn't. you just think everything is better left in the past, not having to dwell on it or to want some kind of retribution for what happened.

you feel that somewhat and somehow, jongho must've known this; the fact you wouldn't rat them out.

but the event gave you a new outlook on life, how you used to want to get out of such a small place but now you have no other desire but to stay here with the people you love for as long as possible.

it taught you to be grateful for what you have because in any given second, those things could be taken away.

minsoo had been caring for your father during the time you were gone, and with the remedies and medicines jongho gave you, your father was able to recover within just a matter of days.

now, you've gone back to the routine of tending crops and animals with your father to make ends meet and you wouldn't trade it for the world--life seemingly back to just as it was before. safe and secure.

you spent the first two months in paranoia, afraid every single day that just by chance, jongho would break his promise or knowing how san is, he'd find a way back somehow.

only until you realized you were wasting more time worrying than living life did you learn to give it up. if he wanted to find you, he would've already.

but just because he wasn't next to you anymore didn't mean he still didn't hold some sort of power over you, ever since sleeping with him and doing things only lovers did, you no longer wish to do any of those with minsoo.

even if you hold great feelings for minsoo--feelings you can't ever hold for san, you can't help but to think of him at any thoughts of intimacy.

there isn't a single thing you're unable to talk about with minsoo, the boy the least judgmental person you know, but you won't ever tell him what you had to give up in order to come back to him.

--

the view from atop of the hill is the same as you remember, a few months ago your breath taken away when you finally saw it again for the first time in a while.

ever since, you and minsoo has been making it more of a habit to show--even more than before.

when you look out far enough, you can still picture all the other islands, towns, and settlements--most of them you've actually been to yourself. but now, only the mere idea of it sounds good.

you like being here, exactly where you are.

"so, you ever think of finishing the map?" minsoo would always ask, and you'd always tell him 'maybe'.

he thinks it's impressive but you wish he had seen jongho's work. sometimes, you get the urge to tell him about jongho and how much he helped you. but again, it's all things you wanna leave behind.

on the way home, you pick up a couple groceries to make soup for your father, learning new recipes a hobby of yours lately on top of picking up new books.

you've adapted to the routine even if it's repetitive, making sure your father eats before sending him off to bed so you can occupy yourself with whatever book you managed to find from the library this week for the next hour before calling it a night.

you're just about to sip on your tea when the knock at the door at such an odd hour takes your attention, placing the book down on the nearby table immediately and getting up from the seat.

if it's not minsoo, you don't know who else. unless one of the neighbors wanna complain again.

you fling the door open, a snarky remark already slipping because you're so sure it's minsoo. "why are you--"

but all you need for confirmation it's not him and that life really is so cruel and unfair, is for you to come face first with that stupid tattoo that is every reminder of the hell you thought you were free from.

that black ink on his chest in the shape of an ‘a’ and a circle you wanna scrape off just as much as the equally stupid smirk on his face.

"miss me, princess?"

a/n: story has been in my drafts for over a year now & iomt san rlly helped in finally making it happen. literally got most of my pirate knowledge from the one piece live action lmfaooo

[hornychristianprincess]

wasted (leehan x fem reader) pt 3

paring: leehan x fem reader genre: smut, fluff, angst, fuckboy!leehan word count: 15k bc i'm a slut for this man SRFKLHSDLK summary: everything in your life is affected as your relationship with leehan progresses. warnings: explicit sex scenes, oral (male and female receiving), expressions of insecurity and self-esteem issues should you wish to read on ao3, click HERE.

At the library on a Saturday night, you, Leehan, Riwoo, and Giselle sit at the same table, studying for your approaching midterms. 

“Y/N,” says Leehan. “Can you send me the pdf file you found for the English textbook?”

You nod, quickly finding the file on your phone and airdropping it to Leehan the Lion . “Just sent it.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, before returning to writing notes on his laptop. 

This is about as exciting as your interactions get with Leehan when you’re among your group of friends, studying or going to the caf or finding some event on campus to go to. 

It was the ultimate whiplash, then, to experience Leehan when you were alone. 

Because in the month or so that’s passed since the night of the lunar eclipse, every few days you could look forward to the what are you doing? text that usually led up to some of the most satisfying, passionate sex of your life.

The friends-with-benefits arrangement the two of you were in had quickly become the center of your life. It felt like you were always in limbo as you awaited his latest text, and when you got it, it didnt’t matter what you were doing – you were always ready to surrender to him, to surrender to pleasure that was beginning to feel like the only thing that made you excited to wake up some days.

You had sex sometimes three, sometimes five times a week. Where it happened didn’t really matter to either of you — in the bathroom at a party, the confines of your dorm room, in the backseat of his car. 

Everything in your life had been shrunken to make space for what was now your top priority. 

And whatever negative impacts were to come of such decision-making were yet to be seen when it felt like the high you received from his attention was blinding everything else.

It was always weird to have to face him in settings like this the next day, to hear him speak to you so casually as if his face wasn’t buried between your legs less than 24 hours ago. Still, you kept up your end of this unspoken bargain to pretend as if you weren’t anything but acquaintances.

“I have midterms for every class. I’m feel like I’m gonna die of stress,” said Giselle, throwing her long brown hair over her shoulders. Giselle was one of the people who rode with Jaehyun during the lunar eclipse, and although you didn’t get much time to speak with her then, you’ve since gotten close by hanging out more. 

“That’s why you need to find the right vice. Food…drugs… orgasms, ” replies Leehan playfully, quirking a teasing eyebrow in her direction. He chuckles as Giselle rolls her eyes at him, and as much as you hate yourself for it, you can’t help but notice how his eyes linger on her even as she returns to her textbook.

Occasionally, you’ll observe the fact that the sense of humor and charm that made you fall for Leehan in the first place is not something that he reserves for only you, and it makes you just the tiniest bit sad. 

It’s nice to feel, even if it’s not true, like the moments you share alone in your bedroom are ones where he feels safe to show you things no one else gets to see. Like you hold the key to pieces of Leehan that no one else can access. 

So in times like these where you’re presented with evidence that says otherwise, it makes you feel like there is nothing special or significant about how you and Leehan got to where you were. Perhaps it was just a case of right place right time, like he could’ve met anyone – Giselle, even –  and done the same things he’s done with you.

Then again, the interaction you just observed could’ve been completely innocent and it’s you that’s overthinking it.

At the end of the day, if you were keeping score, the fact that you’re the first person with whom Leehan has offered up his body to on a regular basis feels like more than enough evidence that what you share is special.

In fact, you’re pretty sure he’s gonna fuck you after this.

You know because in the hour or so later when the library is about to close and you’re wrapping up your study session, he says, “Y/N, you live near the mail center, right? I’ll walk with you; I need to drop something off before I head home.”

It takes every bit of self control you have to not break out into a smirk – he knows exactly where you live, and it’s because you fuck there almost every time. “Sure,” you reply, in the most neutral voice you can possible muster.

“See you guys later,” you’re saying to Riwoo and Giselle as you pack up your things and head out. 

It’s past midnight and almost completely dark outside by the time you and Leehan leave, save for the few street lights that illuminate the sidewalk. For no reason in particular, it’s silent between the two of you. You might’ve found such an atmosphere to be awkward if it weren’t for the fact that your dorm was only a 5 minute walk away. And, when it comes to Leehan, you can never be too presumptuous in trying to interpret his moods; being the person that he is, something you’d usually interpret as disinterest could actually mean a plethora of non-threatning things for him.

On the way there, you approach what’s essentially an alleyway, a narrow space between two dorms that is deserted and dark. You don’t think anything of it until suddenly, you’re tugged inside of it and everything in your line of sight goes dark.

And before you can ask questions or react, your senses are flooded by the feeling of Leehan’s lips pressed against yours.

It’s amazing how your body adapts to the sudden gesture before your mind does. While it takes you a moment to internally acknowledge that you’re not in danger, your skin ignites with electricity the moment his lips touch yours. 

If a bystander were to observe the passionate, needy, almost desperate way he’s kissing you, they’d think that you’re someone he hasn’t seen in years, someone who he’s eager to make up lost time with. 

He doesn’t stop at just dominating your mouth with his tongue. His hands, like calloused vines, wrap themselves around your body, setting fire to whatever pieces of exposed skin he can find. And when you whimper against him, he adds to the sound with a groan of his own.

But no, this isn’t a kiss of two lovers who have been separated by time, or location. Leehan is just a person who is steadfast in his commitment to doing everything in his life earnestly. And it’s one of the many reasons why you are enamored by him.

When he pulls away to look at you, you can see even in the dark the expression of relief on his face. It’s as if kissing you was an urge he has been suppressing until now, and having gotten his fix, he’s left in a state of contentment.

“What was that for?” you ask, adrenaline and arousal running through your veins in such an fiery combination that you find your voice comes out weaker than usual.

“Just had to get it out my system,” is what he says indifferently in reply, and with his lips curling into a smirk, he heads out of the alleyway and continues on the path to your dorm. You follow him, feeling like the arousal you had been suppressing the entire time you were at the library with your friends has now doubled in a way that makes your knees wobbly as you walk.

It’s silent between the two of again as you approach the building to your dorm, although now you feel confident in assuming that it had always been searing sexual tension that was keeping him from being his usual talkative, bubbly self. 

It could be confusing to someone else, then, why — even as you’re locking the door to your room with him inside of it – you still aren’t all over each other in the way your earlier interactions might’ve preluded. 

But it’s because you just have one more confirmation you need to make before you can truly let go of your inhibitions, and that’s the question of, “Is your roommate here?”

Your roommate, lovely girl, would usually be here in the dorm at this time. But already having a feeling what you’d be getting up to tonight, you transparently informed her through text that im so so sorry but i’m out with you know who and i could reallllyyy use some dick tonight. buy you food to make up for it? just before you left the library.

“No. She’s out studying,” you tell Leehan. 

When you meet each other’s gazes, Leehan’s eyes sparkling as if he’s just been told he’s won the lottery, you can sense the exact moment when the both of you realize there’s no longer a need to wait. And so, like animals excitedly tearing up freshly-killed prey, it’s in a messy, rushed flurry of movements that you both take each other’s clothes off. 

Before Leehan, you don’t think you ever experienced an attraction for someone so intense that it caused you to push furniture over in the process of trying to get to the bedroom. But with him, the sound of a glass vase breaking doesn’t feel so concerning when you’re too busy trying to make it to the bed, take off his clothes, and not break your kiss all at once. 

There’s something so humorous about your shared vigor, causing you to both smile into the kisses you share, remaining playful even among such intensity. 

“You’re roommate’s a lovely person, isn’t she?” he remarks as he backs you up into your bedroom doorframe, throwing the jacket you had been wearing on your rug in the process. “I’ve gotta apologize to her one day. Poor girl’s had to hear so many things.”

You hate how much his words ring true, because truthfully, tonight was one out of several rare occasions in which you’ve been given enough foresight to warn your roommate before Leehan comes over. Other times, things between you two have blossomed too spontaneously for a warning, or, your phone died while you were out together, giving you no means to let her know he was arriving. 

“ Ew . Don’t talk about her like that. It’ll make me think you have a thing for her,” you reply in reference to the lovely person and poor girl attributions, and although you’re mostly joking, the insecurity from before about his interest in other women still remains present in the forefront of your mind.

And it’s not at all helped when, even jokingly, he makes remarks like, “Hey — I’d never say no to inviting someone else into our activities.”

At this point, you’re standing in nothing but a bra and panties in front of him, preparing to give your body up for his pleasure, which is why you think it’s fairly reasonable that you reach out to swat him in response to such cheekiness. 

But he seizes your wrists before you can make contact, laughing at your reaction in that way that, as annoying as it is to acknowledge right now, makes him look so, so sexy. “I’m kidding, baby,” he chides apologetically. “I’d never share you. Want you too fucking badly to even think about it.”

It’s in moments like these that you can’t help but get butterflies from Leehan, especially when he leans in to kiss you languidly right after. This habit he’s taken of calling you all sorts of pet names, from princess to baby to sweet girl, is something that has made your attraction to him increase tenfold. 

How could you help it, when his deep voice by itself is like a weapon specifically designed to torture you?

“Are you needy, baby?” asks Leehan teasingly, as his hand is now stuffed in your underwear, and his forehead is pressed against yours as he pushes you against the hard surface of your dresser and fingers you expertly. “Was what we did two days ago not enough? Did I not fuck you good enough?”

It’s actually because the sex from two days ago – and the day before that and the day before that and the days since you met him – was too good that you find yourself needing little stimulation to get wet at the thought of fucking him again. But of course, you don’t admit this, not needing his ego to get any larger than it is. “Shut up and fuck me.”

But Leehan doesn’t pay your cheek any mind, reacting only with a scoff as he busies himself with getting on his knees in front of you. Pressing his face against the skin of your bare stomach, he remarks, “You smell like me. It’s so fucking sexy.”

Leehan is the most wayward person you’ve ever met. But you can surely count on him in moments like these to make your entire body feel like it’s on fire, knowing exactly what buttons to push and places to touch to get a rise out of you. All he does is leave chaste, delicate kisses along the skin from your sternum to your belly button, but the fact that he maintains eye contact as he does it, and the implication that he makes when he says, “And I bet you taste like heaven, too,” makes you feel like you’re experiencing something so ethereal it’s as if you’re out of your own body.

You’re looking down at him as he kisses at the spot just above your pussy, and it’s at that moment that you decide you want him too badly to wait any longer. Fingers that had once laced themselves in his hair now tug on the strands, pulling him up and off of you. “Leehan. Inside of me. Now.”

You watch as his eyes scan your face to tell if you’re being serious or not, and if you could see yourself through his gaze, you know you’d be convincingly earnest in your desire to have him. Once he confirms this for himself, he pops up from his previous position kneeling on the ground, and looks at you with his head cocked to the side in a expression of challenge. Pushing you up onto the dresser, he quirks an eyebrow to say, “Have I ever told you that I find you sexiest when you’re telling me what to do?”

At this, you smile, playing into his confession by commanding, “Kiss me,” before leaning in to meet his lips. And when his hand travels between your legs, you know it’s not to touch you, but to reach into the top drawer of your dresser where you’ve allowed him to stash some condoms. It’s with excitment that you hear him tear open the package, sliding the latex onto his hardened cock.

There’s a moment just before he lines his cock up with your slit where he pulls away from your lips, reaching a hand out to hold your jaw in place so that your eyelines are level. And when he simply just stares at you silently, allowing his eyes to graze your features with an awe-stricken expression on his face, you can’t help but look away as the intensity of his admiration becomes overwhelming.

He chuckles at your obvious shyness, hand never leaving your jaw as he continues to view you like you’re a delicate statue he’s entranced by. “Don’t you think it’s too late to be shy after everything we’ve done together?” he says jokingly, and even though you feign disagreement with a roll of your eyes, you make no effort to suppress the smile that appears on your face as you bask in his teasing of you.

“I can’t help it,” you reply, comfortably meeting his gaze now. “You’re just really fucking handsome.”

You’re sure he’s heard these words hundreds of times in hundreds of ways, and yet you can see his eyes-widening as if you’ve said something sincerely touching. Perhaps the words hit differently when heard spontaneously, genuinely, without any pretense behind them.

It’s without any warning that Leehan pushes himself inside of you. Caught off guard by the feeling of his cock entering you inch by pleasurable inch, you can only make a mental note to apologize to him later as your fingernails dig into the skin of his back. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to mind, too focused on leaning his forehead against yours and watching with greedy eyes as his cock enters your pussy and leaves it with a creamy sheen. 

“Jesus fucking christ, Y/N,” he remarks in awe, managing the words through a shaky exhale as he moves to hook his arms underneath your thighs. He pulls your body closer to the edge of the dresser, bringing his cock even deeper inside of you. He hasn’t even started fucking you properly yet, and still you let out a series of elongated sighs and moans, wrapping your arms around his neck for a sense of comfort.

It’s when you’re completely pressed together in a skin-to-skin embrace that he finally begins to thrust inside of you at a pace that you’re used to. As clumsy and unsure as he can sometimes be, Leehan never fucks you erratically. It’s always with a controlled, focused pace that he pistons his hips into yours, knowing your body so well that you never have to tell him when to slow up or go faster. 

When you first met Leehan, you couldn’t understand the concept of kissing being considered an intimate act between two lovers. 

But now, as he leans in to press his mouth against yours, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth, it’s with suprsing clarity that you realize why some people like to refrain from kissing entirely when they hook up with someone. 

You’re at your most smitten when being passionately tongue-kissed through an unforgiving onslaught of thrusts, a part of you wishing that this sex could become a permanent fixture in your life and not just a transactional, temporary high.  

It’s only when he slots a hand between your bodies to tweak at your clit that it becomes impossible for you to meet his kiss, feeling too much pleasure to hold back your open-mouthed cries. Leehan then moves to kissing your neck, and it’s some of the most sensual affection you've ever received as he allows his tongue to drag across your skin, suctioning his lips on sections of your shoulder where you’re sure he’s leaving hickies. 

He goes up your body in this sequence until he reaches your ear, mumbling, “You take care of my cock so well,” as he licks at the shell of your ear and sinks his teeth onto your earlobe. “It’s why I’m never coming off of you. It’s too fucking good for me to stop.”

Transfixed by the sound of his voice, the feel of his cock, and the stimulation you receive on your clit, you can feel that it’s only a matter of time before your pleasure reaches it’s crescending point. “Leehan,” you mumble out, grabbing onto fistfuls of his long hair as if it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. “Come with me.”

He denies this request with a click of his tongue, mumbling the words, “You first,” into your ear as his thrusts increase in impact. It’s in a sad attempt at a kiss that you press your mouth against his, feeling his intensity and passion just as the same even as you devolve into just grazing your tongue against his mouth. 

Your orgasm hits you in a feeling that’s akin to a bunch of puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together at once; the combination of his cock, his closeness, and his endless circling of your clit leaves your body seizing with what is surely one of the most pleasurable feelings of your life. 

And as you feel his movements becoming rapid and untethered, knowing that the feeling of your tighetning cunt will soon become too pleasurable for him to bear, it’s with satisfied foreboding that you watch him give you his last, hard thrust. 

There are a least of couple minutes that pass where neither of you move, the only sounds being your successive heavy breathing as you both come down from intense highs. Leehan makes the first move by carrying you your bed, where he plops you down on your back and makes a very sexy whimpering sound as he’s forced to pull out of you. 

Even once you’re separated, he still plops down on the bed to rest next to you. A forearm’s length apart, you long for him to touch you, even if just for a moment.

“Shit,” he mutters, an outburst that has you confused until you notice his eyes and their fixation with your bedside alarm clock. “I didn’t realize how late it is. I really don’t want to drive back to my apartment at this time.”

Then stay, is what you think to yourself, but these are words that you would never dare to actually vocalize. 

There was truthfully one instance just a month or so prior when you suggested he might leave a bookbag in your room so he didn’t have to walk home with it in the rain. Not too soon will you forget the way a usually upbeat Leehan turned cold on you within seconds, neglecting to say more than a see you later as he almost sprinted to leave your apartment.

You’d be lying if you said his eagerness to leave after the sex is finished wasn’t at least the slightest bit dismaying. 

The delusional part of you wishes he could at least pretend like he didn’t just come here to fuck you and nothing more. 

It would be nice to believe that the sheer enjoyment of your company would be enough to make him want to stay afterwards.  

And what’s worse is that every time, he comes up with some way to express how much he probably should stay. Like just now, how he mentioned how late it was. It frustrates you more than anything. 

Because no matter how much he says he doesn’t want to leave, he always does. 

And at this point, you wish he would just do it decisively instead of trying to soften the blow. 

“Did you hear about the party we’re having this weekend?” you hear him ask suddenly, his body in a sitting position as he gets up to put on his clothes. “Ha. We . Well, really Jaehyun.”

Though you find it difficult to have casual conversation with him when your mind is elsewhere, you indulge him with a truthful shake of your head. “No. What’s it for?”

“Halloween. He’s asking everyone to dress up,” says Leehan, having already made it to the other side of your room. If you were in more of a spirited mood, you might laugh at how he mentions dressing up for Halloween as if it’s something that’s beneath him. “Don’t worry that he didn’t tell you. He just came up with the idea yesterday. 

The fact that Jaehyun hadn’t mentioned the party to you wasn’t even a thought that occurred in your mind. You were more so concerned with the logistics of deciding to throw a party during midterms. Stressed beyond relief with your own course load, you couldn’t imagine deciding to attend anything extracurricular at this time of year.

But then, the idea of making such plans seems a lot more plausible when Leehan says, “Are you coming, pretty? I think it would be cute if we went with with matching costumes.”

It’s because of moments like these that your feelings for Leehan can be so conflicting. At the beginning of your day today, he sat around you with your other friends and acted as if you were nothing more than acquaintances. Followed you to your dorm and fucked you as sensually and passionately as a boyfriend would. Is getting dressed and preparing to leave within minutes of reaching his climax. And now, he calls you pet names in a non-sexual context and tells you he wants to wear a couple’s costume with you. Constantly affronted with gestures that are both hot and cold, you can never be too sure whether it’s you that’s delusional or him that’s sending mixed messages.

Nonetheless, you cannot help yourself from replying, “Sounds fun. I’ll be there,” even though you know you that you shouldn’t. Even though you know you have far too much on your plate academically to be going to a party on a school night. Even though you know your actions should not be so predated on his. Knowing all of this, you still find yourself not the least bit concerned, only excited, as you think about attending the party together.

“See you then, gorgeous. Have sweet, x-rated dreams about me,” is what he says as he finishes putting on his discarded clothes, standing in your bedroom doorway as he prepares to leave. His silhouette casts a shadow over your dimly lit room, covering your naked, vulnerable body. 

“Shut up,” you mumble weakly as you move to throw a pillow at him, a part of you wishing that all of your interactions felt as sweet as this one did.  

>you: hey i’m at the halloween store picking out costumes, what were you thinking?

Five minutes before you were planning to head out to Jaehyun’s party, you reread this text from two days ago over and over, the delivered in the corner almost taunting you. Just 13 words took you at least an half an hour to send because you couldn’t stop wondering if it was too vague or too forward or if you shouldn’t have even said anything all. 

And now, as you sit on the cold bench outside of your dorm waiting for your Uber to the party, wearing a cheap angel costume, you realize now what a mistake it was to send that text. 

You suppose the misunderstanding you’ve found yourself in started with your assumption – based on Leehan’s last words to you as he left your dorm just a few days ago – that you’d be shopping together to find matching costumes for Jaehyun’s party. 

But when the party was inching closer and he had yet to reach out, you ventured to a PartyCity on your own. It was then that you sent the text after much internal laboring, ultimatley thinking that maybe he was busy with midterms and would be grateful that you had taken the initiative on both your behalf's to buy the costumes.

Even as you were halfway through the checkout line and still nothing from Leehan, you bought a matching devil costume for him anyway, plastic red horns to match your sparkly halo. Maybe, when he was less busy, he’d eventually reach back out, still interested in going to the party with you and grateful you saved him the trouble of picking out a costume. 

In your mind, there were a billion rational possibilities for why he wasn’t responding that would still ultimately end in your original plans to attend the party and dress together.

It wasn’t until an hour before the party and still no response from Leehan that you were forced to accept you’d be going to this party yourself. A billion questions arose in your mind. Was something wrong, explaining why he had been M.I.A after making plans with you? Had he forgotten about the party entireley? 

Did he just…no longer want to go with you anymore?

As you stood up to enter your approaching Uber, you try to remind yourself that the party was being thrown at Leehan’s apartment – there was no way that he was oblivious to what today was. If he hadn’t responded to your text, it didn’t necessarily have to be for malicious reasons. Maybe he just genuinely forgot, or was one of the many people who went offline during midterm season.

Either way, you were beginning to think that you were worrying too much for no reason. After all, it isn’t the end of the world that you aren’t arriving together in matching costumes.

Or, maybe it’s the couple of shots you took while getting ready finally kicking in and causing your rationality to dissipate.

Arriving at Jaehyun’s apartment, you already knew that knocking on the door would be futile; without entering, you could hear the loud sounds of bass burning through a speaker that you could guess would make any outside noise intelligible. Instead, you took your chances at twisting the doorknob, and sure enough, it was unlocked. It seemed dangerous to you, but you walked in anyway to find a cacophony of purple, green, and orange strobe lights, illuminating the sizeable crowd of people filling the space. 

Decorations of cobwebs and skulls adored almost every surface, and as you walked further inside, you noticed the array of drink bowls spread out against a long table. 

You observe impressively that Jaehyun went as far as hiring a DJ, a guy dressed in a vampire costume who jerks his upper body back and forth to the rhythm of the music. 

It’s almost like a scene in a coming-of-age-film come to life, mountains of young adult bodies bouncing in a hypnotic fervor while drinks in red solo cups are sloshed up and down in the process.

Making your way through the crowd, you spot several of your newfound friends, plus others Jaehyun introduced you to at the lunar eclipse. You wave particularly to Riwoo, Giselle, and Sungho – dressed as an elf, cat, and fireman respectively – but really , who you’re looking for is Leehan. 

In the first five minutes or so of your search, you have no luck in finding him. You do, however, run into Jaehyun, whose sleeveless jean vest with no shirt underneath immediately gives away his costume as Ken from the Barbie movie. You giggle at the realization, taken aback even more when Jaehyun drapes an arm clumsily over your shoulder, bringing you in closer.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Y/N!” he shouts, competing with the loud music, and just barely – you almost want to drag him somewhere quieter, away from the DJ booth, but the longer you look at Jaehyun, taking in his wobbly, red-faced disposition, you realize he must be drunk. Trying to force him into any extended movement in his current condition would be futile.

“Thanks. Hey, have you seen Leehan?” you ask, skipping any pleasantries. You want to get an answer from his as quickly as possible before he becomes incoherent.

To your dismay, he shakes his head no. “He’s not coming. Told me he had a study date he was going to.”

You hope the absence of light outside from the shitty strobes obscures the expression of disappointment that is surely on your face right now, or even better that Jaehyun is too drunk to remember you asking this at all tomorrow morning. 

“You’re not still interested in him, are you?” asks Jaehyun, the smallest glimmer of rationality breaking through his drunken fervor as he seems to be sincere in asking. You force a smile, wanting to get away from him as quickly as possible before he’s able to notice the difference.

“No, of course not,” you dismiss with a small laugh. You give Jaehyun a friendly pat on the arm before identifying where the drinks are so you can head there next. “Thanks for having me.”

Beelining for the punch table, you fill a red solo cup with a mixture of liquids from all three bowls and throw it down without investigating what you’ve just ingested. To your dismay, rather than dulling your emotions, the alcohol brings out your festering resentment. Towards Leehan, towards this entire situation.

Truthfully, with your own midterms looming and a mountain of late assignments you’ve allowed to pile up over the last few months as you prirotized sex with Leehan, it was against your every best interest to show up tonight. 

You had checked your assignment-board this morning to discover that two essays worth 40% of your grade were due at 11:59 tonight. 

A class you were already failing with a 60 was requiring you to submit revisions for a paper tonight, too.

And yet, you made the decision to come out tonight – promising yourself you’d make it home at a decent enough hour so that you could at least submit something – because of Leehan. 

You were encouraged to wake up this morning and the morning before this morning because of your excitement at the notion of coming to this party with him by your side, wearing matching costumes and sharing drinks and hopefully spit by the end of the night, too.

If you were being completely honest, all of your days were beginning to feel like that — like the only thing you had to continuously look forward to was seeing or experiencing Leehan in some way shape or form.

Experiencing his laugh and his weird habit of bringing up the most random topics at the drop of a dime. Seeing his dimples pop out when he smiles at you and feeling like it’s the cutest thing in the world.

It’s becoming clear to you now that his absence has just as big — no, a bigger emotional impact that his presence does.

You’re angry because you know you didn’t create this excitement out of nowhere: he told you he wanted you to come to this party. You went solely because he said he was going to. If he didn’t want to come tonight, if he had plans, he could have warned you.

You’re angry at yourself for believing him. 

Worst of all, you’re angry because he’s on a date and it confirms all of your biggest insecurities about you not being enough for him.

And it’s at this point that you acknowledge how woefully unequipped you were to say yes to the proposition he gave you the night of the lunar eclipse. Because if it means having to experience the profoundly soul-crushing reality of his disinterest in anything having to do with you other than quick, indulgent sex, you’d rather die a million times. 

You feel your phone buzzing and reach into your bag to grab it unfeelingly. It’s a notification from Leehan. And as if you needed one more reason to feel like shit tonight, the nofication reads, Leehan questioned your message: hey i’m at the halloween store picking out costumes, what were you thinking?

You’re so tired of trying to analyze Leehan’s every action and gesture in an effort to convince yourself that maybe there’s some large reasoning behind his indifference. Instead of searching for any additional explanation behind in the question mark, you simply decide that he’s an asshole who had no intention of going out with you tonight.

And it’s with that steely acknowledgement that suddenly, you feel like you’re about to throw up all of the liquor you’ve just consumed. Taking a deep breath to stop yourself from spilling your guts right then and there, you decide it’s time to go home.

In your haste to leave the party, you don’t bother to try and yell excuse me to the 20 or so people blocking your way to the exit. You simply squeeze past who you can and push past who you can’t, not even caring to look back at those you shoulder check until you’re turned around by a pull against your forearm.

Face-to-chest with a figure you don’t immediately recognize, you body seizes up in fear, a condition that’s only slightly alleviated when you recognize the person’s voice as they exclaim in a deep voice, “ Whoa, whoa whoa . Hey, Y/N.” 

It’s in slight annoyance that you look up to meet Leehan’s gaze, finding him staring down at you softly. It appears that he’s just walked into the party. In a space  full of people dressed as mythical creatures, he looks out of place in his leather jacket and jeans, but also oh so attractive. His hair gathers in front of his face messily, the dark brown locks in a rare state of curliness. He doesn’t have to wear plastic horns to look devilish. 

“Are you okay?” you hear him ask loudly over the sound of the music, his hand now resting on the apex of your arm. Feeling both defiant and embarrassed to tell him the true answer to his question – that no , you’re not okay because you foolishly thought you could count on him to be there for you when he said he would – you don’t answer. 

And in a move that only contributes to the growing feeling that all Leehan truly cares about when it comes to you is sex, he doesn’t even allow you the time to answer, even if you wanted to. “You look pretty, angel ,” he says only seconds after his last remark, using both of his hands to smoothe down pieces of your hair messed up by your headband. 

A compliment that would usually cause sparks to fly throughout your stomach now only annoys you, especially as you catch a whiff of fruity, feminine perfume on his body. 

“You smell like someone else,” you tell him plainly, too drunk to hide what it is you’re thinking. And you can see that the remark and the resentful tone in which you say it takes him aback, even as he chuckles in an attempt to remain composed. 

“Because I was driving for Uber, tonight, pretty,” he says, and before you have a chance to question his excuse, he continues by asking, “How much have you had to drink?”

“Why does that matter?” you retort with a scoff, convinced he’s about to try and spin this on you by suggesting your valid anger is a result of your drinking. 

But then he puts on that signature smirk of his, those wretched dimples of his coming out as he leans down into your ear to say, “Because when I ask If I can take you to my room in about five minutes, I want to make sure I’m not taking advantage of you.”

Yout hate that those words and the implication of sex have you immediately aroused and pliant, even as you grapple with the feeling of being just a physical object to him. 

Because as much as you dislike him right now for what he’s put you through emotionally, his renewed attention feels like the perfect solvent to your wounds.

“You wouldn’t be,” you reply softly, your voice coming out small and weak as you maintain unbroken eye contact with him.

“Yeah?” he replies almost mockingly, bringing a hand up to stroke your cheek. “Why do I get the feeling that you want me to take advantage of you?”

It feels like your mind and heart are on two different accords as your face remains passive and unaffected yet what comes out of your mouth is, “Take me to your room and find out.”

It’s less a feeling of shame but more like acceptance that comes over you as you follow Leehan back into the throes of the party, his hand leading you through the crowd of people and towards his bedroom. 

Deep down, you know that the excuse he gave you earlier about his whereabouts was bullshit. Never once before has Leehan mentioned driving for Uber, and even if he did, it still wouldn’t justify his complete lack of regard for the plans you made and his lack of regard for you , refusing to notify you in advance that he wouldn’t be available.

But when faced with the proposition of sex, it seems foolish to deny it so that you can… what ? Continue to stew in feelings that will just leave you feeling empty, hurt, and worthless? Question him about being on a date when you know you have no right to?

Having sex will at least guarantee you a few moments of mind-numbing bliss, even if only a temporary high. Better that than have to face the reality of your own complicated nest of delusion.

As you’re let into Leehan’s room, hearing the sound of him closing the door shut behind you, you’re hit with the sudden realization that in the three months or so you’ve known him, you’ve never been in here before. 

His room has all the markers of a college boy’s sense of taste – dark colored furniture and bedsheets, posters scattered on the wall with no real order, random piles of mess occupying corners of the room. 

In a space that is otherwise unremarkable, your attention is piqued by a square, rectangular tank on top of his dresser.

“You have fish ,” you remark in a tone that is both matter-a-fact and questioning, something about your drunken state making you more curious than ever about the tank and it’s inhabitants. 

Throwing his jacket onto a random chair, Leehan comes up next to you and lets out a chuckle as he takes in your awe-stricken expression. “For some reason, I forgot you haven’t been in here before,” he observes, and when he watches you just continue to stand still, eyes transfixed on the fish but still remaining a few feet away from the tank, he gestures for you to follow him to it. “C’mon. Sit.”

You can’t help the way that your limbs move eagerly and excitedly towards the tank, where Leehan pulls up two extra chairs for you both to sit and view it together. 

Fish of all different sizes and shapes swim around in vibrant blurs of pink, orange and beige. You watch it all in awe, not sure if it’s because you’re tipsy or simply curious, and as Leehan explains what each type of fish is called, you hang onto every word.

“...this one is called a corydoras catfish. The rest of them are shrimp,” he explains, pressing his finger up against the tank as he points out each fish and the attributes that differentiate them from one another. 

In one corner of the tank, a group of fish swim frantically around each other, as if fighting.

“Usually they come right up against the tank when I sit in front of them like this. I think they’re mad because I haven’t given them any fish food.”

“Don’t you need to feed them?” you ask in genuine concern, turning to look at Leehan who only smirks.

“Are you trying to imply that I’m a negligent father, Y/N?” he retorts dramatically, his body tensing in mock offense before he relaxes and explains, “Don’t worry. They’re supposed to eat the algae on the rock. For some reason, they’re just being hesitant.”

“Maybe the algae isn’t what they want,” you chime in with a reasoning tilt to your quiet, contemplative voice.

“Just because the fish food is what they want doesn’t mean I should give it to them,” Leehan retorts simply, and maybe it’s the drunk, cynical part of you that thinks he’s making reference to your relationship. That you’re the fish who just can’t help but want something it can’t have, and he’s the sensible overseer that remains in control of what you will receive. 

But if Leehan is making some sort of larger, metaphorical reference to your relationship, he surely moves on from it quickly, becoming wistful and contemplative as he says, “I’ve been raising fishes all my life. Sometimes when I’m stressed I’ll just sit in front of the tank and talk to them.”

He presses his hand flat against the tank, his lips twitching into a prideful, paternal smile. “Because I know that unlike humans, they’ll never judge me.”

You find that your eyes never stray from the side of Leehan’s face as he talks, feeling almost like you’re a purveyor to this private, intimate moment he’s having. It feels like a privilege to be able to observe Leehan in moments like this where you’re given a genuine glimpse into his inner personhood.

But you’re pushed out just as quickly as you’re let in, watching as he promptly gets up from his seat by the tank and makes his way over to the bed. You turn your body in your chair to face him, and find that he’s now staring at you lustfully, gesturing for you to join him.

And as dismaying as it is to see him abandon the brief moment of emotional vulnerability just as quickly as it began, you stand up anyway, making your way to him.

Your movements toward him are slow, shy almost, and you can tell it pleases Leehan as you stand between his legs and are brought forward by his hands pushing at your lower back. He looks up at you, communicating wordlessly with just his sensual gaze how much he wants you. Your lingering anger from before stops you from making the first move, but even so, you don’t resist when he leans in to press a soft, steady kiss against your lips. Finding something almost apologetic about the innocent gesture, you put aside all of your inhibitions and decide to deepen the kiss, leaning your body fully into his and relishing in the groans he makes against your mouth. 

Passion quickly bleeds into the both of your movements until you’re kissing in a crazed, frantic manner. His hands that previously only looped your hips now wander across the expanse of your back, and with one forceful tug, your zipper comes down your dress. You’ve only just allowed the fabric to slide down your shoulders before he’s pulling the dress down himself, exposing your nipples to the cold air before covering them with his hot mouth. Tongue swirling around your hardened nubs, you nuzzle a hand in his hair and throw your head back in contentment. 

It’s with a wet pop that he pulls off of you, leaning upward to lock your lips once more. But because you're both incredibly and overwhelming horny, the kiss lasts for barely a few seconds before he’s pulling away to voice his plans for your body. 

“Want you to sit on my face,” he mumbles, voice gruff and deep and dripping with desire. “Wanna put that pretty pussy of yours in my mouth.”

Smirking in reply, you rest your head against his, eyes closed as you weather the currents of several shocks of arousal that travel up your body and make your legs feel like jelly. “I want that, too,” you confess, your voice sounding wispy as your body loses the strength to be assertive. “Also kinda want your dick in my mouth.”

His eyes light up at this, and with a hand on your chin that brings your face level with his, he says, “How about this: You hop on my face, and I’ll let you suck my cock. Sound good?”

Something about Leehan’s enduring leadership has the effect of making you feel intimidated, so much so that all you manage is a shy nod in response to his words, which he luckily accepts without any further prompting. You’re better at speaking with your actions, anyway, knowing that there’s a wordless understanding in the way that you kiss him hard and passionately while your hands push him onto his back.  

It’s with greedy, fast-moving hands that you strip him of his clothes, desperate for the instant bliss that is his mouth against your clit, the instant satisfaction that is his cum shooting down your throat. Once you have him fully naked, the fuzzy halo headband you’ve long forgotten about the only shared item of clothing between the two of you, you begin to adjust so that you may assume the required position. 

But your movements are suddenly halted when Leehan sits up suddenly, muttering the word “Wait,” as he maneuvers the both of your bodies so that you now lay on the complete opposite side of the bed. 

“That’s better,” he mumbles contentedly.

“What?”

“Just don’t want the fish to see what I’m about to do to you,” he replies, an answer so baffling that all you can do is laugh in reply. Your reaction barely phases him as he moves to drag your body onto his, and just like that, his kookiness is forgotten and your focus becomes tethered to the feeling of his breath against your awaiting pussy. 

He blows a few teasing, cool breaths against your dripping core, and before he has the chance to make you succumb to the pleasure of his mouth, you reach out to begin your own enjoyment of his heavy, hard cock. 

His member is veiny and substantial in your hands, reddened tip dripping with beads of precum that you lick away without thought of how it will impact Leehan. You feel his body seize with a jolt of pleasure from the direct contact with his most sensitive body part. 

And as if trying to get payback, he begins his assault on your pussy by sucking your clit into his warm, wet mouth.

From there, it becomes a competition of wills, a battle to see who can be least distracted by the pleasure they’re receiving in order to make the other fold, or at the very least, reach their climax. 

It’s a war you feel yourself pitifully losing as your drunken fervor somehow makes every casually overwhelming sensation feel 10x more heightened. You feel yourself inching closer and closer to release with each blissful flick of his tongue against your clit. 

Still, not forgetting about Leehan and his pleasure, you fight through the mental haze of your own gratification and concentrate on making slow, purposeful pumps of his cock within the ring of your hand. 

Sucking Leehan off is an activity you’ve gotten more than enough experience in to know what it takes to make him come. You gather all of the moisture in your mouth and wet his shaft with your spit. You press teasing, chaste kisses on his sensitive tip. You swirl your tongue in circles and continue stroking him with your hand. 

And then, when you can feel his thighs tensing as he grows tired of your teasing, you offer him relief in the form of taking him fully in your warm mouth.

Leehan’s self control is impeccable, even as you’re bobbing your head up and down his cock. He drags his tongue through your folds and finds himself at your hole, licking up the arousal there and fucking you open with his tongue. The only sign he shows of his own impending release are in the groans that he lets out against your mound. You can feel something overwhelming begining to build in your stomach, and though your body tries to squirm away from it, he holds you against his face.

You pitifully moan with his cock fully lodged in your mouth, and with a few final thrusts of his tongue, the knot in your stomach comes undone. As your orgasm overwhelms you, it’s difficult to continue moving your head. 

But Leehan’s too close to let his climax slip away from him, so it’s in desperation that he begins bucking his hips into your mouth at the same time he’s licking you through your orgasm. You just relax your jaw and let out restrained whimpers as Leehan fucks your mouth, not stopping until he finishes with a groan.

“My god, Y/N,” Leehan mutters breathily, turning you both on your sides, unraveling his limbs from yours until you’re no longer skin to skin. “We should do that position more often.”

You nod lazily in agreement, and with the little strength left in your limbs, you sit up to meet Leehan in the middle of the bed for a wet kiss. 

The position is slightly awkward, the two of you laying in opposite directions, twisting your bodies unnaturally, but kissing each other is a habit so addictive that even as you’re pulling away, he pulls at your hair to bring you back in for just a few seconds longer.

It’s comforting to fall back down onto the bed and feel Leehan’s fingers gently caressing the skin of your ankle. In your sleepy, post-orgasm haze, you’re filled with a sudden surge of contement in regards to your decision to come here tonight. 

You feel the fabric of a blanket kissing the sides of your body, and when you look over to find Leehan getting comfy in bed, it’s with satisfaction that you begin to do the same.

But then, the blanket you were just about to pull onto your body is snatched off of your skin, and when you look over at Leehan, you see him tucking himself in with a sleepy, content smile on his face. It’s just as you’re sitting up that he flutters his eyes closed, and with a sleepy tilt to his voice he says, “Hey, if you see Jaehyun on your way out, can you ask him to call me? I wanna know what time he plans on ending this.”

There’s a second after those words hit your ears where you’re not sure if you misheard him, slow to move from where you are in his bed. But as the implications of the statement hit you horrifically and all at once, it’s with a heavy feeling of shame weighing down your body that you reply, “Sure,” going to gather your discarded things from the floor.

The humiliating act of putting on your clothes after being dismissed so casually is almost instantaneously sobering. You catch a view of yourself in the display of your phone and notice that your plastic halo headband has been bent 90 degrees, likely from how rough you were. Your hair is strewn in every direction. Your mascara is smeared and ruined, running down your cheeks in squiggly, broken lines. 

You’re a mess. He made you a mess for the sake of his pleasure. And instead of cleaning you up, Leehan has essentially just kicked you out onto the street.

Only Leehan could cause such a dramatic shift between feeling like you were safe and desired to feeling like you’re just a worthless speck of nothing attached to the bottom of his shoe.

It’s just as you’re about to open the door to leave that you hear him call your name, and with your back turned to him, a hopeful part of you thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’ll say he changed his mind and wants you to stay.

But instead, as if to turn the knife in more, when you turn around, you find him staring boredly at his phone. 

Instead of regret on his face, you see neutrality. 

And instead of asking you to stay, he just says, “Thanks so much by the way. For the sex and the favor.”

It’s with a forced, robotic sense of calmness that you’re replying. “No problem, Leehan.”

And then you leave his room, never feeling so profoundly insignificant than you do in this moment.

There’s nothing quite worse than waking up with a terrible hangover, a panging feeling of emotional emptiness, and then having to send a string of desperate emails to your professors asking for deadline extensions. But that’s exactly what you do in the aftermath of the Halloween party, and by the grace of all things holy, you’re granted an extra few days to get your assignments in.

So grateful for the chance to resuscitate your failing GPA, you focus your efforts on finishing your assignments and almost forget about the cause of such misfortune, until you’re reminded when your phone suddenly buzzes with a text.

>leehan: what are you doing?

Messages of this sort usually have the effect of leaving you excited and giddy in anticipation of Leehan’s inevitable arrival to your doorstep. But now, all you feel is annoyance as you read the text and plague yourself over what to say. 

You type and delete several versions of a response that ultimately boils down to i’m too busy trying not to fail all of my classes which i wouldn’t be failing if it weren’t for all of the time i spend either thinking about you or fucking you , but in the end, you resolutely decide not to respond at all. 

In fact, in a move surely colored by the resentment you’ve allowed to grow for far too long now, you turn on read receipts so he knows you chose to disregard him on purpose.

You then continue typing away at one of the three essays that are past due, hoping you can forget about Leehan and return to the focus you had before receiving the message and being reminded of the past week’s events. You’re pleased when you look up after a few moments to see that an hour has passed and your attention hasn’t lingered. 

Just as you open a new tab to begin the reading for your second essay, the indistinguishable sound of a knock at your door stirs your attention otherwise.

You look around your shared dorm space. Your roommate went home for break already and hasn’t been here for the past few days. Assuming she communicated that to her friends, you know whoever’s on the other side of the door shouldn’t be for her. 

It could be an RA, though you couldn’t imagine why. 

Deciding to confront your curiosity head on, you get up to open the door and feel your eyes widen when it’s Leehan leaning against the doorframe.

Dressed comfortably in a hoodie and cargo pants, he looks up to greet you, smirking at the sight of your looming silhouette. “Hello,” he says casually, as if his sudden appearance was known to you before now.

There’s a strange mixture of excitement and dread that swirls inside of you the moment you see him. Because on one hand, just a look from him is something that gives you uncontrollable butterflies. You truly do like being around Leehan. But you feel like you have no control over the fact that you will let him in, even though you have every reason not to. 

He’ll fuck you, give you some of the best pleasure of your life, and will leave right afterwards, making you feel shitty. 

You’ll exerience the greatest high followed by the greatest low. 

And already in anticipation of how terrible you’ll feel in the aftermath of this inevitable scenario, it’s as if you’re body is already making space for the knife that will surely tear through your heart when this ends.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, though you already have a strong feeling what the answer will be. 

He’ll play coy, changing the subject by asking another question in response to your question.

“Aren’t you gonna let me in?” he says next, even though you both know the true reason why he’s come.

And because you like to feel like you have even the smallest semblance of control over the situation, you don’t give in to him easily, making a face of mock contemplation before replying, “Not if you don’t answer the question first.”

“Did you know that peppermint dwarf angelfish require a very specific type of fish food?” he asks, and because you’re so used to these divertive, weird diatribes he’s always so inclined to go on, all you can do is try and follow along. “I had to come all the way up here to find the only shop in Korea that sells it. And while I was already up here, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop by your dorm and say hi.”

You tilt your head as you stare at him, considering bitterly whether he could be telling the truth or not. 

But of course, his serious expression quickly melts into a smirk as he explains himself. “I’m kidding, Y/N. Not about the fishes, but about why I’m here. I wanted to see you, so I came.”

There’s something that’s really disgustingly cocky and self-centered about him just showing up to your door without warning with the unsaid though obvious expectation of sex. 

And yet, would he be wrong to have that expectation, when so many times before you’ve let him for that exact purpose?

He must be able to see the conflicting thoughts you’re having reflected on your expression, because from behind his back, he reveals a bouquet of flowers. You don’t know how you didn’t notice he was holding them until now, a colorful array of peonies and roses with, upon further inspection, a bunch of cardboard fishes placed among the petals. 

You can’t help but smile as you take them from him.

“I brought flowers?” he says, his voice titled in an expression of this being an olive branch, his way of expressing apology, though for what you don’t know. For showing up here unannounced? For putting you through so much obvious emotional turmoil? You’re not sure. 

There is something at least a little romantic about him boldly showing up at your doorstep instead of waiting for you to respond to his text. Though, through another, more cynical lens, you could also call it kind of creepy. Should you go with the latter interpretation, you know you would be sending the worse kind of message by letting him in anyway. You’d essentially be confirming to him that this relationship is on his terms, that he can show up to your place whenever he wants to get his dick wet, regardless of if you’re busy like you are now.

But isn’t that what this has always been between the two of you? Once again, you feel helpless in the face of the unbounding energy his presence causes. You can only watch the rest of the nights events play out like a bad movie you’ve seen far too many times, like you’re a witness from outside your own body and life.

You walk away from Leehan, leaving your door open so he knows he can come in. You place the flowers neatly on the table next to the entrance. It’s when you face the kitchenette of your dorm that you realize just how cluttered the place is; too stressed about your schoolwork, you haven’t put any thought into keeping it clean.

“Sorry,” you mutter sheepishly under your breath as you hear Leehan come in and close the door behind him. “It’s kind of a mess in here.”

He chuckles, as if to agree without having to say it plainly and hurt your feelings. You turn to face him and find that he’s already looking at you, a penetrating expression on his face as he asks, “Are you okay?”

You’ve never found that question as hard to answer as it is right now, especially when it’s his voice doing the questioning. 

Should you say that you’re on the verge of failing all of your classes, a circumstance you’ve never once had to worry about until he came into your life, causing a whirwhild of uncontainable emotions to take over your life? 

That you’ve been questioning everything when it comes to your own self-esteem and worthiness because it feels like you’re nothing if you’re not validated by the fleeting yet addicting warmth of his gaze and attention?

In the time that it takes you to think, you realize that Leehan has come closer, his body in front of you so that now you can’t escape from the kitchen counter against your back that blocks you in completely. Dazed by the proximity of him, you forget what you were asked, and are grateful when he doesn’t press you for an answer. It’s better for both of you if you don’t respond, anyway, because your honesty would surely kill the mood.

“You know what might make you feel better?” he asks, and you fight back a cynical giggle at the fact that he doesn’t even have to hear you say it to know that you need to be made better. “Fucking the shit out of me.”

As always, his moments of sudden candor simultaneously make you laugh and cringe because of how ill-fitting they are to the persona he occupies in your mind. You’ve always liked how awkward and strange Leehan is, which is why his fuckboy tendencies have always landed uneasily for you. 

It becomes too easy, then, to tease him by pretending you didn’t hear his outward expression of desire. “I don’t like the way you look at people,” you say, trying your hand at his usual divertive tactics. “It’s like you can see through them.”

You can always appreciate how even when you sidestep his advances, Leehan always plays into your banter, never pressuring you into action. “It’s because I can. BOO!” he exclaims, mouth open in an o shape as he childishly expresses fright. You muster a laugh at his playfulness.

After that, you’re both silent, and you know it’s because you’re both tired of playing games. You’re at the point now where it becomes obvious in both of your piercing gazes that you want to fuck, and now it’s just about who will make the move first. 

Suddenly conscious of Leehan’s long hair and how it hangs over the sides of his face, you reach your arms up to take pieces of it into your hands. There’s a rubber band on your wrist that you use to try and put it in a ponytail so you can see his features better, but before you can finish, he takes the opportunity of your increased closness to kiss you. 

The intensity of his kiss knocks the air out of your lungs, and you let go of his hair before you can finish tying it up. Because of your close proximity, it falls over the sides of your own face, obscuring the rest of the world from you so that it’s just him in your vision. 

His hands rest on the apex of your hips, and he pushes you slightly so that you’re completely backed up against the kitchen counter. You’d thought you’d feel more urgent, but your movements are leisurely as you bring your hands to his hoodie and begin to pull at the buttons holding it together. As the fabric begins to sag off his arms, he starts kissing at your neck, and you tilt your head to the side to accommodate him.

Once his shirt has fallen to the ground, you then work to release his cock from the confines of his pants, pushing at the thankfully loose waistband until it springs out against his naked stomach. You jerk him slowly and leisurely but it causes him to groan into your mouth just the same, and soon he’s moving to unbutton your own t-shirt until you’re both naked from the waist up.

“Leehan,” you whimper, as he cups your tits with both hands, “Bed.”

“Which one? I take it your roommate’s is empty?” he replies jokingly, and when you stare at him scathingly, he chuckles. “I’m kidding. Don’t look at me like that or I’ll come in my pants.”

You have no chance to scold Leehan for his teasing any further before he’s picking you up off the ground, your legs wrapping around his waist and hands around his neck as he walks habitually to your bedroom. He’s still on top of you even as you feel yourself being lowered onto your bed, mouth on yours in a sloppy kiss while his hands rush to get your pants off. He sits up to kick his own off, and now the two of you are left completely naked. 

This would usually be the point where the two of you would become like animals and rush to fuck as soon as possible. But while standing above your body, you watch as Leehan just stares at your still figure on the bed, taking in every detail with his penetrative, admiring eyes.

“I find you so beautiful,” he softly confesses, caressing the skin on your hip before looking up to meet your shy gaze. “Do you know that?”

It’s unclear whether he’s asking if you know that you’re beautiful, or if you know that he finds you beautiful. Either way, it’s in a moment of sincere honesty that you reply, “Only sometimes.”

Because there are days when you look in the mirror or put on your clothes on your way to campus and feel like your body is less of a home, but a prison that you’re forever doomed to occupy.

And with the emotional rollercoaster that is having sex with Leehan only for him to completely ignore you afterward, you’ve naturally found yourself wondering if the only alluring thing about you is that you’ll let him fuck you with no questions asked. That in a school full of beautiful girls with actual self-esteem, he’s settled for you so long as you continue to provide him with pussy.

Leehan furrows his eyebrows at your response, and with a corrective tone of voice replies, “ Always .” In movements that are slow and gentle, he leans down to lay a chaste kiss on your forehead. Another on the top of your cheek. Another on your ear. And then on every single part of your face that you’d normally consider insignificant. And then slowly down your rising and falling torso. 

“Everything about you. I couldn’t pick a favorite thing because I love every single part of you,” he confesses in a whisper-like tone against your skin. Finally reaching your pussy, he places one last gentle kiss at the top of your mound, something about the gesture making your pussy clench, espeically as he says, “You’re my favorite girl.”

To be affirmed by Leehan in this way is something that causes both your heart to swell and your body to pulse with arousal. But it’s also with a surge of sadness that you wish these words didn’t affect you so monumentally. 

A part of you wants him to stop making remarks of this sort to you during sex because you can never be sure that he truly means them.

But if that’s the case, then why do they feel and sound so genuine?

It’s with shaky resoluteness in your voice that you sit up to look at Leehan, replying, “Then show me.”

And, as if spurred on by the challenge, you can see Leehan’s expression changing even with half of his face obscured by your pussy. “How?” he asks, leaning in to lick teasingly against your clit. “Like this?” 

When he doesn’t wait for your answer and continues sucking and licking against your clit, you throw your head back as you enjoy the physical manifestations of Leehan’s attraction to you. 

If there is any time when you feel most desired and liked by him, it’s when he’s in between your legs, devouring you whole like a man starved. 

He uses his mouth not to tell you sweet-nothings, but to give you some of the best pleasure of your life. And it’s in gestures like these where you can wordlessly understand his devotion to you. 

It’s in your desperation to reach your peak that you begin to buck your hips into his mouth, wanting more of him, but he stops it with both hands that snake up your body and press down on your boobs. He tweaks at your nipples in a way that makes your back arch, but in a gesture that surprises you, he also just rests his hand over your chest, right where your heart is. You wonder if he can feel the fluctuations of your pulse, how it speeds up when his tongue does. Dreamily, the thought of him being so in sync with you that he can feel the intimate beatings of your inner organ sends you into a spiral of heightened satisfaction.

“Leehan, I’m gonna come.”

Even with your eyes closed, you can almost hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “My favorite four words in the world. Go ahead, baby. I’ve got you.”

Somehow, you think your body needed that permission, because it’s only moments later that your orgasm takes over your body. 

Your eyelids are covered with dancing spirals, your spine bends as you arch up into the air, and your body vibrates with a feeling so pleasurable it’s like an addiction, something you’d endure the greatest emotional lows to receive on a regular basis.

As you still, Leehan gets up to sit on his knees, looking over at your bedside dresser. “Still have the condoms where I left them?”

“Top drawer,” you confirm.

“Good girl,” he praises with a smile, reaching over you to rummage through the drawer and coming out of it with a silver packet between his fingers. 

It’s just as he’s finished putting it on and is about to slide in that you raise a hand to stop him, saying, “Leehan wait. I wanna ride you.”

His eyebrows raise at this, but he nonetheless maneuvers so that he’s in a criss-cross position, saying with a grin, “Woah. I feel lucky. You never get on top. Make me do all the work.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, making your way over to him and holding onto his shoulders as you hover over his hardened cock. But before you can take him, he roughly grabs your chin, squeezing your face in his hold in a way that forces your eyes on his.

“Make me,” he asserts, staring at you so intensely that it makes your stomach swoop. Reaching between your bodies, you grab hold of his pulsing erection and line it up with your hole, sinking down on him and loving the way it makes both of your mouths instantly open on impact.

It feels like you’re being split open in the most pleasurable way as you sit down fully on Leehan’s cock and allow the satisfcation of being filled by him to consume you. Driven by the pursuit of your own pleasure, you bounce, swivel, and thrust yourself against him. And when Leehan throws his head back, beautiful neck on display as he growls, “You’re so tight, Y/N,” you’re motivated to go even harder.

Sex with Leehan has never felt more intimate than it does now, when you’re above him and able to catch every small distortion in his gorgeous expression as he gets taken away by the gratification of this sex. Mantaining eye contact with him is nothing new to you now, but even so, you find yourself feeling like his eyes are admiring your soul more than they are your body or face as you bounce up and down for his viewing pleasure.

With your arms wrapped around his neck, you’re skin to skin, heart to heart, and in a way you almost feel like the closeness grants you the telepathic ability to know what he’s feeling and thinking. If there were to be a physical manifestation of the word yearning , it would be this exact moment between the two of you. 

Your expression melts into a smirk as you continue to ride him, and you feel almost motivated to giggle as the pleasure you’re experiencing makes you feel deliriously satisfied and happy. Leehan, with his hands leisurely rested at his sides, scans your face as if trying to memorize every detail, saying, “You make the prettiest expressions when my dick is inside of you. I truly can’t – nphhh – get enough.”

It’s as you begin to set a pace that has the tip of his cock kissing your g-spot with every bounce that you yearn for him to touch you, to light your skin on fire with the warmth of his touch. Anywhere. Everywhere. “Leehan, touch me .”

And it’s because he’s come to know your body so well, know exactly what makes you tick and what places to touch that have you crying in pleasure, he brings his hand to your clit and starts rubbing incoherent shapes into your swelling bud. Your body feels like it’s on fire, so much so that you begin to lose strength in your trembling thighs, something Leehan picks up on as he says almost desperately, “Faster, Y/N. Take it.”

You have to fight through the strain in your legs and the building tension in your stomach in order to begin bouncing on Leehan so hard it’s as if your life depends on it. And though it feels like it’s taking all of the energy in your body, you do it because you want to make him feel good. 

You do it because you want him to continue thinking of you as his favorite girl, even though that statement in itself implies the existence of other girls. 

Even though it feels like every morsel of your self-esteem is shattered in the process, you do it because his attention means so much to you that it blurs everything else.

“ Fuck , I’m gonna come,” you cry out as the pleasure becomes too much, as it begins to feels like everything else in your vision is obscured except for Leehan.

“Open your mouth,” you hear him say, and although your sex-crazed mind can barely comprehend why he’s asking you that, you comply anyways and feel your arousal growing stronger when, to your surpise, he tips your head back with a hand on your jaw and spits into your mouth.

The gesture is dirty and lewd and yet a moan rips out of you just the same, and the closer that your orgasm inches, the less you feel like you’re in control of your body or your reactions. Every thought and will in your brain has been diluted so that your only objective is to reach your peak.

“You like that, pretty?” he asks teasingly, his own orgasm approaching in a way that causes his voice to come out strained and tight. “Let me see what a dirty girl you are. Come all over my cock.”

Whimpers of his name leave your mouth in broken succession, the robustness of your orgasm milking you until your body quite literally collapses against his. And it’s after giving everything that your body could give, your legs trembling and your body screaming out in exhaustion, that Leehan takes over by thrusting wildly up into you. In search of his own climax, you can only whimper weakly into the skin of his neck and allow him to manhandle your limp body up and down his cock.

“I know, I know,” he coos apolgetically in your ear, fucking up into you hard and firmly. “I”m close. Gonna come inside your pretty little pussy.”

With a last thrust so impactful that it resonates throughout your entire body, Leehan releases into his condom, twisting his hips inside of you before pulling out with a groan. You collapse onto the bed together, and even though you can barely feel anything in the bottom half of your body, even though you have the foreboding inclination that it’ll be hard to walk later, you still can’t help the foolish smile that appears automatically on your face. There is no greater high than basking in your post-orgasm haze.

The stillness of the moments you share after sex is something you cling onto every time, wishing that the universe would mercifully turn those seconds of blissful and intimate silence between the two of you into minutes. But like the distant sound of thunder that lets you know that it’s going to rain, you feel the bed dip with the weight of Leehan sitting up, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before he sees himself out.

“You made a mess,” you hear him say as he picks at the fabric of your sheets where, sure enough, the white sheets have been soiled grey. The comment gives you slight butterflies, and as you manage a weak smile, about to reply with something snarky, he says, “Want me to stay behind? Do your laundry?”

If only for a few seconds, you allow yourself to consider the possibility that he’s being serious. That for the first time since you met him, he’s actually going to stay behind and take care of you instead of leaving you wet and limp and naked and sad. You hate how good those few seconds of belief feel. That just the idea of how doing something as simple as your laundry could make you feel so fulfilled and wanted.

At first you’re not sure what to think when he leans down to gently caress the hair on top of your head. But then, with an almost pitying expression on his face, he replies, “I’m just joking. If I hang around for too long, how would you miss me?”

There have been lots of times when Leehan has shown his lack of regard for you in his actions, but never in his words.

So to hear him plainly confirm to you that this is all a game to him, that it’s always been his intention to leave you strung out and wanting more, that he knows the emotional impact his absence causes, hits you like a slap in the face.

He doesn’t have to hide how little he cares about you because he knows that no matter how he treats you, you’ll always come back.

Haven’t you proven that exact notion to him time and time again?

“See you later, Y/N,” he says as he’s leaving your bedroom, a statement that he can make with confidence because you’ve shown him time and time again that he can walk all over you and still be guaranteed access to your body, mind and soul.

And as the reality of the situation that you’ve found yourself in hits you all at once, it’s at the sound of your front door closing that you begin to cry on impact.

Tears that feel endless begin to pour out onto your cheeks until you’re open-mouthed sobbing, and because you’ve spent so long holding these emotions back, they wreck your body until you have no energy left and devolve into soundless heaves.

You fall asleep like this, so emotionally wrecked and confused that you forgot about the three essays you were supposed to submit. 

You’re on the verge of tears as you enter your advisor’s office, sitting down across from the older woman whose passive expression tells you everything you need to know about the sort of news she’s about to deliver to you. But it’s with surprising clarity that you react to her saying, “Y/N, you’ve failed almost every single one of your classes this term.”

You stare blankly at her, processing the emotions that come over you at this news. It’s suprsing to say that the immediate feeling that comes over you is relief, but you owe it to the fact that you’ve been struggling this entire semester, plagued with anxiety as to whether or not you’d fail. And so, to have it finally confirmed after months of stressing about it feels similarly to being in the eye of a storm. 

After struggling for so long, you’re at a vantage point where it feels more comforting to be able to say that all that’s left is for you to fight your way out of the storm entirely. 

“Typically, when students have such large and sudden drops in performance like this, it’s because of some significant life event,” she explains, tilting her head as she looks at you pitifully. “Given that you’re a transfer student, I’m wondering if the transition from your old school to this one had an impact on your performance. Are you finding the academic rigor here harder?”

“No, maam,” you say, shaking your head. Academically, this school has been everything you had been hoping for and more since deciding to transfer. You couldn’t have expected to meet someone who so greatly turned your life around within a matter of months. 

Not sure how to explain the unique set of circumstances leading up to this moment, you vaguely answer, “I’ve just…transparently had a lot going on this semester in my personal life. So I haven’t been as great at prioritizing my classes.”

Humming in understanding, your advisor moves to face her computer. “Well, I’m afraid the next steps are to put you on academic probation for the rest of this semester. Are you aware of what that all entails?”

You shake your head no. Your advisor goes on to explain it to you. “You’ll need to maintain at least a 2.5 grade point average moving forward. Additionally, you’ll be given a tutor – another student who you’ll be mandated to meet with at least once a week to get your grades up.”

There a few telltale clicking sounds from her computer before she’s speaking up again to say, “It looks like the only available tutor for this semester is a student named Han Taesan. Do you know him?”

Admittedly only familiar with the few people who Jaehyun’s introduced you to, you shake your head no. You then have to try and push off the dread that builds inside of you at the thought of having to meet with a stranger once a week for the next two or so months until the semester ends.

You perk up as you watch your advisor’s eyebrows lift in surprise at something on her computer “It looks like he actually has office hours open right now until three. So, after this, I recommend you go see him and introduce yourself. It’s important that you get started right away so that you can begin correcting this situation. The last thing we’d want is for your financial aid to be affected, which – I should mention – will happen if you fail your classes again, Y/N.”

It’s at this warning that the reality of the situation finally hits you. 

As stupid as it now sounds, all of the times when you allowed Leehan to take up so much of your time in lieu of submitting your assignments were aided by a blind faith on your part that everything would work out in the end. 

But it’s in grave realization that you see how much you were gambling with your future by making such poor decisions. 

And with that feeling of shame and embarrassment weighing down on you so heavily, you leave your advisor's office a few short moments later, heading to the library to meet Taesan. 

As you’re leaving, you feel your phone buzzing in your pocket and unlock it to read a text that could not be more ill timed:

>leehan: what are you doing?

There couldn’t be any worse moment now than to receive such a message, after you’ve just been told that you could potentially lose your scholarship over your mindless decision making in regards to this man. And for perhaps the first time since you’ve met Leehan, you decide to let go of this manic-pixie-dream-girl image you’ve created for yourself, typing out a message that relays the completely honesty of your current situation.

>you: leehan, i failed my midterms. They’re putting me on academic probation and i might lose my scholarship. I don’t know that i’ll have much time for our “arrangement” anymore.

You stuff your phone back in your pocket right after sending it, caring little to know what Leehan will say in response. 

It’s in realization that you finally decide that making Leehan’s every thought, feeling and desire a priority in your life is a luxury you can no longer afford.

Arriving at the library a few minutes later, you wa;lw inside and observe how empty the place is. You suppose it makes sense given that most students have left for their fall break by now, not beholden to stay behind because of failing grades like you are. There’s a boy sitting by himself at one of the many tables in the library, a laptop and a few books surrounding him. You decide he’s the most likely to be the person you’re looking for and go up to approach him.

“Excuse me, are you Han Taesan?”

The boy, whose hair is uniquely marked by a streak of blonde in the back of it, looks up at you and nods.

“I’m not sure if you got the notification,” you say, pulling at your fingernails nervously. “But I’ve been assigned a tutor and you’re it. My advisor told me to meet with you today.”

Understanding finally dawning on the boy’s face, he puts down the screen of his laptop so he can fully pay attention to you and your presence. “Okay. What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, and even though everything from his voice and manners should have you inclined to feel less nervous, there’s something about his facial features that have you feeling intimidated. 

He’s quite good looking, but in a way that makes him seem unapproachable. 

“If you’ve been assigned to meet with me, that means you’re on academic probation, correct?”

Something about hearing those words, the assignment of your name next to the phrase academic probation , feels like a knife to the stomach. Still, the only thing you can do is nod grimly, and without intending it, you launch defensively into an explanation. “It’s not something I’m in the habit of, if that’s what you’re wondering. This is my first time, truly, and it’s just because I had a lot going on this semester.”

You expect Taesan to appear annoyed with you, just as you are with yourself when you hear those words leave your mouth. But you’re surprised when instead, he smiles. And when he does, it’s like the intimidating persona you built of him in your head immediately shatters and in place of it, you’re introduced to someone that seems really sweet.

“Listen, I know you’re probably feeling like a total failure right now. I know cause I’ve been there. But you don’t have to explain yourself to me, Y/N. The last thing I want to do is make you feel judged for something that so many students go through,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders to further communicate how little of an issue this is for him. 

“Most of the time, the people I tutor don’t even need me. They’re not dumb, they just were going through something that made them deprioritize their classes. We’ve all been there before. I’m just here to be an accountability partner and help you manage the stress.”

Fighting against all the parts of you that have been feeling shame in response to today’s development, you allow Taesan’s reassurance to wash over you like a cold drink on a swelteringly hot day. 

“You’re…really nice, Taesan,” you reply, thinking of no better way to express your gratitude. “I really needed to hear that.”

“No problem. If you’re free, we can go somewhere else and begin working on those late assignments. I don’t really like staying at the library because we’ll be forced to whisper like this the whole time.”

It’s only at his observation that you become conscious of the fact that you have been indeed whispering this entire time, and it is in fact, very burdensome. “Yeah, you’re totally right. Are you cool with coming to my dorm? I live on campus, in Commons.”

Grabbing his things, he gets up to follow you, and it’s at that moment that you realize just how tall Taesan is. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

Just as you’re about to leave with Taesan, you feel your phone buzzing in your pocket once more. And because you completely forgot about your earlier exchange with Leehan, you don’t even consider that the message could be from him until a picture that you’re immediately swiping out of lights up your phone screen.

>leehan: he misses you :((((( [img_6785]

The image in question is a dick pic, a full frontal image with Leehan’s smartly masked face just barely peeking out at the top as he angles his phone downward. 

You go from surprised to disgusted as you remember what the picture is in response to – a candid expression of anxiety about your academic probabtion – and suddenly, you couldn’t be more sure of the negative impact that Leehan has had on your life.

More sure that if you never heard from him after today, it would be the universe's greatest gift.

“Are you okay?” asks Taesan from beside you, and it’s with great gratitude that you observe his reaction is not that of someone who accidentally saw a dick pic on someone elses phone. Steeling yourself from the shock of the unexpected message, you hum an affirmative sounding noise in reply, and with that, you exit the library. 

You walk together to your dorm that’s only 5 minutes away from the library, and as you walk, you discuss a variety of things. How and why Taesan became a tutor, the circumstances which led to you transferring from your old school, and observations on how empty campus seems to be right now. Taesan, a music major, became a tutor once he learned he could get paid for what he already liked to do, which was teach people. The more you talk to him, the more assured you feel about this arraignment and your situation at large. 

More importantly, Taesan has the ability to do something you thought no man or object could be capable of – he takes your mind off of Leehan, and moreover the picture you just received from him.

Arriving at your front door, you can feel Taesan’s eyes on you as he says, “When I started my day today, I would’ve never guessed it would lead me to a girl’s dorm room.” You giggle at the genuinely funny joke, and now, you’re looking up at Taesan as if you’re fully seeing him for the first time. 

In just a short amount of time, you’re learned that Taesan is handsome, smart, nice, and funny. 

Perhaps something other than good grades could come of this time you’re about to spend together. 

In the time that you spend looking at Taesan, still smiling in the aftermath of his joke as you let him into your dorm room, you don’t notice the fact that Leehan is waiting for you down the hallway, armed once more with a bouquet of flowers. 

After last time, he figured surprise visits would be his thing now, especially since he knew your roommate wouldn’t be there to stop him. 

He wasn’t expecting, though, that there would be someone else who would act as a barrier between the two of you. 

Someone who causes unexplainable anger and resentment to blossom unusually in his chest. 

It’s in a blur of confusion – both at himself for reacting this way and at you for being with someone other than him – that Leehan turns around and rushes for the building’s exit before either of you can see him.

part 4 can be found HERE

taglist: @lailols @papichulomacy @0310s @softiwoon @gardenforwon @cherrytaesan @mryuyux @saintriots @lonelylandofan @cyber-tiny @keyywrld @isabellah29 @amarecerasus @cadidupped

comment or send an ask to be added to the taglist!

[zukkaoru]

[ID: a tweet edited to read:

tumblr the only place where well articulated sentences still get misinterpreted.

You can say "we should appreciate the female characters that already exist in canon" and somebody will say "oh so you’re saying I can’t like male characters that my neurodivergency has made me latch onto?"

No bitch. Dats a whole new sentence. Wtf is you talkin about.

/end ID]

piss on the poor website.

[yourfavecharacterisqueer]

Lancelot: So... who's the big spoon and who's the little spoon?

Arthur: We're chopsticks!

Lancelot: Well... that's cute! Does that mean you two snuggle together perfectly?

Merlin: No, it means that if you take the other away, the only thing the other is good for is stabbing.

[atlabeth]

dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

summary: you and hotch both confront a lifetime of things left unsaid when a case forces your past into the light.

a/n: so i started this. two years ago. got 1k in and left it, came back now for some reason, wrote like a freak until it was done. lol. this is quite heavy and different than most things i usually write and it is SO much longer than expected but im very proud of it �� i didn't really pay attention to the canon timeline so just know that reader and hotch were in their early and late 20s in law school (90s) and early and late 30s in present day (early 2000s). title from i lied by lord huron and allison ponthier

wc: 17.2k

warning(s): a lot of angst. typical bau case stuff, murder (familicide), implied/referenced past child abuse, reader and hotch go at it basically the whole time, character death, kidnapping, slight mention of drugging, injuries, mentions of blood. i wouldn’t say a happy ending but a hopeful one

Hotch can barely stay awake. 

He got the call thirty minutes to 4 a.m, and if he hadn’t already been up, he would likely be in a much worse mood. He can only hope that the rest of the team has gotten used to rude awakenings at this point. 

It’s poor planning on his part—he already got out late due to extra paperwork, and once he got home, he found himself staring at the wall, and then staring at the ceiling. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to sleep on the jet. If things go the way they usually do, he won’t be out until their first night in a hotel. 

He started making calls to the team on his way to the office, but to no one’s surprise, he was the first one there. He had time to wash down a shitty office coffee and get started on a second one by the time everyone’s there. 

Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ all have coffees—JJ comes prepared with her own thermos, but Morgan and Prentiss fall victim to the BAU’s supply—Reid is fighting back yawns as he tries to fix a hastily made tie, Garcia is slightly less energetic than normal as she passes out files, and somehow Rossi looks the same as always. 

Hotch just hopes he’s put together enough to make the team feel better about being here at an ungodly hour. 

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Garcia greets, setting down the last folder in front of Reid before taking her spot next to Hotch at the front. “As lovely as it is to see all of you this morning, I’m afraid that we’ve got a grisly one on our hands, hence the hour.” 

“Great,” Prentiss mutters. “How bad is it?” 

“Three married couples have been murdered in St. Louis, Missouri in the past two months, with the most recent one happening yesterday,” Hotch says, and Garcia grimaces as she clicks onto the pictures. “Mom and dad are killed, but the children are spared.”

“Awful lot of similarities between the parents,” Morgan says dryly as he flips through the folder. “Looks like our killer has some family issues.” 

Reid nods. “The unsub likely stalks these families once they see the similarities. I’m guessing he was abused as a child, seeing as they kill the parents but keep the children alive.”

“Probably has a grudge against his father,” Prentiss remarks. “They make it out the worst every time.”

“There’s no method to the torture,” Morgan says. “It looks like he’s just trying to make it hurt as much as possible.” 

“Our guy probably isn’t trained in anything, then,” Rossi says. 

Reid flips to another page in the file. “Serial killers like to see their victims suffer. If he’s not torturing the mom physically, then he’s likely making her watch.”

“He doesn’t kill children, though,” JJ notes. 

“Maybe he thinks he’s doing them a favor,” Reid says. 

“The unsub sees himself in the kids?” Morgan suggests. “He’s doing what he didn’t get the chance to do.” 

“Whatever it is, we have to keep a tight hold on this,” JJ says. “The press eats this stuff up, and the last thing we need is a terrified city making it harder to do our jobs.”

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs. 

JJ sighs. “I’ll draft something on the jet and make some calls when we land.” 

Hotch nods and he closes his file. “Wheels up in thirty. I hope you’re all ready for a long day.” 

-

The jet is silent the entire way to Missouri, full of sleeping agents trying to delay the inevitable—save for JJ scribbling down notes on a legal pad for the first thirty minutes, but even she knocks out sooner rather than later. Thankfully, Hotch manages to fit an hour in himself, though it doesn’t do very much for him. He spends the rest of the time reading through the case file. 

The team settles in quickly at the city’s precinct, and Hotch takes charge as usual. The uniforms are just as tired as they are, but he makes it work. Soon enough, JJ is off to work with the local liaison to craft a narrative, Reid has situated himself in an empty conference room to get to work analyzing maps with Garcia, and Hotch and the rest go to check out the crime scene. 

It’s brutal—much too brutal for this early, but Hotch forces the emotions out of it and gets to work questioning the present officers. Morgan follows suit, with Prentiss and Rossi going to investigate the rest of the house. 

They don’t learn much from the officers that they don’t already know. This is the most recent crime scene—George and Marsha Springfield, undeserving of such a grisly fate. Their two kids, 8 and 9, were off visiting their grandparents in Nebraska when it happened, and though they avoided the same fate, they’re going to deal with a lifetime of guilt. 

It’s all Hotch can think about as he examines the first body. The six children left to deal with the carnage, about their past and future marred against their control. 

All he can think about is Jack, and the dreary fate that awaits him if his father falls in the field.  

Hotch swallows his doubt and his guilt all in one and forces every thought out of his mind. He has to be unshakable for the team, for what’s left of these families, for a city on the brink of hysterics. 

They’ll find whoever did this. That’s what gets him through it. 

They spent early morning at the crime scene, collecting evidence and gathering information from the officers and trying to make sense of the killer’s motive. Progress is slow, partially because of the hour, but they make enough that Hotch feels comfortable moving onto the next job.

Their four a.m. start time was too early to go knock on doors and get interviews, but now it’s a more normal 10 in the morning. After a quick stop back at the station to share information with Reid, Garcia, and JJ and down a few cups of coffee, they get right back on the road.  

Hotch and Prentiss take one van and Morgan and Rossi take the other, splitting up to get what they can from interviews. It’s difficult working with kids, especially with such recent trauma, so they hold off on it for now, allowing the local uniforms that have been with them for a bit longer to set things up before the BAU tries anything. 

First they go to a neighbor’s house, then an alleged eye witness. They don’t get much other than personality reads, but it at least gives them the beginnings of a profile. The third place they hit is their earliest idea of a suspect. 

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss reads off the file one of the local officers had put together. “Thirty-nine, born and raised in St. Charles, Missouri. High school degree, but never got to college because he was in and out of jail.” 

“What has he been charged for?” 

“Booked a few times for public intoxication and convicted three times for assault. Once was for third-degree assault, Missouri’s version of aggravated assault,” she says. “He got out of jail a little less than a year ago, and it looks like he’s been living in St. Louis for some of that.”

“Assault and drinking is a far cry from serial killing, even aggravated,” Hotch says. “What makes him a suspect?”

“Both parents are dead,” she says. “And from the looks of it, it was not a happy home while they were around. He’s got a sister, so it fits the initial theory of trying to replicate his family.”

Hotch lets out a loose breath and nods. “We’ll start there. Try and get a story from this guy, build a profile, see if it matches the one Morgan and Rossi have made for their guy.”

“And hope we pin something down before more bodies show up,” Prentiss murmurs. 

They’re at their destination soon enough, and Hotch parks in an open spot on the other side of the road. His eyes dart around as they walk up to the front door, filing things away in the back of his mind. 

The house number and last name—1432, Hartford—on the mailbox plagued with rotting wood. What there is of a yard is poorly cut, and a small garden of wilted flowers has their own corner, victims of the winter weather. One car is parked slightly crooked in a small driveway—there’s no garage, so at least he’s probably home. Two potted plants sit on either side of the door, thankfully alive. 

“Remember,” Prentiss says as they come to a stop together, “be nice.” 

“I’m plenty nice,” he murmurs, and she huffs the slightest laugh. 

Hotch knocks on the door as Prentiss fishes around for her ID, and thankfully, they don’t wait long. The door cracks open after a few seconds to reveal a woman—certainly not their unsub, but something a whole lot more surprising. 

You.

Your brows furrow at the sight of him, and Hotch has to hold back his shock. 

You don’t live in St. Louis. And your last name certainly isn’t Hartford. 

“Aaron?” you ask in disbelief, and he doesn’t even have to look at Prentiss to know the questions he’s going to get later.

He says your name, able to control his surprise with only the slightest crease of his brows giving it away, then corrects himself just as quickly. “Miss Hartford. My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is SSA Emily Prentiss. We’re here with the FBI.” 

Your frown deepens as they show their IDs, and you actually take it from Hotch, skeptical eyes scanning over it for much too long. You glance back at him as you hand it back over. “What is the FBI doing here?” 

Emily clears her throat as she puts her credentials away. “We’re here investigating the latest murders in St. Louis. Can we come in?”

“The murders?” you ask with exasperation. “What— what murders? And what do I have to do with them?” 

Aaron notices the way your grip tightens on the door just the slightest bit, and a shred of sympathy strikes him before he speaks up.

“We’ll be able to explain everything if you let us in,” he says. 

You swallow thickly in your throat, your gaze darting back to Aaron before you finally nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?”

You move and Hotch and Prentiss walk inside, gesturing with a hand towards your living room as you shut and lock the door behind them. “Take a seat. Uh— do you guys need anything? Water, or coffee, or…” 

You trail off, and Prentiss shakes her head. “Thank you, but that’s not needed.” She takes a seat on the sofa, but Hotch can’t stop himself from looking around the house. 

It’s a small place, one story—likely rented, seeing how paintings sit on countertops and mantels rather than hanging on the wall. It has a certain charm to it, but something is off about it all. 

Two styles clash—decorative pillows at odds with a filled and painted-over hole in the wall, an attempt at neutral tones ruined by dark articles of clothing scattered around, one person’s mess barely being held back by another’s cleaning efforts. You lived with someone else. Likely Lucas Hartford, possibly their unsub. 

“Are you gonna sit down, Aaron?” you ask, snapping him out of his profiling haze. “Or do you want to look around some more?” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat as he walks over and sits down in an open chair near Prentiss. “Just curious.” 

“That makes two of us,” you say, and you cross your arms as you look at him. He notices that you don’t sit down yourself, and there’s still a coldness in your eyes. “You’re FBI now?” 

He nods. “I had a change of heart.” 

You huff a laugh. “Thought at least one of us would be a lawyer by now. I guess not.” 

Hotch frowns, but Prentiss takes over before he can continue on that particular thread. “Miss Hartford—”

You interrupt by saying your first name, and it spurns something strange in his chest. It’s been over a decade since he’s heard your voice. “You can skip the formalities.” 

Prentiss nods and repeats your name. “As you know, we’re investigating the murders that have been occuring in the St. Louis area.” 

“And you think I have something to do with it?” you ask, the accusatory edge to your voice not lost on him. 

“Not you,” Hotch says. “Do you know a Lucas Hartford?”

“He’s my brother,” you say, and your frown deepens. “You’re not saying—”

“No,” Prentiss interrupts, “we’re not saying anything. We’re just asking.”

And just like that, your entire stance, your visage, it all changes. Hotch can sense the walls slamming up around you, and he immediately realizes two things: 

Getting information out of you is going to be much harder than planned, and you’re not anywhere near the same person you used to be. 

Hotch doesn’t know what he expects, really. He graduated with the intent to prosecute for at least a decade—now, he’s with the BAU. It’s not fair to assume you’re that same girl he met in law school. 

“My brother is not a murderer,” you state clearly.

“And we aren’t accusing him or you of anything—” she starts. 

“Me?” you interrupt, and you let out a harsh laugh. “I’m a suspect too?”

“If you would allow Agent Prentiss to finish her sentences, you would be less upset,” Hotch says. 

You glower at him, but you stay silent. 

“We aren’t accusing either of you of anything,” Prentiss finishes. “We’re just trying to gather information with what little we know.” 

“I know my rights,” you say, unflinching gaze still meeting Hotch’s. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Prentiss looks at him as well, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “That’s unfortunate to hear, Miss Hartford.”

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

He does, and the letters feel strange on his tongue after so long. “This is a serious matter. This isn’t an accusation—we’re in the early days of this case and we need all the information we can get.” 

“Ask away,” you say. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” 

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss starts. “He’s your brother?” 

You nod. “He lives with me.” 

He lives with me, not we live together. Makes him think that you pay for the place, he came knocking, and you didn’t have the heart to turn him away. 

“Why is that?” Hotch asks. 

You look at him, those scrutinizing eyes attempting to peer into his soul the same way they did all those years ago. But Hotch has changed since law school, and he’s much better at guarding his emotions. It seems you are, too. 

“He’s a student,” you finally say. “He goes to community college. I’m giving him a place to live while he gets his associate’s.”  

“Community college and living with his younger sister at 39?” Prentiss is trying to get information out of you, even if it isn’t in the kindest way. Your jaw clenches, and he knows her words have some effect. You’ve probably heard it more than once, the way things are going. 

“He’s getting his life back on track,” you say defensively. “I’m the only one left that can help him, so I am.” 

“What about your parents?” she asks. “Surely they’re a better option than this.” 

“Both dead,” you answer. “And no one else cares enough to help him. Are you here to do anything other than dig up my past?” 

Hotch feels Prentiss’s eyes on him, likely because it’s a step in the right direction for a really shitty reason, but he can’t look away from you. 

“Really?” 

He knows your parents are dead—it was in your brother’s profile, and by extension it applies to you—but it still hits him. 

He met your mother, had countless lunches and dinners with her. Helped her move out of her old house. Spent two Thanksgivings and a Christmas with her. 

And he didn’t even know when she died. 

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself, and for the first time you look something other than defensive or standoffish. You look— well… sad. 

“Mom went a few years after you graduated,” you say, looking at Hotch. “Dad went last year.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Prentiss says. 

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb. 

“You never told me,” Hotch says with a slight frown.

“We haven’t talked in ten years,” you say. “Sorry that I didn’t know you still wanted updates.” 

Hotch tries to think of something to say in response, but Prentiss starts getting a call and she stands up. “Excuse me.” 

His jaw clenches for a moment as Prentiss ducks into a nearby bedroom, but he’s recovered by the time you look at him again. Your arms are crossed, but your expression is even. 

“I take it this was as much of a surprise for you as it is for me.” 

Hotch nods. “We came here looking for your brother.” 

“Does your team know about our history?” you ask simply.

“No.” 

“Do you want them to?” 

“…No.” 

You huff a laugh, your eyes narrowing a bit. “‘Course not. Probably counts as conflict of interest.” 

You wait another beat, then ask another question. “How’s Haley?”

“Good, last I heard,” he says, and then he hesitates. “We’re… divorced.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

He nods. “This job isn’t easy for anyone.”

You look like you want to say more, but once again, Hotch is saved by Prentiss as she walks back in. Her phone is closed in her hand and she looks at him. “Morgan and Rossi have a lead. The chief wants everyone back at the precinct to go over everything we’ve found.” 

Hotch nods again and stands up. Prentiss takes her card out of her pocket and holds it out to you. 

“Thank you for your time, Miss Hartford. If you find out any information, or want to tell us anything else, please give me a call.” 

“Pass that along to your brother, too,” Hotch says. 

You reluctantly take the card, but you don’t look at it. “You can see yourselves out.” 

Prentiss nods. “Thank you again. Have a good day, and stay safe.” 

She leads the way, and Hotch follows after her. He fights the urge to look back before he shuts the door. 

Prentiss looks at him as they walk back to the car, and he can only imagine what is going through her mind. But eventually she just shrugs and pulls out her phone again. 

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up. 

“You’ve reached the office of all that is holy.” Penelope’s voice comes out through the speaker, and Hotch can’t help the smallest twitch of his lips. “What’s up?” 

“Dig up everything you can find on Lucas Hartford,” Emily says, and her glance at Hotch does not go unnoticed. “And throw in his sister, too. He’s one of our only suspects, and we need to know if she’s in on it.” 

“On it,” Garcia says. “I’ll call you back when I’m done.” 

“You’re the best,” she says, and then she hangs up. They get back to the car, and it only takes Prentiss all of five seconds after they get in for her to start drilling him.

“Alright,” she says, buckling her seatbelt with a click before she sets her attention on him. “What was that back there? You two know each other?”

Hotch busies himself with his own seatbelt and starting the car, answering as casually as possible as the engine revs to life. “We were friends in law school.”

“Sure,” Prentiss nods. “The way you were around her, that’s not just ‘law school friend’ stuff.”

Hotch is once again reminded of how, sometimes, it was a downfall to constantly be around profilers. It was nearly impossible to keep anything a secret. 

“It’s nothing,” he says as he pulls back onto the road. “We knew each other, we fell apart, we’re here now.”

Emily hums. “Is it too far to ask if you were together?”

“Yes,” he says sternly, maybe a bit too hasty. “It is.”

“Fine,” she says breezily, and she looks out the window. “But that tension was thick.” 

Hotch knows what she’s thinking. Hasn’t he been with Haley since high school, what kind of history did you and him have, were you together, would he be okay to work this case— 

He doesn’t really want to answer any of them. You were a part of his past he hadn’t expected to resurface any time soon—if Hotch is being honest, he didn’t know if he would ever see you again once he graduated. Not after the way he broke things off.  

You’ve changed a lot. So has he. 

And now your brother is a murder suspect, and you could be covering up for him. 

That’s the only thing that should be on his mind. 

-

“For the last time,” you huff as you storm down the stairs, “I don’t want to deal with this.” 

“Because you know that Mia is a lying bitch!” Cleo exclaims, following after you. “I’m sick of you stealing my clothes!”

“I’m not stealing your clothes,” Mia scoffs in your wake, just behind Cleo. “They’re too ugly for me to want anyways. I bet I wouldn’t even fit into them.”

“You are! And you’re stealing my fucking jewelry, too!” she yells. “All of my shit is going missing, and I know it’s not Little Miss Law School, so it’s got to be you!” 

Mia draws out a mirthless laugh. “You are not accusing me of this.” 

“I don’t have anyone else to accuse!” Cleo shouts. 

They both look at you, and Mia says your name. “You have to settle this before I kill her.”

“Oh, I’ll kill you first!” she hisses. “At least I’ll get all my stuff back!”

You clench your jaw as your nails dig into your palms, and you’re about to bite back when the doorbell rings. You don’t even try to hide your sigh of relief. 

“That’s Aaron,” you say as you grab your coat and your bag from the table. “I’m leaving. If you kill each other, don’t get blood on the furniture.”

You don’t give them a chance to say anything before you rush to the door, open it, and shut it behind you. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” you breathe. 

“What’s going on in there?” Aaron asks, amused. 

“My roommates are fighting again.” You roll your eyes. “It doesn’t matter. You’re much more interesting.”

“You know this is a study date,” he says wryly, and you cut him off with a kiss. 

“Still a date,” you murmur against his lips. “And something seriously needed.”

Aaron chuckles as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side, and the two of you walk to his car. “You’ve gotta get out of this house, honey.”

“I know,” you grumble. “But I can’t afford a place on my own.”

“Doesn’t have to be on your own,” he says as he opens the door for you. “It just has to be away from the girls that are making you miserable.”

“The lease ends at the end of the semester,” you sigh. “Just have to make it until then.”

“You know,” Aaron boxes you in against the car when you lean against the side of it, smiling softly at you, “I do live alone.”

“Oh yeah?” You ruffle his hair with your fingers and grin. “What are you proposing?”

He shrugs, letting his hands linger on your waist. “Just that you hate your roommates, and you don’t hate me. You could spend your time somewhere else.” 

“Careful,” you warn. “You keep saying things like that and we might not make it to the library.” 

“You keep saying things like that, and I might not mind,” Aaron muses. 

You grin as he leans in and kisses you again, once, twice, three times as your back hits the side of his car and you card your hands through his hair. Mia and Cleo are probably killing each other inside, but you don’t really care at this point. They’ve made your life hell for a semester and a half—they can bother each other for once. 

“Aaron,” you whisper against his lips, and he gets one more in between words, “I’ve got a test on Tuesday.”

“And today’s Sunday.” He nips at your neck and you laugh, your eyes falling shut as you lean your head back. “You’ll be fine, honey.”

“You have one on Monday,” you remind him, and he sighs. You feel his hot breath against your neck. 

“Ruining our fun in the name of schoolwork,” he says. “No wonder all your professors love you.”

“Everyone loves me,” you correct. “Including you.”

You steal one more kiss before you open your door yourself and get in, and Aaron lets out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve got that right.”

He closes your door then gets in the other side, and you’re already rifling through the glove box full of cassettes. You pull out the mixtape you made for him for your six month anniversary and pop it into the player, and Aaron smiles as the first few notes of Stairway to Heaven come on. 

“You’re a threat to my grades, y’know.”

“Maybe it’s all part of my plan,” you say. “Distract you with kisses to make sure I’m a shoe-in for this fellowship.”

“A dastardly plan,” he says with mock austerity. 

“I’ve been told I have to be more of a shark,” you muse. “Consider this me taking down my competition.”

Aaron laughs, and you find yourself smiling just at the sound of it. You love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, how they soften just so, how he acts like himself around you, and not some perfected or stoic image that he thinks he needs. 

Falling in love with Aaron Hotchner has been the easiest thing in the world. 

“Don’t let anyone know,” he says, and he reaches over to intertwine your fingers together. “But I’ll happily fall to you every time.”

“As long as you don’t tell everyone how whipped I am for you,” you tease.

“Looks like we’ve both got reputations to keep up.”

“Looks like it.”

You share a smile, yours just on the edge of a grin as you try to bite it back. You hold hands the rest of the way, just soaking in each other’s presence with songs from bands you introduced to each other floating through the air. 

(It is a goddamn struggle to get any work done at the library with that face across from you the whole time.)

- 

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger. 

Ones that would make your teachers offer a smile and tell you to shoot a little lower, that would make your friends’ eyes widen, that your father would scoff at and your mother would humor you on just to get you to move past it. 

You didn’t listen. You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you went on a class field trip to a courthouse in elementary school and saw all the attorneys hustling about, dressed to the nines, making last-minute deals outside the courtroom.  

They were just… so confident. So smart, so stoic, always knowing the answer to everything. The good ones had money, sure, but more importantly they had the power to change lives for the better. And as a kid that had to cover up bruises before the school day, nothing sounded more appealing. 

All you’ve ever wanted to do is help people. 

And as you sit in a cold, empty interrogation room, you can’t help but wonder where the hell you went wrong. 

You don’t want to be here, obviously. But you know the FBI won’t stop bugging you until you give them answers—you know Aaron Hotchner won’t stop bugging you. 

Because god— what are the odds? 

What are the fucking odds of your ex-boyfriend from a decade ago showing up at your door with a badge and an attempted case against your brother? 

It’s ridiculous, and it’s such bad luck that you think it could only happen to you. You’ve thought about Aaron Hotchner more than you’d like to admit over the years, especially when you found your old GW crewnecks, and the box of school supplies you used for a decade, and those photo albums from what should’ve been your golden years. 

It’s not like any of it matters, though. You only agreed to come in and talk because you want them off your back and you don’t want them poking around your house. You saw it in Aaron’s eyes—he was profiling you and your place the entire time. 

If the cops want to invade your privacy even further, they can get a goddamn warrant. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door opens, and you hold back a mirthless laugh, because of course it’s Aaron. He greets you with your name, and he has a file in his hands. You wonder if it’s on you or your brother. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day to come in and talk with us.”

“Well, you seem to think my brother is a murderer.” You cross your arms as you sit back. “I’m not really gonna let that stand.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for a lawyer,” he says as he sits down across from you. 

“I don’t plan to be here for very long,” you respond tartly. “But don’t worry—that can always change. I know my rights.” 

“I’m the last person you need to tell that to.” Hotch sets the file down and looks right at you. Though he’s obviously older—more grizzled, more hardened; harsher, sharper lines that define his face; lips set in a taut, unflinching line—you still see that young man from law school. The passion, the care he puts into everything, the penchant for striped ties. 

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. 

“Your last name wasn’t Hartford when I met you,” he says. “Why is it now?” 

“Not one for small talk,” you remark. 

“I never have been.” 

“I remember.” You hold his gaze. “It’s my mom’s maiden name. I changed it to put some distance between me and everything else.” 

You can practically see the gears of his brain working, neural pathways branching off with every word you say to make sense of it and reason a thousand different meanings from it. Aaron’s always been like that, but it’s tenfold now. 

You suppose one has to be like that, to try and get anywhere with the types of criminals they face. 

“How long have you been living in St. Louis?”

“Seven years. I’ve had that house for three.” 

“Rent or own?”

“Rent,” you scoff. “I don’t make enough for a down payment, and I don’t want a place tying me down.”

“What inspired the move?”

“Close enough to home to be familiar, far enough to not be.” 

“And home is?” 

“St. Charles,” you say, and you purse your lips. “Shouldn’t you already know all this?” You nod at the file in front of him. “It’s either on me or my brother, and we share a lot of the same info.” 

“We prefer to get our information from the source,” he says. 

“Sources can lie.” 

Aaron doesn’t waver. “And we can charge you with obstruction if it harms our investigation.” 

Your lips twitch for a moment, not entirely without heart. “Ask your questions, Aaron.” 

He opens the folder and slides the first picture over to you—your brother’s first mugshot, taken when he was only twenty-one. You still remember riding your bike to the station in the sweltering August heat to drop off his bail and pick him up. 

You had to catch the bus home together, you had to pay his fare, and his bail drained everything you’d been saving from your waitress job. But your dad refused to pay it, and you refused to be alone in that house any longer than you already had. 

You swallow the memory. It still tastes as sour as the day it happened. 

“Lucas Hartford is our main suspect,” he says. “He matches our initial profile—in and out of jail since his twenties, his parents are dead and he has an unstable home life, and he’s got a sister.”   

“None of those sound like questions,” you say. 

“Where is your brother?” he asks firmly. He’s given you a bit of leniency, but you can tell he’s getting tired of you. Some things never change, you think to yourself bitterly. 

“I don’t know,” you admit. 

“You don’t know,” he repeats. 

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I stay out of his business.”

“And you’re telling me you haven’t questioned it?”

“I called him the other day after you left,” you say. “He didn’t pick up, and I didn’t get a call back until the next night.” 

Aaron’s eyes sharpen. “What did you say to him?” 

“I called to see where he was,” you say evenly. “I think you all are wrong, but I wanted to make sure he was okay.” 

“You didn’t tell him—” 

“No,” you interrupt, “I didn’t tell him about your investigation. If I think you’re wrong, why would I need to let him know?” 

He still has that look in his eyes, and you know you’re getting on his nerves with the constant interrupting, the constant backtalk. But he probably deals with much, much worse. 

“Good,” he nods. “You could be putting lives in danger if you do—including yours.” 

“Please,” you scoff. “He won’t hurt me. He never has.” 

“Why do you let him stay with you?” Aaron asks. “You’re straight-edge, he’s a borderline alcoholic that’s been in and out of jail for years. You’ve got a law degree, he never made it past high school. You’ve got your life together, his is falling apart.” 

“That’s why I do it,” you say. “Our parents are dead. I’m all he has left, and he’s all I have left. I want him to get better, so I’m trying my best to help him get there. How can Luke put his life back together if he’s got no support?” 

“That’s an awful lot of faith to put in someone who hasn’t earned it.” 

“I’ve gotten good at that over the years,” you reply. 

Aaron stares at you, and you stare back. You let the moment linger. You hope it stings, even fleetingly. 

“And you’re wrong, by the way.” 

“About what?” he asks. Again, unshaken. 

“I don’t have a law degree,” you say. “I dropped out.” 

And for some reason, that is what gets him. He frowns, and you wonder what it means that this is the most unexpected thing he’s gotten out of you. 

“Why? You were only a year out. You had stellar grades.” 

“My mom got cancer,” you say. “Luke was serving his second stint, Dad fucked off to some corner of the country to drink himself to death a couple months before. I was the only one left to take care of her, and I couldn’t do that from DC.” 

“I had no idea.” This is the first time he looks taken aback since you’ve met him again. “And she’s—”

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. You know he already knows it, but it still seems to have some effect on him. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.” 

“…I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. He’s just repeating what his agent said at your house, but it feels genuine, at least. 

“It’s been a decade,” you say. “I’m just sorry it was her instead of my dad.” 

Aaron’s brows knit together again, and less work goes into covering it up this time. “You seem to have something against your father.” 

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.” 

“Child abuse is common for serial killers,” Aaron says. “We find it’s typically the root of their problems later in life, or plays a part in their MO.” 

You stare at him again. This isn’t just an interrogation with Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner—it’s revealing parts of your past that you never told your ex-boyfriend Aaron. 

“Yeah,” you finally say. “Our dad beat us. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“You know th—” 

Aaron cuts himself off before he can finish whatever he wants to say, and he lets out a short sigh with a nod. “It’s valuable information for the profile.” 

The room feels a lot colder all of a sudden. “Sure.” 

He still looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his tongue as he takes the picture back and closes the file. 

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Would you like anything? Water?”

You shake your head and remain silent. He takes the folder and stands up, and you watch him the entire way to the door. Just before he can open it, you find words escaping without you thinking. 

“Look, Aaron,” you blurt out. He pauses, and he turns to look at you. “I know this is your thing, and this is your investigation, but I’m telling you—my brother and I don’t play any part in it.” 

“The profile—” 

“I don’t care what your profile says,” you interrupt. “He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it.” 

“He’s rough around the edges, I know. In and out of jail isn’t good for anyone.” You hold onto the edge of the table as you continue rambling, needing something to do with your hands. “But he’s working to get better, and he is not the kind of person to do something like this. If you believe anything I say, believe that.” 

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he says evenly. 

He leaves the room, and your hands fall into your lap as your nails dig into your palms. You don’t mean to be desperate, but you feel it. You’ve been defending Lucas at every chance, but you’re terrified of being wrong. You’re terrified that Aaron might be right—that he might be behind all of this. 

For his sake—and your sake, honestly, because you think you deserve to be selfish when he’s all you have left—you hope you’re right. 

You have to be right. 

The room feels even colder. 

Your stare drifts to the one-way mirror, where you know his team is watching. You saw the way Agent Prentiss watched Aaron when they came to your house—he said he doesn’t want them to know, but you think they already do. 

You wonder the kind of things they’ve come up with about you and him. 

-

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room. 

“She does not like you.” 

“Did you gather anything else?” he asks placidly. He sets your brother’s file down so he can fix his tie. 

“Abusive dad, dead parents, criminal background,” he says. “Lucas is looking like a stronger suspect. Oh— and she really doesn’t like you.” 

“If you don’t want to go back to building a file on your suspect, move on,” Hotch demands. 

Morgan shrugs, clearly unfazed, but he keeps his mouth shut. Reid, meanwhile, is still staring through the glass at you. You haven’t exactly relaxed, but you’re not as tense as you were while talking to Hotch. You pick at a loose strand of thread on your sweater, and when you pull it out, you let it fall to the floor. 

“Her brother feels like a prime suspect,” Reid murmurs. “I feel like I could just figure it all out if I could talk to him.” 

“I told Penelope to keep an eye on him,” Prentiss contributes. “She’s tracking his cards, the car registered in his name, even called the person in charge of the AA meetings he goes to to keep an eye out—everything. We’ll know if she gets anything.”

“Serial killers want to see the damage they’ve done,” Reid says. “Things are falling apart here—the whole city is terrified. He’s gotta be in St. Louis still.” 

“You’re sure that he’s still in the running.” Hotch glances back at you, and he knows he has to at least ask, for your sake. He doesn’t want to put you through anything more than he has to—not after what you’ve told him. 

And Hotch knows your past is your business—he just can’t believe you never told him. 

He’s turned over your relationship in his head just as many times in these past few days as he did the months after he ended things. 

“I’m sure, sir,” Reid says. “I’ve read over both their files, and Lucas matches with our preliminary profile. His stressor could have been his father dying.”

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

“Family annihilators typically go after their own family for a myriad of reasons,” he says. “Paranoia, to cover up their lies, to free themselves from what they see as oppression, sometimes just pure jealousy.”

“He’s killing the parents but leaving the children alive,” Hotch says. “Sounds like a liberator to me.”

“That’s what I think,” Reid nods. “If Lucas has been banking on killing his father for that attempt at freedom, and then lost the chance?” He shrugs. “That could be why he started going for other families.” 

“Other fathers to take his place,” Morgan realizes, and he nods again. 

“You should talk to her, Spence,” Prentiss says. “You’ve got a handle on the profile, and you’re pretty good at conveying info. She seems like a reasonable person—just can’t accept her brother doing something like this.” 

“It’s typical for someone to deny their family member’s involvement,” Reid says. “No one wants to think their sibling is a murderer.” 

“If you lay it all out for her like that, with facts and the profile, I think she’ll listen.” Prentiss looks at Hotch. “She’s too closed off with you.”

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, “but it’s much easier to hate you than it is to hate Reid.” 

Hotch glares at her, and Reid clears his throat to insert himself back into the conversation. 

“I’d be happy to talk to her,” he says. “I know what it’s like to be in this kind of position—I can put her at ease, sympathize with her.” 

They all look at Hotch, and he wants to say no. He wants to be the one to get this out of you—some part of him wants as much time with you as possible. But he decides to swallow his ego. 

“Fine.” He nods, and he hands the folder to Reid. “I trust you to handle it.” 

Reid nods too, far too many times, and he takes the file. “Thank you. Uh— sir. I appreciate your trust.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but it has no bite to it, and Reid walks inside. 

He says your name and sits down across from you. “I’m Spencer Reid. I know we’ve already said it, but thank you for talking to us. It may not seem like it, but it goes a long way towards figuring out this case.”

You nod. You already seem more at ease than you were with him, and it makes Hotch… 

Not jealous, because that would be insane. But it makes him upset that he doesn’t understand you the way he used to—that he doesn’t hold that key to you anymore. God, it feels like he doesn’t know you anymore. 

Hotch doesn’t get why a side of his brain still thinks this way about you. 

“They sent a new one in,” you say. 

“You looked like you needed a break from Hotch,” Reid says. “Don’t worry. We all do sometimes.”

You huff a slight laugh and your posture eases, your expression softens just so. Reid was right, as usual. 

“I can imagine.”

He starts talking to you about the case, laying out all the facts, and though you don’t look happy, you don’t cut him off like you cut Hotch off. 

“She’s pretty,” Morgan offers, glancing at Hotch. “And stubborn. I see why you like her.” 

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

He chuckles and holds his hands up, and focuses back on the interrogation. 

The rest of it passes in silence, save for the occasional input from Prentiss or Morgan to elaborate on a point. You talk much more with Reid than you did with Hotch, and you don’t stare daggers at him the entire time. 

Time doesn’t always heal all wounds, he thinks. 

When Reid is finishing up inside with you, Morgan glances back at Hotch. “You think she’s part of this?”

He shakes his head. “No. She has no reason to kill, nothing to gain. She talks about her past too plainly—it hurt her, obviously, but it hasn’t taken over her life.”

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks. 

“The more we learn, the more I suspect him,” Morgan says. 

She nods in agreement. “We just have to find him.”

Hotch isn’t sure yet. 

But for your sake, he hopes his gut feeling is wrong. 

-

Spring has finally sprung in DC, and you couldn’t be happier. 

It’s hard to feel down on your walks to class when the birds are singing and the sun is beaming down on you, when you see students sitting on blankets reading and talking and actually enjoying life for once. 

You’re two years into law school, and it feels like you’ve spent 90% of your time studying in either the library or your room. A bit of a sad existence, but it’s made better with Aaron. 

You’re laying down on a blanket—one you crocheted yourself in undergrad—resting your head on Aaron’s chest as he reads a book, the spring sun shining down on you. It feels like the first moment of relaxation either of you have had since classes started, and you chose to spend it together in the University Yard. 

You should probably be studying or doing some kind of homework, but you don’t care. It has been too damn long since you’ve gotten to just sit around and exist with Aaron, and you’ve got at least a couple days until your next quiz. That’s far enough away for you. 

It’s been a rough semester for both of you, between classes and endless homework, between your internship and your endless family issues—Luke is two years in, and his parole was denied, and your dad still insists on being the reason you stay on campus year-round. 

You don’t think you’re pushing it when you say Aaron’s support has been the only reason you’ve gotten through it, your grades—and your mental state—relatively unscathed. 

Aaron says your name, and you hum. 

“Are you listening?” he asks. 

“Of course,” you say. 

“Your eyes are closed.” 

“I don’t need my eyes to listen,” you say wryly. “What’s up?” 

You feel him tense for a moment, feel him adjust his position slightly. 

“I got a call from Haley,” he says carefully. 

Your eyes open and you frown. 

You know the name, but only in the way that you talked a bit about your past relationships while you were still getting to know each other. She was his high school girlfriend, and it was a big deal then, but they broke up before college because they both wanted different things.

It shouldn’t be a big deal now. But he’s treating it like one, and that makes you hesitate. 

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

“…She’s in DC for the weekend,” he says. “Some conference for school. She asked if we could grab a coffee or something and catch up.”

You finally sit up, his hands falling from where he’d been playing with your hair, and you look at him.

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

“An old friend wants to catch up,” he corrects. “I haven’t really talked to her since we graduated high school.” 

“…Okay,” you say slowly. “Do you want to see her?” 

He shrugs. “I thought it would be nice.”

“Do you think she thinks it’ll be more than nice?” you ask. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t even know how she got my landline. I think my mom might have given it to her.” 

Your eyebrows rise. “Your mom gave your ex-girlfriend your number?” 

“It’s the only way I can think of her getting it,” Aaron shrugs. “Like I said, I haven’t talked to her since graduation.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to think as you look at Aaron. 

You’ve met his mom a dozen times. You’re insistent that she doesn’t like you, despite Aaron’s assertions towards the opposite—it wouldn’t surprise you if she gave this girl his new number in an effort to push him in a new direction. 

But that train of thought feels a little crazy. You’re confident in your relationship with Aaron—you love him, and he loves you. God, he made an off-handed comment about marriage the other day. You’re not threatened by a girl from his past wanting to catch up. 

“Go for it,” you finally say. 

He frowns, like he was expecting the worst. “Really?” 

“I trust you, Aaron,” you say. “You say she’s just a friend, I believe it.” 

You lean forward to kiss him, your eyes fluttering shut, and it lasts much longer than it should. When you pull away, Aaron’s smiling softly at you. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“‘Course,” you say, tipping a shoulder. “I’m known to be rational from time to time.” 

He chuckles, and you smile as you lay back down on his chest. Soon after, you feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder. 

“I love you,” he says. It feels more like a reminder than anything. 

You entangle your fingers together and press a kiss to the back of his hand. 

Sometimes you need reminders. 

“I love you too.” 

-

“Four more bodies,” Prentiss mutters. “God.” 

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs. 

Hotch is silent as he examines the father’s body. They’ve been so busy the past few days trying to nail down the profile, both on their unsub and geographically, that this happening again hadn’t been at the top of their list. There was a month between the first two, and two weeks between the second and third. 

No one expected this to happen so soon. 

The entire family was killed this time, and once again, the parents look similar to the other victims. It’s the work of their unsub, no doubt. 

Hotch and the team had already been at the precinct for an hour going over all the information they’d found when they got the call at 8 in the morning, the bodies discovered by the family’s maid when she arrived for work. 

An entire family, parents and children, senselessly slaughtered for one man’s deranged quest for liberation. 

Hotch has been in this business for a long time, seen things that most people only imagine in nightmares, and he still has to take a step back when children are involved. 

He sees Jack in every single one. He can’t help it. 

Hotch took Prentiss and Morgan with him to the crime scene—JJ has a kid, Rossi had a kid, and he just didn’t want Reid to see it. They’ll all be more valuable working together back there anyways, and it’s imperative that JJ controls the narrative before this can break to the press. 

Again, Prentiss talks to the officers at the scene and Morgan helps him examine the bodies. After all, there are double the amount. 

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Morgan says as he stands back up. “Our guy is killing surrogate parents to get back at his own, fine. Dad was tortured again, mom was killed with a bullet. But bringing the kids into it isn’t his thing.” 

He uses a gloved hand to gingerly lift the father’s arm away from his body so he can examine the underarm. “Look at this. He’s been stabbed at least ten times, and his arm’s nearly severed from his body.”

“And his neck,” Morgan mutters. “He’s half decapitated.” 

Hotch sets the arm back down. “The unsub always wants the father to suffer, but this is a new level.” He looks up at Morgan. “I don’t think he has a reason for killing the children. I think he’s getting sloppy—he’s getting overwhelmed by his anger.” 

“You think he’s devolving,” he says, catching on. 

“Something tells me we’re coming to the end of the line,” Hotch says. “Whatever he does next, he’s going out with a bang.” 

-

The mood in the precinct has fallen dramatically since the last hit. The uniforms aren’t happy that they’re working around the clock, the chief isn’t happy that the BAU hasn’t figured everything out yet, and the city isn’t happy that ten murders have been committed with what they think is no end in sight. 

JJ and Rossi have gone out to bring in the suspect that he and Morgan found together for the sake of covering their bases—they still haven’t been able to find Lucas, despite Reid calling you every day to check in and upping police presence around the city. 

The rest of the team sits around a conference table, over a dozen coffees between them, going over everything and racking their brains for information. 

“This just isn’t matching up,” Reid complains. “Lucas has just been at home for the first two, but for the third and the fourth he’s got alibis.” 

“What are they?” Hotch asks. 

“He was on the road all night when the third happened,” Reid says. 

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks. 

“Garcia picked up his debit card being used a couple times from Des Moines back to St. Louis when the third set of murders happened,” Morgan contributes. “Must’ve been a road trip, because there are stops at a gas station, a restaurant, and a rest stop.” 

“The last one happened during an AA meeting he was supposed to attend,” Prentiss says. “I called the leader and she said he was there.”

“Do we have footage from any of those places?” Hotch asks. “We need to make sure.” 

Reid nods. “I asked her to check it all this morning, including the AA meeting. She must still be going through it—I can’t imagine it’s easy to get all that access.” 

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests. 

Hotch shakes his head. “These are all meant to be personal for liberation—catharsis. Involving someone else would take away from the feeling.” 

“What about your suspect?” Prentiss asks, looking at Morgan. “Could he be the unsub?” 

“Patrick Fenton,” Morgan says, and he shrugs. “He fits it—dead parents, jail time, child of abuse. But he’s got two sisters, and his parents died when he was in his twenties from a car accident. I don’t see why he would start killing almost twenty years later.” 

“Maybe we’ll figure something out in questioning,” Reid says hopefully. 

Morgan’s phone suddenly goes off, and he hits the button to answer. “You’re on speaker, babygirl.” 

“I found the security footage from those three places, the ones that Lucas was at on his supposed road trip when the third family was hit,” Garcia says, voice slightly tinny through the phone.  

“And?” Hotch asks. 

“I was getting there,” she says. “Lucas wasn’t there. He wasn’t on any of the footage—his sister was.” 

Hotch frowns. You? 

“You’re sure?” he asks. 

“I’m always sure,” Garcia responds. “And I don’t know if Spencer is there, but he also wasn’t there at the AA meeting—I combed through the whole meeting, and he didn’t show up at any point. Just another guy that looked like him.” 

“And you’re sure about that, too?” Hotch asks again. 

“What is with this questioning of my abilities?” she asks, offended. “Yes. I’ve stared at so many pictures of Lucas Hartford over these past few days that I’ve got him burned into my brain.” 

“Thanks, babygirl,” Morgan says. “We’ll call back if we need anything.” 

“And you’re always welcome in this house of miracles,” she muses. Morgan chuckles before he hangs up. 

“Lucas gave her his card,” Reid realizes. “It’s an easy alibi, but it falls apart when you look into it even a little bit.” 

“Probably seemed solid to him at the time,” Morgan says. “He doesn’t seem like a detail oriented guy.” 

Prentiss frowns. “That means he’s back on the chopping block. We can put him at the scene of every murder.” 

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died a year ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail nine months ago after a six year stint.” 

“If he’s been plotting some elaborate murder of his father for years, just to get out of jail and find out he drank himself to death?” Morgan shakes his head. “He’d snap. It doesn’t feel like justice.” 

“He thinks he’s saving the kids of these parents that he kills,” Reid says. “He sees himself in them—he can’t look past his own childhood, and he assumes those kids must want their parents dead too.” 

“He’s trying to get back at his dad,” Prentiss says. “We know that.” 

“But that’s not his main goal,” Reid insists. “If his dad died when he was a kid, the abuse would have stopped. His mom wouldn’t be the battered wife anymore, and he wouldn’t be the battered kid.” 

“His goal has always been protection,” Hotch realizes. “Yes, he’s getting his revenge by killing his father over and over, but ultimately, he’s trying to save himself.” 

“But he didn’t anticipate the kids being home this time,” Prentiss says. “He had to kill them too.” 

“If he‘s seeing himself in these children, recreating what he never got to do, then that means that he effectively died in this scenario,” Reid says. 

“He didn’t get what he wanted,” Morgan says. “That’s gonna take a toll on him.”

“He’s coming to the end of the line,” Prentiss nods. 

Hotch’s brain is working overtime as they work information off of each other. They’re so damn close—they just need the last piece of the puzzle. If they find Lucas’s next victim, they find him. 

“His next crime will probably be his last before he goes out himself,” Reid says. 

“You think it’ll be a murder-suicide?” Morgan asks. 

“It’s common with family annihilators,” Reid says. “Hell, it’s common with anyone who sees no future beyond their murders. It’s their way out.” 

And then the answer hits Hotch like a ton of bricks. Reid is still rambling next to him. 

“If his dad was still alive, I’d say he would be the target. But the only one left—”

“—is his sister,” Hotch grits out, and he’s dashing out of the conference room before anyone can stop him. 

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, and he turns to Prentiss with wild eyes. “Where the hell is he going?” 

“The last victim,” she says as she starts following him. “The one person he never managed to save.” 

“Goddammit,” Morgan curses, and he grabs his phone from the table, dialing Garcia as fast as she can while he runs. Reid is close behind him.  

“What’s up, sugar?” she asks. “Got anymore leads?” 

He laughs dryly. “We’ve got a big one, babygirl. Lucas has finally reached the end of the road — he’s going for his sister. I need you to call JJ and Rossi and—” 

“Send them the Hartford address and fill them in on everything?” she interrupted, and he could hear her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Already on it.” 

“What would I do without you?” he asks. 

“Be half the man and twice as sad,” she says. “I’ve got to call JJ. Be safe, my love.” 

“Always,” he responds, and he hangs up. 

Hotch distantly registers Prentiss stopping by the chief to alert him of what’s going on, because he’s in the fog of a rampage. He’s in the driver’s seat before he knows it, starting the car, and he sees Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid running out after him. 

Prentiss takes shotgun and Morgan and Reid file into the back, and they’ve all got Kevlar vests in their hands. He didn’t really think of that through his haze. 

“We’ve got an extra one for you,” Reid says, reading his mind. 

“Thank you. I— I know what you’re all thinking—” Hotch starts, but Prentiss shakes her head.

“Just drive.” Her lips set themselves in a taut line. “We’ve got a murder to stop.”  

And he does. 

-

You sit on the curb, surrounded on either side by a box of your things. Packing up everything made you realize how little you had at his place. You thought you’d integrated yourself into his life fully, but it really just took an afternoon while he was in a lecture to disappear. 

Summer has fully turned to winter, and you’re as morose as the weather. This side of town looks so depressing without the warmer months to pick it up—the sidewalks are lined with dead trees, the grass is shriveled up and yellowing, and you feel like you’re living in grayscale. 

A shiver runs through you, the weather only partly to blame. 

Amy is supposed to pick you up, but as usual, she’s running late. You don’t know if it’s a personal issue or DC traffic has just struck again, but it doesn’t really matter. Either way, you’re stuck here, and your bad luck seems intent on making it worse, because you watch a familiar car pull around the corner. 

It parks a distance away—there’s no space in front of the complex, and he always complained that they didn’t do assigned spots—and you have to hold back a scornful scoff. 

Of course you have to deal with this now. 

Aaron picks up his pace when he gets out of the car, surprise—and what you think is shame—painted on his face. He says your name when he slows down. 

“You’re already packed.” 

You shrug. “I’m nothing if not efficient.” 

“I could’ve helped you with all this,” Aaron says, frowning. 

“Why do you think it’s done already?” you ask. 

His throat bobs and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Let me save you the pain of chivalry,” you say. “I’ve got a friend coming to pick me up. I’ve already found a place. I called your property manager the other day and argued my way out of the lease, but I still paid my next month. You’re welcome.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says. 

“You know what they say about a clean break,” you intone.  

“I’m sorry,” Aaron tries again. To his credit, he looks like he means it. Against his credit, it’s about the fiftieth time you’ve heard it from him in the past two weeks. 

“I shouldn’t have let you get that coffee,” you say with a grim smile, “should I?” 

His lips pull into a taut line. “I didn’t cheat on you.” 

“I know,” you say. It’s the one thing you do believe. “I just don’t think you ever fell out of love with her.” 

Mercifully, you see Amy’s car pulling up in the distance. She’s your only friend with an SUV, so at least your boxes will fit. 

“My ride’s here,” you say as you stand up, and you pick up one of your boxes. Amy throws on her hazards and she gets out to open her trunk. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she breathes. “Traffic was awful, and Jake has been so annoying—” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you say with a slight smile as you put your box in the back. “You’re already doing me a huge favor.”  

“I want us to still be friends,” Aaron calls. When you turn back, he has your other box in his hands, his expression shamelessly desperate. Amy glares daggers at him. 

“Why?” you ask innocently. “So I can go without talking to you for ten years, ask you for a coffee when I’m in town, and then get you to leave Haley?” 

“That’s not what happened,” he says, but you’re already shaking your head. 

You take the box from him and smile thinly. 

“Have a good rest of your life, Aaron. I hope it doesn’t involve me ever again.”

-

You let out a noise of frustration as you struggle to get the key into the lock, gritting your teeth as you try to fit it in. It’s always been finicky, but you just don’t have the energy to deal with this tonight. Thankfully, just when you start getting annoyed, you get it open. 

You get a few steps in before your eyebrows rise, the sight of your brother at the kitchen table a surprise. He’s got his head in his hands, and your surprise turns to concern.

“Lucas,” you say with a slight smile, shutting the door behind you, “I didn’t know you were gonna be home tonight.”

His attention shoots to you immediately as he says your name, and he looks slightly out of it. “I was wondering when you were gonna get back.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” you say wryly, and you ruffle his hair with your free hand as you walk past him. He swats your hand away in brotherly protest, and you snort. “This place has been quiet without you. Well— except for the cops. They were pretty loud.” 

“They haven’t been back, have they?” 

You look back at him and notice his leg is bobbing up and down insanely fast, and he keeps scratching at the soft wood of your table with his nail. 

Your smile fades. “Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking.”

“Of course I haven’t,” he insists, but you turn on the kitchen light, then move closer to peer into his eyes against his protests. 

“At least you’re not high,” you murmur, taking one last look before you pull away. “And stop ruining the table. I need it to last for the next ten years.” 

He huffs, and you can practically hear him roll his eyes, but he stops. 

“Did you go to class today?”

“You don’t have to act like Mom,” Lucas says, crossing his arms again with another huff. 

“And you don’t have to act like a child.” You roll your eyes as you set your tote bag on the countertop and begin unpacking the groceries you bought. “I’m asking you about your day—that’s definitely not acting like Mom.”

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

“Good.” You glance back at him. “I’m proud of you, Luke. You’ve been making progress.” 

His smile is a bit thin, but he nods. “Thanks. How was work?”

You scoff and shake your head as you put a couple things in the pantry. “Don’t even get me started. I swear, Marie’s going to get me fired someday if she keeps her bullshit up.”

“She’s still on it?” Luke asks, and you can’t help but smile a bit. 

“Don’t act like you know what I’m talking about,” you say. “Just agree with me.” 

“I agree with you,” he says. 

“That’s it,” you muse. 

Your eyes fall back on your bag, and you’re reminded of what you meant to do next time your brother showed up. 

“Oh—” You go back over to the kitchen table for your bag and pull out your wallet. You slide a debit card out and hold it out to your brother. “Thanks for letting me use it while I was up in Des Moines. I finally got my bank to get rid of the freeze on my card.” 

“…Of course,” he says, and he takes it back. “Glad I could help.” 

“I’ll pay you back, obviously,” you say as you get back to your groceries. “I just have to wait to get paid again.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “And uh— you never answered me. Did the cops come by again?” 

You huff a mirthless laugh and shake your head. “You have nothing to worry about, Luke. I think they finally realized they were barking up the wrong tree.”

“…Good,” he says. “I can tell they’ve stressing you out.”

“Like that looks any different than my normal state,” you say wryly. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad.” 

You recall the shock you felt when you opened the door to Aaron, and how nervous you were on the drive to the precinct. It’s almost been a decade, and yet he still has an effect on you that he has no right to. 

“You remember that guy I dated when I was still in law school? Aaron Hotchner?”

“I think? I was in jail, so.” 

You roll your eyes. “I know I told you about him when I visited you while we were together.” 

“I remember you telling me how he broke your heart,” Luke says. 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“Then what are you saying?” 

“That he’s with the FBI now. The BAU,” you enunciate, and you huff. “He’s one of the guys on this case, coincidence that it is. They came here—they even brought me in for an interview.”

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

“The truth.” You pull your cutting board and a knife out of a drawer and get to work washing your vegetables. “That I didn’t know anything, and neither of us are involved in either way.” You shake your head with a sigh. “They must believe it, because they haven’t come back.” 

“What have they said about me?” he asks. 

“I’m not supposed to say.” You roll your eyes. “I think you’re innocent, but I could get charged with obstruction, and I really don’t feel like dealing with that…” 

You trail off into a sigh as you finish washing the peppers and set them on a towel. “I hope they find whoever’s doing it, though. It is freaking me out that there’s a murderer out there.” 

You pick up your knife and start cutting them up—they’re not the freshest, but it’s all Kroger had after work—and you glance back at Luke. “You really shouldn’t be going out so often with this going on, y’know. I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m careful.” 

“I doubt that,” you say wryly. “Still, though. I worry about you.” 

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” he asks. “I’m your older brother.” 

“I worry about everything,” you say. “It’s my thing.” 

You hear him huff a laugh and you smile a bit to yourself. You get through your first pepper before you remember what’s been nagging at you your whole ride home. 

“Oh— can you get the TV?” you ask. “Channel 8, I think. Marcy is getting interviewed for something with her nonprofit, and I told her I’d record it for her.”

Lucas doesn’t respond, though you hear the scrape of the chair as he gets up. 

“Thank you,” you say. “I think they have a fundraiser coming up or something…” you trail off and shake your head as you scrape the cut peppers onto a plate. “God. I need to start paying attention in the break room.”

Another few seconds pass, and you don’t hear the television switch on. You huff and turn your head slightly. “Luke, I’m making dinner tonight. This is the least you could do.” 

“I’m sorry.”

The words come out as a murmur, but you can tell he’s much closer than he was before. 

You don’t even get the chance to turn around before something crashes against your head and your vision goes dark. You feel yourself fall to the ground, and your head hits the floor hard. 

Then, there’s nothing. 

-

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is. 

The station isn’t too far from your house, but it’s still too far. All he can see is your body, crippled and lifeless just like every other victim they’ve had to look at. 

It should never have gotten to this point. Lucas has been a suspect for the first day, but they looked to other suspects, got caught up in statements from neighbors and the kids of the victims. 

If Hotch just found him and booked him on the first day, this wouldn’t be happening. Your life wouldn’t be in danger. 

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. 

“I seriously think we’re looking at a murder-suicide if this gets to play out,” Reid speaks up from the backseat. “This is his way of ending this for both of them—the ultimate protection of his sister.”

“No one can hurt her if she’s dead,” Morgan mutters. 

“Hotch,” Prentiss starts, treading carefully, “are you sure you’re okay to lead this?”

“Yes,” he says, though he wants to say what kind of question is that?

You were together a lifetime ago in law school, yes, and he might still have feelings for you that he didn’t even realize were there, yes—but he’s an agent and a professional before all of that. 

It doesn’t matter that you have history. It doesn’t matter that you likely hate him. 

It doesn’t matter that he thought he was going to marry you one day, and then was watching you drive out of his life after he got back with his high school girlfriend another day.  

Aaron Hotchner is not going to let you die. It’s as simple as that. 

Hotch’s phone rings and he picks it up and flips it open immediately. “Talk to me, Garcia.”

“JJ and Rossi are on their way,” she says. “Are you headed to their place?” 

“Yes,” he says, and he puts it on speaker. “I’ve got Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid with me still.” 

“Do you think there’s anywhere else he could be?” Morgan asks. “If he’s going to kill her, he might not want to do it in this house.” 

“Already a step ahead of you, my love,” she says, and he can hear mouse clicks through the phone. “They grew up in a house in St. Charles—it’s abandoned, from the looks of it, some place on the outskirts. Never got another buyer after the past owners moved out. I’m sending the address to Emily right now.”

Prentiss gets a buzz on her phone and she nods in confirmation after flipping it open. Hotch immediately switches lanes and makes a U-turn, his jaw clenching. 

“Tell me how to get there, Prentiss,” he says. “He’s there.”

“You need to get on I-70,” she says, and then her brow furrows. “How do you know?”

“He’s killed everyone else in their homes because he sees it as the source of it all. His sister’s rented place isn’t personal enough.” Hotch shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t he want to go back to theirs to end it all?”

“Hotch.” Penelope’s voice rings out in the car, and he doesn’t even realize he forgot to hang up. 

“What?”

“Be careful,” she says, and he rushes to turn it off speaker and press it to his ear. “I… I know how important this is to you.”

Hotch’s throat bobs and his eyes burn with the beginnings of tears. He blinks them away—he can’t be weak now. He can’t let his team see him be weak now. “Dare I ask how?”

“I found an article about GW’s mock trial team,” she says. “Kind of went down a rabbit hole from there.”

Somehow, he huffs the slightest laugh. It feels like a lifetime ago—it honestly is, at this point. Before he saw carnage and gore on a daily basis and tried to solve it, when he thought the DA’s office was the endpoint, when he came home to your smiling face every night. 

And now… 

Hotch’s spine somehow stiffens, and he knows the other three in the car are watching him. He can’t decide whether he cares or not. 

“Thank you, Garcia.”

“No problem,” she says, and he can almost hear her blink in the pause. “Uh— for what, exactly?” 

For the memory, he wants to say. But he doesn’t. He can’t, not right now, so he tries his best to snap out of it. 

“Keep a watch on the patrol cars,” he says instead. “Update JJ and Rossi on our plan, but tell them to stay on their path. I’m sure I’m right, but we need to cover our bases.” 

“Of course, sir.” He hears her fingers flying across the keys. “I’ve got yours and the squad cars’ locations up—I’ll call them now.” 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly. 

Hotch hangs up before he gets too emotional. Penelope has a way of bringing that side out of him. 

“We’ll get him,” Prentiss assures. She’s been watching him this whole time, he can feel it—she’s been attuned far too keenly on this entire part of the case involving you and him. “And we’ll save her.” 

His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, and for once, Hotch can’t find the words. 

-

It feels like your head is slowly being cranked in a vice when you eventually wake up, a dull but insistent pain. Your arm stings too, but you don’t know why. 

You blink a few times as you try to figure out where you are, a low groan slipping out as you fully come back into consciousness, and you move to rub the grogginess out of your eyes. 

Your arms don’t move. You try again, panic spiking your heart for a moment, and that’s when you realize you’re in a chair—tied to a chair, your wrists bound together behind you and your ankles bound to the chair legs. 

Now the panic fully sets in. There’s a murderer in St. Louis, but you don’t fit the victimology from what you’ve seen, but does any of that fucking matter when you’re stuck in something out of a horror movie?

Lucas was the only one there with you. So either he’s in the same situation, or he—

“You’re finally awake,” a voice murmurs. When he comes into view and sits down across from you, your heart stops. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at your brother with wide eyes. You see the gun in his hand through your peripherals, but you don’t look away from his gaze. 

“I was worried I was too rough,” he says softly. “But you’ve always been resilient.” 

“Lucas,” you breathe. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s finally going to be over,” he says, ignoring your panic. “We’ve been hurting our whole lives because of that bastard of a father, and I can finally make it all stop.” 

Your brother is fucking crazy. He’s fucking crazy, and he’s going to kill you.

You’ve spent two weeks telling Aaron he was crazy and your brother was innocent, and now he’s going to be proven right when he finds your dead body. 

You try to tamp down on your panic. You don’t have a law degree, sure, and you never officially practiced, but you’ve been a good speaker, a persuasive one, all your life. 

And if there’s ever been a fucking time to be persuasive, it’s now. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper. “We— we can talk if you want to talk.” You tug at your ankle restraints. “This is unnecessary.” 

He shakes his head. “I know you. You’d run.” 

“Come on.” You manage as much of a smile as you can. “I’ve always been there for you, Luke. Why would this be any different?” 

“…You’ve always been too nice,” he says, and he sets the gun down on his leg. At least he doesn’t have his finger on the trigger. “Anyone rational would’ve kicked me to the curb when I asked you for help.” 

“You’re my brother,” you whisper. “I— I love you, Lucas. I’d never do that to you.” 

“Family’s supposed to be everything, right?” He shakes his head. “You were the only one of us that understood that. You were there to pick me up every time my sentence was up.” 

“I’ve always believed in you,” you say. 

He huffs a monotone laugh as he stares at the ground. “You’re definitely the only one.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.” 

“Mom didn’t care enough to stop anything,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “And Dad wished I was dead every goddamn day. He didn’t have the guts to do it himself, but he definitely tried.” 

You can’t defend your parents. Your dad’s a piece of shit, and your mom didn’t stop anything he did—but you could never find it in yourself to fully hate her because he hurt her too, with more than just bruises. 

“I’ve dreamt of killing our dad every day for twenty years,” Lucas says. “And that old bastard had to fuck me over one last time and die while I was in jail.”

You remember when you got the news. You were next of kin—your mother was dead, and your brother was incarcerated—so you got the call from the hospital. You deliberated for hours before you bought a plane ticket to Montana—apparently that was where he fucked off to drink himself to death—and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt more numb than when you were sitting in some lawyer’s office, listening to him drone on about his will and how his estate would be divided. 

“So you killed all of those people?” you asked. “Because you didn’t get to kill our dad first?” 

“I was saving those kids!” Luke yells, and you shrink in on yourself. “Saving them before their parents could fuck them up like ours did to us!” 

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeat. “You’re just letting Dad win. Proving every shitty thing he said about you.” 

“And that’s the zinger, isn’t it? Luke laughs and shakes his head. “He was right. We’re a whole family of fuck-ups. An alcoholic abuser, a battered wife, a nonstop jailbird, and you…” He shakes his head with a sigh. “You should be out there prosecuting people like me.”

“He ruined us,” Luke murmurs. “And I’m finally going to fix it.” 

All you can do is stare at your brother, wide and teary eyed. You can’t find the words, but you don’t have to. 

Police sirens begin to filter through the air as they get closer, and Luke huffs. “Of course.” He eyes you. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly. 

When he leaves to peer out the front door, you take a second to look at your surroundings. It takes a second because they’re so decrepit, but you could never forget. 

Luke brought you back to your childhood home—the place in St. Charles, rotten down to its bones. It’s abandoned by now, but the atmosphere is nothing less than oppressive. There’s a reason you graduated high school a year early, why you never came back once you got to college—except with Aaron, to help your mom move her things out. 

You refuse to die here. Even if you have to claw your way back through the gates of Hell inch by inch—you will not die here. 

You hear footsteps, and when Lucas comes back in, he has a crazed glint in his eye. He shakes his head as his finger returns back to the trigger, and you can’t help but flinch. He won’t. Not now. 

“Looks like your friends the FBI are here,” he drawls. “You said you didn’t tell them anything.” 

“I didn’t,” you insist. “They’re profilers—they figure things out.” 

He shakes his head. “They don’t realize that I have to do this.” Luke kneels down in front of you and takes your chin in an iron grip. “This is the only way to end our pain.” 

He lets go of you then stands up, moving behind you—you want to protest, but you don’t get the chance. He presses his gun to your temple and then the door is broken down. Four agents rush in, guns at the ready. Aaron leads them, and he’s got fire blazing in his eyes.

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

Lucas doesn’t seem fazed, his breathing staying the same. You stare right at Aaron, unfiltered fear in your eyes, and you feel torn bare. He’s going to watch your brother put a bullet in your head. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he says smoothly. “This is a family matter.” 

“Put the gun down, Lucas,” Aaron says. 

“You know my name,” he says. “I know yours too, Aaron Hotchner. My sister told me you were with the feds. She also told me you broke her heart.”

“Put the gun down,” he repeats. 

“I don’t think I will,” Luke says. “You see, I don’t go around just kidnapping people for fun. I have a purpose here.” He tilts his head to the side. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re all profilers.” 

“You’ve been targeting families that look like your own,” he says. “You think that killing them will end the pain inside you, and protect those kids in a way that you never got.” 

“I don’t think it,” he bites, “I know it. If my dad had been shot thirty years ago, we wouldn’t be here right now.” 

“This isn’t going to bring you peace,” Aaron says. “Your sister has been the only person to stay by your side through every part of your life. Do you really want to lose that?” 

“Trust me,” Luke says. “I’m not losing her.” 

He flicks the safety off and you flinch. He’s going to kill you. 

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns. 

“If you all don’t leave right now, I’ll shoot her.” Your whole body stiffens as he presses the gun harder into the side of your head, your breathing going off kilter. “Except you, Aaron Hotchner. You can stay.”

“We’re not doing that,” the woman says. Agent Prentiss, you think. 

“Really?” Luke chuckles. “You think you hold the cards here?” 

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.” 

Agent Prentiss frowns, and the other two men look different levels of puzzled. They obviously doubt the decision, but they don’t doubt Aaron, because one by one, they leave. 

“Wow,” Luke muses. “They really trust you.” 

“Because I know you don’t want to hurt her,” Aaron says. “Deep down, you know you’re not protecting her. Not by hurting her.” 

“I’m not hurting her,” he says. “She’s always been the one to keep me safe over the years—I’m finally paying the favor back. I’m finally taking her pain away.”

“You were abused as children. Both of you.” Aaron looks at your brother. “Your sister always tried to protect you, but it never worked. It just made it worse for her, and it made you feel worthless. You’re her older brother. You’re the one that was supposed to protect her.”

“My sister said you’re profilers,” he says, and though his tone is lazy, you know your brother. You can tell it’s starting to get to him. “Is that what you’re doing right now? Profiling me?” 

“You would never be good enough for your father, and your mother would never do anything to stop it,” Aaron continues. “All you had was your sister, and even that wasn’t good enough—you hurt her just as much as your dad did. At least your dad didn’t think he was a good person.” 

Luke growls, and he puts a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer to him. “Shut up.” 

“Your sister has told me you can be more than this,” he says. “And I think she’s right. You’re better than this—better than living between the margins and jail.” 

“I’ve had a hole in my chest since I was born,” Luke mutters. “And I’ve tried to stop it, but it’s just grown and grown and grown. This— this aching pit of pain, and he caused it. You’ve got it too— I know it.” 

“I— I do,” you say. And you’re not lying. You’ve had a pit of despair in you for as long as you can remember. The only difference is that you’ve fought every goddamn day of your life to keep it from consuming you. “And it hurts, Luke. Trust me, I know. It took me so long to even be able to deal with it, but I know how to. I can help you—we can both walk out of here.” 

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”  

“Yes, we can,” you plead. “I love you, Luke. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life helping you if that’s what it takes to get rid of that hole.” 

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him. Aaron never takes his eyes away from you. 

“I’ve never been able to protect her,” Luke murmurs. “Not from our dad, not from the world, not even from you, Aaron Hotchner.” He presses the gun harder than ever into your head, like he wants to bury the metal in your skull along with the bullet. “But that all ends now.” 

You screw your eyes shut. You don’t want to see Aaron’s face when your brother kills you. 

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it. 

There’s two gunshots, almost at the same time. You scream, first because of the gunshots, then because of the sudden roaring pain in your side. There’s a thud next to you, your eyes shoot open, and you see your brother’s lifeless body fall to the ground. 

You scream again—you can’t even control it, it just rips out of you at the sight of the hole in his head and the blood pooling beneath it—and Aaron drops his gun to rush forward. The rest of his team thunders in after him, all in guns and bulletproof vests, and they’re talking, but you can’t focus on a single goddamn thing because your brother’s dead body is right next to you. 

Aaron pulls out a pocket knife and begins to cut through your restraints, and the instant he finishes you collapse. He catches you without a second thought, and you immediately wrap your arms around him. 

Torrential sobs wrack your entire body as you bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, every part of you shaking as the reality of it all hits with full force. 

Your brother is a serial killer. He killed ten people, he tried to kill you. And now he’s dead. 

The only part you had left of your family—gone, just like that, with four other families ruined in his wake. 

Aaron’s soft voice in your ear is the only thing bringing you back from the edge of hyperventilation, his own hold on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs and he shrugs off his windbreaker to wrap it around your arms. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

“He’s gone,” you choke out, voice muffled as you speak into his chest. “He’s gone, and he tried to—”

A fresh round of emotions hit you, unable to get the words out, and you fully break down in Aaron’s arms. 

“I know.”

Aaron’s fingers linger on your side and you feel some dull pain, but you feel his breath still for a moment. 

“You were shot,” he says with your name. “We have to get you to a hospital.” 

You don’t even feel it. God, you don’t feel anything. There’s a distant ringing in your ears, an insistent pain in your skull, and you finally realize Aaron is right when you pull away and see the blood on his fingers. 

But black spots start to fill your vision. You may not feel it, but your body holds the score. The pain intensifies in your side as your adrenaline starts to slow down, and you collapse against Aaron. 

“Get an EMT in here!” he yells, keeping an arm wrapped around you. “We’ve got a GSW— she’s losing blood fast!” 

You can feel Aaron’s rapid heartbeat, can feel his steady arms as he keeps you propped up. You feel the warmth of his body, feel the warmth draining out of yours. 

“Aaron,” you whisper, your strength fading. You don’t think he hears you.

He helps you up and you’re suddenly hoisted onto a stretcher, and he’s beside you as the EMTs run you out of your childhood home. The night is a blurry canvas of red and blue lights, and your eyelids feel like they’re made of concrete. 

“Aaron,” you try again, and you have enough left in you to grasp his cheek. “Thank you.” 

And as the world goes black around you for the second time, you see his lips form your name. 

It’s not a bad thing, you think before darkness overtakes you, for Aaron Hotchner to be the last thing you see before you die. 

-

You wake up in the hospital alone.  

You don’t know what you expect. You have few acquaintances, fewer friends, and the last part of your family is dead after he tried to kill you. 

The real surprise is that you wake up at all. 

Lucas is dead. 

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded. 

You let out a slow, even breath, accompanied only by the sounds of beeping machines. It still doesn’t exactly feel real. 

You’ve spent the last two weeks defending your brother against every accusation, and you ended it in the hospital—well and truly alone for the first time in your life. 

You look at the television. Some muted soccer game is playing, and you’re thankful. You were worried that you and your brother would be the topic of the day. 

Who are you kidding? You’re going to be the topic of the year. He killed ten people. He tried to kill you, and you think he nearly did. He shot you, after all. 

You let your head fall back against the pillow. All of your limbs feel insurmountably heavy, your side aches like hell, and you’ve got the worst headache of your life. 

And you can’t stop playing it all over in your mind. 

He was going to kill you. 

Your own brother, your flesh and blood, the only person you had left, tried to kill you and would have killed you had it not been for the BAU. 

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner. 

The door opens and someone walks through, your eyes following the movement, and when he sees it, he pauses. And so do you—apparently the devil appears even when you think of him. 

“You’re awake,” Aaron says after a moment. It’s the third time he’s sounded surprised since you’ve met him again. Seeing you, finding out your mom is dead, seeing you. 

But there’s relief there, too.

He has a coffee in his hand and his tie is undone, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his forearms. It makes you realize his suit jacket has been slung over the back of the chair near your bedside. 

“How long have you been here?” you ask, your brows furrowing ever so slightly. 

Aaron closes the door and sets his coffee on the table before he answers you. “Three days.” 

“And how long have I been here?” 

“Three days,” he says. “You suffered head trauma, they discovered drugs in your system, and… you were shot. You had to go into emergency surgery.” 

You frown, and he answers before you can ask any of them. “…Your brother. After he knocked you out, he used something to… keep you out. And after I shot him, he still got one off—thankfully, as he was falling. The bullet hit you in the side instead of the head.”

“How bad was it?” you ask. 

Aaron glances away. “You died on the table. They managed to bring you back, but…” 

“I guess Luke did succeed,” you say absentmindedly. Aaron doesn’t laugh, and you glance away too. “Sorry. Bad time for jokes.” 

He shakes his head. “If anyone’s allowed to joke about this, it’s you.” 

Your lips twitch for a moment, but then you look back at him as he takes a seat at your bedside again. He looks— god, he just looks tired. Tired and ragged and downtrod, and you can’t imagine you look much better.  

“You were out for two days after,” he explains. “This is the first time you’ve woken up.”

“Why are you here, Aaron?” you ask quietly. “Why have you been here?” 

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, and you feel the telltale pinpricks of tears. You blink them away before they can start. 

“My brother was a serial killer, Aaron.” Your hands clench into fists as you stare at the wall. “He killed ten people while he was living with me and I— and I didn’t even fucking notice.” Your gaze moves back to him. “I went against all of you because I thought I knew him, and look where it got me.” 

“It’s not a crime to want to see the best in people,” he says. “Especially your family.” 

“It’s a crime to fucking murder people,” you huff, and it’s only slightly unhinged. “I— I thought I knew him, and I didn’t. And if I did, maybe none of these people would’ve had to die.”

“Don’t blame this on yourself,” Aaron demands. “Lucas was lost. Mentally ill. He was on a path for revenge, for his deranged idea of protection—nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him.” 

You shake your head. “It might be easy for you to say that, Aaron, but I— I can’t. He’s my brother. I gave him a place to live, I gave him easy access to families— god, I fought with you all for two weeks about his innocence, all while he was planning his next fucking murder!” 

“It is not your fault,” he repeats, slower and enunciating the words. “He was the only member left of your family, and you loved him. You were just stubborn, and that’s nothing new.” 

“I just don’t know what to do.” You’ve had these walls up for so long, especially this past week, and now that everything’s come to a head and you’re in the hospital and your fucking brother is dead, the floodgates have opened. “I have to plan a funeral because I’m the only one left to plan one, but— but does he even deserve one? He’s a serial killer, and he tried to kill me for god’s sake, but he’s my brother and even though he’s gone he’s still all I have left and—” 

You break off as you suck in a huge breath of air, the notion shaky as you clench your hands into fists to keep the rest of your body from doing the same. 

“And I just don’t know what to do,” you repeat, barely a whisper. 

You meet Aaron’s eyes, almost desperately. You feel like you’ll shatter into a million different pieces if you even breathe wrong and he might be the only solid thing in your life. 

“Whatever you do,” he says, “you don’t have to do it alone. Not if you don’t want to.” 

“Aaron,” you start shakily, but he continues. 

“I know what you think, and that’s not what I’m suggesting.” Aaron pauses for a moment, and it’s obvious how carefully he’s crafting his words. “I’ve… always regretted how we left things. And I regret losing touch with you. This isn’t the way I would’ve liked to meet you again. But I’m thankful I have.”

He pulls a card out of his shirt pocket and holds it out to you. You realize it’s his business card, and it’s got his number. 

“I’m sorry for the formality,” he says dryly, “but I don’t exactly go around prepared to give out my number for purposes other than work.” 

You take it without giving yourself the chance to think about it. You run your finger around the sharp edge of the cardstock, pressing the pad of your thumb against the corner. 

“Years ago, you wished me a good life, and that you didn’t want to be involved in it,” he says, still treading carefully. You can’t believe he remembers the last thing you said to him. “But— but a lot has changed since then, and I hope that has as well.” 

“I’d like you to be a part of my life again,” Aaron finally says, “if you want to be a part of mine.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Two and a half years of law school flash behind your eyes—coffee shop dates and endless hours spent studying at the library. Movie nights cuddled on his couch, hauling boxes out of your house at an ungodly hour to get away from your roommates. An unhealthy amount of all-nighters immediately followed by going out to celebrate a miracle of an A on an exam. Getting through every soul-sucking part of earning a J.D. together, falling apart before either of you could make it to the other side, and somehow…

Somehow, you’ve ended up on a completely different side together. 

“My life isn’t going to be easy,” you say faintly. “Especially… moving through this.” 

“My life isn’t easy either,” he says. “I’m divorced with a kid and I try to solve murders every day.” 

“It’s not a contest.” An attempt at a joke, but it falls flat for you. Aaron’s lips still quirk at the edges the slightest bit. 

“Getting through this certainly won’t be easy,” he agrees. “But I have more experience than most in these sorts of things. So if you ever need anything, call. Please.” 

“I imagine you’re pretty busy,” you murmur. “Unit chief and all.” 

Aaron shrugs. “I make time for the things I care about.” 

Thankfully, you don’t have to figure out how to respond to that, because there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse walks in after you call a come in.

“It’s good to finally see you awake, sweetheart,” the nurse says with a smile. It warms you from the inside out. 

“It’s nice to be awake,” you say. Her smile widens and she moves over to the computer in the side of the room—to add some things before she makes her checkup, you assume. 

“I’ll give you some time alone,” Aaron says.

Before he can stand up, you grab his hand. It’s fully on instinct, and he looks just as surprised as you feel.  

“Don’t go,” you plead, and it’s almost a whisper. “I— just— please.” 

Aaron stares at you for a moment, that shock glinting in his eyes before it transforms into something a lot warmer. He nods and sits down. 

“Okay.” 

And he stays. 

This time, he stays.

[chronicowboy]

several sentence sunday

new fic is finished but it's not very christmassy so i'm going to wait a while before posting it. thought i'd give you a little sneaky peek to wet your whistle as it were:

He hits call. A ring. Two. Three. Four. Fi—

"Eddie?" Buck's voice rasps through the line, scratching some invisible itch deep in his gut. "A-are you okay?"

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Eddie asks, frowning. Hadn't even thought about the time, just thought about Buck and how he should be right there on the couch for Eddie to throw his legs over his lap. How his big hands should be burning through the material of Eddie's jeans as they share their final beer of the night.

"Yeah, but that's okay." A rustle. Eddie closes his eyes and imagines him sitting up in bed, curls adorably sleep rumpled. "Are you okay?"

"I'm grrrrreat," Eddie slurs, laughing to himself. "Tony the Tiger great."

"Are you drunk?" Buck asks, a little laugh in his voice. Eddie grins, triumphant.

"On victory!" Eddie basks in Buck's next chuckle like a cat finding the perfect ray of sun. "I won trivia night because of you."

"Because of me?"

"Mhm. Remembered all your facts. Giraffes hum. The universe is beige. The Moon will never leave the Earth even if The Moon is drifting away right now." Buck's breath hitches, something hurt in the sound. Eddie frowns, wants to chase away that hurt until he can live in the back of Buck's throat instead. It'd be warm. Buck would keep him safe there. "We got a hundred dollar bar tab!"

"We, huh?" Buck pries, gentle, quiet.

"Mhm. Morgan. The probie from work. Don't worry," Eddie rushes to add. "She's not best friend material. Just took pity on me for the night." He sighs. "I miss you."

"Eddie," Buck croaks. Another rustle. Another voice thick with sleep.

"Evan?" they mumble.

Eddie freezes all the way down to the breath in his lungs, lays there on the couch stock still, lungs burning, eyes wide.

"Is that Tommy?" he asks before he can think better of it. Buck lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

"No. No. Um, one second." His voice drifts, "I'll be back," and Eddie realises he's making that promise to whoever's lying next to him in bed, not Eddie. But that means Buck isn't going anywhere for now. Eddie gets to keep him whilst the stranger languishes alone in his bed. Buck never left him alone in that bed during quarantine. Not once. He listens to the pad of Buck's feet as he goes downstairs, the whoosh of the balcony door sliding open and closed again. "Just some guy I met at a bar."

"Oh." Eddie nods to himself, pursing his lips. "Sorry for interrupting."

"No, that's o-okay," Buck replies, voice unreadable. "You weren't really interrupting, Eddie. We were asleep."

"Right." Eddie nods again. Then, the words just fall out of his mouth. "Probably tired after... Y'know."

"Eddie." Buck takes a deep breath. "You okay?"

"Do you miss me?"

@danielsousa @jjudaslips @butchdiaz @outdiaz @shitouttabuck @poughkeepsies @saryasy @team-118 @that-sounds-mighty-oof-to-me @ambitiousbutrubbish @iamaniamscat @freetreasures @inell @chaoticlava101 @dangerpronebuddie @jacobglaser @doggirlbuck @rainbow-nerdss @faggotjonesss @unsteadylilactree @4thbrighteststar @laurenttheninth @missing-tony @eddiebabygirldiaz @try-set-me-on-fire (please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!!)

[celiansartblog]

Now that I've barely introduced my Inquisitor, time to out myself as a equal opportunity Solas truther and introduce his accidental situationship with the guy he (unintentionally) doomed

It can only end well.

Thank the maker Bull is here cause there needs to be a stabilizing presence in this mess

[mosaickiwi]

your angle... or yuor devil

Emo has some business to take care of... but you're going to a Halloween party together later wahoo!!! [REDACTED] is he/him only for this since there's some other loser in the scene 🙄

cw: torture in the beginning, implied murder

proceed with caution

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

As if contemplating what to watch on TV, [REDACTED] glanced down at the sight in front of him.

Bound in an old, wooden chair, somebody's agonized cries for help went unanswered, muffled by the torn, bloodied knot of fabric tied over their mouth. They'd been nothing but incomprehensible since the first nail was painstakingly pried from their finger.

The bigger piece of torn cloth was bundled in their lap. Its folds held a steadily growing pile of teeth and fingernails. Some were whole, but most were in pieces from the messier extractions.

Normally, the dark haired man would have more satisfying tools at his disposal for the victim. But he didn't have the chance to run home, especially when a Halloween date with you was right around the corner. After a quick stop at a hardware store, today's (un)lucky winner got dragged into the nearest abandoned building.

Only a couple hours ago, hardly ten minutes after the time you normally took your lunch break, this piece of work had approached you. 

Of course, nothing came of it. And you told your beloved partner about the unwelcome interaction right away. Between the usual chatter and flirting once you video called him for lunch, you mentioned it in an offhand comment, a wrinkle in your forehead to boot.

Then you'd gone right back to talking about the holiday, and how excited you were for the party that night. [REDACTED] didn't move on so quickly.

Just as he leaned down, a metal nail poised over the shitstain's knee and a hammer in hand, his phone rang. The items clattered against the floor as he stood and hurried to yank it from his pocket.

The bound and gagged, soon-to-be-done-for stranger looked surprised, but oddly grateful for the brief escape from further torment.

Before he could even offer a greeting, you spoke.

"Hiii! I'm already finished making treat bags at the library. Do you wanna meet me at your apartment for a little while before the party? I'm headed there now."

"I'd love to, but M'not exactly free," [REDACTED] managed to answer calmly despite the whirlwind you lured his heart into. He kept his gaze on the wide eyed stranger in front of him, wondering if they'd test their luck. 

Surprisingly, they did their best to stay quiet, the over-dramatic, obnoxious sobs from earlier slowly subsiding into sniffles. He smugly smiled and turned, walking a few steps away. Even with their impending demise, he didn't want to share your voice with anyone.

"Oh," you said. "That's okay." The notable disappointment to your words pained him, and he had to throw a glare over his shoulder at his victim. 

It was their fault that he would be missing out on extra time with you. Why didn't they just mind their business, instead of trying to chat you up while waiting in line?

But, [REDACTED] shared some of the blame. He'd begrudgingly skipped the usual lunch break visit at your insistence, since you wanted to surprise him with the matching costumes you were picking up.

"So what are you doing then?" you asked, then passed right over the topic. "Never mind. It's probably work, right?"

"... Yeah. Work," he answered. Admittedly, he was thankful you decided to stop asking questions on your own. And that you didn't remember he normally worked from home. "M'sorry, love."

You hummed in thought. "No worries. Programming hours sure are all over the place. I guess they kinda have to be, with the kind of money you make though." There was a sudden, loud commotion in the background and you softly cursed.

"Angel?" your boyfriend worriedly called out.

"I'm fine! My stupid tail just got caught in the — I mean… I'm fine!!"

The hacker smiled in relief, already excited for the costumes you bought. He didn't trail you or sneak a peek at the store's cameras for once, but he did notice the bright red horns poking out of the shopping bag behind you while you ate. You must've changed into yours before you left. An angel and a demon — only you wanted him to be the angel. 

[REDACTED] laughed, almost forgetting the person tied up behind him until they weakly groaned in agony. His smile immediately turned to a frown; he had to hang up too soon for his liking.

He was apologetic as could be. "I won't be able to leave for a while, but I'll make sure to call you the second I'm done."

"You always do," you teased him. "I can't wait to see the look on your face once I give you your costume."

He instantly took the bait, as if he didn't already know. "Really? Why don't y'give me a hint?"

"Hmm… It's… uhh, your favorite thing in the world?"

Ah, that one was too obvious. Still, he wanted to pretend a little longer. The delighted look on your face was sure to be worth the wait. "I'll work hard t'figure it out before I get home."

Your almost impish laughter made his heart skip a beat. "See you soon, Ren."

The phone beeped and the screen went black, taking his good mood away.

With a faint sigh and a roll of his eyes, the dark haired man reached for the sledgehammer leaning against an upturned table. It weighed lighter in his hands than the one he was used to, but it'd do the job just fine. 

He turned back towards the stranger, bruised, battered and much too weak to do anything but stare up at their tormentor. 

All the joy in [REDACTED]'s demeanor was gone, replaced with commonplace boredom as he slung the hammer over one shoulder. "Guess y'kept quiet enough, so I'll make this quick."

[itshype]

As a fandom Vet please, please back up your fanfiction. I see so many fics posted exclusively to tumblr and it scares me.

I've seen so many tumblr purges, I've seen staff delete blogs irreparably by accident, I've seen cyberbullying involving reporting a blog so many times it's taken down and all the posts are lost.

All these new baby fandom accounts who are writing tens of thousands of words of fic (in a readmore so not even reblogs work to save it if your blog is lost) and not backing it up are causing me anxiety. Please, I'm so worried for you all.

[blackpensils]

Don't know where this came from. Read a story on Ao3, got inspired and spewed this out. I've never written for Transformers before so don't know how accurate this is but I don't know what to do with this so thought what better place to share it than this hellscape of a website (/p).

Tropes(?): arranged marriage because I'm a sucker for that shit between enemies. MegOp (tfa universe), sort of canon compliant if you squint hard enough but it's kinda short so don't squint too hard or you'll hurt your eyes.

He rolled his shoulders and adjusted the magnetic clamps attaching the long, and unnecessary heavy, cloak to his body. A cloak that normally should have been white, by not just Autobot standards, but also Iaconian, and Optimus, having been forged and brought online in Iacon, lamented the fact that the cloak he now sported had to be purple. Apparently it was supposed to be symbolic.

~~~

The reflection of the mech looking back at him was almost too foreign for Optimus to be able recognise it as being himself. It was his blue helm, his rotating optics as they scanned over his ludicrous but traditional get up and his red chassis that was covered in finely painted purple lines and curls. Delicate and every turn and swirl deliberate as they traveled from the centre of his chassis, right above his spark chamber, up his shoulders and down his arms. The painter had tried to insist Optimus should pain his thighs as well, saying that the purple would contrast wonderfully against the silver metal and that it would hold intimate implications. Optimus had refused.

That made Optimus snort and when he brought his optics back up to his face, his faceplate was scrunched up in a frown.

He looked almost right. Cloak billowing behind him in an almost majestic kind of way, making him feel a little like the Primes of old when they weren't just a military title but one granted by Primus himself, and paint decorating his upper torso with the usual lines and curves. Even his faceplate had purple paint across the cheeks and down from his bottom lip to his chin. Optimus had to admit that he did look like someone who was about to partake in his very own Conjunx Ritus, almost.

If it wasn't for the purple.

In Iacon the two participants in the rite would be cloaked and painted in white. To symbolise the purity of their love for each other and their connection to Primus, or something or other like it. Optimus didn't actually know the details. He'd never been to a Conjunx Ritus before.

It wasn't just any shade of purple either, unfortunately. Because Optimus might have been able to handle a light lilac or a deep rasin. But the fact that the shade that now decorated his frame just so happened to be Decepticon purple just made his spark tighten and made it impossible to forget that his… his conjunx was…

Optimus shuddered as his processor couldn't even finish the sentence without making a chill travel throughout his frame. Filling up his inner lines with ice instead of energon and making his spark twinge painfully in his chassis.

A Conjunx Rite was supposed to be the happiest moment of a mech's life. The day they joined forever with the love of their life and promised to cherish and protect their partner, their conjunx, for as long as they lived. A moment that most bots only ever did the once and never did again because the pain of losing a conjunx was so hard on the spark that taking another one was like replacing a part of your very soul. Trading it in for a replacement to fill the hole they left behind. Something that wasn't necessarily frowned upon or illegal in any way, but that definitely would've gotten a few judgemental glances thrown your way.

Yet here Optimus stood in a preparation room in one of Iacon's Chapels, looking at himself in the threeway mirror and meeting his own hollow optics. There was no happiness there when he looked down and saw himself dressed in the infamous Decepticon color and feeling like he was about to walk out onto that altar and meet his own demise.

Because his—Optimus had to physically swallow to get the words his and conjunx to actually form in his processor—was none other than Megatron.

[aesthetically-dying101]

The Catalyst for Anguish

A/N: Idk how to format things on tumblr help, anyways,

WC: 15,000 (give or take) anyways this was fun, and miserable very slay im on a roll rn, locked and loaded idc. I love writting for pathetic men, yearning is iconic, also angst in this one? Sort of? (a tiny weany bit of 'im not like other girls' behavior IF YOU SQUINT) Reader is lowkey mean (shes scared ur honor), Gojo gets his feelings hurt, readers gets hurt, EVERYONE gets hurt (not the horses tho). if theres any mistakes, im sorry, ts not proofread

Shoko and Geto’s arrival for the wedding and After

Do not copy nor translate my work. :)

Over the top.

Lavish.

Fucking dramatic.

Those were the correct terms to refer to the Gojo family, and they were the only words that could possibly do justice to the event before you. 

The chandeliers-yes, multiple, above glittered like diamonds, casting a soft glow over the sea of silk and satin that filled the room. The scent of roses and incense swirled in the air, mingling with the laughter and gossip of nobles, merchants, and foreign dignitaries alike. It was a symphony of excess—an orchestra of opulence—curated by the very hands of the Gojo family.

These types of events were grand affairs, and this time around, your dear mother, had dragged you to one. It was rare- you hadn't gone to one in a while.

The grand hall of the Gojo estate was a spectacle, and you were there.  Just a shadow in it all- an expensive looking shadow. 

You didn’t belong here, not really. 

Not in this world of gleaming tiaras, sharp suits, and the incessant murmur of politics and status. You were the youngest daughter of a noble family, and to your mother’s dismay, the least remarkable.You were the youngest daughter of the esteemed, but not quite exceptional, noble family of Cordova, and you weren’t exactly the one anyone was eyeing tonight.

Five older sisters—each more beautiful, more charming, more eager than you—had long secured their place at the centre of every gathering. They glittered in conversation, graced the floors with smiles and flirts, and were cherished by the men and women who populated these extravagant walls.

But you?

You were relegated to the edges, left to fade into the background, a quiet observer.

In fact, you preferred it. 

Solitude was a friend you could rely on, while attention was a curse you could do without. You weren’t shy—not exactly. You simply knew the game, and you knew where you stood in it. Cold indifference was your armor. When they looked at you, they didn’t see much. No one cared to look closely, and that was fine by you.

The evening, as always, was about him. 

Prince Gojo. The returning hero, the darling of every highborn woman in the room, the man whose presence could send hearts fluttering and whispers scattering.

He stood at the centre of the room like he belonged there—because, of course, he did. Prince Gojo, the living embodiment of a fairytale prince, dazzling smile, impeccably tailored suit, and all. His hair gleamed under the light of the chandeliers, catching the faintest glimmer of gold, like the gods themselves had decided to put a little extra effort into his creation. Tall, handsome, charming in that effortless way that could make even the most cynical heart skip a beat.

Not yours, though. You were immune.

'Look at him,'you thought, sipping your champagne, 'the man who probably wakes up every morning to applause from the heavens.'

You snorted at your own thought.

'Does he even know how to walk into a room without acting like he owns it?' you mused, leaning against the cool marble pillar at the edge of the hall. 'Probably not.'

Your mother’s voice echoed in your head: 'Smile. Mingle. Be noticed.' The poor woman thought this was your golden opportunity. 

As if Prince Gojo would even spare a glance for the quiet girl hiding in the corner, dressed in a gown that, while very lovely, was more understated compared to the shimmering jewels and frothy tulle around you.

'Yes, Mother, because that’s exactly what I want—to throw myself at the feet of a man who already has a fan club bigger than the royal army.'

A passing servant offered you a tray of hors d'oeuvres. You plucked one absentmindedly, nibbling at it as you continued to observe the spectacle. 't’s all a performance,' you thought, 'and he’s the star.'

Yet, something about it all felt hollow, didn’t it? Beneath the glitter and the grandeur, beneath the adoring smiles and lavish praises—what was left? Did Prince Gojo ever get tired of it? Did he ever feel suffocated by the weight of everyone’s expectations? Or did he truly enjoy being the centre of attention, basking in their admiration like it was his birthright?

You sighed, finishing your champagne and setting the glass on a passing tray. 'Who am I kidding? He probably thrives on it.'

The thought was cut short as, almost as if he had heard you, Prince Gojo’s gaze swept across the room—and stopped. 

Right. On. You.

For a brief moment, your breath caught in your throat.

'Oh no.'

His eyes sparkled with something that could only be described as mischief, and that infuriatingly perfect smile widened, as if he’d just spotted his next amusement.

'Don’t you dare,' you thought. 'Don’t you even think about it—'

And then, to your horror, he began to make his way toward you, his stride confident, his smile never faltering.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea as Prince Gojo strode toward you, his smile gleaming like it was carved out of starlight. His every step seemed calculated for maximum impact, the way the silk of his jacket caught the light, the casual confidence in his movements. It was infuriating.

'Oh, wonderful,' you thought, panic bubbling just beneath the surface. 'Here comes the royal peacock himself.'

“(Y/N)!” he called out, his voice rich and warm, like you were old friends—like he hadn’t just upended the social balance of the entire room-also he knew your name??? Huh????. He smiled wider, as if this wasn’t the most mortifying moment of your life. “It’s been too long!”

'Oh gods, kill me now.'

He stopped in front of you, towering slightly, and leaned in like he was sharing a secret, though his voice carried for everyone to hear. 

“I almost didn’t recognise you. You’ve grown up since the riding lessons.” He tilted his head, the playful spark in his eyes unmistakable. “Do you remember those?”

You blinked, your lips tightening, trying to keep your expression neutral. Of course, you remembered. Barely. You’d spent those lessons keeping to yourself while Gojo entertained the world with his effortless charm, even as a child. And now he had the audacity to act like you were suddenly important?

“Vaguely,” you said flatly, arching a brow. “But you were always hard to miss.”

His grin widened, as if he thought you were flirting. Typical.

“Ah, I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said smoothly. “You were always the quiet one. But you were better on horseback than most of the adults.”

“Still am,” you replied, your tone sharp enough to cut glass. “Not that anyone noticed back then.”

His expression flickered for half a second, like he wasn’t used to people meeting his charm with cool indifference. Good.

“But I noticed,” he said, softening just a touch. “You were good. No—better than good.”

You didn’t bite, though. Instead, you took another slow sip from your glass and leaned back slightly, letting the silence stretch between you two. 

Let him squirm. It was oddly satisfying to watch the seemingly unshakeable Gojo flinch, even if just for a second.

He seemed to catch on quickly, though, his smile flickering slightly, as if he hadn’t expected you to challenge him.

“Not going to play along?” His voice was amused, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes- curiosity. 

“Enjoy the ball, Your Highness. Try not to break too many hearts.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving him standing there in the middle of his grand, glittering court. But not before you heard his final words, soft and amused, trailing after you like a whisper:

“I think you just broke mine.”

Yeah right, you thought, the sarcasm laced in your mind like armor. Like you even have one to break.

*-*

The ride home was suffocating.

The carriage rattled over cobblestones, the silence inside far more oppressive than the extravagant noise of the ball. Your mother sat across from you, hands folded neatly in her lap, lips pressed into a thin line. It wasn’t until the estate gates came into view that she finally spoke.

“Well?” she began, her voice clipped and cold. “Do you care to explain why you squandered an opportunity like that?”

You didn’t even pretend to misunderstand- if you did, she'd be angrier than she is. You knew exactly what she was referring to. Prince Gojo. The scene at the ball. The conversation that, to any prying eyes, must have looked like some grand, promising moment.

“I don’t see what there is to explain,” you said flatly, staring out the window at the passing darkened fields, thought the situation did make you slightly nervous. “We talked. Nothing more.”

Your mother clicked her tongue, and you had to physically restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. You hated this, your sisters had been far more suited for this.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she hissed, her left eye twitching ever so slightly, the anger bubbling beneath her otherwise composed demeanour. “Avoiding opportunities, brushing off perfectly good matches. Do you want to remain unmarried forever? A burden to your family?”

“I didn’t realize avoiding shallow conversation with a man who barely remembers me from childhood was such a grievous crime,” you said, turning your gaze back to the window. The fields outside blurred in the darkness.

“He remembered you,” she snapped, as if that alone should have sent you into paroxysms of gratitude. “He spoke to you. In public. Do you understand how rare that is? How valuable?”

Valuable. 

As if you were some rare trinket on display. You kept your gaze fixed on the passing fields, your jaw tightening. Yes, Mother, how valuable to be the girl everyone forgets—until a prince remembers. Yaysies.

The distant glow of your estate’s torches grew nearer, and your mother, with her spine straight as an iron rod, she looked almost imperial. You finally spoke.

“Valuable,” you repeated under your breath, as though tasting the word would somehow make it less insulting. “He was joking, Mother. What do you think? That I should be thrilled that Prince Gojo, in all his glory, noticed me for five minutes? That somehow, after all this time, that conversation is some kind of grand gesture?”

Her eye twitched again-oof not good.

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “Yes, I do think you should be thrilled. Do you know how many young women would kill for even a passing glance from him? And you—” She paused, her voice rising, trembling with fury barely held in check. “You threw it away like it was nothing. I will be telling your father about this."

“He wasn’t serious, Mother,” you said quietly, bitterness lacing every word. “He was mocking me.”

The carriage jolted over a rut in the road, but neither of you noticed. Your mother’s eyes narrowed. “Mocking?” she echoed, her voice dripping with disdain. “Mocking? Is that what you tell yourself so you can avoid responsibility for your own failures?”

You remained silent, knowing that the worst to come.

The instant your father would hear that the prince had called you out by name during the ball, that you had spoken... you were in for a long lecture. Maybe etiquette class? 

A little while later, the carriage arrived to your families estate. 

You stared at the entrance, knowing exactly what waited inside: more lectures, more disappointment, and your father’s sharp, practised disappointment. 

Lovely. Just the perfect way to end the night.

Your mother gathered her skirts, stepping out with the grace of someone born to make everything a performance. 

Straight to your father,” she said, her voice tight with anger and restrained fury, as if she were barely holding herself together. “You will explain yourself.”

 Explain what? That you had the audacity to not care that a prince—THE Prince Gojo—had noticed you, spoken to you, and made you feel like some kind of display piece for five minutes? Explain that to your father, who would somehow find a way to twist it into yet another lesson on how you were destined to be left behind if you didn’t start playing the game? 

Sure, no problem.

Easy peasy.

Your mother didn’t knock, just swept the door open and stepped in, her back straight and stiff with resolve. You followed behind her, your feet dragging like lead, your heart heavy with the impending confrontation.

“Lord Cordova,” your mother greeted your father with a cold nod. “We need to talk.”

Your father looked up from his desk, his brows furrowing slightly at the tension in her voice.

 “She wasted an opportunity,” your mother hissed, not bothering with preamble. “In front of the entire court, she spoke with Prince Gojo and—”

Your father took in a sharp breath.

"Who?!"

Ah fuck.

“Who did she speak to? Prince Gojo? The Crown Prince Gojo?” Your father looked like he went through all five stages of grief in an instant.

Oh, great. Here we go. The Prince Gojo. As if there were multiple Gojos strolling around the ball, handing out attention like confetti.

“Yes,” you muttered, keeping your tone flat, hoping the ground might open up and swallow you whole. “We spoke.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. It was cold, hollow, the kind of laugh that made you feel like a child being scolded for something ridiculous.

"Ha..." he chuckled, but there was nothing even remotely funny about it. "You spoke with Prince Gojo..." He repeated the words like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, as if it was somehow a joke.

Your mother didn’t give him time to process, of course. She was too furious, too eager to see you punished. 

"She refused to even entertain the possibility," she snapped. "Turned away from the chance of securing a match with one of the most eligible men in the entire kingdom." She turned to you, her eyes narrowing. "Do you know how many women would kill for that chance, and you—” she practically spat the words, “—you wasted it.”

You stayed silent, knowing that if you spoke, you would be digging your own grave.

“Do you realize how rare an opportunity that was?” he asked, his voice now hard, stern. “Prince Gojo is—he’s everything.” His words trailed off, as though he didn’t even know how to finish the sentence without sounding ridiculous.

"It was just a conversation, just about how we used to have horse ridding lessons when we were younger-" You didn't even finish.

"So?" Your mother snapped. "You turned away from him first. You could've done something."

"Right. Of course. My apologies." 

And of course your parents went on tirades, but you simply tuned them out. Instead, you closed your eyes, wishing that this time, you could just disappear—vanish into the shadows where no one could find you, where no one could make you feel this small.

*-*

The first letter arrived on a dreary Tuesday morning. 

It was simple, almost annoyingly so, like a child’s handwriting scribbled on the back of a napkin. Your mother found it first, of course, her eyes nearly bulging out of her head when she saw the wax seal-the royal was seal. She'd nearly ripped the damn thing open with more enthusiasm than a child on their birthday.

“It’s from him,” she breathed, more to herself than to you. “Prince Gojo… he wrote to you.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. 

And then, with the full force of your sarcasm, you said, “Did he? How nice.”

“How nice?” she shrieked, as if the sheer understatement of your words might cause her to combust. “This is more than nice! This is…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence, her breath catching in her throat, choking on the excitement. She turned toward the door, already calling for your father. “Edward! Edward, come quickly!”

You lifted your brow at that, your mother using your fathers first name was a rarity. 

You sighed, leaning back in your chair, already tired of whatever circus was about to unfold. 'Of course. Let’s make it a family affair. Gods forbid we handle this with a shred of dignity', you thought.

Your father came stomping in, his heavy boots thudding against the floor, looking as though he expected to find the house on fire , or worse- one of your sisters involved in something disastrous, like an elopement with the local baker- that would probably kill your mother. 

“What is it?” he demanded, brow furrowed in concern.

Your mother shoved the letter toward him like it was a trophy, her hands trembling. 

“It’s a letter. From the prince. To her.”

He stared at the letter for a long moment, then at you, and back again, like he couldn’t quite believe it. Finally, he snatched it from her hands, his eyes scanning the outside of the envelope, his expression unreadable.

“Maybe he's inviting me to be the court jester? Because I think he’s already got that role covered- but hey, the more the merrier.” You ironised. 

Your father's gaze snapped to you, his expression hovering between disbelief and exasperation. “Do you ever take anything seriously?” he asked, voice low and edged with frustration.

Your father finally opened the letter, his fingers trembling just slightly. He read it once. Twice. His brow furrowed. 

“Well?” your mother demanded impatiently, her voice barely holding back her excitement.

It was an invitation to one of the royal riding events, something Prince Gojo had apparently personally requested your presence at. He’d written that he remembered you from childhood, and he thought it would be enjoyable to reconnect. No pressure. No formalities. Just company.

Your father read it once, then twice, before handing it off to your mother.

“This…” your father began, his voice tight. “This is… this is something.”

Your mother, clutching the letter like a prize, barely contained herself. 

“Do you see this? Do you see this? He remembers you. He wants to see you again!” Her voice was a high-pitched.

“I can’t believe this,” your father said, his voice barely a whisper. He seemed stuck somewhere between disbelief and awe. “He actually wants to see her. The Prince Gojo. The one who could have any woman he wanted, and he wants you.”

Ouch. Right in the ego.

The room was silent for a moment. You could practically feel your parents’ hopes, their expectations, suffocating you from all sides.

"You will go. You will. I will personally drag you there myself." Your mother noted. 

"Yes mother." You answered in a monotone voice. 

*-*

The riding 'lesson' was arranged for the following week. You almost didn’t want to go. In fact, you spent the night before convincing yourself that you could fake illness, or perhaps just lock yourself in your room and claim to be otherwise occupied. 

But, you found yourself in the stables, eyeing your horse with a mixture of indifference and dread. It was a beautiful animal—sleek, strong, and clearly well-trained. But the very idea of being around other people, let alone royalty, still twisted your insides.

When you’d reluctantly agreed to Gojo’s invitation, you hadn’t really expected him to show up. Or at least not without some entourage. 

'A royal event', you thought with a smirk, 'where the prince shows up with five of his closest companions—each more glamorous than the last'.

But Gojo arrived alone. His usual confident stride looked a little off today, his posture less assured. His usual charisma had dimmed to something quieter, more subdued.

"Ready to ride?" Gojo’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you blinked, momentarily startled by the directness of his gaze. He was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Guess so," you replied, trying to match his tone, though the sarcasm was laced thick enough to cut through steel. "Although I must admit, I’m disappointed. No royal entourage? No retinue of nobles to witness this grand moment?"

He chuckled, but there was a flatness to it, a humorless edge that made you look at him with a little more curiosity.

 "I thought you’d enjoy the peaceful version," he said lightly, motioning to the open fields behind him. "No drama, no politics, just... us. And a couple of horses."

"Just us? Hmm... sounds too simple for a royal prince. You sure you’re not secretly plotting something elaborate, like a dramatic rescue or a battle of some sort?" You lifted your brow.

He just laughed, as usual, like your sarcasm was nothing but a joke to him. “No, I promise. But seriously, I’m glad you came.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What, are you that desperate for company?”

He shrugged, and gestured towards the saddles, the horses. 

“Ready to show off your legendary riding skills again?” Gojo teased, grinning that carefree, almost annoyingly perfect smile of his.

You shot him a sideways glance, unimpressed. “Well, I won’t hold back just because you’re the prince. I’m still better than you.”

Gojo laughed, the sound like a sudden burst of light. 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” He mounted his horse with an ease that came from years of practice. You couldn’t help but notice how effortless he made it look, how comfortable he seemed in his own skin, even when surrounded by expectations.

The ride was uneventful at first, the two of you pushing the horses into a steady trot, the rhythmic sound of hooves against the dirt grounding you both. You fell into a comfortable silence, and though it was easy to pretend this was just another day, you couldn’t ignore the subtle awkwardness between you. He didn’t seem like someone who thrived on small talk, and you weren’t exactly an expert in pretending to care about things you didn’t.

“You know,” Gojo started, his voice cutting through the quiet as his horse matched your pace. “It’s been nice. Having someone to ride with again.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him sideways- the fuck was he on?

“You don’t seem like the lonely type.”

He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. 

“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? I am.” He took a deep breath, the smile slipping from his face as the tension in his shoulders became evident. “Geto and Shoko left. And I didn’t realize just how much I’d come to rely on them…until they were gone.”

"Ah. So that's what this is? You're in need of company? Don't you have a flock of people that would love to be in my place?"

Gojo didn’t flinch though. 

Instead, he just looked at you—really looked at you, as if he was searching for something in your eyes. And you almost short circuited. No one had looked at you like that in a very, very long time. 

“It’s funny, right? You think I’ve got it all, that everything is handed to me on a silver platter. But it’s not like that. I’ve had friends... well, used to have friends.” His lips pressed together in a thin line. “Geto and I had a big fight before he left. And Shoko? She went south to be a physician. Guess there was no room for a prince in her life.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, almost automatically. The words felt out of place coming from you, but there they were, falling from your lips like some strange, uninvited guest. "I didn’t know."

He shrugged, the motion light and careless, though there was a heaviness in his light blue eyes.

“You don’t need to be. It’s just... it’s just been hard, you know? I’ve got this image to keep up. But sometimes, I just need someone who isn’t... impressed.” He paused, glancing at you with a kind of odd sincerity. “Someone who doesn’t expect anything.”

“Well,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended. “I guess I’m good at not expecting things.” You smirked. “It’s a talent of mine.”

Gojo grinned at that, though it was more subdued this time.

“I’m starting to think that’s why I liked you when we were kids. You don’t care about any of this.” He gestured loosely to the royal estate in the distance, his voice light but the weight of his words not lost on you. “The politics, the attention, the obligations. You don’t care.” 

“Well,” you said, forcing a nonchalant shrug. “That’s probably because I’m too busy trying to stay out of the spotlight. Honestly, I’m just trying to keep my head down until everyone forgets I’m here.”

He laughed again, though this time it was more like a soft exhale, as if the laughter itself was a little bittersweet. 

“If only it were that easy for me.” He glanced back toward the estate, his eyes distant. “Sometimes I wish I could just disappear, you know? No one expects anything from me. No one looks at me like I’m the answer to their problems, like I’m supposed to be the one to fix everything.”

And silence settled, the two of you rode together, the silence between you almost comfortable, the distance between your worlds just a little bit smaller. But as the day wore on, you realized that even though Gojo had invited you for a ride, what he’d really been looking for was someone who could just be.

 No titles. No expectations. Just two people.

And maybe, just maybe, you were the only one who didn’t want anything from him.

Just a friend.

*-*

When you finally returned home, the estate felt quieter than usual, the kind of eerie silence that only came after an eventful day. You had barely gotten past the front gates when you saw your mother standing near the foyer, her eyes wide with that familiar glint of excitement. 

Your mother’s sharp eyes followed your every move, and the unmistakable glint of hope was in her gaze—if you could call it hope. It looked more like desperation mixed with a touch of victory. Your stomach twisted in response.

You barely made it inside before she pounced.

"How was the ride?" she asked eagerly, her voice high-pitched, almost too enthusiastic. "Did His Highness say anything interesting? How did it go? Tell me everything, everything!"

You blinked. Almost tempted to say that the prince fell off his horse and died.

Maybe she'd leave you alone.

"It went fine," you muttered, doing your best to sound as uninterested as possible. “We rode. We talked.”

She caught that last word like it was a golden nugget. "Talked? Talked?! What did he say? Was it—was it personal? Oh, I bet it was. I knew you two would get along!" She clapped her hands together, her eyes wide with hope.

"Talked about riding lessons," you deadpanned. "And horses. You know, the usual riveting topics."

Your mother blinked, momentarily deflated, but then quickly recovered. "Horses... horses?" Her voice cracked a little as she tried to keep the excitement alive. "Well, that’s a start. That’s fine. But it’s not just about horses, darling. You know what’s important, right?" She leaned forward, her eyes glinting with that familiar, almost manic gleam. “This is Prince Gojo we’re talking about! The Prince Gojo. He could choose anyone, and he’s choosing you. That’s what matters!”

You stifled the urge to groan. Of course, she’d see it that way. To her, Gojo wasn’t a person. He was a prize, a trophy, something to elevate your family’s standing.

"Yeah," you muttered, glancing down at your boots. "He’s really chosen me, alright. He’s not after anything, though. He just needs someone to talk to." You could almost hear the sarcasm dripping off your words.

"Oh, darling," she said with a dismissive wave, “you’re being modest. I know you’re not used to being pursued like this, but that’s exactly what’s happening. Can’t you see it? He’s interested in you. Not your sisters, not anyone else. Just you."

You opened your mouth to answer that no, he didn't want you, he just wanted a friend. But she didn't let you. 

"Why are you so determined to downplay this?" Her voice cracked, though you could tell she was trying to mask it with an air of control. "Do you understand what this could mean for our family? You’re not just some noble daughter, darling. You’re a potential princess. Think of it!"

“A potential princess?” you echoed in disbelief, shaking your head. “I’m a nobody. I’m not some prize for Gojo to win. I’m not some... not some step in the right direction for his royal bloodline.” You let the bitterness seep into your voice now, because really, what else was there left to do?

Your mother didn’t seem to hear any of it. She was too lost in her dreams of grandeur. 

"You’re wrong. You’ll see. He’ll come for you. He’s just being careful, like all men are-especially one of his standing." She smiled as if she had already won the game, as if all her efforts were somehow paying off, one letter at a time. “This will be the beginning of everything.”

You could only stare at her, a hollow ache in your chest. Maybe it wasn’t even about Gojo anymore. 

Maybe it never was. Maybe it was just about your mother wanting so badly for you to mean something in the grand scheme of things. To be something more than just the second youngest Cordova, the one who wasn’t quite pretty enough, wasn’t quite clever enough, wasn’t quite anything enough.

You were tired. So tired of all the expectations. 

So tired of never being enough in the eyes of your family.

“Sure, Mom,” you said quietly, fighting back the sting behind your eyes. “I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

But you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that it wouldn’t. That, in the end, you weren’t the one who mattered at all. 

You were just a pawn, waiting to be played.

And that was the worst part. You didn't even know if you could blame Gojo for it.

*-*

That white haired, blue eyed motherfucker didn't stop sending you letters.

Much to your shaggrine.

Every event, every horse ride... it meant your parents planning and scheming further.

Now even the gossipers knew of you- and not like they had in the past, as the failure daughter of the Cordona family, but this time, as the girl who caught the Crown Prince's eye.

How fun.

*-*

The first time Gojo asked to hang out again, it was after one of the many royal events you’d been dragged to. As usual, he’d found you hiding near the back, surrounded by delicate conversations about politics, fashion, and all the things you couldn’t care less about. When his presence loomed at your side, you thought for a second you were imagining things.

“Hey,” Gojo said, a playful glint in his eyes. “Fancy a walk?”

You blinked. “Is this part of the royal entertainment package? Because I’m not really in the mood to be paraded around like a prize horse.”

“Come on,” he said, unfazed. “You could use a break from the charm of the nobility.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re starting to sound like you’re in a bad romance novel.”

He grinned, his eyes gleaming. “Well, if the crown fits…”

You snorted. “It doesn’t, though. You’re not that charming.”

“Right. And you’re definitely not that sarcastic.”

You shot him a look. “I’m not sarcastic. I’m just... realistic... and funny. ”

By the end of the walk, you were both a little damp from the rain, but Gojo seemed completely unfazed. There was something... unnervingly easy about being around him. No masks, no titles, no expectations. Just him, and you, having a quiet moment where neither of you had to be anyone but yourselves.

Too bad it’s all just a game. A distraction. Whatever.

*-* 

It happened over the course of multiple months.

It started innocently enough. He appeared another morning at the stables, after summoning you again, and far too early for any reasonable royal, but of course, it was Gojo. 

Grinning, sparkling, irritating as ever.

“Thought I’d join you for a ride,” he announced, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

"Again, didn't have a choice, you summoned me." You eyed him, unimpressed. “Since when do you get up before noon?”

“Since now.” He swung himself onto a horse with an obnoxious flourish. “Admit it, you missed me.”

“Like a hole in the head,” you muttered, but rode alongside him anyway.

*-*

The rain battered the windows of the small sitting room where you found yourself, Gojo lounging across from you with a chessboard between you. 

He was terrible at it. Absolutely atrocious.

How was he the crowned prince and couldn't play chess??

“Is it normal to lose three pawns in one move?” he asked, moving a piece in some bizarre diagonal.

“No,” you deadpanned, flicking your knight into position. “But it is impressive.”

He squinted at the board, lips quirking. “I think you’re cheating.”

You arched a brow. “You think I need to cheat?”

His laughter filled the room, and for a moment, the storm outside seemed distant. 

You smiled, even if it was a tiny bit.

'It’s nice,' you thought, surprised at the warmth that bloomed in the quiet. 'But it’s just Gojo. Nothing more.'

*-*

He insisted you come to the royal festival with him. You didn’t want to—large crowds, loud music, pointless parades. But he showed up at your door anyway, eyes shining.

“You need to see the fireworks,” he said, practically dragging you along. “They’re better than the ones at the palace.”

“I hate fireworks,” you lied, trying to ignore the way your heart jumped when his hand brushed yours.

“Then you’ve been watching the wrong ones,” he replied, grinning.

And later, as the sky exploded in color, you caught him staring—not at the fireworks, but at you.

"Fucking hell.." You mumbled- your mother would've slapped the back of your head if she had heard?

“See?” he said softly. “Better.”

You looked away, pretending you hadn’t noticed. 'It’s nothing. He’s just… Gojo.'

*-*

A letter arrived, unexpected and short. Just a few lines, hastily scribbled.

"Thought you might like this."

With it was a small pressed flower, one from the field where you used to ride as children.

You stared at it for a long time, unsure what to feel- friends right? Yeah. Friends. 

Your mother, of course, thought it was a declaration. “He’s clearly smitten!” she said, eyes gleaming.

“He’s not,” you replied, setting the flower aside. “He’s just bored.”

But the ache in your chest didn’t agree.

*-*

It happened slowly, almost imperceptibly, like rain softening stone over time. One moment, you were just a quiet figure in the background of Gojo’s grand, glittering world—a respite from the endless parade of sycophants and expectations. And the next, without warning, you were more. More than the silent companion. More than just the girl who gave him honest, unfiltered conversation. More than a friend, though Gojo didn’t have the self-awareness to name it.

Not yet.

*-*

It started small. Little things that, to anyone else, might’ve seemed insignificant.

Gojo found himself lingering longer after your rides, watching as you meticulously tended to your horse, the way your hands moved with a practiced ease, the faint crease between your brows when you concentrated. He liked that you didn’t fawn over him like everyone else. You treated him like an equal—or sometimes, like an annoyance, which was oddly refreshing.

'She’s just a good friend', he told himself, leaning casually against the stable wall, arms crossed as he watched you brush down your horse. 'That’s all it is. A good friend who’s good at ignoring my jokes and doesn’t care that I’m a prince. Simple.'

"Do you need something?" you asked without turning around.

Gojo grinned, but it faltered slightly when you didn’t look up. 

"What? Can’t a guy enjoy some quality stable time?" he quipped, even though part of him felt like an idiot for standing there, loitering like some lovesick stablehand.

You glanced over your shoulder, arching a brow. “Stable time,” you repeated flatly, as though the words themselves were somehow offensive. "Right. Because that’s what you’re here for. Not to avoid your royal duties or anything."

He laughed, but it felt a little hollow. “You know me too well.”

You shrugged, returning to your task. "Someone has to. You’re not exactly subtle, Gojo."

Not subtle. He rolled the words over in his mind later, lying awake in his ridiculously oversized bed. His head sank into the silk pillow, but sleep wouldn’t come. He told himself it was the simplicity he appreciated. No pretense. No hidden agendas. Just the two of you, existing in a space where titles didn’t matter. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, staring up at the ornate ceiling. He could still hear your voice, low and unamused, calling him out on his nonsense like no one else dared.

*-*

Meanwhile, your mother was relentless, the moment you stepped through the door.

“Another afternoon with the prince,” she cooed, practically draped in self-satisfaction. “And still, you act as though it’s nothing. Darling, do you understand what this means?”

You dropped your riding gloves onto the table, your face carefully neutral. “Yes, Mother,” you said, voice void of emotion. “It means I’m the only person who isn’t throwing themselves at him.”

Her smile faltered for a moment, but she rallied quickly, the determined sparkle returning to her eyes. “Exactly. That’s what makes you different. That’s what makes you special. He doesn’t want someone like your sisters—he wants you.”

You resisted the urge to scream, your voice cold and clipped. “He wants someone who doesn’t expect anything from him. Someone who doesn’t care.”

She smiled wider, not even hearing the ache in your voice. “Exactly.”

*-*

The first time Gojo realised something had shifted, it was months later- 7 months later exactly, it was raining.

 Not the pleasant, soft drizzle that made you want to curl up with a book, but the kind of torrential downpour that turned roads into rivers and made the air thick and heavy. He’d been sitting by the window in his private study, watching the rain streak the glass, when your face flashed in his mind.

She probably loves this kind of weather, he thought absently. Probably smirking right now, pretending not to be annoyed but secretly hating every second of being soaked.

The thought came unbidden, and it should’ve been harmless. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t because he could practically hear your voice in his head, that sharp-edged sarcasm you wielded like a weapon. He could hear you teasing him, calling him out on his ridiculousness, and it made him smile.

Then the smile faded as realisation clawed at him. Why am I thinking about her?

*-*

Then came the letters.

More of them. Invites to more royal events, more occasions where he made it clear—without actually saying it—that he wanted your company. It wasn’t about love. No, you knew better than that. But somehow, every invitation felt like it was designed just to keep you in his orbit.

"You’re coming to the ball next week, right?" he asked, casually, his fingers trailing over the rim of his wineglass. "It’d be good to see you again."

You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms. "Why? You’re not tired of my company yet?"

He paused, his smile faltering for just a moment. "I don’t get tired of good company," he said softly, the words as sincere as they were out of place. You caught the edge of his gaze—a look that said something more, but he was too busy pretending it wasn’t there.

Yeah, right. Good company. More like he was trying to convince himself of that, trying to make himself believe he wasn’t doing all of this because, secretly, he was trying to win you over.

But you knew better than to fall for that. He was just playing the game. The same one everyone else played. He didn’t know how to stop. Not when it came to impressing people.

The worst part was, you could see it now. You could see the game. You could see the subtle moves, the small gestures, the extra attention. But that didn’t mean you had to play along. Did you?

Did you?

Your sarcasm was your armor, the only thing you could rely on, because deep down, it didn’t matter what Gojo really felt. It didn’t matter if he was falling for you or if this was just another phase for him. What mattered was that he never seemed to notice that you weren’t like the others.

The others? They would’ve eaten this up. They would’ve been flattered by the attention, thrilled by the idea of the prince wanting their company.

You?

You were tired.

And no amount of his flashy tricks or his stupid little gestures was going to change that.

"Yeah, I’ll come to the ball," you said finally, your voice flat. "But don’t expect me to act like I’m impressed."

Gojo blinked, his grin fading, and for a brief moment, you swore you saw a flicker of something in his eyes. 

A flash of doubt and guilt.

But you didn’t stick around long enough to find out. You turned away, your heart heavy, and left the room before you had to see him try any harder.

Because you both knew how this would end, didn’t you?

In the end, it was never going to be enough- you were never going to be enough.

*-*

The music swelled as he spun you into the center of the ballroom, other dancers parting to make room as though you were the only two people there. His hand rested at your waist, his grip firm but not unpleasant. It was almost… gentle.

"You didn’t have to," you said quietly as he twirled you. "I’m sure someone else would’ve been far more excited for this."

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Didn’t have to what?"

"Make a scene. Drag me onto the floor."

His smile faltered for a split second, and there it was again—that flicker of guilt, maybe. But it passed quickly, and the mask of charm slid back into place. "I wasn’t aware I was dragging. I thought I was dancing."

You rolled your eyes. "You know what I mean."

He sighed, spinning you again, slower this time. "Maybe I just like spending time with you."

You snorted softly, shaking your head. "You like the idea of it, maybe. The simplicity. I’m not like the others, right? No expectations, no drama." The bitterness bled through, and you didn’t care enough to stop it. "But it’s not real. You’re not real."

Gojo’s grip on your waist tightened, just for a moment, and his expression darkened. "Why do you do that?" he asked softly, voice low enough that only you could hear. "Act like I’m a joke."

You blinked, startled by the seriousness in his tone. "Because you are," you whispered back. "And so am I."

The music swirled around you, but neither of you moved. You were stuck, locked in a dance that felt more like a battle. His smile had vanished completely now, replaced by something raw, something too close to real.

Everyone was staring.

"I’m not mocking you," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "I never was."

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure. "Then what are you doing?"

He didn’t answer. He just stared at you, searching, as if he was trying to find the right words and failing. And for once, Prince Gojo—the man who always had something witty to say—was silent.

The music ended. He let go of you slowly, his hand lingering for just a moment longer than it should have. You stepped back, breath shallow, and forced yourself to smile.

"Thank you for the dance," you said, cold and polite, like it hadn’t just broken something inside both of you.

You walked away before he could say anything else, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the ballroom.

Your parents’ faces glowed with triumph as you returned, but all you felt was hollow.

Because the truth was, it didn’t matter if he was falling for you.

You weren’t sure you wanted him to.

*-*

ately, there were moments when his confidence faltered, when his eyes seemed too earnest, too searching, as if he was looking for something that wasn’t there.

It was during a sparring session, of all things.

You had agreed to join a small group for practice, mostly to pass the time. You didn’t care for swordplay, but you knew it was something that would help you keep your mind distracted from the incessant pressure of your family and the mounting tension with Gojo.

At first, it was the usual: he was flawless, dancing around opponents with that cocky grin on his face, effortlessly deflecting blows and making mockeries of anyone who dared challenge him. The onlookers laughed, cheering him on like he was some kind of legend. He was a legend, to them—he was a prince, after all.

But then, as the practice wore on, Gojo’s gaze kept flicking to you. It wasn’t the usual teasing, the usual flirtation. It was almost… nervous. Like he was waiting for something—waiting for your approval?

Was he?

Those couple times when you managed to lock eyes-for a fleeting moment, he looked like a little boy, begging for approval, wanting to be seen beyond the prince-the soldier he was.

'Nuh uh' was the only thing going through your head.

*-*

The next time you saw him was days later, at another royal gathering. Of course, your mother insisted you attend, as if every event was an opportunity for you to be seen, to make a perfect impression. You slipped into the corner of the ballroom, barely noticed by the glittering crowd around you.

And that’s when it happened again.

As soon as Gojo stepped into the hall, his eyes locked on your figure, almost as if he always knew where you were. This time, there was something different—something almost desperate. You tried to focus on the sparkling chandeliers and the murmur of conversation around you, but your gaze kept straying back to him. He wasn’t smiling like he usually did. He wasn’t the carefree, cocky prince. 

He looked… lost.

Was it just you, or was it really happening? Was Gojo—Prince Gojo—the untouchable, flawless man—falling for you?

And if so, why?

You couldn’t risk believing in him. Not when you were just another thing to conquer.

*-*

The tension in the royal court had been simmering for months, and now it was boiling over.

So you withdrew from court. 

Naturally, you feigned illness, you wanted nothing to do with the crown prince. Much to your parents dismay. At first your mother was beyond furious-but your father.. your father noticed how exhausted and distant you had become. So he laid off your back. 

But it didn't matter, the damage was done, eight months of being friends with the crown prince doesn't just disappear. The air buzzed with whispers, rumors spreading like wildfire. It was no longer a question of if Gojo would marry—it was who. And the speculation only grew louder as the days passed.

You heard it all, of course. Curtesy of your mother- and sometimes your sisters who would come have dinner. And anyways, the nobles had a way of making sure you knew, especially since your family’s name had started to surface in hushed conversations. The Cordova family was respectable, wealthy enough, but not particularly powerful. That was, until Gojo began to show interest—or whatever it was he was doing—in you.

And now? Now, suddenly, your family was worth noticing.

You stood on the balcony of your estate, the cool breeze brushing against your skin. Below, in the garden, your mother and father were deep in conversation with some visiting noble. No doubt they were basking in the newfound attention, relishing every rumor like it was gold.

*-*

Inside the palace walls, things weren’t much better. Gojo sat in the grand hall, his advisors gathered around him like vultures. The marble floors gleamed beneath them, the high ceilings amplifying every tense word.

He wanted to strangle one or two- actually no. The lot of them.

“You cannot continue like this, Your Highness,” one of the elder advisors said, his voice trembling with a mix of exasperation and desperation. “The kingdom needs stability. A marriage alliance would provide that.”

Gojo leaned back in his chair, the lazy arrogance he so often wore like a second skin noticeably absent. Instead, he looked tired, his usual spark dimmed. He didn’t even bother to hide the irritation in his voice.

“And you think marrying someone will solve all our problems?” he drawled. “I wasn’t aware a wedding could fix political unrest.”

Another advisor, younger and more ambitious, chimed in. “It’s not just about you, Your Highness. It’s about the future of the throne. You need someone who can solidify alliances.”

Gojo sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I know what you want,” he said quietly, his voice sharp with annoyance. “You want me to pick some perfectly obedient noblewoman, smile for the portraits, and pretend everything’s fine.”

The older advisor stepped forward. “This isn’t just about you! You owe it to the kingdom.”

“Owe it?” Gojo’s voice rose, and for a moment, the tired prince was gone, replaced by a man on the edge. “I’ve given everything to this kingdom. My time. My freedom. My life. And now you want me to hand over my heart too? No.”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. 

*-*

Back at your estate, the rumors finally reached your ears in full force.

Your mother burst into the sitting room, eyes alight with barely contained excitement. “It’s happening,” she whispered, practically vibrating with glee. “The court is pushing for a match. They’re pressuring him to choose.”

You didn’t look up from your book. “How fascinating,” you said dryly. “Do you think they’ll host a tournament? Maybe I should start sharpening my sword.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be so flippant. This could change everything for us.”

“For us,” you repeated, glancing up at her with a raised brow. “But not for me.”

Her face flushed with frustration. “You are so ungrateful. Do you realize what an opportunity this is? You could be queen.”

You laughed, the sound cold and hollow. “Queen of what? A man who doesn’t care? A court that sees me as a pawn? No, thank you.”

She advanced on you, eyes blazing. “You think you’re above this? You think you’re better than the rest of us?”

“No,” you said quietly, your voice like ice. “I think I’ve just learned the difference between being wanted and being used.”

She stared at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before she finally turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

*-*

A month after withdrawing from court, your mother had had enough of your 'tantrums', and dragged you to another ball.

It was another grand affair, another gilded evening of silks and jewels—this time, a royal ceremony commemorating some diplomatic victory. You wore a dress chosen by your mother, a confection of midnight blue that made you feel like a reluctant participant in someone else’s dream. 

You were staring at the small champagne glass in your hand, it was half full- wondering if you could potentially drown yourself in it.

The chandeliers glimmered above, casting golden light across the gathered crowd, but the weight in your chest had nothing to do with the elegance of the scene.

It was the conversation you’d overheard.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. You were wandering the fringes of the ballroom, hoping to find a moment of peace when you caught the hushed voices of Gojo’s advisors behind a column. You didn’t recognize all the voices, but one was unmistakably his chief advisor.

“Prince Gojo has been far too indulgent,” the man said, his voice clipped and frustrated. “It’s time he stopped playing games. The Cordova girl is a practical match. Their family isn’t as high as some, but they bring wealth, connections. And she’s pliable enough.”

Pliable. Like you were some piece of clay to be molded.

“Does he know?” another voice asked, quieter but equally firm.

“He doesn’t have to. He’ll come around. He’s already spending all this time with her, isn’t he? A few more nudges, and he’ll fall in line.”

You felt like the ground had dropped beneath you-then you felt foolish, embarrassed even.

Everything—the letters, the riding lessons, the moments that felt almost real—was nothing more than a well-calculated push. You’d been naive, hadn’t you? Letting yourself believe, even for a moment, that maybe you were different. Maybe you weren’t just another pawn in this game.

But you were.

*-*

From that moment, you decided to pull away. Emotionally, physically—you retreated into yourself.

Those fuckers had tried to play you? Well two could play that game.

You became colder, more distant. When Gojo sought you out, you found excuses: sudden headaches, an urgent need to be elsewhere. You danced with others at the ball, smiled at others, but never him.

Gojo noticed.

Of course he did. He noticed everything about you. Down to your breathing pattern.

He cornered you in the gardens a month later, in the evening, the moon casting silver light over his face. His usual playful grin was gone, replaced by something more fragile, more confused.

"You’ve been avoiding me," he said, his voice soft but edged with tension.

You didn’t meet his eyes, focusing instead on the stone path beneath your feet. "I’ve been busy."

Gojo scoffed, stepping closer. "Busy? You’ve never been good at lying, you know."

Your heart twisted painfully, but you forced yourself to stay distant. "What can I for you, Your Highness?"

Oof, formal tittle? That wasn't good. His frustration bubbled to the surface, and for once, his mask slipped.

 "I want to know what I did. One moment we’re fine, and the next, it’s like I don’t exist. Did I offend you? Say something wrong?"

You laughed, a bitter sound that echoed in the still night. 

"Offend me? No, Gojo. You didn’t offend me. You’ve been perfectly charming, as always."

"Then what is it?" His voice cracked slightly, and that vulnerability you’d seen creeping into his eyes was suddenly laid bare. "Why are you pulling away?"

You finally looked at him then, your expression carefully blank. "Because I know what this is."

He frowned, confusion flickering across his face. "What are you talking about?"

"I heard them," you said, the words tasting like ash. "Your advisors. Talking about how this—" you gestured vaguely between the two of you, "—isn’t real. How they’ve been pushing you toward me because I’m a ‘practical match.’"

His face paled. "That’s not—"

"Don’t," you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended. "Don’t lie to me. I’m not stupid, Gojo. I know how these things work. I know what I am."

"You don’t," he insisted, stepping forward, his eyes desperate now. "You don’t know. They can push all they want, but that’s not why—"

"Then why?" you demanded, your voice trembling. "Why did you seek me out? Why the letters, the rides, the—everything? If it wasn’t because they told you to, then why?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came. He looked like he wanted to say something, like he was on the verge of some great revelation, but nothing emerged.

You laughed again, softer this time, but no less bitter. "That’s what I thought."

"No," he said, almost a whisper. "It’s not like that."

"Isn’t it?" You shook your head, stepping back. "You don’t even know what you want. You’re torn between your heart and your duty, and I’m just the convenient middle ground. You don’t have to choose if I’m already here, right?"

"That’s not fair," he said, his voice breaking. "I didn’t want this."

"Neither did I," you snapped. "I never asked for any of this, Gojo. I never wanted to be part of your world. But here we are. And now I have to watch you pretend this is something more while knowing it’s just another move in a game I never wanted to play."

He was silent, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world had finally crushed him.

"You should go," you said softly, turning away. "Go be the prince they need you to be."

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, finally, you heard his footsteps retreating, leaving you alone in the cold moonlight. As he left, you swore you heard him whisper:

"I just wanted a friend."

But you couldn't be sure, it was probably the wind.

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to cry.

*-*

At first, Gojo had told himself that it was just a phase—that you were upset, perhaps, or just needing space. But with every passing day, the silence between the two of you became louder, more suffocating. He had spent so many years avoiding the weight of responsibility, always choosing to float above it all with his charm, his wit, and his easy smile. 

But now, in the cold quiet of the night, as he sat alone in his study, the weight of his actions hit him with full force.

'I’m an idiot.'

He had been blind. So incredibly blind. He had spent all this time thinking he was merely enjoying your company—thinking that what was happening between the two of you was simple, carefree friendship. But now he realised, painfully, that it was so much more than that. It was love. It had always been love.

'Gods, how did I not see it?'

Gojo’s heart pounded in his chest as the truth sank in. With you.... With you, he had fallen so effortlessly, so completely, that he hadn’t even realised it. And now, it was too late. You were gone, pulling away from him, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

He had tried to show you his affection through small gestures—inviting you to ride with him, sharing private conversations, letters he knew you’d roll your eyes at—but now, with the realisation crushing him, he understood: 'those weren’t gestures of friendship. They were attempts to show her the part of you that you’ve hidden for too long.'

'How could I have been so stupid?'

*-*

He found you in the garden during the next ball-so like a week later, sitting beneath the ancient willow tree. The early sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the grass, but the light felt wrong—too soft for the weight of what he was about to say.

You looked up when he approached, your expression as guarded as ever. "Prince Gojo," you greeted coolly, and the formality in your voice stung more than it should have.

He winced. "Don’t call me that."

"What should I call you, then?" you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "Your Grace? Your Highness? The man who doesn’t know what he wants?"

"Stop," he said quietly, his voice raw. "Please."

You stiffened, but you didn’t move to leave. You just stared at him, waiting. He realised he hated the distance between you, both the physical space and the emotional chasm he had carved with his own carelessness.

"I didn’t come here because they told me to," he began, his voice trembling. "I never sought you out because of politics. I came because I wanted to. I came because you were the only one who didn’t expect anything from me."

You scoffed, looking away. "And that makes it better?"

"No," he admitted, stepping closer. "It doesn’t. But it’s the truth."

There was silence, heavy and suffocating, before you finally spoke. "Why now, Gojo? Why tell me this now?"

"Because I’m a fool," he said, his voice cracking. "I didn’t realize it until I lost you."

You laughed, bitter and broken. "You never had me to begin with."

"But I wanted to," he whispered, the words trembling with desperation. "I wanted to have you. Not as a trophy, not as a political move—because I’m in love with you."

A beat passed.

"You’re in love with me," you repeated, the disbelief in your voice sharp. "How nice."

The sarcasm cut through him like a blade. He had expected anger, confusion, maybe even pity—but not this.

"Yeah," he murmured, eyes falling to the ground, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know. It’s pathetic, isn’t it?"

"Pathetic?" You scoffed, your voice low. "No. It’s just... convenient."

Gojo winced at the sharpness of your words. 

"You don’t love me," you continued, your voice steady but hollow. "You love the idea of me. You love what I give you—peace, escape. But that’s not love, Gojo."

He shook his head, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "No, it’s more than that. I swear it’s more than that."

"Then what?" you demanded, your voice rising with anger. "What is it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like convenience."

"It’s not," he said fiercely. "It’s you. It’s the way you look at me like I’m just a man, not a prince. It’s the way you challenge me, the way you make me feel alive." He paused, his voice softening. "I didn’t realize it until you walked away, but it’s you. It’s always been you."

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "And what about your duty, Gojo? What about the throne? Are you willing to throw all of that away for me?"

His silence was deafening.

You laughed bitterly. "Exactly. You can’t. You never could. So don’t stand here and tell me you love me when you’re still tethered to a life I’ll never be part of."

"Please," he said, his voice breaking. "Don’t do this."

"You already did," you whispered.

The tension stretched between you, fragile and aching-like a bowstring about to snap. He reached out, but you stepped back, shaking your head.

"I can’t be your escape," you said softly. "I won’t."

Gojo’s face crumpled, and for the first time, you saw the man beneath the crown—heartbroken, vulnerable, lost. "I’m sorry," he said, and it sounded like the end of everything.

"So am I."

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him alone beneath the willow tree, where the sun rose on a man who had everything but the one thing he truly wanted.

*-*

The door slammed behind you as you stumbled inside, the heavy weight of the night pressing down on you like a suffocating fog. You didn’t even notice your mother standing in the entryway until her voice broke through the haze of your own misery. You couldn’t. Your mind was consumed with the image of Gojo’s face, his words, his hollow confession that had shattered something inside of you. His love. Or was it? What was he even doing?

“What happened?” she asked, her tone far too calm for the storm brewing in your chest. Her eyes widened when she saw the state you were in—tears streaming down your face, mascara smudged, and your body shaking with the aftermath of an emotional breakdown.

You didn’t want to answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt tight, like you couldn’t breathe without choking. Everything was suffocating.

“I... I can’t... I can’t breathe,” you gasped, stumbling towards the nearest chair. The world spun around you, and you felt your knees buckle under you. You barely managed to sit, burying your face in your hands.

She didn’t say anything at first, just watched. But then, with a look that made you feel small—insignificant—she crossed her arms. 

"What on earth happened at that ball?" Her voice was sharp, an edge of disappointment threading through every word. "The one time I allow you to go alone.."

You couldn’t answer. The sobs wouldn’t stop. You clutched your sides, gasping like you were drowning.

By the time she got you inside, your mother was frantic. She guided you to the drawing room, where the fire was still burning low, and knelt before you as you collapsed onto the settee. Her hands were surprisingly gentle, brushing the hair from your face, though her voice trembled with impatience and fear.

“Speak,” she urged. “Tell me what’s happened. Is it Gojo? Did he—did he hurt you?”

You laughed through the tears, a broken, bitter sound. “No, Mother. Not like that.”

“Then what?” she demanded, her voice tightening. “What has reduced you to this? You’re acting like—like your heart has been ripped out.”

"Maybe it has," you choked out, biting back another sob. "I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore."

Her face softened for a moment, as if she wanted to understand, but she couldn't quite manage it. “You’re being dramatic,” she said, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness. “You always knew this would be complicated. He’s a prince. His heart was never truly yours to keep.”

"Complicated?" you echoed, laughing bitterly. "He made me believe he cared, Mother. And maybe he does, but it doesn’t matter because he will never choose me. Not when the crown’s at stake. I’m nothing to him but a temporary distraction."

Her brow furrowed. “You can’t know that. He—”

“I heard them,” you interrupted, your voice cracking. “His advisors. They were talking about marriage, alliances. And do you know who they suggested?” You looked at her through your tears, your face twisted in anguish. “Me. As if I’m just a pawn to be moved across a board.”

Then the crying got worse- your mother became worried, she had never seen you like this- not in years.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” she continued, her voice trembling now. “Not since you were a child.”

And then she did something she hadn’t done in years: she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close, and for once, you didn’t push her away.

“You poor thing,” she murmured, stroking your hair like she used to when you were small. “You foolish, foolish girl." She wiped a mutlitude of tears from your face, "You were brave. You did what you had to do.”

“But I loved him,” you confessed, the truth spilling out like a wound that had festered too long. “I loved him, and now it’s over, and I don’t know how to make it stop hurting.”

Her eyes softened, filled with a pain that mirrored your own. “It will hurt,” she said gently. “It will hurt for a long time. But you will survive this. You always do.”

Hours dripped by, like the tears than ran freely across your face. Aftger a while you had basically cried yourself to exhaustion. Your mother helped you to your room, helped you into your sleepwear.

She straightened up, gathering herself, trying to regain control of the situation. “We’ll talk about this later. You’ll compose yourself and we’ll handle this properly.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

*-*

The rain was relentless, pounding against the windows of the Cordova estate like a desperate plea. You sat in the drawing room, watching the storm rage, feeling every bit as turbulent as the sky outside. Your mother was off somewhere fussing over another scheme, and your father had retreated to his study—content to stew over the latest disappointment you’d no doubt become.

You had cried so hard in the last couple days that your eyes, lungs.. everything hurt.

You weren't even dressed properly.

The carriage wheels had barely stopped when your mother’s shriek rang through the halls of your family’s estate.

“WHAT?!”

You had just been sitting in the drawing room, lost in a book, when the servant burst in, panic-stricken. “The prince… Prince Gojo... he’s here. At the gate.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Gojo. What the hell is he doing here?

Your mother was already moving toward the door, face flushed, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ll speak to him, I’ll—” She didn’t even finish the sentence before she was gone, no doubt already scheming some sort of disastrous charm offensive.

You glanced at your father. He sat there, frozen for a moment, clearly unsure of what to make of this, before he let out a low growl. 

“Prince Gojo? That’s… bold. Damn bold.”

Your parents stood near the fireplace, stunned into silence, clearly trying to figure out how to act. Your father’s arms were folded, but his fingers twitched as though he was ready to start waving them around like a conductor.

“Your Highness,” your mother stammered, still in shock, “What—what brings you to our humble home?"

Gojo glanced at you, and you felt his gaze like a physical weight. It sent a strange shiver down your spine, but you didn’t let it show. You refused to. Not again.

“I came to see her,” he said, his voice softer than it had ever been before, but loud enough to break the tension in the room.

Your mother blinked, a bright flush creeping up her neck. “Her? You mean—”

“Yes,” he said, cutting her off with an expression that was a mixture of apology and resolve. “I mean her. I need to speak with her. Alone.”

Your father finally spoke up, his voice tight with suspicion. “You’ve come all the way here to speak to my daughter, Your Highness? At this hour?”

Gojo stood straighter, nodding solemnly. “Yes. I have.”

Your father looked to your mother, who was still gaping, before he sighed, clearly not sure how to react. “Very well, but we’ll be in the next room,” he said with a nod. “We’ll leave you two alone for… a moment.”

The instant the door shut, Gojo fell to his knees- literally.

Gojo Satoru. 

Crown prince, was kneeling before you.

For a moment, your brain refused to comprehend what you were seeing. Your mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. 'What the hell is he doing?'

“Gojo, what—” You couldn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t even know what to say. 

He was the prince. The untouchable, charismatic prince. 

He didn’t kneel. 

He didn’t beg. 

He was never the one to put himself in a vulnerable position. And yet, here he was, on the floor in front of you, as if his entire world had come down to this one moment.

The great, untouchable Gojo, who had women at his feet and entire kingdoms in his pocket, was kneeling in front of you, like he was begging for something you couldn’t even grasp yet.

His head was bowed, eyes closed, but you could see the tightness in his jaw, the muscles in his neck straining. He wasn’t just on his knees physically—he was on his knees emotionally. 

“Gojo—” Your voice cracked in surprise, the sarcasm you’d buried deep suddenly bubbling up like a bitter reflex. “What is this? A royal performance? Because if you’re trying to impress me, you’re failing miserably.”

“I’m not trying to impress you,” he said, his voice soft, but thick with something raw and desperate.  “I’m just... asking you to believe me.”

You took a step back, your breath hitching in your throat. 'This is insane'. You had to be dreaming.

“Do you have any idea how stupid this is?” you said bitterly, voice shaking with suppressed emotion, feeling the heat of your frustration rise in your chest. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts to even think you’re doing this for me?”

“Then don’t think,” he whispered, his voice just above a breath. “Don’t think, just listen.” He lifted his gaze, his eyes wide, pleading. “I’m not doing this for anyone else. Not for the throne. Not for my advisors. I’m doing this because... because I can’t stop. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop wanting you, even if I don’t deserve you.”

You tried to swallow, but the lump in your throat was impossible to push down. 'God, why did this have to hurt so much?'

“Why now?” you asked, your voice laced with bitterness. “Why didn’t you care before? Why didn’t you come to me before everything was so messed up?”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing-you had to remind yourself to look at his eyes- as he tried to find the right words.

 “I didn’t know what I was doing. I thought it was just another thing. Another distraction. But the moment you pulled away, I realized I was... wrong. I was stupid. I was always stupid.”

“Yeah, you were,” you muttered under your breath, too angry to care about the tears threatening to spill over. “You still are.”

Gojo didn’t flinch. His gaze never left yours, even as his shoulders trembled ever so slightly. 

His head dropped for a moment, his long hair falling into his eyes. 

“But I swear to you, I didn’t come here to play with your emotions. I didn’t come here for some political match, some obligation. I came here because I can’t keep pretending that I don’t love you.”

“Gojo, this—this isn’t some story,” you said, your voice cracking slightly, even though you didn’t want it to. “You can’t just—this doesn’t just happen. You don’t just fall in love with me. Not like this. Not after everything—”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he interrupted, his voice barely a whisper now, but full of intensity. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t choose it. It just... happened. I convinced myself that I just wanted your friendship, that I could ignore it, but every time I walked away from you, I felt like I was losing a part of myself. I was... I was terrified. Terrified of you because you—” He inhaled sharply. “You see me. You see through the prince, through the crown, and I— I didn’t know how to deal with that.”

He raised his eyes to meet yours, his gaze intense and full of something you didn’t know how to name.

 “But now? I can’t run anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t feel this. I can’t pretend I don’t need you. I don’t care what the court says, what my advisors say, what my duty says. I want you. I need you.”

You were frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. His words were washing over you, stirring emotions you had long buried deep down. Why now? Why me? All the doubts you’d carried for so long began to surface, but underneath all of that, a quiet yearning grew. He was laying it all bare in front of you, exposing himself in a way you didn’t know was possible.

 Gojo continued, his voice breaking with frustration, a soft sob of helplessness caught in his throat: “But please—please just let me show you that this is real. I’ve never been more serious in my life. I don’t care what the kingdom expects from me anymore. All I care about is you. If you’ll have me.”

And the worst part? You found him so very pretty, his pure blue eyes shinned with tears-No. Stop it.

“I don’t know when I fell in love with you,” he said, his voice softening, trembling. “Maybe it was during the first ride, or maybe it was when I started to see the real you. The person who doesn’t bow to expectations, the person who doesn’t get caught up in all the nonsense. I fell in love with your strength. I fell in love with how you see the world. You’re not just another woman to me, you’re the woman who makes everything else fade away.”

Gojo reached out slowly, his fingers brushing your arm, and you didn’t pull away. His touch was warm, and his gaze never left you.

“You’re not a conquest,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “You’re everything. I’m not asking for perfection, I’m not asking for guarantees. I’m asking for the chance to love you. I’ll fight for you, even if it means tearing my world apart. Because you’re worth it.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill, but you kept your composure. 'This can’t be real. Not with him. Not with the crown prince.'

And yet, as you stood there, your breath shallow, you realised something—deep down, buried under the scepticism and the fear and the doubt—you wanted to believe him, so bad. 

He finally stood, ha-he was taller now.

How annoying.

You sniffled.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his hand tightening around yours just slightly. “But I’m willing to try. I’m willing to fight for you, for us. I want to be the man you deserve, not the prince who everyone expects me to be. But I need you to take a chance on me, just as I’m taking a chance on you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. 'Gods, he’s serious. He’s so serious.'

You couldn’t pretend anymore, not with him looking at you like that, so broken, so earnest, so full of desperate hope.

“Don’t make me a promise you can’t keep, Gojo,” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat.

He shook his head, his eyes hard with determination. “I won’t break it. I’ll keep it. I swear to you.”

And when Gojo finally kissed you, it wasn’t some dramatic declaration. It wasn’t a grand gesture. It was soft, tentative, and filled with the weight of everything that had come before it.

But in that kiss, you felt something shift. You felt something like love—raw, imperfect, and painfully real. And for the first time in your life, you didn’t want to run from it.

It was also a very, very wet kiss.

Miserable and wet. 

*-* 

The evening had been... overwhelming. That was the only way to describe it, right? Overwhelming and, in a way, utterly absurd. Gojo had confessed his feelings, dropped a bomb on you, and now... now, he was standing in front of your parents, looking entirely too calm for someone who had just ruined whatever sort of normalcy you’d once clung to.

What the fuck.

You had gone from crying over the crown prince a couple days ago, to... to this??

He had just kissed you, for the gods' sake—kissed you—and now you were supposed to just sit here and pretend that your world wasn’t about to spin completely out of orbit.

Your mother, sitting across from you, was holding herself together with an unnerving amount of composure, despite her hands shaking slightly. Your father, on the other hand, was staring at Gojo with all the suspicion of a man who had just been handed a live grenade.

Gojo, ever the composed prince, looked at your parents like this was just another day at the office—something he could handle with that all-too-charming smile of his. But tonight, that smile had a certain edge to it.

Gojo’s eyes flicked to you for a brief moment, the softness in them betraying the calm air he was trying so hard to maintain. And then, just like that, he turned his attention back to your parents.

“I have a request, actually,” Gojo said, his voice carrying a quiet weight. You froze, suddenly feeling like your heartbeat had gone missing. You had no idea what was coming, but it felt big. Too big.

Your father raised an eyebrow, his expression still guarded but curious. “A request?”

Gojo nodded, not a hint of hesitation in his posture. He was so sure of himself. “Yes,” he said, leaning forward, the words about to spill from his lips like an irreversible truth. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and I’ve come to a decision.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time with your daughter,” Gojo continued, his gaze flicking to you once more, this time more lingering. “I’ve gotten to know her, and I’ve realized something important. Something I didn’t expect. I’ve fallen in love with her. And I…” His gaze hardened a fraction, eyes now fixed on your parents with that undiluted confidence he wore so well. “I wish to marry her.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. 

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Did he just—

You stared at him, trying to make sense of the mess your heart had suddenly become. “So... you’re really serious about this?”

He grinned widely, that familiar sparkle in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have come all the way here, and kneeled like a fool, if I wasn’t serious.”

Your mother’s jaw nearly dropped, and your father blinked a couple of times as if the words had to be translated into something that made sense.

Your mother, composed as always, finally found her voice. 

“Well,” she began, her tone strained but polite, “that is quite the announcement.” Her eyes darted toward you, narrowing slightly, as if to silently ask, What have you done?

You didn’t respond. You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo, infuriatingly calm, kept his gaze on your father, clearly waiting for his reaction. There was no trace of his usual arrogance, but there was an undeniable determination in his expression—a resolve that made your stomach twist in a way you desperately didn’t want to think about.

Your father cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to wake up from a particularly strange dream. 

“You’re serious,” he repeated, sounding tired, bewildered. “You want to marry my daughter?”

Gojo leaned back in his chair, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. Instead, he was oddly serious, his hands folded in front of him like some kind of noble. He nodded.

'If you squint hard enough', you thought, 'he’s almost dignified- and even worse- he looked really pretty. Ew.'

Your mother's gaze softened for a brief moment, before it quickly turned back to Gojo. “But... this is Gojo Satoru. Crown Prince of the Kingdom. You think we—”

“I know exactly who I am,” Gojo interrupted, a rare note of seriousness in his voice. “But I also know who I am when I’m with her. And that’s someone who wants to spend every moment I can with her. Not because it’s convenient. Not because it’s politically advantageous. But because I genuinely love her."

Your father sighed: 

"Well.. who are we to refuse the crown prince?" He took a deep breath, "If you’re serious, then...” He trailed off, glancing at your mother for support. “I suppose we should discuss this properly.”

“Great,” you said flatly, sarcasm coating your words. “So, you’ve professed your love, secured the approval of my parents, and what? I’m supposed to swoon now?”

“Swooning would be nice,” he teased, but there was a nervous edge to it, like he wasn’t sure how far he could push. “Or, at least, less glaring.”

“I don’t trust you,” you said finally, quietly.

Gojo’s face softened, and for the first time, he looked unsure. Vulnerable.

“I know.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever trust you.”

“I’ll wait,” he said simply. No hesitation. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered, though your voice lacked the bite it should’ve had.

He grinned then, bright and disarming, like he hadn’t just knelt before you, kissed you, and then asked you parents for your hand in marriage. “I’ve been called worse.”

*-*

The spring air was cool, crisp, carrying the scent of blossoming lilacs across the estate’s sprawling grounds. It was the kind of evening that felt suspended in time, the sky bruised with hues of gold and lavender, the sun clinging stubbornly to the horizon as if it too didn’t want this moment to end.

You sat beneath the ancient oak tree on the edge of the gardens, your skirts spread out in a careless pool around you, watching as the last light painted everything in soft warmth. It had been a long year. A tumultuous one. And yet… here you were.

"You're hidding from me again." 

'Of course he found me. He always finds me.'

“I’m not hiding,” you said, your voice lazy, dripping with feigned innocence. “I’m merely... avoiding you.”

“And here I thought we were past the whole avoiding-each-other phase,” he said, his tone light but teasing. “Is this because I stole the last piece of cake last night?”

You finally lifted your gaze, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. “You didn’t steal it. You demanded it, like the royal tyrant you are.”

He grinned, wide and unrepentant, and it made him look like a mischievous boy rather than a crown prince. “I don’t remember you putting up much of a fight.”

“Only because I was too tired to argue,” you retorted, though the corners of your lips twitched despite yourself.

Gojo took that as his invitation, sinking down beside you with an exaggerated sigh, sprawling like he owned the entire earth. His shoulder brushed yours, warm and solid, and for a moment, you were hyper-aware of how close he was. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him in the cool spring air.

“So,” he said, tilting his head to look at you, his white hair catching the fading sunlight, “are you going to keep pretending you don’t enjoy my company?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not pretending. Your company is… tolerable, at best.”

“Ouch.” He clutched his chest dramatically, as if wounded. “You wound me, my love.”

You snorted. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” His voice softened, losing its playful edge. “You are.”

The words settled between you, gentle but firm, and for a moment, the sarcasm on your tongue faltered. Damn him. Damn him and that stupid sincerity.

You cleared your throat, trying to regain your footing. “You’re awfully confident for someone who’s been rejected more times than I can count.”

Gojo grinned, turning toward you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Rejected? You mean the time you said, ‘Leave me alone or I’ll push you into the lake’? That was just foreplay.”

You snorted, biting your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “Foreplay? You were soaking wet and whining like a child.”

“I was laughing,” he corrected, smug. “And you were staring at me the whole time.”

“Because I was making sure you didn’t drown. Didn't wanna be accused of killing the crown prince."

“How noble of you.” He leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Admit it. You like me.”

“I tolerate you,” you said, turning your face away to hide the warmth creeping up your neck.

“Tolerate,” he repeated, as if tasting the word. He let it hang in the air for a moment before leaning back on his hands, looking out over the gardens. “That’s progress. I’ll take it.”

And your lips met- you were kissing your fiancée, as the sun set on the lake of the royal palace. 

Though his hands got a little too handsy, you broke the kiss, 'tsk-ing' at him.

"Nuh uh, Satoru Gojo. The marriage is in a week." 

Gojo groaned dramatically, flopping onto his back and covering his eyes with an arm like a tragic hero. 

“Cruel. So cruel,” he lamented. “You tease me with kisses and then deny me any fun. What’s a man to do?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning over him, your hair falling in soft waves as you smirked. 

“A man should learn patience,” you quipped, flicking his forehead lightly. “Something you’ve clearly never mastered.”

He peeked at you from beneath his arm, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Patience is overrated,” he murmured, voice low and sultry, “especially when you’re this close.”

You leaned back just enough to deprive him of the closeness he was enjoying. “Ah, poor prince,” you mocked, feigning pity. “Reduced to whining like a child because he can’t get his way.”

Gojo sat up, propping himself on his elbows, his face only inches from yours. His expression softened, the teasing fading into something more genuine. “I’m not whining,” he said quietly, the words so different from his usual bravado that they caught you off guard. “I’m just... happy. Here. With you.”

You felt your heart stutter, and you hated that he had this effect on you. “You’re a menace,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

“And you’re stuck with me,” he replied, grinning again. “For better or worse, remember?”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to regain the upper hand. “We’re not married yet.”

“Details,” he waved dismissively. “You already said yes. No take-backs.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I should’ve made you sign something.”

“Oh, you want a contract?” He leaned in, so close you could feel his breath against your skin. “Fine. I, Satoru Gojo, do solemnly swear to be the most annoying husband ever.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “You didn’t even need to swear. I already knew that.”

He gave you a lazy, satisfied grin. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“Unfortunately,” you teased, though your tone was soft, affectionate.

He reached for your hand then, threading his fingers through yours, and the warmth of his touch was startlingly comforting. “I love you,” he said, with none of the usual flair, no theatrics. Just simple, honest truth.

You stared at him, the weight of those words settling over you like a blanket. “I know,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “I hate it.”

He laughed, the sound rich and full of joy, and you knew you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Good,” he said, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched. “Then we’re even.”

“Even?” you asked, amused.

“For all the times you’ve made me fall harder than I ever thought possible,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Yeah, we’re even.”

You sighed dramatically, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “You’re such a sap.”

“And you love it.”

“Unfortunately,” you echoed, letting the warmth of his presence wrap around you. “Yeah, I do to.”

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of deep indigo and gold, but neither of you noticed. 

You were too lost in each other.

A/N: i fr hope yall like this, love yall, stay safe and all

kiss kiss

:)

[fumifooms]

"Marchil? I guess I can see it on Chilchuck’s end, but what about Marcille’s? What makes you think she could develop feelings for him?" I’m glad you asked!

The first thing to note is that she does think highly of him

In the page on the right, literally defending his virtues and literally comparing him to Dalclan. And oh…

She does love a brooding mysterious guy who closes himself to love. But surely, Chilchuck isn’t her type at all, right? He’s not princely or knightly at all. In apperances certainly not, both looks wise and demeanor wise, but then that’s why she seeks to know him on a deeper level, to not only look shallowly.

And hmm. Chilchuck really is quite selfless isn’t he? Always looking out for others, and saving specifically her often, always making sure himself and, staying in or even running towards danger for her sometimes. Modesty is often considered heroic…

And can we talk about that drowning one… You can definitely frame the special attention as him knowing she tends to hesitate or be clumsy, and then his insistance on pulling her out of danger that she’s the healer aka the most important to keep alive, but. From the one who says that he just keeps his ass out of fights and won’t help this is a lot of risk to take, and he does die trying to pull her to safety in the dungeon rabbits chapter. And the drowning bit??? That’s when the dungeon collapses. The only reason they DON’T die of drowning here is that the water then gives way to outside. There was NO hope of pulling her to safety here and resurrections would likely not work either, he truly preferred to die with her than try to survive himself.

Sit your ass back DOWN you are in no state, self-sacrifical hero much damn

And Marcille definitely noticed this imo, after all she loves learning all she can about him, remembering things like how he hates waiting on people too. She pays attention to him and what he does and what he says. This to say that it’s notable, whatever reason for it you may think (though we know by this point at least she was already aware he was an adult though it wasn’t internalized), out of everyone it’s Chilchuck’s bed that she wants to sleep in during the Golden Kingdom stay. He’s safe and comforting to her: dependable, the defining trait in her view of him as is shown by the relationship chart in the Adventurer’s Bible.

^ Lending handkerchiefs is a romance trope btw and handkerchiefs have irl history of being used for courting. Especially in old English literature and plays like Shakespeare’s Othello, and personally I do see a lot of Shakespeare in Dalclan (nobility political drama with some romance). There’s how his cowl is a dearly beloved souvenir from his family too, there’s a lot of aesthetic tropes you can apply to him.

All this to say you can 100% romanticize Chilchuck into a princely noble guy if you try and that’s exactly what Marcille does with the wife roleplay. She doesn’t need much in the first place, she latches onto crumbs and makes aesthetic narratives out of details, give her an inch she’ll take a mile.

But what’s interesting about the shift throughout the arc of her and his relationship is that she starts out idealizing him into a little angel of a kid (shapeshifter), and she ends it idealizing him as a virtuous husband and family man instead.

And what’s doubly interesting is that in the former, she’s actively warping who he is personality and demeanor wise to fit the aesthetic, he doesn’t have that bitter pride of not asking for help and the edges have been smoothened. But what she does during the wife roleplay is something else, she acknowledges the flaws and just… Accepts them, rolls with them. She’s aware of his flaws and implements them into the narrative, but the reason why his wife left doesn’t capitalize on them even, rather Chil is chilblivious and his wife loves him very much still, she’s just testing him after having had a night of feeling out of place at his side.

And this is what separates the idealization vs romanticization, she’s not twisting him into someone else she’s just uplifting what he is and focusing on the good sides.

Marcille: "he has a shitty personality sometimes but if he was my husband I’d still cherish him" "If I were your wife I’d be overjoyed to go out with you and would get myself prettied up while you complain about me taking a long time, your friends would tell me that I’m nice and that’d make me happy, but I’d also be sad because you wouldn’t tell me that you love me enough"

He’s angry and his wife left him, he’s *flawed*, but he’s still worth hyping up, still worth having his own romance story, still has a shot of winning back his beloved. She sees him for what he is, human and real and not a carefully scripted character that fits an aesthetic, and she thinks it’s still worthy of love and admiration and fighting for

And what’s funny too is that you might expect her to cool down on him once she learns more about him but actually she only gets increasingly into his business. You tell her your age and next thing you know you promise to introduce her to your family. Give her an inch she takes a mile. And too the thing is, Senshi is equally mysterious but she doesn’t pester him like at all, asks him ONCE about his succubus and he doesn’t even answer and that’s like… It. With Chilchuck it starts off innocently enough with her wanting to know his age, hometown, the stuff she mentions having asked pre-canon. But it just keeps and keeps going and escalating. Think she’ll be satisfied now knowing you have a wife and kids, maybe she’s disillusioned now? Wrong! She wants to know their names and ages and occupations and hey how did you propose to your wife? Do you think she’ll stop after meeting them? What’s next? What will she want to know next????

She’s… Like it’s not a reach that Marcille is all over him. Like it doesn’t mean it’s romantic but she just is. She is not normal about him idk. Can you not ask him about what tongue technique he used when first kissing his wife, give the man breathing room

Marcille could literally go "if I was Chilchuck’s wife" having deeply pondered and thought out the hypothetical and people would still ask where anyone sees any romantic potential between them. Oh wait

There’s a platonic explanation for everything (almost?) in Dungeon Meshi don’t say I’m saying otherwise, but it’s definitely not like there’s nothing here to read into lol

Going off a bit more under read bc it’s my fave topic

Marcille has a whole theme with the charming prince trope with her idealization and storybook motif and Chil is kinda the "Well someone perfect like that isn’t very realistic and romance is usually more complex and that’s ok and good and flawed people can still be ✨virtuous✨" catalyst

Do you see do you see she starts canon thinking the most romantic thing is a prince charming but her arc in the end has her romanticizing an average, flawed, real and realistic family man, who’s on the poorer side and is on the verge of divorce. And that’s what he needed, too, seeing the positive of himself and the situation instead of focusing on the negative is explicitly what inspires him to hope that he might be able to reconcile with his wife, gives him the courage and self-esteem to shoot his shot.

He IS a prince figure instead that now it’s not about idealizing the grand and overt it’s about romanticizing the small things in real life!! About finding joy and beauty in things that seem normal or mundane and uplifting them to make the world feel kinder!!!!

He’s the devoted virtuous man that she wantsss not the storybook prince that’s unrealistic and could crumble like a script at any time. He’s the perfect example of a flawed realistic but virtuous & devoted & loving man. Far from a prince charming, but not fully detached from it either. Something worth fighting for despite the flawed cracks. Like literally, flawed romance being worth fighting for is literally the finale of Chilchuck and Marcille’s arc on the matter, where their separate arcs and issues intersect at the most crucial moment.

Marcille is important to Chil’s arc not only because of her optimism, but also because of her interest and knowledge in romance & matters of the heart, and that’s what he needs to both open his heart up to hope and to try to reconcile with his wife, like idk sounds gay

Their arc together is literally learning to 1) see each other for how they are and not undermining their qualities capacities etc etc while still not leaving flaws unchecked either and 2) opening up to people. Marcille LITERALLY makes Chil open his heart up to hope like idk man. What do you want from me. He’s literally the guy helping her through deconstructing novels and fantasy and rose tinted glasses and like. Deconstructing the prince charming figure into something more real but still romantically beautiful like KUI KUI STOOOOP STOP I’M ALREADY HOOKED I’M ALREADY-

 Ok fine that’s me reading into the tropes too much forgive me for being storybook brained but like. Speaking his heart out to a lone woman on a balcony, Romeo and Juliette shit, asking if she, too, doesn’t want to meet his family, madly blushing. And like she’s learned with Chilchuck it’s all in the little things, all the implications he cannot speak aloud. She does reciprocate, does blush madly back, and the first thing she does is shower him in flowers and jewelry and what in her heart is coded as romantic gifts

A lady, stashed away in a high tower by her lonesome, waiting for someone to call out to her from below… Romeo courting type shit with an offer, a heartfelt spiel, implicit confession from underneath her balcony. Offering him flowers because he succeeded in calling out to her heart…….. And they have to climb to her too…. Crazy

Doesn’t it sound like a proposal. One that’s both so storybook-like and not, contrastedly real and grounded, all about the implications rather than in your face grand gestures, "Don’t you want to meet my family?". They literally have an arc about the topic of romance and this is the climax/pinnacle of it like god?? This is @ the woman who said "Chilchuck is a shy/bashful man so I know he wouldn’t tell me he loves me, but…" btw

To quote a friend, truly the shiny secret unlockable dating sim capture target : THE DUNGEON LORD BIT WAS SO FUNNY BECAUSE HE KNEW SHE'D TAKE IT HOOK LINE AND SINKER HES THE ONE WHO GOT HER TO TURN AROUND COMPLETELY SHES LIKE. WIDE EYED FLAG RAISED???? FLAG RAISED WITH CHILCHUCK 👀👀👀‼️👀👀‼️👀

And the way that this is the culmination of their arc together… Like people are not ready for the ‘Chil calling out to dunlord Marcille on the balcony has Romeo and Juliette romance novels imagery’ take. Or the ‘their arc is about growing to see beauty even in the non-idealized, in the flawed and in the real’ take which makes it so so perfect if she were to lower her ideal from a charming elven prince to a virtuous halfling man (which she does end up romanticizing)

So there, you got to witness in real time what happens when I think about marchil for longer than 2 minutes, there are so many layers it’s a deranged rabbithole. I saw the necronomicon of subtext and it’s driving me to madness with forbidden knowledge that no one else sees

……. Like what if I told you she implicitly picked Chilchuck over a "unrealistic prince charming who’s actually disingenuous" much earlier in the story already. If she was given the choice to think through going with a guy that seems perfect and chivalrous like her succubus she’d pick Chilchuck over the other actually. If I sound insane rn tune in for my full analysis on them coming this month hopefully thank youu. Interwoven arcs of fantasy vs reality and idealization vs pessimism I love youuu

So now you know the general thesis of my planned analysis about the importance of the prince charming figure in Marcille and Chilchuck’s arc, where she romanticizes things to a sometimes worrying degree or idealize people into something easy and digestible and poetic (like Chil being a kid, and then him being a virtuous ✨✨✨husband), and how she needs to value aesthetics less and actual acts and facts more, be more grounded (like seeing people for what they are flaws and all, and accepting that people need money and not pulling through on principles of honor or unity shouldn’t get Namari shamed) and a part of that is accepting that Chilchuck is BOTH flawed and virtuous, a loving husband that still has shitty moods and fumbled his marriage so bad etc etc. So it’s like, her image of perfect prince charming that will whisk you away on an ethereal romance -> realistic flawed middle aged dad with personality issues and a failing marriage but he still is worthy of love and having his cute grand romance story and his happy ending. Ik I keep repeating the same point through this but I need it to be burned into everyone’s brains it has its grip on me I can’t do this. They are so special……

[llitchilitchi]

submitting my paper tonight and then I'm off for a week, so:

for every like on this post I'll add 5 words to my WIP. 10 for every reblog. count stops when I return on Saturday next week.

[thelonelyshore-if]

The Lonely Shore Devlog #11

( 12/10/2024 ) Chapter Three: 34,644 words Total Wordcount: 249,762 words

Hello, everyone!

It has been a while since my last devlog. Like........almost 5 months or so. There was a chapter update tucked away in there somewhere, but I still feel like I've been slacking. Sorry about that!

I figured it was about time I put out a full progress update. I've mentioned this on my blog a few times, but up until this month I dealt with some pretty severe writer's block. Thankfully, I've managed to break free of it, though! I've gotten back into the swing of writing every day this month. It's been great, and I'm quite happy with how the chapter is progressing.

Unfortunately, my goal of getting an update out by the blog/game's anniversary (December 23rd, I believe?) probably is not possible. But! I'm fairly certain that if I keep up the speed I'm writing at currently, the update will be out sometime in January. No promises, but I'm quite hopeful.

Chapter 3 has a lot going on. The first few scenes are quite branch-y and code heavy, and there are several other scenes I'm packing into the second half of the chapter. I can't wait to share them c:

I hope everyone is doing well! Here's a preview for your trouble <3