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milksnake-tea · 4 months ago

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✩ CHAPTER SUMMARY : Now light years away from his home, Sunday's past haunts him as he grapples with accepting his new life.

✩ SERIES SYNOPSIS : Following the catastrophe of the Charmony Festival, rather than in one of Penacony's hospitals or prisons, Sunday awakens right in the base of one of the most notorious criminals in the galaxies. With nowhere else to go, he's left to follow you, the Stellaron Hunters' medic, in his attempts to become accustomed to his new life.

✩ WORD COUNT : 4.4k

✩ TAGLIST : @vynicity , @vxnuslogy , @https-mika , @greyrain23 , @red-ninja15 , @arienic , @immahuman , @sund4ykisser , @mysteriaqueen , @kiopanxp , @isa-l0v3r , @hesper-houkai-kat , @gamekillera , @nayukiyukihira , @randomidk-123 , @universetrash , @forevernyeong , @thedepartedcryptid , @heyhazelnut101 , @1000-leaves , @lowkeyren , @zhayur , @jellofishuu , @kascar-chronicle , @azaleaflowerr , @neigee , @fallintothechasm , @veritusratio , @astolary , @xphantasmagoriax , @semi-orangeapple , @ezra1yn , @xynthevoid , @apinu (send me an ask off anon to be added !! PLEASE SPECIFY ITS FOR THE SERIES 😭😭)

✩ ADDITIONAL NOTES : sunday focused chapter this time, i think i'm just going to be running around switching up povs hehe. i love this man (he is going to go through so much). SHOPPING WILL HAPPEN NEXT CHAPTER !!! GRGGRRGGR

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For the first time, Sunday is scared to sleep.

Despite being the pseudo-ruler of a Dreamscape, he hasn’t truly slept for quite some time. Even now, as he lays teetering the edge of consciousness, exhaustion is what drags him into slumber, not his own desire to rest.

The walls of his room haunt him - they’re so strikingly different from his quarters back on Penacony, stripped and bare and without any garnish or semblance of personality. What makes it worse is that his room is essentially soundproof - he can’t hear anything, not the footsteps of the Hunters, not the engine of the mothership, nothing that would assure him that he wasn’t alone.

He lays in clothes that are not his own - granted, they are comfortable and light, and he should be thankful that these criminals someone is kind enough to lend them to him, he should be and he wants to be. But Blade (he now recalls the Hunter’s name from the wanted posters that litter Penacony in reality) is no Halovian, and as such does not require the same slits in the back as Sunday does.

At the thought, the feathers against his bare abdomen become all the more apparent. To anyone else, they are soft and light, but to him, they scratch and itch and irritate. Sunday has always made sure to keep a barrier between his skin and his wings, whether it be a shirt, a vest, or simply keeping his larger wings lifted just enough so that they don’t come in contact with the rest of him.

“Keep them cramped up like that any longer, and you’ll never fly again.”

Your warning echoes in his head, stronger and louder every time it replays.

Sunday reasons that he shouldn’t feel fear at the thought - he was never meant to fly, after all. Unlike his sister, he was meant for the earth, for the people, for Penacony. For his weak subjects, he would stay shackled and carry the burden so that they could live in a paradise far away from the struggles of reality.

But his subjects were no more. Now, he is… free.

The word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He tosses and turns in his bed, digging his nails into his palms to distract himself from the ache in his lower wings.

He shouldn’t want to fly. Gopher Wood’s voice clouds his mind, reminding him of his duty, his purpose. For the people. For Penacony. For everyone, everyone except for himself. He remembers the clipping of his wings, how he had watched the remains of his flight feathers drift to the floor, signifying his fate to remain with the others.

He wonders if those feathers have grown back yet.

He rolls over again, pulling the covers closer to him. In, and out, he breathes the way he knows will calm him down. Inhale through the nose, hold, exhale through the mouth. Clear your mind of any impurities, he tells himself. He banishes any thoughts of flight, ignores his wings, and shuts his eyes.

In and out.

Inhale through the nose.

Hold.

Exhale through the mouth.

Again.

Again-

“‘I long for a paradise where everyone can be at peace.’”

Sunday’s eyes snap open. He whirls, only to discover that he is weightless, translucent - almost like a ghost. There’s nothing but blackness for as far as he can see. But he’s left with little time to ponder when he hears that voice once more.

“That was my dream. Or should I say, our dream.”

Vines strangle his heart. It can’t be.

Tiny footsteps pit-pat in front of him. A figure gradually emerges from the abyss, Sunday’s breath catching in his throat as he finally sees who it is.

A white cotton vest over a purple-blue dress shirt. Big, round eyes that reflect foolish, childish naivety and a foolish, childish dream to help others. A golden halo that still glows brightly. Uncut wings.

“Who- Who are you?” he lets out a strangled whisper. He already knows the answer. He knows all too well.

The child smiles up at him. It’s bright, joyful.

He wants to run. But his feet are anchored and his limbs are frozen.

“You know who I am, silly,” the child laughs. Sunday flinches as he takes a step forward. “I’m me, and I’m you.”

The child stops just in front of him. His head reaches just the top of Sunday’s thigh, and yet Sunday feels so much smaller. His knees already feel weak, despite the child having done nothing.

“Mr. Wood said that one day, we were going to lead everyone to that paradise,” the child said innocently. “And in that paradise, no one would ever have to suffer. Everyone would be happy, and Robin would sing for them, on the biggest stage ever!”

And suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, the light vanished from the child’s eyes. His smile drops, leaving only a blank, haunting stare that chills Sunday down to his very core.

“Why did you ruin that?” the child asks.

Sunday’s knees give out. He collapses, unable to do anything but stare, horrified and anguished as the child grabs his face with small hands, free of any calluses.

“Why?”

He tries to find an answer. His mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out, because he knows - he knows there is no answer that could satisfy the child.

“Why?” the child asks again.

Tears prick at Sunday’s eyes. His breath hurts in his chest. He doesn’t know. He wants to look away, but the child holds his face with an iron grip.

“Why?” the child asks, but this time he is not alone.

A deeper voice joins him - a voice that has been with him ever since he’d joined the Family, a voice that has acted as his conscience, his shackle that reminds him of his duty. Sunday cannot look to see Gopher Wood, but he knows that he is here.

With each question, another member of the Oak Family joins the mass surrounding him, until all 107,336 souls have congregated, all accusing him, all filled with hatred and disappointment.

“Why?” they ask.

“Why did you ruin our dream?”

“Why did you abandon us?”

“No- I didn’t- I-” He chokes on his own words as he fights to placate his Family. He feels their eyes on him, covering every inch of his body with their gaze. Their voices converge into one buzzing noise, a horrid symphony that threatens to burst his ears and invades his mind.

“Why are you so selfish?”

Sunday gasps, lurching from his bed. His heart pounds in his chest, filling his ears with the loud thuds. Clutching at his chest, bunching the fabric in his fist, he gulps down air like a man dying of thirst. His face feels wet.

Furiously he wipes at his eyes, but it does little to help what has already been done. Yet he does it anyway, wipes until his eyes burn from more than just tears and his cheeks hurt. He needs to stop - he has to stop, he has a meeting- no, it’s not a meeting, he is no longer an official- but he will be seen tomorrow and he cannot, he will not be seen like this.

Come on, Sunday. Get yourself together.

In and out.

In and-

A wretched sob rips itself from his throat. He can’t stop it. He can’t. He is helpless to stop the tears as they fall down his face, one after the other in an endless stream. He curls into himself, his knees bunching up into his chest and he claws at his shoulders - but not too hard, lest he ruin the shirt he was so graciously given.

His wings ache once more as he weeps, and this time, he cannot bring himself to ignore them.

“You’ll never fly again.”

No. Sunday grips his shoulders harder. He doesn't want that.

He’s free. He’s alone.

He’s free. He’s selfish.

He’s free. He’s worthless.

He’s free.

And the thought terrifies him.

━

Countless hours pass before he eventually peels himself from the bed. What little sleep he manages to catch after his nightmare isn’t enough, but it will have to make do. He drags himself to the small bathroom connected to his bedroom and flicks on the light.

He’d showered last night, but he still feels dirty. He splashes water onto his face, silently relishing in the cold feeling. A heavy sigh leaves him as he grips the sides of the sink.

Looking up, he meets his reflection.

He looks horrible, to put it bluntly - or at least, by his standards. As a Halovian, eyebags and other blemishes don’t come by easily - otherwise he’d shut himself in his room until he got his hands on some concealer. If there’s one thing Sunday can always count on, it’s his so-called “natural beauty” that persists despite it all.

But he hates the tiniest details that no one but he can see, the smallest droop of his eyes and the slight dullness of his skin. His hair suffers from a terrible case of bedhead, and his wings look frazzled.

However, he straightens his posture, it’s nothing he can’t fix. If anything, tidying up one’s appearance was what Sunday excelled at.

It takes him about half an hour before he’s finally satisfied. Setting down the comb, he stretches, releasing the tension that had built up in his muscles. He looks outside to the alarm clock that rests at his bedside.

You didn’t specify a specific time for the two of you to meet, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, and Sunday refuses to not be punctual, lest you call him out for it - and he knows you will.

Opening the closet door, he’s greeted with the fruits of last night’s labor. The clothes he’d borrowed from Blade are all organized by color and by style, folded neatly without a wrinkle or crease in sight. A small smile slips onto his face at the sight before he picks out his clothes for the day.

Blade’s clothes are a little too big for him, and his aesthetic is the complete opposite of Sunday’s. While Sunday has always worn light-colored clothes adorned by gold and blue, Blade seems to prefer darker and more muted colors, with the majority of his borrowed wardrobe being black, navy, and brown.

Whatever. Not like he has any room to complain.

After slipping off his nightwear, he pulls on the shirt that’s closest to his size, a navy blue button up shirt alongside tighter black pants. He’s able to tuck the shirt into the pants so that it doesn’t look like a trash bag on him. Further modifications include folding the sleeve up to his mid-forearm, shifting his pants a bit higher so he doesn’t trip and fall, and securing a belt around his waist so that his shirt doesn’t fall out. Sunday wasn’t given any shoes to borrow, which he was thankful for; he wanted to have at least one familiar item on his person.

Checking himself out in the mirror, he smooths out what little wrinkles there are in his shirt and gives himself one last lookover. His bare hands catch the light. Sunday’s nose wrinkles at the sight.

He hates having his hands out. Without his signature gloves, he looks naked, but there comes another problem. His outfit is dark, and his only pair of gloves are white - they wouldn’t match at all.

Sunday clicks his tongue. That’ll be the first thing he buys on Euphrosyne. But as of right now, it looks like he’s back to the borrowing game.

He checks his appearance once more, before he switches the light and finally emerges from his room.

As it usually is with spaceships or any planet without a day/night cycle, it’s difficult to tell whether or not time has passed. But Sunday has long forsaken the concept of mornings and evenings, and has instead reduced his perception of time to system hours, as is easier to do on a planet such as Penacony.

He stops in front of your room, and raises his fist to knock gently on the door.

“Mx. [Name]?” he says gently, not wanting to wake the others - if they were even in their rooms. He knows Firefly isn’t; she must still be on Penacony.

There’s no response from you. Sunday clears his throat, and knocks again. He gives it another 30 seconds before he concedes. You’re not in there, for whatever reason. Perhaps you’re back in the kitchen? Or maybe your office?

He decides to check the kitchen first - it isn’t too far from the residency hall. Once he arrives, however, he’s met with the sight of another Stellaron Hunter, one he hasn’t met but knows his face.

Blade sits at the dining table, chair pushed too far back for Sunday’s comfort and whetting a broken sword. Sunday had expected him to be tall, his clothes were already proof of that, but he hadn’t expected the man to be massive. He’s at least a head taller than himself, which doesn’t help his intimidating aura. He seems to be of Xianzhou descendance.

The man looks up briefly as Sunday enters the room. His eyes are sharp, more hostile and more aggressive than any of the other hunters. They drown in a bright red, with flecks of gold coming through. Instantly all of Sunday's nerves are set ablaze, and they cry out danger and urge him to run.

The two stare at each other for what seems like an eternity. Sunday breaks from the daze first and offers Blade a cordial smile.

“Ah, you must be Mr. Blade,” he greets, resting a hand over his heart. “I’m Sunday, the newest addition to the Hunters.”

Predictably, the other man doesn’t reply. Internally, Sunday sighs. This was going to be awkward.

“I must thank you for lending me your clothes,” he continues, opening the fridge. He figures he might as well have breakfast before going to meet you. He hopes that none of the food has been claimed beforehand, and he’s pleasantly surprised.

Everything is labeled by sticky notes (he sees your rice from yesterday with the sticky notes labeling them as Silver Wolf’s and Firefly’s), and what isn’t is up seemingly for grabs. Seeing as how Blade isn’t up to a conversation, he opts to grab a small yogurt bowl for his breakfast.

It’s only when Sunday sits down to eat that Blade finally speaks.

“It was a trivial matter,” he says. His voice fits him, dark and raspy. “Save your gratitude for another time.”

Sunday hums. “It may seem trivial, but I would’ve had to sleep in my uniform had it not been for you. Thanking you is the least I could do.”

“Hmph.” Blade raises his gaze from his sword to assess Sunday. His gaze lingers on his hands for a few seconds. Sunday suppresses the urge to cover them up. “Have you ever wielded a sword?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” Sunday shakes his head. “My abilities are more dependent on the mind rather than the body.”

Blade scoffs, but it doesn’t feel derogative. “You’ll need to learn to wield a weapon if you want to survive.”

“...Thank you for the advice. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The conversation ends there. Blade goes back to sharpening his sword, and Sunday quickly finishes his breakfast. Standing up, he throws away the plastic bowl.

“Say,” he says, “might you have any idea where Mx. [Name] is?”

This time, Blade doesn’t look up.

“They’re preparing for your trip in the docks.” Sparks fly as he sweeps the whetstone down the blade. “Go down that hall and take the elevator to the lowest floor. You’ll find them there.”

He’s more kind-hearted than he lets on, Sunday observes. He smiles. “Thank you.”

Blade doesn’t reply.

Sunday briefly considers asking Blade for spare gloves, but after taking one look at the man’s bandaged hands, he drops it. They wouldn’t fit him anyway. Better to ask Kafka, or even you.

As he follows Blade’s directions and makes his way to the docks, Sunday can’t help but marvel at the sheer size of the spaceship. He wasn’t lying when he told you how long it’d been since he’d last left Penacony; he’d forgotten how big spaceships could get. The Delphi itself could be a miniature planet.

He finds the elevators in no time. The music that plays as he descends is… strange, to say the least. Classical instruments and synths make for an interesting combination, but he can’t say that it’s bad. Just unusual.

Then again, just about everything in this ship is. He crosses his arms and leans back against the elevator, training his eyes on the bulbous light in the ceiling. He already misses the serenity of Dewlight Pavilion and the roar of Golden Hour.

It finally dawns on him that he’ll never see those sights again. He’ll never again board the Radiant Feldspar or the Eventide of Blue Hour, watch with mild interest the events of Scorchsand, or browse the various stores in Dusk with his sister, knowing that he’d never actually buy anything. If he had known that he’d never come back, he would’ve bought something as a keepsake.

Sunday sighs, closing his eyes and waits for the elevator to arrive. The Delphi has a total of ten floors - what for, he can find out another time. He doesn’t feel like roaming.

A clear ding alerts him of his arrival. The elevator doors open soundlessly to reveal the docks.

As he walks in, he counts a total of five spaceships, each the size of a private jet. Like the room doors upstairs, each is customized to its owner, although this time the individuality is restricted to color schemes. There’s one empty dock, where he assumes the ship that carried Firefly to Penacony usually sits - although he doesn’t think that it was hers.

“You’re up early.”

Sunday manages to hide his flinch. You emerge from your personal spaceship. You’ve changed clothes, now dressed in something more appropriate for an outing. It’s casual, yet chic - internally, he nods in approval.

“Good morning.” Sunday nods to you. “How are the preparations going?”

You sit down on the front of the ship and cross your legs. “Just finished. Have you eaten?”

“Of course.”

“That’s good. I was worried you wouldn’t.” You look him up and down. “I had my doubts, but Blade’s clothes surprisingly look good on you.”

You were worried? Sunday brushes off the thought with a hum. “I appreciate the compliment. Although,” he massages his wrist, “I couldn’t find any gloves that would go along with the outfit. In fact, I was hoping that-”

“That I’d have some?” You raise a brow.

“...yes,” Sunday finishes. You click your tongue, looking around you before sighing.

“Only gloves I’ve got are the ones I’m wearing,” you say. You begin to pull off the black gloves from your fingers. Sunday stiffens.

“Oh, you don’t have to trouble yourself-”

“Relax, princess, it’s not a big deal,” you chuckle. Indignation flashes in him at the nickname - he wants to correct you, but he’s beginning to think that it’s a waste of effort.

Sliding off the spaceship, you search through your pockets before pulling out a small object. When you hold it into the light, Sunday recognizes it as a simple ring. His confusion must show on his face, for you are quick to offer an explanation.

“This is a perception interceptor. You can get it customized later down the line, but for now you’ll have to make due with the ring. Just press on it like this,” you demonstrate, pressing on the round, pearl-like button, “and you’ll be absolutely unremarkable to passerby and cameras alike. We can still see you normally, though. Perks of making them in a set.”

“Fascinating.” Sunday gingerly accepts your gloves and ring. The ring expands to fit him as he slides it onto his ring finger, and then he covers it with your gloves. They don’t fit him exactly, and they’re warm from when you were wearing them, but they’ll make due for now. Internally, he sighs in relief at his now-covered hands. “So when do we depart?”

“Aw, that eager to hang out with me? Didn’t realize you were already so attached,” you tease, laughing as Sunday rolls his eyes. “But seriously, you’re here a lot earlier than I expected. I was planning on grabbing breakfast before heading out.”

“I don’t believe we’re in any rush, so you still can,” Sunday offers, feeling a bit guilty, but you shake your head.

“It’s fine, I’ll just grab something from Euphrosyne. I’m sure you’re eager to get out of the old man’s clothes.”

“That’s not-” Sunday sighs, pinching his nose as you blatantly ignore him.

You hop down into the dock and wave your hand over some sort of sensor. A door slides open on the side of your spaceship, and you make a show of bowing to him.

“After you.” Sunday rolls his eyes for the third time since he’s arrived.

He carefully jumps down, taking great care not to ruin his appearance. He hunches briefly as he enters the ship, wincing as his halo knocks against its ceiling. The ship itself is rather cozy, with just enough room in the back for passengers.

You amble in after him after rechecking outside for safety reasons and make yourself comfortable in the pilot seat. The door closes soundlessly behind you. Buttons and switches click and systems sing as the ship starts up. He hears the engine fire up, and before he knows it, you’re pulling out of the Delphi and the view of the dock is replaced by the stars.

“Say,” you speak up after a few minutes of silence. “I forgot to ask, but how did you sleep last night? Most people don’t wake up that early.”

He debates whether or not he should tell you. “I slept fine, thank you. My body is simply accustomed to waking early for work.”

“Damn. I couldn’t do that,” you reply, despite clearly having woken up early to get ready. “But if on the chance that you have trouble sleeping, I have supplements that can help. Blade takes them sometimes.”

“He does?” Sunday says in surprise. You nod.

“Yeah, he’s the reason I started making them. But I have been thinking of forcing Silver Wolf to take some too - that girl will not sleep unless you tie her to the bed.”

The thought of a Stellaron Hunter with a 5 billion credit bounty being forced to bed like a child brings an amused smile to Sunday’s face. “Is that right?”

“You’d be surprised by how stubborn she is.” Despite your words, a fond smile comes to your face. Sunday knows that look well - it’s the look he wears whenever he talks about Robin. Perhaps the two of you were more similar than he thought. “But as I was saying, if you ever need help sleeping, you can always come to me and I’ll drug you up.”

Nevermind. You’re horrible.

“Your wording leaves much to be desired.” He crosses his arms and turns away from you. You chuckle.

“I just tell it like it is.”

Sunday scoffs. He doesn’t even want to bother with replying.

Leaning his head against the window, he busies himself with staring at the stars. They move aimlessly in clouds of various colors, glittering and burning all the same. With nothing to keep him distracted, his mind wanders back to that morning.

“You’ll never fly again.”

He inhales deeply. He glances at you in the pilot seat.

Here goes nothing.

“Mx. [Name],” he begins hesitantly, “What you said about my wings, when we first met.”

In the rearview mirror, you glance back at him. Sunday clears his throat, hastily turning back to the nebulae to avoid your gaze.

“As a medical… professional,” he says the last word uncertainly, “do you think I’ll ever return to the skies, with the state that they’re in?”

He hears you sigh. “I won’t lie, they’re pretty bad.” Sunday’s fingers dig into his arm. Anxiety already begins to reemerge. “But, it’s not irreparable.”

His wings perk up. Hopefully, his eyes flicker to you for a moment before returning to the cosmos.

“Tell you what, when we get back after this whole thing,” you roll back your shoulders, “I’ll take another look at them for you and we can go from there.”

“...Thank you,” he whispers, allowing more relief to show than he intended.

It doesn’t take long before the outside view changes once again. In the distance, he sees a ball covered in billions of individual little lights and swarmed with ships of all kinds, whether they be delivery ships, general travel, or personal. As your ship joins the swarm that encircles the glittering planet, you reach up and press a button on the ceiling. A loud whoosh sounds as a holographic cloak enshrouds your ship.

“Might want to activate the ring soon,” you call back. “We’ll be landing in a few.”

Sunday nods. He feels for where the ring lays under your gloves and presses down on the button, hearing as it clicks. A cold feeling washes over him like wind. Up front, he sees you adjust your wristwatch before returning your focus to landing the ship.

As you approach the docks of Euphrosyne, Sunday is able to make out buildings upon buildings, all tall and grandiose and glowing. People from all across the universe bumble about like ants on the sidewalks as traffic flows quickly and efficiently through the streets. More than once he sees the holographic symbol of the IPC flashing on the numerous billboards of the cities.

A pang of homesickness clenches his heart.

“Welcome to Euphrosyne, planet of Indulgence,” you announce. You park the ship neatly alongside many others before you stand up, stretching. Sunday hates the way he’s comforted when you smile down on him. “Ready to rebrand?”

Rebrand, he repeats in his head. Yes, the Sunday of the Oak Family was no more - that was an indistinguishable fact. Penacony is no longer the place he calls home, and the Family is no longer his.

All he is now is Sunday. Just Sunday.

He’s scared, but he has no other choice.

He stands up.

“Let’s head out, shall we?”

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reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr sunday #sunday hsr #honkai star rail sunday #hsr sunday x reader #sunday hsr x reader #honkai star rail sunday x reader #sunday x reader #x reader #reader insert #y/n #honkai star rail series #━━ series : on the other side of morality #archives 🏵️

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fangsandfeels · 1 year ago

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The vagueness of Astarion sleeping mechanics drives me mad sometimes

So, the game says that elves don't sleep - to the point where it's ironically stated that the only way for them to experience sleeping is to either drink a potion of Angelic Slumber or "get hit really hard with a chair".

Instead, they enter a semi-aware meditative state (Revery) where they experience memories from their past lives (usually most positive and emotional parts). Or they just sorting through their current memories.

Now, we've seen Astarion meditating if his way of lying on a bedroll is anything to go by. He is also immune to sleeping spells. We could also see him sleeping (in a Durge run). I know that devs technically recycle the same sleeping pose for all romanced companions, but still. Also, Astarion has nightmares, which is not typical for elves.

Of course, when I was going through the lore, I scratched the surface, but from what I understood, Revery is supposed to be a controlled state, and nightmares aren't exactly controlled.

But, I've found a very interesting bit that (so far) is still considered part of the official canon:

Elves can sleep and dream just like any human, but almost all surface elves avoid doing so. Dreams, as humans know them, are strange and confusing to elves. Unlike the actual memories of one’s primal soul, present life, or past lives, dreams are uncontrolled products of the subconscious, and perhaps the subconscious minds of those past lives or primal souls as well. An elf who dreams must always wonder whose mind these thoughts first arose from, and why. Priests of Sehanine Moonbow are an exception: they sleep and dream to receive signs from their god, and elves consult such priests to interpret their own dreams."

From: Mordenkainrn's Tome Of Foes, Chapter 2: Elves

And not only does this little bit explain a lot, but it also provides some food for your fic writing purposes.

Now, I'm entering the headcanon territory, so be warned.

Astarion's access to Revery got horribly fucked up after he had been Turned. Not only does he no longer have access to his previous lives since he is technically dead and plucked from the cycle, but he also can't even have his happy or good memories before he became a spawn. Even if they are still there, somewhere in the memory palace, getting to them requires going through the catalog of traumatic and painful memories he acquired after being enslaved by Cazador. It's like running through a burning house trying to rescue your family photo - and the hall gets longer each time. So, entering a trance means confronting the worst memories of his life over and over because there is nothing else there.

Due to this Astarion may resort to sleeping, which elves don't usually do. Elves don't like dreams because dreams are subconscious, and they can't be controlled, which scares them. For Astarion, however, it means there is a chance of him subconsciously dreaming of something nice or just being blissfully empty. However, it doesn't safeguard him from nightmares which (because they are the product of his unconsciousness) get even more twisted than simple memories.

Additionally, there can be a possibility that after becoming a spawn he got cut off from meditation and trances completely, relying on sleeping only: at least, the cut spawn epilogue by Withers mentions how while Astarion needs to sleep again, he doesn't sleep alone. While we don't know what that means exactly (and whether it will ever be implemented in the game), I assume that the tadpole gave him the ability to meditate back, but it was a small improvement because his memory headspace no longer holds happy memories capable of offering solace or refuge.

So, my personal headcanon is that he switches between meditating and sleeping depending on how aware he needs to be, and whatever option feels less torturous at the moment.

For instance, in his Origin run, when he remembers the moment of Cazador carving scars into him, he is in a trance. Which is why the memory is so horribly vivid, as if he is reliving it anew.

However, when he has a nightmare where Cazador finds him, he is sleeping and experiencing a memory affected by his subconsciousness. Which is why he jolts himself awake and desperate to know the limits of his freedom.

So, yes, the man literally can't catch a break.

On a happier note (and for your hurt/comfort fanfiction purposes), once Astarion starts traveling with Tav and the group, his memory bank gets updated with memories that are actually fun and nice, so he has something to linger upon when he is meditating. Sleeping gradually becomes a bit more pleasant experience because his subconsciousness got more material to work with, so the quality of his non-controlled dreams has to gradually improve.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion brainrot #dnd elves are strange #feel free to correct me if i goofed up #because it's quite likely i goofed up

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fangswbenefits · 1 year ago

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The Arrangement (5) - Confrontation

Summary: Living under the same roof as Astarion was proving to me more of a challenge than you had anticipated.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: Nightmare. Hurt/Comfort. Innuendo. Heavy use of sarcasm hahaha.

Word count: 4.4k

Previous chapter. Ao3. Series Masterlist

If anyone had suggested a few days ago that you'd find yourself living under the same roof as Astarion, you would have called them delusional and point them to the nearest infirmary for a mental check.

But the wheels of fate turned in mysterious ways, and a mere glance at the man sitting across from you was proof enough of that.

The flames swirling and crisping in the nearby fireplace cast the most delicate yellow and orange tint on his pale complexion as he flipped the pages of a book you had lent him.

You had tried to focus on your own reading, but you just couldn't help but to occasionally shift your gaze to him.

Gods… it was nigh criminal how handsome this man was.

It was as if he had been hand-carved by someone intended on wreaking havoc in the name of beauty.

And, as far as you were concerned, they had thoroughly succeeded.

Suddenly, he lifted his head and he met your gaze dead-on, unblinkingly.

So handsome…

A cold shiver ran up the back of your neck, but you found herself unable to look away. It was as if, in that moment, you had managed to block out everything around you but him. The longer you stared at him, the more acutely you felt detached from reality.

“May I kiss you?”

You blinked a few times. “What?”

His eyes narrowed, one eyebrow raised in sheer perplexity.

“No need to look so offended, darling,” he said with a scoff, rising from his seat and snatching the candle holder from the table to your right. “I was merely asking for this. I apologise if the request is out of the realm of your ‘one hundred good deeds I must perform before I perish’ list.”

You blinked again.

What?

You glanced around, but judging from the lack of reaction from both Gale and Shadowheart, you figured that maybe he hadn't actually asked to kiss you.

Great. Now I'm hallucinating…

He returned to his padded chair with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, I've seen more light in the deepest corners of the Shadowlands.”

Maybe sleep deprivation was finally taking its toll on you, rendering you delirious.

Regardless, the illusion had been enough to flare your heart, and you hurriedly focused your attention on the book in your hands.

“I had quite forgotten how peacefully silent it can be without having you around, Astarion.” Shadowheart spoke as she tended to a few rolls of parchment and letters.

“Well, you can thank Wyll for that.”

She ignored him. “All you do is complain.”

You felt a storm brewing on the horizon as you lifted your eyes to glance at him.

Astarion let out a cynical laugh. “You're one to speak.”

Shadowheart was now scowling. Deeply.

“Besides, that is a rather disingenuous accusation. Want proof?” he asked, clearing his throat. “So, Gale - what are you reading that has you scribbling about like a mad man?”

The wizard snapped out of his nose-deep dive and brought his quill to a halt with a beaming smile. “Glad you ask, my friend. ‘A Visual Guide to Baldur's Gate's Exquisite Cuisine’. First edition. Hand-signed by the finest chefs in the city. What a marvel, indeed.”

As expected, Astarion looked as unimpressed as ever, but you interjected before he could mouth anything obtuse.

“That sounds rather exciting, Gale.”

He nodded eagerly. “A small guilty pleasure of mine, I must say. I'm taking down some notes, so that I can - hopefully - prepare some delectable dishes for us.”

Shadowheart's eyes remained fixed on Astarion as if awaiting for him to burst at any moment.

He exchanged a quick glance with you before muttering, “Unbelievable.”

“I think it's to be commended that he cares enough to try,” you said sweetly, earning a scornful glare from him. “I can't wait for you to showcase your abilities, Gale.”

“My sentiments exactly, dear friend.”

Astarion chuckled darkly. “‘Abilities’ as in setting the kitchen ablaze, or…”

You shot him a death glare.

He shrugged. “You two are a match made in the hells.”

This had you snap your book closed with a loud thud, eyeing him defiantly. “So what constitutes an engaging reading to you, Astarion? Murderous ploys?”

His lips curled into a devious smile. “Something along those lines. Although I do enjoy indulging in some debauchery from time to time.”

You weren't sure Gale would set the kitchen ablaze with his cooking skills, but Astarion's blunt and crass words sure did that to your cheeks.

Shadowheart scoffed.

“There are some interesting books in my collection,” he continued, clearly enjoying your loss of composure. “I will gladly lend you some… or maybe offer a guided tour through my favourite pieces?”

You needed to change the subject.

Fast.

You were most definitely fighting a losing battle.

This was Astarion's playground, and he would always come out victorious.

“Must you always resort to such vulgarity?” Shadowheart sneered, shaking her head in disapproval.

“I'm afraid the city is fresh out of those who know how to properly enjoy themselves, and we can't all be dullards, darling.”

You cleared your throat. “So, Gale… you're leaving for Waterdeep soon enough.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Yes. If all goes well, we shall have access to the Wish spell soon enough, my vampling friend.”

Astarion crossed his arms. “Finally some progress.”

“Maybe you should be more thankful.” You said with a frown.

“As should you,” he shot back. “No more need to offer your blood to me.”

Fair enough.

“Much to your disappointment, I imagine.” Shadowheart chimed in.

But before he could retort, you heard a rising commotion outside that only came to a halt as the front door burst open.

Lae'zel came through, carrying what appeared to be a very much deceased wild boar across her shoulders as if it was nothing more than a sack of feathers.

She kicked the door shut at once, nostrils flaring. “Tsk'va! What are those two doing outside?”

“House arrest.” Astarion informed.

Bringing the carcass to the kitchen table, Lae'zel locked eyes with you, visibly annoyed.

“I had plans to rescue you from that prison. And I would have had it my way had it not been for Gale and his… morals.”

Gale bolted from his seat, suddenly looking rather distressed. “Lae'zel, we've spoken about this before and agreed not to bring bleeding carcasses into our home.”

She glared at him. “You alone agreed to it - I had no part in it.”

He gave her an exasperated look, picking up a piece of cloth to wipe away the strands of blood that had begun to run along the wooden surface.

“If this falls on the carpet, it will be a nightmare to remove the stains.”

Astarion tutted. “Darling, that carpet is so hideous that being splattered with carrion blood would be a vast improvement.”

You rose to your feet, rushing to join Lae's zel, who quickly placed her hand on your shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

Your lips tugged into a genuine smile.

To her, this was the equivalent of ‘I am glad you're safe and I care for you’ and it warmed your heart beyond measure.

Naturally, Astarion quickly joined your side, earning Lae'zel's disdainful gaze.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, it was a two-for-one type of deal, wasn't it?” Astarion mocked, turning to you. “Free one criminal and get two on house arrest.”

Unfortunately for Astarion, Lae'zel had little patience to entertain his sarcastic remarks and merely scoffed.

“I would have easily rescued from that prison, you know?” She gave your shoulder another squeeze and you nodded. “Those frail guards are no match for a githyanki.”

“On that much we can agree.” He mused.

She gave him a stern look. “I would have left you there.”

“We fought a giant brain, a scheming squid, and a whole parade of lunatics side by side, in case you've forgotten, my dear nest of vipers friend,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe you ought to show more gratitude.”

You expected her to snap at him, but she merely pressed her lips and gave him a nod.

That would be as far as she'd go, though.

“Well, as much as I enjoy this ‘family’ reunion, I'm off to my room,” Shadowheart said from a distance, already heading towards the staircase. “Please do not maim each other in my absence - there's only so much healing I can provide.”

You chuckled and she smiled warmly at you.

“Say, Lae'zel…” Astarion started, circling the boar with utmost interest. “I would hate for perfectly adequate blood to go to waste.”

The implication in his words wasn't subtle at all, and she groaned. “I thought you feeding on our friend was enough.”

Your stomach lurched violently.

He scoffed. “There is no such thing as ‘enough’ blood for a vampire. Besides, she's the main course… this would be more of an aperitif, if you will.”

Now, you felt positively sick to your core.

A wave of nausea and repulsion gripped you tight.

“It would be a mutually beneficial situation - I save Gale from a mental breakdown, sparing you tue ordeal, and I also get to quench my hunger.”

Gale grumbled something in agreement.

But you felt the sudden wish to be swallowed whole by some magical hole in the ground.

The way he referred to you as nothing more than food prompted a visceral reaction from you, and you feared you might empty the contents of your stomach from it alone.

“Um… I'll go get some sleep… I'm too tired,” you said dismissively, already pacing towards the corridor that led to your room. “Have a good night.”

Astarion called after you, but you didn't bother looking back.

But before you could turn the doorknob, you heard light steps approaching and firm fingers gripping your forearm.

Astarion.

His face was void of any amusement. “You're upset.”

You pulled free from his grasp. “A neat observation. No wonder you're such a skilled rogue.”

His brows furrowed lightly. “What's the matter?”

“It seems that I'm only worthy of your attention when it comes to you treating me as nothing but a meal, to hurl your sarcastic remarks at. Oh - and unless I'm on the verge of death,” you said, counting on each finger.

He seemed quite taken aback, his features twisting into a scowl. “You really adore selling yourself short, don't you?”

“You won't even deny it.”

“Then what sort of attention do you want from me?” He asked, taking a step closer, the sudden proximity catching you off-guard. “Do enlighten me.”

You glared at him in silence for a moment, vaguely wondering how the two of you had gotten to this point in your relationship, where everything seemed so… off.

Astarion was standing in front of you, but it wasn't truly him.

He was there, but not really.

He seemed so detached from the Astarion you had fallen for, and a part of you loathed that you had allowed yourself to get so attached to him in the first place.

Eventually, you heaved a deep sigh as he awaited your reply. “The sort of attention I don't have to beg for.”

His face softened briefly and he parted his lips only to press them close together again as if he had decided against speaking.

Right.

You swallowed hard. “Have a good night.”

The hopeful part of you half-expected him to stop you from walking away as you closed the door behind you, but he did no such thing.

You pressed your back against it, taking a deep breath, feeling as if you had just lost something.

Had you been too dramatic?

Did it even matter at this point?

Maybe it was better off this way.

You moved to scrub your face clean in the washbasin, preparing yourself to get some rest before the morning came.

Whatever was of your relationship with Astarion would have to wait for you to be able to think more clearer.

Slipping into your nightdress, you allowed yourself to fall on your bed and onto your stomach with a muffled thud, wanting to do nothing more than to scream into the covers, but remained still instead.

After what felt like hours of restlessly rolling beneath the sheets, you felt your mind lighten and were able to find solace in the peace and quiet.

That was until you heard a distant voice.

A woman's voice.

Her voice.

“Go on. Bleed her dry for me…”

You felt the mattress dip slightly and your eyes snapped open only to find Astarion baring his fangs.

And then he was on you, pinning you frozen with both hands.

“No - stop! Get off!”

He didn't hold back and you felt a familiar sting tear through your neck, his cold lips sprawling across your skin.

“She's so pathetic. Just kill her. Put her out of her misery.”

“Get off!” You cried out, feeling his weight pinning you down.

He didn't waver and you felt your blood being drained from you alarmingly fast as you tried your best to yank free from his vicious grip.

You were going to die.

He was going to kill you.

“Stop! Please - Astarion!”

Something was squeezing your shoulder and you tried to squirm away from the increasing pressure.

You felt him chuckle in amusement against your skin and that was what killed you first.

“ASTARION!”

The grip on you kept on increasing and you realised someone was shaking you.

“Wake up.”

How was he speaking whilst fiercely feeding on you?

Were you already dead?

Your cries turned into uncontrollable sobs and you felt like breathing was no longer an option.

“Wake up!”

The shove against your shoulder was too fierce this time, and you jolted violently, feeling the pressure on top of you only faintly ease.

“Get the fuck off me!”

You tried to conjure a spell - any spell - that might help you set yourself free.

He called out your name and your eyes snapped open at once, only to see Astarion hovering over you, hand now pressed firmly against your lips, muffling your sobs.

Bergamot.

Rosemary.

Aged brandy.

It was him.

He was there.

The nightmare faded with each passing second, and, for the longest time, all you could hear were your laboured breaths as you struggled to step into reality.

Your eyes were blurred from the tears welling up, and you watched his lips part to utter something, but the pounding in your ears prevented you from understanding a single word.

He eventually dropped the hand from your mouth, staring at you with an understanding look on his face.

“You're safe."

For a split second, you wondered if this was truly your Astarion, and once you asserted that it was truly him sitting beside you, you pushed yourself from the mattress, looping your arms around his neck.

He took you in his arms, gently pressing his lips to your temple.

“You're safe. I'm here and I've got you."

You couldn't stop the tears from streaming down as you pressed your face to his shoulder, seeking any sliver of comfort he could spare you.

The door to your room burst open.

“What happened? What did you do?”

Shadowheart's accusatory tone ground on your already fragile nerves.

“She was having a nightmare.”

His cool hand came to the back of your head, further pressing you into him.

“Oh. Another one…”

You felt your heartbeat soothe and your breathing gradually even out.

But his embrace felt too much like coming home for you to part from him, so you didn't, allowing him to rock you gently in his arms.

“It's become more frequent as of late.” She said with a hint of sadness to her voice.

Astarion kept his lips pressed to your temple, grounding you.

You eventually pulled back from him with a loud sniffle. “I'm fine. I am sorry I worried you…”

Shadowheart approached you, kindness on her face. “Nonsense. I am here for you - we are here for you,” she added, glancing at Astarion. “Always.”

“I'll just try to get some rest… you two may go…” you stammered in between a few sobs.

Shadowheart didn't move and neither did Astarion.

You rubbed your puffy and wet eyes. “I mean it. It will be fine.”

“Very well,” Shadowheart drawled out reluctantly. “But please let me know if there is anything I can help with.”

You gave her a reassuring nod paired with a comforting smile.

She returned the gesture and excused herself, clicking the door shut behind her.

Your gaze shifted to him. “You can leave, too.”?

He scoffed. “No.”

“What?”

“You'll have to stake me.”

You were utterly confused by his perseverance.

“I am fine, Astarion. I am thankful for your help, but… you don't have to stay.”

He nodded. “I don't have to, but I want to.”

Your heart clenched tightly in your chest.

And then your eyes fell to his shoulder.

“Oh, my…” you winced at the sight of the soppy fabric of his shirt. “I'm sorry for that…”

He looked confused at first, but followed your line of sight and smiled. “Was this an excuse to get me out of my shirt?”

His playful jab immediately had you chuckle, rolling your eyes at him.

“Not to mention that I've been covered in all sorts of your bodily fluids,” he went on, earning a surprised glare from you. “This might be my…” he paused brielfy, as if evaluating his options. “Ah - my third favourite, yes.”

You should have known better than to take the evident glare, but you could really use the distraction.

“What are the first two, then?”

You hadn't even realised your nightdress had come undone at the front until he reached out to pull back the sleeve that had slid down your arm.

Glancing down, you couldn't help the rush of heat on your cheeks as your breasts were barely covered at all.

“Blood, naturally,” he said in a low voice, tying each set of strings with unmatched dexterity, keeping your modesty preserved. “And your-”

But before he could reply, you quickly pressed your forefinger to his lips, eyes widening as you felt him smile under your touch and pressing a soft kiss.

You felt as though you might implode.

His hands moved up your chest, tying up the last knots.

“There - all neatly wrapped up like a nice little gift.” He said, amusement coating his words.

He was too good at getting under your skin.

More than you were willing to admit, especially out loud.

“Thank you for making me laugh.” You said truthfully, pushing aside how he had so easily made you feel all heated up.

“I aim to please.”

His words hit you like a thousand knives.

“You're more than that…” You said, wanting to reassure him that he didn't need to resort to honeyed words and calculated moves to create a meaningful connection with someone.

But your statement had the opposite effect, and he frowned slightly.

“Don't. Do not start…”

You swallowed and nodded in understanding. “I didn't mean to offend.”

He shook his head, adjusting the fabric of your nightdress over your shoulders. “You didn't. I merely do not wish to make this about me.”

You were slightly taken aback.

“I know all too well the burden of nightmares,” he explained. “Even if elves don't indulge in conventional sleep, we are still prone to nightmares when we trance.”

Oh.

“And I would hate for you to be plagued like that.”

You lowered your gaze, feeling extremely exposed all of a sudden.

“So tell me, darling, when did these start?” He asked, shifting closer to you. “And why were you screaming my name?”

You felt a lump swell in your throat.

He placed his finger under your chin, and pressed upwards until your eyes met his.

“What haunts you?”

You.

“Can we just… not…” You asked, already feeling tears prickling in the corners of your eyes.

Reason told you that a heartfelt conversation with Astarion was long overdue, but you didn't feel ready.

You still felt too startled and too vulnerable.

He had hurt you in more ways than one, even if unconsciously done at times.

“We don't have to talk about it.”

You nodded, a few tears rolling down. “Thank you.”

“We can push all of that aside, even if just for tonight.”

Your heart hammered fast inside you.

He then cradled your face in his hands, leaning in to press his lips to each cheek, kissing your tears away.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he trailed down, inching closer to your lips.

A shudder coursed throughout your entire body, barely able to contain the anticipation.

Please kiss me…

His thumbs rubbed slow circles on your flushed cheeks and your lips parted as his ghosted yours.

Astarion…

Almost there.

You could almost taste him.

Your hands came to grip his wrists tightly, silently urging him to take you.

Please… please…

As your heart thudded faster and faster, you gasped when he quickly kissed the tip of your nose before pressing his lips to your forehead.

You couldn't deny the overwhelming wave of disappointment that washed over you, even if, deep down, you realised it was probably the best course of action, considering how vulnerable you still felt from the nightmare.

A few more tears spilled over, which he quickly brushed away before pulling back.

“I can stay until you fall asleep.”

Your heart dropped.

Everything was conditional with him.

It was always meant to come to an end, eventually.

He would stay with you… but only until you drifted off to another nightmare, perhaps.

It was as if he couldn't simply stay with you.

You shook your head with a sniffle, letting go of him. “No. You can go… but thank you for this.”

“I can stay.”

“... until I fall asleep.” You finished his sentence.

He nodded, eyes locking with yours. “Or for as long as you need me.”

You felt ridiculous from the way your heart immediately skipped a beat.

“Will you hug me?”

He shifted back against the headboard and sprawled his arms out to you with a sly grin. “Come here, darling.”

For a brief moment, you saw your Astarion again.

Open and caring.

You scooted over to rest your body against his, smiling softly as he placed his arm around you, trailing absent-minded caresses along your arm.

His coldness felt comfortable even in the dead of night, and you wrapped your arm around his torso, enjoying the silence.

“Am I too cold?”

You're perfect.

You shook your head vehemently.

But he still reached out to grab the blanket at your feet, draping over your frame.

“You are shivering, you fool.” He whispered and you could hear the smile in his remark.

You snuggled up against him, wishing you could freeze this moment in time.

Slowly but surely, and lulled by his caresses, you felt exhaustion take over, your eyelids feeling progressively heavier.

Maybe this was all a dream.

Maybe you'd wake up only to find that this had never happened.

That you hadn't felt your Astarion once again.

His chin was resting atop your head and your heart skipped yet another beat.

“Astarion?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened to us…”

The hand on your arm stilled for a moment and he hushed you. “Just rest.”

Your eyelids did feel heavy, and you could recognise your own brain fighting away your sleep, but you still wanted to know.

You needed to know what had gone so terribly wrong.

Especially when the man holding you in his arms had just provided immeasurable comfort.

“I miss you… us…” You heard yourself mumble under your breath.

He did utter something unintelligible, but you were far too exhausted to ask for a repeat.

Your warm body slumped against his cold one as he lulled you into sleep with the rhythmic caresses on your back.

It seemed that this time, your nightmare had started and ended with him.

Morning came and he was gone.

Of course he was.

Even with your windows barred from the sun, he had still chosen to leave.

He had tucked you under the bedsheets and warm blankets.

You had nearly forgotten what a good night of sleep was ever since the nightmares had taken root in your mind.

His scent lingered all around you and it was impossible to escape it.

You eventually pushed yourself up to sit in silence, going over the events of a couple of hours ago.

Why did he always leave in the end?

Why couldn't you just bring yourself to move on from him?

You could have taken the time to open up to him about how you felt, but you were so afraid to push him away.

He had his own vulnerabilities and he didn't need yours weighing him down, too.

You lazily scrambled out of bed, slipping into your robe, ready for a new day.

As you made your way down the corridor, you began to hear heated voices coming from the kitchen.

“Must we all live in darkness because of you?”

You found Astarion sitting by the table, seemingly unbothered by Lae'zel's snarky remarks, the room plunged in darkness, keeping the scorching sun at bay.

“Oh please, feel free to address your complaints to the Grand Duke.”

Gale saw you first and offered a warm smile. “How are you feeling, my friend?”

You hugged yourself, forcing a smile. “I am well, thank you.”

Astarion turned his head to you, annoyance giving way to a sliver of concern. “Did you manage to get some rest?”

You nodded, your heart immediately reacting to his presence.

“Shall I brew some chamomile tea?” Gale offered eagerly, moving about the kitchen to gather the supplies.

“Thank you,” you said, glancing around. “Where is Shadowheart?”

“She headed out to the apothecary,” Gale said, placing the kettle by the fireplace. “She's keen on helping you out with these nightmares.”

Guilt hit you.

Of course she had.

Shadowheart had held your hand through so many perils, yet you couldn't help but to feel guilty that she was searching for help when the solution to your problem was right in front of you.

And he kept glaring at you, as if studying your every move.

A soft knock on the front door snapped you from your thoughts, and you went to push it open, revealing the visitor.

No.

No fucking way.

You immediately slammed the door shut, feeling rage swirl inside you.

“Who is it?” Gale asked.

“No one.”

Then your gaze met Astarion's whose eyebrow was arched in confusion.

“That is no way to treat a guest.” The woman outside chirped happily.

Ava.

Next chapter: Broken - November 26

Series Masterlist . I don't keep taglists, so feel to follow this story on Ao3 🩷

#astarion smut #astarion angst #astarion x female reader #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #astarion scenario #astarion x you #astarion x reader

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angelicyoongie · 7 months ago

Text

lovesick (XVl / finale)

— pairing: yandere ot7 x (f) reader — word count: 13.3k — warnings: yandere, obsessive behaviour, explicit sexual content unprotected sex, breast play, fingering (vaginal), VERY mild d/s, consensual punishment (spanking), consensual voyeurism (jimin watches like the freak that he is). — summary: You dreamed of the day you would get your very own soulmark. Though, you didn’t expect to wake up to a searing hurt in your arm, the phantom pain of your shoulder being dislocated and your forearm fractured. As if dealing with the worst possible soulmark ever wasn’t bad enough, you also have to come to terms with the fact that you’re being stalked. When the letters and gifts you receive begin to escalate and the police offers no help, you have no other option than to figure out who’s behind it yourself – and hopefully before it’s too late. — a/n: please read the author's note at the end of the chapter!

Previous - Masterlist

It takes six months before you finally hear the words you've been waiting so desperately for.

"Sunshine, we've been talking and we think it's time we relocate to somewhere else."

Your fork clatters to the table, clicking loudly against your plate. You wonder for a moment if you're dreaming – if your brain has started to hallucinate scenarios to make up for how suffocated you feel in this cabin – but Jimin's hand squeezing your knee is too real to be made up.

"What?" You breathe, shocked.

"We can't stay here for much longer, baby, the station uses the cabin sporadically throughout the summer months," Jimin says. He takes a bite of his food, shrugging as he admits, "Our stay here so far hasn't exactly been legal. I'd rather not get us all in trouble for using the place unauthorized."

"We know how cooped up you've been here," Seokjin adds, giving you a sad smile, "We never planned on staying here this long but we had to figure some things out first. We wanted to find a place that was perfect for us, somewhere that could be our home, so we couldn't rush it."

You drop your hands into your lap, clutching them together tightly. You hope it's enough to hide how badly they're trembling, blood pumping loudly in your ears as it dawns on you that this is your ticket out. You might not be able to escape, not in the way you attempted so many months ago at least, but it's a start. The boys wouldn't make this decision if they didn't trust you, if they didn't feel confident enough in your connection that you won't try to run away from them.

And you won't.

You've come to terms with your situation; that your soulmates need you to get better.

Though you haven't had much of a choice, you have decided that you're going to stay until the bond settles, just until they stop being so obsessive and paranoid. Maybe then you'll be able to go back to the life you had before and do everything right with them this time.

The you from six months ago would've been disgusted that you're even entertaining the thought of giving them a second chance, but you know better now. Your soulmates are sick. Perhaps with time, and a lot of therapy, they will be able to understand what they've been putting you through and try to make amends for it.

You know that the healthy thing to do would be to run away without a backward glance but you can't. Try as you might to hate it, your soul – your heart – has long since accepted them. You can't quite call it love, not with the circumstances of how those feelings came to be, but you do like them.

"It's some hours away but it's a quaint home, just big enough for the eight of us. It's on the outskirts of– the city! So it has a big garden and a lot of picturesque trails around it," Seokjin's voice cracks as he almost lets the town name slip, Namjoon elbowing his side with a low hiss.

"It's perfect for taking Yeontan on walks!" Taehyung pipes up with a grin, sneaking the whining pup at his feet a piece of sausage.

You're not surprised that the boys aren't willing to share any information about the new house and place you'll be moving to. They may not be as paranoid as they were at the beginning but that still doesn't mean that they have full faith in you just yet. But you expected that. You just need to play your cards right – stay at the house until they let their guards down and then, maybe, you'll be able to slowly lay down the foundation you need to convince them to let you go back to your home.

"That sounds lovely," You smile, glossing over Seokjin's blunder.

Needing to act as normal as possible, you once again pick up your fork and try to resume eating your dinner. The piece of chicken you shove into your mouth doesn't taste like anything, your nerves making everything bland and tough to chew. But you push through, moving around some rice on your plate as you nonchalantly say, "But what about your jobs? Jungkook's degree? I would hate for our move to affect you like that."

"You don't have to worry about that," Jimin squeezes your knee, "I'll be commuting with Seokjin hyung and Hoseok hyung. Namjoon hyung has been hired at the library in the city we're moving to and Jungkookie is going to finish the rest of the semester online."

"Taehyungie and I can work a lot from home, so we're planning on doing that. We might have to go into the office now and then, but that's no problem," Yoongi supplies. He gives you a fond look as he says, "We're hoping it'll make the transition into the new house easier for you since some of us will always be home to spend time with you."

And it'll be easier to make sure you don't do anything stupid.

"Ah, I see, that's nice," You say. "Thank you for thinking of me."

"Always," Namjoon grins sweetly, his dimples indenting his cheeks.

It might not be a lot to go off, but the fact that the majority of them are planning on commuting every day must mean that the new city can be too far away from your old one, even if you don't know exactly where it is yet. An hour, maybe a little more, if they're being extra careful. You can work with that.

Hoseok catches your gaze from across the table, his expression earnest as he says, "We want you to be able to have a normal life, Y/n. With us."

"I know our methods have been a bit..." He trails off with a small grimace, no doubt thinking about what transpired in his shop and everything that followed. You can't exactly say that Hoseok looks remorseful, none of them do, but there is a touch of shame in their faces that hasn't been present before.

"I won't apologize for what happened because that's what led us here and gave us the chance to grow closer like we were supposed to all along. But, we want to do better by you and we're going to do our best to make sure that happens."

The others voice out their agreement, nodding along to Hoseok's words.

You shove a mouthful of rice into your mouth to dampen your sigh.

You're not even sure why you feel disappointed by the fact that the boys refuse to apologize for what they did to you, you already know they don't feel bad about it. Still, perhaps the part of you that likes them was hoping for it nonetheless. Maybe it would be easier for you to accept everything that has happened if they did – if they admitted that they had hurt you and wanted to repent for it. But, you're probably going to have to wait a very long time before that day ever comes – if, it ever comes.

Swallowing your food, you try to shake off any useless thoughts. You need to focus on the future, on the fact that you'll be regaining a sliver of freedom soon.

You move one hand under the table, covering Jimin's hand with yours.

Squeezing it, you hope you don't sound too eager as you ask, "So, when do we leave?"

Two weeks.

You figured the move would happen soon, but not that quickly. The boys must have planned this for a long time, far longer than they let on, because there's no way they could have closed on a house this fast.

The day after they told you of their plans, Namjoon had already begun moving some of his books out of the cabin. Truthfully there wasn't much any of you needed to pack up, only a few random personal belongings and decor elements that had been placed here and there to make your stay a little more cozy. In the end, it all fit into three boxes placed neatly by the door.

A few days before the move, the boys spent an hour rearranging the furniture back to how it was when you had first arrived, erasing any trace of the last six months with it. It was as if no one had ever been there in the first place, as if it hadn't served as a prison for half a year.

When you first arrived you wondered if you would ever be able to leave, and now, you're about to do just that.

"Y/n."

You turn around as Yoongi calls your name, watching as he steps closer with a piece of fabric between his hands. Yoongi unfolds it under your gaze, revealing it to be a black opaque scarf.

"We're all ready to go, love, but you have to cover your eyes with this," Yoongi frowns apologetically. "We want to trust you, but for everyone's peace of mind, this is the best thing to do. It's just until we arrive at the house."

You eye the scarf for a moment, flashing Yoongi a weak smile as you say, "It's okay, I understand."

He steps closer, bringing the fabric up to your face. The material is soft, and cool, as it covers your eyes, blocking out any semblance of light. The scarf is wide enough that it covers everything from your eyebrows to the tip of your nose, removing any chance you might have had to tilt your head to peek at the outside world. You should've figured they would've been prepared for that possibility.

Yoongi's hands are careful as he ties the scarf behind your head, making sure he doesn't tangle or tug at your hair in the process. You can feel his breath against your cheek as he binds it securely, double knotting it to make sure it's not going to come undone.

"All done," Yoongi announces softly, curving one hand along the back of your neck. He tilts your head up slightly, just enough for his lips to brush against yours. Your eyes fall shut despite the darkness already hindering your vision, leaning forward to catch his lips in a proper kiss.

Yoongi indulges you for a few seconds before he steps back, removing his hands.

"Come back," You pout, your fingers searching blindly for his coat.

"We're going to be late, love, the others are waiting for us," You can hear the smile in Yoongi's voice as he grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

As if summoned, the cabin door flies open, Jungkook's voice echoing slightly in the near-empty cabin as he asks, "Are you coming, hyung? Y/n? We're all ready to go."

You let Yoongi lead you forward, your steps a little unsteady despite his promise that nothing is in your way. Jungkook grabs your other hand as you near the door, chattering excitedly about how he brought some of your favourite snacks for the trip as they both help you down the stairs.

Your heart jumps, picking up speed, as you hear the steady thrum of a car motor running. You can't believe this is actually real – you're truly leaving this place for good. You know that Taehyung, Jimin, and Namjoon have already left, the boys eager to get everything in order at the new house before your arrival.

You're maneuvered into the car without too much trouble, Hoseok clicking your seatbelt into place as you're placed between him and Jungkook in the backseat. You find a bag of sweets dumped into your lap the moment you're situated, Hoseok chiding Jungkook lightly for startling you. Yoongi has taken his place in the front seat, groaning loudly as Seokjin declares that as the driver; he's going to be responsible for the music and that no one is allowed to complain about his choices.

You lean back in your seat, getting yourself comfortable between Jungkook and Hoseok. Their bodies being flushed with yours in the cramped car feels grounding, the feel of their strong thighs pressed against yours being something you can easily divert your focus to with your sight momentarily blocked. Seokjin and Yoongi bicker as the car begins to pull away from the cabin, the gravel road crunching loudly under the wheels.

Finally.

Knowing there's no chance of you catching a glimpse of the surroundings on the way there, not with the blindfold so securely wrapped around your head, you slump to the side, resting your head on Hoseok's shoulder. Slender fingers wrap around yours as Hoseok takes your hand into his lap, his thumb moving soothingly across your knuckles. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to zone out and daydream about all of the possibilities ahead of you. It's not like the boys are going to magically become more trusting the moment you arrive at the new house but the move will open new doors for you – give you more opportunities to show them that they can lower their guards and trust the bond without any consequences.

They don't have to worry about you running away anymore.

The boys seem content to let you rest on the drive over to the new house, filling the silence between songs with jokes and lighthearted bickering. You easily accept the pieces of candy that are pressed to your lips at steady intervals, smiling at Jungkook and Hoseok's pleased words whenever you accept their offers. Before you know it, the car begins to slow down and you hear Seokjin exclaim, "Ah, there it is!"

The door on Hoseok's side is opened the moment the car stops, Taehyung whining loudly about how long it took you to get there. You follow their lead out of the car and inside the new house, placing one foot blindly in front of the other.

"We'll show you the outside later, babe," Taehyung promises as he steers you forward with both hands securely placed on your shoulders, "We just want to see your reaction to the inside of the house first."

Namjoon helps you slip off your shoes as you step into the house, the smell of a freshly cleaned floor hitting your nose. Taehyung urges you to walk forward a bit more before he stops you, his hands moving from your shoulders to untie the knots behind your head.

"We hope you'll like your new home, darling," Namjoon says, revealing a hint of nervousness in his tone.

You're practically bursting with anticipation as Taehyung undos the first knot, the wooden floorboards under your feet giving you the impression that this is likely an older, more traditional, house. You blink as the blindfold finally falls away, the sudden burst of light stinging your eyes.

Your lips part in surprise as your vision adjusts, taking in the space in front of you.

You're standing in the middle of a large entryway, the area opening up into a big combined living and dining room. One wall is practically filled with windows, letting lots of beautiful sunlight stream in and warm up the space. You notice a massive couch on one side of the room, the size of it definitely big enough to comfortably seat eight people at once. It's facing the built-in fireplace in the wall in front of it, a big TV hung above it. The dining room portion has a lovely intricate hardwood table with eight matching chairs pushed up against it.

You notice that one of the smaller walls has a bookcase spanning the entire width of it, already half-full with what you can only assume to be Namjoon's books. You do recognize little trinkets here and there that the boys kept at the cabin, and even a few larger plants you eyed when you visited Seokjin's shop way back then.

"I love it," You gasp, stunned at how well they've designed the living room.

It does feel cozy – home-y, even.

"I told you the couch was the right choice!" Taehyung walks into the room, grinning smugly at Jimin.

Jimin rolls his eyes, "It would've looked too out of place if it wasn't for the rug that I found to go along with it."

"There they go again," Hoseok sighs behind your back. He nudges your shoulder gently, voice low as he says, "They're going to keep doing that for a while. Why don't we go look at the kitchen in the meantime?"

"Please," You nod, excited to see if the rest of the house looks as good as the living room. You follow Hoseok's lead back to the entry and through the open door on the left, the rest of the boys trailing behind you.

"The kitchen needed an upgrade so we let Seokjin hyung and Yoongi hyung design it since they do the majority of the cooking," Hoseok scratches his neck, a little sheepish as he pauses next to the large island in the room.

The kitchen is sleek and modern, definitely newer than what you've seen of the house so far, but not out of place by any means. It just feels inviting and bright, like a breath of fresh air. Maybe cooking won't be so bad if you can do it in a kitchen like this.

"It looks great," You comment, walking around the island to marvel at some of the fancier appliances that are out on display on the counters.

"Thank you, angel," Seokjin preens. He shares a pleased look with Yoongi over your compliment, the younger man's cheeks flushed from the praise.

You catch sight of the pretty, colourful garden outside as you walk past the sink. Looking outside the window above it, you find that spring is already in full bloom here. While you had noticed a few more wildflowers around the cabin a few days before you left, it's nothing compared to the abundance of flowers and shrubs that are blossoming here.

The view makes you smile. You know your stay here isn't permanent but it does make your heart flutter to know that you're going to be spending your foreseeable future here – in a lovely house with a pretty garden – and not an old cabin in a dark forest. The boys did well by picking this house, it's the type of place you actually would like to live in.

"Y/n, let's go have a look at the downstairs bathroom and study before we move upstairs," Seokjin says, gesturing to the hallway.

You can still hear Taehyung and Jimin's heated discussion as you cross over the entry to look at the rooms on the opposite side of the house, the french double doors leading to the study winning you over immediately. Both rooms look like they've gotten a recent refresh, the new paint and tiles the boys picked out for the bathroom nicely complementing the old features of the home. The house is the perfect blend of rustic and modern.

Jungkook grabs your hand as you turn to follow Yoongi up to the second floor, excitedly dragging you up the stairs ahead of the others. He quickly explains that the second-floor houses all three bedrooms and an additional two ensuite bathrooms. Jungkook eagerly tells you about the choices they made for the bedrooms, from the color of the wall to the bedside tables to even the small light near the window that projects stars on the ceiling when it's dark out.

Yoongi takes special care to point out the wainscoting he put up in the second bedroom and he flashes you a gummy smile as you praise him for the work he's done. You drag your fingers over the soft duvet on the seemingly king-sized bed in the room, a lightbulb going off in your head as you remember that there are only three bedrooms.

"Wait, if there's only three beds, what are the sleeping arrangements going to be like?"

Hoseok speaks up from where he's leaning against the wall, "We're all going to share, sunshine. Some of us will have to stay overnight in the city due to our jobs every so often so that should clear up some space, but aside from that, we'll be sharing beds."

The surprise must be evident on your face, because Namjoon grimaces and quickly supplies, "We know we've been neglecting each other as soulmates. We don't feel the bond in the same way as we do with you but we are connected regardless. This... well, this is our attempt at strengthening that connection. We're trying to accept that the bond goes eight ways – not just one."

You find yourself speechless at what you've just heard. You knew that the bond was slowly mellowing them out but you never thought that it would start affecting the connection between them as well. If that part of the soulbond starts to heal then... You might be able to get back to your normal life sooner than you first dared to hope for.

"We still have one more room to look at, love," Yoongi touches your hip, nudging you towards the door. None of the boys seem to expect a response to what Namjoon just told you, understanding that the news has left you a little dumbfounded.

Taehyung and Jimin must have resolved their bickering during your tour, the two of them waiting by the door to the final room, giggling at something on Taehyung's phone. The hot and cold behaviour the boys have towards each other does give you a whiplash most days but you suppose that too might become less frequent as the bond between them finally gets the nurture it's been needing for years.

"We didn't want to complete this house without you," Yoongi explains as he pushes open the door. The last bedroom is noticeably less finished than the rest of the house, the walls a tired white and the furniture non-existent aside from another king bed. "This is your home just as much as it's ours, so we'd really like it if you want to help us design the final bedroom."

"I'd love that," You grin, eager for a project you can occupy some of your time with.

"We'll be collecting your things soon, babe," Jimin adds, "Your lease is up on your apartment and you don't need it anymore, so we'll take turns packing up everything and bringing it over next weekend."

You stare at the blank wall, heart sinking in your chest. Somehow, you had forgotten about your lease. A burst of anger you haven't felt in a while bubbles up under your skin, the urge to scream and curse at them taking over your body. But what good will it do?

In their eyes, this is your new home. The need for your apartment is now obsolete.

You breathe slowly through your nose, quelling the flames before they can burn too hot. You may lose your apartment, your home, for now, but that doesn't mean you can't make a new home somewhere else later. You'll be fine. You're sure Heejun and Jaemin will gladly let you crash on their couch until you figure something out. For now, you just have to accept the situation for what it is and play along.

You have missed your things, so it'll be nice to be able to make this house your own for however long you'll need it.

"Great, thank you," You grit.

For once, Jimin seems oblivious to your snark. He throws an arm around your shoulders, bumping his forehead against yours as he grins and says, "C'mon babe, let's go have a look at the garden. I think you're going to love it."

You throw a glance towards the window, plastering on a convincing smile as you say, "I'd like nothing more, Jiminie."

Time passes quickly in the new house once you begin to settle in.

The unfinished bedroom gets decorated to your liking, the walls repainted and the newly hung shelves display most of the little knick-knacks from your old apartment. As spring begins to bleed into summer, you take on the task of getting the already stunning garden ready for the warmer weather. You often find yourself outside with Jungkook or Yoongi, weeding around the plants or mowing the grass to make sure Yeontan has a nice, safe space to run around in. The pup loves to dig up anything that has been freshly planted, so someone must always watch him like a hawk whenever the soil has been recently turned. You've already lost a bed of beautiful purple hyacinths once and you don't want to make that mistake again (even if the picture of Yeontan napping in a pile of flowers was a little cute).

Truly, it's all too easy to fall into a new routine and it doesn't take long before you know the boys' schedules by heart. Jimin, Seokjin, and Hoseok are away the most since the nature of their jobs doesn't allow them to work from home. Seokjin and Hoseok have hired more helpers to be able to spend the full weekend at home, in addition to a day or two here and there when they work on the administrative side of their businesses. Jimin, however, doesn't have that option. He often spends three days at the time in the city, his shifts too long and tiring for him to be able to make the drive back and forth every day.

You miss him whenever he's away and it's becoming quite obvious that the others do too. Jungkook and Taehyung in particular often mope around the house when Jimin is working his shifts, lamenting about how unfair it is that he has to stay there for days all by himself. Even if you're a little surprised at how quickly the bond has grown between the boys, you do admittedly find it awfully sweet to see them puppy-piling whoever has been gone for a day or more whenever they return to the house. Though, you always grow a little wary when Jimin comes back, as the days apart usually leave him a little more hungry for mischief than usual.

You can already tell that Jimin is up to something the moment he steps into the house, his eyes sparkling with interest despite his tired complexion. Your suspicion wavers slightly during dinner with Hoseok and Seokjin, as Jimin keeps yawning between bites and resting his head heavily against your arm the moment he's done eating. He stays glued to your back as you all shuffle into the living room after, hugging you tight to his chest as he settles down on the couch. He only hums in agreement when Seokjin proposes a few rounds of Mario Kart, letting out a tired sigh as he hooks his chin over your shoulder to watch them.

Jimin has one hand tucked under your sweatshirt, petting over the bare skin on your waist while he nuzzles his face against your neck. The gestures are innocent and sleepy, and you find your guard lowering with every round Hoseok and Seokjin play.

You snort as Hoseok gets hit with a blue shell just as he's about to cross the finish line, Seokjin letting out a whop as he races past him.

"You're such a cheater!" Hoseok huffs, glaring at the teasing dance Seokjin does to celebrate his fifth win in a row.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Hobi, but you're just not as good as I am," Seokjin grins. "I never lose once I set my mind to something, you know that."

"You're too full of yourself, hyung," Hoseok shakes his head as he gives Seokjin's shoulder a light shove.

"And you're a sore loser," Seokjin quips, laughing as he gets pushed to the ground. He swats Hoseok's hands away as he tries to wrestle with him, his squeaky laughter filling the room as Hoseok grumbles out his protests.

The hand on your waist suddenly stills just as Seokjin's laughter lulls. The mischief is back in Jimin's voice as it brushes against your neck, his tone taunting as he says, "Maybe it's time you brought Seokjin hyung down a peg, huh, Hoseok hyung?"

You hold your breath as Hoseok and Seokjin both freeze, their heads slowly turning to face the couch.

"What are you talking about, Jimin?" Seokjin, never one to entertain Jimin's antics for too long, purses his lips as he stares him down.

"You do win almost every game we play, hyung, that's true, but you've also played more video games than all of us combined. Maybe if you and Hoseok hyung played a game that was more.. level to your experiences, it would be more fair?" Jimin proposes.

"What kind of game are we talking about here?" Hoseok asks. You can tell his curiosity is winning out over his usual disdain for Jimin's 'games', his eyes tracking Jimin as the younger brings one hand up to your jaw, turning your head to the side.

You let out a stuttered breath as you meet Jimin's hungry gaze, his glossy lips twisting into a smirk as he looks you dead in the eyes and says, "How about a competition to see who can fuck our baby better?"

You hear Seokjin sputter on the floor as Hoseok lets out a pained groan.

"Hyung! You almost kneed me in the balls! Are you seriously still trying to cheat?"

"I'm not– I'm surprised!" Seokjin retorts with a squeak, "I didn't think that little devil would joke around with something like that!"

"I'm not joking though," Jimin hums as he strokes his thumb along your jaw. "Wouldn't it be interesting to see who would win – who Y/n would crown the best?"

Jimin's gaze leaves yours for a second as it glides down to his hyungs on the floor, the corner of his mouth quirking into a mocking smile as he says, "Or maybe you're just too scared to find out who she prefers? I guess it might be better for you to give up now Hobi hyung, if you're not confident that you can beat Seokjin hyung."

Your lips part in surprise as you realize that Jimin is serious about his proposal, that he's trying to goad them into competing. It's a low blow and an obvious one too, but you don't think Hoseok and Seokjin care – not when Jimin is openly questioning their ability to pleasure you.

Seeing Hoseok's brows furrow in thought, Jimin returns his attention to you. He leans forward to slot your mouths together, taking advantage of the access you've given him as he pulls you into a deep kiss. His tongue dips past your lips right away, curling around your own as he holds you still. You can't help the moan that tumbles out as Jimin ravages your mouth, the sounds wet and filthy as he kisses you passionately.

You slump into Jimin's arms, letting him take full control of the kiss. It's only when you start to turn lightheaded that you turn your head away, gasping for air as Jimin moves his mouth to your jaw. You glance with hooded eyes down at the floor as you attempt to catch your breath, your stomach doing a flip as you notice how affected Hoseok and Seokjin seem. They're both turned on by the little show Jimin put on for them, their bulges prominent and straining against their pants.

The tension in the room is palpable. Seokjin and Hoseok look like they're teetering on the edge between hesitance and hunger – both wanting what Jimin is proposing, but still holding themselves back from accepting it.

You know Jimin can sense it by the way he makes you moan as he sucks your skin between his teeth, leaving his mark on your delicate throat. He lets out a low chuckle at the sharp intake of breath he hears from Seokjin.

"If the two of you aren't going to pleasure Y/n then you better say your goodnights now. I'll make sure to fuck her twice as good as either of you ever could. Hmm.. Do you think she'll even remember your names once I'm done?" He purrs against your neck, kissing his way back up to your lips.

"What do you think, baby? Should the two of us go upstairs, or do you want to see what the hyungs can do to you?"

While you don't particularly agree with Jimin's methods, you can't deny the fact that you have been curious about when Seokjin and Hoseok were going to get intimate with you. You've had countless make-out sessions with each of them, heavy petting involved, but it's never gone beyond that. The boys have been giving you some space to settle in properly and get your bearings in the new house but you've reached the point where you're honestly a little desperate to be touched. You want them to fuck you. And for all of Jimin's schemes, even you can agree that this one sounds fun – hot, even.

"I–" You shudder at the way Jimin presses his thumb against the bruise he left, eyes fluttering closed as you shyly admit, "I wouldn't m-mind, but I don't want to pressure them–"

"Fuck," Hoseok curses, pushing himself to his feet, "Whatever, I'm in."

He sends a sharp look down at Seokjin, "You better not chicken out."

"Yeah, hyung," Jimin chimes in, "Are you forfeiting your chance to finally fuck Y/n? Who knows when you'll be able to do it later when she has five other soulmates who already know her body so well."

Seokjin's jaw is clenched so tight it looks like it's going to break, his expression stormy as his eyes jump from person to person. His gaze lingers on you for longer, drinks in how affected you look after just a little kissing, how eager you seem to finally have your final two soulmates at your mercy. Even if he imagined your first time together to be a little more romantic and with a lot less Jimin, Seokjin can't deny that it's exciting to be able to prove himself as the best lover out of the group.

"I'm not forfeiting anything," Seokjin huffs, standing up to join Hoseok. "I'll win this fair and square. Just don't be too sad when Angel picks me as the best lover, yeah?"

Hoseok doesn't deign Seokjin with an answer, his sights already set on you. He brushes past his hyung with long strides, scooping you out of Jimin's arms and into his own. Hoseok rounds the coffee table to place you down on the other side, creating some space between you and the others, drawing a line he doesn't want anyone to cross.

You lean back against the table as he squats down in front of you, watching him with wide eyes as he reaches out to trace your bottom lip with one of his fingers.

"Sunshine, don't you think you're being too much of a tease?"

Hoseok's gaze hardens as you inadvertently swipe your tongue along the line he just traced, your lip tingling from his touch. You feel the back of your neck flush as you realize what you just did, feeling bashful as you drop your gaze down to the floor.

The denial sits on the tip of your tongue, but you can't make yourself utter the words. Jimin is the one who was teasing them, firing them up, but you didn't exactly stop him either, did you? You're not ashamed to admit that you've been wanting Hoseok and Seokjin for a while now, and Jimin has practically served them up on a silver platter for you.

"I–" You swallow thickly as you glance up and meet Hoseok's dark gaze, "I'm sorry?"

Hoseok's mouth quirks, "I don't think you are, Y/n."

Heat pools low in your stomach at Hoseok's astute observation, your thighs clenching helplessly under his sharp gaze.

"You deserve a little punishment for that, sunshine, don't you agree?" He hums.

The last time you were 'punished' was humiliating and not something you had agreed to at all. But this time, you're given the option to deny him, to walk away if you so wish. Despite everything they've done, you know they don't want to force you to do something you don't want to do.

Truthfully, it does make you a little nervous to give Hoseok full control, but the soulbond will never settle until you show him that you're willing to put your full trust in him.

"Yes," You weakly agree, embarrassed, knowing that he's looking for a verbal answer.

Hoseok gives a pleased smile at your compliance, his fiery exterior cracking momentarily until he reins himself back in.

"Good. Get on your hands and knees, Y/n, you're allowed to use the table for support if you need it."

The flush on the back of your neck spreads up to your face as you do as you're told. You turn around, crawling forward on your hands and knees until you're upper body is resting on the coffee table, the position naturally pushing your bottom out. You suck your lip between your teeth as you look ahead to find Jimin cupping himself above his pants, his smile wicked. Seokjin has made his way onto the same couch, his usually sweet face all stoic and difficult to read as he watches you and Hoseok. His hands are digging into his jeans, resisting the urge to touch himself and follow in Jimin's footsteps.

You lower your head as Hoseok positions himself behind you, his hands landing on the swell of your ass. He places a hand on each cheek, letting out a low groan as he kneads the flesh.

"I think ten should do it for your punishment this time, sunshine," Hoseok says, warming up the area by alternating between squeezing and rubbing his palms in circles over your cheeks.

"Okay," You say, your belly swooping with nervous anticipation.

"Hoseok," Seokjin hisses, a warning that gets shushed by Jimin.

For a moment, too wrapped up in Hoseok's dominating aura, you had forgotten that they would all feel your punishment. Just like they did back then in the cabin.

Before you can change your mind though, Jimin adds a decisive, "If our baby can handle it, then you can handle it too, hyung."

Seokjin sighs, clearly not willing to put up the fight. "Fine."

Both of Hoseok's hands fall away at that, leaving you exposed to receive your punishment. Hoseok's shirt rustles as he raises his hand and it's the only warning you get before his palm lands heavy on your ass, the impact knocking your breath out of your lungs. The next six spanks come in quick succession, each harder than the last. It's only a small mercy that your skin is still covered, the sting still intense despite the slight padding between you and Hoseok's palm. The noises you've been trying so hard to suppress tumble out at the seventh blow, a strangled gasp passing through your lips as he makes contact.

"Good girl," Hoseok praises, pausing his hits to allow you a moment to regain your breath. He tuts as you try to pull away from the fingers stroking over your smarting cheeks. "Don't make me add more, Y/n. Take the rest of your punishment properly and I promise I'll reward you."

You take a few deep breaths, nodding to let Hoseok know that you'll behave.

The final three slaps are so forceful you're sure you're going to bruise, your body jolting forward over the table as the smacks rain down on your ass. You cry out at the last one, the sound caught between a moan and a whimper as your heart pounds in your chest.

"Fuck, that's hot," Jimin curses, palming himself harder. "Stings like a bitch, though," He whines under his breath.

Hoseok goes back to massaging your cheeks, soothing the hurt down to a more manageable level. His fingers drift up to the waistband of your sweats, hooking into the fabric before he pauses and asks, "Are you ready for your reward now, sunshine?"

"Please," You whimper.

You lift your knees to help Hoseok pull your sweats and underwear off all in one go, legs shaking as you barely manage to raise yourself enough from the table to remove your shirt after.

"Look at you," Hoseok murmurs, gliding his fingers all over your exposed skin. He follows the curve of your spine, only stopping briefly to thumb across your burning cheeks before he drags his hands down your calves. Your breath hitches as he suddenly spreads your legs.

You're mortified to discover that Hoseok's punishment has made you wet, dripping, without you noticing it, your cunt clenching helplessly under Hoseok's burning gaze. "So pretty."

You gasp as Hoseok drags a finger through your slit, rubbing and spreading the wetness all over your cunt. He stills near your entrance, teasing you by barely dipping his finger in before he slides it back up to your clit. The slow rubs around your nub cause your thighs to shake, your senses overwhelmed as he repeats the motion over and over.

"Hoseok, please," You whimper, pushing your hips against his finger as he teasingly tries to dip it in again, the movement swallowing him up to the second knuckle.

"Are you being impatient, Y/n?"

Hoseok pushes his finger deeper, feeling along your walls before he pulls out to add another one, the slide in easy with how turned on you are. It feels good to finally have something filling you up, your cunt clenching desperately around his digits whenever he goes to pull out.

"I'll let it slide just this once, sunshine. It seems your cunt is hungry for something more."

The next thrust of his fingers is harder, slightly curled, and you let out a loud moan as he bumps directly against your sweet spot. Two fingers turn to three, stretching your walls out in preparation for Hoseok's cock. You keep mindlessly moving your hips back, meeting every thrust of his fingers in hopes that you'll take him deeper, feel fuller. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter and tighter, desperate for that final burst of pleasure to tip you over the scale.

"Wait–" You gasp, throwing a look over your shoulder as Hoseok removes his fingers, your cunt empty and aching with nothing in it.

"Don't worry," Hoseok presses himself flush with your back, his lips ghosting over your ear as he says, "I'm giving you what you want. Your sweet little pussy just needs a hard cock to fuck it good, hmm?"

He rolls his hips against yours, the hardness in his jeans unmistakable. You let out a low keen, breathless as you admit, "Yes, yes, I need it."

"You'll get it, sunshine," Hoseok presses open-mouthed kisses to your shoulders as he works his pants down his hips, his hard cock springing up against his stomach as he frees it from his boxers. Hoseok groans as he wraps one hand around himself, thumbing at his slit to spread the pre-come with a few quick pumps up and down his length.

You both let out a moan as Hoseok rubs the head of his cock through your folds, making it even wetter. He positions himself at your opening, one hand gripping your waist as he pushes inside. Your walls open easily, practically sucking in half of his cock in one go. With how relaxed and eager you are, it only takes one firm thrust from Hoseok to bury the rest of him inside of you.

"Oh gods," You groan, your fingers scrambling over the waxed tabletop for support as you desperately clamp down around his cock.

"Are you ready, Y/n?" Hoseok places both hands on your waist, holding you still. He draws his hips back, leaving only the tip of his cock inside your cunt, teasing. You feel him twitch as you clench around him, his usually composed voice wavering just the slightest as he says, "I'll give you everything you need, you just have to ask."

Your pride is already long gone, vanished into thin air at the first touch of Hoseok's skilled fingers. You're not above begging, not if it'll finally sate the arousal licking up the inside of your stomach.

"Please fuck me, Hobi," You whine.

The grip on your waist tightens, Hoseok's fingers digging into your flesh as he finally gets to hear the words he's only been dreaming about for so long. His eyes are dark are he stares down at your body, as he memorizes the way your cunt clings to his cock, aching to be filled. Not even the loud groan coming from the couch is enough to tear his gaze away, not when he has such a perfect vision right in front of him.

"As you wish, my sunshine."

You have no way of preparing yourself for the way Hoseok snaps his hips forward, slamming into your cunt so hard it makes your back arch. Your arms give out under the brutal pace he sets, your hands fruitlessly gliding across the table for something to hold on to as he punches his cock in with every deep thrust. It's only the tight grip Hoseok has on your hips that keeps you from sliding across the surface.

Your head feels like it's filled with static, no thoughts forming beyond more, please, more, as Hoseok moves in and out of you. The harsh noise of Hoseok's skin slapping against yours causes another gush of arousal to wet your cunt, making it sound absolutely sloppy as he delivers another hard thrust, your slick squelching around his cock.

"Fuck– Fucking hell, Y/n," Hoseok growls, the sound spurring him on as he lowers his thighs to snap his hips even faster, "Are you that desperate for cock, baby?"

Your next moan is torn from your throat as the new angle causes Hoseok's cock to bump straight into your sweet spot, the unrelenting hammering of his length making you see stars. You can't even close your mouth properly to stop the drool that slides past your lips, your whole body numb with pleasure.

Hoseok grunts as your walls flutter around him, his gaze flickering from the dazed expression on your face to the couch. He smirks as he sees Jimin with his hand around his cock, the younger's half-lidded eyes watching your fucked out expression intently as he strokes his length. Seokjin has finally caved too, palming himself slowly over his underwear, jeans discharged to the side.

Hoseok grins as he meets Seokjin's narrowed eyes, his thrusts slowing down in favor of grinding his hips in deep, slow circles. One of his hands slides from your waist to your hair, grabbing a fistful of it to pull your head up. It leaves you staring straight at Seokjin and Jimin, moans and whimpers falling freely from your parted mouth as Hoseok pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

Hoseok pats your side, voice a little mean as he says, "Did you already forget about our competition, Y/n? I need you to look at hyung while I fuck you and let him know that he won't be able to get the same pretty sounds out of you as I am."

"Can you do that, sunshine?"

You shudder as he tugs on your hair, the faint sting traveling straight down to your cunt.

"Y-yes," You gasp, getting your hands under your just enough to raise your head on your own, holding the position Hoseok has left you in.

His fingers drift back down to your waist, ghosting over the skin there before he slips between your legs, grazing over your clit. The contact makes you jolt, and you both moan as it drives his cock deeper into your cunt.

"That's right, it's time for your reward, baby."

He starts rubbing circles against your clit as his thrusts once again turn sharper, quicker. You have to fight to keep your eyes open, to keep holding Seokjin's burning gaze as you're pounded into the table. Being watched so openly, so attentively, only turns you on more. Your whole body is shaking, muscles pulled tight, as the wave of pleasure in your belly begins to crest. You know there's no way you can hold back, not with how determined Hoseok is to make you explode. You're bringing Hoseok there right along with you though, your cunt clenching so sweetly around his cock that he knows he's not going to last very long.

It's a particularly deep thrust combined with Hoseok rolling your clit between his fingers that finally sends you over the edge. You cry out as you reach your climax, trembling as your release washes over you. Hoseok groans as your walls clamp down around him with a vice grip, his hips glued to yours as he grinds once, twice, before stiffening as his orgasm hits. You moan weakly as you feel his come spurt into your cunt, flooding it with warmth.

You're not quite sure when your eyes slipped shut, but when you open them, you find Seokjin practically looming over you from the couch, jaw clenched. He must've pulled his cock out at some point, the length flushed red from the slow, unsatisfying drag of his fingers. You whimper as Hoseok presses a tender kiss to the back of your neck, Seokjin darkly watching the action like he's one second away from throwing Hoseok to the side to take his place.

"You're amazing, Y/n," Hoseok says, massaging your sides as he slowly shuffles back and slips out of you.

You let your head drop to the table, breathing hard as you try to catch your breath. Hoseok keeps rubbing your back until your limbs stop shaking and you feel a little more like yourself.

"Angel," Seokjin calls from the couch, "Are you sure you want to keep going? We can stop if you're tired."

You push yourself up on your elbows, biting your lip as you take in the sight of Seokjin's hand wrapped around his hard cock, squeezing the base to keep his release from building without you. It twitches under your attention, another pearl of pre-come dripping out of the tip to slick up his length even more, coating his flushed skin.

"I'm sure," You nod, glancing up at him through your lashes as you say, "Need you."

"Fuck, alright," Seokjin curses, gripping his cock even tighter. "Come here then, angel, and you'll get what you want."

The simmering heat in your belly roars back to life at Seokjin's words. You carefully push yourself up until you're standing on your feet, Hoseok's hands curled around your arms for support. You can feel Hoseok's come shift in your belly as take a step forward, whining as a bit drips out of your cunt and trails down to your thigh.

Hoseok tsks. "You better keep all of that inside, sunshine. Don't waste another drop."

You clench your walls tight, stumbling awkwardly over to the couch as you try to heed Hoseok's warning. Seokjin has already rid himself of his clothes by the time you reach him, his strong hands pulling you into his lap, making you straddle him.

"Hi, angel," Seokjin smiles, cupping your face to run his thumb across your cheek. He winds the other around your middle, holding you close to his chest.

You practically melt into Seokjin's gentle embrace, nuzzling into his warm hand, "Hi yourself."

Seokjin pulls you down to connect your lips with his, the softness of the first few pecks quickly turning more heated as he slips his tongue into your mouth. You bring your hands behind his neck, gliding your fingers through the soft hair there to tug him closer. The way Seokjin kisses you, hungry yet tender at the same time, leaves your head spinning. He swallows up the moan you let out, tongue twirling around yours as he uses his grip on your waist to grind you against his cock.

You gasp at the first contact, at the feel of his hard cock slipping through your folds, bumping against your clit. You clench helplessly as Hoseok's come begins to leak out of your hole, your walls too stretched to hold it in. The spread of your legs makes it even harder, and the grind of Seokjin's length just arouses you more, making your cunt flutter with the need of being full again. You scrape your teeth along Seokjin's plush lips, whining as you say, "I-I can't–"

His mouth pauses against yours as he feels something wet drip onto his thigh, understanding dawning on him as he feels your skin heat up with embarrassment. Seokjin removes his hand from your cheek in favor of bringing it down to your dripping cunt, scooping up the come clinging to your cunt before he fingers it back into you.

"So messy," He murmurs, mouthing along your jaw as he adds another finger, pumping them slowly back and forth, pushing all of it deeper inside your pussy. The wet sucking sound of your cunt eagerly accepting it all back in makes you moan, eyes slipping shut as you hide your face in Seokjin's neck.

He lets out a low chuckle at your shyness, removing his fingers to replace them with his cock. You mewl into Seokjin's neck as he guides his cock into you steadily, the hand on your waist slowly bringing you down until you're fully seated on his length. You can feel it throbbing deep in your guts, your breaths shaky as you adjust to him.

"Gods, you feel so good," Seokjin moans as your wet, warm walls welcome him in, your and Hoseok's release slicking his cock. He moves both of his hands to your hips, gently rubbing the red marks Hoseok left there.

You lightly raise yourself up before you sink back down, getting yourself used to the position and Seokjin's cock. You move your hands to his shoulders, setting a slow pace that gradually picks up as Seokjin's hands begin to roam. Your hips stutter as he reaches up to cup one of your breasts, flicking your nipple teasingly before he rolls it between his fingers, tugging on it in a way that makes your cunt vibrate with pleasure. He moans at the response he gets, his dark eyes drinking you in.

"Love your breasts," Seokjin groans, leaning forward to take it into his mouth, "You shouldn't keep them covered up, angel."

"Seokjin, fuck," You dig your nails into his back as he closes his lips around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth as he swirls his tongue around the sensitive nub. Your next drop down on Seokjin's cock is a little harsher than before, a choked moan leaving you as your pleasure once again begins to build. Seokjin gives your other breast the same treatment, steadily rocking his hips up to meet yours as you ride him.

He gives your nipple another swipe of his tongue before he kisses his way back up to your neck, biting down in a way you know is going to bruise. He wets the skin to soothe it, repeating the motion all over your throat as you reward him with pretty, breathy whimpers. You eventually grow restless and duck down to capture his mouth, the kisses filthy and messy as you keep rolling your hips.

"Pretty," Seokjin moans between kisses, "You're so pretty, Y/n. Absolutely amazing."

It's only when your thighs start shaking, burning with tiredness, that Seokjin takes over. His large hands grasp your ass, keeping a tight grip on your cheeks as he raises his knees to fuck into you. Seokjin picks up the pace from where you left off, his hands moving your body down to meet every thrust, impaling you on his cock with every stroke. He grunts as you clench down around him when he reaches particularly deep, brushing over your sweet spot.

You slump against Seokjin's chest as he truly begins to lose his restraint, moaning against his skin as he pounds into you. The sting of your red cheeks slapping against Seokjin's hard thighs with every thrust just makes the fire in your stomach roar, the pleasure pain of it getting you to the finish line faster.

You try to meet his thrust the best you can but the way Seokjin reaches so deep into your belly leaves you feeling a little dumbstruck, floaty. It's like your muscles have turned to jelly.

Your cunt sounds sloppy as Seokjin hammers into you, fucking you so hard you swear you can see the outline of his cock in your stomach. Moans and whines fall freely from your lips, Seokjin's name gasped out with every thrust. Your oldest soulmate is feeling more competitive than he first let on and for a half second, you worry he might actually fuck you stupid in his quest to make you come harder than Hoseok could.

You can feel him tensing up more with every thrust, as close to exploding as you are, the sounds of your skin slapping together echoing through the room. You don't want to come too soon, not without letting Seokjin finish too, but his next words do you in.

"You can let go now, angel," Seokjin half groans, half murmurs between one stroke and the next, "It's time to fill your pretty pussy to the brim – to stuff you full just like you wanted."

You cunt spasms the moment you get permission to come, your walls hugging Seokjin's cock so firmly he can barely move his hips as your release hits you like a freight train. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as Seokjin grinds you down against his cock, your clit rubbing over his toned stomach. Your moans are unintelligible, slurred, as Seokjin keeps up his pace for another dozen thrusts. It prolongs your orgasm, your toes curling as Seokjin finally hits his own high.

His loud moan sends another wave of pleasure crashing over you, your cunt massaging his length as he spills into it with hot spurts. Your arms are shaking like a leaf as you push yourself up, just enough to look at Seokjin's face.

He's a sight to behold with his head thrown back, his flushed chest rising and falling with every hard breath. His hair is messy from you tugging on it, his skin glowing with the sheen of sweat that has settled on you both. He looks beautiful.

You clumsily kiss his swollen lips, your body still too fucked out to work properly.

Seokjin opens his eyes slowly, grinning as he says, "There's my pretty girl."

"Are you feeling okay?" He winds his arms around your back, plastering you against his racing heart.

You open and close your mouth a few times, feeling dehydrated and exhausted, the words just a little too far out of your reach.

You blink as Jimin suddenly pops into view, his smile bordering on feral as he reaches out to cup your cheek. "Oh, our poor baby is completely cock drunk," He coos.

You whine out a protest, too tired to engage in Jimin's teasing. He's also not... entirely wrong.

"Thank you for the show, baby, you looked so fucking good," Jimin groans, adjusting himself in his sweats. He must have come while Seokjin was fucking you, too excited by the view in front of him to keep up with his comments. One of Seokjin's moans had sounded a little airer than normal, so you can only conclude that it was Jimin, hitting his own release while you were chasing yours.

"It's a shame you're on birth control, otherwise the hyungs would've bred you so well," He pouts, his eyes shining with something wicked at the reaction it causes.

You can't help but clench down around Seokjin, the dirty talk hot despite you not being close to ready to have kids.

"Jimin," Seokjin warns, his cock twitching with interest inside your warm cunt.

Even Hoseok lets out a pained groan from where he's perched on a nearby chair, his cock half-hard in his jeans.

"Fine," Jimin huffs. He brushes his lips against yours, tone sweet as he asks, "Well then, baby, who won the competition? Which hyung fucked you the best?"

You watch Hoseok tense up just as Seokjin's arms tighten around you, both anxious to know the result. You share a sly look with Jimin – one that makes him chuckle and shake his head – before you turn your face into Seokjin's neck, hiding your smile as you say, "Mhm.. It's a tie."

"What do you think?"

You smack your lips together, savoring the slightly tangy sauce. Yoongi watches you carefully, the spoon still hovering near your lips.

"It's good!" You grin, "I think it's perfect."

Yoongi's smile turns into a pout as he glances down at the spoon, "Ah, but now I can't taste it. Hyung would kill me if I double-dipped."

"Can't you just grab–"

Your words are cut off by Yoongi's lips, a sweet kiss being pressed against your mouth. He lightly sucks your bottom lip between his own, his tongue just barely dipping into your mouth. He flashes you a gummy smile as he pulls back, nodding in satisfaction, "You're right, it is perfect."

"Hey!" You whine, lightly hitting his shoulder, "You totally set me up."

Your heart flutters as Yoongi leans in again, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he says, "Maybe."

He steals another kiss before he turns back to the simmering pot in front of him, the spoon abandoned in the sink. You huff, stepping up behind him to rest your head against his back, your arms wrapping around his middle. Yoongi always smells like forest and warmth, something pleasant you just want to lie down and sleep in.

Yoongi hums a low tune as you stand there, basking in the warmth of his body and the promise of a tasty lunch. He places one hand on top of yours, petting your skin, as he slowly stirs the pot with the other.

"Hyung, I'm hungry!"

You open your eyes to find Taehyung walking into the kitchen, rubbing his stomach with a pout. He brightens up as he sees you, the magazines in his hand thrown to the counter as he quickly rounds it to attach himself to your back.

"Babe, I thought you were still in bed," Taehyung whines against your neck.

"Got hungry," You giggle. You lean more of your weight onto Yoongi, laughing as he complains about having two clingy brats as soulmates. You can see the fond smile on his face as you peek over his shoulder, the way he easily braces his feet to accept the two bodies practically lying on top of him.

"Oh right! How long until the food is ready, hyung? I'm starving," Taehyung sighs dramatically. "My client is a fucking ass, he went almost an hour over time in our meeting complaining about things I can't even fix. It's not my fault his secretary is useless."

"I'm sorry, Tae. Can't you drop him if he's being too unreasonable?" You ask.

Taehyung grumbles against your neck, his body tight with tension, "I wish. He brings too much money to the company to even consider ending the contract with him. He knows he can act like an ass and get away with it because he's practically paying us to babysit him."

Yoongi lets out an annoyed snort, shaking his head as he says, "I hate to say it, but he's not going to be the only shitty client you're going to have to deal with. It comes with the job."

"I know, hyung," Taehyung sighs. "But you know what's not shitty? Your cooking! And having some of your food would definitely brighten me up."

"Brat," Yoongi chuckles. "It'll be done in five minutes, you can go grab some plates while it finishes cooking."

Taehyung gives the back of your head a loud smooch before he skips over to one of the cupboards, doing as Yoongi instructed.

You finally detach yourself from Yoongi's back, smiling at Taehyung's antics as you glance over at the magazines he dropped off earlier. You reach out to shuffle through them, none of them particularly piquing your interest until you catch sight of a flyer tucked between two pages.

You carefully pull it out, excitement thrumming through your body as you realize it's for a flower parade. Your eyes widen as you catch sight of the town name, knowing it's a city that's only about an hour away from your old one. You're not sure if the house is within its limit or if it's just a neighboring one, but it does finally give you an idea of where you are. You quickly glance up at Taehyung and Yoongi, deliberately placing your thumb over the name as you notice that neither of them has seen you with it yet.

"What's this?" You softly clear your throat, grabbing Yoongi's attention as you show it to him.

You see Yoongi's shoulders rise, his eyes frantically scanning the flyer until he sees your thumb. He motions for the paper, angling it away from you once it's in his hands, making sure the town name can't be seen.

"Ah, this," He gives you a slightly uneasy smile, "It's an annual flower parade they do in the town over to celebrate the beginning of summer. It says it's supposed to happen next weekend."

You keep your expression schooled, tucking away that new piece of information into the back of your mind.

"That sounds like fun! Do you think we could go?" You ask, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. "I would love to see it."

You're beginning to border on frantic for a change of scenery, for something that isn't just the four walls of this house. The garden does help and you have been allowed on a few walks around the neighbourhood, but it isn't enough. You will go stir crazy at some point or another if they keep you cooped up here forever.

"What flower parade?" Taehyung walks over to Yoongi, peering down at the flyer. You cheer inwardly as Taehyung's smile broadens to a grin, a pleading expression taking over his face as he says, "Hyung, that looks like so much fun. We should all go watch it!"

You know that Taehyung has a penchant for flowers, that he loves them almost as much as Seokjin does. After all, there's a reason you always received them along with your letters.

"I don't know," Yoongi chews on his bottom lip, eyeing the flyer nervously.

"Hyung," Taehyung whines, "pleaseeee. You know I love stuff like this."

"Why don't we discuss it over dinner?" You propose, knowing you need to calm Yoongi's worried thoughts before he settles on a firm no.

"We'll only do it if everyone wants to go. I would love to experience it with you guys though–" You muster up a soft smile, your heart squeezing painfully at the truth as you say, "I've always wanted to do something like that with my soulmate. It seems really romantic."

Yoongi's gaze is unreadable as he stares down at the flyer. You're almost holding your breath by the time his shoulders finally sag, his voice defeated as he murmurs, "Sure, if that's something you want, we'll discuss it later."

You giggle behind your hand as Taehyung tackles Yoongi into a hug, your heart racing in your chest. As long as you play your cards right, you might finally get that taste of freedom you've been wanting for so long. Luckily for you, after almost eight months trapped together with your soulmates, you know just what buttons to push to sway the boys to your will.

It only takes some begging and a little sweet talk to win the rest of the boys over. Their unease and suspicion quickly melt away as you murmur sweetly about how romantic you find the event – and that while you are nervous about the crowds (a lie), you wouldn't mind it as long as they stick close to you. Taehyung and Seokjin's enthusiasm for it works in your favor too, as Seokjin's bubbling excitement over finally getting to experience the flower parade erases the last of Yoongi's anxieties.

The week leading up to the parade passes syrupy slow, the days dragging on as if they're mocking you. You're a bundle of nerves by the time you're driving into the city, squirming in your seat as you get closer and closer to your goal. If everything goes well during the parade, you'll be one step closer to earning their full trust – to them letting you go.

The blindfold around your head comes off the moment the car passes by the town sign, the boys still taking whatever precautions they can to limit your knowledge about where you are. You already know, of course, but you have no intention of letting that slip. It's better if they think that you don't.

"Here we are, darling," Namjoon offers you his hand as he opens the door for you. His grip is iron-tight as you intertwine your fingers, clearly on edge as you step out to join the rest of the group.

There's an air of tension wrapped around them all as they flock around you, one that doesn't dissipate even when they flank you at all sides as you walk further into town. Jimin has claimed the other side of your body, wrapping one of his arms snuggly around your waist, anchoring you to him. Nervous.

Hoseok and Jungkook keep throwing glances over their shoulders as they walk in front of you, making sure you're still there whenever you go quiet for more than a few seconds. You can practically feel Taehyung and Seokjin breathing down your neck, their steps matching yours perfectly as they hold up the back. Yoongi keeps drifting back and forth like he can't quite decide where he should be to best ensure your safety.

It should be suffocating but their behavior is simply pushed to the back of your mind, unimportant, when you finally lay eyes on actual people, strangers, crossing the street in front of you. A lump forms in the back of your throat as you watch a group of friends spill out of a nearby shop, their laughter echoing in your ears long after they've passed you by.

The town is loud and bustling, music seeping out from every building you pass by. They've embraced the parade to the fullest, decorating the pathways with beautiful florals hanging from every lamp post and flower archways adorning some of the more expensive shops. It's like you've stepped into an explosion of colour as you reach the main street, no stone left undecorated and flowers clinging to every possible surface. The people milling about are just as colourful, the majority of them wearing bright, fun clothing, their faces painted with different patterns and artistic renditions of florals. You've heard talk of this parade before but you had no idea it was this big of a deal, that the townspeople take such pride in the event.

"I think there's an available spot over there!" Jungkook points to somewhere in the middle of the street, leading the group over to the area he saw. It's just big enough for all of you to squeeze into, leaving you almost first in line on the sidewalk to watch the parade.

You've barely planted your feet on the ground when you hear a couple occupy the spot behind you, the rest of the sidewalk filling up quickly as the start of the event draws near.

You look around, taking in the sights around you, your senses a little overwhelmed with the colours and noise after so many months of nothing but your soulmates for company. Your heart is picking up speed, matching the sound of distant drums as your gaze glides from couple to couple, their bright expressions and relaxed postures nothing like the love you know.

The couples across the street hold their lover's hand gently, arms resting loosely around their shoulders to provide a safe bubble against the crowds around them. They lean into each other's bodies for comfort, to bear the ache of standing on their feet for a long time.

Your lovers hold your hand with bruising grips, arms wound around your body like snakes, constricting you tighter and tighter with every breath. There's no comfort in their embrace, not when they cling to you with desperation – like they'd bury themselves under your skin if they only could.

You swallow thickly, your palm going clammy in Namjoon's tight hold.

"You okay, darling?" Namjoon asks, leaning down to make sure you hear him over the crowd.

"I'm fine," You lie, offering him a faint smile, "It's just a lot of people."

"Let me know the moment it becomes too much and we'll leave," Namjoon presses a kiss to your forehead, giving you a worried look. He doesn't turn away until you reassure him that you're okay, your mouth dry with the untruths that keep spilling from it.

You can feel the sun beating down your neck, pearls of sweat forming along your back, sending shivers down your spine as they race down it. Seokjin, now in front of you, is taking pictures, capturing every little detail of the flower arrangements and different colourful species that have been grouped together along the street. The shutter of his camera sounds like bullets firing through the air, quickening your pulse with every snap.

"There it is!" Taehyung grins, pointing down the street.

Your vision feels like it's swimming as you turn your head to look, the drums so loud they force your heart to skip to the beat, sending it into a frenzy. You stare in a daze as people dance and cheer as they walk past you, flower petals raining down as they throw handfuls out of the baskets they're carrying. A float pauses in front of you, the florals an organized mess of every colour you can imagine. There's a particular arrangement you can't look away from, one that fills your stomach with dread.

It's them.

The tower in the middle of the float is made up of red, pink, purple, blue, green, yellow, and orange flowers, the same kaleidoscope of colors that have been haunting you for the past years.

It's like a punch to the gut, reality suddenly snapping back into place. The cheers around you turn muffled, your mind reeling with the possibilities you've been suppressing for so long.

Your mind flashes back to the police station you saw as you drove into town.

This city must be far enough away from your old one that Jimin won't have any connections here. The chances are slim that there are any officers here that are enamored with him, that worship him, like they do where he currently works. They might have heard of him and how he saved Jungkook, but you doubt they would dismiss your case just based on his reputation. Jimin might have already been talking to the officers in your new town, just in case you try something stupid, so this – this might be your only chance at getting real help.

Heejun and Jaemin will for sure corroborate your story, and if the officers are quick, they should be able to secure the needed evidence. You know exactly where your old letters and gifts are stored in the attic. Hell, some of them are even displayed around the house. It shouldn't be difficult to find something incriminating.

But–

Your gaze sweeps to the side, lingering on the boys. Jungkook's precious bunny smile is on display as he watches the dancers move around the street, a hint of awe in his eyes. Taehyung is practically hanging off Seokjin's back, pointing to everything he wants Seokjin to capture with his camera. The boys look mesmerized by the parade, their earlier tension eased by the excitement in the air.

Your soul feels split in half, torn between what you want and what you should do. You don't want to leave them, despite everything they've put you through. They are your soulmates and over the past months, you've grown to really, really like them. The thought of leaving them hurts you, makes your heart ache something fierce, but you also know that you can never have a proper life if you stay. You are terribly worried about what might happen to them – the bond – if you go away, but you're also limiting the possibilities of ever finding a cure for their sickness if you don't. Maybe there's someone out there who can help you and them if you only look.

Jimin's arm has fallen away from your waist during the parade, his hands around his mouth as he cheers for the performers.

You slowly ease your hand out of Namjoon's grip, hoping your smile isn't as shaky as it feels as you quickly explain, "I just need to tie my shoe."

Your knees nearly buckle as Namjoon gives you a once over, terrified that he might somehow catch you out. But Namjoon simply just smiles, showing off his dimples as he nods and turns back to watch the parade.

You take a step back, crouching down to tie your slightly loose shoelace. Flower petals keep flitting around you, carried by the wind as they swoop and dance across the ground. You secure your shoe with a tight knot, the tips of your fingers so cold you can barely feel them from the anxiety crashing around inside your body.

You slowly stand back up, taking another small step back.

None of the boys reach out for you, recapture you, their attention caught by the spectacle in front of them. Your group has been moved around by the crowd enough that another step has you standing behind all of them, watching with labored breath as you wait for their realization that you're not anchored to any of them.

It doesn't come.

The chaos of the parade provides you with the cover you need to inch back, the loud drums and petals covering the ground muffling your footsteps. Your eyes flicker wildly between the seven of them, trying to figure out if any of them have noticed you beginning to slip away, but all you see is the boys laughing and smiling, their focus somewhere else.

The couple that was standing behind you is now in front of you, their bodies forming a small wall, a shield, against your soulmates. The crowd behind you easily part as you advance backward, eager for a chance to get a closer look at the parade. Your body feels like a live wire, dread and adrenaline pumping through your veins at a rate that leaves you dizzy.

Your heart is a jumbled mess of stay, go, stay, go – but your mind knows what it needs to do.

You take a mental picture of the sight in front of you, saving the image of the boys looking happy and beautiful, surrounded by warm sunlight and fluttering petals.

For later. As a reminder that things could be good.

It's only once you've reached the back of the street, the distance between you and them so wide that you can barely see Namjoon's head as he slowly turns to where you once stood, waving hands partially obscuring his face as his expression twists into despair, that you let crowd swallow you whole and run.

a/n: thank you all so much for following along with this story for over three years!! what was supposed to be a short 20k fic suddenly turned into one that was 120k haha, but i've had so much fun working on LS and reading all of your theories have been amazing! 💖 thank you to everyone who voted in the original poll, this story is a collab between you and me :')

i know that the ending will leave some of you with a lot of questions and i can answer the most important one right away: No, I don't have any current plans for a sequel. I have told the story I wanted to tell and I'm happy with where it ended :) However, I might be open to doing some commissions down the line of "missing" scenes from the story if that's something you guys want!

it would mean the absolute world to me if you'd leave me a comment/reblog and let me know what you think of the final chapter! 💖 and if you'd feel so inclined, i do have a kofi if you'd like to support me with a coffee!

thank you all so much again!! i do have a few exciting fics coming up so i do hope you stick around for those!

lots of love, maggy.

#yandere bts #bts smut #bts x reader #yandere x reader #yandere yoongi #yandere jungkook #yandere jimin #hoseok smut #seokjin smut #yandere seokjin #yandere taehyung #yandere namjoon #yandere hoseok

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yawnderu · 1 year ago

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Lorelei — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part III

Spoilers for MW3 ahead.

1 2 3 4 5 6

Short chapter to keep the writing inspiration going, next one will be longer.<3

''Si?'' You ask softly as you see the brooding figure on the doorframe. He's standing so still you would think it's a cardboard cutout, though the way his chest moves up and down gives him away. He doesn't say anything, simply walks up to you slowly, footsteps oddly quiet for someone his size.

You do nothing but sit up in bed slowly, looking at the familiar figure crouch down next to your bed, the black balaclava still on. You barely manage to see his eyes before he looks down, though you can recognize that haunted look in his eyes easily.

''What happened?'' You ask softly, hand on the back of his masked head as he rests his head on your lap. You see him take a few deep breaths, trying to hold himself together.

''Johnny's gone.'' Is all he can manage to say, voice raspy and weak. You've seen Simon lose comrades throughout the years, but Soap was a brother to him. He was the closest thing to Tommy he ever had, and losing a brother again felt like having his heart ripped out a second time. You hold him closer, hands applying light pressure on his back and he gets the message, climbing in bed with you. It's dark— you can't even see anything other than his outline, but you can feel him.

''I'm sorry, Simon.'' He stays quiet, simply allowing you to hold him close, his masked face seeking shelter on your warm chest, your hand running up and down his back while you console him. He removes his mask, knowing he never has to cover up around you, the feeling of the warm skin of your chest on his face slowly grounding him. You rock him gently, planting a soft kiss on his short hair,

''I'm here.'' He nods weakly, arms wrapping around your waist as he holds you as close to him as possible, fitting so perfectly like a missing puzzle piece. Despite the heartbreak from when he left, your pride is put aside to care for him, holding him in the same motherly way you held your baby when she was born.

''I'm sorry.'' He doesn't have to specify; you know what he's talking about.

''It's okay.'' You both know it's far from okay, but you push it to the back of your mind, for now.

''She awake?'' You shake your head, mumbling a small ''mm-mm'' in reply. He nods, arms wrapping tighter around you. The last thing he wanted was to wake up his little girl, always making sure he was being quiet as Ghost, despite being Simon as soon as he stepped into your house.

After years of knowing Simon— yes, Simon Riley, before he became Ghost, you know better than to ask what happened or press for details. You were there when he lost his family, watching him become Ghost, and you supported him along the way. This isn't any different. The night is spent with both of you holding each other, limbs intertwined. You don't even notice when you start drifting off, head slowly leaning back to the side and eyes growing heavier, though you don't fight it, the mass on top of you heavy and warm enough to feel like a second blanket.

''Hey, big guy.'' You greet tiredly, fingers running through his short blond hair as he looks up at you. The whites of his eyes are now red, veins painfully visible, and it's just a confirmation that he didn't sleep at all, simply focusing on watching you in your sleep and being too into his own head.

''Let me take care of you. I'll be here till you're right, Simon.''

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taglist: @skulfan1 @survivalshxt @ghostslittlegf @yaebaal @thecubanator2 @juliediets @shescabob @kenz-ee @lothiriel9 @dragonstoneshortcake @lunamoonbby @alfie2401 @perfectus-in-morte @mxtokko

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ewanmitchellconnoisseur · 9 months ago

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"𝑨𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒚" (Aemond x Reader)

A/N: I want to first say. I STRUGGLE with writing dialogue in different periods. So if I make this into a fic it is going to take me so long because I will have to read other people's stories and rewatch the show so the dialogue can be somewhat realistic. Hopefully, I do well...If not. Don't tell me shit. I don't wanna hear it. // Divider by @firefly-graphics

Summary: You return with your family to King's Landing to defend Lucerys against your uncle Vaemond but he is not the uncle you worry about. Your mind is filled with the man you were once betrothed to what he will say when he sees you, and how he will act. You worry about how your Uncle Aemond will treat you after all this time.

Next Chapter →

Tw: Oral Sex (f receiving)

Word Count: 5.4k (an absolute fucking monstrosity written in a couple hours)

"Would say it's nice to be home but I scarcely recognize it." Daemon hums slightly before walking around looking at every bit of the wall in disgust. Rhaenyra turns to you and your brothers. "I trust you three will stay out of trouble while we go visit your grandsire?"

Your brothers nod their heads as you all take your turn to look over what was once your home. It feels...darker than it did when you lived here, almost abandoned. If it was not for the servants walking around you would think it was.

Rhaenyra and Daemon walk away leaving you and your brothers.

"Come on. I want to see if that hole is still in the wall in the training yard." Luke rolls his eyes at the stupid memory which makes you smile. You follow after them as they try to recall the way there.

You don't listen to their conversation as Jace points out the hole that still remains. You can barely pay attention to anything anyone is saying. Your brain has been in panic mode since the moment you were told you would be returning here.

Scared to face your previous betrothed. You feel someone's hands wrap around yours and snap you out of your thoughts.

"Are you alright?" Luke says softly and looks at you worriedly. You nod and ruffle his hair with a smile.

"Im fine. Just...feels weird being back." He doesn't let go of your hand. You notice as he looks around at all the people staring at him and Jace. It had always been like this, people often compared you to your brothers in how different you looked. How you carried Targaryen features while they resembled Harwin Strong.

Unknown to you or your brothers at the time Rhaenyra and Laenor did truly try to conceive at least one trueborn child. But in the end, it was all too uncomfortable for them. It was only on their second try did they attempt it in another way. Laenor at first stayed in the room alone getting himself just before his peak so that when Rhaenyra came in all he had to do was empty himself inside of her. That one time resulted in you. The only child related to Laenor in both blood and name.

Jace comes and pulls Luke away to watch a fight you couldn't care less about. You walked around the yard looking at the various weapons laid out. You knew that you could fight far better than most of the men here, having been trained by Daemon himself.

Bored by the dusty swords and daggers you turn to watch the fight from the other side. Your heart dropped into your ass as you see the man before you.

He was tall...you always thought he would be. His hair sadly no longer carried those curls that once coiled around your fingers as he read to you. An eyepatch sat over his eye breaking your heart as you recalled the night.

"Get off of him!" "Stop it, Jace!" "Don't hurt him!"

You clamped your eyes closed wanting to fight off the painful memory. You were weak then, unable to help. You couldn't protect him in any way that mattered.

The claps of everyone around you had you opening your eyes once more. You watched as Aemond bested Criston in a duel.

"Well done, my prince, You'll be winning tourneys in no time."

"I don't give a shit about tourneys. Nephews...have you come to train?" You see the look on Luke's face and you feel bad for him. He and Jace had spent most of their time trying to learn High Valyrian and barely picked up a sword unless forced to. Aemond had clearly spent all his time training since the accident.

"Open the gates!" Everyone turns to watch as the guards open the gates and men carrying the banners of Velaryon walk in. You walk over to your brothers and hold onto Luke's hands as Vaemond passes by staring Luke down. Vamond's expression only softens as he looks at you and he offers you a warm smile.

The same smile he had given you at Laena's funeral as he took the opportunity to call your brother's bastards in such a sad time. You hear Luke audibly gulp and you try to soothe him by running your fingers over his knuckles.

"Let's go inside." You place a hand on Jace's back to calm him down as you notice the look of anger on his face at the sight of Vaemond.

As you turn to enter the Red Keep your eyes automatically land on Aemond who now wears an expression you can't quite place. His eyes are only on you and for a moment it feels like there's only you two but Jace is quick to step in front of your view and to give Aemond a look you can't see. Whatever it is has him turning around in anger and returning to sparring with Criston.

You walk with Rhaenyra and Rhaena towards Rhaenys.

"Grandmother" Rhaena calls out and basically runs over to her. You follow behind her.

"Rhaena..." Rhaena stands before her as Rhaenys holds her hand. You step beside her and Rhaenys looks over to you. She steps forward and places a hand on your cheek. "You two have grown beautifully." She kisses both of your cheeks.

"Baela said you might be here." Your mother comes closer, each step wary. "She's done well as your ward. You've um... raised her admirably." Rhaenys doesn't look over and keeps her eyes trained on both you and Rhaena.

"You honour me, Princess." Rhaenys smiles softly at Rhaenyra.

"Might I speak to the Princess alone, girls?" Rhaena looks to your grandmother almost for permission. She nods and lets go of both of you.

"Princess." Rhaena begins to walk away. You give your grandmother another kiss on the cheek before leaving.

Rhaenyra smiles at you as you walk away to join Rhaena.

"What do you think they're talking about?" You both look back once more before heading inside.

"I have no idea." You look at your mother who steps closer to your grandmother. Rhaene takes your arm and you turn to her. "Come. Let us go find the boys."

That night it rained and the sound of thunder filled your old chambers. His face filled your memories. His voice echoed in your ears.

"Can I kiss you Aemond?" Your fingertips ran over the dip of his lips as you imagined what they would feel like on yours."You never have to ask Princess."

You touch your lips at the memory of your first kiss. The only kiss you ever got to share with him. How soft his kiss was, how gentle he was. Your lips yearned for another kiss. Your body begs for his warmth and your heart breaks. It breaks at the memory of when your betrothal was cancelled when you knew the future you both talked about would never happen.

"How many children will we have?" Your head lay in his lap as he read a book, his fingers twirling your hair as you pick the petals of a flower. "As many as you are willing to bear me, Princess." You blush brightly which only brings a smile to his face. But your brain always knows how to ruin the moment as a new thought plagues your mind."Would you be angry at me if I had a girl first?" Aemond closes his book and looks down at you. "I could never be angry at you."

You sat up in your bed to the sound of a knock at the door. Your hands roughly smooth over your head pushing your hair back as if it wipes away the memories and dreams.

How can one live like this? How can one continue on in life like this? He is in every breath you take, every time you close your eyes his face decorates the darkness that you simply wish would consume you. You are reminded of him in every waking moment of your life.

Another knock comes to your chamber doors and you know you have no choice but to start your day. You sweat at the thought of seeing him again.

Will he keep to his words? Will he not be angry with you for being gone for so long? For not sending any letters? You did not want to find out. In truth you just want to stay in your chambers all day and sleep, but for the sake of Luke you would attend the hearing.

"The crown will now hear the petitions." Otto sits on the throne as his voice echoes throughout the hall. "Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon."

Vaemond steps forward as everyone looks towards him. Everyone but Aemond. You can see him in the corner of your eye his gaze is focused on you. Never looking away, never taking a break.

You stand next to Daemon looking forward. Knowing that if you even willed your eyes to move it would land on him. And you couldn't bear to look at him.

"My Queen. My Lord Hand." Vaemond then goes on to talk about the history and the days of Old Valyria. You can't hear him, you can't hear anything once more over the beating of your heart.

"Iksis bisa iā qogror iā elekor?" [Is this a class or a hearing?] Daemon whispers to you. He notices your rigid stance and how you're taking in shallow breaths. He places a hand on your elbow and you look over to him. He gives you a look of "Are you ok?" to which you nod.

He returns back to staring Vaemond down hoping he will eventually burn holes into the side of his head and will fall dead where he stands but not everyone is that lucky. It is only then that he notices a one-eye fucker staring in his direction. He shifts his gaze and notices Aemond staring at you. Aemond can feel someone looking at him and looking towards Daemon before pressing his lips in a thin line and giving Vaemond his attention.

"As it does in my sons and daughter, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon." You are snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of your mother's voice. You look over to her. "If you cared so much about your house's blood Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful hair." Vaemond holds a look of anger towards her. "No, you only speak for yourself. and for your own ambition."

"You will have a chance to make your own petition Princess Rhaenyra." You look towards Alicent. "Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard." Next to her, you see the smirks of both Aegon and Aemond. You know they enjoy this, seeing Luke be openly called a bastard.

Why are your brothers blamed and dragged through the mud for what your mother has done? Are they not innocent in their own conceivement?

Vaemond gives Alicent a slight nod before turning towards your family.

"What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess?" He speaks to your mother in a condescending tone. "I could cut my veins and show it to you, and you still wouldn't recognize it."

Your heart twinges for your mother. You feel conflicted all the time. On one hand, your brothers are indeed not blood-related to your father. But he had accepted them as his sons publicly no doubt. What could he have done for people to recognize them as his children? On the other hand, Vaemond proves a point in matters of blood. But is it not the last names people remember?

They both ride dragons, and they learn the tongue of the dragon. They are everything Targaryen but in matters of looks and blood. But that is more than enough for people to shun them. You want to side with them with your full heart, but how can you when you understand the opposition's points?

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

You look up in awe as you watch your grandsire slowly walk into the room. The only sound was the tapping of his cane against the floor. You had not seen him in so long, he looked so old and different. Hunched over and in pain.

You watch as he makes his way up to the throne and Daemon aids him. Otto moves over to stand next to Alicent and you can see the confusion and anger on his face. His plans are ruined and whatever chance he had at getting the Velaryons on their side is squandered.

"I must...admit...my confusion." Your grandsire breathes quickly as he tries to regain his strength. "I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession." You listen as he calls for your grandmother to speak.

You feel hot. This room feels hot. You pull repeatedly at the band on your wrist. A coping mechanism you developed when you felt so far away from everything. You snap the band against your wrist as you listen to your grandmother who only further pushes for Corly's wishes for Lucerys to be the next Lord of the Tides. You miss her announcing the marriage between your brothers and cousins.

You can't focus. He is still staring at you. You make the mistake of closing your eyes cause when you open them they are on him. You take in a sharp breath and stare back at him. Your heart feels as though someone is squeezing it, your chest heavy as if a dragon sits atop it. You want nothing more than to go over there but you keep your feet planted.

"That is no true Velaryon." You jump slightly looking towards your uncle as he angrily points at Luke. "and certainly no nephew of mine." Your mother tells your brothers to head to their chambers before attempting to silence Vaemond.

"You can not all be blind surely? To look upon both my grandniece and her sons and think they share the same father?" Everyone looks at you and for a moment you wish you could shrink into the walls, fade into the people behind you. "She even skips her daughter so that her son could inherit Driftmark when it belongs to my niece. She wishes to cover her tracks and erase my niece's future." You've never felt that way. You were never upset at your mother's decisions. Maybe you always assumed you'd end up with Aemond. "Gods be damned...I will not see it ended on the account of this-" Your eyes widen as you realize what he wishes to say.

You feel a heat radiate beside you and notice the body language of Daemon has changed. A hand rests on his sword as his head is cocked to the side.

"Say it." He whispers softly. Vaemond gives Daemon a smug look.

"Her sons...are BASTARDS! And she...is...a whore." Everyone gasps and you notice the heat beside you is missing. You watch as King Viserys unsheaths his dagger and calls for your uncle's tongue.

You then hear a thud and turn and see Vaemond's body hit the floor. His head was cut off at the mouth, his tongue still attached. Much happens in those moments but your eyes stay on Vaemond's body. It is only when your mother places a hand on your cheek you look away.

"Go with your grandmother. She might need comfort."

You stand next to Rhaenys, holding her hand as the silent sisters work on your uncle.

"Did you ever feel that way, little ocean?" You look over to her as her eyes are trained upon his seperated head. "As if your mother was trying to erase you?"

"No, grandmother. To be honest. I had always imagined myself living here, in the Red Keep." You looked around the room watching the sisters move slowly and carefully.

"Married to Aemond." Your quick to look back towards her she offers you a faint smile before turning to you. "Come back with me, to Driftmark. Your grandsire would love to see you and I have missed your presence." You nod, not caring to say that you should ask the permission of your mother and father.

The Grand Maester walks over and speaks. You stare at the body of your uncle once more. Is this justice? He called your mother a whore and your brother bastards...but was he wrong?

"The Stranger has visited me more times than I can count, Grand Maester." You feel her squeeze your hand. "I assure you, he cares little whether my eyes are open or closed." You watch as he leaves. "You should go, little ocean. Your grandsire wishes for you to eat with your family."

"Will you not dine with us?" You brush your fingers against her hand.

"I fear I have lost my appetite." She kisses your head. "We will take our leave on the morrow." You nod before leaving the room with a final look towards your uncle.

As you enter the dining hall your family is already there. The table already has its sides. On the right sit your mother and your family and on the left sit the Queen and hers. The separation hurts you and you wish you could do something about it. Mend it in whatever way possible. You would give your own life if it meant uniting your family.

Jacerys offers his seat so you can sit next to Baela and he moves to her other side. The switch puts you next to Aegon but you do not mind. He has never been one to bother you before, and only ever makes small jokes, which you would never admit to his face, can be funny.

"Mother?" Rhaenyra turns in her chair towards you.

"Yes, my heart?" She places a hand on your arm you smile at the name. Each one of you had one, Jace was often referred to as her love, Luke as her sweet boy, and you her heart.

"Grandmother has requested I return with her to Driftmark... I'd like to. To see grandsire, if that is all right with you." She smiles softly and brings your hand to her lips as she kisses it.

"Of course." You hear the doors open and see your grandsire being carried in. "We will talk more later. Go sit." You walk over to your chair and stand until he is placed in his spot.

As you walk over you look up and see his eyes on you once more. He stands at the head of the table watching you. You sit only when you notice everyone else does and clasp your hands together when Alicent calls for prayer. You've read about the Seven and know only as much as books taught you. You hear Alicent's prayer but you pray your own. You ask The Warrior and The Smith to give you strength, you beg for forgiveness from The Maiden for your thoughts and acknowledge The Stranger, for you both feel like outcasts in this world.

"This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena." It is only then that you feel the weight of his gaze lift, as he looks at your brother on the other end of the table. Your grandsire calls for a toast to your brothers. He calls for another toast for Lucerys as the future Lord of the Tides.

"I also want to say. How beautifully my granddaughter has grown." You feel the eyes of everyone turn to you, and your mother smiles. Even Alicent gives you a genuine gentle smile. "Im sure by your next nameday we will have found a suitable match for your hand. Let us toast in hopes you will find someone deserving of you." Everyone raises their glass.

But it is only Aemond who does not. You watch as Aegon leans over you towards Baela.

"He does know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle. Where to put your cock and all that?"

"Let it be cousin," Baela responds clearly annoyed. Jace responds but you don't hear it whatever he says has Aegon sitting back down fully in his seat.

You stare forward as King Viserys makes a speech. You return to snapping the band against your wrist as you again feel the heat of his stare. Words are shared between the Queen and your mother before Aegon gets up and sets himself in between Baela and Jace.

"I, um I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask-" Jace bangs his hands on the table before standing up which leads to Aemond standing up as well ready to protect his brother if need be.

Aegon sits down quickly next to you. More speeches go on, too many speeches. You wish everyone would just shut up so we can all be done with this dinner. Either that or let us remove our masks and speak the truth. You have grown tired of this tension and fake genuineness.

You remain next to Aegon as food is brought out and Jace takes Helaena to dance. You can see the look on his face. He looks over your family with a sort of longing. Everything he has ever wanted on display in front of him.

"Would you care to dance uncle?" He looks over to you with a surprised look on his face. He puts down his cup and is about to put out his hand when someone clears their throat. You look over to the noise and see Aemond staring at the two of you.

"Not if I wish to lose my head." He picks his cup back up and returns to watching everyone. You look over to Aemond who only stares at you with no emotion.

You watch as guards walk over to your grandsire and take him away. You make a plan in your head to go visit him tonight to speak to him.

The mood is only spoiled as a pig is placed in front of Aemond. You hear the light chuckles of Luke and curse him in your head. You flinch as Aemond's hand bangs the table and he stands up picking up his cup.

"Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace...Luke...and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise..." And in that pause alone you feel that separation between families grow. "...strong. Come...let us drain our cups to these three strong boys."

"I dare you say that again." You tense as Jace speaks already being able to tell where this is going.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment." Aemond lowers his cups and walks over to Jace. "Do you not think yourself strong?" Jace punches Aemond...or...attempts to. Aemond still stands unwavering and not a drop spilt from his cup.

Aegon grabs Luke who tries to walk over to help Jace and slams his head on the table. You stand up and walk over to Aegon and pull his hair, yanking his head back. He releases Luke and only smiles up at you. You put him in the same position he had your brother in, slamming his head against the table and holding him down until guards come and step in between you two.

You remain standing at the chairs as the sides are made once more. You stand somewhat in the middle. Jace attempts to run back over to Aemond but Daemon steps in front of him.

"Go to your quarters. All of you go now." Your siblings and cousins leave but you remain still standing in your spot. You watch as Aemond and Daemon stare at each other silently. Aemond then turns to you and so does everyone else, he looks at you and then hums to himself as he walks out of the room.

"Come little rogue." Daemon puts his arm out for you. You take his arm, your mother pats your cheek and you follow him out of the room.

You sit in your mother and Daemon's chambers caring for young Aegon and Viserys along with a couple of maids.

Your mother walks in and takes a seat next to Daemon.

"I will see the boys home. Then I will return on dragonback." She holds Daemon's hand.

"Just the boys?" He asks looking over at you.

"Grandmother has asked me to return with her and Baela to Driftmark." He nods.

"Head to bed rogue." You nod and stand up walking over to your parents. You kiss your mother's cheek and place a hand on her stomach before walking past Daemon and pulling on the small ponytail in his hair softly and leaving the room.

Daemon watches as you leave with a smirk on his face and waits until the door is closed to speak.

"Did you see the way he looked at her?" Rhaenyra is taken aback by Daemon's tone. He stands up and paces.

"Who, my love?" She rubs her belly as she watches her children play.

"Aemond." He scowls. "He's been looking at her since we arrived as if he wants to take her where she stands. Which is impressive since the fucker only has one eye." he sits back down.

"They were once betrothed Daemon. Before that, they were closer than any of the kids. They spent all their free time together." She smirks at her husbands's protectiveness. It didn't take long for him to see you as one of his own daughters.

"We should discuss her future marriage. Maybe it's time we start looking for a husband for her." Rhaenyra nods.

"We will speak to her about it when she returns from Driftmark. Vaemond was right about one thing...she is being erased...I had not realized I was doing that." Daemon took her hand and placed the other on her bump.

"That fucker didn't know what he was talking about. You are a great mother to her, and she has had no complaints about her inheritance." She knows he's right.

"Nonetheless. If there is one thing I can give her is a choice. She will decide who she marries. I would feel better knowing it's a man of her own choosing."

Your handmaids leave the room once you're finished being dressed for bed. You sit in front of your vanity staring at yourself.

When had you become someone you didn't recognize? When did you begin just walking the earth instead of living on it? When had you become so...lonely.

You walk over to the balcony and step outside. Pulling your robe tighter to your body against the cold air. You close your eyes and though you aren't sure who it is you are speaking to you beg them to help you. To bring you happiness and peace.

"Mandianna" You hear him from behind you. You turn around slowly and see him standing inside your room. You slowly walk in and close the balcony doors behind you, locking them.

"...Aemond..." You move to take another step to him but he raises a hand.

"For as long as I can remember you...Not a day has gone by when I haven't thought of you." You take a deep breath as he speaks. "And now that you're here...I'm in agony." He takes a step towards you. "The closer I get to you, the worse it gets. The thought of not being with you...I can't breathe." He stops in front of you a hand on your cheek. "I'm haunted by the kiss that you should never have given me. My heart is beating, hoping that that kiss will not become a scar." He lowers his head so he hovers just above your lips. "You are in my very soul, tormenting me...what can I do? I will do anything you ask."

You stare up into his eyes and feel drawn into them. You drown in them putting up no fight. Wanting to feel that darkness that has followed you all these years surround you.

"Kiss me." And he does and it is everything you've imagined. You give him full reign and kisses you with the same intensity that a drowning man comes up for air.

When he finally pulls away he admires your bruised lips and brushes the tears from your eyes.

"Aemond...I have grieved for what we could have been...so much time has passed. And our families have only grown farther apart." He kisses the side of your cheek.

"But what is grief if not love persevering?" He wraps his arms around your waist pulling you right against him as his eyes meet yours. "I have yet to meet another soul who is fluent in my language..but you? You are fluent in me." You place your hands on his chest. "Marry me. In the tradition of our ancestors. Let my blood become yours, and yours mine." You see the hope in his eyes.

"And what of our families?" They would never accept this." You try to pull away but he holds you tight against him.

"I refuse to sacrifice the one person who sees me for who I am for a family who barely sees me for the mask I wear." He leads you towards your bed and sits you down at the edge of it before sitting before you on his knees. "You are mine. You were always meant to be mine."

His hands trail up your legs as a smirk spreads over his face.

"Aemond. We can't." He pushes up your nightgown while kissing his way up your legs.

"I will not spoil you. I will only wish for a preview of what will be mine." He pushes your dress up all the way and pulls down your small clothes. He pulls your legs over his shoulder as he lowers himself in between your thighs.

He wastes no time drinking you up. His tongue tastes whatever he can, his nose brushing against your bud softly. His tongue stiffens inside of you as he finds that place his brother had told him about. It has you lying down covering your mouth.

"Ae-Aemond..." He moans against your cunt in pleasure at your moans of his name. "Please..." you're unsure of what it is you are begging for but whatever it is you know you need it.

He brings a finger to better rub your bud as he fucks you with his tongue. He can feel you clenching and watches as you're soon arching off of the bed holding on to his hair.

The feeling is unlike anything you've experienced. A large opposite from how dark you have been feeling. You feel lighter as if pent-up energy has been released.

He gives your bud one last kiss before walking away and returning with a wet cloth. He wipes his face first before gently cleaning you. When he's done you sit up and he sits next to you pulling you into his lap.

You feel how hard he is below you and move so your legs are wrapped around his torso. You grind down on him and he looks up at you holding on to your hips. The friction against your bud only builds back up that feeling in your stomach. You kiss Aemond as he continues to guide you so you're grinding down on him. He picks up speed his mouth agape.

Without saying anything you reach and pull the eye patch off of him. Aemond stops and looks away hiding his face. You place a hand on his cheek and turn him back to you.

"Gevie." You kiss his scar gently and admire the sapphire that replaces his eye. He returns to grinding you down on him lewd thoughts fuelling his actions. His breaths become louder and you even hear a gentle moan from him.

"Fuck~" you feel him stiffen beneath you. He presses his forehead against your chest pulling you flush against him.

"I will speak to my mother and even my father. If they say no. I will come for you and only then will I fuck you and mark my name into your wet cunt so that they will have no choice but to marry us."

He kisses you again. You taste yourself on his tongue.

"You say that as if the breaking of Princess' maidenheads has not been hidden before. They could easily give me to someone who would not care."

"To that...mandianna. I tell you that idiots are highly flammable...and we ride dragons..." He kisses your exposed chest.

"I say...let them burn."

A/N: This was for the girls who dream of marrying a prince and end up falling for the misunderstood villain.

I have thought of doing another part or turning this into a mini-series at least. But for now, this is just a one-shot.

Shoutout to the Star Wars Anakin monologue that fueled me to write this anyway.

Taglist: @thought--bubble @valeskafics @dixie-elocin

#ewan mitchell verse #ewan nation #ewanverse #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell fanfic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader

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love-of-the-red-star · 10 days ago

Text

That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon

(Series)

Chapter eight: In which the Express celebrates the Day of the Dead with you

Dan Heng’s room was nothing short of simple and surprisingly comfortable.

You’ve been digging around the archives again after your short trip to your favorite desert planet, ready to contribute to the logs that made up Dan Heng’s archive.

He’d allowed you to touch the monitors and type in what you wanted, surprising even Himeko as he was usually rather cautious to let other people(usually March, bless her heart) roam around and touch his things unless they only wanted to read up on things.

You thanked him for that, of course. It was rather sweet of him to allow you to do this.

And so you typed away— made little personal notes on what the culture was like, and people that you also knew as yourself and not Delia. While Dan Heng’s records of Sigonia IV already existed, you were compelled to make your own as well, as a thank you to the people that had been so far hospitable to you.

You haven’t seen little Kakavasha in your visit, so you too wondered how he is now. He’s probably an adult— not so little anymore, growing into the familiar visage of “Aventurine” that you knew in your past life, but you hope it’s not the same horribly tortured man you know.

There was still discrimination, even a bit more than a decade since the freedom of this clan— they still warred with the Katicans here and there, but the disputes were more manageable, less genocidal as the Avgin were more protected by humanitarian groups.

But there wasn’t really any real interest for the cultures of people that had been long discriminated even with your intervention, and if no one was going to do the job of helping them at least preserve a certain view of it, you’d do the job yourself.

Sigonia IV would not be the only place that would stay in the archives for the other future Nameless to find, maybe one day you’d ask for Boothill’s planet, because while it no longer existed, you believed it wasn’t fair for it to die along with him.

You’ve made notes of it, here and there from what little you could get from some books that made mention of it and Boothill’s ramblings. While you could always consult Fuli for the rest of the things, it felt disrespectful towards your friend. You may be an Aeon now, but you knew honor— prying without your friend’s permission felt invasive, you weren’t a human anymore, but you know that kind of stunt wouldn’t be something he would appreciate.

Suddenly, you wondered about the planets you’ve accidentally destroyed, about the lives you had taken without meaning to, and the ones you drove mad beyond your control. Your typing still continued, undeterred by your silent grief as information flowed into the data bank without even a slight inaccuracy despite the difference in how you felt.

You should grieve for the ones who were lost, you thought to yourself. Glancing at the date present in your monitor, you found it was the best time too.

The Day of the Dead.

You’re not even sure if people even celebrated that holiday in this world. Maybe Halloween, but you doubt Dia de los Muertos, as the Latinos would call it, or Araw ng mga patay, as the Filipinos would say, is something widely celebrated in an expanded universe such as this.

Maybe you’d find a world that does celebrate it someday, but for now, maybe you’re going to be alone in giving acknowledgment and silent grief to the ones that had been lost.

You weren’t very close to a religion in your previous life as a human, but now that you thought of the holidays that gave people solace and something to celebrate, you began to feel a little strange that there was no god you could pray to as you were now technically one yourself.

Worshippers weren’t so bad now when you think of it as people laying their problems to a willing ear they can’t see or hear to give them the peace of mind they desired.

You finished up the logs, determined to plant the Avgin’s language inside of it next on the next time you’d touch the monitor. But for now, you had a goal in mind.

——————————————

Some researchers knew you as a grieving Aeon, with your cries reaching the far ends of the cosmos for reasons they sometimes don’t understand.

They observed you once again, mindful to keep their distance from hundreds of light years away as the telescope that found your distant visage caught on the fact that you were crying yet again. But this time, you’re quiet. There was no horrible song of lament that fried wires and caused damage, this one was silent, this one was red.

The liquid that flowed from what seemed to be your eyes was crimson, your lips pressed together as your expression looked forlorn. The telescope saw your hands move, then suddenly, nothing.

You did not want it to see you.

——————————

Setting up an altar was relatively easy, decorated with flowers you’d grabbed from a world away in the expanse of a mountain and a lot of candles you’ve carefully lit.

Lives lost in the fight of freedom, and the lives you took without meaning to. There were too many to count, and you doubt Pompom would like to have the train set on fire.

There were no pictures, no relics, there was simply you, the flowers, the altar, the candles.

Welt had passed by your room and seemingly recognized the decor, quietly joining your side as you started to kneel in front of the altar and mumbled something along the lines of a familiar prayer that he vaguely recognized.

Sometimes Welt forgot you were a human in your previous life. You’ve told him before, when you disclosed things about yourself to him and Himeko.

There was no god that you knew to pray to here, and to make it stranger, you were one yourself. Maybe you were trying to emulate it— old habits maybe, old bits and pieces of your human personality, and reliving specific memories. Or maybe you’re just trying to commemorate those you’ve lost in the way you knew a distant life away.

Welt joined you in your prayer. There is no god to direct his thoughts to, but there’s a strange sense of peace there regardless.

Welt stood up after a few moments while you stayed, lingering before eventually leaving the room.

“Why does it smell like candles burning?” March asked as she encountered him in the hallway.

“It’s for a celebration.” He said. “A day to remember and honor the dead.”

She looked a little confused. “Day to honor the dead?”

“Yes, you can join [Name] in their room if you’d like. It’s not a bad thing, although I can understand why you’d be confused— it’s not widely celebrated after all.” Welt smiled as March slowly nodded.

————————

You weren’t in the room for much longer, opting to head to the kitchen so you could make something to eat. You were there for at least two hours, and everyone seemed to leave you alone to your devices as you made some dishes you remembered from a past life.

Some comfort food, and fluffy bread.

You brought it to the dinner table with a smile as Pompom trailed after you to arrange the bowls and plates for everyone.

Once you were done, you made do of calling everyone in to eat. They don’t really ask why there’s a different feast of savory and sweet food on the table that was clearly not Pompom’s cooking.

Welt looked at you in a certain way that you know that he knew things, and you sent him an appreciative nod as you gestured for everyone to sit down and eat.

“These are some.. recipes that I know from my homeworld.” You began. “These typically aren’t stuff you would get when you’re celebrating the holiday in a very traditional way, but sadly my knowledge of cooking is… kinda limited.” You scratched your temple awkwardly.

“You don’t have to apologize for it.” Himeko said. “It’s the intent that counts.” She smiled, then placed some bread on her plate and stew in her bowl.

“You’re right.” You gave her a small smile of your own.

You failed to spot Dan Heng at the corner of your eye, looking at the bowl of stew in contemplation as Welt’s words sprang up memories of old friends lost in a life he didn’t want to remember.

Maybe he’d allow himself to grieve losses just this once, even if that person who’s lost those people in a distant life away wasn’t him anymore. Maybe for those that Blade had taken from him too in this life.

“Are you okay?” March nudged him gently, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” He said, blinking and snapping out of his thoughts before sinking his spoon into the stew.

Dan Heng found comfort in its flavor.

—————————————

March had taken photos of your room with the altar after dinner, plastering it into her wall with the label “Day of the Dead” in earth colored frames that contrasted the aesthetics of her room. She didn’t mind as much, surprising even herself as she was rather picky about her own decorations.

However, this was something that you shared with them, and that mattered to her. She couldn’t remember her past, and so to have a small piece of someone she knew that saved her was a nice feeling because she didn’t really quite know you. She doubt she ever would actually know you in the way the older crew members do, but that’s okay, that meant she could know you through the new memories she’d create.

She thought of you for a moment and what you’d lost, and she also wondered about the past self she can’t remember. Did she have people that she lost too? Were there people that lost her? Were there people that missed her?

She remembered her conversation with you, a strangely solemn topic for a girl so bubbly like her.

“What do you usually do?” She asked, clearly referring to the little holiday.

“People usually prayed, then offered food and flowers to their dead and all that.” You replied. “I thought it’d be a little nice to honor the people lost along the way. It’s a thing in my old world to not forget the dead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She found herself saying. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“You don’t have to worry, it’s not offensive at all.” You smiled and patted the spot next to you. “It’s a pretty big celebration in my world, and in some countries it’d be a lot livelier than this.” You said as she went to sit next to you.

“They’d wear costumes and make up and bring out live music and everything. The food’s a lot better too I think— there’s too many for me to remember, so the ones I made weren’t the traditional ones people ate during that day.” You explained as she listened attentively.

“That’s okay, it was delicious anyways.” She giggled, shifting slightly to adjust herself before settling in comfortably in a few moments of silence.

“Do you…. Miss your old world? Ah— you don’t have to answer that.” March sputtered, realizing her mistake.

“It’s okay. And yeah… maybe just a bit. I’m not sure how to feel about it to be honest.” You said, glancing at the windows of your room.

She couldn’t see what kind of expression you were making, and so she found herself hugging you. There was something inherently sad about you despite your antics, like you’ve lost too many things.

You returned that embrace.

————————-

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX(HERE), Part X……

Interludes: one, two…

Special chapter: link

Yeeeeee hello y’all!!! Pushing this chapter out in celebration of All Souls Day! :DD

I hope all of you are well! Also I’ll be happy to answer any of your questions regarding the series, so drop any thoughts, don’t be shy <333

#aeon reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #reader insert #himeko x reader #welt yang x reader #honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #boothill x reader #March 7th x reader #Dan Heng x reader

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eureka-its-zico · 3 months ago

Text

Chaos in Their Bones: Wanted

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: After the defeat of Arlong, at Arlong Park, the five of you promised to yourselves, and each other, to achieve your dreams on your way to the Grand Line helping Luffy search for the One Piece. It seems simple enough, except for the minor detail that you died. Coming back from the brink of death, Zoro and the others have noticed you haven’t been the same. You aren’t sure if it’s Death himself chasing after you or something far more sinister. But facing your inner demons won’t be the only fight you’ll have to worry about when family comes calling.

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Genre: established relationship, idiots to lovers, angst, mentions of smut, (will add stuff later) it’s an adventure, y’all!

Words: 6.3+

A/N: Hello my darlings! It is I! Your resident clown! I hope you are all doing well!! Finally, I have finished the prologue to my version of One Piece filler. I am so incredibly excited to share this with you guys while we wait for the next season of OPLA to arrive! I’m even more excited to share in this journey with all of you. This first chapter is pretty heavy and gives a brief backstory to what took place in season one with CITB, just in case anyone comes in reading this one first.. I’ll always do my best to make sure there are proper warnings in place for each chapter and, if I ever happen to miss one, please let me know. Now, let us properly get on with our new adventure. As always, I hopeyou all enjoy this! Much much love, Jenn

p.s. shout out to @deadneverlander for always being my clown bestie and the bestest editor-in-chief

Warnings: mentions of previous torture, trauma, and gore

Chaos in Their Bones Master List

It was odd how the body adjusted to change before the mind realized what was happening. How Zoro could barely remember when he’d strictly stopped thinking of just singularly him and began to think about them. The one specific goal he’d carried with him his whole life - an armor that entombed him - suddenly no longer held the same weight as it had before.

Zoro was part of a crew now. It felt unbelievable when he thought about it, but he wasn’t a part of just any crew.

Zoro was a part of Luffy’s crew - his first mate.

Kuina always told him he needed to lighten up. Get some friends. If only she could see him now. A band of misfits who’d become family.

(Except for the waiter. Zoro still wasn’t sure about that guy.)

That one word, family, bounced around the inside of his skull, shattering every ounce of the solitary life he still tried to hold on to. After Kuina died he used their promise for a solid reason for his loneliness. It protected him - shielded him from having to go out and be a part of the world. While others thought he led a lonely life, Zoro believed it was simply a life free from distractions. A life centered around one goal, a promise, and that didn’t allow room for error.

And then everything changed the minute a boy in a straw hat stumbled on him tied up in a yard. Zoro recalled how instantly he’d found Luffy annoying; a pest. A nuisance in the form of gangly limbs and possibly too much leg, until Luffy asked him one simple question: “Is that all you are? Is that all you want?”

It surprised the hell out of him when he’d considered answering him. It surprised him even more when he did. Luffy didn’t laugh when Zoro told him, either. Instead, he listened and looked at Zoro like it was more than a possibility. Anything felt possible when you were with Luffy. The words spilled out of him with such conviction he was sure they could raise Kuina from the dead. He wasn’t sure why he’d even answered Luff. Once he did there was no denying his words had solidified a belief in Luffy that Zoro’s dream wasn’t just a possibility, but that Zoro would succeed in doing it.

The only person who’d shared in his dream believed it would become a reality the harder they trained, had been Kuina. Sharing your hopes and dreams with another person was one of the deepest connections you could inadvertently make. Suddenly, just from sharing a few words, your entire being was stripped bare. Open for everyone to see down to the very marrow of your bones who you were and, because of this, Zoro didn’t share lightly. He couldn’t risk someone laughing at him or telling him he never stood a chance.

The Demon Pirate Hunter would burn the heavens down if it meant he could get what he wanted.

So, Zoro waited for Luffy to laugh in his face. To try and curse his spirit along with his dream. Instead, Luffy believed just as vehemently as Zoro believed in himself. The possibilities were endless. One distraction - addition - to his life was something he could handle.

Then Zoro stumbled upon you and having just one more distraction didn’t seem all that bad.

Suddenly, being the world’s greatest swordsman wasn’t all he wanted.

He wanted you too.

The universe seemingly conjured you into existence - a magical pain in his ass. The more he’d tried to deny his feelings, the more annoyingly louder they grew. If fate was real, it had a terrible sense of humor - reminding Zoro a little too often that even the best-laid plans carried detours.

Neither of you was willing to admit that the universe seemed to be playing a cruel joke. The universal bingo card the two of you carried, chock-full of goals and aspirations, and not a single mention of…well, not a mention of either of you were on it.

Zoro didn’t believe in fates. Magical beings who dictated your future and the outcomes of your life and the supposed powers they wielded in who entered and left. He could be incredibly stubborn. You called him hard-headed. He just liked to think of it as knowing what he wanted. The universe proved to beat him at his own stubborn game, however. He’d been a fool to try and reject what everyone saw, but Zoro and you…the two of you felt it.

Falling in love with you had been as easy as breathing.

He tried to deny it for so long - his tunnel vision widening just to catch glimpses of you - bright and warm and alive to cast sunshine into the hollowest parts of him. The ones he’d left empty ever since Kuina died. He protected himself from having to feel that overwhelming feeling of grief again. No matter what anyone said, it never got better. It didn’t get easier. You just slowly learned to live with the empty space their loss created and, because of this, Zoro never allowed people to get too close.

His drinking kept him languid and carefree.

Zoro didn’t believe in magic.

It wasn’t in his nature to believe in things he couldn’t see - couldn’t feel their weight in the palms of his hands to make or break his world. The very idea of magic alone was the biggest unseen force he could think of. But when you looked at him, cheeks rosy with a blush he gave you, he swore he’d become a believer. The world was brighter, anything was possible, and the stars in your reflected a constellation of every step you’d ever taken that led you to one another.

He didn’t think it was possible for his world to shift - to change - all over again until that night in your room.

Zoro stood there paralyzed - transfixed. Cool, remain cool were the words that darted through his head but how could he? He’d spent all day endlessly teasing you. Every chance he got to bump against you, shamelessly removing his shirt just to feel the hunger of your gaze slid over his skin, or to dip his hands low, impossibly lower, was a chance he had to take. Just to make your cheeks flush that pretty pink hue that was just for him.

He wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t miss the heat that shimmered underneath. How could he miss it when he’d felt it too? The pleasure in knowing he was the cause for every heavy breath that rose in your chest. Pupils blown wide and body preening at his touch. No matter the breath that stuttered out of you or the looks you gave, Zoro remained in control.

Perfect. Control.

Until he’d opened his door to find you covered only in a towel, droplets cascading down your skin and those eyes - god your eyes - looking at him like that.

Cool. Play it fucking cool.

He’d repeated it to himself over and over. A mantra that wasn’t much of a mantra because he was failing miserably. Even after he admitted he’d been waiting to hear you make it safely back to your room. He would’ve left it at that - teasing you one more time to have that good ol’ blush of yours see him off to bed. But then his eyes caught the way your hands protectively tightened on the towel.

The way you self-consciously hide the worst of the damage that Arlong - that fucking fishman - and his men had done. You tried so fucking hard to make everyone believe you were okay. The wounds on your body practically all but healed, while some were slowly beginning to show they’d remain as scars. He worried that you’d see yourself as less because of it. How could he get you to see that your scars were beautiful because those scars meant that you were still here. With him.

But Zoro knew the scars that plagued you the heaviest were in your mind.

You thought you were less because of them but, god you were so much more because of them. And suddenly, hiding inside the safety of his room didn’t matter anymore.

Zoro had to show you - make you understand - how remarkable you were. Arlong and his men could never take away the way his breath still caught - trapped and frantic - in his throat every time he looked at you. You’d been doing it since that first night at Kaya’s: his eyes held prisoner as his gaze helplessly followed your every move.

Even when you were a brat and stole his glass of wine.

He didn’t think it was possible for the feelings that brewed behind the safety of his walls could get worse. To overwhelm and flood his senses until what little common sense he had left evaporated completely.

He was wrong.

That night, Zoro learned the only thing prettier than your blush was the sounds you made. Just for him.

Always for him.

He knew everything changed that night in your room. And how could it not? The desire to touch you, show you with his mouth, his body, all of him, every piece of himself that you’d claimed, just how much you were a part of him. How deeply you’d woven yourself into the fabric of his being, hollowed out his bones, and made a home.

There was an unmistakable connection Zoro felt towards you. It was something new that he’d never felt. He didn’t know what to call it. Love? How could one word seem to hold so much weight? The power to plant flowers in the garden of his rage or completely shatter it. There was no fucking in between and that was frightening.

Fucking terrifying

Zoro couldn’t formulate words to describe the invisible teether that coiled around you both. Or the fear it created. A terror like a serpent that constricted tighter and tighter around his heart, more and more with every passing second. If Arlong could take you. If he could…you almost…

No no, don't fucking think it! Don’t speak it.

The reality was it could happen again.

The fear of someone taking you - hurting you - became all too real.

He’d almost lost you.

Zoro would never admit to it. Say it out loud or allow it any space during his waking day. But when he was asleep the fear threatened to slip through his control. It formed itself into nightmares that painted out every outcome that could’ve happened in vivid detail. Painted in tragic detail into the whites of his eyes on how close he’d come to saying goodbye.

Save me… pirate hunter…

He had saved you, hadn’t he?

That day haunts his waking hours even now. It’s what wrestles him awake even with your head tucked underneath his chin, his arm draped across your back, and the steady beating of your heart pulsing against his chest. He’d arrived busting through Arlong’s gate with Luffy and crew, his breath caught in his throat not knowing what they’d find.

What greeted him was the last thing Zoro thought he’d find. Your body, crucified, arms painfully splayed to make a perfect T shape. Gore. It was the only way his mind could describe it - screaming at him not to look. You were a decorated gory masterpiece. All the light and sunshine of who you were was dimmed in a blanket of blood. The stench of burned flesh clung to his nose the way the taste of chopper lodged itself in the back of his throat.

You seemed so lifeless. So fucking lifeless. Zoro felt his knees threaten to give out on him in seconds. You couldn’t be alive. It shouldn’t have been possible, but he listened as the chains chimed at your movement. A fucked up wind chime of dread and hope that carried on the wind and told him all he needed to know.

You were alive.

Zoro could still save you. With that knowledge blacking out all reason, Zoro created hell inside the walls of Arlong Park. He would do it over and over, becoming a demon, a king of monsters, to burn down the world if it meant saving you.

And yet…it almost hadn’t been enough.

There were times Zoro wondered if this is how you felt as you watched him give himself up to Mihawke. He could still remember the look of agony that bloomed across your face. The way it stole the spark Zoro loved to see in your eyes, bleeding them dry until all that was left was an emptiness that he gave you.

Zoro had willingly gone to death.

And you saved him.

You cared for him even then - when he didn’t deserve it - after everything he’d done to try and prove to you, and himself, that the universe was wrong. It was just a sick joke to believe that fate itself had woven you both from such different clothes to somehow make each other whole. Zoro gnashed his teeth, swore, and fought his own demons to try and prove he didn’t need you - want you - but he’d been a goner the second he opened the guest room door.

Plus, it didn’t hurt that you packed one hell of a punch.

Zoro could still feel your knuckles connecting perfectly on his nose. The impact of it shocked him so hard it’s what caused him to lose his grip on the well. It was a damn good hit.

He’d woken up to the emptiness of a bed Zoro shared with you. In the privacy of the cabin you both now called home, Zoro would admit dread tied his stomach in knots. That it spurred his legs to swing over the edge of the bed and his hands to furiously move around the room looking for clothes. All thoughts he used to have about pretending he wasn’t looking for you - searching for you - when he always had been, dissipated with his next breath.

Even still… Zoro had almost died and came back more or less himself. Deep down, however, In the dark recesses of his mind, a nagging voice reminded him endlessly that something was… off. Something was wrong.

Wrong with you.

Zoro hated that he even entertained the thought. In the privacy of his own head, it still felt like a betrayal. A dishonor of the trust you’d placed with him. He tried to knock the thoughts away because now wasn’t the fucking time. You were missing – again – in the middle of the night. He had to find you but no matter how hard he knocked away the nagging thoughts of growing questions, the voices persisted.

Nami was the first to notice, which wasn’t surprising. She was always carefully crafting plans and backup plans with backups to the backup plans if those fell through. Zoro came to understand the second they stepped into a room, that Nami was twelve steps ahead of everyone else. Her eyes scanned the room for marks - the weakest links in the chain of command - so that was why it wasn’t surprising, not in the least, that Nami noticed the oddities about your recent behavior first.

“She’s doing it again.” “Doing what again?” Every time Nami brought it up, Zoro couldn’t keep the irritation from shifting heavily in his tone. The annoyance at throwing around large sacks of grain that the waiter just had to have turned his mood even more sour. More than the fact Usopp somehow magically disappeared from having to help load all of this below deck. Zoro followed Nami’s gaze until it landed on you. A hand wrapped around the rope of one of the sails with your eyes turned out towards the sea. Zoro imagined a passing ship would think you were a statue the way you barely moved. Shit, he even started to worry if you were even breathing. Unlucky for them, this wasn’t the first time you’d started doing this. Your eyes focused out on the ocean, almost as if you were searching either the water or somewhere farther. “She’s just looking at the waves.” “No,” Nami replied, a shake in her head reflecting the word. Just the one word alone held a lifetime of worry as her eyes cautiously watched your head tilt. A motion that spoke volumes of words being carried on the wind and you were listening. “It’s like she’s hearing something, or someone, speaking.” “Yeah, it’s the sound of the birds above us. I think they’re called seagulls,” Zoro shot back. Zoro didn’t know why he needed to protest their concerns so much. Zoro had his own but when it came to you a protectiveness he couldn’t fathom seized every last available brain cell. Their words sent his body immediately to defend you even though Nami’s concerns only voiced the ones he was too afraid to say himself. His words earned him a glare from Nami as she moved next to him. A hand playfully smacked his shoulder, but her eyes never strayed from you. “No, you asshole, not the birds. It’s like someone is… talking to her.”

Zoro had thought Nami was crazy. She had to be. You were fine. She was just being a protective mother hen again, which she’d promised you she wouldn’t do anymore. The look on his face must have said the same thing causing her eyes to narrow in on him all before her chin jutted out towards your direction. He wanted to call Nami crazy, but when Zoro glanced back at where you stood, your head was cocked further to the side. Your lips parted, eyes focused, like you were about to reply.

A few days after that incident on the deck you began talking in your sleep. It started off as grumbles and grunts until it graduated to lazy words and, finally, short sentences that burst from between your lips in reply. Sometimes though, the voice that came out of you… it didn’t sound like your own. The words hissing and breaking from your lips in jagged whispers that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

The worst part was, if Zoro asked you, you’d never remember or know you’d done it. Zoro had promised to save you, and he had. So, why did he feel like he’d been too late?

And that thought alone is what startled him awake.

Zoro finally located a pair of pants that he’d thrown haphazardly in his earlier haste to get into bed. Your scent was still pressed into the sheets - pressed into his skin. It was enough to inform him you’d been there beside him. He hadn’t been dreaming - not that he would since you’d both agreed that him sleeping over in your room just made sense.

He didn’t bother putting on his boots. The only thing he made sure to grab was the Wado Ichimonji that rested on his side of the bed. You’d strictly forbidden him from sleeping with it in the actual bed after you woke up with the hilt pressed against your ribs.

The sheets had long since gone cold and that told him wherever you’d gone, it’d been a while since you’d left. Zoro wasn’t known for having tact or being quiet. If he was being honest, Nami often called him a brute and she wasn’t incredibly far off. He didn’t have any plans to quietly walk out of the bedroom or make his footsteps dainty soft like a whisper. He didn’t have time for pleasantries.

He didn’t bother wasting time looking for you in the kitchen. There had only been a handful of times he’d caught you bravely traipsing around the waiter's kitchen. Banging his beloved pots and pans around like you had a death wish. Zoro wasn’t too keen on hearing him bitch later about the sanctity of a man’s kitchen and his utensils after Sanji had caught you. Zoro was, however, willing to admit the food you’d prepared that night tasted a thousand times sweeter knowing Sanji would be having a heart attack about it later.

No. By now, Zoro knew there was one place and one place only that he would find you.

With the swaying of the ship under his feet, Zoro made his way towards the stern. The Wado clutched tightly in his fist in a weak attempt to keep him grounded. He ran a hand through the mossy haphazard strands of his hair in hopes of soothing its messy state but knew he was only making it worse. His fingers tugging too violently like he could rip his thoughts out by the roots.

There was nothing he should be worried about - you were fine. He was going to walk up those stairs and find you just enjoying the night breeze. It was what he needed to see because he didn’t know what to say if he didn’t find you standing there. How he could fix it if you weren’t admiring a view; waiting to share whatever was on your mind.

One by one he released his hair from his fingers. The ache of his scalp was enough to help focus him back into the present. To ground him just enough for when his eyes finally landed on your frame.

You weren’t standing at the edge of the stern, safely behind its railing like he imagined, or admiring the view of the midnight water. Instead, your legs were precariously over the side of the Merry. So painfully close to the edge that one wrong move, a simple shift in the wind or the way you were sitting, and you’d simply go over.

An image of you going over, a sudden flash of your body disappearing into the darkness below, sent his steps widening, eager to reach you. To close the remaining distance between you, as if it would ever be enough to keep you there.

His bare feet thundered loudly across the remaining feet that were left between the two of you. The heavy thumping scraped away whatever chance he had at catching you off guard. The sound alone should’ve been enough to draw your attention but when he arrived at the edge of the banister, one hand holding on to the ashen wood while the other curled around your shirt - his shirt. After all this, you still hadn’t acknowledged him.

Your eyes were locked on a horizon of midnight - obsidian, endless, with promises of nightmares etched out of brimstone lying underneath. Your head tilted, just like before, just like it always was, listening to something none of them could hear.

Zoro wasn’t much of a praying man, but he found himself silently making one as he sucked in a breath.

“It's a little late for a midnight stroll, don’t you think, Snowdrop?”

You weren’t surprised Zoro found you.

You knew he would. Since the minute you woke up in bed curled up beside him, an arm tucked behind his head while the other draped itself loosely over your shoulders, pressing you closer, that once you left he’d be up. Maybe not right away, but it will happen. Gradually or all at once.

Even in his sleep, Zoro searched for you. His fingers stroked the curve of an arm; swirling into the crease of an elbow. His nose buried itself in your hair or the sensitive spot just under your ear. Zoro searched for you as vigorously in his sleep as he did while he was awake.

You expected him to come find you. It wasn’t a surprise when the sound of padding feet on cured wood imploded the silence you’d come in search of finding. His presence was unforgiving heat across your skin. Unspoken questions hanging between you. A part of you prayed he would ask them. Another part of you hoped he didn’t.

Maybe that was the voice that made you wish he hadn’t found you. That Zoro had stayed blissfully asleep enjoying the blanket of restful sleep instead of the restlessness of whatever you now had to offer. The thought gnawed on your nerves, brewing an annoyance that soured the comfort you’d found looking into the vast darkness of the waves.

During the day, everything was bright and inviting. The sea most of all. Its multitude of hands that rolled against ships and overlapped wave after wave to create a white froth was a silent beacon to come explore. It promised relief from the scorching heat of the sun and an endless supply of food to fill a starving sailor. Underneath all of that brightness, however, you could feel the darkness that took shape in the form of monsters underneath. Sea beasts that swallowed entire ships with crews. Sirens seducing men and women from their beds with a song - pulling them screaming, lungs heavy with water, down into the deep.

It was this darkness that began to call to you. A disease that infiltrated your body slowly, without warning so as not to cause alarm, until it completely plagued every sleepless hour. You weren’t aware it’d been happening until the third night you’d woken to the spray of the ocean on your face. You found yourself standing on the rail of the ship. The threat of a harsh wave possibly sending you over was imminent. Yet there you stood, your arms splayed out at your sides, waiting for an embrace that hadn’t come. Yet, when you opened your eyes it wasn’t terror that turned to ice in your veins. You knew the ocean wouldn’t claim you.

It couldn’t.

You didn’t belong to this graveyard. You belonged to something else. There was a power that resonated below the murky depths. A force that felt ancient and terrifying. It felt like it created the dark; and devoured it until it became whole again and again. It writhed and moaned like the damned, as it searched for more life, more souls, to devour and own. This blackness demanded worship like an old god and that same darkness was what called to you now.

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to be: a sacrifice or a sacrificer. But one thing was clear. Whatever it was, it was inside of you and it was calling you home.

Naan strived to make sure she was careful - that you were careful. She shared warnings in the forms of stories and fairytales as a child to soften the terrifying meaning that lay underneath. All this time she painstakingly put in to make you understand and, in the flash of a second, it took less time for you to choose Nazifa’s life over your own.

It’s what Naan had taught you to do: protect others. How could she ever think, or believe, that you made the wrong choice? How could you regret saving someone’s life? Saving people was who you were, who Naan raised you to be, down to the very marrow of your bones.

Naan’s trade was never forced on you. She never held you back from thoughts of going to school, leaving the island, or if you wanted to learn a different trade. It was always very clear it was your choice to spend hours in the garden and in the forest scrounging for ingredients. Your choice in agonizing over the creation of your book of remedies. It felt natural. Your whole purpose is wrapped up in easing the pain of the dying and the chill of the sick.

But this darkness…it touched what was yours. It cascaded oil thick, blackening the seas of your memories. The shared dances in Naan’s kitchen as she taught you how to move across the floor, ‘like a young lady’. The spring in her gardens, surrounded by bergamot and cardamom.

Every last memory of joy and hope and happiness was suffocated until the only thing left were nightmares. This darkness – this sickness – writhed under your skin. It changed who you believed you were, who Naan loved and cared for you to be, and stripped it all away.

Brick by brick every belief you held was knocked loose and replaced by something grotesque; vile. It whispered ways to silently kill those you loved aboard the Merry. Townsfolk and villagers whenever you stopped for supplies. It slithered black chords of strength in your muscles, seizing your hands to tear apart and break dressers. The doorknob to Luffy’s room completely caved in as you struggled and fought to not take that final step inside.

The voices were growing louder with each denial you gave them. Each life you refused to take - each villager you saved instead of maimed - turned them rabid. The whispers grow into shrieks:

Belladonna to strip a man of pride and the air from his lungs - closing up his throat with froth and screams. Mosswood burns the mouth and twists the gut making them turn liquid.

‘We can break them. Grind their bones into dust. Lay it like powder on our skin. Let us make them putrid! Skin soft and pliable like pudding - flesh that caves at the touch. One touch from us, from you, OUR TOUCH, and we can rot them from the inside out. Listen as their tongue turns liquid and they gurgle liquid sweet! Let us rot them! LET. US. ROT. THEM!’

It whispered and screamed until you thought you would go mad. It took every ounce of willpower you struggled to hold on to your sanity. Not to claw at your ears. As if it would ever be enough to make the whispers just stop.

Something inside you came back wrong. You were wrong. You thought about the possibility that you might be imagining it. This call of chaos - of sinister dread - swirled inside of you like a whirlpool threatening to suck everything down around you. The more you tried to ignore it, the louder it grew. The voices were no longer murmuring - their words were convoluted - gargled as if held underwater.

Now they were screaming, demanding to be heard, and they were always the loudest when you were sleeping.

You were so lost, so completely lost, consumed with your thoughts, these fucking voices, that you weren’t sure when your body turned to face him. Maybe Zoro had asked you a question or been asking questions. The usual mask of careless indifference he wore was there, but it was easy to spot the worry that etched itself into the fine lines around his eyes.

His brow creased, drawn tight, which reflected the dark panic that was pooling to the surface in his eyes. If you didn’t answer him soon he was going to shake an answer out of you. Just to hear something.

What could you say?

“Do you hear them too? They’re whispering for me to do things and the more I ignore them, the more their fingers seem to dig holes in my mind.”

No.

You couldn’t ask him that. It sounded crazy. You would sound crazy, and maybe you were. This whole thing felt like a waking nightmare. You thought you could keep it at bay as you attempted to work through it. There had to be a scientific explanation for something like this or at least a psychological one.

Death came to claim you. You’d felt the clutch of cold hands eager to drag you away, drag you down into the earth kicking and screaming. It felt greedy. Excited.

But you came back.

Maybe this madness was a form of penance. Maybe this truly was what it was: madness.

You couldn’t look at him anymore as you tried to swallow the bitter truth down. Underneath, however, you knew you lived in a fantastical world where boys were made of rubber, Devil Fruits existed, and so did magic.

But what did that make you? You with your voices of chaos.

Death bringer, They whispered, clamoring against your skull.

What if the part of you…the dark part Naan always feared would consume you, festered like a cordycep eating its way through your soul until there was nothing left? What if it ate and ate until you were just…gone? The only thing left was an imposter who’d taken your place.

The thought was enough to make your mouth desert dry. Your heart clamoring against the ribs in your chest demanding for you to take it back! You weren’t being eaten starting from the soul and outwards. You were in control. Perfect control.

“I’m okay.” The words croaked around an unused throat forcing you to clear it and try again. “I’m okay.”

“Who are you trying to make believe that? You? Or me?”

When Zoro looked at you, like he did now, all the world grew quiet. The sound of the ocean, her waves, and the lapping at the hull of the ship all died away. It was harder to catch a breath, the air denser somehow, as everything came grinding to a halt.

The only thing that mattered in this moment, in every moment, now and always, was the way he looked at you. But the moment didn’t last - it couldn’t - when the current underneath your feet began to pound against the hull of the ship. A seismic rhythm that vibrated through your body in earth-shattering ferocity.

You looked out across the water around you and found her unchanged. Her waves thrashed at their own speed to collide against the Merry before they rested back down into the murky midnight of the water.

“Zoro, do you feel that?”

The need for confirmation that it wasn't just you who felt this primal call was palpable. You grasped at whatever reasoning made sense but there was none. A sharp sting on your fingertips brought a hiss of pain from your lips. Your eyes darted down to find that same inky blackness that had burned the flesh of the face of the fishman like acid was crawling up your arms. You tried to swat it away as a fresh flood of panic gripped you.

“Zoro!”

Your eyes flew up to look for him beside you. You wanted to reach for him - you needed him to hold onto you - but if you touched him would you hurt him? Would you kill him?

Fear and panic constricted your throat turning your next sentence into a delirious garble of words. All attempts at civility and calmness ended when your vision centered on his body next to yours. Zoro was covered in the thick black ink - your darkness. You heard the sizzling of muscle and tissue melting away. The wet sound of flesh hitting the deck. You watched as a piece of his cheek, the top of his eyelid, slid down his face as his hand reached out for you.

“It’s going to be okay, Snowdrop.”

The horror of what you were seeing grabbed a hold of your throat and worked the earlier sounds free. It knocked them back down to be digested to allow them to come back up at something brand new.

A scream housed from despair and grief tore through your body and released itself there on that deck. A panicked heart filled with regret left you shattering into a million pieces and it wasn’t until you were sitting up in bed, thrashing around in the sheets of your shared bed, that you realized it was all just a dream.

Your eyes bolted open but the frantic terror that left your heart thundering in your chest was still there. It made you search the room like crazy, grasping for things that were real.

Zoro was standing by your desk. His hands fastened the last button of his shirt while a cool set of eyes watched over you. It was then you felt how your body was coated in sweat; your hair clinging to your neck and cheeks. The shirt you’d worn to bed sticking in thick hot clumps against your skin.

“What happened,” you rasped.

Zoro finished with his shirt but didn’t make a move to answer. The Wado was secured at his hip and you watched him drop a now free hand onto the hilt. A comfort you could only assume he needed as he showed no immediate sign of replying.

After a long pause, Zoro let out a sigh as he moved towards the bedroom door.

“I found you sleepwalking on deck. Again,” he replied. His voice was all smoke and velvet. It should’ve brought you comfort hearing him, but it wasn’t hard to notice the cracks that formed around his words. “This is the eleventh time you’ve woken up screaming, Doc.”

“Zoro–“

“After we get supplies at our next stop I’m asking Luffy if we can turn around.”

He spoke to the door. The decision he was making seemingly cost him his own grief as your own. You threw the sheets back. Your legs scrambled to make it over the side of the bed before he could completely exit the room.

“Turn around for what?”

You wanted to sound tough, demanding even. Instead, you just sounded small. Scared. Your mouth dried up around every word, every sentence, you tried to formulate. The sick idea that he was trying to say goodbye, to let you go, making it damn near impossible to even breathe around a thought.

“To find someone willing to give me some answers.”

Zoro didn’t wait for you to reply with the usual weak promise of telling him. It was only when you were ready to share and that could be never. He was tired of waiting and didn’t bother to wait to hear an even weaker response before Zoro walked out the door and quietly shut it behind him.

As always, thank you all so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated.

Taglist: @honeyoru @oneandonlyizabelle @shanshan4143 @naomihatake @tombraiderjones2505 @illusory-segurity @hippieele @nadlx33333 @fancifulrealist @litlebruh @jonnelpunk

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liveyun · 2 months ago

Text

EYES LIKE STARS | 1

banner by the amazing @itaeewon 🌧️

summary. “He was everything you were not. He was perfect—too perfect. Always kind, always excelling, always loved by everyone, even your own parents, like a reminder of everything you weren’t. And you hated this. You hated him. You hated the way he always included you, the way he tried to help, as if you ever needed his pity. He was always there, almost like a shadow you could never escape.

Returning to the town that holds both your earliest memories and silent secrets, you’re forced to confront not only the unsolved knots you’d left behind all those years ago, but the boy who was always at the center of your pain. Whose eyes have always seen right through you : Jungkook.”

title. Eyes like Stars

pairing. Jeon Jungkook x afab reader/oc

status. ongoing

rating. M (18+)

genre. e2f2e2L (you get it), angst, drama, romance, boy next door sorta situation, emotional baggage, slow burn, eventual smut

wc. 9.5k +

warnings. (for this chapter) coarse language, OC being in denial and this is just the beginning LOL , parental negligence / toxic parenting , flashbacks, slight mention injuries (knee scraping) and crying , panic attack :( , oc is kinda.. eh, SOMEONE is introduced 😵‍💫, this is it for the first part, lmk if i missed any other warnings, “english isnt my first language” so can contain grammatical errors, not proof read + the last part omfg

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Some doors, no matter how tightly shut, always find a way to open.

The sun was up after the drizzle, which bathed the town in a subtle golden haze, the kind that made everything feel a little too warm, a little too nostalgic. You walked slowly, almost as if your feet were dragging against the weight of the years you’d left behind. A part of you did not really want to be here, but a greater part of you knew you cannot continue to run away from everything like you always have.

Such a coward.

Your home stood at the end of a narrow lane, tucked away like a secret that had been kept for far too long, to the point you felt like it maybe didn’t exist anymore. The house looked the same, yet different, almost as if it had aged in your absence - funny, because although it looked pretty worn out, nothing really felt off. Or did it? The paint was chipped, the garden overgrown, the lawn and grass both destroyed.

But it was still the place you’d once called home—a place that had witnessed more arguments than apologies, more silence than understanding. You pause, staring at the old, browned door as if it’s a portal to another world— always has been— to a world where you were always second best, always compared, always found wanting, longing, no— yearning for the bare minimum. Your own once called home which always felt like a far distant place for you.

It still does.

The windows stare back at you, blank and lifeless, just like the eyes that used to watch you so closely, judging every move, every breath. You don’t want to go inside, but you know you have to. You cannot keep on running away anymore. You are tired, but you dont exactly know if doing something which has your gut churning with disdain can be exactly considered as rest or relaxation.

You notice that the shabby WELCOME door mat which was once a home for mites is no longer at the front door anymore.

As you drew closer, your eyes involuntarily flickered to the house next door. The garden was well-tended, prettiest of the flowers scattered in the greenery in full bloom, just like how you’d remembered.

As always.

The house stood as if nothing had changed there— as if time had preserved that house and all its memories in a neat little bubble. Always so full of life, always so welcoming. You bite down the bitterness which floats up your chest at the thought. Push down the small voice in the back of your head which insists that you will never be welcomed the way a static house makes you feel.

A part of you, the part you’d tried to bury, kick away— wondered if he still lived there. If his parents still looked out from the same windows, waiting for their golden boy to come home.

Who cares.

You quickly turned your gaze away, focusing on the worn steps leading up to her own front door. Your hand trembles as you reach for the doorknob, the cold metal biting into your skin. You’d previously informed your mum through a text message that you will be visiting them, which you didn’t bother or have the energy to check if she’d actually seen.

Your hand on the knob stills, and you purse your lips in thought. You’d decided it’d be a bit courteous to knock instead of just barging in — perhaps some basic decency to spare — although if it was your own home — as if it ever was. You raise your fists to knock— and the door creaked open before you could really.

There she stood.

The same face that had greeted you with tired smiles and even more tired expectations, back in the days when her face was devoid of wrinkles, and full of youthful beauty. The same person who’d cradled you on her bosom and cherished you; the same person who at least tried to make an effort to mend some broken ties, although when she was very well aware it was way too late.

“You’re back,” your mother said, her voice heavy with something that wasn’t quite disappointment but wasn’t quite relief either. She sounded tired— and your mind partially thought if it was because of you. You really felt overwhelmed by emotions, you really did.

You felt the back of your eyes burn with tears — that familiar feeling which you’d remembered was a staple one when you used to live here back in your teenage days. You wanted to engulf her in a hug and just cry, hoping that you could just, for once, forget about whatever had ever happened, and truly be a child once again.

“I’m back,” you reply, deciding to push aside any fleeting emotions which dared to threaten you. You stepped inside as soon as your mom moved aside and let the familiar scent of home—of old furniture — of broken communication — of forgotten dreams —wash over you.

— — —

Inside, the house was just as you’d remembered it. The wallpaper was still peeling in the corners, the furniture still arranged the way it had been since you were a child. It smelled like old wood, dust, the old sandalwood diffuser — and something bitter that lingered in the air, like the remnants of a fight that never really ended.

The walls seem closer than you remember, the space smaller, suffocating. Everything is the same, yet different, distorted by the journey of time and the weight of all that’s been left unsaid. Was any of the furniture ever even moved ever since you’d left? You’re in doubt.

However, the air was thick with unspoken tension, a tension that had always existed— but was now more prominent, more suffocating. You could feel the weight of your mother’s gaze on you, as if she were waiting for her to say something, anything, to break the silence that had settled between them like thick snow.

Although it’s been so long, surprisingly, you didnt really have anything to break the ice with.

Or even if you did, you didn’t want to.

You move through the house on autopilot, your feet carrying you to the living room where you remember the echoes of your parents’ voices being the loudest. You felt disgruntled — upset, at how memories of your parents fighting are the only prominent thing you can remember vividly inside this house. You wanted to laugh ; you can almost see them standing there, locked in yet another battle of wills, their words sharp and cutting, slicing through the air like knives, and you— you ?

Perhaps standing in some corner with your favorite old teddy bear, covering your ears the best you could, trembling with sobs, wondering if this would ever stop. Their words, though, are like a very vague memory to you. Almost as if someone is tingling a metal glass in the back of your head, far away, and the echoes which reach you are the only thing audible.

They were always fighting, always tearing each other apart, and you were always caught in the crossfire, collateral damage in a war that wasn’t even yours to fight.

But it was you who paid the price, every single time.

You hear footsteps, and your throat goes dry. The realization that you recognize the footsteps is beyond disturbing to you, as the fact that you even know who the owner of the footsteps is.

From recognising footsteps to vehicle horns, you grew up, and this would never not be able to turn on a switch in the back of your head. You knew the footsteps, their urgency, or even their tone, may you be called crazy. And you perhaps are delusional to think that maybe these steps are rather relaxed and slow. . .

perks of growing in a strict family, you guess.

Your father emerged from the kitchen, his steps slow and deliberate. His eyes, now very much lacking of the light they used to radiate, widen ever so slightly, but then again, come back to their usual resting form. Almost as if he tried to mask his. . . disappointment?

You weren’t sure, and his expression wasn’t one of happiness, either.

He looked older, more worn, but his eyes held the same disapproval you had seen so many times before. The kind of disapproval that was never voiced but was always felt.

A kind of disapproval you felt in your veins even before you were faced to force it, almost as if it was imprinted deep in your veins, that no matter what you’d do, you’re going to get this stamp of resentment passed onto you.

“Long time,” he muttered, his eyes flicking over yours as if assessing the damage of the years. The silence which has stretched all over these years. You were surprised that he even decided to speak up, remembering the time when you departed.. wasn’t exactly as serene as a teary goodbye sounded like, but that was a memory you refused to unlock.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

You grimace at how dry you sounded, but you couldn’t help it. Maybe because it’s partially the fact that you didn't know what to answer, or maybe because..

Well.

You stood there, the three of you, now, in the cramped living room that had never felt like a home to you. You wonder if it did to them too, or was it just the forced idea of it being a home to rest their heads in made them used to the idea that it was a home. Misunderstandings which haunt you, as their child, you sure are to know that they must haunt them too.

You were someone who tried fixing them, who never once tried to do that themselves, right in the place where it all began, pretending it was home, when all it ever felt like was a place they were too tired to leave.

The silence in the room felt heavy, oppressive, broken only by the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall which seemed to drag time over and over.

It once again felt like their eyes pierced your very own soul, trying to burn you with their gaze.

“I’ll get dinner started,” your mother echoed, turning away before anyone could respond. It was easier, you supposed, to keep busy than to confront the reality of your return.

Or her expectations. Who knows.

You nodded, more to yourself than to anyone else, and followed your mother into the kitchen. You weren’t surprised that your father opted to go outside — a habit you’d recall which was so frequent back in the olden days when everything was a frenzied mess. Either he used to be out puffing out nicotine, or simply. . . didn’t return home until he felt like it.

— — —

The kitchen was smaller than you’d remembered, or maybe you’d just grown up. The shelves were no longer as tall as Burj Khalifa to you, and neither were the long random cabinets— who were the same dull brown, the countertops cluttered with the same appliances that had seen better days.

Your breath stuttered at how even the products you’d seen were the same, not a single new thing filled there— from the good ol’ crunchy cereal cornflakes (which was barely even consumed for breakfast,) or the chilli crisp you’d loved to drizzle on top of nearly any dish you’d had.

Truly, nothing really had changed.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” your mother’s voice reached out to you as you nearly flinched, not having expected her to begin a conversation. She was diligent in her chore; her question was like a soft command which demanded an answer, not looking up from where she was peeling potatoes, with that same old lilac handled peeler.

“Yeah,” you repeat, this time truly not knowing what else to say. To say you felt like a dumbass was an understatement; because truly, after so long, you seem to have lost the spark to even think to answer.

However , you didn’t want to explain yourself, didn’t want to justify why you’d stayed away for so long. You didn’t owe them that. You didn’t owe them anything.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. It felt better that way.

The silence returned, heavy and uncomfortable. You found yourself staring out the small kitchen window, your gaze drifting to the house next door. You could see the top of the garden wall, the vibrant green of the plants that lined it.

It was strange how one small thing could hold so many memories, how one small thing could make you feel so much. Much more than being inside of your own house ever did, or ever could.

Yet, something about it feels different now, like a memory you’ve revisited too many times, its edges blurred with the weight of all you’ve carried inside you for decades.

You can almost see him there, in the yard, surrounded by laughter that wasn’t just his—it was a magnet, he was like a magnet, pulling everyone into its orbit, everyone except you. You were always on the outside looking in, (and it’s nearly ironic how you are now too,) your heart a silent witness to the joy you could never touch, never reach.

Even when he reached out, trying to pull you into that magnetic circle of warmth, you resisted. Your pride was too wounded, your envy was too sharp. How could you join in when every smile of his was a reminder of everything you could never be?

.....

Fuck.

You quickly look away, focusing on the mundane task of setting the table, very well knowing that your mom is gonna do that again. But the curiosity lingered, like a small fucking bug, a small, nagging feeling that you couldn’t quite shake out of you.

You did not want to think about him. You did not come here all the way to remember someone who has always just,. . . you sigh, gritting your teeth. Here were you again, fretting and sweating. Your mind whirred, not wanting to remember the way his smile had once made you feel both seen and invisible at the same time.

— — —

You decide you could take a walk around to fuck around and.. uh, find out, maybe? (You weren’t sure what exactly, though.)

As you maneuver through the hallway, your gaze drifts to the old family photos hanging on the wall. They seem. . out of place, like relics from a time that never really existed, or more like pieces on . . a museum? A museum where no one cared for its content , and everything was just randomly added to make something out of nothing.

You were always smiling in those pictures, but it was a smile that never reached your eyes—a smile that hid the exhaustion inside you. And there, in the corner of every photo, was him.

Even in those memories, those old photos, he was perfect. The golden boy with the bright eyes and the easy smile. His eyes were so bright and full of a happiness that seemed to come so naturally, would crinkle at the corners when he smiled—an easy, effortless smile that lit up his entire face.

His hair, always a little tousled from running around, caught the sunlight in a way that made it glow, adding to the image of him as the golden boy. You remember the way his front teeth, slightly larger and giving him that bunny-like appearance, would peek out when he grinned, adding a touch of innocence to his already charming features. He’s grinning widely in this picture, his nose crinkled up and his fingers poised in a victory sign, aligned to his face, right above his eyes, a smile so infectious that you feel your lips stretch to a smile even before you know it.

Your heart drops to your ass.

You’re smiling.

You can still hear their voices,though. Dripping with disappointment every time they said his name, their expectations pressing down on you like a weight you could never lift. You were expected to be someone’s walking copy— perfect and what not. You were the one who couldn’t measure up, the one who always fell short, who always came last in the race.

You take a deep breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling shards of glass, each breath painful, deep and cutting. The silence in the house is deafening, only the distant noise of your mother chopping up vegetables with that same dull thud against the chop board audible.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that the absence of your parents’ voices is more suffocating than their arguments ever were. You had always wished for the fighting to stop, but now that it has, you find yourself wishing for the noise, the chaos—anything to drown out the silence that presses in on you from all sides.

Maybe you had finally gone insane.

You had run away from it all. From the piercing noises, comparison, disdain, disappointment, everything. You were so young back then, with no knowledge of the outside world or its secrets.

You’d try to settle in different parts of the world, failing miserably each time because that feeling of something missing in your soul— that deep longing and yearning for anything that wasn’t as quick as getting a quick whiff of dopamine.. never quite left following you.

And now, here you are, back where it all began, and nothing has changed. Except, perhaps, you. You’re not the same girl who left this place. You’ve seen too much, been through too much. The world has carved its mark on you, left you scarred and weary, and you’re not sure if there’s anything left of the girl you used to be.

But as you stand there, looking out at the endless pictures which hang on the old plastered walls where the past that still haunts you, you realize something.

You’re not just angry anymore.

You’re tired.

Tired of carrying this weight, this burden of resentment and hurt. Tired of blaming all the misunderstandings that were woven into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, to someone who perhaps wasn't even slightly related to your pain.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t really him you despised, but the circumstances that had pushed you to see him as the source of your pain, which had settled like dust in the chambers of your heart. The misunderstandings that had tangled themselves into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, weaving him into the narrative of your suffering, were unfair to you both.

It felt easier to blame him than to confront the truth—that your pain had roots far deeper than just one boy with a bright smile and kind heart.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to let go.

The thought surprises you, shakes you to your core. Where the fuck did that come from?

The thought not only surprises you, but mostly, scares you. You take a cautious step back. It comes with a dozen questions which you fear that you don’t know the answers to, or are way too confused to even think about them.

You’ve held onto this anger for so long, let it define you, shape you. Who will you be without it? Can you really let go of something that has been a part of you for so long?

Did it really take you this long to realise this, all that, too in the place where you desperately ran away from?

You don’t have the answers, not yet. But standing here, in this place where it all began, you think that maybe you’re ready to start looking for them.

And that scares you more than anything else.

You find yourself staring at a sketchbook, after dinner, which was all just . . . once again, all silence. You remember how you realised that the food tasted bland, despite having a home cooked meal after nearly a decade. You tried adding salt till it was way too salty, and you had to gulp down each morsel because it became too bitter for your taste. The suffocating silence was broken when the bubbling hot stew burnt your tongue, as you yelped in pain. The only relief you got was gulping down a whole bottle of iced water from the fridge.

Your tongue feels numb now. Great.

Your eyes roam over the sketchbook again, its once pristine pages now yellowed with age. It was a relic from your childhood, buried deep in the attic with dust for years until your return home unearthed it. As you trace the lines of the drawing on the first page, you remember the day you made it—a simple scene of a house on a hill, surrounded by trees and bathed in the warm glow of a sunset, and those huge “V” shaped birds marked randomly near the sun.

You remember that you were so proud of that drawing, each line and color carefully chosen by your younger self, an attempt to capture a world that felt safe and beautiful.

An imaginary place where you’d even thought of making stick figures to show you and your parents, a world where they lived happily, but the vague pencil traces underneath the pastel scribbling show that you’d decided it was better without it.

But the memory of showing it to your parents is what lingers most. You remember how your excitement had bubbled over as you presented the drawing to your parents, your young heart brimming with pride. You’d spent hours on that piece, the house on the hill, the yellow-ish hues of the sunset, the trees swaying gently in the imaginary breeze. You thought it was the best thing you’d ever created.

But when you placed the sketchbook in front of them, eager for their approval, their reactions were far from what you had hoped.

Your mother’s eyes had flickered over the page, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t say anything at first, just handed the sketchbook over to your father, who barely glanced at it before returning to his newspaper. It was your mother who finally broke the silence, her voice flat and dismissive. “It’s… fine,” she’d said, and that single word was like a bucket of cold water on your excitement, your hard work.

You remember vividly, how your heart sank, how the colours of your drawing seemed to dull right before your eyes. How hours of scribbling felt like it’d all been to waste. The pride you’d felt moments before quickly evaporated, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You were too young to understand why her words stung so much, but old enough to know they did.

But then your mother’s tone shifted, a hint of something sharper creeping into her voice. Her eyes, dark and clear, were on you. “You know,” she’d continued, “Jungkook showed us a drawing he did just last week. It was a landscape too, but he added so much detail. The way he captured the mountains and the way the light reflected on the water… It was really impressive. His technique is really improving.”

Your father chimed in, not even looking up. “Yes, he’s always had a good eye for these things, hah. Natural talent, I suppose.”

You��d just stood there in the corner, your limbs feeling way too weak and shaky to hold you up.

You’d tried to keep your expression neutral, tried to swallow the hollow pain in your chest, but it was no use. The resentment boiled inside you, twisting something in your chest until all you could feel was the unfairness of it all. You had wanted to create something beautiful, to show them what you were capable of, that you could do better, but instead, your drawing had become just another reminder of how you didn’t measure up.

The sting of their words burned hot behind your eyes, and before you knew it, tears were blurring your vision. You didn’t want to cry in front of them, didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing how deeply they had hurt you. So you bolted from the yard, the sound of their conversation fading behind you as you ran, feeling even hurt that none of your parents bothered to ask about where you were going.

But your vision was too clouded by tears, and as you reached the stairs, you’d feel your foot catch on the edge of a step. You stumbled forward, eyes widening, your arms flailing as you tried to catch yourself, but it was too late. You’d fallen, hard, the impact of your knee against the hardwood sending a sharp jolt of pain through your leg.

You remember the way your mother had smiled when she talked about Jungkook’s drawing, a soft, admiring smile that she rarely directed at you. It wasn’t just the critique of your work that hurt—it was the realization that, in their eyes, Jungkook would always outshine you. No matter how hard you tried, how much effort you put in, he was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, while you were just… there.

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, partly from the pain, but mostly from the overwhelming sense of rejection and inadequacy. You sat there on the stairs, your knee scraped and bleeding, the ache in your chest even worse than the one on your knee. The drawing that had once filled you with pride now felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of how you would always fall short, no matter how hard you tried.

You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, angry at yourself for crying, angry at them for making you feel this way, and angry at Jungkook for being the perfect son they never had. The resentment grew deeper, and with it, so did the belief that you were never going to be good enough for them, no matter what you did.

— — —

The moon is full overhead when you finally change into some comfortable PJs and finally feel sleep knock on the back of your eyelids and exhaustion making its way to move gradually along your body. Today wasn’t exactly eventful, but rather a concoction of memories which tickled and stung you like a thousand bees over and over.

You’ve decided to keep the windows open, . . .for tonight, atleast, because you do not dare sleep without feeling suffocated here. It sounds silly, but having nice ventilation feels. . . fresh, or more so.

You were around fourteen, you think, as you remember sitting on the edge of the playground, kicking at the dirt with the toes of your worn sneakers. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the field, and you could hear the other kids shouting and playing, their voices mingling with the distant hum of traffic.

You weren’t interested in joining them. Your eyes were fixed on a figure in the distance, one you knew all too well.

Jungkook.

He was standing by the swings, laughing with a group of boys who seemed to hang on his every word. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he pushed it back, and his smile—God, that smile—was so bright, so beautiful, it almost hurt to look at. You hated that smile. You hated how perfect he seemed, how effortless everything was for him. And you hated how, no matter what you did, you could never seem to escape his shadow. No wonder the girls were so hung up on him, even the class president— it was ridiculous.

That day had started like any other, with your parents reminding you how you should be more like Jungkook. They praised his grades, his athletic abilities, and his charm. Either a direct implication of “Why can’t you be more like him?” or something like “You know, Jungkook— blah blah blah, all that bullshit about how he was better than you in every aspect. Even if it was the topic of increasing acne on your face, not realising—or maybe not caring—how their words cut you down. You knew they meant well, or maybe not, but each comparison felt like a knife to your heart, a reminder that you would never be good enough.

That you’ll never be him.

You were lost in your thoughts when you felt a presence beside you. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Hey,” Jungkook said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “Why are you sitting here alone?” His voice was always so soft. So gentle.

You hated his voice. Why did he sound so. . . sweet ? so smooth, almost with a slight undertone of a rasp. Why did it make you want to surrender and break down into the frustration which was pent up inside you since ages?

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak. Your throat felt tight, your chest heavy. You wanted to tell him to go away, to leave you alone, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because as much as you resented him, wanted him away from you, you somehow wanted him near you, a feeling which was hugely perplexing to you. It was a twisted, painful contradiction that you didn’t fully understand, nor you’d ever wanted to.

Jungkook sat down beside you, right on the dusty ground, his knee brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt, a feeling of fleeting emotions through you, but you didn’t move away. Instead, you kept your eyes fixed on the ground, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Of course he’s gonna be concerned.

And that was the thing about Jungkook—he was always so kind, so considerate, even when you didn’t want him to be. It only made you feel worse. It only made you feel like utter shit, like you were not meant for anything, not even basic human compassion.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your emotions in check. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook didn’t seem convinced. He shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. He smelled like baby powder mixed with sweat. Irritating. “You know you can talk to me, right? If something’s bothering you.”

You almost laughed at the irony. How could you talk to him when he was the source of so much of your pain? When everyday you had to just, suffer because of him? How could you tell him that every time you looked at him, you felt like you were drowning in your own inadequacy? That every time he succeeded, it felt like another reminder of your failures? While he was always praised, always encouraged, while you were left to wonder why your efforts never seemed to measure up?

But instead of saying any of that, you just nodded, giving him the answer he wanted. Because you couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you as weak, as vulnerable. You couldn’t let him know how deeply he had affected you.

There was a long silence between you, the kind that felt like it was stretching out forever. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the tension in your chest building with every passing second. And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Jungkook spoke again.

“You know, you’re really talented,” he said, his voice slightly higher than usual, a habit you hate to have noticed when he gets excited about something. “I just saw your abstract sketches the other day. Holy shit dude, they’re amazing!”

You didn’t know if your heart hammering in your chest sounded more or the silence after his praise did. He, however, didn’t stop there.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

His words were meant to be comforting, but they only served to twist the knife deeper. Because at that moment, you realised that he didn’t understand. He couldn’t. To him, everything came so easily—success, praise, admiration. But for you, it was a constant struggle, a battle you fought every day just to keep your head above water.

You turned to look at him then, really look at him, not caring if your eyes are brimming with unshed tears or if your nose is runny with snot and tears.

And for the first time, you saw the boy behind the perfect image. There was a softness in his eyes, a sincerity that made your heart ache. And for a fleeting moment, you wanted to believe him, to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were more than the sum of your insecurities.

But then reality came crashing back, and the bitterness you had tried so hard to suppress bubbled to the surface.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice flat, on the verge of cracking, devoid of the warmth you knew he was expecting. “But I don’t need your pity.”

Jungkook blinked, his doe eyes widening, taken aback by your sudden harshness. “It’s not—”

“Just leave me alone,” you’d hissed, standing up abruptly. You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you turned and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest, your blood rushing onto your face. You could feel his eyes on your back, but you didn’t dare look back. Because if you did, you knew you would see the hurt in his expression, and you couldn’t handle that. Not when you were already so close to breaking.

And so you ran. Ran so fast, so hard, that you felt your chest constrict and gulp for air— the static breeze feeling like wind on your face as you ran, ran, ran. Ran till your limbs gave away and your head hurt, till you feel your insides eat you up with a strange mix of emotions—anger, regret, sadness.

But most of all, you felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness, even if you felt like you did the right thing. Because in pushing Jungkook away, you had also pushed away the one person who might have understood, who might have been able to help you. . . only if you hadn’t pushed him away.

But it was too late now. The damage was done, and you were left to pick up the pieces alone.

But as you stare at the sketchbook now, under the glowing moonlight, running your fingers over the faded lines of the drawing, the sketches you’d made again — you see it with different eyes—eyes that can appreciate the innocence in those lines, the earnestness of a child who only wanted to create something beautiful. The proportions might not be perfect, almost nothing in those sketches were — but there’s a charm in their simplicity, a warmth in the colors that you hadn’t noticed before. They were all good drawings, you think, not because of their technical skill, but because they were a reflection of who you were back then—hopeful, imaginative, and full of dreams.

And maybe, just maybe, you had been a little too hard on yourself all those years ago.

You hadn’t even planned to be here.

The moment your father casually mentioned that the Jeons still lived next door, you felt that familiar, uncomfortable pressure building in your chest. You didn’t absolutely know why that information passed on, especially when after a heavy restless night of feeling like crap, your muscles aching from exhaustion , your brain unable to process every thought which you’d thought, you were finally up to join your parents for an early evening tea.

His voice was cheerful, like he had no idea the gravity of what he was suggesting, but you felt it immediately. Every time the conversation veered toward your neighbors, it dredged up feelings you weren’t ready to confront. The Jeons—his parents—meant one thing, and ultimately, one thing only: Jungkook.

The mention of their name was enough to send your mind into overdrive, painting images of polite conversation and awkward laughter, images that twisted into something far more unbearable—seeing him. You could already hear the follow-up conversation in your mother’s saccharine sweet voice, “Why don’t you come over and say hello? Catch up with the Jeons?” And worst of all, they’d ask about you. You felt despondent to even think of the conversation, if it ever took place.

You weren’t used to the warmth which Mr. and Mrs. Jeon had shown you throughout the years, which only made you doubt if they ever knew the thick wall of ash between their son and you. They were so copacetically well humored, it almost hurt to be in a conversation with them.

Almost as if you never were used to this form of decency, that it shocked you to your core.

Jungkook’s parents would definitely ask, and you'd be expected to stand there and smile like you hadn't left everything behind. You know they definitely wouldn’t mean anything hurtful, but you do not believe your mind.

Not yet, atleast.

Before your parents could suggest anything more, before they could casually lead you down that path of small talk and forced interactions, you’d mumbled a vague excuse. Something about needing to stretch your legs, or needing some air.

You really did, though.

You’d slipped out the front door like you were running away, and you shook away the bitterness forming in your throat. You weren’t sure where you were going, only that it had to be away from that conversation, away from the chance of seeing him.

As your feet carried you through the familiar streets, your mind raced faster than your heart. The narrow, winding streets were the same, the faded signs on shop windows were the same, but the memories that clung to the air—they were suffocating.

You’d always thought coming back would be simple. Walk down memory lane, see familiar faces, and pretend you were someone new. But the weight of those memories hung over you, each one sharper than the last. With every corner you turned, you felt the tug of your past, a pull you couldn’t quite shake away, no matter how hard you’d tried to shrug it off.

— — —

You found yourself slipping into a small café you hadn’t noticed before, just off the main road, desperate for a reprieve.

What’s the name— 134340? Quite strange, you think, but shrug it off once again. People are creative with their business requirements, even if that means that you probably make out nothing from eyeing the café from outside. except the fact that. . . it’s possibly space themed?

Now that is strange for a coffee shop.

You think that it’s quite new. Or, who even knows. It stands out from the dull shops lit nearby, and there’s quite a buzz which attracts you here, although you’d prefer a quiet café over a bustling one any day.

Well, fuck it.

The smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries greeted you as you stepped inside, the hum of quiet conversation and the soft clink of mugs providing a much-needed escape. It’s surprisingly cozy, something you’d never guessed from the odd name and the theme previously. The café is small, actually smaller than most you’ve been to. Though, it’s nice, there are fewer people here, and you quite find yourself at peace already. You chose a table near the back, away from the windows, trying to create some distance from the life outside.

You hadn’t planned to stay long, but the peaceful atmosphere lulled you into a false sense of security. You let out a long breath, allowing the tension to ease from your shoulders as you sipped your coffee. Ha, thisfelt nice. For a few blissful moments, you felt like you could breathe again. Almost like. . . maybe you could handle this return to your hometown after all.

And then, the door chimes.

You barely looked up at first—just another customer, maybe a loner like you, someone else in this quiet café. But then the barista’s voice cut through the room, clear and distinct.

“Macchiato for Jungkook!”

Huh?

Your hand froze halfway to your cup. The familiar sound of his name hit you like a punch to the gut, making your breath hitch.

No fucking way.

Your gaze shot up, almost instinctively, and that’s when you saw him. There, standing by the counter, picking up his drink like it was the most casual thing in the world. Him.

Your heart seemed to lurch into your throat. It couldn’t be him—it couldn’t. And yet, there he was, right in front of you, a few inches away.

The room seemed to shrink around you, your pulse quickening as your eyes locked onto him. You felt yourself gasping for air, your peace long broken. Your body felt suddenly too warm, your chest tightening painfully as every nerve in your body screamed for you to look away.

But you just couldn’t.

He had changed.

The boy you left behind had grown into someone you barely recognized. His back was visible to you— his frame was broader, more solid than you remembered, and his shoulders— God, what the fuck? they seemed to stretch forever beneath the dark jacket he wore. His hair, slightly tousled, deep raven — as you’d remembered— framed his face in that familiar, careless way, but it was sharper now. Defined. There was no mistaking the confidence in the way he carried himself, something he hadn't fully grown into back then.

But what stood out most—what nearly knocked the breath from your lungs—were those— were those. . . tattoos peeking underneath his jacket?

Jungkook's arm, the one that used to be bare, now carried intricate black ink that snaked from his wrist to his elbow, disappearing under the sleeve of his jacket. The lines were bold, winding and curling, and you felt your jaw drop, even if he was standing at a distance. The tattoos seemed to catch the light as he reached for his drink, each motion of his arm drawing your attention like a magnet.

You couldn’t stop staring. The boy you remembered—the one who had always been so kind, so open—had become someone else entirely.

One who stood in stark contrast to the memories you had clung to.

And he was alone.

Jungkook had always been surrounded by people. He was known to be the crowd attractor, always having his admirers petting him by his neck. He was never the type to go anywhere without friends trailing behind him, their laughter filling the spaces around him. But here, now, in this café—he was by himself. There was a stillness about him that you didn’t remember, something quiet and self-assured.

Now, it almost felt like he didn’t need anyone around him to validate his presence. He was comfortable in his own skin, by himself.

That realisation hit you harder than you expected. He had changed in ways you hadn’t anticipated, ways that made your chest tighten with emotions you couldn’t even begin to name.

And then, just as you thought your heart might explode from your chest, Jungkook turned slightly, his eyes sweeping across the café—casually, as if he were taking in his surroundings—and your stomach dropped.

Fuck, fuck. The coffee was so strong, you feel it lurching up your stomach now.

You flinched, ducking your head quickly, heart pounding so loud you thought he might hear it across the room. Did he see you? Could he have recognized you after all these years? Your breath was shallow, uneven, panic rising in your throat as you wrestled with the urge to bolt from your seat.

You weren’t ready for this.

You weren’t ready to face him. Not here, not now. Not when you were still so caught up in your own thoughts, still trying to piece together the fragments of what your brain showed you. You’d come here for a cup of coffee— some peace— and seeing him again, after all this time, felt too much, and too little at once. It was like a bomb, or a bucket of ice cold water thrown directly at you.

It was overwhelming.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. Your heart was racing, and every instinct in your body was telling you to run. But you hesitated, torn between the undeniable urge to leave and the part of you that wanted to look at him just once more. Just to see if he had really changed as much as you thought. Just to see if he, unlike this town, your home, had changed.

But you knew better. You couldn’t stay. Not with your emotions so close to the surface, threatening to spill over. If he saw you, if he recognized you—if he spoke to you— you didn’t know if you could handle that.

Because you know you can’t.

The café, once so peaceful, now felt stifling, the walls closing in on you as your breath quickened. You couldn’t breathe. You needed to get out of here, needed to escape before everything came crashing down.

With one final glance at his figure, standing there by the counter, you pushed your chair back, the screeching sound drawing more attention than you would have liked. But you didn’t care. You grabbed your things and bolted for the door, your pulse pounding in your ears, your steps quick and uneven.

You’d nearly made it. The door was just a few steps away, and all you had to do was keep your head down and walk.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest, the anxiety twisting your insides as you tried to steady your breathing. Jungkook hadn’t seen you—or at least you hoped he hadn’t. You prayed to heavens and hells that he hadn’t. But just as you reached for the door, you saw him lean against the counter, much closer now. Far closer than you had anticipated.

Fuck. Fuck!

The café’s single door was right beside where he stood, and there was no way out without passing directly by him.

Oh no.

You shouldn’t have chosen this café. Was there no other cafés for you to try? Did HE necessarily have to be in the same café as you?

Your stomach churned, your pulse thudding in your ears, drowning out everything else. He was right there. Right there. And you could feel the heat radiating off him even from where you stood. Panic crawled up your spine, making your movements sluggish and jerky. You just needed to keep your head down and walk—walk past him without glancing his way, without catching his eye. But he was so close, and as you stepped forward, trying to make yourself as small as possible, you caught it—his scent.

That familiar scent, one that had changed just as much as he had. He no longer smelled like baby powder. It was manly now, deeper, some sort of an expensive cologne, which was strong on its own— yet soft, almost comforting in a way that made your chest constrict painfully. The scent wrapped around you, making your knees feel weak, and for a second, you nearly lost your footing. You fought the instinct to look at him—to take one glance and confirm that yes, this is the Jungkook you left behind, the one who had grown into a man. But you couldn’t. If you looked at him, you’d be done.

You were beyond cooked.

Your legs carried you forward, faster than they should have, your mind racing with every step. You felt your arm brush something—him, the edge of his jacket maybe, or his hand on the counter—and your pulse spiked violently.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

You shoved the door open, your breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts as you stumbled outside, the cool air hitting your face like a hard slap back to reality.

You were outside. You’d made it. But the world around you was spinning, the street and the sky blurring together as your heart continued to pound in your chest. You leaned against the wall just outside the café, your hand pressed to your chest, trying to catch your breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.

Your palms felt uncomfortably clammy and you felt a sweat head run down your temple. Your thoughts were a mess—disjointed. Everything was hitting you at once; you had run away again. You had seen him, been close enough to touch him, and you had run. Just like before.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the ache in your chest spreading as you tried to pull yourself together. It was stupid. So stupid. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid ! You were an adult now, one with full responsibilities for your actions, and yet here you were, fleeing like a scared child.

You took a deep breath, forcing the air into your lungs. Maybe you could handle this. Yeah, you needed to clear your head. It’s just the coffee messing with you. Maybe you could—

“Excuse me?”

Your entire body froze at the voice directed at you.

That voice.

Deep. Smooth. Rich. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, catching you off guard, wrapping itself around you like a tether, pulling you back toward the very thing you were trying to escape.

It wasn’t the voice you remembered—but it also very much was— heavier, weighted with a kind of maturity that made your breath catch. The boy you once knew had never sounded like this. This voice was deeper, more assured, like it had weathered years of life since you last heard it. The softness which his voice held in your memory still was back somewhere, but you couldn’t find it. And that hit you hard. He wasn’t that same boy anymore. The boy who used to tease you, who laughed with that bright, carefree chuckle—he was gone.

And now, that very voice was speaking to you.

You slowly turned to face him, your heart thudding violently in your chest as your eyes locked onto his face.

Yeah, this was your end.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Jungkook.

He was right there, just a few feet away. And this close, you could see everything.

The sharpness of his jawline hit you first, carved out and more defined than you ever remembered. It was strong, angular, like someone had taken the softness he once had and sculpted it into something more. . . commanding. His lips, parted slightly as he waited for you to respond, were full and soft, but even they held a sense of control, like every movement was deliberate. Fuck, was that a piercing at the corner ? His nose—perfectly straight, leading up to those eyes.

Those eyes.

Dark, deep, and searching. They hadn’t changed much in shape, but the way they looked at you was different now—more intense, more aware. His gaze wasn’t filled with youthful curiosity or mischief anymore. It was deeper. Grounded. Like he saw more, understood more.

He was a man now.

Your stomach twisted violently, and you had to force yourself to breathe.

Your gaze traveled up, noting the way his thick brows framed his face, darker and more defined than you remembered. They furrowed slightly as he watched you, as if trying to figure out why you were staring, why you hadn’t taken the phone from his hand yet. The small furrow in his brows only made his expression more serious, more focused. He was looking at you—not just glancing, but looking.

His dark, inky black hair brushed just above his brows, a few strands falling forward in that effortless, tousled way. It was longer now, framing his face, giving him an edge that made your chest tighten.

But it wasn’t just his face. Your eyes flickered down for just a second, barely able to handle it. His neck—strong and sinewy, leading to broad shoulders that seemed even broader now in the fitted jacket he wore. He’d filled out—a lot. His arms were no longer just lean muscle from teenage years of sports. Now, they were thicker, more muscular, straining against the fabric of his sleeve. Oh my God.

Your mind raced, every detail crashing into you at once, overwhelming your senses. Your chest felt tight, and you felt like your hands were shaking by your sides.

The more you looked, the more you realized how much had changed. How much you had missed. How much you had run away from?

It felt like the world was tilting, spinning, and you couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the flood of memories, the weight of time lost, the realization that Jungkook had grown into someone you barely recognized—yet you knew it was still him.

He was still him.

You were losing yourself in it, in all of it, your thoughts spiraling out of control, unable to process the fact that he was standing here, holding something that belonged to you, waiting for you to take it from him.

Your eyes flickered back to his face, your heart clenching painfully. He was watching you, studying you in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. And yet, as much as he was looking at you, he didn’t know you. Didn’t recognize you. Not yet, anyway.

That hit you harder than you could’ve expected. How could he not know who you were? How could he not see it in your face, in the way you were trembling, in the panic written all over you?

But then again, why would he?

You were no longer the same girl he once knew.

And as his eyes narrowed in mild confusion, his brow furrowing just a little deeper, it became clear—he didn’t see you as the person who had disappeared from his life. Not yet.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice sending a tremor down your spine. You couldn’t miss the concern in his tone, the slight edge of worry that made your throat tighten even more.

Fuck. Of course he’d be concerned.

You blinked, the world rushing back into focus, feeling like your pupils zoomed like crazy— and suddenly, you realized you had been standing there for far too long, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Standing there like a damn weirdo.

Your phone. He is holding your phone.

For a split second, your eyes met his, and time seemed to freeze.

His gaze locked onto yours, and for the briefest of moments, something flickered there—something like recognition. You feel your eyes widening, bells ringing at the back of your head. His eyes softened, just slightly, as if he was searching your face for something familiar, something from the past. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same polite curiosity.

For a moment, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Your eyes flickered between his face and the phone in his hand, your chest tightening with each passing second. What should you do? He was right there, right in front of you. He was close enough for yoh to reach out and take back what was yours.

But you couldn’t.

Your hand now actually trembled at your side, your body frozen in place. The air felt too thick for you to gulp in, and your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“I—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to force the words out, trying to make your body move. But you couldn’t.

You just couldn’t.

He tilted his head slightly, concern flickering across his face as he waited for you to take the phone. Why is he so concerned!? But you just stood there, rooted to the spot, like your feet had been glued to the ground. You felt the panic rising inside you again, the walls closing in as your chest tightened painfully, slowly.

“I—” you tried again, but your throat was too tight, and the word came out as nothing more than a strangled sound, like a muffled voice.

He took a step closer, and that was it. That was it.

Your body went into overdrive. Without thinking, without even trying to reason with yourself, you turned on your heel and bolted down the street, not caring if people stopped to look at you, thinking if you possibly were either a lunatic or someone who just won a lottery.

You didn’t care. You ran, ran, feeling your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you ran. Your legs felt shaky beneath you, your pulse pounding in your ears as you darted around the corner, as far away from him as possible.

You couldn’t do this.

Your heart was hammering so violently you thought it might burst right out of your chest, and all you could think about was getting away. Far, far away.

You ran till you feel your chest burn, you ran till you felt like your limbs would give up. You ran till you feel like nothing again, you ran till your mind was empty.

When you finally slowed, your breath came in harsh, ragged bursts, and your vision blurred with tears you hadn’t realized were there. You collapsed onto a bench, your whole body trembling violently as the weight of everything crashed down on you.

You had run away.

Again.

And this time, you didn’t even have an excuse.

a/n : phew.. 😵‍💫 if you’ve made this far, thank you for reading 💜 what do we think? i’d be very glad if you let me know your thoughts 🫶🏾 if you want, there’s an anonymous feedback box where you can drop your thoughts anonymously 💌

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azrielbrainrot · 9 months ago

Text

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 3

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: When your own identity is challenged you're forced to find an ally in what you thought was the most unlikely place.

Warnings: Angst, Memory loss, mentions of death

Word Count: 5950

Notes: Sorry for the wait but I had to map things out to answer all the questions I started in the previous chapters (set myself up there) and lack of motivation was kicking my ass. Still, I hope you enjoy!

Part 2 ○ Part 4

You were picking at the food on your plate as Azriel stared at you, looking like he'd rather feed you himself. As hungry as you were, everything was hard to stomach. You tried to tell him as much but had only been met with a scolding, he seemed extremely interested in your health. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was content with watching you even if you never actually gave him anything. It seemed like the spymaster wasn't too preoccupied with the fact that he had caught you stealing from his High Lord.

Following your sudden breakdown, Azriel had managed to calm you down enough, insisting that you didn't talk about anything else until you ate and were ready for it. Your eyes still hurt and were probably puffy from the tears that had flowed not even an hour ago, and your head still ached, even if it didn't come anywhere close to the excruciating pain you felt before.

The same feeling as before still crawled under your skin, the same questions swirling around in your mind, but you managed to find your composure after the ache had transformed into something manageable and the tears had dried. Admittedly, you were a bit scared of prying into your mind and triggering the same reaction as before - it really had felt like your brain was trying to forcefully escape your skull.

You were still trying to make sense of everything, denying that you were missing important information wouldn't help you. There was no way Azriel was confusing you for someone else, not with the way your body reacted to him and the dreams you've had for far longer than you've been here. There was also the problem of you being a prisoner in this room, as nice and attentive as your prison guard has been there has to be a punishment waiting for you.

When your head felt like it was going to burst, you could swear someone else had barged into the room but you couldn't stay focused on it or hear what they were saying through your own desperate screams. You think you saw something red glinting, but didn't even make out anyone's form, your vision was too blurry. You're not even sure how many of them walked through the door. By the time you came to and calmed down it was only you and Azriel in the room again, and all you could feel was his arms around you, grounding you.

You bite down on another small piece of sausage, arranged as if they were meant to feed a child - you hadn't seen him cut them but you know it has to be his work - as you remembered how desperate he sounded in that moment. You're not sure if the soothing words he whispered in your ear were meant for you or for himself, he was just short of begging you to be okay. It was a little embarrassing to think about how fragile he had seen you in that moment but it was even worse remembering how intimately he held you.

Looking up at Azriel, you're not surprised to meet his eyes, they haven't left you for longer than a second, it's like he's scared you'll disappear if he looks away. You can still see the concern swirling in the beautiful hazel.

You had so many questions, knew he had even more, but you weren't sure where to even begin. Any hope of him starting to talk was evaporating faster with every second. He had told you he wouldn't bring anything up until you were ready but you thought he'd at least ask about the robbery, start off easy. You couldn't push your doubts aside any longer, it felt like you were both playing a part, ignoring the elephant in the room.

“Azriel?” His name triggers the same reaction every time you say it. You might have to go to a healer if you survive this, having your heart fluttering so often can't be healthy.

“Yes?” He leans closer letting his wings pull in closer to his body, ready to give you his undivided attention.

You've noticed how his wings move with him and can give you small clues on what he might be feeling sometimes, like a cat's ears, perking up or dropping with his emotions. The same happens with his shadows really, moving towards you when they're interested, like a tail you suppose.

“There's something wrong.” His eyes open wide and he's on his feet before you can even blink, standing over you and reaching out for your hand. That might not have been the best way to start.

“What's wrong?” He holds onto your wrist, feeling for your pulse. “Does it hurt again?”

“No, nothing hurts,” you try to calm him down, cheeks slightly flushed. “I mean this.” You gesture between the two of you, hoping he's aware of the terrified expression on his face. “You're worried about me.” He visibly relaxes at that, understanding you're not physically hurting again.

“Of course, I am.” He sits on the side of the bed, never letting go of your wrist but holding onto it a little softer, drawing circles with his thumb over your skin. You're not even sure if he's doing it on purpose, or if it simply comes naturally.

“Why would you be?” You have an idea of the answer, he's already made it more than clear that he knows you very well. “I thought you'd be guarding me to make sure I didn't escape but you've been taking care of me instead.”

His eyes roam over your desperate face, taking notice of every expression you make. He's probably scared of saying something that will send you into the same state as before, clawing at your head to stop, but you can see how much he wants to tell you, to stop pretending.

“You're my wife,” he admits, a small smile playing on his lips right after, like saying the word is enough to make him happy, and looks down at his hand still wrapped around your wrist, running his thumb down the veins to the palm of your hand, loosely holding it instead.

“I don't…” You thought there had to be some sort of romantic relationship between you and him, or the person he thinks you are, but you didn't expect him to say wife. “I've never been married.” You never even thought it would be a possibility with your job.

Him thinking you're his wife definitely answers a lot of questions, mostly the reason why you aren't in a dark dungeon after what you've done to them, but it just opens up a whole other box of chaos.

You set the plate aside, knowing you can't keep any more food down with the way the conversation has to go. You wish you could just crawl into your own bed, in your own home and wait until all of this mess passes. Running a hand down your face, you steel yourself, recognizing you need to get to the bottom of this, not only for your sake but his as well. Whatever was at play here was larger than you could have imagined.

“I don't remember you at all, Azriel,” you admit. He just nods, almost pouting, without looking away from your hand still clutched in his. “But I've dreamt about you.” He perks up at that, surprised eyes darting up to meet yours.

“I dream about you almost every night,” he admits softly, a reddish tint covering the tips of his ears.

“If I'm supposed to be your wife, should I be offended that it's not every night?” The lame joke does nothing to ease your nerves, as you intended, but the blinding smile he rewards you with certainly makes the next words easier to come out.

“What you called me before… that's not my name,” you continue slowly, “My name is Maya.”

“Maya,” he tries it out but the discomfort is obvious on his face. To your surprise, you don't like how it sounds coming from him either, while every other word he utters sounds like honey.

“I know that's my name. I know I'ver never been here or met you before,” you explain, “I know I never married you either. I can account for every year of my life, there are no gaps in my memories. You're not in any of them, neither is this house,” you look into his eyes the whole time, squeezing his hand slightly, wanting him to feel your sincerity, “but there's something wrong.”

He studies your face with an unreadable expression. If this whole situation is hard for you to wrap your head around, you can't imagine what it is like looking in from the outside. The only reason you believed him was because of your body's response to him, but all he can see is a female who looks just like his wife yet doesn't recognize him.

His hand leaves yours as he takes the ring he was wearing off slowly, taking your hand and depositing it on your palm gently.

“What's this?” It's a simple silver ring, worn out from what you assume is years of training and fighting while wearing it. Your heart palpitations come back the longer you study it, you know it.

“My wedding ring,” he almost whispers, “You had yours when…” You look up at him and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, “I don't have it.”

You nod and let it fall on your finger, in place of where your own wedding ring would be. It's too big on you, it would likely be too loose even if you had put it on your thumb, but you almost don't want to take it off. Goosebumps spread all over your body, your heart rate picking up.

“Do you feel anything?”

“I'm not sure I can explain it,” you breathe, not fully understanding the reaction your body has to him.

“Try me,” he insisted.

“Ever since I heard about this mission and stepped foot into this city, it feels like my brain is screaming at me to remember something really important but I can't,” you say, watching the way the wedding band hangs around your finger, “and when I put this ring on just now.” You hold up your hand for him to see, the light catching on it.

You look up at him before continuing, “When I first saw you. When you told me your name. When I… When I stabbed you.” Your eyes travel to his stomach, where an open wound had been just a few hours ago. “I feel a pain in my chest.” It makes itself known again as you think of the way his blood had dripped down your hands. “Holding the ring feels right. Saying your name feels right. But hurting you… didn't.” You take a deep breath in, knowing there's no going back, “So, as insane as this whole situation is, I think I believe you, Azriel.”

The admission lingers in the air as both of you feel its weight. Acknowledging the particular situation you've found yourselves in is only the beginning. Now you must try to understand what happened and how to fix things, if you want that. Part of recognizing what Azriel told you as the truth comes with accepting that some of your life was a lie, and, at this moment, you have no tangible evidence for what is real or not aside from the goosebumps you get when the male in front of you touches you. You don't even know who you truly are.

“If you say I'm your wife then what made me leave?”

“You didn't,” the hesitation is almost tangible in his tone, “I thought you were dead.” Your hand immediately shoots up to your neck, feeling the softened scar under your fingertips. The movement seems to break the dam holding his emotions in check, making everything flow out at once.

“I don't know what happened,” he lets go of you and stands up, running a hand through his hair and pacing around as he explained with an anguished voice, “It was a simple mission. We never found out how exactly but it looked like you were taken by surprise and attacked by bandits. My shadows told me they couldn't sense you so I went to meet you but when I got there all I saw was blood. There was so much blood.”

When he meets your eyes again you can clearly see the tears gathering in them, the pain that still lingers from recalling that moment.

“I looked for you. We all did. We searched in every corner of the world, I sent spies everywhere. We found the bandits and made them talk but when they left your body was still there and your throat was cut.” His wings droop, the bottoms of it touching the floor. Azriel looks defeated. “We thought you were dead. I tried denying it for a while but it came to a point where I couldn't anymore. But now you're here and I- Fuck. I should have kept looking. I shouldn't have given up so easily.”

“Azriel,” you call for him, bringing his attention back to you. The desperation and raw pain in his voice were breaking your heart. “Whatever happened wasn't your fault.”

“I should have found you,” he whispers, completely contrasting with his tone mere moments before.

“You thought I was dead.” The words are hard to form, and you can't linger on them too long. You always knew the injury you suffered was severe, that it had been near miraculous that you survived but finding out there were people out there that truly believed you were dead was chilling. “This whole situation still feels impossible, there's no way you could have known I was still alive.”

He nods at you, but you can clearly see he can't let go of it. The attentiveness and overprotection he's been showing you makes much more sense now. Azriel sits on the chair he has barely left since you were brought to this room. He seems to try to regain his composure, combing back the hair he had tousled and bringing his wings up closer to his body again. But his eyes don't meet yours like before.

You fall back against the headboard, the impact softened by the pillows he fluffled out for you, picking at his wedding ring still on your finger. You feel like you're going insane. Maybe letting the guild find you wouldn't be so bad, at least they'd put you out of your misery. Though it's hard to ignore the fact that they seem to be the ones who put you in this situation, letting you live a lie for almost a century.

“It's been a century since then,” you repeated aloud, “And you still…” Love me? You wanted to say, but that wasn't really you, not for now at least. You don't remember anything of your time together, or about yourself. Maybe the only thing that survived was your body. There's a possibility that the female he loved had actually died, that he'll never fully get her back even if you regain your memories.

“I told you,” the smile you witnessed earlier comes back to his face, even if with only half the prior intensity, “I dream about you almost every night.”

“This doesn't make any sense.” You had moved to sit cross legged over the covers, tired of laying in bed when your body wasn't even hurting. Nibbling on a chocolate cookie the House, who Azriel told you is sort of sentient, gave you.

“I know.” He had calmed down since his outburst, going back to what you assume is closer to his usual demeanor, though he might not always act the same as when his dead wife is sitting across from him. His shadows seemed to have relaxed as well, most of them had left him in favor of swirling around the room like smoke. “When I saw you in the living room, I thought you came back.”

“But I came to rob you instead.”

He lets out a chuckle, “I couldn't have imagined that in my wildest dreams.” His gaze turns a bit more serious before he adds, “my High Lord and High Lady want to speak to you.”

“I figured as much.” You were actually surprised they hadn't shown up yet, the sun was already close to setting. “Did you tell them you think I'm your wife?”

“They know. You and Rhys were friends too.”

The thought that you could be friends with a High Lord is almost laughable, but so was being married to his shadowsinger and yet the fluttering of your heart every time he speaks to you in that deep, soft voice of his doesn't lie.

You think for a bit, remembering the information you had been granted before coming on your mission. Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, the most powerful one in history and the bearer of one of the most sought-after and frightening abilities - daemati. It's said his mate, the recently turned fae, Feyre Archeron, shares the same talent.

“Is it true that he's a daemati?” He simply nods, knowing you're following his train of thought.

“You want him to look into my head.”

“He might be able to find out what happened to you,” he nods, “the reason you forgot me, forgot us.”

“And you're sure he'll want to help me after what I did? He looked pretty mad when I saw him last night,” you say as you chew on your lip.

Granting him passage into your mind might be more than a leap of faith. You've found it easy to talk to Azriel, to trust him, but you haven't met anyone else, and can't trust they won't want to hurt you. Azriel seemed to not care much about your initial reason for coming to the court or even what you did to him but you can't expect everyone to feel the same, even if they had been your friends a century ago. And a daemati could break you beyond repair, even just seeing their abilities in action has always left you unsettled.

“Rhys won't hurt you,” he tells you, his face showing he has no doubts about his words.

“It's not like I have much of a choice anyway,” you brush the crumbs off your nightgown, stretching your legs and moving until you are sitting at the edge of the mattress. It brought you closer to him, your knees brushing his, the feeling of the leather feeling oh so familiar against your bare skin, making your next words come out breathier than you wanted them to, “You can call them.”

Something flashes across his tantalizing eyes when he looks down at your bare legs, noting the change in your tone, but it disappears when he looks back at you, nodding softly and letting his eyelids shut as if to level himself. Some of his shadows come back to him and, as his silence prolongs, you realize he must be speaking to them in his mind, calling his High Lord just as you asked.

The pressure in the room changes as soon as he opens his eyes, the air getting harder to breathe. It's not as strong as what you'd felt the night before but the tamed magic is enough to have the hairs on the back of your neck stand, and a shiver to run down your spine. You truly hope Azriel is right about them.

Azriel stands just as the door opens to reveal his High Lord followed closely by his mate. His unreadable purple eyes study your stiff form, walking inside the room and letting Feyre close the door behind them. She seems more serene, not showing any obvious hostility towards you but you know not to underestimate the human who freed the fae of Prythian.

You stand when they stop in front of you, not letting fear make you appear weak. If they chose to hold you accountable for your actions you would accept their punishment head on.

The first word out of the High Lord's lips is the same name Azriel had called you before, and the same feeling of deja vu consumes you once more.

“Maya,” you correct. His head tilts to the side briefly, before looking over at Azriel who is watching the scene unfold warily.

“Well Maya,” his eyes meet yours again, “Are you going to explain why I've found you lurking around my house?” The venom was clear in his voice, but you expected as much.

“I was sent here on a mission,” you say as emotionlessly as you can, just like the guild taught you, “I was supposed to find an ancient book with a particular set of runes, it seems it belonged to your grandfather.” You hope the lack of information doesn't make you appear suspicious because it truly is the only thing the guild had deemed enough for you to be able to complete your mission. “Since I failed the mission, they've probably already sent assassins after me, in case I tell you or anyone about them.”

“No one is going to hurt you,” Azriel promises, anger rising at the mention of someone wanting to kill you.

“You were in the wrong place for that,” the High Lord responds after a moment, and watching Azriel's reaction. “The book is in the library under this House.”

“It doesn't matter now.”

“You're right, it doesn't. What I want to know is where you've been all these years and why you attacked my brother.”

The pressure in the room increased again but you could now see it was the result of him trying to hold his power down even though his temper was rising.

“Rhys,” his mate warns, but it falls on deaf ears, his striking eyes never leaving yours.

“I don't remember you or him,” you admit.

“So he's told me.” Rhysand didn't sound too convinced. “You won't mind if I check for myself right?” He barely made it sound like a question but you nod in answer all the same.

Black talons scrape along your mental walls as soon as you give him permission, you lower them for him, pushing everything the guild taught you aside, inviting the enemy straight into your mind. If they could see you now you would definitely be mocked and executed on the spot.

His presence is barely felt in your mind before a sharp pain takes your senses, similar to the one you'd felt before. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands moving to hold your head. Scarred hands are on you immediately, holding you up against a strong body before your knees meet the ground. As the talons retreat from your mind, the pressure lessens and you take a few deep breaths before opening your eyes.

When you manage to blink away the wetness making your vision blurry, you find the High Lord looking at you with wide eyes, remorse clear on his face and his mate holding onto his arm.

“What did you do to her?” Azriel's voice was rough with barely restrained anger.

The High Lord ignores him, looking into your eyes as he explains with a notably softer tone than earlier, “There is something blocking your memories. When I tried to bypass it… It hurt you.”

“What does that mean?” Your voice was scratchy, a dull ache lingering in your head. You lean away from Azriel and sit back on the mattress. No use trying to act tough, you're truly at their mercy.

“It means I can't access your memories for the time being,” the change in his demeanor would give you whiplash if the pain you were feeling gave way long enough for you to focus on anything else, “I've never seen anything like this, there's no way of knowing what it can do to you.”

“I think your memories aren't only being blocked,” he's still speaking directly at you but you can't really wrap your mind around anything at the moment, letting them discuss amongst themselves. “They're being overwritten at the same time.”

“That's why she forgot Azriel but remembers her life at the guild?”

“I've never heard of anything like that,” Azriel's voice sounds further away, you almost want to reach out and pull him back to you.

“Me neither,” the High Lord admits, watching your crouched form warily. “We'll have to ask Amren and research it in the library but it's the only explanation.” You find yourself nodding, even if you don't know Amren you understand the ancient creature might be able to help, if she wants to that is.

“At least your mental walls are still intact. They're the same ones I taught you to build.”

“No, I learned at the guild,” you finally look up at him, sweat still covering your forehead.

“There's still an open channel, like an open door for me to be able to talk to you.” So I can do this. You can't help but jump slightly at the sound of his voice in your mind, and the promise of a smile twitches on his lips. It doesn't go unnoticed that the talons moved a lot more carefully in your mind, almost tenderly.

“You're staying in this house until we can be sure you're not a threat.” His eyes move to Azriel's, an unimpressed look taking over his face at the scowl the shadowsinger sends him. “In the meantime you can fill Azriel in on everything you can about the guild. I want to know if there's a chance they'll try to attack us again.”

“We'll try to find any information on what is blocking your memories and keep you safe from the guild in exchange,” the High Lady adds, “It's a fair trade for both parties.”

You can't tell if she's saying it to convince you or her mate but appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. Also noticing how she omits the biggest reason for this mutual cooperation - the shadowsinger standing by your side.

⋆｡°✩°｡⋆

His hair was still wet when he started dressing himself, not wanting to leave you waiting for too long, as much as he hated to admit it he wasn't too happy about leaving you with Feyre either. He can tell everyone is still suspicious of you, even after Rhys tried to read into her memories to find nothing, stuck between their memories and stories they heard about you and the image of you stabbing a knife through his stomach.

Azriel knows his High Lady, his friend, wouldn't hurt you, but you're in a complicated situation at the moment and he doesn't want to find out what that guild has taught you to do in cases such as these, doesn't even want to think what Feyre would do to stop you. She didn't know you before, meaning she wouldn't have any reason to hold back if not for his sake - something he knows she wouldn't put above saving Velaris, he would never ask that of her either.

It's hard to accept he doesn't know how you'll react in certain situations, there was a time he knew you better than he knew himself. Now, he can't even begin to understand what you must have been through working for a world known assassin guild.

He'd obviously heard about them before, he wouldn't be a decent Spymaster if he hadn't. There wasn't much information on them, no one knew how large the group even was since there were rumors other groups were actually integrated in the guild. Names for it vary as well.

Even if you hadn't tried to steal from his High Lord, he knows he'll have to try getting as much information about them from you as he can, for his court's sake, and he can only pray you'll give it to him willingly or he'll have to let go of his position.

He doesn't know how you've been able to bear the guilt a job like this brings. As much as you've forgotten, your personality didn't seem to change a lot. You always reminded him of Cassian at times like these, gratuitous killing had never been for you. He hopes you don't have to deal with the torment he had been through in the first decades of working for the former High Lord, his soul had never recovered from everything he'd seen and done during that time.

Noticing his shadows reach up his shoulders, he physically shakes the dark thoughts out of his brain. Everything has been going better than expected, not only did you agree to cooperate but Rhys had given you the benefit of the doubt. You also agreed to have dinner with him so you could talk more.

He just told you he'd be joining you for dinner, omitting how excited, downright giddy, he felt at just the idea. It had been so long since you two shared a meal, talking for hours while enjoying the tasty food the House prepared for you.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd been this nervous for an outing, even if it wasn't exactly that - it was simply a trip to one of the House of Wind's guest rooms. Going as far as picking clothes in your favorite colors on him, letting the top buttons on his shirt undone because he knows how much you liked seeing the beginnings of his swirling bargain marks.

All of this could be for nothing, you don't remember him after all, but, he was almost certain your body did in some way and it gave him hope. You calmed down in his arms just as you did a century ago, said his name in the same sweet cadence and never shied away from his touch, from his hands. His shadows told him as much. Sang to him about the way goosebumps rose in your skin at his touch and attentiveness, how your thoughts and intuition warred in his favor. He refused to let his thoughts deter him.

When he gets to the room he sees you and Feyre standing by the dresser, almost wanting to apologize for winnowing in instead of knocking first, but he can't seem to find any words as he sees you've changed as well, ditching the nightgown in favor of a sleeveless dress that went down to your knees. The cobalt blue was as striking against your skin as he remembered, the garment in itself was simple enough yet in his eyes you had never looked so stunning.

Feyre must have been the one to give you the dress, he was only surprised it had taken her so long to meddle in your relationship. If there were any doubts, they were quickly answered when she threw him a knowing smile before excusing herself from the room.

“I'm guessing the blue is supposed to match those gems you wear.”

“Siphons,” he offers, entranced by the way you walk closer to him, the silky fabric moving with your body and giving you an ethereal glow.

“Did I used to do that a lot?”

“Yes.” He observes the way your eyes run over his body, lingering on the unbuttoned shirt. Seems like his old tricks still work. “I always loved seeing you in blue.”

You tilt your head to the side slightly, biting the inside of your lip the way you always did. He tries to stand as still as possible without appearing too awkward, making sure you knew it was alright to do with him anything that crossed your pretty brain. You seem to make up your mind as you walk closer to him.

“Can I see them?” You hold up your palm and he holds his hand over it without hesitation, letting you grab onto his hand to study the glowing siphon. The swirling light shone in your eyes and he can't help but be reminded of the first time you asked him to do the same exact thing shortly after meeting him.

“All Illyrian warriors have them,” he explains, “They're used to help us control our powers.”

“It's beautiful.” He tries not to let his wings twitch as you now hold his hand with both of yours. “I don't think I've seen anything like this before.”

“You have,” he can't help the somber smile that crosses his face. The reminder makes you look away from his hand to watch him, a conflicted expression falling over your pretty face. “You always liked them.”

The abrupt change in the atmosphere has him asking the house to get the room ready for your dinner. Not being able to hide the smile as he watches your amazed expression at the table that pops up beside you, full of delicious looking food and decorated with candlesticks, the faelights around the room dim in favor of the candlelight.

“I only asked for the food,” he admits with a bashful expression. He's glad you can't tell that, aside from the candles, the plates were also some of the fanciest ones. The House was going all out for the two of you.

He uses the grip you had on his hand to guide you to the chair and help you sit before making his way to his own seat, settling down and giving order for the House to serve both of you. Letting himself enjoy every little expression you made as you eat and listening to anything you felt like telling him, also answering all your questions about the House and the food.

He knows this doesn't have the same meaning to you as it does to him, knows that, as much as you don't seem to hate his company, you're more interested in finding out more about the version of you in his memories, trying to make sense of your own identity. It's hard to imagine how this whole thing must feel for you, finding out half of your life was made up and that you forgot such an important part of it. Still, this must be the best night he's had in a century.

You set your elbows on the table and rest your face on your hands, watching him with undivided attention as he tells you about his sparring match with Cassian. Your eyes don't leave his face after he finishes, appearing lost in thought. He lets you gather them, relishing in the comfortable silence. He'd be content with simply watching you for eternity.

You let out a soft sigh and lean back against the chair, closing your eyes for a few seconds before meeting his gaze again.

“What happens if I never remember you, Azriel?” Your voice barely above a whisper.

The question and the uncertainty in your voice as you asked it make him pause. He keeps trying to push back the thought that you won't regain your memories but it seems you were having the same doubts.

Just last week, he wouldn't have believed having you back was even a possibility, so getting your memories back can't be out of reach, it just can't. He was ready to give his life to make it so.

Still, he witnessed how painful it had been for you when Rhys simply tried to access your memories, he'd also told him trying harder, forcefully, could break your mind completely. If their research doesn't go well, if they can't find who did this to you, there might not be another way of bringing your memories back.

But he'd sooner die than live another day without you, whether your memories come back or not.

“I'll make you fall for me again.”

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lady-pug · 2 months ago

Text

Written Between the Lines

Chapter IV - Where Lions Preen and Dragons Feast

Summary: Yours and Aemond’s relationship flourishes as you wait for your wedding to arrive. But when Jason Lannister steps out of line, insulting not only yourself, but also your mother and your future husband, you putting him back in his place elicits an interesting reaction from Aemond.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 4,8k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece); smut, so minors DNI; oral sex (female receiving); Aemond being pussydrunk; Jason Lannister being a major asshole; Aemond is a simp through and through (I plead my case)

Notes: Hello my dears, how have you been? I bring you the next chapter of this series (this is also my second time ever I writing smut so bear with me please, I apologize in advance)

Just to explain some things, Aemond and Reader call each other husband and wife in High Valyrian even though they are not married yet because apparently there is no word for betrothed, fiancé, bride, groom or anything similar in High Valyrian, so they call each other that (it’s meant to be more affectionate than a indication of their relationship status anyway)

Also, I again used an online translator (if someone spots any mistakes please let me know and I’ll correct it right away), translations are in the end notes.

Thank you so so much for reading, I hope you've enjoyed this story so far and that you enjoy this chapter!

Next chapter | Previous chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3

Things had been calm, albeit quite hectic all the same, at least for a while. On the very same night after the spectacle that was the hearing over Driftmark, King Viserys had passed away in his sleep. Your mother, bless her soul, was with him when it happened, and promptly called for the maesters’ help but there was no longer anything they could do, leaving his body in the care of the silent sisters. Her coronation, reluctantly, happened on the very next morning. Rhaenyra wanted time to mourn her father, but an heir had no time to mourn a king, for the realm demanded a new one. Or, in this case, a queen.

In order to remind the lords of all the great houses of the oath they’d sworn to King Viserys almost twenty years before, Rhaenyra sent out every dragonrider to all corners of the Seven Kingdoms. Daemon flew to Riverrun; Jace paid the Lord Cregan Stark a visit; Baela, accompanied by Rhaena, was sent to the Vale; Aegon and Helaena took flight to Casterly Rock to negotiate with a promise of maintenance of Ser Tyland Lannister’s chair on the Queen’s Small Council and a future betrothal between Jaehaerys and Jason Lannister’s daughter, Cerelle; Luke headed to the Reach.

You, on the other hand, were sent to speak with the Prince Qoren Nymeros Martell with a proposition to join the Seven Kingdoms under Targaryen rule, which he of course refused and practically laughed in your face. But you were nothing short of prepared, coming up with an alternative: should he recognize your mother as the Queen of Westeros, even if Dorne remained an independent kingdom, he could keep the Stepstones and incorporate it into Dornish territory. You’d even personally aid them with your dragon in driving away the Triarchy; the only catch was, after that, he’d have to maintain it of his own accord. If he was successful in keeping the Stepstones going forward, they were his to do what he pleased so long as he kept open commerce with the rest of the realm. He’d eventually caved in, an impressed smile adorning his features (and a proposition to warm your bed, which you politely turned down) as he agreed to your terms.

The only two great houses who gave any indication of trouble accepting your mother’s claim to the Iron Throne were Houses Baratheon and Greyjoy. Lord Borros Baratheon, although vexed at having to bend the knee to a woman, didn’t seem so bothered after negotiations with his cousin, the Princess Rhaenys, and a proposal to wed one of his daughters to the previous king’s youngest son, Daeron. Lord Dalton Greyjoy, on the other hand, was quick to bend the knee to Rhaenyra the moment he set his eyes on Vhagar flying above Pyke, the sheer size of her rumored to be bigger than the whole castle itself, and Aemond barely had to do any negotiations at all.

All of this, allied with the extensive gatherings of the Small Council (which Rhaenyra decided not to change most of its members for the time being, just rearranging their positions and reinstating Lord Corlys Velaryon as Master of Ships) meant yours and Aemond’s wedding got pushed back several weeks, if not moons, the last thing on anybody’s minds at the moment. The betrothal itself was only announced after the return of the last of the dragonriders to King’s Landing, almost a whole moon after the death of your grandsire. By then, the expected date for the birth of your mother’s and Daemon’s babe was approaching, and so it was decided to wait until after the babe was born so as to not cause Rhaenyra unnecessary stress that came with planning a whole wedding feast.

In the meantime, you and Aemond would spend every waking moment in each other’s presence; wherever one was, the other was never too far behind. Especially after your betrothal was formally announced the two of you could often be found walking together around the gardens, your hand tucked on the crook of his elbow, or breaking your fast together. Sometimes you’d be found reading together in the library or you’d watch him train on the balcony above the courtyard. Your handmaids often jested with you calling him your shadow, as he never strayed too far, almost like a lost little puppy.

What the ever watching eyes of court didn’t see, however, was the way you’d often drag Aemond by the hand to some deep alcove away from everyone, or to the darkest hallway of in Maegor’s Holdfast, holding tightly onto the lapels of his leather doublet and crushing his lips to yours. Sometimes the kisses were unhurried, soft and gentle, everything you’d once dreamed of in your youth when your father, Ser Laenor, would tell stories of knights and princesses. Other times the kisses were fervent, passionate, his hands locked on tightly to your waist to stop them from wandering elsewhere. He’d been getting better the more you practiced together, more deliberate, sometimes catching you unguarded with a finger under your chin and a tilt of your head upwards, or a hand on your head and nimble fingers tangled in your hair. These stolen kisses, stolen moments, you shared had become the highlight of your days, and you suspected they were his too.

Almost two moons after her coronation you’d, regretfully, turned down your mother’s offer to spend some time with her in the middle of the morrow, promising to do so during the afternoon’s tea.

“You just want to gawk at your future husband training with a sword, don’t you?” she spoke, not even trying to hide the smirk hanging from her lips, much to your dismay. You felt the tips of your ears burning but didn’t try to deny it, for she knew you too well and could spot when you were lying.

Scurrying off to the courtyard you were pleasantly surprised to find it was practically devoid of the usual onlookers, not even the ladies of court were perched on their spot on the balcony, probably due to the gray and chilly weather that had briefly taken over the capitol.

Only a few knights occupied the yard, engaged in heated training matches. On one corner Ser Erryk, who had been appointed by your mother as your sworn protector, sparred with his twin, Helaena’s sword and shield. Jace was also present, slaughtering a hay stuffed dummy with his sword; normally Daemon would supervise his and Luke’s (and your own, in secret) instruction, having picked up where Ser Harwin left off, but with the late stages of his wife’s pregnancy he chose not to venture too far from her side should she need his assistance. And Aemond, dedicated as ever, found himself in a match against Ser Jason Lannister, who had been briefly summoned away from Casterly Rock by his brother for some reason or another.

Emboldened by the lack of people who would possibly berate you or gossip behind your back about your ‘unladylike’ conduct (and considering you didn’t particularly care for the opinion of the likes of Jason Lannister) you decided to join the men in the courtyard, sitting down on some crates near where your betrothed was sparring, meaning to watch him from closer than usual.

Aemond was good. He was more than just good, he was phenomenal. He moved effortlessly, swiftly around the makeshift battlefield, embodying the first rule your father ever told you when he began to train you: ‘the sword is an extension of your arm’. He was one with the steel, moving with a graciousness that rivaled that of the greatest dancers. You could only imagine how many hours he had put into achieving such mastery, considering the incident had most likely completely changed his depth perception. Watching him fight, even as just a training exercise, winning match after match against Ser Jason, was doing funny things to your heart as it beat wildly in your chest, heat expanding from your cheeks and down to other places.

The sun, partially hidden by gray clouds, was already high up in the sky when both men decided to call it a day. Aemond had already re-sheathed his sword and was making his way towards you when Ser Jason stopped him, trying to engage in some rather interesting conversation.

“My prince,” the man started, loud enough for you to hear, only getting an impatient hum in response “I hope not to take up too much of your time. I was just hoping you could maybe have a word with your grandsire.”

“What about?” Aemond’s eye barely flitted to the man in front of him, his gaze settling on you over Jason Lannnister’s shoulder as he talked his ears away.

“The changes in the Small Council.” he shrugged, as if it was the most trivial thing in the world “Lord Velaryon being named Master of Ships barely seems fair, especially with the state of his health.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, you see my prince, with a new reign just beginning I was hoping to be named Master of Coin.” he explained, finally gaining Aemond’s attention “But with the announcement of Lord Corlys for what was once my brother’s post, Tyland has now been appointed Master of Coin instead.”

You could see Aemond pursing his lips in thought, somewhat amused with the whole tirade Ser Jason was making.

“But you are the Lord of Casterly Rock, my lord. Shouldn’t that be enough for one man?”

“Ah, but to be granted a seat at the King’s Small Council is a great honor!” he kept on talking, not even noticing the slight jab aimed his way “Although the Queen’s Council just doesn’t have that nice of a ring to it.”

“Do you question your Queen’s decisions, my lord?” your betrothed asked, clearly meaning for Ser Jason to fall onto his trap and put his foot in his mouth. And oh, did he do it.

“I mean,” and that had you perking up on your seat “she hasn’t been known to always make the best decisions. My bet is she did this to appease Lord Velaryon about the death of his son. I simply don’t buy this tale of him being murdered by his squire. I am most sure she and that husband of hers had him killed so they could be together, she always had eyes for him in her younger years.”

He was speaking as if you weren’t even there, not noticing or simply not caring for your presence. You’d always known Jason Lannister was a fool, but you never took him for an idiot.

“She is a woman after all. They are more emotional creatures, thinking with their hearts rather than their brains.” he chuckled maliciously “Although a woman like Rhaenyra Targaryen probably thinks with her cunt more than anything.”

You were on your feet in an instant and even Aemond seemed surprised as the man started bad mouthing your mother, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, calling her every possible name under the sun.

“She would fuck any man who even glanced her way. Who knows who the father of all of her children even is? It might be one father for each offspring, we might never know.” Aemond’s expression got increasingly darker as the man talked about your brothers and you “The ones sired by her uncle are more likely to have purer Targaryen blood than the other three. What was she thinking, naming one of those counterfeits as heir?”

One moment you were watching the whole thing go down from afar and the next you were between the two men, holding Aemond back with both hands on his chest.

“You dare speak lowly of my betrothed, my future wife?! Your future queen?!” he tried lunging at Ser Jason but you stopped him, using all your strength to keep him from strangling the moron “I should have your tongue cut out and feed it to Vhagar, then feed her the rest of you along with it!”

“Aemond!” you held his face in your hands, firmly yet gently forcing him to look at you instead of the object of his ire “Ivestragī ziry jikagon, valzȳrys! Issa sepār mirrī vala, iksā sȳrkta than zirȳla.”

He exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring at the effort of calming down, until you eventually felt him nod curtly against your hands.

“Might I remind you, Ser Jason, that the one you speak ill of is none other than your Queen, the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, and that the last man who called her a whore lost his head for it at the hands of that husband of hers.” you spoke over your shoulder, throwing his words right back at him, smirking mockingly “And if my memory serves me well, Lord Lannister, you actually sent in a request to take her hand in marriage when she was younger, a request she herself rejected. So, by your own words, she would fuck any man who even glanced her way except for you.”

Aemond stared at you wide eyed, and you couldn’t decipher if his expression was one of indignation or awe. As for Ser Lannister, whereas any smart man would have stopped talking by now, Jason Lannister was no smart man, and it seemed his wounded ego and pride only fueled his loose lips.

“You hide behind a woman, my prince? I never took the One-Eyed Prince for a coward. What next, are you going to kneel at her feet and worship the ground she walks on?” he chuckled cruelly before mumbling under his breath, just loud enough for the both of you to hear “Maimed freak.”

The ringing in your ears and the way your name fell off of Aemond’s lips in a warning tone were the only indication of your next moves, and the next moment you found your hand wrapped around the handle of his sword. He couldn’t react fast enough, for you had already unsheathed his sword and turned, the tip of the blade pointing at Ser Jason’s neck.

“How about you kneel?” you hissed at him, noticing the other two knights and your brother intending to move forward and intervene, but they stopped with a gesture of your head.

The sword was longer, heavier than you were used to, but it would do. You held the Lannister’s stare daring him to move. He, in turn, unsheathed his own sword, clashing it against yours and proceeded to try to attack you.

One lesson Ser Harwin had taught you that had stuck with you for the rest of your life was that most of the knights in the realm were physically stronger than you. It was a given fact. But you were faster, more agile, not wearing several pounds in steel armor that slowed you down meaning you were light on your feet in turn.

“The realm isn’t a nice place for ladies such as yourself, princess.” you remember him saying, a wink thrown your way “The world will not play fair, so you must use every advantage you are given.”

So you waited, dodging Ser Jason’s every blow. You waited for a moment, for just one small falter on his part. It didn’t take long; he was angry, humiliated even, and thus he was reckless, giving you a large window of opportunity to strike. In an instant, while his arm was pulled back way above his head to strike down at you, you twisted your wrist, hitting him square on the nose with the pommel of your sword. He tumbled to the ground, one hand clutching his now bleeding nose and the other blindly feeling around for his sword, which had fallen out of his hand during the fall.

“Yield.” you pointed Aemond’s sword at his neck once more “Yield and those present might just be merciful and overlook your transgressions, forget your treason.”

Both Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk had their hands placed on their own swords, prepared to defend you at a moment’s notice and arrest the treacherous lord should you just say the word. Jace, on the other hand, looked like he was trying his hardest not to burst out laughing at the situation, a strained smile painting his face.

“Why don’t you control your wife?!” Ser Jason spat at Aemond, gurgling on his own dripping blood as it ran down his face.

“She is not yet my wife. And besides,” Aemond smirked playfully at you, despite you not being able to see him “no one can control her.”

Seeing as he was vastly outnumbered, Ser Jason couldn’t see any other option than to accept defeat, raising his hands. Once you were sure he wouldn’t try anything funny again you turned back around, giving Aemond back his sword before stalking off, fuming at the man’s audacity.

You didn’t get very far, however, feeling a large warm hand wrapping around your wrist. You turned around, ready to give whoever it was a piece of your mind, but you faltered once you realized it was Aemond who had reached out to you. His expression was firm, determined, as he started dragging you by the wrist, finding one of the secret doors that lead to the hidden tunnels in the Keep and pulling you behind him with a steadfastness similar to the one he held himself with on the training yard.

“Aemond?” you asked while he pulled you deeper and deeper into the secret passages “I’m sorry.”

You feared you might have offended him. When you started approaching the age suitable for marriage, your mother had sat you down to explain what you should expect and to prepare you for what was to come. She told you most lords expected their wives to be proper, never speak out of turn and bend to their every whim with a head bowed. You replied, indignantly, that what they wanted then was a servant they could sire children with, something that prompted a full belly laugh from Daemon who had been standing closeby. You were worried that, by putting Ser Jason Lannister back in his place for insulting not only yourself and your mother, the Queen, but also your future husband, your actions reflected poorly on Aemond himself.

He only stopped walking when you were very far into the tunnels, turning you around and pushing your back against one of the stone columns. He was standing so close to you, staring at you so intently, you couldn’t help but swallow nervously.

“Please, uncle, forgive me! I do not know what came over me, he started insulting you and I just-”

The force with which he crashed his lips against yours was so intense it almost sent you tumbling backwards; your head would have surely been slammed against the wall behind you were it not for his hand gently cradling the back of it to prevent you from hurting yourself. He kissed you fiercely, and by the Gods, had he gotten good at it. His tongue moved against your own with rapid movements, his fingers tangling in your hair and tugging, electing a small breathy whimper out of you, to which he hummed in return, nipping at your bottom lip. He shoved one leg in between yours, keeping them apart, crowding you even further against the wall as his slender fingers pulled at your hair again to tilt your head to the side, allowing his lips to trail a path down your neck to the junction of your shoulder.

“Ñuha nēdenka zaldrīzes,” he groaned against your neck, nibbling softly at the skin “ñuha zaldrītsos mīsagon nyke hen mirrī kēlio.”

Arousal pooled in your core at his words, not even realizing your hips had started mindlessly moving back and forth against his thigh. It was over all too soon, however, as he took a step back from you, to which you whined at the loss of contact. But what he did next surprised you even more.

Aemond sank to his knees in front of you, his hands caressing from your hips to the back of your thighs.

“W-what are you doing?” you asked breathlessly.

“Proving some of Jason fucking Lannister’s words right.”

It dawned on you then what he meant, as he started bunching up your skirts.

“Are you going to kneel at her feet and worship the ground she walks on?”

“Hold these for me?” he asked softly, holding the front of your dress bunched up against your navel, and the way he was looking up at you with so much adoration almost broke your heart.

“Aemond, I told you, we can’t-”

“Fear not, ābrazȳrys, this will not break your virtue.” he mentioned, hoisting one of your legs bend over his shoulder.

He spoke with so much conviction you wanted to believe him.

“And how do you know that?”

“Aegon may have mentioned something of the sorts.” he said casually.

“Are we trusting what Aegon says now?” you asked, exasperation dripping from your voice.

“My brother may be an idiot, but his expertise lies in two places:” he explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world “his wines and the pleasures of the flesh.”

Your laughter echoed in the empty halls.

“Aegon does not strike me as the type to know how to please a woman.”

“I said he knows the pleasures of the flesh, not necessarily how to do it right.” he chuckled along, before his expression turned serious once again. He turned his head slightly, laying a kiss on the side of your knee “But if you really don’t feel comfortable, we can simply forget this ever happened and just wait for our wedding night.”

You pondered for a moment, not wanting for this moment with him to end. You were rather quickly realizing that there wasn’t much you wouldn’t do for him, and that thought brought a light fluttery feeling to your stomach.

“No no, I trust you.” you smiled reassuringly at him “If Aegon says it is fine, then I trust your judgment.”

“Good.” he inched closer to your core, pushing your smallclothes to the side “But please, stop talking about my brother. His name is not the one I want to hear coming out of your mouth while I feast on your cunt.”

As he was about to dive in, a hand holding onto his locks prevented him from doing so just yet.

“Would you rather I chanted Daeron’s name instead?” you jested, giggling at the annoyance that took over his features.

“Iksā iā ōdres.” he pinched the skin on the back of your thigh where his hand was resting, his other hand snaked around your leg perched over his shoulder, helping to keep you balanced “Ñuha brōzi kessa sagon se mērī mēre ao hīghagon.”

“I mean, you did agree to marry-” your jesting was interrupted by a soft moan that left your parted lips, the feeling of his tongue licking a broad stripe between your folds catching you off guard.

Never in your entire life had you felt anything like it. A tingling feeling spread across your entire being, starting from where his lips and his tongue were diligently moving against your soaked slit. He worked smoothly against you, alternating between gentle strokes of his tongue over your entrance and soft kitten licks on your little bundle of nerves on the apex between your thighs.

“A-Aem…-” you tried uttering his name, now completely lost to the blissful sensations he was eliciting out of you, your fingers knotting on his hair and pulling hard.

And then something in him changed. Like a switch had been flipped in his mind, his grip tightening on your thighs as he started devouring your cunt with renewed vigor with a groan, its vibrations against your skin sending your toes curling from unbridled pleasure. You couldn’t fathom what could have possibly caused it, if it was the way you tightened your hold on his silver strands, the breathiness in your voice or, as you’d later be reminded, the accidental use of a long forgotten sobriquet you hadn’t given a second thought to in several years.

Aemond feasted upon you like a man on a mission, desperately leaving open mouthed kisses and broad licks against you cunt like he was starved. It felt like he wanted to memorize the very taste of you should he perish tomorrow, pulling moan after moan from you. Had anyone been venturing these tunnels, they could have surely guessed what was happening, the wet noise of his mouth against your cunt and the way you weren’t even trying to muffle your cries of his name giving it away.

The way his tongue worked in vigorous movements, swirling swiftly around your clit and then down to your entrance again, had you shoving his head even closer to you, canting your hips against his face. The motion caused his sharp nose to bump against your clit, prompting a sharp whine to tumble from your lips.

You couldn’t help rocking your hips against his lips, feeling something warm and almost tangible, like liquid fire, steadily pooling in your core. You felt the pressure of it mounting higher and higher, like a coil threatening to snap, streams of pleasure climbing up your spine and turning your mind into mush. Your thoughts were hazy, like a fog had taken over your thoughts, and you could barely register that Aemond was murmuring something on your skin, but what you couldn’t tell.

Opening your eyes again, for you haven’t even realized they had fallen closed, you stared down at him in between your legs. He looked ethereal, his eye closed as he savored you, some strands of his normally neatly groomed hair messy from where your fingers had pulled. You wanted to see him, for him to gaze up at you, so you grasped his fingers which lay upon your thigh and gave them a little squeeze. His eye fluttered open almost lazily, violet hue half-lidded as he stared up at you. For just a single moment, your traitorous mind was reminded of Aegon, for Aemond looked like he was honestly drunk on your dripping cunt, like it was the finest of Dornish reds he had ever tasted, expression fogged up as if his mind was far away. The small pang of guilt you felt at the comparison was quickly replaced by blinding pleasure as he, upon you smiling down at him with quivering lips, wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked sharply.

Then that coil snapped, your head thrown back in ecstasy. That liquid warmth spread over your body like a tidal wave as your muscles trembled, and had he not been holding you up you’d have surely dropped to the ground, consuming every part of you and leaving a pleasantly tingly feeling in its wake. He switched back to gentler motions as you rode out your high, eventually coming to a halt when you finally stopped twitching. He dropped your leg and climbed to his feet, a glazed sheen against his chin and lips as they found yours, the tangy taste of your cunt invading your senses as he kissed you softly, so very different from just moments ago.

Aemond pulled back, resting his forehead against your own, both of your breathing hard against each other’s mouths.

“I’d get on my knees every day if you asked it of me.” he mumbled.

Your heart fluttered at his words, clenching in your chest.

As he embraced you, you couldn’t help but notice the bulge that had formed in his trousers, but as your hand started to untie its laces, he stopped you, intertwining your fingers together.

“Later.” he whispered, laying a soft peck on your lips “I wanted to do this for you.”

“Let me assist you, like you have done for me.” you pleaded, voice a bit hoarse from how loudly you had been chanting his name in pleasure.

“Tis’ but a small inconvenience. I will take care of it by myself later.”

You pulled back only slightly in his arms to look down between the two of you and couldn’t help but jest.

“It seems like quite a large inconvenience if you ask me.” you smirked.

Aemond stared at you, expression blank, for but a beat before bursting out laughing, and you decided right then and there, in his arms, that it was your favorite sound in the whole world. You’d get on dragonback and watch all of Westeros succumb to dragon fire if it meant he’d never stop laughing. You could only hope on bated breath your wedding arrived sooner rather than later, for you couldn't wait to spend the rest of your life with him.

High Valyrian translations: - ivestragī ziry jikagon, valzȳrys - let it go, husband - issa sepār mirrī vala, iksā sȳrkta than zirȳla - he is just a little man, you are better than him (meant as in ‘it isn’t worth it’) - ñuha nēdenka zaldrīzes - my fierce dragon - ñuha zaldrītsos mīsagon nyke hen mirrī kēlio - my little dragon defending me from a little lion (‘little dragon’ meant affectionately while ‘little lion’ is meant with condescension) - ābrazȳrys - wife - iksā iā ōdres - you are a pain (meant as in ‘you are a menace’) - ñuha brōzi kessa sagon se mērī mēre ao hīghagon - my name will be the only one you scream

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

@sleephereicome

@bitchassgoose

@voguiing

@dibutw

@fruityvampslayer

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x velaryon!reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x niece!reader #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic

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saerins · 10 months ago

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⋆୨ chapter seven ୧˚ till forever falls apart

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ previous: chapter six - redefines in every way what love is - end ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 8.8k | ೀ content warnings: fluff/angst, modern au, arranged marriage, rich!sae and rich!reader, jealousy/paranoia, suggestive scenes, mentions of blood/children | notes: we have finally reached the end of infy !! rejoice i will no longer be able to torture you guys with the ending of this hehe but i do hope you all enjoyed this ^_^ & now onto the next !

“I came here to talk to her.”

There’s no speck of kindness left in Sae’s eyes when he looks at what’s left of his former lover. He doesn’t even notice you sauntering up behind him.

“How many times do I need to tell you to leave us alone?” Sae emphasises that last part, uncertain of how else he can possibly phrase it so that she makes herself scarce.

For the first time tonight, Mirin doesn’t even pay attention to Sae. Her eyes look past him, focused entirely on you.

You take your position next to Sae, feeling his hand tenderly grip onto your wrist. At the very least, it gives you comfort knowing that he’s here no matter what’ll happen. Though, judging by the ever slight panic you can make out from Mirin’s face, whatever it is isn’t pretty.

Mirin doesn’t say a word, only stares at you expectantly. Swallowing your ego, you nod subtly. You’re curious.

“I’m sorry,” comes out of her mouth, and you don’t know how to feel. There’s a lot of things she needs to be sorry for, but that’s your personal feelings. Somehow, you doubt it’s related to anything with regards to Sae.

“If that’s all you came to say—”

“Do you know about your parents?” Mirin ignores Sae again, instead looking to you.

Sae’s about to just shut the door in her face when you tug on his hand, stopping him. He’s perplexed by you, but he listens to you just the same.

“Yeah, barely. What about it?”

Because Sae did tell you briefly about it, about his suspicions on what they’re trying to do. You have to admit, having Oliver and his family’s PI stalk your parents wasn’t on your bingo card this year. And what he’s suspicious of never even crossed your mind. Only because even if they aren’t the best parents in the world, you didn’t think that they’d actually let any harm come upon you.

To think, they would try to take all of the money, not only their own but yours too, in order to save their own asses.

Mirin almost looks like she doesn’t want to say anything, her fingers grasping tightly and desperately on the hem of her dress before opening her mouth and making your heart sink to the depths below.

“The police are coming and it’s my fault and I know I haven’t done anything to earn your trust but can you please let me handle it?”

She says it all in one breath. Hurriedly without pause.

Are the police already that close?

“What the fuck, Mirin?” Sae spits, his grip on you tightening as he pulls you behind him, the vein on his forehead close to popping.

Mirin swallows the lump in her throat and you’re left staring in a daze behind your husband, wondering what you’ve done that was so wrong that you deserved this; your parents, a scorned and jealous ex-lover, legal threats.

“Sae, please,” Mirin’s panicking and you wonder why that is. Correction, you can sense why—it’s plain old regret. Regret caused by rash actions done on impulse. “It’s my fault, I know but we don’t have time. Tabito’s trying to stall them but they’re coming.” Her eyes flicker over to you, and you’d think she’s beautiful if all you’re seeing isn’t just red.

You feel the injustice creeping up inside of you, threatening you to take action. “And why the hell should I trust you?” Your tone is harsher than you ever thought you could go, and even Mirin shrinks back at the venom she senses laced inside your words.

And usually you’d feel bad for it but someone has already called the cops on you for something you didn’t do and that someone is right in front of you asking you for the same trust she wouldn’t have afforded you if the roles were reversed. If you didn’t have any self control, you’d have slapped her by now.

Mirin’s about to say something when she hears seven tight raps on the door. As Sae reluctantly moves away to open the door, Mirin whips her head towards you one last time.

“Please.”

The last thing she deserves is a chance. You know that. Both your head and your heart are in the same place for once and yet why can’t you act on it? Why can’t you just tell her to shove it up her ass?

“Y/N,” Sae calls your name, hushed because you presume he’s just as cautious as you are.

Slowly, you nod your head, signalling for him to open the door. You don’t know what Mirin is planning, or whether all this is part of her evil plot to take you down somehow.

When the door opens, you see Sae’s friend, Karasu, stepping in first before a detective, a dirty blonde with dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept for days. Behind him, two policemen stand guard, watching you cautiously, as though you might try to jump out the window just to run from them.

“Are you Y/N?”

The detective is addressing you, and you’re sure he’s only doing it out of courtesy because these people always do their work before nabbing their supposed targets. Beside you, Mirin steps one step forward, her earlier panic expertly masked by a puzzlingly professional expression. From your line of sight, behind where the detective stands, Sae tries to move toward you, only to have Karasu reach out to grab his wrist and keep him there, a subtle shake of his head as the only signal for him not to make any moves.

“I am,” you respond, because any under or overreaction would only prove to make you look guilty.

“What is this about, detective?” Mirin asks, a casual aloofness donned on her face now. You’re impressed by just how quickly she can change her moods.

“Oh, it’s you, Ms Seto,” the detective says, realising who she is, and you don’t doubt how influential her father’s been to all of Japan with his work. Immediately, his face softens and brightens up, as though it’s imperative that he stay on their family’s good side. He probably assumes that just because Mirin’s here in this hotel room that she’s close to you. “We received an anonymous tip regarding Ms L/N’s family here, as well as her possible involvement. We’d like to take her down to the station for some questioning.”

So that’s what Mirin had done to you. She had tried to pin part of what your parents are doing on you, too. You nearly scoff if not for the fact you know that the two policemen behind are watching you like a hawk. Mirin is the one who scoffs though, crossing her arms like she’s been through these situations a thousand times.

Beside you, any trace of guilt is absent from Mirin’s expression because apparently, and you don’t doubt it, she’s a very good actress. If it’s up to you, you’d say that her talents are wasted since she’s not one. And while your stubborn ego wants to solve this for yourself, you’d never even gotten in trouble with the local police before for anything, and something tells you that Mirin is way better than you are at this, so you keep your mouth shut and let her handle this like she asked.

“So you have no proof of any sort that she’s complicit in any illegal activities?”

The detective chuckles helplessly, like he expects Mirin to be that attentive. “No, not until the anonymous tipper provides us with what they say they have.”

Mirin’s expression falters just slightly for a split second before she’s back to normal. “So no concrete proof, then?”

“No, ma’am.” The detective seems a little laid back around her—are they family friends? Sure seems like it to you.

“Then I’d appreciate it if you don’t treat Y/N here like she’s some sort of criminal. We wouldn’t want anyone seeing her being escorted into a police car and making assumptions, would we?”

Behind him, Sae seems to have relaxed a little, lacking the earlier blind hostility he held. Maybe it partly has to do with whatever Karasu whispered to him right before this. Still, he’s as surprised as you are that Mirin’s committing herself to covering for you.

“Fine, we’ll meet at the station then,” the detective says, the mirth still on his face as he bids a temporary goodbye.

When all that’s left are the four of you, Sae immediately takes his place beside you, his hand possessively gripping your wrist, an accusatory look thrown in Mirin’s direction. “You did all of that just to mess with my wife?”

Mirin’s expression falters when he uses that term again, for you, because deep down, she still wishes for it to be her. She still wishes for that guy she fell in love with and made all those plans with to be hers. Hers, and no one else’s. But it’s evident enough that no matter how much she tries, even if you somehow ended up dead, it would never be her. He’d rather wait for the ghost of you than live with anyone else.

Karasu walks over, settling himself between the divide. He’s the one who seems the most sane, given this has almost nothing to do with him. “Sae, leave it for now,” Karasu advises, blocking Mirin’s line of sight. You presume he’s just doing it as a favour, maybe to simmer Sae’s anger, because you can feel his hands trembling with rage even as they hold on to you. “We need to get Y/N to the police station before this gets any worse for her and her sister.”

Your throat goes dry. “My sister? She’s been taken in too?”

How ironic that you were doing all this just to protect her from the harsh reality that your parents never loved either of you.

Karasu nods apologetically. “My sources say she was taken in about half an hour ago, but discreetly.”

The passive anger that was only settling on the surface seems to finally boil over, and you thank god that Sae is holding you back from possibly harming Mirin. Otherwise, you’d have probably punched her right now.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” Her voice is timid and she’s trembling but you don’t hold an ounce of appreciation for her earlier actions nor sympathy for her current emotions. This was all because of her. Her, and your parents, and you doubt you’re enough of a saint to forgive either parties.

“If anything happens to her, I’ll make sure you regret it.” Your words are a warning, and Mirin takes them in silently.

Maybe you have been too nice, and way too passive. To the point where people like Mirin felt like they could try their best because they had nothing to fear. At the very least, it still comforts you knowing that Sae was never trying to get anywhere with her. If not, it was the very opposite, though you still didn’t appreciate his lack of communication.

“Hey, I’ll drive us there, okay?” Sae tells you softly, his hand tugging yours gently, briefly washing the anger off of you. When you face him and nod, he smiles, his hand coming up to place your head against his shoulder as he walks you to the car, Karasu and Mirin trudging wordlessly behind. You let him lead the way, finding an odd sense of comfort, different from before.

Now, you know that Sae will protect you unconditionally. He’s been doing it up until now, even when you weren’t his favourite person. Despite his shortcomings, despite the fact that he had no obligation to, Sae was always on your side.

And maybe now you can see a glimpse of the future you imagined, the one where you get unconditional love, the one where you can see a happy family who’s not just obsessed with money. A proper one, with its very foundations built on love and not control over another.

When you get to the carpark, you see Mirin getting into Karasu’s car, and you silently thank him for going out of his way to get involved in all of this. The last thing you need is to be able to see Mirin in the rearview mirror of your husband’s car, sitting there as though she deserved any sort of comfort. If you could, you’d stuff her in the trunk and tell her to deal with it.

However, even without her there, both of you stay relatively quiet. Maybe because neither of you have ever been in this type of situation; neither of you know what to say. Even so, as he pulls in to the parking lot of the station, he takes your hand, squeezing it gently, his teal eyes gentle as they fall into your gaze.

“No matter what, I promise you, I’ll protect you, okay?”

You don’t doubt his words. You nod, squeezing his hand back, tightly because you’re more nervous than he is. You’d probably have to face the interrogation alone, or at the most with Mirin, and who knows what she might pull in there?

“Hey, hey,” he calls out to you softly, his other hand coming up to your cheek and turning you to face him, his forehead pressing against your own, eyes still locked on yours, his smile the gentlest you’ve ever seen. “We’ll get through this. Whatever you decide, whatever you want to do, I’ll take your side, okay baby?”

Maybe it’s the way the pet name so easily rolls off your tongue, but you still find your heart skipping a beat at such a simple gesture.

“Ready?”

You take a deep breath, nodding.

“Ready.”

While you’re in the room with Mirin and the detective, Sae finds himself pacing the waiting room restlessly despite Karasu’s attempts at calming him down.

The raven-haired man cocks a brow, amused by what he sees because Itoshi Sae of all people getting restless is always interesting. Usually, he doesn’t even get to see Sae bothered at all. The last time he saw that sliver of emotion was, well, back when Mirin left.

“Dude, relax, your wife will be fine.” That’s all Karasu can offer now, pointless words of assurance. Though he can argue he’s been plenty useful when calming Mirin down back at the hotel.

Sae shoots him a warning look. “With Mirin in there?”

Karasu sighs, leaning back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t recall knowing when exactly things got so fucked up between them.

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck was up with her, I’ll be honest,” Karasu explains, the only person there with any hint of pity for Mirin. “She fucked up, she knows. And you don’t gotta forgive her, really. If it were me I’d have handled it much less classier than your wife did. But trust me, Mirin’s trying to make up for it right now, okay? We can’t do anything so relax.”

Silence falls over them for a while, the sounds of the landlines ringing and clacking of keyboards the only things they can hear.

“What did you say to make her regret it?”

Because Sae’s at the very least curious about why she was so quick to rescind her punishment for you.

His friend shrugs, “is it hard to believe it could be something as simple as realising she didn’t wanna lose you completely?”

The earlier hostility leaves Sae’s body, only a bitter upset lingering behind. Because he can believe it, because at the core, Mirin’s always been simple. The way she acts out, not so much. She’d already alienated Sae by having been the object of his affection once, and that was not her fault, but she’d exacerbated it by acting completely out of line. On the tip of her impulsiveness was just the last chance to either possibly redeem herself or risk thorough destruction of whatever was left of their entire relationship through the years.

Maybe it’s heartless of him, but he doesn’t care. Yeah, he should’ve handled it better in the beginning. He should’ve just told Mirin that he doesn’t want to be someone who wrecks his own home, even if it didn’t feel exactly like home back then. But you didn’t deserve the anger she placed onto you. After realising his feelings, that was where he drew the line.

He doesn’t give a shit if Mirin woke up and regretted her actions. He doesn’t care if she’s trying to make up for it and save you. All he cares about is you and just you.

Sensing the tension in the air, Karasu forces a lighthearted chuckle. “What kind of magic does Y/N have to make someone like you so whipped, huh?”

There’s a pink hue to Sae’s cheeks at the mention of it, forcing him to look away as Karasu snickers at him.

“Look… don’t get mad, okay? But… do you think it’s possible she knew about it all?”

Never in his life has Sae’s fingers curled into a fist so fast, nails digging into his palms so hard, and Karasu has to throw his hands up in the air in surrender. Both of them know that if anything happens, they’re going to be recorded—and then the media will see it. And then everything will be taken out of context.

It’s routine at this point.

“She had nothing to do with it, so shut it.”

Does Sae know for sure that you don’t? Of course not. He doesn’t have evidence to support you, except that your parents left you behind. If your family’s really twisted, it could all be a part of some ploy. But Sae likes to think he knows you; you’re not sick or twisted. You’re kind and beautiful and trustworthy that he’s not even going to entertain the idea that you knew anything.

It isn’t long after that Sae spots you walking out of the interrogation room, down the corridor and back out to him. For the most part, at least you look fine. You’re trembling a little, so he clasps his hands over yours, holding you to him and kissing the top of your head.

“Hey, you doing okay?”

You can only manage a weak nod, but that’s enough for him. This situation can be a bit much for anyone. He holds you close like that, his warm body cloaking your own. You hate how it’s so easy for you to calm down when he’s here with you, and even if you’d like to condemn him for making such a whirlwind for your life you know it’s not technically his fault.

It was your parents who forced you into this marriage, or else you’d never have met Sae at all. It was Mirin who took it upon herself to try and ruin everything when Sae had refused her. And it was definitely your parents who took all their money and ran before they could get caught for multiple counts of fraud and embezzlement.

All Sae ever did was save your own money, all thanks to making that joint account. Otherwise, your parents would’ve made off with your money too, leaving you with no cent to your name, all properties seized.

You hold him a little tighter now, the tiff over what you thought was going on between him and Mirin seeming so stupid in comparison. Your own parents abandoned you and your sister, looked at you as just a pawn to get what they wanted. You don’t even know how you’re going to face Sae’s parents now that this happened.

A minute later, Mirin also waltzes out of the room, her feigned arrogance still present because the detective is still there. You gaze at them out of the corner of your eye; things only went so easy there because Mirin played her family’s cards right, and now both you and your sister are free to go.

In normal situations, this is where you thank her. But nothing about this is normal, and this was a situation partly borne out of Mirin’s impulsiveness. So all you manage is not paying her back with a slap.

“If you hear anything—”

“We’ll call you,” Sae cuts the detective off, his grip around you getting tighter.

Even if everything had been rocky earlier tonight, you find yourself comforted by the way you just know that Sae would protect you no matter what. You don’t even have to ask him, and he’d do right by you. For a moment, you wonder if this is the kind of unconditional love you’d always wanted.

“Hey, are you okay? Wanna go now?”

Sae’s voice is softer than you thought he could ever be, and all you want to do is melt into his embrace without thinking about anything but unfortunately the world is never so kind and neither is your mind because there’s a thousand questions running through it.

“Where’s my sister?”

“I got her to wait in Karasu’s car with her boyfriend. His car has more privacy and I thought it’d be best if no one outside could picture us.”

Right, because there are already some reporters who got hold of the news and are waiting right outside to ambush you into answering their questions. It’s all sorts of fucked up but you presume your parents are worse so you can’t really say anything.

Sae starts to lead the way to the carpark, his hand never leaving your side. He makes sure to look around, make sure nobody’s there to ambush you. Behind you, you can hear Karasu whispering things you can’t hear, probably to Mirin.

“That would mean there won’t be any space for her, right?” You ask, your mind still doing flips back and forth between being the bigger person and being petty about it. Because you’d love to be as ruthless as she once was to you, but ultimately, you don’t want to feel like you owe her anything.

As you reach the car, Karasu unlocks it, and Sae opens the back door, your sister sound asleep on the other side, her boyfriend muttering a soft ‘hello’. They both look tired, and you don’t blame them. At least you had Sae to warn you about what was going on, but to them it must’ve been a shock, especially for your poor sister who’s always been sheltered against the horrible things your parents could do.

“It’s fine, she can take the train,” Sae mutters, purposefully loud enough for Mirin to hear and hopefully get the hint.

Karasu’s about to suggest otherwise, but you interject—you’re pretty sure you’re the only one Sae will listen to now anyway. Even if Karasu tries to say anything, there’s a high chance that it’ll go ignored.

“She can sit in the front,” you say, because despite knowing better, it’s always been in you to try and be nice.

“Thank—”

“If she ends up getting pictured, it could blow back on us anyway,” you mutter coldly, because being nice doesn’t mean you have to make it apparent. There’s no one here you have to impress anyway, and Sae probably knows you’re just trying to hold it together for yourself, so you won’t have any regrets.

Like you predicted, Sae’s not all for it, but he doesn’t say a thing, following after you into the backseat, squeezing and trying not to wake your sister. Mirin doesn’t say a thing the whole way back, she only thanks Karasu for driving her back and leaves. Neither does Karasu say a thing, awkward silence hanging in the air as you catch him casting quick glances at you and Sae in the rearview mirror.

“Thanks for taking care of her,” you whisper to your sister’s boyfriend as he carries her out of the car. You didn’t get to talk to her all night, but that’s fine, you suppose she needs a long rest after everything she found out tonight.

He shoots you a helpless smile after he presses a kiss onto her forehead. The way he looks at her alone could make people believe in love, and you’ve never been more thankful that you tried your best to protect it. Among everyone, your sister’s always been good and kind, and even if you’ve never seen her around that much after university started for her, you love her all the same.

“You sure you don’t wanna wake her?” He asks you, quietly so he doesn’t disturb her. “She said she missed you, you know.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine, I’ll call her when things settle down,” you assure him, managing a genuine smile. “Take care of her, okay?”

Behind you, Sae smiles to himself when he figures out he must’ve married an angel, must be the luckiest man in the world. Despite everything that’s happened, you should be taking care of yourself, yet you managed to make sure Mirin got a ride home, and that your sister is in good hands. You’re a much bigger person than Sae can even dream to be and yet somehow, you chose to put all your effort into him and this marriage and even if he can’t tell where this will go from now on, he’s not going to give up on you.

When Karasu pulls out of your sister’s apartment parking, Sae slides over to your side, sitting himself on the middle backseat, putting an arm around you and gently placing your head in the crook of his neck. Then, only then, do you let your tears go, sobbing into his chest because you’d been holding back all this time, and Sae wonders if you do this a lot on a daily basis; put on a brave face as though you need to pretend you’re something you’re not. Though, if this was happening to him and Rin, he would be doing the same thing you are.

In the driver’s seat, Karasu finally understands why Oliver’s been saying Sae is a changed man. Even back then, with Mirin, Karasu doesn’t recall Sae being this gentle. Maybe it’s because he’s older now, or maybe it’s just because of you—the fact that it’s you, that’s why Sae is like this at all, a privilege only for a special person.

“Hey man,” Karasu calls out to Sae after you get out of the car. He smirks when Sae looks over at him, very much like a hopeless man in love because out of the corner of his eye, Karasu can tell that he has his hand in yours, keeping you there. Since when was he ever this clingy? “Congratulations.” Something he didn’t get to say because he wasn’t at the wedding.

But at least saying it now, he can really mean it.

Sae smiles subtly, but your head pops back into Karasu’s field of view before your husband can say anything.

“Hey, Karasu, right?”

He looks surprised, but he smiles at you all the same. “Yes, I am.”

You grin at him, and Karasu can already tell Sae’s a lucky man. Pretty wife, and from whatever Oliver’s mentioned, it sounds like you’re a keeper.

“I just met you tonight but… thank you, really,” you tell him, and he chuckles.

You’re really something, because even Mirin had mentioned it to him earlier when she was having a full-on breakdown, when he had asked about you. Karasu thinks that it would just be a lot easier to think screw everyone and just focus on yourself, but apparently, not for you. Maybe he understands a little more of why Sae can’t help but fall for you.

“That’s a lot of shit to unload on someone who didn’t exactly steal Sae from you,” Karasu remarked, trying his best to steer Mirin in the right direction.

Mirin clicked her tongue, annoyed because she knew she wasn’t exactly acting with common sense. All she had wanted was to remove you from the picture, through any means necessary. So why? Why was it that whatever she tried would backfire on her? Why was it that no matter what, Sae would never give up on you? Where was the guy that so easily gave in when Mirin had suggested a breakup?

Why did she have to teach him everything only for you to get everything she ever wanted?

“Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but if you keep doing this…” Karasu trailed off, sighing as he looked away, scratching his head. “You’re really gonna lose every ounce of a friend you could possibly have in Sae.”

Mirin kept quiet for a while, then, as if she was considering something. Back then, Karasu hadn’t even known that anonymous tip she sent in to the police. If he had, he would’ve definitely acted faster.

“Is that Y/N even that bad of a girl?” Karasu thought out loud, wondering why there was all this trouble over you and Sae.

And for the first time since she got back to Japan, Mirin was completely honest with herself.

“No, she’s not.” (It was so quiet, Karasu had trouble deciding whether it was just the figment of his imagination.)

Because what had you ever done to her except unwillingly be placed in the middle of their by-then non-existent relationship?

“At your service, ma’am,” Karasu responds, grinning at you when he says his next words. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep Mirin in check.”

You still for a moment hearing those words, then pout at him before you slowly retreat out of the car, pulling Sae with you. You’re not even sure why you can find it in yourself to be worried for someone like Mirin who tried to screw you over. Maybe it’s because Sae had told you about her parents, about how she just didn’t have anyone and leaned on Sae for support out of habit. Somehow, Karasu’s words manage to comfort you a little bit; at least you knew that there was still someone else looking out for her. Your empathy is there, but that doesn’t mean you want to forgive her or even think about it.

Karasu laughs at your subtle reaction, rolling down the window, “hey Sae, your wife’s kinda cute,” he teases, and you see why Karasu managed to calm Mirin down back at the hotel. Whatever he did, it was definitely effective. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he oozes sincerity despite his jokes, something you can’t really say for Oliver and Shidou.

Beside you, Sae uses his body to block your line of sight as he flips Karasu off. “My wife, go away,” he quips, and you can only watch as Karasu laughs it off while he drives away from your apartment.

The moment you’re back in the house, Sae sets your bag down slowly on the couch, and you pause right before you enter the bedroom. Everything somehow feels light yet awkward and it feels like you’ve been through so many emotions in the span of one night and now it’s already 2am and you’re tired but it’s not like you can sleep right away with all these thoughts in your head.

You feel Sae’s chest press up against your back, his arms wrapping around your chest. Now that you know he’s never actually even cheated on you, or even thought about it, it’s like a huge weight has been lifted off your chest.

“What’s on your mind?” There’s a strain in his voice, and you can tell he’s gotten a cold just from tonight alone.

You sigh. “I don’t know if I can handle all of this…” you mutter honestly. Everything has just been too much. It was manageable back when you thought your marriage was the only thing in ruins, but to learn now that your parents are wanted fugitives and the fact that they’d leave you and your sister to clean things up and bear the brunt of being damned just for being their kids is a lot to take in for one night.

“You know I’m here for you whatever you need, right?” Sae asks, holding you tighter, pressing a kiss on your temple.

You want to be soft for him so bad, you want to melt into his touch and let him comfort you and hug him to sleep, but can you really afford it right now? Can you afford letting him feel that everything is fine after keeping everything from you and driving you to the point of thinking about divorce?

It’s not normal. It shouldn’t be.

And while you appreciate what he’s done for you in secret, that’s exactly what you’re not so sure about—secrets. You’re husband and wife, and if there’s going to be any hope moving forward, you can’t have him try and bear the burden of knowing alone.

“If you ever keep something like that from me again, I’m not giving you another chance,” you tell him, your voice quivering but he listens to you seriously all the same. It’s times like these where you appreciate that he isn’t the type to be joking around all the time. He’s serious when you need him to be, and that means a lot to you already.

“I promise you, I’ll talk to you, whatever it is,” he says, slowly turning you around, his fingers gently gripping your chin, tipping your head up to face him. “I meant what I said, by the way. I love you, Y/N, and I’m sorry I was being stupid. And I’ll try to make up for it, however long it takes me, okay?”

This is a first for you that it makes you emotional. For your entire life, you feel like it’s been you who’s been the one trying to take care of other people’s feelings and needs so much that you step all over your own. For your entire life, no one has cared about you so much so that they’d actively try and take care of you. Everyone lets you take care of everything yourself without thinking that it’d be nice to offer you help even if you looked like you didn’t need it.

For your whole life, you’d wondered how it would feel like being loved by someone who wants to take care of you just because. And here he is, making you feel like you’re loveable, like you’re worthy of being treated like a princess, like you don’t have to mask who you are to get his love because no matter what you do, his love overpowers it.

“So don’t leave me, okay?” Sae’s lashes flutter against your own, his teeth clenched because he’s thinking of how close he was to losing you and he would’ve never forgiven himself if you did.

And maybe it’s the way you realised he’s loved you in his own way all this while, or maybe it’s the way he keeps you so close to him now, so afraid of losing you, that you feel it’s okay to let yourself go, to let yourself be you, to wear your heart on your sleeve because no matter what it is, Sae will take care of it.

“I love you, Sae,” you whisper, both of you with your eyes closed, breaths mixed together, Sae subconsciously pushing you into the bedroom because he never realised that such simple words from you would ignite such an urgency inside him.

That night, for the first time, you experience Sae’s love for you. The way it’s so subtle, so gentle, a complete opposite of what you initially thought he was. The way he holds you in the palm of his hands and takes care of you completely; a dream you thought you’d never live to see come true. So many people go their whole lives being stuck in a relationship that they find lacking and yet here you are, getting everything you need and want and you don’t even have to ask for it because Sae knows you well enough to give it to you.

In the dim light of the moon that makes it into the slivers of your blinds, Sae marks you as his own, and even though neither of you have been through it, it feels right. It feels so right even when you’re lying in bed together after everything, legs tangled together underneath the blanket, bare bodies enveloping one another as the exhaustion finally kicks in.

Sae watches you as you fall asleep, finger lightly brushing your arms and lulling you to sleep. There’s a lot he still doesn’t understand about relationships, and the only form of experience he had seemingly meaning nothing in the face of his actual love, yet he’s strangely motivated now. There’s no way he’s going to let anything, much less himself, fuck this up.

No, he’s going to do his best to keep you happy, to take care of you and make sure you don’t have to be the one who acts strong all the time just to appease everyone else. He’s going to make you smile everyday because you deserve it, and he’ll do anything to make sure that happens.

Anything.

“She had nothing to do with it.”

Of course, Sae’s parents didn’t take too well to the news. One night isn’t enough for it to blow over, because the moment they got the news, they were here to get to the bottom of it. As expected, you received nothing but accusatory remarks, and unlike Mirin’s, at least Sae’s parents had the right to be upset.

Still, Sae’s standing up to them, a protective arm keeping you behind him, making sure they don’t throw daggers at you.

They’re angry, but they’re not as bad as your own parents. At the very least, his father isn’t throwing a tantrum and breaking silverware. Doesn’t even look close to it. He only crosses his arms in disbelief, the vein on his forehead threatening to pop.

“Are you sure you want to defend her?” He asks his son, scoffing. “You know how bad of a reputation we have now thanks to her parents?”

“He’s right, honey, if you want to divorce her now we’d fully support you,” his mother joins in, and she’s every bit as submissive as your own mother, you bet. Anything for their money bag.

“I’m not divorcing my wife ever, so if that’s all you came to say, you can leave.”

Suddenly you feel guilt for being the one to bring up divorce in the first place.

The argument goes on for a while, and you keep quiet all through it. Only because Sae asked you to. It’s fair; he wants to handle his parents, so you’ll trust him to it. If there’s a need, you’d interject anyway.

Like right now, when you realise that maybe your silence is making things even worse, like your admittance of guilt.

“I’m sorry for what my parents did,” you speak up, bowing ninety degrees because as much as you hate their actions, you want to help Sae as much as you can. He must hate talking to his parents as much as you do, so the least you can do is alleviate that. “I really didn’t know what they were up to, and I didn’t expect it to affect your family’s reputation as well. I can’t even begin to repay you for what my parents did, but I can offer you everything I have now, and I’ll do anything you want me to.”

“Then easy, leave—”

“Except leave your son,” you affirm, straightening up and looking them in the eyes. “We love each other, so we’re going to make this work.” Beside you, a smile tugs on the corners of Sae’s lips at your declaration. Are you really the same person who used to be so meek in front of yours and his parents once upon a time? “As for my parents, I’ll let the authorities do their work and capture them. As far as I’m concerned, they’re dead to me.”

Perhaps it’s because of your strong words, but the Itoshis leave not ten minutes later.

You flop down on the couch, an exhausting morning followed by an exhausting night is entirely too much for you. Sae shamelessly lays himself down on top of you, head resting on your chest. He must still be tired, judging from the bags under his eyes.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair. “You were pretty hot, though, sticking it to them.”

You stifle a laugh, though your smile speaks for itself. “Guess we should’ve expected that. They got conned out of their money too, after all. Wonder when this is all gonna blow over,” you sigh to yourself, just wishing that the problem would disappear.

Over the course of the next few days, you received texts from colleagues asking what happened, and Sumi in particular loves to cuss your parents out over text and then apologise for being insensitive afterwards. It carries a sense of normalcy that you needed, though.

It takes a few months before everything completely settles down for you, until your sister has come to the realisation that your parents abandoned you and deserve whatever hell they’re going to get. It doesn’t stop her from saying yes to her boyfriend when he proposes, and you and Sae watch on lovingly as she leaps into his arms and kisses him silly.

“You know what, a family like this doesn’t suck so much either,” you ponder out loud. All you really need is just your sister, and Sae—both of them have never failed you after all.

Sae puts his arm around you, holding you close like he always does. You notice that; that when Sae loves you he’ll crave your proximity everytime. Sumi likes to joke that he’s too clingy, but you like him just like that.

Seeing the scene unfold in front of them, your eyes twinkling as you watch the movie-like proposal in front of you, Sae feels just a pang of guilt.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give that to you,” he mutters, though he already knows you don’t mind. To you, what matters the most is that the both of you are still together, still happy.

And that’s exactly what you say with your hands wrapped around his neck, kissing him with those perfect lips of yours, pulling him in so naturally without having to do anything.

“You give me more than enough, Itoshi Sae,” you whisper, oblivious to Sae falling even more and more in love with you.

“Have I told you I love you?”

You chuckle, nodding and Sae’s completely taken by your grin.

“We love you too.”

“We?”

And when you break it to him, in a hushed whisper because you don’t want to ruin the proposal, Sae gives you the most lovestruck expression you’ve ever seen.

THREE YEARS LATER

A lot has changed.

Turns out, you’re not as cold-hearted as you thought. Mirin is still on the list of your least-liked humans, for sure, but it’s not like you care enough to harbour any resentment anymore. She’s not worth vexing over, and much less so after that one time years ago when she came over to personally apologise. You haven’t officially forgiven her, but you don’t particularly wish the worst upon her. You’re not even sure where she is or what she’s doing because Sae doesn’t care for keeping in touch with her, but you’re both indifferent about her now.

Reo had apparently met someone special last year when he attended a charity gala. You’ve never met her in person, but from the pictures Reo takes and shares on his socials—all to show her off, no doubt—she looks absolutely breathtaking. He was there with you throughout the whole fiasco too, lending his family’s support to weather you through the tough times. You’re happy he finally found that special someone. From his texts, sometimes it seems rocky, but he’s “pretty sure she’s the one,” and you’re honestly happy for him.

Your parents have been caught—apparently, a year out they’d tried to seek shelter with one of their friends only for them to tip the police off. It wasn’t even like you, but you visited your mother in jail, just out of curiosity, and the only thing she had begged you was to help them get a good lawyer. Not that you didn’t expect it, or that it would make any difference if you did agree. Frankly, you just went there to say “no”, to let her feel the same helplessness she and your father cast upon you. You’ve never visited her since.

Sae’s been busy ever since his career shift two years ago. (His parents weren’t all too happy about it, but ever since their screw up with yours, they weren’t as forceful anymore.) Now, he’s one of the assistant coaches for Japan’s national team, and you’ve never been happier for him. It gives him more flexibility too, getting to spend more time with you back at home, but also getting to invite you with him whenever they travel.

You guess it’s lucky that you managed to land a spot helping the team out with marketing, so more often than not you get to see your husband play some soccer. Like right now, when you’re bent over the railing, watching him coach the two main midfielders and looking completely different than when he’s at home.

For one, it’s definitely the first time you get to see him all intense. With you, he’s pretty much the opposite, going all soft whenever he gets home, and you wonder how you got so lucky to be building a home with someone who loves you so much he can spot you a mile away and give you the gentlest smile you’ve ever seen.

Sae calls for a break, jogging towards your direction looking handsome as hell but you’re not going to tell him that or else he’ll tease you about it.

“How are my girls?”

Oh, and you’ve apparently managed to give him a daughter that looks so much like him. She sits on the railing, your arms wrapped around her to support her as she jumps into her father’s arms.

“She’s been bugging me all day to come and visit you,” you remark.

Yeah, she’s a daddy’s girl—and you smile watching Sae kiss her all over, her laughter ringing in the air, her happiness meaning the world to you.

Neither you nor Sae have ever experienced what a good family is like, nor have either of you seen what good parenting is like. But your daughter seems happy everyday, with parents who support her whenever she wants to try something different, so you both take it one step at a time, learning as you go. If it ever gets too difficult for you, Sae steps in, and he’s never let you down.

“Remember what we’re gonna surprise mommy with later?” Sae asks your daughter, and you’re still trying to get used to him calling you that.

You arch a brow, “I get a surprise?”

Your daughter giggles, nodding as she melts in her father’s arms. “Of course, mommy! You’ll love it!”

Her smile is infectious, a grin forming on your face just by looking at her. You shift your gaze to your husband. “What is it?”

All he does is look you in the eyes, smirking. “You’ll see.”

That night, you entertain your daughter by letting her blindfold you and lead you, well, wherever the surprise is. It smells nice, wherever you are because you’d been blindfolded even during the car ride, and you can tell it’s grand because of the way your heels are clacking against the marble and the way Sae had dressed tonight.

By your guess, you’re probably at one of the nice hotels here for one of their signature buffet dinners. Your daughter’s never been, so that could be why she’s making a huge deal out of this. Like father, like daughter, so cute.

But when your daughter urgently whispers for you to take the blindfold off, you find yourself at the entrance of huge double doors, two hotel staff smiling and opening up to unveil a huge ballroom filled with people, most of them you recognise because they’re your friends.

It’s already bringing tears to your eyes when you realise what this must be.

They’re all cheering as they see you, your daughter skipping happily into the room, choosing to run straight to your purple-haired best friend at one of the tables who you thought was still busy abroad. Beside him, his beautiful girlfriend mouths a ‘hello’, but you’re still too surprised to respond.

Everyone’s clapping and cheering and all of a sudden you feel the familiar presence of your husband right beside you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he kisses you on the cheek.

“Surprised?”

Honestly? Yes. Very. And you’re not one to be easily surprised at all.

“I wanted to give you the celebration you deserved,” he tells you, waiting for you to take it all in.

It’s a far cry from the pathetic reception you got from people you barely knew during your actual wedding reception. Sae had been nothing but cold to you back then too, so it felt more like a prison than anything.

Now? You recognise so many faces in the crowd that you can’t help but smile and wave back. You’d always wondered what this would be like, and your husband somehow manages to give it to you without having you ask for it and you’re in love. Because he seems ice cold and awkward and rough around the edges but his love for you has always, always been warm. His love has always felt like coming home and having a safe space and this might be the unconditional love you’d been praying for your whole life.

You almost gave up on it. But you know now Sae never will. And neither will you. You have a family now, a proper one built by two people who never had a stable environment, by two people who never came close to being provided one themselves.

Sae’s your pillar of support, and you begin to see now that you’re his.

Now you know it’s true what they say; you don’t have to beg for someone’s love if they truly cared about you, because Sae has always gone the extra mile for you every single day. You don’t have to act like someone you’re not just to please them so they don’t leave—because no matter how many disagreements you have, Sae is always there to listen to your point of view. You don’t have to beg someone to treat you right if they really love you, because Sae’s been actively choosing you ever since the day you got married, and whether it’s intentional or not, you think you’re the luckiest person in the world.

And now you can’t be happier; you have a wonderful daughter who has two parents who absolutely love her. You have a husband who takes care of you in every single way, loving you in every essence of the word. You have friends like Reo who would burn the world if it was ever unkind to you and dance with you atop their pile of bodies. You have everything you could ever want and you couldn’t have seen it without Sae by your side.

The do-over of your wedding reception is perfect. So, so perfect, and it’s almost hard to believe it’s the product of Sae’s ideas. He doesn’t even particularly like celebrations like this but he did this for you, for both of you, and being able to make your daughter be a part of it is like icing on the four-tiered cake he had ordered.

“I’ll love you forever, Y/N,” he whispers suddenly into your ear as you guys are making rounds at the tables.

You accept the kiss from him, flashes going off as you smile against his lips. “Yeah? What if it falls apart?” you ask, teasing him, though you never thought he’d answer you seriously.

“Then I’ll rebuild it,” he tells you, your lips hovering just above each other and his beautiful teal eyes looking into yours, a small smile on his face. “But with you, I’m pretty sure that would never happen.”

And you’ve always been pessimistic. You’ve always chosen to believe the worst because it alleviates the pain you’d feel when things don’t go as planned. But somehow, you believe in Sae with your whole heart. You’d trust him with your whole life. So you want to give him what he’s given you—everything. (He thinks you already have.)

“I’ll love you forever, Itoshi Sae.”

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achilles-rage · 3 months ago

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Good Luck Charm: Chapter 7

college football player!buck x plus size!reader

summary: the weeks pass and you and evan get closer, hanging out more and more outside of the library. you try to leave the library early one day, but when evan pouts about it, you agree to let him go get groceries with you. then, you go for a drive with him one night.

word count: 3.9k

previous chapter

series masterlist

A/N: the way i was giggling and kicking my feet writing this. i have nothing else to say. thank you so much for all the kind words so far!! i'm really loving writing this fic!<33

warnings: no use of y/n, fem!reader, race inclusive!reader, inexperienced!reader, evan being the only man ever<3

You continue to hang out with Evan for a few weeks, nothing much else happening but quick kisses and stolen glances. You’ve begun to hang out with Evan outside of the library; going to different restaurants and going on walks around campus, but you still haven’t gone to each other’s places. Not that he doesn’t want to. He’s been itching to get his hands on you, but because he’s letting you set the pace, and you’re still almost as nervous as the first day he kissed you, he holds back.

Your assignment is practically forgotten by now, as you both spend more time talking to each other in the library than actually doing any work. It doesn’t matter much; you’ve gotten a lot more done than most people in your class, but you’re still not completely done.

Tonight, you plan to get groceries, but Evan puts up such a fight when you tell him you have to leave the library early that you’re now forced to drag him around the grocery store with you. You almost give in to him when he complains, but knowing you’re running out of food in your fridge, you know you can’t put it off any longer. At least he agrees to drive you there, meaning you don’t have to lug your groceries a couple of blocks back to your apartment.

“You go grocery shopping with a list?” he exclaims as you pull up the note on your phone. You turn your head slowly to look at him, blinking as you take in his words.

“You- you don’t write a grocery list?” You’re in disbelief. How else are you supposed to shop? How else would you know what you need?

“Why would I?” he asks, a hand on the shopping cart as you push it around the produce aisles, picking up some fruits and vegetables on your list.

“To plan out your meals? Write down what you’re running out of?” you explain, and you can’t help but laugh softly at his words. It’s such a boy thing to say, you think.

“I have a meal plan for football. I basically just get the same things every week.” he murmurs, shrugging as he follows you around the store. You bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“Let me guess, chicken and rice? Maybe some broccoli?” you tease, laughing louder when he looks down at you with furrowed brows, and you realize that you’re right.

“Why would I need anything else?” he says, pouting slightly as you laugh at him. Your eyes soften at his pout and you give him a soft smile as you try not to laugh anymore.

“Some people like having a variety, Ev.” you tell him, rolling your eyes at the fact that he really eats like how you’ve heard some student athletes eat.

He can’t help but smile at your nickname for him. He wants you to say it again, but he knows it would be weird if he were to ask you to.

You make your way around the store, going through your list, which you have strategically written in order of how you walk around the store. The slight pout has made its way back onto his face, upset that you’re focused more on your list than him, but he keeps following you around the store, making jokes every now and then.

You’re almost done when you pass by a big display of cookies. Evan stops and grabs one of the large boxes, chuckling softly as he holds it out to you.

“Do you remember these cookies? I used to beg my mom to get them, but she stopped buying them because I always snuck them when she wasn’t looking and ate the entire box in less than a week.” he tells you, an amused smile plastered to his face. You smile at his story, but shake your head, telling him you’d never had them. He scoffs, and throws the box towards the cart, telling you that you just had to buy them, but the box misses the cart. It bounces back towards the display, which causes the top few rows to topple down, the sound echoing through the store.

He smiles sheepishly as you bury your face in your hands, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment as everyone around you whips their heads around at the noise. He laughs awkwardly, picking up the box he threw and putting it in the cart. He stands still for a minute, but seeing a few people still looking at him makes him drop down and pick up another box, gently placing it back on the display. He quickly walks over to you, your face still hidden in your hands, and puts his arms on either side of you to push the cart away.

You follow him, too embarrassed to even think of the way he has you trapped between his body and the cart. You take your hands away from your face once he navigates you out of the aisle.

“I thought you played football, you can’t even throw cookies into the cart?” you mumble, biting your lip. He smiles awkwardly, making his way to the checkout.

“You make me nervous, princess.” he teases softly, his face still flushed in embarrassment. Your eyes widen as you notice he’s on his way to the self-checkout.

“I still have a few things on my list.” you tell him quietly, looking up at him as he keeps you between his arms.

“We need to get out of here right now.” he whispers, noticing the worker that’s currently giving him the death glare, having seen the entire thing. You can’t help but laugh, which makes him laugh as well. He helps you bag all your groceries, and then you quickly make your way to the exit, both of you mumbling a quick “sorry” as you pass the worker.

“You really don’t have to carry all the groceries up.” you tell him, letting out a soft laugh as you watch him try to carry all your bags in his hands. He shakes his head with a grunt, standing in place as he waits for you to lead the way up to your apartment.

“I got it, princess. I’m gonna carry them.” You sigh, shaking your head with a smile as you make your way up to your apartment, knowing he won’t let you take a bag even if you tried. Once you get to your front door, you unlock it, then turn to take the bags from him. He shakes his head, scoffing as he pushes past you and into your apartment.

“I can make it a few more steps. Look at me, I can handle it.” he teases you over his shoulder as he places the bags on your kitchen counter. He turns back to you, striding over to you with a smirk. You fight back a smile, shaking your head, and wrap your arms around his neck when he gets to you.

“Thank you.” you say softly as you tilt your head to the side, keeping your eyes on him.

“I think I’m gonna need a better thank you than that, princess.” he murmurs as he leans down to meet your lips, putting his hands on your soft hips and pulling you flush against him.

You smile into the kiss, rising onto your toes so he doesn’t have to bend down as much and weaving one hand into the hair on the back of his head. He pushes you back against the counter, raising a hand to your jaw and tilting your head up to deepen the kiss. You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth and pushes himself harder against you.

You tilt your head back as his lips move down to your neck, nipping and sucking gently, which causes you to shiver. He lets out a soft chuckle as you react to him, feeling his jeans get tighter as he feels your plush belly and chest against his torso. You tense slightly as you feel his hard length against your stomach, and you pull back suddenly, feeling your nerves coming back.

“I have to put my groceries away.” you mumble in a daze, looking up at him through hooded eyes. He groans softly, giving you another quick kiss as he keeps you pressed against the counter.

“Come on. They can wait, can’t they?” he says in a teasing tone, licking his lips as he takes in your puffy lips and blown pupils.

“I have frozen stuff.” you trail off, looking towards the groceries. As much as you want to keep going, you can’t help the dread that’s filling every inch of your body. He’s so attractive, and he’s made it very clear that he’s experienced. Even though deep down you know it doesn’t really matter, you’re still a little worried about not being able to keep up. He senses your nervousness, and runs his thumb across your cheek to try to help ease your nerves.

“I guess I’ll let you do that.” he says in a low tone, giving you a small smile. His smile widens as he sees you smile back, then traces his fingers down from your cheek to your collarbone, his eyes following their path. “I’ll see you later?”

You nod, biting your lip. He must be getting a little frustrated with you, you think, but he never tries to push you any further, and you’re glad. He backs away from you begrudgingly, and your arms drop back down to your sides. He leans forward and gives you one last kiss with a hand placed softly on your cheek.

“Do you want me to walk you out?” He shakes his head, waving you off.

“Put your groceries away, princess. I’ll see you tomorrow.” he says, giving you a wink as he opens your front door, letting his eyes travel down your figure once more before he closes the door.

You let out a sigh, turning to put your groceries away, glad your roommate isn’t here to witness this. She’s had enough fun teasing you about how nervous you get around him, and you really don’t want her to see it in person.

A few nights later, you’re sitting on the couch with your roommate, half watching a reality show she has on, when you get a text.

Evan: Wanna go for a drive?

You smile at your screen, replying to him quickly before you get up and go to your room to change. You put on a hoodie and some jean shorts, then go back into the living room, trying to fight the smile making its way onto your face as he replies.

Evan: I’ll be there in 15, princess.

“Where you going so late?” your roommate teases as she tears her eyes from the screen to look at you with a smirk. She already knows exactly who you’re going out with; she knows that look on your face.

“I’m going for a drive with Evan.” you say sheepishly, sitting back down in your spot as you wait for him, your eyes making their way to the tv. She raises a brow, her smirk widening.

“Right, a drive. Okay.” she trails off, looking back over at the tv, the smirk not dropping from her face. Your eyes widen slightly at her words, and you snap your head over to face her. She laughs, seeing you out of the corner of her eye, and then turns to face you again as she rolls her eyes.

“It’s almost 10pm, you think he just means a drive?” she asks with a small laugh. You groan, tilting your head back against the couch, closing your eyes. You hadn’t even thought about that.

“You think he means a drive?” you ask, keeping your head tilted back against the couch. You feel your stomach fill with nerves again. She shrugs, and can’t help but laugh at how much you’re trying to avoid anything more than kissing Evan.

“Why don’t you just get it over with? It’s not like he’ll care.” You know she’s right, but everytime tensions rise, you start moving and speaking before you have time to think.

“I’m serious. It won’t be that bad. It’s not like he’s some random guy.” She tries to calm your nerves, and it helps a little. You nod, biting the inside of your cheek. She’s right, you think, you do know him. You’re filled with a burst of courage, thinking that maybe it would be best if you just got it over with.

You’re torn from your thoughts when your phone vibrates, signaling that he’s here. You quickly make your way out the door and down to his jeep, groaning as you hear your roommate wish you luck before you close the door to your apartment.

You get into his jeep, greeting him with a smile. His eyes trail down your body, taking in your bare legs as he greets you. He starts driving once you’re settled, noticing that you’re fidgeting with your fingers, and reaches over to put a hand on your thigh. You look down at his hand, his thumb tracing along your thigh helping to calm your nerves a little bit.

“You’re gorgeous.” he says after a moment, glancing over at you from the corner of his eye, taking in how the streetlights illuminate your face. You fight back a smile, looking out your window.

“Where are we going?” you reply, trying to ignore the way your face is heating up. He shrugs, keeping his hand on your thigh as he keeps driving.

“Just wanted to see you. Thought we’d drive around.” You can’t help the smile that erupts on your face, replying with a soft “okay.”

He keeps driving further from the city, and you start to see less street lights and more trees, but he keeps going.

“Are you going to kill me?” you tease softly, turning to look over at him with a smile.

“You caught me. You’re the perfect target. I barely had to do anything to lure you out here.” he replies in the same tone, grabbing your hand and raising it to his lips, kissing the back of your hand gently.

“I won’t go down without a fight.” you tell him seriously, fighting back a smile as you turn in your seat to face him. He chuckles, rolling his eyes.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, princess.” he tells you, winking at you quickly as he takes his eyes off the road for a second.

After a few more minutes, he pulls off onto a dirt road, driving for a minute until you come to a clearing. He turns off the car and looks over at you with a smile.

“So you are gonna kill me.” you tease, meeting his gaze. He shakes his head, chuckling.

“Come on, princess.” he tells you, getting out and quickly making his way around to your side and opening the door for you. He leads you to the front of the jeep and leans back onto the front bumper, pulling you between his legs and making you lean back against him, your back pressed against his chest.

“What are we doing here?” you whisper, as if speaking any louder would disturb the calm night air surrounding you. He puts a finger under your chin and raises your gaze up to the sky, a soft gasp escaping your throat as you see the stars in the sky.

“You like it?” he asks you softly, his head also tilted up to take in the night sky. You nod, biting your lip as butterflies fill your stomach. You can’t believe this. You would’ve never guessed he would do something like this.

“My mom used to take me outside at night to see the stars when I couldn’t sleep.” you whisper, leaning your head back against his shoulder. He hums softly, smiling at your story.

“Do you know the stories about the constellations?” You turn your head to look back at him over your shoulder, your brows furrowed slightly.

“You know stories about the constellations?” you ask in slight disbelief. You already didn’t expect him to do this, and you really didn’t expect him to know the stories. He smiles at you, nodding.

“I got curious. Googled them one night.” he says sheepishly, and your smile widens.

“You’re full of surprises, Buckley.” you tease, turning your head to look up at the sky again, resting your head back on his shoulder. He chuckles, humming softly.

“Well, you know Perseus? He killed Medusa, and saved Andromeda from a sea serpent with Medusa’s head?” You nod, humming softly. “Well, the Gods were so impressed by his accomplishments, they immortalized him in the stars. You see him up there?” He tries to describe it to you as he points in its direction, and you nod along with him, a big smile on your face.

“Okay, and there’s two constellations called Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. Zeus fell in love with one of Artemis’ nymphs named Callisto. He got her pregnant, and when Artemis found out, she made Callisto leave her group. Then, Hera turned Callisto into a bear, because she was jealous. Then, years later, Callisto’s son became a hunter, and came across his mother as a bear. Zeus saw this, and intervened, placing them both in the sky as bears. Right up there.” he points up towards them, and you nod softly.

After a few more stories, you then lean away from him and turn to look at him over your shoulder again.

“You sure do know a lot.” you tease softly, a large smile across your face. You’re impressed. You didn’t think he’d know much about myths, let alone how they relate to the stars. He feels his face flush at your compliment, and he looks down for a moment.

“Just google.” he murmurs before looking back up at you.

“My mom never told me about the stories.” you whisper, eyes trailing inspecting his face, taking in his features.

“Are you close with your mom?” he asks softly, squeezing your hips softly. You shrug, your smile fading slightly for a moment.

“I used to be. I’m not as close with her anymore. We never really see eye to eye, and she can’t hide her emotions when I do something with my life that she doesn’t want me to do. But, she’s still my mom.” He nods, studying your face as you explain, trying to learn more about your relationship with your mother than the vague answer you’re giving him. “Are you close with your parents?”

“Not really. I left as soon as I could. They were there, but, they were never really there.” You give him a sad smile as you nod.

“I’m sorry.” you whisper, leaning in and giving him a soft kiss. He hums softly, kissing you back, putting a hand on your cheek.

“They’re good people. They’re just not good parents.” You nod, frowning slightly. You can’t believe that his parents barely have anything to do with him. You think he’s the best man you’ve ever met, and you can’t help the frustration flowing through you as you take in that they don’t see him the way you do.

“I think they’re missing out.” you tell him after a moment, your eyes still scanning his face. He can feel his heart swelling as your words hit his ears. He’s never thought of himself that way. He leans in again, meeting your lips in the most tender, dizzying kiss you think you’ve ever had. You turn in his arms, standing between his legs to face him once you break the kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck and hug his head to your chest.

He melts into your touch, a soft sound of happiness escaping his throat. He wraps his arms around your thick waist, nuzzling against your chest, which makes you laugh softly.

“Thank you for bringing me here.” you whisper after a few moments, and you feel him lean his head away from your chest and look up at you with a smile.

“Thanks for coming with me.” he replies in the same tone. “But, I should get you home. You have class in the morning.” he says a bit louder. His hands slide down to your hips and he guides you back a step or two before he stands up, towering over you. He leads you over to the passenger side and helps you in, then makes his way back over to the drivers side and turns the jeep around to head back to your apartment.

It’s silent almost the whole way back to your place as you both enjoy each other’s company. His hand has found its way back to your thigh, and the cool breeze coming in from the rolled down windows is helping cool down your warm skin. You feel so relaxed in his presence that you can feel your eyelids becoming heavy, and you spend most of the drive trying to keep your eyes open.

Once he pulls up in front of your building, he puts the car in park and looks over at you. His eyes soften as he takes in the way you’re fighting to keep your eyes open, and he feels a little bad for keeping you out so late, but he loves how adorable you look in your sleepy state.

“Come here.” he whispers after a moment, reaching out to place a hand on the back of your neck and pulling you towards him. You lips meet his over the center console, and one of your hands comes up to grab his wrist. He pulls back with a big grin on his face, seeing how your face has lit up by his actions.

“Go get some sleep, princess.” he says, his voice just above a whisper. You nod, turning and opening the door to get out of the jeep. Once you jump down, you turn to face him again.

“Text me when you get home.” you whisper, almost as a question, but he knows you mean it. He nods, his smile growing at the thought of you wanting him to get home safe.

“I promise. Now, go.” he tells you sternly. You nod, shutting the door and waving at him before you turn and walk inside, feeling his eyes on you until you disappear into the building.

As you slowly walk inside, you can’t help but be a little disappointed. You had finally become okay with wanting more with him, but he really had just meant a drive. Nevertheless, you enjoyed spending time with him, and this is definitely something you never thought a man would actually do for you. You make your way up to your floor with a dazed smile on your face, glad to see that your roommate has already gone to bed once you make your way inside your apartment.

You fall asleep quickly once you get into bed, your thoughts on Evan, and how hard you’re starting to fall for him. You have a quick thought about what exactly you are, as you haven’t exactly had the talk with him yet, but you push it aside quickly. You’re happy with where you are right now, anyway. You’re definitely not seeing anyone else, and if this is how he treats women he’s not even dating, you think you’re okay with that, although you want more than anything to be with him for real.

next chapter

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