#little women reference if you squint

[molb-ill]

Dude stop you're scaring the huz

[afloweroutofstone]

By all accounts, the Americans virtually ensured their own defeat [in the Waygal Valley of Afghanistan]: They repeatedly bombed their closest supporters here, showing just how little the United States understood about the war it was fighting… The Americans killed and maimed the very people who supported them most, swelling the Taliban’s ranks by turning allies into enemies. Convinced that Nuristan would become a transport hub and hide-out for Al Qaeda and its allies, the Americans built bases and aggressively patrolled an area that, for the better part of a century, had been granted autonomy from its own government… Only the Americans dared to encroach into the region, and in doing so created the very insurgent stronghold they feared most. The United States dropped more than 1,000 bombs in a place it never needed to be. Instead of winning hearts and minds, the Americans unwittingly sowed the seeds of their own demise here in the Waygal Valley — just as it did in much of Afghanistan — then stayed for years to reap the harvest. “You have to know when you are the problem,” said retired Col. William Ostlund, the commanding officer of the men who fought the battle in Want (sometimes referred to as Wanat)... In October 2003, the C.I.A. launched an attack against a suspected terrorist in a mountaintop village, sending a trail of fire and smoke into the ink black sky. Gunships strafed the forests where residents had run for safety. A cluster of wood-frame homes and a mosque were decimated; seven people were killed, some while fleeing. The Americans declared the strike a success, a refrain that would become so common it would lose meaning. In reality, the attacks had failed. Not only was their target not there, but the homes and mosque they struck belonged to a staunch American ally, a former governor of Nuristan named Mawlawi Ghulam Rabbani. Mr. Rabbani’s political party, Jamiat-e-Islami, detested the Taliban — so much so that it had partnered with the Americans to overthrow them. In fact, that very night, Mr. Rabbani was in Kabul as part of a delegation of pro-American forces. The only people sheltering in the mountainside home were his family and friends. Of the seven killed, most were women and children, and they included Mr. Rabbani’s son and daughter… Though the attack barely resonated in Kabul, much less in Washington, it changed the dynamic in the Waygal Valley. If people were not yet ready to give up on the Americans, they no longer saw them as infallible liberators. A creeping sense of resentment, and injustice, opened a crack for the Taliban’s message to grow… Perhaps the only person who stuck by the Americans was [Afghan villager] Rafiullah [Arif]. But his loyalty was growing untenable, and even the money his family was getting increasingly wasn’t worth it. Rafiullah and his family couldn’t even go to their local market without worrying that [Taliban fighter] Mullah Osman’s men would kill them. Now, with the Americans preparing to leave his village, he and his family would be completely unprotected. The Americans were coming under mortar fire for the second day in a row. Rafiullah and his family decided to leave for good. They packed up their belongings and fled in a pair of trucks with other civilians, including several doctors who worked at the local clinic. The fleeing vehicles caught the eye of the Americans, who mistakenly believed the Taliban were marshaling forces for another attack. U.S. officers called in an airstrike, sending a hail of gunfire from two Apache helicopters at the convoy, destroying them and nearly everyone inside. Rafiullah lost his father, mother, brother and nephew, along with his arm, an eye and any semblance of support for the U.S. war in Afghanistan. The Americans, once again, declared the strike a success… “They say they came here to help us, but they wound up killing us,” [Rafiullah] said, squinting into the sun with his good eye. “We supported their mission, and they betrayed us.”

[therealslimshakespeare]

|| Radio ||

Requested plot points? ☑️

Circa: early February 1944

Immediate previous fic: Favorite Escape

Summary: when your hodge podge radio won’t work, who should ya call? Probably the flight engineer

Warnings: usual universe warnings apply, 18+ but nothing very alarming really happens in this one, references to others are made, some potential slut shaming in the beginning if ya squint? perhaps some queer baiting but it’s the Buckies rolling around on the flooor, they’re one massive queer bait lbr, it’s not me. Also. My shit Crystal Radio making descriptions- don’t come for me I haven’t made one and I spent five hours falling down a rabbit hole as to how the guys made them in the camps and at the end of the day I said: screw it! And went with one of the Brit’s scenarios 🍻

Edited only by my tired little eyes, full warning and have mercy 💋

Also, just a note I feel compelled to make- this fic centers around women in the army, in a war, which they’re spending under dire conditions in a POW camp. Yes there is love here, there is also hierarchy and discipline and the enforcement of that does not make one character or another necessarily callous or less loving. They are their ranks first and foremost as all signed up for.

“They’re forging papers, you know.” Maureen broached the topic to Egan one day, late February and when her cheeks were still bruised from Ida’s book.

Bucky paused his tracing of a map, sooty finger trailing along a river with the same incomprehensible name as its twin running parallel, he didn’t know anything about papers or anyone making them and she knew that. “Who?”

“Good ones. Identification, passports.” She enumerated.

“Who?”

“The Poles. The ones with the-“

“-the liquor.” he finished for her, remembrance and condemnation heavy in his wry tone. “The ones you stayed out all night with.”

“Stayed long enough for them to get drunk enough to show me.”she replied, without heat, which was surprising.

“Some grand plan of yours, huh?” He bit back a laugh, it was a fine way to cover her ass for being insubordinate. It was a way he’d likely try if he was in her place.

“No.” she swore instead. “Just luck, I happened to see them. They got careless. Maybe an answer to all Jack’s prayers.”

“Yeah. Anything to give that rosary a break.”

“Yeah.”

“You asked them?”

“What for?”

Bucky regarded her with thinning patience but something kept him from snapping, the feeling of a riddle still to be solved. “For some papers.” he clarified, measured and intent, she knew how much easier that would make their plans for Ida.

Maureen shook her head, glancing down at her twisting hands, “I didn’t want to-“ her mouth twisted too, “-I wanted to ask a superior first.”

Bucky considered that for a moment, slightly touched at her newfound wisdom, “Why not ask Buck?”

She shook her head again, auburn hair curling under her chin just so, even here in the stalag she had some traces of the old charm. “He’s got too much to worry about for me to be bringing in hypotheticals.” she was so upset by something she would not even meet John’s eye and he felt a slice of remorse for how he hadn’t even noticed the ground down change in her since she got here, his drinking buddy and the soft fleshed rival of merry old English days was a gruff and battered and sullen woman; being a red blooded American male, he regretted that dismal change. “And I'm worried about what to bargain with. What can I promise? We haven’t got much and I don’t have— there’s not much anyway, but what we’ve got I didn’t wanna promise. Not without-“ she still hadn’t met his eye, he tracked hers; a furious roving of pale blue back and forth across the floorboards and it made Bucky itch.

“Who signs these papers?” Bucky asked, thinking the logistics through, knowing she’d perk up if he brought them up.

“Haven’t a clue. Maybe they haven’t figured that part out yet. I don’t know. I just know they’ve got papers.”

“Good ones.”

“Yeah.”

“We haven’t got much.” he agreed, clicking his teeth in thought, “What’d you give them for the liquor?”

“They just invited me.”

“Didn’t have to lend a hand or nothin’?” he balked and Maureen threw him a glare that seemed more hurt than rage, and chastened by a voice inside that sounded much like his mama’s, he amended with sheepish humor, “Hell, feel like lending a hand myself these days, if it’d get me a whisky.”

Her gnarled fist curled white in her lap, she managed hoarsely, “They just wanted to talk about home. To someone who hadn’t heard about it a million times before.”

“They got cigarettes?” he asked.

“As most common payment for their booze -they’ve got enough to insulate their shack three deep.”

“Cigarettes won’t cut it then.”

“I’ve been thinking.”-

“Yeah?”

“The radio. I’m the only one who doesn’t think it’s worth the risk but, I know, it doesn’t matter, it’s happening. Gale’s going to keep trying. And if it works-“ she rubbed at her eyes, tired and unsure, “-that’s quite the bargaining chip.”

Bucky nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as his smile grew a touch broader, “News of the outside world.” he was half in agreement, “Buck asked for a week. Been four days.”

“He’s stumped.” Maureen retorted instantly. “And he’ll stay that way and he’ll go nuts and you’ll go die going over the fence and then he’ll have no reason left not to die too.”

Bucky whistled, low and chiding, “You’re full of rainbows today, Candy.”

“You know who he oughta ask.” she shook off the barb. “But he won’t. And I don’t want him risking it for this thing anymore than anyone else, but you all want it so bad, and they’ll shoot us for it if it works or not. I’m not asking her. But you would. Might as well get shot for it working, right? Isn't that what you said yesterday? You know who he should ask.”

Bucky’s keen eyes showed the moment it dawned on him, his eyebrows shot up and his mouth sagged and he ran a weathered hand over his face, “Awww shit, Candy.” came garbled behind his palm. “Ah shit.” he said again with conviction as he shoved the hand into his pocket, wretched acknowledgment of her point clear on his face.

“I didn’t want to suggest it, told Ida it’s a fucking dangerous thing and I’ll never forgive if— but you all—“

Bucky grounded aloud, “Nah, nah she’s -Lu would solve it.” he muttered, shushing her. “Demarco really pummeled you the other day, huh?” he added, and that got her to meet his eye, she looked spooked and a little incensed, “Saw him fuckin’ you up behind B compound but sheesh, s’like he hollowed you out worse than a jacolantern; yer shifty as hell.”

“He-“ Maureen still felt like blanching at the memory of Benny’s terribly correct opinions, his disappointed eyes and his fist full of her flight jacket asking her what in the living fuck was wrong with her besides a concussion, a sick childhood and an ever nauseating jealousy of Buck Cleven’s paternal time and effort, “-he had some admonitions. After…after the other night.”

Bucky hummed, shitty smirk taking up residence on his face, “How ‘bout that.”

“I’m gonna be better.” she muttered and Bucky felt for her, could almost taste the echo of his identical and hollow determination to climb the mountain of bad habits when weak from spuds and pneumonia. He told himself the same every morning and fell into bed condoning his failure every night, like a ritual.

“You’re gonna get us those papers.” he corrected, shoving off the wall to come near her, give her the full Major treatment and maybe a friendly hand, “And you can promise your drinkin’ buddies news from the radio.”

Maureen nodded in understanding, no joy or animation left in her green eyes. She used to enjoy a bit of subterfuge, now she only felt hollow misery at the thought that she'd dragged Lu into this, too. This risk she hated so much and yet no one cared. Lu would be glad to be dragged in, it’s true, she was itching at the chance to be useful and to make Gale proud, it’s how the girl was wired. It’s how most girls were wired, Maureen supposed, desperate to make Gale Cleven approve. Lu’s enthusiasm wouldn’t make the sight of her being made to kneel in the mud and have a bullet put in her head any easier, wouldn’t make Maureen feel any less responsible for it when her lifeless body thudded to the earth.

All that lovely goodness stamped out.

Over a radio.

Bucky’s hand felt too hard and too big on her shoulder. He had gone before the vision cleared, mud and wire and the freezing main square at Ravensbruck fading back to the musty bunk room. Maureen shook herself and stood up to make herself somehow appealing, reamniante some semblance of the cheerful rashness that had led her to the Polish combine in the first place: she found it hard to inspire. She’d like to count that a victory but she knew better, she wasn’t reformed she was just tired.

A washed face and a fake smile and the promise of news from outside would have to be enough to bank all their risks on, it would have to be.

“Crank,” she greeted the man in the hall, flashing him clean, water brushed teeth and her gentlest, freshly soot lined eyes, “I’ve been tasked by Major Egan with an errand, spare a minute to babysit me?”

__________________________________

Bucky finds Buck Cleven in his own bunkroom, Demarco outside on watch and that’s all Bucky needs to know to guess the radio is out and Buck’s working like a fiend yet again to make it work. Sure enough, he’s hunched over the table with it, mittened hands shaking from cold and exhaustion and a sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the paltry sweater he wears.

Bucky walks in and Gale gives him a soft, acknowledging glance before continuing to his work. Bucky takes up his usual place behind Buck’s left shoulder to watch and Buck, being used to it, goes on.

“My little Kriegie Marconi, huh?” Bucky allows the nagging impulse he has felt for weeks while standing in this position to finally exert itself, and his forefinger lifts and swirls in the curling gold strands of hair at the nape of Gale’s neck, his friend almost bolts away but then seems to choose a prey’s tactic and just stills, goes very still and Bucky scritches the scalp beneath his grab in assurance he don’t meant anything by it. He doesn’t think he does, at least.

Gale, wary and with a voice close to mechanized it’s so stilted, inquires with ever-present politeness, “You alright Bucky?”

It’s better than that whole ‘major’ business; getting called Major as if that meant shit anymore. “Yeah, ‘course I am.” Bucky rakes his fingers through the hairs there at the nape of that dainty neck, scritches the scalp with all four of his main ones, and uncovers a white long scar sliding round once he lifts the hairs there. “Why wouldn’t I be? Gonna be a father soon.”

Buck does jerk then, away from his touch and wheeling his chair around to glare at Bucky; it’s an impressively executed little pirouette and John misses the feel of his warm neck and oil soft hair. “Jesus John.” he reprimands.

“We’re gonna get outta here Buck.” John swears, he’s so sure of it because he cannot in all his thinking and predicting ever imagine a scenario where they don’t, and he chooses to think it’s not delusion but a good omen. “Ida’s gonna have that baby and when it’s safe we’ll all meet up.”

Gale is looking at him like he’s his own father again, Bucky knows that look, it always makes him equal parts ashamed and desperate, “Jus’ like that.” Gale mocks in a husky gust.

It’s devastating, and it’s intended to be, and Bucky could bear that with better humor if he could still touch Gale and his hair. “Just like that.”

Gale hums and it’s a mean sorta vocalization that makes Bucky’s heart thud and his skin prickle hot, it’s the kinda noise you kiss off a person, he thinks, but it’s Buck and so he doesn’t know what to do with it. “It’s gonna get you killed.” Buck is saying instead and Bucky lets him, “I know you all think she’s cracked up and maybe she has but it wouldn’t hurt to listen to Kendeigh sometimes when she’s tellin’ ya shit that a five year old could accurately guess, -goddamn it.”

His voice rose to a strong rage by the end and Bucky takes a chair opposite him, sick of standing there like a dumb dog waiting for his scolding to be over. “So what.” Bucky challenges him, “We just wait around and Brady pops out a child and the krauts let us keep it and it’s our new mascot and we all sing zippidy doo da, huh? Huh, Buck?”

Gale’s hands fell away from his face with a slam to the table, a shocking degree of anger showing for a split second and it gave Bucky an odd degree of gratification. “I jus’ want you to find a plan with better odds.”

Bucky sniffed and leaned forward, went in for the kill and Gale was looking at him like he expected it, like it was his turn to play daddy to everyone here and Gale for once was so beaten down he wouldn’t just allow the changing of the guard, he was close to angry at its lateness. It made Bucky’s heart thud.

“I’ve been listening to Kendeigh.” Bucky refuted briefly, “And we’ve got a plan.” Gale gave him a tired look of encouragement to go on, “How long’s it been since you slept? Huh, well, we got a plan. Practically perfect, or it will be, just need the radio.”

“Ain’t giving this away.” Gale said, “Not for anythin’, even useless.”

Bucky patted the table top in easy assurance, if he could have reached Buck’s thigh, he’d have patted that instead, “No, no, don’t need to give it away, just need it to work. So,” he softened his voice and his eyes tightened, “I’m callin’ Lu in.”

Oddly, Gale does not fight it. Not aloud, at least. There’s an anguished look of hate on his face and Bucky mirrors it. It’s for this place and the fucking awful choices they have to choose from every goddamn day.

“You run this by Ida?” is all he asks.

Bucky pops his flaking lips audibly, “What, need us both gangin’ up on you to agree? She’ll sign off. Smith’s an officer. Gotta remember that sometimes, Buck.”

The way his Buck swallows hard and dry contradicts his words, “I do remember that.”

“Really?” Bucky’s mouth gives a soft smile of doubtful incredulity and Gale’s mimics it, mournful but a smirk all the same, “Feel like she should answer to ‘Gale’s Baby’ these days. Lieutenant Smith who?”

Gale scoffs, “Careful now.”

“No really, she’s an officer and she wants to be treated like one. It’ll do her good to have work. Her kinda work.”

“Could get her killed.”

“Layin’ in her bunk could do that.”

Gale grunts, its sounds like an agreement.

“So I say Lieutenant Smith gets put on radio detail. Like her goddamn job description suggests. Huh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Gale lets out a shaky agreement.

“Aaaaand,” Bucky draws it out as he rises again and saunters over to Buck who is ready for him and loose this time, “how bout I go back to bein’ the one you’re frettin’ ‘bout all the time. Got me almost jealous of the girl. How ‘bout I do. Huh?”

Gale’s scoff is fond as anything as he looks up at John with cheerful derision, “And you ‘bout to be a father? Make me an old man? Fuck no, ya looney.”

“Alright.” Bucky concedes with hands up in surrender before lurching forward and grasping Gale’s rickety chair back by its wobbly spokes and hefting it partially off the ground, beautiful and outraged prude of an occupant still seated in it, “Then I’ll play daddy and put you to bed, how ‘bout that.”

“John Egan for fucks sake-“ Gale’s fists pounded on the meat of his shoulders and his outraged protests wafted against Bucky’s neck and his jabbing knees collided with the meat of his thighs and Bucky hadn’t felt so close to him or so happy to be alive since England.

“Major sir, the hell is goin’ on?” Demarco’s tame inquiry from the safety of the doorway made them both lose their grapple and they collided together onto the floor, bunk bed barely missed by their heads and the hapless chair mixed up between their limbs.

Bucky grinned, hip sore from his fall and kidneys suffering from Buck’s trapped elbow there, “Puttin’ Goldilocks to bed.” he replied.

DeMarco processed that and the scene before him with grave sobriety before saluting lazily and turning to go, “Right on, sir.”

John did his best to rise up without further pinching Gale who was indeed trapped beside him and beneath him, chair legs wound between a lanky human leg in a puzzle that Bucky realized might take some caution to untangle without harm. Strangely, Buck wasn’t moving, he was just looking up at him like a cat would their clumsy master who has done somethin’ stupid which was a surprise to neither. It was so innocuous a look and so nostalgic, it winded Bucky with the realization he hadn’t seen it in ages, just as he hadn’t felt his boney ribs against his own and the feel of his elegant hands yanking him around in a fight. This miserable place really was stomping out the glow in the best people.

“Ya know Buck,” he ventured, clearing his throat for extra casualness, “I’ve missed you.” When Gale only kept looking up at him, perfect porcelain face with its unsettling scars and wary eyes without a lick of storm in them, John Egan grabbed his shovel and dug his own grave a little deeper, drug a finger down his cheek. “Missed all this.”

Bucky didn’t know what he meant by “this” but it felt safer and worse all at once, since he did miss Buck but he and Buck never used to hang out on floors with a chair as chaperone. Mercifully, Buck neither points that out nor moves away, acting very much like he needed to heaped on the floor with Bucky and a stray chair every bit as much as John did. Like it’s doing him good.

“And you couldn’t’ve jus’ said.” Gale murmurs with the softest eye roll of the century and Bucky feels like beaming and it must show in his face so strong and bright after a sunless winter that after a flash Gale’s cheeks flame from it and he averts his eyes.

“I dunno Buck, could I?” Egan asks one blushing cheek and Gale hasn’t got a good reply for that, so they just lay there on the floor.

“Go on now, get off me.” Gale doesn’t shove at him, he presses his hand to John’s forehead like he would a dog and John goes, obedient as one.

———————————————————————-

They found Lu with Murph and Benny and Brady, measuring out what seemed to be lot lines between Love Shack #9 and the next combine, boot scuffed perimeters already visible in the light snow and drawn in a decently tidy rectangle. There were guards loitering nearby, nosey as always with their cigarettes and their antsy dogs anytime someone did something out there besides piss or pace or stare at the fence.

“What’s all this?” Bucky inquired cheerfully, coming up to them with Gale, bundled and shivering behind him.

Benny looked up from tilling a furrow with his boot, right where Lu’s mittened finger pointed out. “It’s for the garden. S’posed to be spring before long.”

“A Chicago man oughta know better, Benny.” Egan snarked.

“Need us?”

Bucky sniffed, a casual set to his body that belied his quest, “Just the little one.”

Smith promptly looked startled, then eager. “All well Majors?”

“Need your advice on the color of my cufflinks with this suit.” Bucky extended his arm and beckoned her, “C’mon back in for a minute. One of you too, need a watch to go with the cufflinks.”

———————————————————————

With Benny on guard, Brady and Kendeigh having excavated the radio’s shell from the floorboard and table leg in which it resided, the Buckies stood over Smith’s small frame as she sat at the table and inspected the simplistic device with keen eyed appreciation for the construct.

“It’s really marvelous.” she assured Cleven, running her fingers over the carefully coiled wire and precarious pin.

Gale didn’t even crack a smile. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked instead.

She shook her head, a frown gathering. “Never made one-“ she cautioned.

“-but you get the idea.”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“So what’s wrong.”

Lu ran her fingers over the wire, again and again, the dusty metal not insulated, just bare copper, likely stripped from somewhere. It reminded her of early days as a cadet when they threw chicken wire mixed with hydraulic lines at herself and her fellow rookie engineers and told them to sort it, testing to see if they knew which was which. It had been so rudimentary she had wanted to laugh until she realized others were being flunked.

This was so basic she was stumped.

“Take your time, Lu.” Bucky spoke up after a burdened pause during which she could almost feel Major Cleven breathing down her neck.

“Candy, can I try with the headphone?” she asked at last, frustrated and out of her element, just a few months out of a plane and she had already lost her touch.

Maureen passed it over and Lu pressed it to her ear, not to discern what was quite obviously radio silence, but to imagine the whole process in reverse, track it down the cord all the way to the base, each possible breakdown of the conduction.

She fingered the ramshackle diode with burgeoning suspicion. “What’s your crystal?”

“That’s just…lead.” Cleven muttered.

“From?”

“Ground pencils.” Bucky supplied cheerfully.

Smith bit her lip, “We need sulfur added. Lead won’t conduct on its own.” She figured Cleven knew that, the grim and unmoving set of his mouth suggested so.

“Just- sulfur?” Maureen asked.

“If I had sulfur we could add it to the lead dust, ignite it and-“ Smith grinned at Kendeigh, knowing that she alone may have shared her enjoyment of a small conflagration from time to time, “burn it down and you’ve got something close enough to Galena. Just need a pinch of it should work.”

Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and surveyed the mostly morose room. All except for the two girls grinning at each other over the hypothetical of a little chemistry experiment in a highly flammable wooden combine.

“We’ve got sandy soil.” Buck’s contemplative drawl spoke up, “Dunno if we could extract enough pure sulfur.”

Maureen stared back at Egan instead, “Other sectors have gotten portions of kits, chemistry kits, radio kits, they’ve been smuggled in with all sorts of stuff. Inside of a violin, oat bags. Nothing to fully build something. They might have sulfur. I could make inquiries and- well, Jack could pick it up next time the band goes over C compound to entertain the poor Aussie bastards.”

“How do you kno- nevermind, actually. Nevermind.” Bucky broke off, “Alright. Sure, why not. Ya sure that’s it?” he asked Lu once more.

She gave a helpless little shrug. “Gotta be. Or the wire’s dirty. Where’d it come from anyway?”

Gale gave Bucky a long suffering look as Bucky seemed to swell a couple inches and bounce back on his heels at the mention of his scrounging prowess. “The lamp.” he nodded above them all.

Jack Brady scoffed, short, clipped, betrayed, “That why it cuts out all the time? Strobed us so bad last night -thought the room was possessed.”

“Sacrifices Jack, sacrifices.”

———————————————————

Benny had hauled in enough water buckets to elicit some negative attention from the guards, and when the inspection came the inmates of the Love Shack insisted the drenched floors and table of the Majors’ barracks were due to sanitation post regurgitation. At night, with only one stolen torch light from Combine 15 to illuminate the endeavor, a basin of water beneath a smaller bowl in which lay their precious and recently procured ingredients, a science experiment began. The Majors and Ida gathered round, all looking as ghastly and spectral in the light of the flashlight as Brady’s fake ghost. It held the thrill of a bonfire night except for the stakes, which all in the room did their best not to dwell on.

“Zippo, Candy.” Lu gave the word and Maureen, with only the protection of Ida’s bent aviators to keep from a scorched cornea, flicked on her lighter and set the mixed powders ablaze.

It flamed up high and smelly, making Benny gag and mutter something about Meatball’s gas to a tittering Brady, and then died down to a yellow smoking ember.

“We should let it sit.” Lu surmised with a squeeze to Maureen’s only somewhat singed hand, her big dark eyes surveying the burnt bowl and their smoking experiment with glittery excitement at the possibility of success, “Let it cool, settle, maybe strain it. Can you get me a net? Oh Candy come now, get me a strainer?” she begged with a laugh as Maureen rolled her eyes at the idea of yet another trip to the Stalag Market for the most random items imaginable. If they hoped to not be suspicious, they’d need better lies or more money.

“How about cheesecloth?” Kendeigh tried not to grin indulgently- and failed- in the face of Lu and having recently been allowed to set something on fire

Lu kissed her cheek. “Cheesecloth would be perfect.”

In the end, cheesecloth did indeed prove perfect, and amongst the burnt dust of the combined minerals was a gritty little pinch full of the needed crystals. Or so Lu said, Gale agreed but the crease between his brows hadn’t lifted for two days; Bucky’s fingers had begun to twitch in antsy need to manually smooth them out. He imagined Maureen felt the same but she hadn’t said, uncharacteristically forbearant now she had some job to keep her sane. Even if it was playing fetch for Lu.

—————————————————————

“Well, this is it.” Gale muttered when the watch had been set once more, Murph and Hambone on the steps, Crank inside, Brady at the door, Benny at the window. Even Major Clark had joined them in the barracks for this final try and Lu’s cheeks were maroon from the attention even as her deft hands steadily pressed her concoction beneath its intended rod.

“Pass me the pliers, sir?” She asked and for a moment, the teacher became the apprentice and Gale fetched her the stalag forged tool, rudimentary like everything here yet the gripped and pulled and lifted same as the pliers back home. “You could check your look in this wire’s reflection.” She complimented Gale’s buffing of the copper wire.

He shrugged in turn. “Didn't wanna leave anythin’ to chance. That it?” he asked as her hands stalled and she surveyed her work.

Lu nodded solemnly. “Yes sir.”

Gale picked up the headphone from in front of him on the table like it was a gun he was about to bring to his head. “Here.” He extended it to her instead, “S’right, it was your job, you should be the first. Cmon.”

Despite her voiceless protest he pressed the headphones into her hands and Lu, never knowing how to disobey an officer, folded immediately.

For a good ten seconds everyone in the room held their breath as Smith pressed the headphone to her ear and gently wiggled the clothespin along the wire, searching and tuning, her face holding that old peaceful concentration they hadn’t seen since the last mission. She was at home with her mind tuned to another dimension. The pilots in the room knew that look, that was the look of someone at home with something that terrified them all the same, the gut swooping feeling of clearing the take off and sledding along the tops of the clouds. Wrong and strange and utterly incomparable to others, it was the closest to home one’s mind could be. Lu belonged somewhere on those electric currents and searching them out was like finding oneself again.

Then at last, Lu’s eyes sharpened out of their dreamy haze of concentration and she said, gentle as always, “It’s the BBC sir.”

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[kazumist]

WHY DON'T WE FALL IN LOVE TONIGHT ?

✩ — in which you found yourself executing a ruse with the known duke of meropide, wriothesley. what could possibly go wrong? (many things, apparently.)

✩ — prompt: panache — you agree to a fake courtship with another. (for @xianyoon's "a night to remember" event (event two hehehe))

✩ — includes: wriothesley x f!reader. royalty!au. fluff, angst if you squint, hurt/comfort if you also squint, comedy squeezed in just a teensy bit. cw: alcohol consumption (reader ends up taking a shot or two) one crazy scene in the garden but it's nothing too explicit i swear they just get a little carried away OOPS. wc: 8001 yes you read that fucking right (i went insane). fake dating trope went a bit overboard my bad (heavily based by bridgerton season 1 minus the explicit scenes LMAO). one pride and prejudice and meme reference line sneaked in (if u get my reference then ilysm i need to kiss u). other fontaine characters make a cameo yipee!! full fic of this silly post i made back then but i changed things up. kinda

✩ — please reblog !! it wld help me tons :,)

love at first sight was a frivolous belief for a man like wriothesley.

romance, in general, was a frivolous belief for him in the first place. as much as his father pushes him into the marriage market for all of the women in the kingdom of fontaine, he would always find his way out of it. but he does admit—the nagging could get quite... overbearing sometimes. romance almost never crosses wriothesley’s mind. he shuns every vigorous mother that presents their daughter towards him in hopes that he’ll take an interest in them (which he never does; wriothesley believes that marriage is too big of a responsibility for him).

a ball is never uncommon in society at this age. and certainly it isn’t uncommon for his father to urge him to grace these balls with his presence on behalf of his former duke of a father. and tonight wasn’t so different from the other balls he previously attended. wriothesley holds back the urge to roll his eyes after he excuses himself (for the nth time, he thinks) from another mother who tried to offer her daughter up for his hand in marriage. it was exhausting, to say the least. wriothesley wants nothing more than to leave at the moment. however, to his dismay, the ball had just begun not too long ago.

it’s another long night for him.

sharing some conversations with queen furina’s royal advisor, neuvillette, wasn’t a bad way to pass the time. and it certainly was effective because people were far too nervous to approach him with the queen nearby. the friendship he shared with the royal advisor wasn’t new knowledge to society. almost everyone and their mothers had heard about the tale of the current duke meropide and the queen’s royal advisor being close friends during their early days of childhood and onwards. though wriothesley sometimes admits—he surely misses his youthful days.

it’s not like he's that old now. he’s currently thriving at the young age of twenty-five! not too young, not too old either. “and just how long are you going to stand by my side tonight, wriothesley?” neuvillette asks, his eyes focused on the crowd below him. there were pairs dancing gracefully in the middle of the venue as the quintet orchestra played by the side. wriothesley doesn’t glance at him as he answers. “just a bit longer, i suppose. i could still feel their eyes boring holes into me.” he mumbles the last part, leaning closer only for neuvillette to hear, as he refers to the mothers that attempted to make their advances on him earlier. neuvillette simply chuckles at his remark.

“still refusing marriage, i see?” he replies. 

“i’m confident that you’re well aware of what my answer to that is going to be, neuvillette.”

wriothesley feels comfortable like this. but he’s aware that he couldn’t spend all of his time by his friend’s side. soon after, wriothesley decides to take his leave after making sure his coast is clear. he then exited nearby and found himself wandering into the garden. surely, the workers at the house of hearth had done a splendid job maintaining this garden. he reminds himself to commend duke arlecchino for this if he ever gets the chance.

the wind tonight was quite cold, yet it’s nothing wriothesley couldn’t handle. he stumbles upon what seemed to be the center of the garden, surprised to see a fountain there. the moonlight shines brightly in this area—but what actually made wriothesley curious was who was sitting by the fountain? he steadily approaches, careful not to make the wrong move and sits by the fountain as well. there was still some distance between the two of you—a lot of it. it would be indecent of him to burst into a woman’s personal space. his father did not raise him to be that sort of man.

“what brings you here tonight?” he suddenly finds himself asking. it was a poor attempt at small talk, he thinks (he could do much better than that, he swears). wriothesley doesn’t even dare steal a glance at you, as much as he wanted to. you hesitated before answering him, still sinking in the fact that you suddenly have company in this garden now. “avoiding society as usual, especially the members of society who cannot give up offering their hand of marriage towards me, i suppose,” he hears you sigh. huh, how ironic. did wriothesley just bump into someone who suffers from the same problem as him? 

the answer was most definitely yes.

“oh, what a coincidence—i suffer from such a predicament as well.” he chuckles bitterly in reply—too bitter for his liking. he didn’t want to suddenly ruin the mood now; the conversation had barely even started. “is that so? i’m delighted to know that i’m not alone in this boat then.” the tone of your chuckle was different from the chuckle you got from wriothesley. a comfortable silence was then enveloped over the both of you, enjoying the scenery around. he takes this as his chance to steal a glance, and he quickly takes it back. yet he finds himself glancing again.

and again

and again. 

he doesn’t quite understand it himself. however, there was something about you that had this alluring effect on him of some sort. he just couldn’t tear his eyes off of you for some reason. “enjoying the view much, duke?” you asked, meeting his gaze. wriothesley then turns away suddenly, embarrassed that he was caught red handed in the act of practically ogling at you. his father did not raise him to be like this at all. he did not spend his childhood and teenage years training how to be a proper gentleman for his debut in society just to be ogling at a lady he just met at a ball. he needs to snap out of it.

“my apologies, but how could i resist putting my attention on a stunning lady like you?” he tries to play it cool. (keyword: tries.) it was a strategy that he learned to adapt every since he made his debut into society. playing it cool always works for him—surely his old trick wouldn’t fail at him now of all times, right? but wriothesley soon snapped out of his thoughts, and he then asked another question. “wait, you know who i am?” 

you were taken aback by his words. is he seriously asking you that? “who wouldn’t know you? you’re quite famous with the other ladies.” you asked him back. he simply replies with a short “fair point.” and silence takes over once again. but this time, it was a bit awkward. you decided to introduce yourself to him, stating your name and title. he nods in acknowledgement of your introduction. he has heard of you before, of course. your family has quite a reputation in society, making you get quite a bit of attention at formal parties as well. 

wriothesley doesn’t dare steal a glance at you again, as he has seemed to learn his lesson from what happened earlier. you, on the other hand, took this as your chance to take your leave. “although your company has been quite interesting, duke meropide, i’m afraid that i must take my leave first. i seem to have forgotten that i excused myself from lord jackson earlier.” you got up from your seat, already walking away from the fountain—that is, until wriothesley speaks.

“lord jackson? you mean the lord jackson who’s known for his… awful history in relationships?”

“i don’t believe there’s any other lord jackson in this society, duke meropide.” you turn around to face him.

“what business do you have with him?” why am i even asking? he thinks.

“he’s simply another one of the men who my mother had decided to set me up with for marriage. i was told to accompany him for tonight but you see, his company isn’t really... the best.” you replied, choosing your word carefully. despite you not liking lord jackson at all, it would be informal for you to speak ill of him when he could be the man you’ll actually marry.

actually, scratch that. as if you’ll ever allow yourself to marry a man like him. lord jackson was a creep, to say the least. you were aware of the talk that goes around him. but your dear mother is still kept in the dark about these stories, and she decided to set you up with him without your prior knowledge. so by technicality, you really had no choice. “you can’t marry him.” the man in front of you suddenly says.

“i beg your pardon?” you asked, afraid that you misheard him the first time. “you... you can’t marry him.” he repeats and then he continues. “i mean, surely you have heard the news about him—his temper makes him vicious. your marriage with him wouldn’t prosper at all.” you held back the urge to scoff at him. “i appreciate your concern, my duke, but our society works in an unfair way at this age. i cannot just declare that i do not wish to marry, unlike you. that is a privilege that i cannot simply afford.” you shot back at him.

wriothesley suddenly feels like a light bulb in his head has switched on.

“we could pretend to form an attachment.” he then says. you were getting more baffled by the second this conversation held on longer. “whatever do you mean?” you weren’t stupid. but you refused to believe that what he’s hinting at is also the one you foolishly thought. “with you in my arm, people would think that i have finally found my duchess. as for you, your mother would raise her standards and find more suitable candidates for your hand in marriage. because although i could be wrong, but have you ever told your mother what traits you find in a man?” he replies, a small smile slowly tugging on his lips. he clearly enjoys this idea.

“i… i suppose not.” he got you there. “but this is an absurd idea.” you protested.

“i find it quite brilliant, if i do say so myself.”

“you do know the risks of what you’re proposing right now, am i correct?”

“i do. but you do not wish to marry me, and i do not wish to marry you, so whatever should you have to lose?” he’s insisting. he’s insisting like this plan would work perfectly fine for the both of your benefits (well, if you were to be completely honest, there is a chance for it to be successful. but you grew up to believe that you shouldn’t expect for things to go so smoothly in your life). “i…” a lost of words. that’s what you are. too many possibilities are running through your head at the moment.

however, the duke did have one hell of a good point.

“fine. you got yourself a deal.”

and that’s how you got roped into the situation you have now. with an arm interlocked with the duke meropide’s, all eyes were bound to set upon you both. wriothesley could see the amusement in neuvillette’s expression; the same goes for the hint of amusement in queen furina’s eyes as she spots them in the crowd. wriothesley slowly guides you towards the dance floor, just in time for another dance to begin. gracefully, you took his hand as you step onto the dance floor with him. a familiar song started to play, one that you remember memorizing as dance class was mandatory for being a debutante in society.

“are you bothered?” he then asks in a whisper as he twirls you around. “whatever for?” you ask him back. “the staring. i could feel all of them looking at us right now, honestly,” he chuckles lowly. “hm, i’m trying not to mind it that much. but i suppose you’re probably enjoying all of this attention now, aren’t you?” a simple tease on your part, and wriothesley smiled at that. “my, are we on casual terms now?” 

“chemistry should be a major factor that we should have in this plan, yes? so we might as well start by being more casual with one another.”

“indeed. glad to know that you’re quick to pick up on things.” he says. “of course i am. what do you take me for, duke meropide?” you asked him, a slight pout forming on your lips. and wriothesley smiled at that again before replying. “nothing offensive, that i can assure you.”

“i’m delighted to know that the ever-so-famous duke of meropide doesn’t harbor any sour feelings towards me then.” 

it was a bit suffocating, all of the staring. yet at the same time, you understood why they’re staring in the first place. wriothesley, the current duke of meropide, is suddenly on the dance floor with a young woman. and he seems to be quite interested in her as well. people would assume you’re the reason why the duke has rejected so many marriage offers up until now—because he already had you in the first place.

the other unwanted attention you’d get from that assumption alone was enough to make you distracted to the point where you almost stepped on wriothesley’s foot. “i—my apologies, duke.” you stammered. “it’s alright. just look at me,” he says. you scrunched your eyebrows at him in confusion. “pardon?”

“just look at me; don’t focus on anyone else. it will help ease your mind.”

with hesitance, you followed what he said and locked your eyes with his. the duke’s eyes were a fine shade of grey. a unique color, if you do say so yourself. and surely he was correct. shifting your focus and thoughts to him did ease you from all of the other eyes that are locked onto both of your figures that’s moving along with the music.

time felt like it had stopped, as it also felt like you were the only ones present in the room.

to wriothesley’s surprise, the night passed by faster when he was with you. because before he knew it, he was already accompanying you back to your carriage. a lot of things had happened in the span of just a few hours. but wriothesley does not regret a single second of it, now that he recalls everything again. he wonders why—was it because he encountered you in the garden tonight?

maybe. that’s where it all started anyway.

he quickly snapped out of his trail of thoughts as he heard you speak. “i suppose i’ll see you soon then?” you asked him. “mhm, i suppose so. safe travels, m’lady.” he bids you his farewell by gently grabbing ahold of your hand and pressing a soft kiss onto your knuckle, refusing to break his eye contact with you as the footman closed your carriage’s door.

“safe travels as well, my duke.”

— — — — — — — — 

word spread fast about you and the duke of meropide. your mother was shocked at the news—yet happy that you finally became “independent on finding your match” as per her words. you had no specific agenda for the day, so, as you usually do whenever you are free, you decided to visit the modiste—where your good friend chiori resides. 

the sound of the bell chiming as the door opened made chiori perk up to see who would possibly need help making a new dress. but when her eyes met yours, she just knew you weren’t here to ask for a new dress. “i heard about the commotion last night.” she says, setting down a cup of tea for you as she takes a sip from her own cup, waiting for your response. “commotion is a vulgar term for it, chiori. i prefer to call it a memorable event.”

“i suppose it’s memorable for you to enter with your arm wrapped around the duke meropide just like that. how did it even happen? i vividly recall you telling me that you had no intention of marriage.”

“it’s… a long story,” you sighed, taking a sip from your own cup of tea. “oh? are you implying that there’s more to this than meets the eye, then?”

“i guess you could say that.”

“well, then tell me all about it.”

“i… i can't. my apologies, chiori.” it's not like you didn't trust her. in fact, there are more secrets that are held within this fine modiste’s place than one could ever imagine. but it was a silent and automatic agreement between you and the duke that no one must know of your plan. (although you already hinted to chiori that there's more to it than meets the eye.) besides, chiori is a smart woman who has known you before she could even have her place built.

she doesn't need to be a genius to find out that there's something up. she'll pick up on it sooner or later.

“it's alright. there’s no need to feel pressure to tell me now, but do promise me one thing: you're not doing anything against the law, right?”

you couldn't help but burst out in laughter at her question. “chiori! do you take me as a criminal? of course, i’m not!” you replied, laughing in a fit of giggles in between your words. “thank goodness. well, how was i supposed to know? you almost never stop by so we rarely have the chance to catch up. every bit of news i hear from you is usually from the other ladies who sometimes talk about you.”

“don’t worry, my friend. i’ll stop by more often from now on, but seriously, are you still eavesdropping on your customers? i thought we were past that.”

“it isn't my fault some of them whisper way too loudly for my liking,” chiori scoffs.

as you two have a few more conversations, it is about time for you to take your leave, as the time has reached for the hour when chiori would usually have customers. “it was truly a pleasure to catch up with you, chiori.” you said as she escorted you to the door. “a pleasure indeed. do drop by more often, alright? it can get quite lonely here, you know.” a giggle leaves your lips at her response. “will do. i believe i might need a new dress soon for the upcoming firestone ball?” you say and you notice how chiori’s had some sort of sparkle at your mention of needing a new dress. she had always loved making dresses for you.

“is that so? i promise to suggest some designs that you might like once you return.”

— — — — — — — — 

the fountain of lucine was a famous spot for a walk in the park type of day. every day, you’d see different individuals make their wish upon the fountain. whether that is a prosperous marriage, being blessed with a beloved child, or even gaining wealth, everyone wishes for all sorts of desires towards the fountain. but you never found yourself doing the same. it’s most probably because you've already been content with your life up until now. you never had any struggles when it came to growing up.

but again, that is up until now. 

you took a step further towards the fountain, silently stating your wish and threw the coin into the fountain’s small pool of water. “penny for your wish?” you heard someone say beside you. quickly turning your head to the direction of the voice, you were surprised to see the duke there. “duke meropide! i—i didn’t expect that you were going to be here today.”

“i decided to go out for a stroll; the weather is quite nice today, is it not?” 

“ah, yes, i suppose it is,” you replied, looking around. the weather was indeed nice today. perfect for a quick stroll around the area. “would you mind taking a stroll with me today? it would be a shame to waste this fine weather talking in the same spot.” he says, offering his arm for you to take. “i’d be delighted to.” your arm gets hooked on his.

“how are you faring lately? it has been quite a while since our last meeting,” wriothesley starts. he personally prefers his attempt at small talk today to his attempt at small talk the night he met you. it has been a few days since the ball held by the house of hearth. and within those few days, you haven’t spoken to the duke since. though, your house suddenly has suitors calling for you during your calling hour. all hopeful to gain your interest in them instead of the duke.

(however, you all shut them down politely. you found yourself repeating your apologies to the lords that have called upon you during those times.)

“i’ve been well. certainly, the stunt that we pulled during the ball held in the house of hearth did not go unnoticed. my social energy has been drained because of the suitors who called me.” a sigh leaves your lips. “oh? i apologize for that then. i hope that your social energy isn't at it’s lowest right now,” he chuckles. you gave him a playful glare at his remark. “are you making fun of my previous predicament, duke?” 

“oh, heavens no. my apologies, did that offend you?” he says, holding back a smile at his words. he was definitely not apologetic. “you’re not that sorry for it, aren’t you?”

“perchance.”

“you cannot just say perchance!”

a laugh erupts from wriothesley at your response. it was the first time you heard him laugh like that. and in the public eye, you two would seem like a joyful couple spending some quality time walking around the fountain of lucine as a pastime. well, that was technically the goal. to show the public that you and the duke of meropide are madly in love with one another. what could possibly go wrong?

— — — — — — — — 

by the time the firestone ball had taken place (which is nearly just a week after the ball from the house of hearth), you and the duke were on the dance floor once again.

“i believe we have yet to discuss our other terms and agreement for our plan, your grace.” you said, following his lead in the waltz. “ah, you’re right. well then, why don’t you start? ladies first.” he says. “i was hoping that you’d have some ideas on what terms we should have; after all, this was your idea, if i may remind you.”

you continue speaking as wriothesley continues to lead you through the dance. “i am starting to be convinced that this will be more than just a simple game of pretend just so we could fool the members of society, or my mother, or the women you have wanted to get away from every time you step foot in public. a life is at stake here, your grace, my life, and i just simply cannot have this go wrong. so if you are not in agreement with that, then you should tell me now.” the duke never broke his eye contact with you as you spoke.

“i shall agree… on one condition.”

“your grace, i believe that you do not understa—”

“you must call me wriothesley.” 

there’s only one word to describe you at the moment: speechless. and wriothesley takes your silence as a chance to continue his words. “if we are truly to be courting, and if we are truly to prove that this is a match like no other, then you should call me by my name. after all, weren’t you the one who suggested that we should be more... casual with one another?”

he was right, and he had yet again another one hell of a good point. you mentally sighed, “very well then… wriothesley.” a laugh dares to escape your throat but this does not go unnoticed by the man who has his hand held in his at the moment. “is there something funny about my name?” he asks you, raising an eyebrow at your reaction. “no, no. it is a perfectly fine name. it is also quite unique, if i may add.” you replied, calming yourself down. laughing loudly while you’re in the middle of the dance floor would raise questions, after all.

“oh, perfectly fine? very well then… (name).” wriothesley’s voice seemed to have lowered itself an octave lower as he said your name with a slight rasp. your eyes looked away from his as you shifted your gaze to his collar instead. both of you went silent, yet you were still moving to the rhythm of the music.

wriothesley’s hand, that was supposedly at your waist, trailed upwards. just below the nape of your neck and also before your spine starts. your breath hitched at the contact of his cold finger tips there.

“i do hope that this plan will be successful.” you said, gaining your composure.

“have faith in us.”

— — — — — — — — 

meetings with the duke of meropide became more frequent than you expected. whether that may be a coincidental meeting or a planned one—no one could really pinpoint it, much to their dismay. 

it started off with a simple meal. then another walk. then an official invitation to accompany him to a ball or two. or three; in fact, he has invited you for a lot of them now. you haven’t thought much about the future as of late, always focusing on the present, where you’re definitely by wriothesley’s side. there was never a dull moment with the man. it was always entertaining to be with him. whenever another man (a man whose appeal is not to take interest in a sense) would approach you, wriothesley would pull some sort of stunt that’s connected to his “wild jealousy” of some sort. it’s a bit hard to hold back a laugh whenever this happens. there are times when he would talk to you about the other nobles present in the party and how he’s acquainted with them, and you’d admire the fact that he has many connections (something that a duke like him should have; he’s doing well in his duties, you’d note).

there are also times when you two will find yourselves alone, secluding yourselves from the crowd. these were, personally, your favorites. with the moonlight shining brightly upon you both once again, you’d always be reminded of the night you met. at these moments, this is when you and the duke would share… more personal things with one another. things that neither of you had expected to share with anyone else. like how he avoids marriage because of the huge responsibility that comes with it. or like how you doubt that others, especially men (minus the duke), would understand your struggles as a woman in this society.

wriothesley might have a lot of connections, but he was just the same as you. both of you kept your circle quite small (and by small, you both have only one person you truly trust to confide in). but even if you both wouldn’t admit it out loud, trust had also bloomed between the two of you.

(yet is trust the only thing that has actually bloomed?)

tonight, you found yourselves in yet another garden. “have you ever heard of why a flower wilts, wriothesley?” you decided to start this time. “hm? i suppose it’s because nothing good actually lasts long in life.” 

“how… pessimistic of you to say.” you sweatdropped at his response. he chuckles yet again, you noticed that he always chuckles apologetically while looking away before he actually says his apologies. a habit of his, perhaps. “my apologies; i must repeat myself. the less a person sees of me, the happier their life is.”

“why so? i enjoy your company quite well.”

“oh? and are you sure those words aren’t forced because you’re stuck with me with this little ruse we have ongoing?” he asks back. these exchanges became frequent. one would ask a question, and the other would ask another in return. “i’m being quite honest, wriothesley. i really do enjoy your company quite well.”

“the feeling is likewise, (name).” there’s something satisfying about how your name rolls off of his tongue. he pronounces it the same as everyone else does yet how does it feel different when he says it? it’s baffling, that’s one thing for sure. “is it awful that i’m actually quite enjoying this?”

“you mean my wild jealousy?” he asks, playfully offended.

“fooling society.” you corrected. “there are some in the crowd who secretly know everything about everyone. yet we have them utterly convinced that we are mad for one another.”

“we are awfully clever then.” he says in amusement. “indeed we are.” you chuckled at his reply.

if there’s one thing you would always notice between the two of you, it would always be how you were glued to one another. like there’s some magnetic pull that automatically drags the other to their side. 

this moment is no different because you could feel his knuckles grazing against yours ever so lightly. it starts with the hook of your pinkies, then slowly turns into you grabbing a hold of his other fingers. wriothesley could feel his heart beating fast at the contact. he glances at you, admiring your features underneath the moonlight once again. you glance at him as well. was he already this close to you when you started walking in this garden? because you swear your faces are inching even closer to each other. wriothesley’s other hand gently grabs your nape, guiding you as he gently pulls you in for a kiss. 

his lips were soft against yours, something you didn’t expect from him. he kisses you like you were delicate (to which you were, delicate to him, at least), eyes closing themselves as he enjoys the sensation of your lips against his. you kiss him back in the same way, not really knowing what to do next—but you kiss him back. that’s all that matters. his lips leave yours as wriothesley latches his lips onto your neck, continuing the light kisses against it.

you let out a gasp at the contact as you lean your head back so you can give him more access. he intertwined his other hand with yours; it was quite scandalous. having a moment like this on someone else’s property. you extracted him from your neck, pulling him in for another kiss. this time it was a bit more rough—desperate, even.

well, that was until he pulled away from you abruptly. you looked at him in a daze yet you were confused. “we must return; we’ve been out long enough,” he says, letting go of your hand in the process as he fixes himself. he tries to catch his breath, processing what has just happened. did he really just kiss you? he supposes (or, in other terms, hopes) that it’s normal. ultimately, this should’ve been part of your agreement in the first place, right?

“i… you’re right. my mother could be looking for me any moment now.” what could possibly go wrong, you ask? well, apparently, many things could go wrong.

but if there’s one thing that got stitched into your mind tonight, it’s only one thing:

the duke of meropide is one good kisser.

however, what will become of your relationship now?

— — — — — — — — 

you found yourself going to chiori again. the familiar sound of the bell chiming against the door notified chiori of someone entering her place. and once she saw you, she could just feel the distress radiating off of your body.

“what happened this time? i haven’t heard any good news about you two from last night’s party.” she says, pouring you a cup of tea. “good news? more like insane occurrences,” you sighed, watching the tea leave the teapot as it transfers onto your teacup. “ insane occurrences? what happened to ‘memorable event’?” she asked, confused with your choice of words.

you let out another sigh, finally revealing everything to chiori. luckily, today was her day off. with another ball just held last night, she would get at least a day or two of good rest before she opens up again. chiori takes in every detail of your story well, surprised that this is what you’ve been up to.

as soon as you were done talking, you decided to take a sip of your tea. “so you’re worried that you almost slept with the duke of meropide?” chiori states. and you choked on your drink once you heard her. “you didn’t have to word it like that! have some decency!” you exclaimed, embarrassment surging through you. 

“i don’t get it, though. what are you so worried about? it’s almost as if… wait.” she pauses.

“it’s almost as if what, chiori?”

“do you love him?”

“huh? love who?”

“don’t play dumb with me, (name). do you or do you not love the duke of meropide?”

this time, it was your turn to pause. do you? well, certainly, he is nice company. and he treats you well despite neither of you having the wish to marry each other. he is also a good kisser (something that you don’t really feel like counting but it’s still a fact). recalling everything that has happened now, the only things that come into mind are the things you’ve noticed about wriothesley. how his eyes are the most remarkable shade of grey, his scar below his right eye. the feeling of the callouses on his hands as you held them on the dance floor.

it can’t be. there’s just no way. he’s a duke of all people—he’s out of your league in so many ways. he’s too far for you to reach. and besides, this is all just a game of pretend, is it not? surely that kiss would’ve meant nothing to him. 

fuck.

“i do.” you replied to her in a whisper

“i’m glad that you’re not dense.” chiori says, flicking your forehead. you yelped in pain at the contact. 

yes, you do love the duke of meropide.

and you stand by that.

meanwhile, on the other side of the coin, wriothesley had a crisis himself. “you’re quite lucky today, to ask for my presence while queen furina is occupied with duke arlecchino with her. so what assistance can i offer for you today, wriothesley?” neuvillette states, pulling his chair so he could take a seat before the man in front of him. wriothesley leans back on his seat, an elbow propped on top of the chair’s arm rest as his index finger is rested upon his lips. 

wriothesley sighs. before spilling everything to neuvillette. his friend’s expression grew more amused as he continued on with the story, finding every detail unexpected for a man like his friend. “i see. so that’s how it is. well, let me ask you a simple question then, my friend.” 

“shoot.”

“do you love her?”

wriothesley pauses. neuvillette’s questions echo repeatedly in his mind. do i love her? he then asks himself. he was not stupid. wriothesley did not need to become some sort of genius to find the answer to that question—because the answer is no. he doesn’t love you. yes, he has grown to trust you with things he would never even dare tell anyone else. but he’s scared. wriothesley is scared because he has never thought of commitment in this way before. romance was just a frivolous belief to him, after all. so surely, this would all just mean nothing.

he ponders about it for a few more moments. he’s too scarred—too damaged—to be loved by someone like you. he feels undeserving of it. he knows there’s another man out there who could be the man you want to be. someone who will make you happier than he does. someone who is willing to commit himself to you. someone who could love you with nothing holding him back. 

“i don’t.” wriothesley firmly says.

no, wriothesley cannot be in love with you.

(neuvillette gives his friend a sigh as his friend takes his leave. he returns back to the room where queen furina is currently spending time with duke arlecchino. the duke had a habit of bringing the queen sweets from their travels abroad. the queen has excitement written all over her eyes as she makes eye contact with the pastries set in front of her.)

— — — — — — — — 

it wasn’t hard to put two and two together to realize that wriothesley has been avoiding you.

it has been a few months since you decided to start your ruse. although he still accompanies you, once it’s quite crowded, he will deliberately avoid your presence like a plague, and you have no idea why. you first thought that may be he was just feeling unwell but it has occurred more frequent now and it just stings, really. it stings because you thought that you two had formed quite the bond over the past few months.

“wriothesley, is something wrong? you know you could always talk to me, right?” you asked him, finally cornering him as he had successfully avoided you for the past two hours ever since the party started. “it’s nothing of your concern,” was all he said before leaving you again. but that answer wasn’t enough—hell, it wasn’t even a proper answer for you. so you decided to follow him.

“where are you going?” you asked him. speeding your pace up to catch up to him. wriothesley doesn’t answer and just continues on walking. he ends up going into a secluded room, not even bothering to close the door. you followed him in and shut the door behind you as you faced him. he had his back facing you as you heard him take a deep breath. “wriothesley, what’s wrong? and don’t even dare say that it’s none of my concern because it is.”

wriothesley could feel himself going mad. he can’t do this tonight. what even caused him to behave this way?

ah, he remembers. it was that unbearable sight of you interacting with marquess lyney. he should’ve been happy that you finally seem interested in someone else because all you two have to do now is plan how you should end things. but that thought made wriothesley realize two things. one, he cannot bear the sight of you with another man (but why? it’s not like you’re actually his in the first place). and two, he doesn’t want things to end between the both of you. whether it's a ruse that feels too real for his own liking or whatnot, he doesn’t want to lose you in his life.

he loosens the buttons on his top so that he can breathe more properly. you got closer to him, but only if you knew that was a dangerous move on your part. you grabbed his arm in hopes of getting a view of wriothesley’s expression at the moment.

he then faces you, his eyes searching for something in yours but you just can’t find out what. it was silent; neither of you dared to speak a word. and wriothesley finds himself pulling you for a kiss. it was a bit rough how his lips crashed against yours. he then pulls away, his eyes widening at what he just did. “i… my most sincere apologies.”

and he leaves. just like that.

the familiar door to the modiste is presented at you as you knocked. it was late at night. the party you attended earlier with wriothesley was long over. but you knew your dear friend would still be up even at this late hour. 

“(name)? what brings you here at this hour?” chiori asks, opening the door wider so you could enter.

“i need a goddamn drink.” you said.

— — — — — — — — 

“so you’re telling me that he just… kissed you again, and then he left the party? just like that?” chiori repeats. you take another shot of the alcohol chiori provided for the both of you. “hey, calm down. this one is actually pretty strong, you idiot.” chiori warns you.

you lean back, slamming the shot glass against the table. “just like that, chiori. like what is wrong with him? is he perhaps sick in the head?”

“i honestly don’t know if i should be at least grateful that he apologized.” she says, taking a shot as well. you glare at her remark and she raises her hands in return. you sighed this time, “are men always this… complicated?”

“hm, i don’t think so. maybe it’s just the duke.”

“you’re not helping!”

“you never said you wanted help in the first place.”

— — — — — — — — 

seven days.

seven days since you last spoke to wriothesley. seven days since you last heard of him. it has been seven days yet he hasn’t made any attempts to contact you since. 

just what was up with him? he was fine before. did you do something wrong? did you accidentally say something that was offensive to him? everything has changed now. wriothesley is treating you like he treated you before he actually met you—cold. 

your mother has decided to throw a ball this time—something about her not wanting to fall behind the other mothers. you complied, having to accept that society is nothing but competition against one another. and on the day of the ball, you found yourself lonely. if only chiori wasn’t busy with her other orders, then maybe this night would’ve been more entertaining.

wriothesley has yet to make his appearance (or perhaps he is already here yet he has decided to avoid you again). but you have decided on one thing tonight: you will talk things out with that stubborn man no matter what it takes. because you cannot just bear to stand idly by when wriothesley could be struggling alone. you once heard from your mother that love makes you do the craziest things and tonight was the night you realized that she was right. but isn’t it worth it if it’s all in the name of love?

the outdoor area of your home was also used for the ball, and decorations are displayed here and there to make the area look more eyecatching. to your family’s dismay, it has begun to rain. making all of the guests head inside to continue the festivities. but as you made your way to follow the crowd, you spotted someone too familiar—it was the man you’ve been looking for all evening, wriothesley.

looking around his surroundings, wriothesley spots you getting drenched in the rain. his eyes widen as he quickly makes his way towards you, removing his coat to drape it over you instead. “are you insane? you’re getting drenched!” he exclaims in worry. you scoff in return, pushing yourself away from his coat and allowing yourself to get wet by the rain.

“am i insane? i should be the one asking you that!” you said, glaring at him. “how… how could you? do you know how worried i have been because of you? you avoided me, then kissed me, then avoided me even more! i had no idea if you were okay because you didn’t even dare speak with me while i was here stuck waiting for you. why? because i didn’t want to pressure you into telling me what’s wrong!”

wriothesley is at a loss for words at your outburst. he just stares at you in return, guilt written all over him. he deserved your anger. but he didn’t mean for things to go this far, yet he also didn’t know how to handle things. you continued speaking, “wriothesley, i have no idea what’s clouding over your heart but i do know one thing: you musn’t keep it to yourself.”

“(name)...” he softly says—hesitantly, even. like he’s scared to even say your name in the first place. you take a step forward, both of your hands reaching out to hold his face. your touch was gentle on his skin, making sure you weren't making him uncomfortable. “tell me what’s wrong, wriothesley. i’ll listen.”

and tell you, he does. he voice shakes at first yet he begins to steady it as he unravels to you everything that has been bothering him up until now. his jealousy, his inner turmoil, and his insecurities. and you listen to him, understanding every word that escapes his lips as your hand never leaves his face, your fingers gently brushing over his scar below his right eye. and once he’s finished, you choose your next words carefully.

“there’s something that i realized in life that i believe you should know. just because something is not perfect does not make it any less worthy of love. you made yourself believe otherwise. you made yourself believe that you had to be without fault just so you could be loved but you’re wrong, wriothesley. should you need any proof of the matter, then look just here.” you weakly laugh at the last sentence, and wriothesley just stares at you. you couldn’t find out what’s going on in his head but you know that he’s listening.

your voice shakes as you continue. “i am tired of this sick game of pretending. i am tired of pretending—of acting as if i do not love you, because i do. i love you more than you could ever imagine. every scar, every flaw, every imperfection—i love all of you. you may think you’re too damaged or too scarred to allow yourself of happiness but you can choose differently, wriothesley. you can choose to love me as much as i love you. that should not be up to anyone else—that cannot be up to anyone else.”

“it can only be up to you.”

he was still silent as you slowly let go of his face but wriothesley was quick to catch them. he grabs ahold of your hands, and with his slight shaking, he takes a deep breath. he realizes something when you profess your love for him. he puts two things together: commitment and you. and the conclusion he draws from that is that he doesn’t mind commitment, as long as he’s committing himself to you. that’s how much of an impact you have on him. yes, he’s scared. and yes, this might not go like he hopes it will. but that doesn’t matter to him because he knows it will all be worth it for you. wriothesley is a coward when it comes to love and the like—that, he admits. but he isn’t allowing himself to be a coward for the rest of his life. why deprive himself of the serene type of happiness that he could only achieve when he has you by his side?

he kept his eyes on the hands he’s holding now as he began to speak. “i.. i do not wish to be alone. i know that now. but what i do not know is how to be the man you wish for me to be—the man you truly deserve. i do not know how to do any of this, but i do know another thing: i love you too. i love you. most ardently.” he then meets your eyes as he notices one thing in them. love.

“you stay. you stay and we’ll get through this. together. that’s where we’ll start. we have all the time in the world.”

“may i… kiss you?” he hesitates to ask. but you give him a nod of approval before you’re met with the familiar pleasure of his lips on yours. he relishes every second of the kiss, taking this as a chance to ground himself into reality—refusing to believe that this is some sick dream that his mind decided to play in his head. a hand slithers its way to the nape of his neck and wriothesley groans at the feeling as his hand grabs your waist tighter. wriothesley thanked his lucky stars for the night he met you because this wouldn’t be possible if it weren’t for them.

love at first sight was a frivolous belief for a man like wriothesley. 

but he knew otherwise the moment he laid his eyes upon you that night in the garden.

[oceantornadoo]

ch 2: the wrong john (masterlist) next

john price x f!reader | can be read standalone!! tw: a singular reference to pet play, tipsy sex, mild dubcon if you squint

—

His hand on your back guides you all the way to your hotel room.

It anchors you to his side when you get on the elevator. When you fumble for your key card in your bag, there’s a heavy weight holding you down. Your fingers slip over the key card, missing the slot multiple times before he silently takes it from you, in and out before you can blink. You hate him.

“Don’t hav’ to do anythin’, sweetheart. Can sleep on the couch. ‘m good at sleepin’ anywhere.” John doesn’t like the nerves you’re showing. He likes his women clawing, not meek. You shake your head, locking the door behind you. “No, it’s-I’m okay. It’s just been a long day.” He hums in a neutral tone, the low sound seeping into your veins. “C’mere.”

Strong arms grip your waist, turning you around until your face is smushed into his pecs. The flannel of his shirt scratches your cheek softly and you nuzzle further in at the feel. A chuckle bubbles out of John at the action, so you keep your gleeful smile to yourself. Your hands come around his waist, hugging him like a husband, not an almost-stranger. He tucks your head under his chin, pulling you closer into him until you can’t tell where he stops and you begin. The peace of it tugs at your heartstrings, a bit too close for comfort.

You step away and John lets you, but he doesn’t let you get too far. He’s at the door frame of your cramped bathroom, watching you take off your makeup and wash your face. For a second when you mention you need to pee, he just stands there, like he’ll watch anyways. John’s eyes are dark with something you can’t place, a little too close to possessiveness. You tell yourself it’s him being tipsy when you have to close the door for him to get the message. It crosses your mind that you’ve let a complete stranger, an unknown man, into your hotel room. You’re on edge, the words “You should leave” on the tip of your tongue, but when you open the door he’s standing in his boxers and the words die on your lips.

“Don’t get any ideas, sweetheart, it’s jus’ how I sleep.” A giggle escapes you in spite of yourself. You shake your head, flinging back the covers of your king bed so there’s enough room for two. “Since you’re obviously looking for a place to sleep, I guess I have some bed to share.” He grins, his beard tugging up in an adorable manner. “You sure? ‘v been told I snore like a bear.” And look like one too. It’s hard to focus on his words when his body is right there. Rigid lines of labor covered in a thin layer of fat. Mountains of hair, from his pecs down to his happy trail where it disappears into his boxers. It’s practically a map for where you want to go. The earlier shakiness is gone, replaced by a familiar want and sprinkled with a shade of embarrassment from your earlier antics. You pat the place beside you and he’s there, lifting you into his lap with ease.

“You’re presumptive.” It comes out in a rush, stopped by his lips on yours. He’s hard and insistent, like he’s owed something based on his earlier kindness. You give it to him, pushing him into the headboard while your hips grind down on his clothed cock. You bite his lower lip and he groans, mouth opening wider to let you in deeper. His hands travel from your waist to your hips to under your shirt, where he stops his search.

“Y’r not wearin’ panties.” You shake your head against his skin, kissing and nibbling your way down his neck. A large hand slides in between where your cunt, already messy with want, is grinding on his clothed cock. The calluses on his palm hit your clit perfectly, every grind adding pressure inside your stomach. “Ever come like this, baby?” You bite his neck, jolting him enough so that the tip of his middle finger slides into your hole, greedily sucking him in. “Only against a pillow.” You didn’t think a man could growl but he does, a feral sound against your ear. “Let’s try it on my lap, then.” He emphasizes it by guiding your hips harsher, keeping the pace but upping the pressure. It’s delicious, this balance of friction and movement, making your more sensitive as your chests touch. Nipples pointed, they scrape against your t-shirt and his hairy chest, more and more fuel to the ache inside of you. “C’mon, baby, that’s it. Give it to me, there’s a good girl.” And you do give it, coming on his hand, slowing your grind as the feeling trickles through your limbs. You’re so tired, a bone deep ache causing you to lay your head on his shoulder. But John is not done.

“Lift your hips, sweetheart.” You follow his instruction without a second thought, hips up in the air despite the burn. There’s a shuffling of fabric but your eyes are closed, content to let him maneuver you. Something big is tapping against your hole, sinking in slowly until he pulls your hips down. You whine at the stretch but he’s there, shushing you and stroking your hair. “Not expectin’ y’ to do anythin’. Just keep it warm, pet.” The light shuts off and even though he’s pulsing inside you, hungry, you drift off into a blissful sleep.

The clock is blinking 2:08 at you in bright red. It hits you at once: the burn in your thighs, the warmth of John’s skin, the ache inside you telling you that he’s still in you. Your face is against his hairy pec, arms akimbo in a position you’ll surely feel in the morning. There’s something coiling inside you, has been for hours, and you give into the urge to move. You quietly fuck yourself on John’s cock, not speaking when his hands move to help. Your orgasm is quick but his takes longer, bouncing you like a fucktoy until he finally comes inside you, pulling out to shoot it on your stomach and the triangle of your cunt.

“Go’on, pet. Go to sleep.” And like a good pet, you do.

-

um.

yes i used three pet names.

no i dont want to talk about it.

next chapter is more ghoap and a lil gaz. 😋

taglist

@lveegsoi

@galactict3a

@nova-willow-541

lmk if i forgot you or you want to be added

[cheolism-archive]

DEVOTION

✰ — choi san x gang leader!f!reader ✷ — summary: after a year of fighting in a rebellion, san was tired of battle. like an angel, a goddess, you offered him peace.  ✰ — wc is approx. 12k ✷ — genre: nsfw, first meetings, mafia/gang society, simp!san, themes of worship, cultish if you squint, toxicity but san likes it ✰ — warnings: morally grey themes between both reader and san. violence, blood, and murder alongside other mature scenes, including those sexual in nature. in particular: literally licking someone else’s wounds, finger sucking, gagging, and oral sex. there is a heavy power imbalance with reader being the superior, but san is explicitly into this. he has a praise, humiliation, and devotion kink. non-sexual feet washing as a worshipping act. reader has pussy hair and is hinted to be a virgin, but not established. ✷ — rating: 18+. pay attention to the warnings.  ✰ — note: the reader in this fic is the leader of a gang, or a “sect” that inhabits a city and she is referred to as “the empress”. at one point san will lick blood off of the reader. i will put the beginning and ending of this sequence in bold so those who are disturbed can skip.��thank you to ally @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading and offering words of enthusiasm to this fic!! i really appreciaste it <3

p r o l o g u e .

the city held its breath when you fall ill. it's a fleeting illness, your aunt, who was left regent in the wake of your illness, announced. the empress will return to her duties as quickly as possible.

and then nothing happened for six months.

rumors spread. you'd died and your death was kept a secret to prevent rival sects from trying to steal territory; you'd been kidnapped for ransom and the "sickness" is a smokescreen. some spoke of treachery, but that's quickly hushed up. for who would dare betray the empress, the sweet little lamb of a girl who crowns her citizens with flowers?

then your aunt was found dead in a pool. seemingly too suspicious to be a coincidence, you began to get better. 

the city let out a relieved breath.

you began to appear in public once more. the city basked in your attention. all seemed to thrive. you kept the city secure under your watch, each entrance and exit under firm surveillance, guards on the corners of streets with guns at their hips, politicians carrying suitcases of powder, corrupt men and women entering your penthouse and never seen leaving.

"it's wrong," said choi bada to his brother. "she'll run our sect to the ground."

and once again the city held its breath as choi bada took a single, nearly-perfect shot at you, missing by a mere breath.

war had begun.

choi san had no choice but to stand beside his brother. surely choi bada was right; he wouldn't steer san in the wrong direction. he wouldn't do the wrong thing.

public buildings were desecrated with bullets and blood. san got used to the feeling of fighting, of bruised muscles and blood staining his clothes. he was commanded to destroy a temple you had dedicated to the gods, offerings of the common and rich alike littering the white granite steps. and so he got used to the feeling of wrongness, of feeling as if he was walking a dark and dangerous path of sin.

then choi bada was killed.

the empress, it was relayed to san as he was chained to a wall, was giving him a choice: die beside his treacherous brother or fight in the empress's arena for her forgiveness.

in the end the choice was easy. after all, san had been fighting for the past year of his life. what was one last battle?

san would forever remember the face of the final body. his opponent’s face was a violent mixture of red and purple, blood staining his mouth and teeth. he was ugly from the brutality of the world, another testament to the harshness of the world. 

the crowd roared with approval. they were thirsty; fervent. 

it was deafening. the screams and shouts of the crowd nearly drowned out the thundering of blood in san’s ear, his adrenaline shooting through his body like waves crashing down against rock. he couldn’t think. he couldn’t do anything other than stand there in the arena, looking at the bodies littering the sand. 

“our winner!” declared a voice, loud and booming even without a microphone. the overseer moved into the arena, his clothes a bright, clean stain against the bloodied sand. he effortlessly wove around bodies to get to san. “our champion!”

the overseer grabbed san’s forearm. the other man’s hand was spotless against san’s skin, which had dirt and sand and sweat molded to flesh. san protested for a moment, instinctively pulling away. 

he had been fighting for as long as he could remember. touch meant hurt, and he had long stopped expecting otherwise. 

the overseer laughed at san, lips twisted thin and wide. he grabbed at san again. “keep easy, pup,” he hissed out. “you’ve won the fight. congratulations. but you won’t win the battle if you keep trying to bite.”

san wanted to punch this man. he remembered how the overseer had introduced him, the snake in wolf’s skin, the brother of the traitorous subordinate to the empress. he remembered the overseer glancing over him, loudly announcing that he’d do. 

san was just another pawn for entertainment to the overseer; to the crowd. he was just another puppy expected to sit and lay and play dumb. 

he’d been fighting for so long. who would fault him if he were to swing around and throw a punch into the overseer’s face? who’d disapprove if he were to slam the man into the ground, if he were to fucking drive his knee into his stomach? 

san made to draw back. he cast a wild look around, searching for something. instead of aid, his eyes caught on the large screen. for a split second he saw himself, feral and filled with hatred. then the screen switched, showing the empress. 

the empress’s lips were split in a smile, showing off the white of her teeth. she had her chin resting on her hand, watching; watching san.

“our champion!” the overseer yelled out once more. “the winner of our empress’s victory! choi san!”

the crowd’s praise grew to a frantic roar, rabid with their adoration. he couldn’t see them, the lights of the arena bright. they loved this, san knew; loved blood, loved fighting. it was a performance to them. it didn’t matter who was in the arena; they were all dispensable. 

who mattered was who walked out. 

“to the empress,” said the overseer, moving his hand to clap san’s shoulder. his nails dug into san’s flesh. “she was most impressed by your little performance.”

san let the overseer direct him from the arena. the crowd was alight with awe, despite knowing san. well: despite knowing san’s brother. despite knowing that for the past year san had fought alongside his brother, war replacing the blood in his veins, soft words replaced by venom. 

none of that mattered anymore. none of it mattered now that san had won, had survived a fight against forty-nine others. he was blessed, the crowd saw now; blessed by the gods and to be blessed by the empress. 

he had punched and murdered and shot relentlessly in the name of his brother for the past year. and as the overseer bid the guard to open the gate separating the sands of the arena from the crowd, san realized he wouldn’t be expected to fight anymore. 

because that was why he had been fighting, wasn’t it? 

he was bound by blood to fight alongside his brother. even as he realized it was wrong – fighting for the sake of it, fighting for the sake of power was wrong –  he had to stand beside his brother.

and now he was stepping from the arena, stepping from the sands of war and leaving behind bodies he had injured with his own hands. he realized he could leave it all behind. he walked in a prisoner, was walking out a winner. he won the empress’s crown; would wear the flowers of victory. 

it didn’t matter who was in the arena. 

who mattered was who walked out. 

his brother was no longer his ruler. 

now it was – 

“the empress,” the overseer began, speaking loudly into san’s ears as to be heard over the crowd. people reached out to press their fingers against san. he didn’t know why. he had been bathed before the arena, but it didn’t matter. he was covered in sweat and grime. he was bruised and scratched. 

someone pressed their fingers against san’s bicep. he flinched back, inadvertently pushing back into the overseer. the other man gripped san tight. “when you see the empress, you won’t look the empress in the eye. kneel at the empress’s feet. both knees, hands on the ground, forehead between. the empress will say your name. you will announce your wrongdoings and beg for forgiveness. if she forgives, you will earn the empress’s victory. don’t look at her. don’t say anything beyond what i have instructed you.”

the overseer directed san up the stands. there were all kinds of people: some wore tattered clothes; some suits, hair greased back; some industry uniforms. they were all youthful and vibrant beneath the arena lights. 

the empress and the empress’s court, as it were, were separated from the rest. the empress’s balcony overlooked the entire arena. only the elite within the gang – sect, san remembered, within the sect – were allowed to sit this far up, this near the empress. 

and it showed. they wore polished suits and glittering jewels. the holsters of guns were bedazzled and glimmering. instead of cans of beer, they held crystal glasses. these were the ones the empress trusted most – no, san corrected again. the empress doesn’t trust anyone. these are the ones that have gained, in one way or another, the empress’s approval. 

murderers and sellers; crooks and robbers. 

san was directed up a short staircase. he stepped foot onto the platform. the metal was covered in soft, lush rugs. incense was lit, overtaking the dusty air of the arena with a fragrant scent. it was purified; they were purifying the space. 

san’s eyes flitted over the rising smoke from the incense, and then he caught sight of the empress. 

caught sight of you. 

“eyes,” the overseer warned. 

san fixed his eyes onto the ground. the overseer guided him with a hand on the shoulder, steering him towards the center of the podium where you sat. once the overseer adjusted san so his shoulders were square with you, presumably, he dug his hand down onto san. san went, obediently, to his knees. 

his knees, bruised and raw from fighting, hit the soft carpet. san placed the palms of his hands down against the rug, his knuckles violently red from all the punching he had done, already swelling – and he placed his forehead down against the carpet. 

something settled the crowd, silence taking over and reigning. 

a voice broke through. “choi san,” you said, “younger brother to our dearest choi bada, of the formerly respected choi clan.”

your court tittered with laughter at the reminder of how far he had fallen. 

“no worry.” your voice neared. you had risen from your chair – your throne. “the man you were when you walked into the arena is no more. now you are before me, clean from your sins if you so wish to be. 

“tell me: choi bada spoke of treachery and murder, of annihilation of our precious sect; do you concur with your brother’s disastrous agenda?”

san spoke to the ground, but, he found, he was speaking from the heart. “no.”

two letters, one syllable. 

that’s all it took to renounce his brother, to turn his back on his brother’s corpse. 

“no,” you echoed. “yet you had fought alongside him. you had killed and burned alongside him. were you not his most trusted?”

san scraped his nails against the rug. “i was.”

you hummed. san thought he recognized the tune, but then it was gone just as he was able to reach out and catch the thread of it. “you could have chosen loyalty to this true emperor, as he proclaimed himself. my guard would have killed you alongside choi bada. and yet you entered my arena, fought, and won. you entered to leave your old life behind, yes? you entered to renounce your clan.”

“yes.”

“and so you will,” you said. “rise, choi san, and know that no hatred, no ill-will, will be held to you.”

slowly, as if you were a predator, a lion, and he were the prey, a mouse, san moved. he lifted himself from the bow. he did not stand. he remained kneeling, palms placed on the torn fabric stretching over his knees. san kept his face towards the ground. 

“let me see you.”

san thought back to the overseer and his warning: don’t look. he wasn’t to look at you. yet you were asking, were telling him to look. 

so san looked. 

and looked. 

maybe it was because for the past few years of his life he had been fighting. ever since his brother had declared himself the new emperor, had spurred a rebellion in the name of progression, of tradition, san had been fighting. perhaps he had been fighting since he was born, constantly trying to remain in the good graces of a temperamental, powerful older brother. 

regardless: san had been fighting for far too long, and he was tired. 

before he’d thrown the final punch; before the man with the bright smile tried to stab a knife into san’s thigh; before san had stepped foot into the arena, before his name had been announced to the masses; before his wrists and ankles were put in chains; before his brother announced his surrender, fuck, before he even announced his rebellion, san was tired of fighting. 

he wanted to fucking stop. 

‘if she forgives, you will earn the empress’s victory.’

and now you were before him, brilliant and beautiful and blinding, offering an end. 

you were confession and absolution. you were thunder clouds parting to reveal soft, ever-blue skies. you were serenity and stability. you were peace, an end to a life of war. 

you were beautiful. 

san drank you in greedily. he took in the shape of your nose, the curve of your lips; the fall of your hair, the way you were dressed plainly in white and clean of any jewelry despite the extravagance of the elite around you. 

your eyes widened as san didn’t look away from your gaze. the overseer hissed behind him. neither of you paid him any mind. instead san watched as a small, pleased smile teased at your lips. 

you stepped down from your throne. everyone seemed to hold their breath as you descended. san knew without looking this was being projected onto the screen. 

your feet were bare. san remembered you were not to step on unclean earth, were not to be touched by unclean hands; not to hear unclean words. your attendants, san had heard, were cleaned before aiding you. their nails, even, were cleaned meticulously. only the pure could touch you. 

“choi san,” you hummed again. you had a twinkle in your eyes. a more ignorant man would claim it to be innocence. san knew better. you were analyzing him. “your brother named you one of his most trusted, bid you to aid him in rebelling against our sect.”

“he did.” 

you waved your hand. an attendant stepped forward. he held a golden platter. upon it rested a circlet of flowers. san didn’t know flowers, but even the most ignorant concerning flowers would be able to recognize the small, white blossoms as wax flowers. as your flowers, as the empress’s victory. 

your blessing symbolized. only those worthy could wear it, show off the empress’s favor. it was a sign of their devotion to you; of your protection to them. to gain it was magnificent; to be stripped of it, deadly. 

“and you rejected choi bada.”

san furrowed his brows. he should lie; should say he rejected his brother, claim he felt it was the wrong thing to do from the beginning. he should claim his allegiance was only ever to you, his empress. 

but san couldn’t lie. not to himself; to you. 

“not at first.” the elite on the podium gasped. you shot the crowd a silencing look. san only carried on once your eyes were upon him once more. “he was my older brother. i thought he could do no wrong. it was – was my duty, my pleasure to be with him.”

you moved towards him, hands going to the crown of flowers. “until?”

“the temple,” san said, hesitating. “it – it was wrong. he was wrong. it was evil. cruel. horrible.”

you smiled down at him, the crown of flowers resting delicately on your fingers. “your heart is golden, young wolf.”

san shook his head. “if it was then i would’ve known from the beginning.”

“the plots of those closest to us,” you began, “are often concealed. we do not regard our precious ones with clear eyes, choi san.”

you were talking about your aunt. the one who had poisoned you for five years to weaken you, had used your illness to try and spread her territory and harvest your riches. who had exploited your youth, your naive innocence and trust and turned around and hurt you. 

perhaps you and san were alike. you both had been betrayed by those closest. 

san considered you. the line of your proud shoulders, the stability of your hands. you were the heavens revealed after a storm. you were his empress; his goddess. 

“no,” he said gently. “i should have known better. the gods have honored and blessed you as our empress. i should not have presumed any man to know better than the gods. i should have known better than to listen to my brother’s lies.”

“lies,” you repeated back. “i suppose he spoke of my imperfections. in some regard, he would not be wrong. i am mortal.”

san frowned. he lowered himself again. slowly san crawled forward, his bruise knuckles and bloodied forearms – not his blood, of course – stark against the soft white of the rug. he reached, with dirtied fingertips, for the hem of your long, white dress. he lifted it, and, like a devotee to a goddess, lowered his head and press his lips to your feet. 

he withdrew. 

“you are perfect,” he said. “any imperfections, spoken or thought, are lies. you are my empress. i would give myself to you for an eternity. i will give myself to you for an eternity.”

your face, for a split moment, was horribly vulnerable. he saw you not as an empress, as a queen of a city of sin, but as a woman. 

then, just as quickly, your face turned back into stone. 

“you would give yourself,” you said, “to me.”

“every part of me is yours,” san earnestly said. “body and soul.”

you glanced over him, eyes taking him in. san wondered what you saw. he wondered if you just saw the superficial part of him, what only appeared on the surface. if you saw the sharp cut of his eyes, the line of his jaw; the broad square of his shoulders and the bruises and scrapes that littered his skin. or if you saw beneath that. 

what lay beneath the surface of him, san did not know. he didn’t know if it was anything special – if he was anything special. he had killed and sinned just as any other person in the arena; had been taken as a prisoner. he was just as dirtied as everyone else. 

everyone but you. 

your shoulders relaxed back and you grew to your full height, an empress once more. you stepped to san, lifting the crown of wax flowers up for all to see. “the redeemed brother of choi bada,” you announced, “who prostrates himself before our gods and our great empire. this empress, low and humble before our heavenly fathers and mothers, accepts choi san into our empire with open arms. 

“let choi san spend the rest of his life in reparation to our empire. let him serve our great city in body and soul. let him prove himself devoted, and let us say no more of his past.”

and then you were placing the flower crown upon his head. 

the crowd roared with approval. 

you glided your fingers along his hair. he wanted to stop you. he knew his hair was greasy from sweat, knew his skin was dirty. he wasn’t clean. and yet you traced the side of his face with the pads of your fingers, let your nails skim along the line of his jaw. 

it was too much. it was too much. san couldn’t remember the last time someone touched him and he didn’t expect pain. here you were caressing him as if a lover, as if he were precious. it was too much. 

you brought your hands back to your body. you raised one up, palm out, for silence. the crowd quieted, reverent before their empress. 

when you spoke, your voice was stern with authority. “let it be shown our gods and empire is just. let it be known that our empire will not turn its back on those who repent. let it be known that i will not punish those who offer themselves wholly, who renounce their sins before me.”

your hands framed his jaw. you tilted san’s face up, and then you were pressing your lips to his forehead. 

san felt his entire body go numb. he couldn’t think; couldn’t breathe. 

the crowd screamed fervently. you continued to speak, though san wondered if anyone was able to hear your words. 

“let it be known i will not turn my back on those who need me.”

and like a flower with the sun, san so desperately needed you. 

you stepped back. your face had grime around your mouth from where you had kissed san’s dirty forehead. a attendant stepped forward with a white cloth, but you waved them aside, letting the dirt remain. 

“bring him to my bath,” you ordered, gesturing towards san. you looked towards him, brows raised. “you will serve me, body and soul, yes?”

san nodded. 

you smiled. it was a small turn of the lip, but san felt it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

san couldn’t help but feel horribly out of place in your penthouse. 

it was the sort of place that he never would have stumbled into ordinarily. windows took up the entire wall, clean and giving him a view of the artificial glow of the city underneath the moon. the furniture and carpets were all white and spotless, the floor a mute beige that warmed the space. 

everything was all clean. there were no personal touches within the penthouse from what san could see as he was guided from the overly large living space to the master bathroom. everything was meticulously placed, offered no insight as to whom the owner of the penthouse – the entire building, really – was. 

there were flowers throughout the penthouse, san noted. they were the only source of life within, the only sign of color. geraniums and roses, lilies and petunias. they were spaced out as to not overwhelm and truly were the only things within the space that betrayed the character of the owner. 

the attendant slid open the door to the master bathroom. immediately san was hit with the gentle scent of vanilla and flowers, though he couldn’t place what particular sort of flower he was smelling. the bathroom’s size was in proportion to the rest of the apartment, meaning it was still considerably bigger than any bathroom san had stepped into before. 

the bath was already running, though san was tempted to call it a pool. it was longer and wider than any man or woman could possibly be, settled into the ground with shining white marble framing it. the bath only touched one wall, artificial stone breaking up the smooth texture of the rest of the room. 

the attendant moved about the bathroom, leaving san by the door. she turned off the faucet of the tub. “don’t worry about the water, there’s a heater in the tub.”

she went to the lights. the bright overhead lights dimmed; the wall scones lit up, giving the bathroom a dark, moody feel. 

“usually you should be scrubbed clean,” the attendant said, wrinkling her nose as she took san in. “obviously you haven’t bathed in days. but the empress insisted on leaving you as you are.”

the attendant went to the marble counter. she pressed on something, and then a cabinet door was opening. san wouldn’t have been able to guess anything was there at all, as there were no handles and he couldn’t see the frame of the door. 

she withdrew from the cabinet with white towels. “the empress will direct you on how to attend her. do not presume familiarity; do not mistake her kindness for permission. it’s hard to get blood out of stone.”

san’s eyes snapped to the white stone wall framing one side of the bath. it had been unassuming before, just another pretty feature; now it seemed to stand before him ominously, a stark warning. 

“you mean –” he broke off, brow furrowing. “the empress –?”

“our dear lady is not a sweet little lamb,” the attendant said, pride the undercurrent to her tone. she placed the towels on the white counter. she bumbled around, pulling things from drawers san hadn’t noticed. the attendant reached out for a vase of flowers, sweet little things with white petals and yellow centers. 

“the biggest mistake one can make is to presume her submissive in any respect,” the attendant advised him. “never presume to know more than her. never think, for a single second, that you aren’t eating out of the palm of her hand.”

san shifted back. you had been – well, not unassuming. but he hadn’t – didn’t – this picture the attendant was illustrating of you seemed so stark in comparison to the woman who had grabbed his face and kissed it so gently. he couldn’t imagine you like this. san couldn’t imagine you being a master manipulator, couldn’t imagine you having some secret agenda. he couldn’t imagine you, so benevolent and beautiful, being a snake wrapped in lamb’s wool. 

the attendant hummed, content with the flowers. she turned to san. she looked him up and down. “if you have some sort of secret agenda –”

“i don’t!” the words were forceful and sure as they escaped san’s lips. he frowned at the attendant, standing straight and staring down at her. he crossed his arms over his chest, feeling the muscles of his arms clench from how rigidly he was holding himself. “i swore my body and soul to the empress. any person who dares to say otherwise is wrong.”

the attendant inclined her head. “so you say.”

and then you were walking into the bathroom. 

san felt his breath leave him all at once. even in the dim artificial lighting you were perfect. you were bare of any accessories, simply clothed in a white dress with your feet gently slapping against the floor. yet you were more beautiful than any gaudily clad creature san had ever seen. 

you said something to the attendant. san didn’t hear. he was too busy taking you in: the soft lines of your arms, the precious curves of your mouth. the way the very air around you seemed to sweeten with your presence, bending to your purity.

the attendant left, and then you were raising your arm up to finger at your earrings. 

and san saw red. 

literally. 

your forearm was painted a vibrant red, blood gently pulsing from a single cut. 

san was at your side in a second, his hands reaching out for your arm. he grabbed you, his hands cradling your forearm as he frowned down at the injury. 

“what happened –”

but san was cut off by your hand pressing into the tender meat of his neck. your thumb pinched mercilessly, making san shutter and his grip on your arm weaken. 

“down,” you hissed, sharp and severe. 

obediently san dropped to his knees, hands at your hips. ignoring your own injury you grabbed his hands, forcing them away. 

“don’t touch me,” you snapped, your injured arm darting out. you gripped his hair in your hand, nails digging into his scalp. you wrenched his face back, exposing the line of his throat and making him gasp into the humid air of the bath. “never, ever touch me without permission. you understand me?”

“you’re hurt,” san gasped out, eyebrows high on his face as he pressed his head back into your hand. it hurt, your grip on his hair harsh. yet he didn’t want to move away, didn’t want to move from the pain you were delivering onto him. “you’re hurt, empress.”

he watched through squinted eyes as your jaw, which had been jutted out in anger, softened. the corners of your mouth sagged from where your lips had been twisted from fury. 

your grip on his hair loosened. you clicked your tongue, stepping close. 

gone was all anger from your being. instead you moved close, your hand cradling san’s cheek. blood dripped from your wound, down onto his pants and the marble floor. 

you hummed down at him, thumb gently swiping along the sharp cut of his cheekbone. “i apologize,” you whispered, voice sweet. “forgive me. when a person rushes towards me i cannot help but react.”

san felt his heart clench at hearing you say such a thing. if it was up to him, you’d never feel fear again. never feel as if you were in danger, never feel anxiety or terror. you’d be safe; safe for ever and ever. he’d make you safe. he’d make the world safe for you.

“i should have known,” he said in apology. 

you smiled, then. you laughed softly. your fingers went to his black hair, pulling slightly as to expose his face to you further. “sweet boy,” you said. 

san turned his face towards your palm. you let him. he let his eyes flutter shut, nose tucking into the curve of your hand. he felt treasured like this; precious.

“next time you greet me,” you said, voice light, “remain still until you are acknowledged. understand?”

“yes, dear empress.”

you grinned down at him. “my sweet boy,” you cooed again. 

yes. 

yours.

“you are hurt,” san said. he blinked up at you, mouth pushed into a soft pout. “what happened?”

“nothing of consequence,” you returned. “i only worry about it staining your clothes.”

san frowned. you were hurt, and it wasn’t anything important?

“you could help me clean it,” you said, hesitant. 

san looked up at you. you were so beautiful and kind. you were a powerful woman, far above any else in superiority and worth. and yet you were allowing him to help you when you were in pain, when you were in need of aid. 

you, so innocent and – and holy, to be touched only by the pure, were letting san touch you. not only that, you would letting him clean you. 

“come on, pup,” you instructed, “clean me.”

slowly, as to not startle you again, san grabbed your arm in his hand. he moved your hand from his face, immediately missing it. but you had given him a task, and san would be deplorable if he were to hesitate in acting on it. 

when san touched his tongue to your blood, he found, to his astonishment, it tasted perfectly normal, as anyone’s blood would. it was tangy, tasted like rust. it wasn’t horrible, san found. it wasn’t revolutionary, of course; he wouldn’t go around drinking other’s blood. but it was, well, your blood, a symbol of your humanity, and you were letting him lick at it. 

you hummed softly, stepping close. you slid your free hand into his hair, petting softly. there was little space between the two of you. and san loved it. he couldn’t help but smile gently into your skin. san pressed a soft kiss to your arm, ignoring how he only seemed to further spread your blood. 

“so messy,” you said, and san peeked up at you. you were smiling down at him, and san swore he could see your eyes sparkle. “such a messy eater, choi san.”

he pressed another kiss to your skin. san alternated between kissing your arm and licking at your wound, his mouth overwhelmed by the tangy taste of your blood. he endured it, though. he couldn’t help himself. he felt, weirdly, as if he was drunk. 

it was almost as if this was some sort of drug; as if worshiping you were addictive. san was kneeling before you, blood smeared over his mouth, and he didn’t want to stand. he didn’t want to erase that gentle smile from your face. if that meant kneeling before you and licking your wounds, then –

well. 

he’d done worse things for more horrible people. 

eventually you pulled san away. your wound had long stopped bleeding. your arm wasn’t entirely clean, thin smears of bright crimson a blight against your skin. 

you cupped his face with both hands. you looked over him. san wondered what you saw. 

you pressed your fingers to the corner of his mouth, lightly following a path he was blind to. “you’re so messy,” you said again. “covered in blood and dirt.”

your fingers wandered over his face. san’s eyes fluttered. you followed the curve of his nose, the sharp jutting lines of his cheeks. 

“you are to attend me in the bath,” you said, voice a sweet song. “and yet you are covered in filth. you will wash before you serve me.”

then you stepped away. 

you went to the hidden cabinet the attendant had gone to earlier. you opened it, removing a white towel. 

“kneel in the shower,” you commanded. 

the shower was tall and large. the showerhead was large and like a saucer, and when you turned it on the water was like a trickle of rain. 

san went and kneeled in the shower underneath the water. 

“your clothes,” you said, tossing the white towel onto an ottoman beside the shower. “take your clothes off.”

san felt himself flush. you hadn’t said for him to take off of his clothes, and so he hadn’t thought of it. he felt sheepish; stupid. 

you didn’t make fun of him, though. you held out your hand. san stood, beginning to take off his clothes. you kept your eyes on him as he did so. first came his tank top. it was white originally, though the arena had dirtied it considerably with sand and other grime, and tight against him. once it was off he handed it to you. you took the shirt from him, letting it hang from your fingertips, continuing to let your eyes smooth over his abdomen and chest. 

next, his shoes and socks. he kicked those out of the shower. 

he only hesitated when his thumbs were hooking into the waistband of his underwear. 

you laughed at him, dropping his pants and shirt to the side. “don’t be shy now,” you teased. “are you not going to attend me? will you not wash my body with your hands? be naked and let us be on equal ground.”

and so he pushed his underwear down. he fought to get it over the swells of his thighs, but then they were quickly falling to his knees and onto the floor. 

you stared at him openly. 

san’s dick – regrettably – was at half mast. he felt as if he had been hard ever since you made him kneel in front of the arena crowd. and with you staring he felt a small sense of shame, but still his cock continued to harden, blood thickening it and letting it take on a darker hue. 

“cute,” you laughed again. “now on your knees.”

san returned to his knees. you stepped into the shower. you were still wearing your white dress, and you were ignoring the shower water as it rained down on you. 

slowly, leisurely, you reached for a bottle of soup. you squeezed out a small white liquid to your hand, and then you were stepping close. 

you were perhaps half a foot away. you were close enough to where all san had to do was lean his head forward to press his face into your stomach if he wanted to. 

your free hand went to his chin. you tipped his face up. you cupped water in your hand and then began washing his face. after a handful of seconds you were lathering his face in some sort of face wash, fingers gentle as you scrubbed. 

“you’re getting all wet,” san mumbled, opening an eye to peer up at you. 

you raised your brows at him. you rinsed off your hands, and then you were cleansing his face of the soap. “i’m bathing you,” you said simply. “why would i take off my clothes?”

san thought it was odd for a fleeting moment that you weren’t undressing despite the fact your dress was absolutely soaked, but then you were running your fingers through his hair. 

“you will have to keep yourself clean,” you instructed him. “especially if you are to attend me.”

“attend you?”

you scoffed. “did you not devote yourself to me, ‘body and soul’? regretting your words already, choi san?”

he hurriedly shook his head. you left him for a moment to reach for a bar of soap. 

“if you’re going to attend to me, ‘body and soul,’” you began, sliding the soap along his shoulders, “you will need to keep clean. you cannot touch me if you are dirty.”

you stilled. you tapped his chin with a finger. san looked up. your face was serious, your eyes sharp and mouth firm. “you are devoting yourself, yes?”

“until i die, empress.”

you relaxed, visibly pleased at san’s eagerness. “you will be mine. you are mine, then, choi san.”

“yours.”

you returned to cleaning him. he tried not to look at you too much. the white dress stuck to your skin as if it were your skin. san could see the curve of your breasts – tits felt too crude of a word to use for you – and the soft imprint of your nipples. 

“if you do well enough when you bathe me, you can be my bath attendant,” you declared. you stepped back. “stand.”

“bath attendant?” san stumbled to his feet, legs slightly numb from having been kneeling for so long. he’ll have to get used to it. he liked being on his knees for you. 

“‘body and soul,’” you reminded. “don’t you want to bathe me?”

san nodded. “so badly,” he said.

and he meant it. he thought about bathing you, his hands gently massaging soap into your hair. he’d wash whatever part you wanted. he’d take care to wash behind your ears and neck, to lightly rub soap over your breasts if your nipples were particularly sensitive. he’d even wash your pussy if you’d let him. 

san felt blood rush down to his dick at the thought. it was horribly, disastrously crude of him to think such a thing. he should be ashamed. 

you rubbed the bar of soap over him. your hand followed, sliding along his skin and smoothing the suds. your hands were sure as you slid them along his abdomen, thumb swiping over his muscled stomach. 

“so strong,” you said. “it would be a shame not to have you as a member of my personal guard.”

“‘body and soul.’”

you laughed at him, reaching up and pinching at one of his brown nipples. he hissed, dick throbbing as he reached up and cupped his own tits to protect them. “you are awfully devoted,” you teased. “it is a good thing you stumbled into my arena instead of someone else’s, choi san.”

“i wouldn’t be like this to anyone else,” san announced. his eyes flicked over your face. your hair was stuck along your forehead, and he could see that you had on mascara, the black liquid running over your cheeks. 

rise, choi san, and know that no hatred, no ill-will, will be held to you.

you had crowned him with the empress’s victory. you had promised him absolution of his sins. you were merciful. you were beautiful. 

“you wouldn’t have to be in my guard,” you murmured, moving around him. you went to his back. he felt acutely aware of you. the soap traveling over his skin, your hand smoothing over the muscles of his back. “you fought for one tyrant already. i will not be another.”

san let out a sharp breath. 

he turned. he looked down at you. 

“i’d do anything for you.”

for a moment you just stared at him, your hands stilling over his abdomen. the shower beat down on his back, water sliding along his body. 

“so much power for one woman to have,” you murmured. “turn back around.”

you continued to bathe him. your hands slid over his body. when your hands went to his dick, san couldn’t help but tense. you ran your fingers along the veins of his hips, letting them lead to the base of his cock. his cock was fully erect. you paid his tumultuous state no mind. you slid your hands along his dick methodically, touch sure and firm. 

san sucked in a deep breath, his hands going to your shoulders, searching for something to tether him. 

“hands off of me,” you ordered. your hand could just barely wrap around his dick. you slid your fist from the base of his cock to the tip, wrist twisting. 

san let out a groan, and he tried to ignore how high his voice went at the end of it. your hand continued to his balls, fondling lightly as you gave a perfunctory wash there, too. 

you released his dick. it flopped up to his stomach, and he couldn’t help but wince at the urgent need that shot through him, his cock throbbing. san wanted your hand wrapped around his dick again, wanted it so badly. 

“finish up,” you commanded. you stepped from the shower, dropping the bar of soap onto the ground, not bothering to hand it to him. 

san turned and bent over to grab the soap. when he straightened, he turned back to face towards where you had left him. you had one shoulder of your dress down around your elbow, your hands reaching up for the other as you watched san. 

he got, delightfully, the feeling as if you had been studying him while his back was turned. san felt, stupidly, as if he were a little mouse and you were the mighty lion. as if he was running frantically between your paws, searching for a way out as you continually shifted your paws, not giving him a way out. 

well –

san didn’t want a way out. 

if you wanted to play with him like cat and mouse, san would let you. you saved him. from what, san didn’t know, though he did know whatever his fate would have been had you neglected to acknowledge his victory would have been far worse than this; worse than standing naked in the bathroom of your penthouse, erection strained and wanting. 

you saved him; you wouldn’t hurt him. 

you gave him the empress’s victory. you would protect him. 

further: you asked him to bathe you, to guard you. 

you wanted him at your side. 

when san finished washing, all the dirt and grime of his old life swirling down the shower drain, he turned off the water. 

you had completely undressed, and were standing by the sunken tub. your dress and undergarments were scattered. san couldn’t help but let his eyes rove over you. he looked at the curve of your thighs and where the meat of them mellowed to bleed into your knees. san stared at the hair of your cunt, at the soft skin of your stomach; the hang of your tits and your nipples, hard due to them being exposed to the room. 

his dick ached. 

“get into the tub,” you ordered. 

the tub, san found, varies in depth. the steps were cold white marble, and when his foot was submerged beneath the water, it was extremely warm. the water was the sort of warm that would lure its occupants to sleep. 

when he crossed the tub, as the stairs were on one side and you the other, the level of the tub floor began to steepen. near the stairs, once he was off of them, the water only went to the middle of his thighs. as he neared you, the water began to slowly rise until it lapped against his lower hips, warm around the base of his cock. 

you had lowered yourself to sit on the edge of the tub when he climbed in. your legs were hanging over the edge, knees parted just enough for him to stand between them. 

you were grinning, the white of your teeth striking against the plush color of your lips. 

“what a predicament you have there,” you murmured, eyes flicking down to san’s dick. 

he felt blood rush to his face as you gazed unabashedly at his cock. “i –”

“clean my feet,” you interrupted. you leaned back on your hands, not concealing your body in the slightest. san looked over your stretchmarks, over the pebbling of your nipples. he wondered, fleetingly, if you’d let him lick them.

“your feet?”

“you said you would clean me,” you said. “go grab the soap.”

the soap, as it turned out, was on the other side of the tub. slowly san waded through the water, pushing against it. he grabbed the soaps, all flower-scented and bottled, and turned back to you. 

“shame,” you said. “i quite liked the other view of you.”

blood shot to his face again. san was sure his cheeks and ears were vibrantly red. 

“this view is not so bad either,” you amended. 

he knew you were talking about his abs and his dick, just as he knew you had been talking about his ass with the prior comment. san was being treated as if he were some piece for you to ogle at, and fuck, if that didn’t make his dick absolutely throb. 

you spread out your knees, letting san press close. he set the bottles beside you, and then he couldn’t help but let his hands hover over your hips. 

“you want to touch me?”

san looked up to you. your head was tilted slightly, and you were looking down your nose at him. he traced the curve of your jaw with his eyes, the line of your throat. he wanted to touch every inch of you. he wanted to devour you. 

“yes,” he said, voice hushed and yearning. 

you smiled, baring your teeth at him. you raised your leg, and then you were pressing your foot flat against his stomach. 

“clean me.”

and so san began to wash your feet. 

he cupped the water in his hand, bringing it up and letting the water escape his hand to trinkle over your foot. san ran his hand over your foot. despite the fact that you walked barefoot, as to represent your divinity, the underside of your foot was nearly clean. 

even as san finished cleaning one foot and shifted to the next, starting by rinsing it off, his erection didn’t flag. he continued to wash your foot, trying to ignore how his cock throbbed in tandem with his heart, how the warm water of the tub lapped over his balls and the base of his dick. 

you hummed as san finished washing your second foot, toes flexing in his hold. he smoothed his hand over the gentle incline of your foot, thumb swiping over your ankle. 

san looked down at your skin. your foot was drenched, your leg dry. he ran his fingers over your skin, letting the pads of his fingers drag along your flesh. san 

“could i –” san broke off, looking up at you. you raised your brows at him, waiting. “can i kiss your skin?”

you tilted your head. you flicked your eyes up and down his figure. eventually, slowly, you nodded. 

san felt his heart flutter in his chest. he bent over. he pressed the tip of his nose to your leg, feeling the slight bumps along your skin from where your shaven hairs were trying to break through. he let his lips ghost over your skin, torturing himself; appreciating you. 

san let his lips trail down your leg, and then he was at your ankle. 

slowly, but not hesitantly, he pressed a kiss to the skin there. 

you sucked in a breath. 

san pulled back slightly, looking up at you. his voice, when he spoke, seemed to come from deep within him. “you okay?”

“i’ve been worshiped before,” you said, in lieu of an answer, “but not quite like this.”

“shall i continue?”

san watched as you visibly shivered before him. his dick throbbed, a slight pearl of precum budding from the tip. 

you nodded. san pressed his lips to your ankle once more. 

san let his mouth move over your skin. he didn’t bite or lick or anything. he simply explored. his mouth was but a tool used for mapping, learning the rises and curves of your body. 

once san found he was satisfied with one leg, he shifted to the other. 

san’s mouth went to the crook of your knee. he turned your leg in his hand. he pressed his mouth to the part where your knee and thigh met, his nose pressing into the flesh as he mouthed at your skin. 

you let out a gentle sigh. it was slight, hardly there. san only heard it because he was so incredibly tuned into you. he wanted to listen to every hitch in breath, wanted to be able to see every twitch of a finger. san wanted to devote himself to you, and so he heard the slight breath that escaped you, the little exhale, as he kissed your thigh. 

his dick, horribly, angrily, throbbed. his balls were tight against him, precum beading and sliding along the head of his dick. 

you hummed at him, and then you were lowering your leg. “you’ve a problem.”

“it’s not a problem,” san said. he settled his hand on your knee, wanting to press his mouth back into your skin. “i can ignore it.”

you shook your head. “fuck yourself,” you said, words so horribly dirty compared to the white aura of pureness that clung to your identity like a shroud. “fuck your hand, choi san.”

san took his hand, the one not on you, and moved it to his dick. he didn’t begin fucking, instead intently watching you, as if he were a dog waiting for the command from his master to have the treat. 

“i told you what to do,” you said, voice dry. you shifted closer, thighs now dangling over the edge of the tub. 

san fisted his cock, immediately shivering into his touch. he felt as if he had been effectively edged for hours. san brought his hand down to the base of his dick, slowly, deliciously, dragging it up to the tip. the water smoothed the stroke, each motion of his hand making san keen into the touch. 

“how funny,” you said. san looked at you. you were still, eyes watching his hand as he fucked himself. “such a strong man driven to patheticness by the sight of a pair of tits.”

“no,” he groaned from the back of his throat. san thumbed at his dickhead, not bothering with the slit; being uncut, he was far too sensitive there to bother, the sensations too harsh for him. his foreskin glided with his strokes, concealing and revealing his tip in equal measure. 

“it’s you,” he got out eventually. “been – been hard.”

you chuckled at him. “since when? since i made you kneel for me in front of hundreds?”

san was quiet. he stilled his hand at the base of his dick, furtively bucking his hips into his hand, the sensation too little to do anything proper. 

“oh it was,” you said, glee gently curving around the edges of your voice. “you’re really into this devotion thing, aren’t you? into worship.”

“never been before.”

you laughed again. you reached out one foot, nudging against his thigh. san let out a choked noise, and then he was fucking his fist down onto his cock. 

“you get hard from kneeling to your empress,” you said. “the strong man who killed ten men before my eyes likes being made to bow in reverence. how fucking cute of you, choi san.”

san groaned, this one loud. he began fucking his fist in earnest, the strokes quick. you placed your legs on either side of his thighs, and then you were bringing him close, legs wrapping around him. 

“fucking choi bada’s general. likes bowing to the empress that demanded the death of his brother, hm? that it, choi san? just needed me to tell you what to do? you like me telling you what to do, choi san?”

“yes,” he hissed out. 

you laughed, loud and harsh. he opened his eyes to watch your chest heave with your laughter. you looked at him, eyes twinkling with mirth. 

“then cum,” you commanded. 

san’s orgasm ripped from him, balls tight and throbbing as his release tore through him. he couldn’t help but tip his head back, exposing the column of his throat, hand frantic as he worked over his dick. 

san didn’t stop fucking his hand until it was bordering on the edge of too much, little shocks of pain shooting through him. 

when san opened his eyes, satisfied, it was to the sight of you covered in his cum. 

thick and white, the fluid stuck to your skin. his cum was covering your thighs and stomach and tits, not great enough to completely conceal your skin, but still significant. 

san felt horrified. 

here you were, this pure, divine person in front of him. you wore white, your attendants had to clean themselves before even handing you a glass of water. and here you were: covered in his cum. 

“i suppose,” you drew out, “it is a good thing i’ll be bathing.”

you lifted a hand, going to swipe at some of the cum on your stomach. 

san darted out, his hand wrapping around your wrist. “don’t,” he said, urgent, “it’s dirty.”

“then you’ll just have to clean it,” you taunted back. 

you drew your hand through the cum on your stomach. you pressed your thumb to the fingers stained with san’s spunk. you inspected it, as if you were curious. 

then you held out your hand. 

“clean me.”

for a moment san was confused. his brow furrowed. he looked between your stained fingers and your face. 

you raised your brows. “clean my hand, choi san.” you paused, and then: “it’s the least you could do for touching me like you have.”

san felt himself blush. he reached out, both of his hands wrapping around your wrist. he was acutely aware of the fact that you were watching him, eyes not missing a single movement. 

san lifted your hand to his mouth. he hesitated for a moment. he pressed his lips against the tips of your fingers, and then he was moving them into his mouth. 

your skin was salty in his mouth, and slightly soapy from having bathed san. san didn’t take your fingers out, though. you had told him to do something, and he was damned if he wasn’t going to do it. 

san guided your fingers further into his mouth. his spunk was on the tips of your fingers, and nearly immediately he could taste it. it was bitter and horrible, and san didn’t understand how anyone could swallow it.  

knowing you had commanded it, however, and not wanting to let you down, san continued to push your fingers into his mouth. he gagged when your fingers were halfway, the pads of your digits pressing gently against his tongue. 

you laughed. “oh cute,” you cooed. “poor little choi san can’t handle two fingers in his mouth, yeah?”

cheeks tinged with red, san fought against his gag reflex to slide your fingers further. he had to stop when he felt the tops of your nails at the far back of his mouth, the feeling of wanting to gag licking at the back of his throat. 

“don’t gag,” you said. “i hadn’t told you to take my fingers into your throat, but now that you’ve decided to do so, you will. swallow around my fingers, choi san.”

feeling bullied, but not disliking it, san swallowed around your fingers. 

his mouth went tight. he could feel the vacuum of it, the sucking sensation. 

“suck my fingers clean.” you shifted before him, your free hand reaching up to brush at your cheek as if you had an inch. “lick them.”

san ran his tongue over your fingers, gathering his cum from them. he swallowed again, only to immediately gag. san pulled away from your hand abruptly, lips pressing firmly together and throat working fervently to try and assure that there was nothing else foreign in his mouth. 

you wiped your hand over his shoulder. “how boring,” you said absently. 

“i’m sorry,” san apologized. he placed his hands on your knees. you didn’t immediately scold him. “it just felt weird.”

“it just felt weird,” you echoed back. “are you going to make it up to me?”

san nodded, and then he was pressing his face to your tits. 

instantly your arms were around him, hands sinking into his hair and nails digging. he hissed, and he heard you say his name, low and dangerous. 

but then san ran his tongue along the curve of your tit. he found he loved the first taste of it, the combination of your slightly sweaty skin and his spunk, and so san quickly licked a long stripe over your tit again. 

your fingers weakened in his hair, nails scraping lightly. you gripped the ends of his hair, and then you were pressing your nose to his ear. 

“you better lick me clean,” you muttered. “i don’t want to dirty the bath water with your spunk.”

san shivered in your hold. he didn’t know if it was from your command or how your voice spat out spunk. 

san ran the flat of his tongue over your skin. he licked at your tits as if it were his favorite meal. 

once you deemed them clean, you were pushing his face lower to your stomach. 

san, ever obedient to his empress, began cleaning you there, too. 

it was weirdly relaxing. san lapped at your skin. he continued even when most of the cum had been licked from your torso, just letting his tongue rove over your flesh. 

“good boy,” you eventually praised. 

then you were spreading out your legs, pushing san back. you were gentle with it, however, and he felt his heart flutter in his chest and his dick give a little lurch. 

“here,” you said, your hand sliding to your cunt. “don’t forget here.”

your cunt, in consideration with the staining of cum to your tits and stomach and thighs, did not need to be cleaned. 

but san found himself kneeling along the ledge that ran the complete length of the sunken tub, his fingers going to your cunt. 

he used his thumbs to spread your lower lips, nails scraping lightly against your damp pussy hair. for a moment san just looked, taking in the pretty shape of your cunt. 

then san was pressing his nose to your clit, tongue rolling out to lap at your hole. you were wet, the fluid bittersweet. san couldn’t help but lick at you again as soon as he had tasted you, running the broad width of his tongue up your pussy. 

you moaned out, the loudest san had heard from you thus far. 

and he found it absolutely addictive. 

san didn’t know if all cunts were like this; didn’t know if it merely pertained to your pussy. but san found himself completely fixated, letting his tongue run from your hole to your clit, gathering your fluid and swallowing it eagerly. 

he wanted to, quite simply, devour you. 

no – 

that wasn’t right – 

san wanted to worship you. 

your cunt was his altar, and san was devoted. he thrusted his tongue into your hole, licking at the rim. san moved his tongue to your clit, and that, too, he worshipped. he found it particularly addicting, the way you moaned and thighs tightened around him as he lapped at your clit.

san slid a finger into your hole, and you gasped out as you tightened down on it. your cunt clamped down on his fingers as it if were his cock, unwilling to let it go. your pussy milked his finger greedily as he ran his tongue over your clit messily, your hips in constant movement underneath him. 

“fuck,” you groaned out as his finger arched up, pressing against a spongey pat of your pussy. your voice was loud, echoing around the bathroom. fleetingly, san thought about the other attendants and how he didn’t want them to hear the precious sounds you were making, because then, honesty, he’d gave to punch them until they forgot their own name, but then you were tightening your thighs around him. 

fluid trickled around san’s finger as he thrust it in and out in rhythm with his licking of your clit. he lapped at the velvet area framing your clit, flicked his tongue rapidly against the spot in sporadic stimulation. 

eventually your moans crescendoed, and a rough call of “san!” burst from your mouth as your pussy tightened around his finger and fluid gushed from your cunt. 

san didn’t stop fucking his finger into you and licking at your pussy until you were hissing, physically pushing him away. 

you had laid down at some point, and now you were propped up on your elbows. your face was twisted into a scowl, chest heaving as you looked at him. 

for a few moments you didn’t say anything. you just stared at him. 

eventually you pushed yourself up off of the marble. your skin was covered in goosebumps, and when you ran your fingers along your hairline san saw sweat had collected there. 

you were shockingly quiet. 

san laid his hands on your thighs, coming close. “are you okay?”

you looked at him, brows furrowed. your eyes danced over his face, taking him in. 

then you scoffed, pushing him back. “you’ve got cunt juice on your face.”

you slid off of the edge of the tub and into the water. you were close to san due to him having been pressed against the edge. your hands went to his hips, and then you were moving him away from you, albeit not cruelly. 

san watched as you sunk down into the water, letting it come up to your neck. you grabbed a handful, wetting your face. 

“what do you want me to do?”

you glanced at him, eyelashes clumped together from the water. 

“i suppose you wash me,” you said. “no one has ever attended me in the bath before, so you won’t have a point of comparison. you can decide if that’s good or not.”

“no one’s served you in the bath before?” san frowned, moving to grab the face wash. it was, in a complete contrast to the white marble of the room, in a sweet pink bottle with little cartoon characters decorating the bottle. “that attendant said you had killed someone in here.”

you shrugged. you stepped to him, your hands on his abdomen. you angled your face up towards him, waiting. “i have. did. and can.”

san ignored the threat. he held the bottle in one hand, using his free hand to spread water over your face once more. he tried to ignore the proximity, the way your hands touched his stomach. 

he didn’t dare to ask at first, knowing it wasn’t his place. he was made to serve you, and san didn’t have a problem with that; he would never ask for anything different. more importantly: san didn’t want anything different. 

“what happened?” he squeezed some of the face wash onto his hand, and then he was gently rubbing it into your cheek. “why did you kill someone?”

“i’ve killed a lot of people,” you mumbled, eyes falling shut as san’s hand roamed over your face, applying the face wash. 

san hummed in acknowledgment. it was hard to think of you killing anyone, especially when you were like this. you were still in his hold, pliant as san ran his fingers over your face. you were soft and sweet, hands gentle against his abdomen, and he just couldn’t imagine you using those hands for sin. 

“you shouldn’t have to kill anyone.” san, satisfied with how your face was lathered with face wash, dipped his hand into the water. he then, gently, slowly as to not get any in your eyes, began to wash the soap off of your face. 

you frowned at his words. 

san, sensing you wanted to speak, wiped at your mouth. he pressed his thumb along your lips, swiping at the soap. 

“i am the empress of a large . . . enterprise,” you said. you peered at him. “to ask another to do such a thing without being willing to do it myself leads to dissent. i cannot be a good leader if i am unwilling to do what i ask of my followers.”

san felt a pang in his chest. he couldn’t help but feel admiration for you. the thought of you killing anyone, of bloodying your pure hands, filled san with such unease that it twisted at his stomach. but your explanation for the brutality filled him with pride. you were not some far-off, lofty creature urging worship. you were willing to do what had to be done. 

san decided, not for the first and certainly not for the last time, he was proud to be the one you crowned victorious. 

he smoothed his hand over your face one last time. san let the pads of his fingers trail over your chin, and when you didn’t immediately push back, he continued his exploration. san dragged his fingers down the column of your throat. he couldn’t help but watch his fingers travel. san settled his finger on your clavicle, letting his thumb drift down. 

“do you need your hair washed?” san’s voice was deep even to him, and he could feel blood rushing down to his cock. his dick throbbed as he smoothed his hand downward, the thumb gently gliding along the curve of your tit. 

your nails scraped against his abdomen. “no.”

san looked over your tits, admiring the hang of them, your pebbled nipples. he wanted to put his mouth on them, san decided. 

“i do need washed,” you announced. 

san pulled away. he immediately missed your body, missed your hands against his body. 

san grabbed the body soap, and then he was returning to you. 

“lift your arms,” he said, glancing you over. 

you hummed, tilting your head. you looked him up and down. “no,” you said. “i’m sure you’re capable.”

san hesitated before you. he wasn’t sure quite what you were saying at first. but then you raised your brows at him, waiting, and san felt his dick throb painfully as realization struck him. 

san slowly, haltingly, reached for your arm. san ran his hand over your arm, lathering your skin. he hesitated before sliding his hand along the underneath of your arm, fingertips pressing into your armpit. 

you stood still, letting san wash you. he was gentle but efficient, trying not to linger on any spot in particular. 

san tried to fight the instinct to just run his hands along your body and attach his mouth to your tit, wanting to worship. you were perfect and before him, and he didn’t know how long you would let him admire you for, and he sort of wanted to test it. 

eventually, you went to the ledge of the tub, climbing to rise up out of the tub. your skin immediately broke out into goosebumps, and, seemingly despite yourself, you shivered. 

you turned to him, water falling in droplets around you. “my legs,” you said. 

and so san began to wash your legs. he was careful here, too. he ran his hands along your calves, along the backs of your knees. san took care when cleaning the insides of your thighs, biting down on his lip to keep his touch from lingering. 

once he was done, he sunk his hands into the water to wash them. 

“i’ve finished,” he said, glancing over you. 

“not quite,” you returned. you sat back on the edge of the tub. you spread out your legs, baring your cunt. “you haven’t cleaned here.”

san blinked. 

he tilted his head, confused. “but i already cleaned you there, didn’t i?”

you sighed, rolling your eyes. “you’ve licked me,” you clarified. “i need to be cleaned, choi san. i can’t walk around with a dirty cunt.”

“do i – do i lick you again?”

“choi san,” you admonished, “who knows where your mouth has been? your fingers are clean enough.”

and so san went between your legs, your knees knocking against his arms. 

san smoothed his hands over the inside of your thighs, taking you in. he hadn’t been quite able to fully look at you before. now, with his dick throbbing and hard once more, he looked his fill. 

you were laid back against the cold marble. your tits were like mounds, rising with every breath you took. 

���you better hurry,” you announced into the bathroom air, “and clean my cunt before i get too cold.”

san swallowed his hesitation down. 

then he was sliding his hands to your cunt. 

he didn’t quite know what you were wanting from him. he didn’t know if there was a special soap you wanted him to use, if you truly meant for him to clean your pussy. san was a man confused, and you didn’t look like  you were going to give him any aid any time soon. 

san thought back to how he had cleaned your cunt earlier, lapping at it like a puppy. he decided you didn’t truly mean for him to clean your pussy. 

so san slid one of his wet fingers into your damp cunt, slow and rigid. 

he watched as your body tensed beneath him. you relaxed just as quickly. 

san, for a lack of a better word, swabbed your pussy with his finger. he searched within your cunt as if it were some vessel in need of cleaning, as if he were trying to find something hidden within you that needed addressing. 

eventually, though, you got tired of it. 

“a second finger, choi san.”

san withdrew his forefinger. he was gentle as he slid both fingers into your cunt, knowing two was significantly more of a stretch than just one. you let out a long breath as you forced your body not to react to the second intrusion, lashes fluttering. 

this time san took creative liberty. he scissored his fingers out, forcing your pussy walls to spread out and accommodate his digits. you weren’t loud, instead letting out gentle gasps. 

your pussy, san noted with some degree of excitement, was gaining dampness. the hair of your cunt had already been wet from the tub, but as your body began to dry, your cunt only seemed to maintain its moisture. 

as he scissored his fingers, feeling your walls resist and relent, a decidedly lewd and wet sound began to fill the bathroom. it was, of course, the sound of your cunt wetting itself, the slick noise produced by the near-constant move of his fingers within. 

san looked over your body. you were so angelic, all spread out on the marble. his dick throbbed in response to you and your beauty.  

san changed the angle of his hand, lowering himself so he could kneel along the ledge and get a better angle. he curled his fingers up towards the front of your body, hitting that branch of nerves that had your knees squeezing around him and mouth opening wide in a sweet gasp. 

“san,” you gasped out, and – 

– and fuck –

his name was a blessing falling from your lips. san had heard many beautiful things in his life: the song of a violin in an orchestra hall; the bubbling laughter of an infant; the silence that came after a year of battle. he had never thought a single word could be beautiful, thought it could be glorious when uttered, but the way you said his name made san feel as if it was gilded and sparkling. as if you were a goddess uttering a blessing. 

san bit down on his lip, and then his second hand was joining his first at your pussy. he began thrusting his fingers into your cunt in a decisively wicked and relentless rhythm, striking the branch of nerves perfectly. 

he coupled the sensation with slick swipes of his thumb over your clit. san watched as your body reacted beneath him, thighs lifting up off of the marble, hips eagerly trying to search something out. 

you gasped into the air, back arching. 

“won’t you say something?” your voice was raspy, and when he looked down at you your legs tightened around him, knee lifting up as if you were trying to cover yourself with it. “say something.”

“you’re perfect,” san said. 

when you came, cunt tight around his fingers and mouth open wide, he thought you were divine. 

san continued to fuck his fingers into your pussy as you came, though he gentled considerably. he drunk you in greedily, eyes darting over your body as you tried to catch your breath. 

he loved you, he thought.

eventually, you let out a strangled groan, your foot on his hip and pushing him back. 

san went obediently, pulling his hand from your pussy. he stepped off of the ledge and into the tub. 

you sat up, eyes distant. he didn’t know if it was from the force of your orgasm or not. for a few moments, you just sat before him, brow furrowed and lips pressed into a firm line. you were not, for a few minutes, tether to the earth. he wondered what you saw. 

san could see the moment you came back to yourself, blinking and seemingly shaking yourself out of whatever daze you had been in. 

“are you –”

“back,” you commanded. 

san moved further into the tub. you shifted, gently lowering yourself in. san watched as you stoically washed at your inner thighs and pussy, not caring to be particularly gentle or modest. 

deeming yourself clean, san supposed, you stood from the tub. 

he went to the edge, bracing his hands on the marble. “let me help –”

“no.”

you stood, water dripping down your figure. san watched as you went to the white towels. you took one and wrapped your hair up, your body shivering in the cold air. next you wrapped yourself, though you didn’t quite stop shivering. 

“clean yourself,” you announced. you didn’t look at him as you went to the door. “you’ll find things to make a bed for yourself in the living room. i am not to be disturbed.”

san pushed himself out of the tub, kneeling on the marble, lips ready to ask a question –

but you were gone, leaving san alone in the bath with the white flowers on the marble counter.

[variousqueerthings]

okay I watched good omens s2 yesterday with my partner, and I was genuinely very surprised -- I think if you've grown up through superwholock/merlin/the 100/teen wolf type shows where (with the exception periodically of doctor who) you kind of had to make up the good show that something could have been in your head, that colours a lot of your viewing, and to be honest I thought season 1 of good omens was a fine little piece, honoured the book while modernising it somewhat, it was a nice, fun, low stakes time, with a couple of things I might have wanted a tad different but nothing overall awful.

so I was seeing all this meta and gifsets and discussion, while I was waiting to give s2 a watch with my partner and thought "ah, people have made up the good show in their heads again" not that I assumed s2 was going to be a bad show, but that people were taking extra deep plunges into possibilities, the way fandom does, and that was fine. I knew there was a big ol kiss, I had a sense of some kind of argument at the end, and that it was setting up a s3

I also knew that mainstream reviews were calling it (politely) self-indulgent and dependent on whether or not you enjoy david tennant and michael sheen having a good time for just under 6 hours

all in all, expectations of a somewhat mainstream show without too much to think about, a nice, fun low stakes time, moving on...

(EDIT: AND THEN I WROTE A LOT OF WORDS SO YOU CAN IMAGINE THAT MY REACTION WAS QUITE DIFFERENT)

as it turns out it seems these things that were being written on tumblr were discussing the actual text of the show and not things you could extrapolate if you squinted and tilted your head a little to the left as I'm so used to doing, so in fact there is much to think about!

and my first thought was "this is like when you read early discworld books that ask a question like a joke, only to find that over time the answer to that question becomes very serious (and also can be funny at times of course)." how terry pratchett would pick and pick at tropes and notions and social ideas and go "oh now hold on, this seems strange..." starting way back when he thought it was odd that women warriors always seemed to be dressed in metal bikinis and then realising he hadn't done a good enough job of subverting the trope, simply by depicting it and calling it a bit silly

why do goblins always get treated as the villains? what's with this divine succession of kings business? where are the female dwarfs? who do we treat as disposable?

good omens season one went: "haha what if heaven and hell were intensely incapable, bureaucratic, corrupt, and uncaring of the work they did, and we took an angel and a demon and had them actually care? wouldn't that be... a bit silly?" (and it was)

good omens season two went: "what are the consequences for caring when the people who have power over you are incapable, bureaucratic, corrupt, and uncaring? what are the forces that supersede systems built on fear, ignorance, and violent conformity? can people change and break out of/challenge/break down these structures by caring?"

and this was set up with a neat little sleight of hand (to reference aziraphale's switch-and-bait in the episode with the nazi zombies), because the majority of season 2 does feel a bit indulgent: hey, remember those two wacky angel-and-demon characters? watch some more wacky things they did through the ages, watch them take a sojourn through 1827 Edinburgh and do a magic show during the Blitz, and... stop the death of Job's and Sitis' children (actually maybe that whole segment ought to have been what they call "A Clue")

see them try to figure out a kooky mystery, all the while setting up a cute little same-gender romance on their street. watch as everything points towards a happy ending that's all about the two of them realising what they've been to one another all these thousands and thousands (and thousands and thousands) of years- but hold on. lest we forget - and the show has made this point over and over - there are powerful people who control them, who hurt them, and who plan on hurting others, throughout the whole season, and as it turns out they know what they've been to one another for far far longer, and know how to pull their strings...

season 2 then, has to show us these things, not because they're indulgent (well, maybe occasionally, but the apology dance is still important), but because in order to make the ending a tragedy, we first need to understand, properly, the impact that they have had on each other. we need to understand that Aziraphale relied heavily on Crowley to be his moral compass and leaned on black-and-white thinking in order to deal with things, because if it's all grey then where does he fit and what has it all meant and heaven has to be the good guys, even as Job's and Sitis' children are ordered to be killed, it's all he ever had...

and Crowley was always an anchor, needed to trust that Aziraphale was different, needed to bend to every whim that Aziraphale has, because otherwise what's his worth in all this? After having been already deemed worthless by the heaven that Aziraphale needs to believe in?

and that, simplistically described, is the narrative that we're seeing in s2, and alongside that the ways that the changes they have upon each other are noticed, and monitored, and placed under suspicion, and finally... broken up, not by the clumsy, brute force that's been attempted over and over again, but by a promise to return into a violent, controlling system and to "make it better from within"

and all of this is wrapped up in two queer relationships + a third queered-within-the-text relationship that creates the inverse of how it ends for Aziraphale and Crowley (so far). queer love -- whatever shape that has -- is explicitly the shape of non-conformity within this narrative, including within the symbolism of angel-and-demon love of Gabriel and Beelzebub, which in the context of the systems created is considered queer (and one can argue till the cats come home about casting cis actors, about angel-and-demon notions of gender/romance/sexuality, but the "queerness" comes from building something non-conforming to the systems they exist in), and enforced by the explicitly our-world-definition-of queer romance that Nina and Maggie have going on (which, while less high stakes, still contains the background controlling relationship that Nina initially is in)

all of this to say, that I disagree that s2 meanders, or that plotlines happen for the sake of showcasing Aziraphale and Crowley without purpose, or that characters get sidelined (I'd say it sets up a whole host of interesting characters to further get into actually), or that it's strictly mainstream easy-access narrative that's just an excuse for the main creators and actors to get back together.

the love is the point, and this show takes its time to show the love (and the unequal boundary-setting, and the fact that one of them has an undiscussed tragic backstory, and the desperation to belong again, and the fear instilled by oppressive systems, and and and), so that we understand why those last 15 minutes happen the way that they do

it's sleight of hand, and like all good magic, you don't notice until it's happened

[amourcheol]

filmbro-zoned (teaser)

❝Who knew all it takes is a hot girl with top-tier taste for a man to admit he's wrong?❞

g e n r e : college! au, fluff, crack, suggestive

w o r d c o u n t : 1k for teaser (approx 20k words for full fic)

s u m m a r y : self-proclaimed movie mastermind chwe vernon minds his business—whether that be avoiding the popular, problematic kids in his college to reducing customer interest in his parents' film store. his plan of isolation, however, is completely destroyed when you, a seemingly insane disney fan, slams his perfect movie taste and ask for his help to take down an evil ex.

w a r n i n g s : loosely inspired by watching the detectives, film major! vernon who owns an outdated film store, mc is the baddest (but also the craziest) bitch in this fic, vernon is a loser, film major! mingyu who will be violated many times in this fic sorry king, mentions of many filmbro films which will also be violated, self-indulgent mentions of some of my favourite films, kissing, mentions of sex but no actual sex because im fearing god today, barbenheimer reference <3

p l a y l i s t : if you're too shy (then let me know) by the 1975 || q&a by seventeen || wonderful women by the smiths || confidence by ocean alley

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @hiraethmae @lllucere @intoanothermind @kokoiinuts

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : who would have thought i'd be writing a college au huh...alice will never let me live this down...also guys once again so sorry for constantly posting this hopefully i have found a way for the loophole...let us see if this teaser gets shown in the tags...

“WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON WOLF OF WALL STREET, AMERICAN PSYCHO, PULP FICTION…FIGHT CLUB, SAVING PRIVATE RYAN, SCARFACE…”

You squinted at the list, finding the names neverending. “Jeez, this list keeps going, huh?” 

He could not help the scoff. “And you called me a Filmbro.” He set his forearms on the counter, locking his hands together. “What do you need these movies for?”

“They’re for my ex-boyfriend.” 

The term had him pausing. Of course—the ex-boyfriend. How has he heard of this man, but not know a thing about him? Shit, he did not even know your name.

“This ex of yours has an…interesting taste,” he said slowly. “What’s he like?”

“I can tell you he attends the same college as you. Well, us,” you clarified, jerking your head towards the college colours of your server’s hoodie. “Film major. Just like you, actually.” 

“Oh?” Small world. “What’s the name?”

“Kim Mingyu. Do you know him?” 

Vernon Chwe nearly shit his oversized jeans.

A hesitant nod of his head. “I have a few classes with him.”

“Oh?” Your stare was a little more intense now. “What do you think of him?”

Right. 

Another fated question—the people around him had to stop asking him such controversial questions, or else he was bound to piss someone off. You were already letting him off the hook too many times; one more judgemental comment, and he was having that Princess movie set smashed on his head.

Kim Mingyu. Fuckass Kim Mingyu. Film major—just like him. One of the most popular boys in the year—very unlike him. All the teachers love his essays, all the girls love his freakishly-perfect six-pack, which Vernon is extremely irritated (and devastatingly intimidated) by. 

What all these people failed to realise, though, was that Mingyu was the biggest piece of shit to grace the halls of his university—and the planet, if dramatics were in order. If you thought that Vernon was a filmbro, then Mingyu was Filmbrother. Filmcomrade. Filmnemesis. 

It was as if you could hear the thoughts churning in his head. “You can be honest, you know. He did dump me at the end of the day.” A smirk began to appear. “Say your worst.”

The reassurance did not help. “I mean,” he started, swiping your card, “He’s okay? I haven’t talked to him enough to have an opinion on him.” 

A half-truth—that should suffice. 

But because the fates like to shit on his head every now and then for kicks, they decided to leave you unsatisfied with his answer. “Or, you can keep lying!” 

Excellent intuition, really. “I’m not!” he exclaimed, slapping the card back on the counter. “I really don’t know much about him.”

The big man upstairs was testing him even further, when, with a determined gaze, you set your elbows atop the surface. You leaned closer, tilting your head to the side as you inspected him, and Vernon blinked back at the sheer lack of space you had created. His mouth twisted, eyes frantically darting at the features of your face, not quite taking in the entirety of your being. Your vision seemed to work perfectly, because it caught the slight flush at the tops of his cheeks, where it was just pale skin seconds before.

Your smirk deepened. “Judging by your blush, you’re either terrible at lying…or,” you offered, voice lowering a little as you drummed your fingers against the counter, “You’ve never had a hot girl this close to you.” 

Fuck everything and everyone, because that only made him blush more furiously. You could not help the chuckle that escaped, deciding to cease torturing him and take your card. “I’ll not say the answer, Mr. Filmbro, but I think you already know.”

Since he had no plans of turning into a human form of a ketchup bottle, he evaded the topic entirely, instead focusing on interrogating you. “You still haven’t told me how Mingyu is related to the movie list you made.”

That seemed to hold your interest. “Oh, of course!” Putting the list back into your bag, you began, “Well, the list holds my ex-boyfriend’s favourite films. I wanted to know your opinion on a few.”

He could not contain his sigh. Oh, he had an opinion on these films that you mentioned. Again, he would rather be buried with his thoughts on the specific genre than ever tell you. The curiosity, though, was eventually going to eat him alive.

So much for minding his business.

“I mean…” he began to think, trying to find the right words. “I don’t mind them? Godfather is a good film, but I’ve seen better from Brando. I like American Psycho, but again, people tend to miss the point of the movie.”

As you nodded, listening to his two-cents on the movies you mentioned, he paused, furrowing his brows. “Why do you care about my opinion?”

You smacked your lips together, folding the list back. “I don’t know much about you, Mr. Filmbro,” you began, “But you don’t run a filmstore without knowing a thing or two about the films you sell.”

“So?” He crossed his arms atop the counter. “Shouldn’t you have asked the guy who you made the list about?”

“Trust me,” you said, your smirk turning more into a rageful flash of teeth, “I know exactly what he thinks of these films.”

Don’t particularly know what to make of that comment. “Well, I don’t know what my opinion for these films is going to help you in any way.”

“It has helped.” You paused then, waiting to see if he would egg you on, asking how his seemingly tame opinions would play into the grand scheme of things. “All part of my master plan.”

Master plan? Vernon may have been interested before, but he was certain that, before, he could have hid it without letting you catch onto it. In a sudden flash, though, as if his mouth was beyond his control, he regrettably slipped out the words which had you smiling more than he would have liked.

“What master plan?”

He almost closed his eyes. Shit. Now I’m fucking invested.

The corners of your mouth, lifting upwards, had him almost nervous. “I was hoping you would say that.” 

[aesthetically-dying101]

The Catalyst for Anguish

A/N: Idk how to format things on tumblr help, anyways,

WC: 15,000 (give or take) anyways this was fun, and miserable very slay im on a roll rn, locked and loaded idc. I love writting for pathetic men, yearning is iconic, also angst in this one? Sort of? (a tiny weany bit of 'im not like other girls' behavior IF YOU SQUINT) Reader is lowkey mean (shes scared ur honor), Gojo gets his feelings hurt, readers gets hurt, EVERYONE gets hurt (not the horses tho). if theres any mistakes, im sorry, ts not proofread

Shoko and Geto’s arrival for the wedding and After

Do not copy nor translate my work. :)

Over the top.

Lavish.

Fucking dramatic.

Those were the correct terms to refer to the Gojo family, and they were the only words that could possibly do justice to the event before you. 

The chandeliers-yes, multiple, above glittered like diamonds, casting a soft glow over the sea of silk and satin that filled the room. The scent of roses and incense swirled in the air, mingling with the laughter and gossip of nobles, merchants, and foreign dignitaries alike. It was a symphony of excess—an orchestra of opulence—curated by the very hands of the Gojo family.

These types of events were grand affairs, and this time around, your dear mother, had dragged you to one. It was rare- you hadn't gone to one in a while.

The grand hall of the Gojo estate was a spectacle, and you were there.  Just a shadow in it all- an expensive looking shadow. 

You didn’t belong here, not really. 

Not in this world of gleaming tiaras, sharp suits, and the incessant murmur of politics and status. You were the youngest daughter of a noble family, and to your mother’s dismay, the least remarkable.You were the youngest daughter of the esteemed, but not quite exceptional, noble family of Cordova, and you weren’t exactly the one anyone was eyeing tonight.

Five older sisters—each more beautiful, more charming, more eager than you—had long secured their place at the centre of every gathering. They glittered in conversation, graced the floors with smiles and flirts, and were cherished by the men and women who populated these extravagant walls.

But you?

You were relegated to the edges, left to fade into the background, a quiet observer.

In fact, you preferred it. 

Solitude was a friend you could rely on, while attention was a curse you could do without. You weren’t shy—not exactly. You simply knew the game, and you knew where you stood in it. Cold indifference was your armor. When they looked at you, they didn’t see much. No one cared to look closely, and that was fine by you.

The evening, as always, was about him. 

Prince Gojo. The returning hero, the darling of every highborn woman in the room, the man whose presence could send hearts fluttering and whispers scattering.

He stood at the centre of the room like he belonged there—because, of course, he did. Prince Gojo, the living embodiment of a fairytale prince, dazzling smile, impeccably tailored suit, and all. His hair gleamed under the light of the chandeliers, catching the faintest glimmer of gold, like the gods themselves had decided to put a little extra effort into his creation. Tall, handsome, charming in that effortless way that could make even the most cynical heart skip a beat.

Not yours, though. You were immune.

'Look at him,'you thought, sipping your champagne, 'the man who probably wakes up every morning to applause from the heavens.'

You snorted at your own thought.

'Does he even know how to walk into a room without acting like he owns it?' you mused, leaning against the cool marble pillar at the edge of the hall. 'Probably not.'

Your mother’s voice echoed in your head: 'Smile. Mingle. Be noticed.' The poor woman thought this was your golden opportunity. 

As if Prince Gojo would even spare a glance for the quiet girl hiding in the corner, dressed in a gown that, while very lovely, was more understated compared to the shimmering jewels and frothy tulle around you.

'Yes, Mother, because that’s exactly what I want—to throw myself at the feet of a man who already has a fan club bigger than the royal army.'

A passing servant offered you a tray of hors d'oeuvres. You plucked one absentmindedly, nibbling at it as you continued to observe the spectacle. 't’s all a performance,' you thought, 'and he’s the star.'

Yet, something about it all felt hollow, didn’t it? Beneath the glitter and the grandeur, beneath the adoring smiles and lavish praises—what was left? Did Prince Gojo ever get tired of it? Did he ever feel suffocated by the weight of everyone’s expectations? Or did he truly enjoy being the centre of attention, basking in their admiration like it was his birthright?

You sighed, finishing your champagne and setting the glass on a passing tray. 'Who am I kidding? He probably thrives on it.'

The thought was cut short as, almost as if he had heard you, Prince Gojo’s gaze swept across the room—and stopped. 

Right. On. You.

For a brief moment, your breath caught in your throat.

'Oh no.'

His eyes sparkled with something that could only be described as mischief, and that infuriatingly perfect smile widened, as if he’d just spotted his next amusement.

'Don’t you dare,' you thought. 'Don’t you even think about it—'

And then, to your horror, he began to make his way toward you, his stride confident, his smile never faltering.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea as Prince Gojo strode toward you, his smile gleaming like it was carved out of starlight. His every step seemed calculated for maximum impact, the way the silk of his jacket caught the light, the casual confidence in his movements. It was infuriating.

'Oh, wonderful,' you thought, panic bubbling just beneath the surface. 'Here comes the royal peacock himself.'

“(Y/N)!” he called out, his voice rich and warm, like you were old friends—like he hadn’t just upended the social balance of the entire room-also he knew your name??? Huh????. He smiled wider, as if this wasn’t the most mortifying moment of your life. “It’s been too long!”

'Oh gods, kill me now.'

He stopped in front of you, towering slightly, and leaned in like he was sharing a secret, though his voice carried for everyone to hear. 

“I almost didn’t recognise you. You’ve grown up since the riding lessons.” He tilted his head, the playful spark in his eyes unmistakable. “Do you remember those?”

You blinked, your lips tightening, trying to keep your expression neutral. Of course, you remembered. Barely. You’d spent those lessons keeping to yourself while Gojo entertained the world with his effortless charm, even as a child. And now he had the audacity to act like you were suddenly important?

“Vaguely,” you said flatly, arching a brow. “But you were always hard to miss.”

His grin widened, as if he thought you were flirting. Typical.

“Ah, I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said smoothly. “You were always the quiet one. But you were better on horseback than most of the adults.”

“Still am,” you replied, your tone sharp enough to cut glass. “Not that anyone noticed back then.”

His expression flickered for half a second, like he wasn’t used to people meeting his charm with cool indifference. Good.

“But I noticed,” he said, softening just a touch. “You were good. No—better than good.”

You didn’t bite, though. Instead, you took another slow sip from your glass and leaned back slightly, letting the silence stretch between you two. 

Let him squirm. It was oddly satisfying to watch the seemingly unshakeable Gojo flinch, even if just for a second.

He seemed to catch on quickly, though, his smile flickering slightly, as if he hadn’t expected you to challenge him.

“Not going to play along?” His voice was amused, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes- curiosity. 

“Enjoy the ball, Your Highness. Try not to break too many hearts.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving him standing there in the middle of his grand, glittering court. But not before you heard his final words, soft and amused, trailing after you like a whisper:

“I think you just broke mine.”

Yeah right, you thought, the sarcasm laced in your mind like armor. Like you even have one to break.

*-*

The ride home was suffocating.

The carriage rattled over cobblestones, the silence inside far more oppressive than the extravagant noise of the ball. Your mother sat across from you, hands folded neatly in her lap, lips pressed into a thin line. It wasn’t until the estate gates came into view that she finally spoke.

“Well?” she began, her voice clipped and cold. “Do you care to explain why you squandered an opportunity like that?”

You didn’t even pretend to misunderstand- if you did, she'd be angrier than she is. You knew exactly what she was referring to. Prince Gojo. The scene at the ball. The conversation that, to any prying eyes, must have looked like some grand, promising moment.

“I don’t see what there is to explain,” you said flatly, staring out the window at the passing darkened fields, thought the situation did make you slightly nervous. “We talked. Nothing more.”

Your mother clicked her tongue, and you had to physically restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. You hated this, your sisters had been far more suited for this.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she hissed, her left eye twitching ever so slightly, the anger bubbling beneath her otherwise composed demeanour. “Avoiding opportunities, brushing off perfectly good matches. Do you want to remain unmarried forever? A burden to your family?”

“I didn’t realize avoiding shallow conversation with a man who barely remembers me from childhood was such a grievous crime,” you said, turning your gaze back to the window. The fields outside blurred in the darkness.

“He remembered you,” she snapped, as if that alone should have sent you into paroxysms of gratitude. “He spoke to you. In public. Do you understand how rare that is? How valuable?”

Valuable. 

As if you were some rare trinket on display. You kept your gaze fixed on the passing fields, your jaw tightening. Yes, Mother, how valuable to be the girl everyone forgets—until a prince remembers. Yaysies.

The distant glow of your estate’s torches grew nearer, and your mother, with her spine straight as an iron rod, she looked almost imperial. You finally spoke.

“Valuable,” you repeated under your breath, as though tasting the word would somehow make it less insulting. “He was joking, Mother. What do you think? That I should be thrilled that Prince Gojo, in all his glory, noticed me for five minutes? That somehow, after all this time, that conversation is some kind of grand gesture?”

Her eye twitched again-oof not good.

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “Yes, I do think you should be thrilled. Do you know how many young women would kill for even a passing glance from him? And you—” She paused, her voice rising, trembling with fury barely held in check. “You threw it away like it was nothing. I will be telling your father about this."

“He wasn’t serious, Mother,” you said quietly, bitterness lacing every word. “He was mocking me.”

The carriage jolted over a rut in the road, but neither of you noticed. Your mother’s eyes narrowed. “Mocking?” she echoed, her voice dripping with disdain. “Mocking? Is that what you tell yourself so you can avoid responsibility for your own failures?”

You remained silent, knowing that the worst to come.

The instant your father would hear that the prince had called you out by name during the ball, that you had spoken... you were in for a long lecture. Maybe etiquette class? 

A little while later, the carriage arrived to your families estate. 

You stared at the entrance, knowing exactly what waited inside: more lectures, more disappointment, and your father’s sharp, practised disappointment. 

Lovely. Just the perfect way to end the night.

Your mother gathered her skirts, stepping out with the grace of someone born to make everything a performance. 

Straight to your father,” she said, her voice tight with anger and restrained fury, as if she were barely holding herself together. “You will explain yourself.”

 Explain what? That you had the audacity to not care that a prince—THE Prince Gojo—had noticed you, spoken to you, and made you feel like some kind of display piece for five minutes? Explain that to your father, who would somehow find a way to twist it into yet another lesson on how you were destined to be left behind if you didn’t start playing the game? 

Sure, no problem.

Easy peasy.

Your mother didn’t knock, just swept the door open and stepped in, her back straight and stiff with resolve. You followed behind her, your feet dragging like lead, your heart heavy with the impending confrontation.

“Lord Cordova,” your mother greeted your father with a cold nod. “We need to talk.”

Your father looked up from his desk, his brows furrowing slightly at the tension in her voice.

 “She wasted an opportunity,” your mother hissed, not bothering with preamble. “In front of the entire court, she spoke with Prince Gojo and—”

Your father took in a sharp breath.

"Who?!"

Ah fuck.

“Who did she speak to? Prince Gojo? The Crown Prince Gojo?” Your father looked like he went through all five stages of grief in an instant.

Oh, great. Here we go. The Prince Gojo. As if there were multiple Gojos strolling around the ball, handing out attention like confetti.

“Yes,” you muttered, keeping your tone flat, hoping the ground might open up and swallow you whole. “We spoke.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. It was cold, hollow, the kind of laugh that made you feel like a child being scolded for something ridiculous.

"Ha..." he chuckled, but there was nothing even remotely funny about it. "You spoke with Prince Gojo..." He repeated the words like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, as if it was somehow a joke.

Your mother didn’t give him time to process, of course. She was too furious, too eager to see you punished. 

"She refused to even entertain the possibility," she snapped. "Turned away from the chance of securing a match with one of the most eligible men in the entire kingdom." She turned to you, her eyes narrowing. "Do you know how many women would kill for that chance, and you—” she practically spat the words, “—you wasted it.”

You stayed silent, knowing that if you spoke, you would be digging your own grave.

“Do you realize how rare an opportunity that was?” he asked, his voice now hard, stern. “Prince Gojo is—he’s everything.” His words trailed off, as though he didn’t even know how to finish the sentence without sounding ridiculous.

"It was just a conversation, just about how we used to have horse ridding lessons when we were younger-" You didn't even finish.

"So?" Your mother snapped. "You turned away from him first. You could've done something."

"Right. Of course. My apologies." 

And of course your parents went on tirades, but you simply tuned them out. Instead, you closed your eyes, wishing that this time, you could just disappear—vanish into the shadows where no one could find you, where no one could make you feel this small.

*-*

The first letter arrived on a dreary Tuesday morning. 

It was simple, almost annoyingly so, like a child’s handwriting scribbled on the back of a napkin. Your mother found it first, of course, her eyes nearly bulging out of her head when she saw the wax seal-the royal was seal. She'd nearly ripped the damn thing open with more enthusiasm than a child on their birthday.

“It’s from him,” she breathed, more to herself than to you. “Prince Gojo… he wrote to you.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. 

And then, with the full force of your sarcasm, you said, “Did he? How nice.”

“How nice?” she shrieked, as if the sheer understatement of your words might cause her to combust. “This is more than nice! This is…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence, her breath catching in her throat, choking on the excitement. She turned toward the door, already calling for your father. “Edward! Edward, come quickly!”

You lifted your brow at that, your mother using your fathers first name was a rarity. 

You sighed, leaning back in your chair, already tired of whatever circus was about to unfold. 'Of course. Let’s make it a family affair. Gods forbid we handle this with a shred of dignity', you thought.

Your father came stomping in, his heavy boots thudding against the floor, looking as though he expected to find the house on fire , or worse- one of your sisters involved in something disastrous, like an elopement with the local baker- that would probably kill your mother. 

“What is it?” he demanded, brow furrowed in concern.

Your mother shoved the letter toward him like it was a trophy, her hands trembling. 

“It’s a letter. From the prince. To her.”

He stared at the letter for a long moment, then at you, and back again, like he couldn’t quite believe it. Finally, he snatched it from her hands, his eyes scanning the outside of the envelope, his expression unreadable.

“Maybe he's inviting me to be the court jester? Because I think he’s already got that role covered- but hey, the more the merrier.” You ironised. 

Your father's gaze snapped to you, his expression hovering between disbelief and exasperation. “Do you ever take anything seriously?” he asked, voice low and edged with frustration.

Your father finally opened the letter, his fingers trembling just slightly. He read it once. Twice. His brow furrowed. 

“Well?” your mother demanded impatiently, her voice barely holding back her excitement.

It was an invitation to one of the royal riding events, something Prince Gojo had apparently personally requested your presence at. He’d written that he remembered you from childhood, and he thought it would be enjoyable to reconnect. No pressure. No formalities. Just company.

Your father read it once, then twice, before handing it off to your mother.

“This…” your father began, his voice tight. “This is… this is something.”

Your mother, clutching the letter like a prize, barely contained herself. 

“Do you see this? Do you see this? He remembers you. He wants to see you again!” Her voice was a high-pitched.

“I can’t believe this,” your father said, his voice barely a whisper. He seemed stuck somewhere between disbelief and awe. “He actually wants to see her. The Prince Gojo. The one who could have any woman he wanted, and he wants you.”

Ouch. Right in the ego.

The room was silent for a moment. You could practically feel your parents’ hopes, their expectations, suffocating you from all sides.

"You will go. You will. I will personally drag you there myself." Your mother noted. 

"Yes mother." You answered in a monotone voice. 

*-*

The riding 'lesson' was arranged for the following week. You almost didn’t want to go. In fact, you spent the night before convincing yourself that you could fake illness, or perhaps just lock yourself in your room and claim to be otherwise occupied. 

But, you found yourself in the stables, eyeing your horse with a mixture of indifference and dread. It was a beautiful animal—sleek, strong, and clearly well-trained. But the very idea of being around other people, let alone royalty, still twisted your insides.

When you’d reluctantly agreed to Gojo’s invitation, you hadn’t really expected him to show up. Or at least not without some entourage. 

'A royal event', you thought with a smirk, 'where the prince shows up with five of his closest companions—each more glamorous than the last'.

But Gojo arrived alone. His usual confident stride looked a little off today, his posture less assured. His usual charisma had dimmed to something quieter, more subdued.

"Ready to ride?" Gojo’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you blinked, momentarily startled by the directness of his gaze. He was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Guess so," you replied, trying to match his tone, though the sarcasm was laced thick enough to cut through steel. "Although I must admit, I’m disappointed. No royal entourage? No retinue of nobles to witness this grand moment?"

He chuckled, but there was a flatness to it, a humorless edge that made you look at him with a little more curiosity.

 "I thought you’d enjoy the peaceful version," he said lightly, motioning to the open fields behind him. "No drama, no politics, just... us. And a couple of horses."

"Just us? Hmm... sounds too simple for a royal prince. You sure you’re not secretly plotting something elaborate, like a dramatic rescue or a battle of some sort?" You lifted your brow.

He just laughed, as usual, like your sarcasm was nothing but a joke to him. “No, I promise. But seriously, I’m glad you came.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What, are you that desperate for company?”

He shrugged, and gestured towards the saddles, the horses. 

“Ready to show off your legendary riding skills again?” Gojo teased, grinning that carefree, almost annoyingly perfect smile of his.

You shot him a sideways glance, unimpressed. “Well, I won’t hold back just because you’re the prince. I’m still better than you.”

Gojo laughed, the sound like a sudden burst of light. 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” He mounted his horse with an ease that came from years of practice. You couldn’t help but notice how effortless he made it look, how comfortable he seemed in his own skin, even when surrounded by expectations.

The ride was uneventful at first, the two of you pushing the horses into a steady trot, the rhythmic sound of hooves against the dirt grounding you both. You fell into a comfortable silence, and though it was easy to pretend this was just another day, you couldn’t ignore the subtle awkwardness between you. He didn’t seem like someone who thrived on small talk, and you weren’t exactly an expert in pretending to care about things you didn’t.

“You know,” Gojo started, his voice cutting through the quiet as his horse matched your pace. “It’s been nice. Having someone to ride with again.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him sideways- the fuck was he on?

“You don’t seem like the lonely type.”

He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. 

“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? I am.” He took a deep breath, the smile slipping from his face as the tension in his shoulders became evident. “Geto and Shoko left. And I didn’t realize just how much I’d come to rely on them…until they were gone.”

"Ah. So that's what this is? You're in need of company? Don't you have a flock of people that would love to be in my place?"

Gojo didn’t flinch though. 

Instead, he just looked at you—really looked at you, as if he was searching for something in your eyes. And you almost short circuited. No one had looked at you like that in a very, very long time. 

“It’s funny, right? You think I’ve got it all, that everything is handed to me on a silver platter. But it’s not like that. I’ve had friends... well, used to have friends.” His lips pressed together in a thin line. “Geto and I had a big fight before he left. And Shoko? She went south to be a physician. Guess there was no room for a prince in her life.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, almost automatically. The words felt out of place coming from you, but there they were, falling from your lips like some strange, uninvited guest. "I didn’t know."

He shrugged, the motion light and careless, though there was a heaviness in his light blue eyes.

“You don’t need to be. It’s just... it’s just been hard, you know? I’ve got this image to keep up. But sometimes, I just need someone who isn’t... impressed.” He paused, glancing at you with a kind of odd sincerity. “Someone who doesn’t expect anything.”

“Well,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended. “I guess I’m good at not expecting things.” You smirked. “It’s a talent of mine.”

Gojo grinned at that, though it was more subdued this time.

“I’m starting to think that’s why I liked you when we were kids. You don’t care about any of this.” He gestured loosely to the royal estate in the distance, his voice light but the weight of his words not lost on you. “The politics, the attention, the obligations. You don’t care.” 

“Well,” you said, forcing a nonchalant shrug. “That’s probably because I’m too busy trying to stay out of the spotlight. Honestly, I’m just trying to keep my head down until everyone forgets I’m here.”

He laughed again, though this time it was more like a soft exhale, as if the laughter itself was a little bittersweet. 

“If only it were that easy for me.” He glanced back toward the estate, his eyes distant. “Sometimes I wish I could just disappear, you know? No one expects anything from me. No one looks at me like I’m the answer to their problems, like I’m supposed to be the one to fix everything.”

And silence settled, the two of you rode together, the silence between you almost comfortable, the distance between your worlds just a little bit smaller. But as the day wore on, you realized that even though Gojo had invited you for a ride, what he’d really been looking for was someone who could just be.

 No titles. No expectations. Just two people.

And maybe, just maybe, you were the only one who didn’t want anything from him.

Just a friend.

*-*

When you finally returned home, the estate felt quieter than usual, the kind of eerie silence that only came after an eventful day. You had barely gotten past the front gates when you saw your mother standing near the foyer, her eyes wide with that familiar glint of excitement. 

Your mother’s sharp eyes followed your every move, and the unmistakable glint of hope was in her gaze—if you could call it hope. It looked more like desperation mixed with a touch of victory. Your stomach twisted in response.

You barely made it inside before she pounced.

"How was the ride?" she asked eagerly, her voice high-pitched, almost too enthusiastic. "Did His Highness say anything interesting? How did it go? Tell me everything, everything!"

You blinked. Almost tempted to say that the prince fell off his horse and died.

Maybe she'd leave you alone.

"It went fine," you muttered, doing your best to sound as uninterested as possible. “We rode. We talked.”

She caught that last word like it was a golden nugget. "Talked? Talked?! What did he say? Was it—was it personal? Oh, I bet it was. I knew you two would get along!" She clapped her hands together, her eyes wide with hope.

"Talked about riding lessons," you deadpanned. "And horses. You know, the usual riveting topics."

Your mother blinked, momentarily deflated, but then quickly recovered. "Horses... horses?" Her voice cracked a little as she tried to keep the excitement alive. "Well, that’s a start. That’s fine. But it’s not just about horses, darling. You know what’s important, right?" She leaned forward, her eyes glinting with that familiar, almost manic gleam. “This is Prince Gojo we’re talking about! The Prince Gojo. He could choose anyone, and he’s choosing you. That’s what matters!”

You stifled the urge to groan. Of course, she’d see it that way. To her, Gojo wasn’t a person. He was a prize, a trophy, something to elevate your family’s standing.

"Yeah," you muttered, glancing down at your boots. "He’s really chosen me, alright. He’s not after anything, though. He just needs someone to talk to." You could almost hear the sarcasm dripping off your words.

"Oh, darling," she said with a dismissive wave, “you’re being modest. I know you’re not used to being pursued like this, but that’s exactly what’s happening. Can’t you see it? He’s interested in you. Not your sisters, not anyone else. Just you."

You opened your mouth to answer that no, he didn't want you, he just wanted a friend. But she didn't let you. 

"Why are you so determined to downplay this?" Her voice cracked, though you could tell she was trying to mask it with an air of control. "Do you understand what this could mean for our family? You’re not just some noble daughter, darling. You’re a potential princess. Think of it!"

“A potential princess?” you echoed in disbelief, shaking your head. “I’m a nobody. I’m not some prize for Gojo to win. I’m not some... not some step in the right direction for his royal bloodline.” You let the bitterness seep into your voice now, because really, what else was there left to do?

Your mother didn’t seem to hear any of it. She was too lost in her dreams of grandeur. 

"You’re wrong. You’ll see. He’ll come for you. He’s just being careful, like all men are-especially one of his standing." She smiled as if she had already won the game, as if all her efforts were somehow paying off, one letter at a time. “This will be the beginning of everything.”

You could only stare at her, a hollow ache in your chest. Maybe it wasn’t even about Gojo anymore. 

Maybe it never was. Maybe it was just about your mother wanting so badly for you to mean something in the grand scheme of things. To be something more than just the second youngest Cordova, the one who wasn’t quite pretty enough, wasn’t quite clever enough, wasn’t quite anything enough.

You were tired. So tired of all the expectations. 

So tired of never being enough in the eyes of your family.

“Sure, Mom,” you said quietly, fighting back the sting behind your eyes. “I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

But you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that it wouldn’t. That, in the end, you weren’t the one who mattered at all. 

You were just a pawn, waiting to be played.

And that was the worst part. You didn't even know if you could blame Gojo for it.

*-*

That white haired, blue eyed motherfucker didn't stop sending you letters.

Much to your shaggrine.

Every event, every horse ride... it meant your parents planning and scheming further.

Now even the gossipers knew of you- and not like they had in the past, as the failure daughter of the Cordona family, but this time, as the girl who caught the Crown Prince's eye.

How fun.

*-*

The first time Gojo asked to hang out again, it was after one of the many royal events you’d been dragged to. As usual, he’d found you hiding near the back, surrounded by delicate conversations about politics, fashion, and all the things you couldn’t care less about. When his presence loomed at your side, you thought for a second you were imagining things.

“Hey,” Gojo said, a playful glint in his eyes. “Fancy a walk?”

You blinked. “Is this part of the royal entertainment package? Because I’m not really in the mood to be paraded around like a prize horse.”

“Come on,” he said, unfazed. “You could use a break from the charm of the nobility.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re starting to sound like you’re in a bad romance novel.”

He grinned, his eyes gleaming. “Well, if the crown fits…”

You snorted. “It doesn’t, though. You’re not that charming.”

“Right. And you’re definitely not that sarcastic.”

You shot him a look. “I’m not sarcastic. I’m just... realistic... and funny. ”

By the end of the walk, you were both a little damp from the rain, but Gojo seemed completely unfazed. There was something... unnervingly easy about being around him. No masks, no titles, no expectations. Just him, and you, having a quiet moment where neither of you had to be anyone but yourselves.

Too bad it’s all just a game. A distraction. Whatever.

*-* 

It happened over the course of multiple months.

It started innocently enough. He appeared another morning at the stables, after summoning you again, and far too early for any reasonable royal, but of course, it was Gojo. 

Grinning, sparkling, irritating as ever.

“Thought I’d join you for a ride,” he announced, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

"Again, didn't have a choice, you summoned me." You eyed him, unimpressed. “Since when do you get up before noon?”

“Since now.” He swung himself onto a horse with an obnoxious flourish. “Admit it, you missed me.”

“Like a hole in the head,” you muttered, but rode alongside him anyway.

*-*

The rain battered the windows of the small sitting room where you found yourself, Gojo lounging across from you with a chessboard between you. 

He was terrible at it. Absolutely atrocious.

How was he the crowned prince and couldn't play chess??

“Is it normal to lose three pawns in one move?” he asked, moving a piece in some bizarre diagonal.

“No,” you deadpanned, flicking your knight into position. “But it is impressive.”

He squinted at the board, lips quirking. “I think you’re cheating.”

You arched a brow. “You think I need to cheat?”

His laughter filled the room, and for a moment, the storm outside seemed distant. 

You smiled, even if it was a tiny bit.

'It’s nice,' you thought, surprised at the warmth that bloomed in the quiet. 'But it’s just Gojo. Nothing more.'

*-*

He insisted you come to the royal festival with him. You didn’t want to—large crowds, loud music, pointless parades. But he showed up at your door anyway, eyes shining.

“You need to see the fireworks,” he said, practically dragging you along. “They’re better than the ones at the palace.”

“I hate fireworks,” you lied, trying to ignore the way your heart jumped when his hand brushed yours.

“Then you’ve been watching the wrong ones,” he replied, grinning.

And later, as the sky exploded in color, you caught him staring—not at the fireworks, but at you.

"Fucking hell.." You mumbled- your mother would've slapped the back of your head if she had heard?

“See?” he said softly. “Better.”

You looked away, pretending you hadn’t noticed. 'It’s nothing. He’s just… Gojo.'

*-*

A letter arrived, unexpected and short. Just a few lines, hastily scribbled.

"Thought you might like this."

With it was a small pressed flower, one from the field where you used to ride as children.

You stared at it for a long time, unsure what to feel- friends right? Yeah. Friends. 

Your mother, of course, thought it was a declaration. “He’s clearly smitten!” she said, eyes gleaming.

“He’s not,” you replied, setting the flower aside. “He’s just bored.”

But the ache in your chest didn’t agree.

*-*

It happened slowly, almost imperceptibly, like rain softening stone over time. One moment, you were just a quiet figure in the background of Gojo’s grand, glittering world—a respite from the endless parade of sycophants and expectations. And the next, without warning, you were more. More than the silent companion. More than just the girl who gave him honest, unfiltered conversation. More than a friend, though Gojo didn’t have the self-awareness to name it.

Not yet.

*-*

It started small. Little things that, to anyone else, might’ve seemed insignificant.

Gojo found himself lingering longer after your rides, watching as you meticulously tended to your horse, the way your hands moved with a practiced ease, the faint crease between your brows when you concentrated. He liked that you didn’t fawn over him like everyone else. You treated him like an equal—or sometimes, like an annoyance, which was oddly refreshing.

'She’s just a good friend', he told himself, leaning casually against the stable wall, arms crossed as he watched you brush down your horse. 'That’s all it is. A good friend who’s good at ignoring my jokes and doesn’t care that I’m a prince. Simple.'

"Do you need something?" you asked without turning around.

Gojo grinned, but it faltered slightly when you didn’t look up. 

"What? Can’t a guy enjoy some quality stable time?" he quipped, even though part of him felt like an idiot for standing there, loitering like some lovesick stablehand.

You glanced over your shoulder, arching a brow. “Stable time,” you repeated flatly, as though the words themselves were somehow offensive. "Right. Because that’s what you’re here for. Not to avoid your royal duties or anything."

He laughed, but it felt a little hollow. “You know me too well.”

You shrugged, returning to your task. "Someone has to. You’re not exactly subtle, Gojo."

Not subtle. He rolled the words over in his mind later, lying awake in his ridiculously oversized bed. His head sank into the silk pillow, but sleep wouldn’t come. He told himself it was the simplicity he appreciated. No pretense. No hidden agendas. Just the two of you, existing in a space where titles didn’t matter. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, staring up at the ornate ceiling. He could still hear your voice, low and unamused, calling him out on his nonsense like no one else dared.

*-*

Meanwhile, your mother was relentless, the moment you stepped through the door.

“Another afternoon with the prince,” she cooed, practically draped in self-satisfaction. “And still, you act as though it’s nothing. Darling, do you understand what this means?”

You dropped your riding gloves onto the table, your face carefully neutral. “Yes, Mother,” you said, voice void of emotion. “It means I’m the only person who isn’t throwing themselves at him.”

Her smile faltered for a moment, but she rallied quickly, the determined sparkle returning to her eyes. “Exactly. That’s what makes you different. That’s what makes you special. He doesn’t want someone like your sisters—he wants you.”

You resisted the urge to scream, your voice cold and clipped. “He wants someone who doesn’t expect anything from him. Someone who doesn’t care.”

She smiled wider, not even hearing the ache in your voice. “Exactly.”

*-*

The first time Gojo realised something had shifted, it was months later- 7 months later exactly, it was raining.

 Not the pleasant, soft drizzle that made you want to curl up with a book, but the kind of torrential downpour that turned roads into rivers and made the air thick and heavy. He’d been sitting by the window in his private study, watching the rain streak the glass, when your face flashed in his mind.

She probably loves this kind of weather, he thought absently. Probably smirking right now, pretending not to be annoyed but secretly hating every second of being soaked.

The thought came unbidden, and it should’ve been harmless. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t because he could practically hear your voice in his head, that sharp-edged sarcasm you wielded like a weapon. He could hear you teasing him, calling him out on his ridiculousness, and it made him smile.

Then the smile faded as realisation clawed at him. Why am I thinking about her?

*-*

Then came the letters.

More of them. Invites to more royal events, more occasions where he made it clear—without actually saying it—that he wanted your company. It wasn’t about love. No, you knew better than that. But somehow, every invitation felt like it was designed just to keep you in his orbit.

"You’re coming to the ball next week, right?" he asked, casually, his fingers trailing over the rim of his wineglass. "It’d be good to see you again."

You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms. "Why? You’re not tired of my company yet?"

He paused, his smile faltering for just a moment. "I don’t get tired of good company," he said softly, the words as sincere as they were out of place. You caught the edge of his gaze—a look that said something more, but he was too busy pretending it wasn’t there.

Yeah, right. Good company. More like he was trying to convince himself of that, trying to make himself believe he wasn’t doing all of this because, secretly, he was trying to win you over.

But you knew better than to fall for that. He was just playing the game. The same one everyone else played. He didn’t know how to stop. Not when it came to impressing people.

The worst part was, you could see it now. You could see the game. You could see the subtle moves, the small gestures, the extra attention. But that didn’t mean you had to play along. Did you?

Did you?

Your sarcasm was your armor, the only thing you could rely on, because deep down, it didn’t matter what Gojo really felt. It didn’t matter if he was falling for you or if this was just another phase for him. What mattered was that he never seemed to notice that you weren’t like the others.

The others? They would’ve eaten this up. They would’ve been flattered by the attention, thrilled by the idea of the prince wanting their company.

You?

You were tired.

And no amount of his flashy tricks or his stupid little gestures was going to change that.

"Yeah, I’ll come to the ball," you said finally, your voice flat. "But don’t expect me to act like I’m impressed."

Gojo blinked, his grin fading, and for a brief moment, you swore you saw a flicker of something in his eyes. 

A flash of doubt and guilt.

But you didn’t stick around long enough to find out. You turned away, your heart heavy, and left the room before you had to see him try any harder.

Because you both knew how this would end, didn’t you?

In the end, it was never going to be enough- you were never going to be enough.

*-*

The music swelled as he spun you into the center of the ballroom, other dancers parting to make room as though you were the only two people there. His hand rested at your waist, his grip firm but not unpleasant. It was almost… gentle.

"You didn’t have to," you said quietly as he twirled you. "I’m sure someone else would’ve been far more excited for this."

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Didn’t have to what?"

"Make a scene. Drag me onto the floor."

His smile faltered for a split second, and there it was again—that flicker of guilt, maybe. But it passed quickly, and the mask of charm slid back into place. "I wasn’t aware I was dragging. I thought I was dancing."

You rolled your eyes. "You know what I mean."

He sighed, spinning you again, slower this time. "Maybe I just like spending time with you."

You snorted softly, shaking your head. "You like the idea of it, maybe. The simplicity. I’m not like the others, right? No expectations, no drama." The bitterness bled through, and you didn’t care enough to stop it. "But it’s not real. You’re not real."

Gojo’s grip on your waist tightened, just for a moment, and his expression darkened. "Why do you do that?" he asked softly, voice low enough that only you could hear. "Act like I’m a joke."

You blinked, startled by the seriousness in his tone. "Because you are," you whispered back. "And so am I."

The music swirled around you, but neither of you moved. You were stuck, locked in a dance that felt more like a battle. His smile had vanished completely now, replaced by something raw, something too close to real.

Everyone was staring.

"I’m not mocking you," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "I never was."

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure. "Then what are you doing?"

He didn’t answer. He just stared at you, searching, as if he was trying to find the right words and failing. And for once, Prince Gojo—the man who always had something witty to say—was silent.

The music ended. He let go of you slowly, his hand lingering for just a moment longer than it should have. You stepped back, breath shallow, and forced yourself to smile.

"Thank you for the dance," you said, cold and polite, like it hadn’t just broken something inside both of you.

You walked away before he could say anything else, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the ballroom.

Your parents’ faces glowed with triumph as you returned, but all you felt was hollow.

Because the truth was, it didn’t matter if he was falling for you.

You weren’t sure you wanted him to.

*-*

ately, there were moments when his confidence faltered, when his eyes seemed too earnest, too searching, as if he was looking for something that wasn’t there.

It was during a sparring session, of all things.

You had agreed to join a small group for practice, mostly to pass the time. You didn’t care for swordplay, but you knew it was something that would help you keep your mind distracted from the incessant pressure of your family and the mounting tension with Gojo.

At first, it was the usual: he was flawless, dancing around opponents with that cocky grin on his face, effortlessly deflecting blows and making mockeries of anyone who dared challenge him. The onlookers laughed, cheering him on like he was some kind of legend. He was a legend, to them—he was a prince, after all.

But then, as the practice wore on, Gojo’s gaze kept flicking to you. It wasn’t the usual teasing, the usual flirtation. It was almost… nervous. Like he was waiting for something—waiting for your approval?

Was he?

Those couple times when you managed to lock eyes-for a fleeting moment, he looked like a little boy, begging for approval, wanting to be seen beyond the prince-the soldier he was.

'Nuh uh' was the only thing going through your head.

*-*

The next time you saw him was days later, at another royal gathering. Of course, your mother insisted you attend, as if every event was an opportunity for you to be seen, to make a perfect impression. You slipped into the corner of the ballroom, barely noticed by the glittering crowd around you.

And that’s when it happened again.

As soon as Gojo stepped into the hall, his eyes locked on your figure, almost as if he always knew where you were. This time, there was something different—something almost desperate. You tried to focus on the sparkling chandeliers and the murmur of conversation around you, but your gaze kept straying back to him. He wasn’t smiling like he usually did. He wasn’t the carefree, cocky prince. 

He looked… lost.

Was it just you, or was it really happening? Was Gojo—Prince Gojo—the untouchable, flawless man—falling for you?

And if so, why?

You couldn’t risk believing in him. Not when you were just another thing to conquer.

*-*

The tension in the royal court had been simmering for months, and now it was boiling over.

So you withdrew from court. 

Naturally, you feigned illness, you wanted nothing to do with the crown prince. Much to your parents dismay. At first your mother was beyond furious-but your father.. your father noticed how exhausted and distant you had become. So he laid off your back. 

But it didn't matter, the damage was done, eight months of being friends with the crown prince doesn't just disappear. The air buzzed with whispers, rumors spreading like wildfire. It was no longer a question of if Gojo would marry—it was who. And the speculation only grew louder as the days passed.

You heard it all, of course. Curtesy of your mother- and sometimes your sisters who would come have dinner. And anyways, the nobles had a way of making sure you knew, especially since your family’s name had started to surface in hushed conversations. The Cordova family was respectable, wealthy enough, but not particularly powerful. That was, until Gojo began to show interest—or whatever it was he was doing—in you.

And now? Now, suddenly, your family was worth noticing.

You stood on the balcony of your estate, the cool breeze brushing against your skin. Below, in the garden, your mother and father were deep in conversation with some visiting noble. No doubt they were basking in the newfound attention, relishing every rumor like it was gold.

*-*

Inside the palace walls, things weren’t much better. Gojo sat in the grand hall, his advisors gathered around him like vultures. The marble floors gleamed beneath them, the high ceilings amplifying every tense word.

He wanted to strangle one or two- actually no. The lot of them.

“You cannot continue like this, Your Highness,” one of the elder advisors said, his voice trembling with a mix of exasperation and desperation. “The kingdom needs stability. A marriage alliance would provide that.”

Gojo leaned back in his chair, the lazy arrogance he so often wore like a second skin noticeably absent. Instead, he looked tired, his usual spark dimmed. He didn’t even bother to hide the irritation in his voice.

“And you think marrying someone will solve all our problems?” he drawled. “I wasn’t aware a wedding could fix political unrest.”

Another advisor, younger and more ambitious, chimed in. “It’s not just about you, Your Highness. It’s about the future of the throne. You need someone who can solidify alliances.”

Gojo sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I know what you want,” he said quietly, his voice sharp with annoyance. “You want me to pick some perfectly obedient noblewoman, smile for the portraits, and pretend everything’s fine.”

The older advisor stepped forward. “This isn’t just about you! You owe it to the kingdom.”

“Owe it?” Gojo’s voice rose, and for a moment, the tired prince was gone, replaced by a man on the edge. “I’ve given everything to this kingdom. My time. My freedom. My life. And now you want me to hand over my heart too? No.”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. 

*-*

Back at your estate, the rumors finally reached your ears in full force.

Your mother burst into the sitting room, eyes alight with barely contained excitement. “It’s happening,” she whispered, practically vibrating with glee. “The court is pushing for a match. They’re pressuring him to choose.”

You didn’t look up from your book. “How fascinating,” you said dryly. “Do you think they’ll host a tournament? Maybe I should start sharpening my sword.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be so flippant. This could change everything for us.”

“For us,” you repeated, glancing up at her with a raised brow. “But not for me.”

Her face flushed with frustration. “You are so ungrateful. Do you realize what an opportunity this is? You could be queen.”

You laughed, the sound cold and hollow. “Queen of what? A man who doesn’t care? A court that sees me as a pawn? No, thank you.”

She advanced on you, eyes blazing. “You think you’re above this? You think you’re better than the rest of us?”

“No,” you said quietly, your voice like ice. “I think I’ve just learned the difference between being wanted and being used.”

She stared at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before she finally turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

*-*

A month after withdrawing from court, your mother had had enough of your 'tantrums', and dragged you to another ball.

It was another grand affair, another gilded evening of silks and jewels—this time, a royal ceremony commemorating some diplomatic victory. You wore a dress chosen by your mother, a confection of midnight blue that made you feel like a reluctant participant in someone else’s dream. 

You were staring at the small champagne glass in your hand, it was half full- wondering if you could potentially drown yourself in it.

The chandeliers glimmered above, casting golden light across the gathered crowd, but the weight in your chest had nothing to do with the elegance of the scene.

It was the conversation you’d overheard.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. You were wandering the fringes of the ballroom, hoping to find a moment of peace when you caught the hushed voices of Gojo’s advisors behind a column. You didn’t recognize all the voices, but one was unmistakably his chief advisor.

“Prince Gojo has been far too indulgent,” the man said, his voice clipped and frustrated. “It’s time he stopped playing games. The Cordova girl is a practical match. Their family isn’t as high as some, but they bring wealth, connections. And she’s pliable enough.”

Pliable. Like you were some piece of clay to be molded.

“Does he know?” another voice asked, quieter but equally firm.

“He doesn’t have to. He’ll come around. He’s already spending all this time with her, isn’t he? A few more nudges, and he’ll fall in line.”

You felt like the ground had dropped beneath you-then you felt foolish, embarrassed even.

Everything—the letters, the riding lessons, the moments that felt almost real—was nothing more than a well-calculated push. You’d been naive, hadn’t you? Letting yourself believe, even for a moment, that maybe you were different. Maybe you weren’t just another pawn in this game.

But you were.

*-*

From that moment, you decided to pull away. Emotionally, physically—you retreated into yourself.

Those fuckers had tried to play you? Well two could play that game.

You became colder, more distant. When Gojo sought you out, you found excuses: sudden headaches, an urgent need to be elsewhere. You danced with others at the ball, smiled at others, but never him.

Gojo noticed.

Of course he did. He noticed everything about you. Down to your breathing pattern.

He cornered you in the gardens a month later, in the evening, the moon casting silver light over his face. His usual playful grin was gone, replaced by something more fragile, more confused.

"You’ve been avoiding me," he said, his voice soft but edged with tension.

You didn’t meet his eyes, focusing instead on the stone path beneath your feet. "I’ve been busy."

Gojo scoffed, stepping closer. "Busy? You’ve never been good at lying, you know."

Your heart twisted painfully, but you forced yourself to stay distant. "What can I for you, Your Highness?"

Oof, formal tittle? That wasn't good. His frustration bubbled to the surface, and for once, his mask slipped.

 "I want to know what I did. One moment we’re fine, and the next, it’s like I don’t exist. Did I offend you? Say something wrong?"

You laughed, a bitter sound that echoed in the still night. 

"Offend me? No, Gojo. You didn’t offend me. You’ve been perfectly charming, as always."

"Then what is it?" His voice cracked slightly, and that vulnerability you’d seen creeping into his eyes was suddenly laid bare. "Why are you pulling away?"

You finally looked at him then, your expression carefully blank. "Because I know what this is."

He frowned, confusion flickering across his face. "What are you talking about?"

"I heard them," you said, the words tasting like ash. "Your advisors. Talking about how this—" you gestured vaguely between the two of you, "—isn’t real. How they’ve been pushing you toward me because I’m a ‘practical match.’"

His face paled. "That’s not—"

"Don’t," you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended. "Don’t lie to me. I’m not stupid, Gojo. I know how these things work. I know what I am."

"You don’t," he insisted, stepping forward, his eyes desperate now. "You don’t know. They can push all they want, but that’s not why—"

"Then why?" you demanded, your voice trembling. "Why did you seek me out? Why the letters, the rides, the—everything? If it wasn’t because they told you to, then why?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came. He looked like he wanted to say something, like he was on the verge of some great revelation, but nothing emerged.

You laughed again, softer this time, but no less bitter. "That’s what I thought."

"No," he said, almost a whisper. "It’s not like that."

"Isn’t it?" You shook your head, stepping back. "You don’t even know what you want. You’re torn between your heart and your duty, and I’m just the convenient middle ground. You don’t have to choose if I’m already here, right?"

"That’s not fair," he said, his voice breaking. "I didn’t want this."

"Neither did I," you snapped. "I never asked for any of this, Gojo. I never wanted to be part of your world. But here we are. And now I have to watch you pretend this is something more while knowing it’s just another move in a game I never wanted to play."

He was silent, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world had finally crushed him.

"You should go," you said softly, turning away. "Go be the prince they need you to be."

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, finally, you heard his footsteps retreating, leaving you alone in the cold moonlight. As he left, you swore you heard him whisper:

"I just wanted a friend."

But you couldn't be sure, it was probably the wind.

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to cry.

*-*

At first, Gojo had told himself that it was just a phase—that you were upset, perhaps, or just needing space. But with every passing day, the silence between the two of you became louder, more suffocating. He had spent so many years avoiding the weight of responsibility, always choosing to float above it all with his charm, his wit, and his easy smile. 

But now, in the cold quiet of the night, as he sat alone in his study, the weight of his actions hit him with full force.

'I’m an idiot.'

He had been blind. So incredibly blind. He had spent all this time thinking he was merely enjoying your company—thinking that what was happening between the two of you was simple, carefree friendship. But now he realised, painfully, that it was so much more than that. It was love. It had always been love.

'Gods, how did I not see it?'

Gojo’s heart pounded in his chest as the truth sank in. With you.... With you, he had fallen so effortlessly, so completely, that he hadn’t even realised it. And now, it was too late. You were gone, pulling away from him, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

He had tried to show you his affection through small gestures—inviting you to ride with him, sharing private conversations, letters he knew you’d roll your eyes at—but now, with the realisation crushing him, he understood: 'those weren’t gestures of friendship. They were attempts to show her the part of you that you’ve hidden for too long.'

'How could I have been so stupid?'

*-*

He found you in the garden during the next ball-so like a week later, sitting beneath the ancient willow tree. The early sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the grass, but the light felt wrong—too soft for the weight of what he was about to say.

You looked up when he approached, your expression as guarded as ever. "Prince Gojo," you greeted coolly, and the formality in your voice stung more than it should have.

He winced. "Don’t call me that."

"What should I call you, then?" you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "Your Grace? Your Highness? The man who doesn’t know what he wants?"

"Stop," he said quietly, his voice raw. "Please."

You stiffened, but you didn’t move to leave. You just stared at him, waiting. He realised he hated the distance between you, both the physical space and the emotional chasm he had carved with his own carelessness.

"I didn’t come here because they told me to," he began, his voice trembling. "I never sought you out because of politics. I came because I wanted to. I came because you were the only one who didn’t expect anything from me."

You scoffed, looking away. "And that makes it better?"

"No," he admitted, stepping closer. "It doesn’t. But it’s the truth."

There was silence, heavy and suffocating, before you finally spoke. "Why now, Gojo? Why tell me this now?"

"Because I’m a fool," he said, his voice cracking. "I didn’t realize it until I lost you."

You laughed, bitter and broken. "You never had me to begin with."

"But I wanted to," he whispered, the words trembling with desperation. "I wanted to have you. Not as a trophy, not as a political move—because I’m in love with you."

A beat passed.

"You’re in love with me," you repeated, the disbelief in your voice sharp. "How nice."

The sarcasm cut through him like a blade. He had expected anger, confusion, maybe even pity—but not this.

"Yeah," he murmured, eyes falling to the ground, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know. It’s pathetic, isn’t it?"

"Pathetic?" You scoffed, your voice low. "No. It’s just... convenient."

Gojo winced at the sharpness of your words. 

"You don’t love me," you continued, your voice steady but hollow. "You love the idea of me. You love what I give you—peace, escape. But that’s not love, Gojo."

He shook his head, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "No, it’s more than that. I swear it’s more than that."

"Then what?" you demanded, your voice rising with anger. "What is it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like convenience."

"It’s not," he said fiercely. "It’s you. It’s the way you look at me like I’m just a man, not a prince. It’s the way you challenge me, the way you make me feel alive." He paused, his voice softening. "I didn’t realize it until you walked away, but it’s you. It’s always been you."

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "And what about your duty, Gojo? What about the throne? Are you willing to throw all of that away for me?"

His silence was deafening.

You laughed bitterly. "Exactly. You can’t. You never could. So don’t stand here and tell me you love me when you’re still tethered to a life I’ll never be part of."

"Please," he said, his voice breaking. "Don’t do this."

"You already did," you whispered.

The tension stretched between you, fragile and aching-like a bowstring about to snap. He reached out, but you stepped back, shaking your head.

"I can’t be your escape," you said softly. "I won’t."

Gojo’s face crumpled, and for the first time, you saw the man beneath the crown—heartbroken, vulnerable, lost. "I’m sorry," he said, and it sounded like the end of everything.

"So am I."

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him alone beneath the willow tree, where the sun rose on a man who had everything but the one thing he truly wanted.

*-*

The door slammed behind you as you stumbled inside, the heavy weight of the night pressing down on you like a suffocating fog. You didn’t even notice your mother standing in the entryway until her voice broke through the haze of your own misery. You couldn’t. Your mind was consumed with the image of Gojo’s face, his words, his hollow confession that had shattered something inside of you. His love. Or was it? What was he even doing?

“What happened?” she asked, her tone far too calm for the storm brewing in your chest. Her eyes widened when she saw the state you were in—tears streaming down your face, mascara smudged, and your body shaking with the aftermath of an emotional breakdown.

You didn’t want to answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt tight, like you couldn’t breathe without choking. Everything was suffocating.

“I... I can’t... I can’t breathe,” you gasped, stumbling towards the nearest chair. The world spun around you, and you felt your knees buckle under you. You barely managed to sit, burying your face in your hands.

She didn’t say anything at first, just watched. But then, with a look that made you feel small—insignificant—she crossed her arms. 

"What on earth happened at that ball?" Her voice was sharp, an edge of disappointment threading through every word. "The one time I allow you to go alone.."

You couldn’t answer. The sobs wouldn’t stop. You clutched your sides, gasping like you were drowning.

By the time she got you inside, your mother was frantic. She guided you to the drawing room, where the fire was still burning low, and knelt before you as you collapsed onto the settee. Her hands were surprisingly gentle, brushing the hair from your face, though her voice trembled with impatience and fear.

“Speak,” she urged. “Tell me what’s happened. Is it Gojo? Did he—did he hurt you?”

You laughed through the tears, a broken, bitter sound. “No, Mother. Not like that.”

“Then what?” she demanded, her voice tightening. “What has reduced you to this? You’re acting like—like your heart has been ripped out.”

"Maybe it has," you choked out, biting back another sob. "I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore."

Her face softened for a moment, as if she wanted to understand, but she couldn't quite manage it. “You’re being dramatic,” she said, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness. “You always knew this would be complicated. He’s a prince. His heart was never truly yours to keep.”

"Complicated?" you echoed, laughing bitterly. "He made me believe he cared, Mother. And maybe he does, but it doesn’t matter because he will never choose me. Not when the crown’s at stake. I’m nothing to him but a temporary distraction."

Her brow furrowed. “You can’t know that. He—”

“I heard them,” you interrupted, your voice cracking. “His advisors. They were talking about marriage, alliances. And do you know who they suggested?” You looked at her through your tears, your face twisted in anguish. “Me. As if I’m just a pawn to be moved across a board.”

Then the crying got worse- your mother became worried, she had never seen you like this- not in years.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” she continued, her voice trembling now. “Not since you were a child.”

And then she did something she hadn’t done in years: she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close, and for once, you didn’t push her away.

“You poor thing,” she murmured, stroking your hair like she used to when you were small. “You foolish, foolish girl." She wiped a mutlitude of tears from your face, "You were brave. You did what you had to do.”

“But I loved him,” you confessed, the truth spilling out like a wound that had festered too long. “I loved him, and now it’s over, and I don’t know how to make it stop hurting.”

Her eyes softened, filled with a pain that mirrored your own. “It will hurt,” she said gently. “It will hurt for a long time. But you will survive this. You always do.”

Hours dripped by, like the tears than ran freely across your face. Aftger a while you had basically cried yourself to exhaustion. Your mother helped you to your room, helped you into your sleepwear.

She straightened up, gathering herself, trying to regain control of the situation. “We’ll talk about this later. You’ll compose yourself and we’ll handle this properly.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

*-*

The rain was relentless, pounding against the windows of the Cordova estate like a desperate plea. You sat in the drawing room, watching the storm rage, feeling every bit as turbulent as the sky outside. Your mother was off somewhere fussing over another scheme, and your father had retreated to his study—content to stew over the latest disappointment you’d no doubt become.

You had cried so hard in the last couple days that your eyes, lungs.. everything hurt.

You weren't even dressed properly.

The carriage wheels had barely stopped when your mother’s shriek rang through the halls of your family’s estate.

“WHAT?!”

You had just been sitting in the drawing room, lost in a book, when the servant burst in, panic-stricken. “The prince… Prince Gojo... he’s here. At the gate.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Gojo. What the hell is he doing here?

Your mother was already moving toward the door, face flushed, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ll speak to him, I’ll—” She didn’t even finish the sentence before she was gone, no doubt already scheming some sort of disastrous charm offensive.

You glanced at your father. He sat there, frozen for a moment, clearly unsure of what to make of this, before he let out a low growl. 

“Prince Gojo? That’s… bold. Damn bold.”

Your parents stood near the fireplace, stunned into silence, clearly trying to figure out how to act. Your father’s arms were folded, but his fingers twitched as though he was ready to start waving them around like a conductor.

“Your Highness,” your mother stammered, still in shock, “What—what brings you to our humble home?"

Gojo glanced at you, and you felt his gaze like a physical weight. It sent a strange shiver down your spine, but you didn’t let it show. You refused to. Not again.

“I came to see her,” he said, his voice softer than it had ever been before, but loud enough to break the tension in the room.

Your mother blinked, a bright flush creeping up her neck. “Her? You mean—”

“Yes,” he said, cutting her off with an expression that was a mixture of apology and resolve. “I mean her. I need to speak with her. Alone.”

Your father finally spoke up, his voice tight with suspicion. “You’ve come all the way here to speak to my daughter, Your Highness? At this hour?”

Gojo stood straighter, nodding solemnly. “Yes. I have.”

Your father looked to your mother, who was still gaping, before he sighed, clearly not sure how to react. “Very well, but we’ll be in the next room,” he said with a nod. “We’ll leave you two alone for… a moment.”

The instant the door shut, Gojo fell to his knees- literally.

Gojo Satoru. 

Crown prince, was kneeling before you.

For a moment, your brain refused to comprehend what you were seeing. Your mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. 'What the hell is he doing?'

“Gojo, what—” You couldn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t even know what to say. 

He was the prince. The untouchable, charismatic prince. 

He didn’t kneel. 

He didn’t beg. 

He was never the one to put himself in a vulnerable position. And yet, here he was, on the floor in front of you, as if his entire world had come down to this one moment.

The great, untouchable Gojo, who had women at his feet and entire kingdoms in his pocket, was kneeling in front of you, like he was begging for something you couldn’t even grasp yet.

His head was bowed, eyes closed, but you could see the tightness in his jaw, the muscles in his neck straining. He wasn’t just on his knees physically—he was on his knees emotionally. 

“Gojo—” Your voice cracked in surprise, the sarcasm you’d buried deep suddenly bubbling up like a bitter reflex. “What is this? A royal performance? Because if you’re trying to impress me, you’re failing miserably.”

“I’m not trying to impress you,” he said, his voice soft, but thick with something raw and desperate.  “I’m just... asking you to believe me.”

You took a step back, your breath hitching in your throat. 'This is insane'. You had to be dreaming.

“Do you have any idea how stupid this is?” you said bitterly, voice shaking with suppressed emotion, feeling the heat of your frustration rise in your chest. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts to even think you’re doing this for me?”

“Then don’t think,” he whispered, his voice just above a breath. “Don’t think, just listen.” He lifted his gaze, his eyes wide, pleading. “I’m not doing this for anyone else. Not for the throne. Not for my advisors. I’m doing this because... because I can’t stop. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop wanting you, even if I don’t deserve you.”

You tried to swallow, but the lump in your throat was impossible to push down. 'God, why did this have to hurt so much?'

“Why now?” you asked, your voice laced with bitterness. “Why didn’t you care before? Why didn’t you come to me before everything was so messed up?”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing-you had to remind yourself to look at his eyes- as he tried to find the right words.

 “I didn’t know what I was doing. I thought it was just another thing. Another distraction. But the moment you pulled away, I realized I was... wrong. I was stupid. I was always stupid.”

“Yeah, you were,” you muttered under your breath, too angry to care about the tears threatening to spill over. “You still are.”

Gojo didn’t flinch. His gaze never left yours, even as his shoulders trembled ever so slightly. 

His head dropped for a moment, his long hair falling into his eyes. 

“But I swear to you, I didn’t come here to play with your emotions. I didn’t come here for some political match, some obligation. I came here because I can’t keep pretending that I don’t love you.”

“Gojo, this—this isn’t some story,” you said, your voice cracking slightly, even though you didn’t want it to. “You can’t just—this doesn’t just happen. You don’t just fall in love with me. Not like this. Not after everything—”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he interrupted, his voice barely a whisper now, but full of intensity. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t choose it. It just... happened. I convinced myself that I just wanted your friendship, that I could ignore it, but every time I walked away from you, I felt like I was losing a part of myself. I was... I was terrified. Terrified of you because you—” He inhaled sharply. “You see me. You see through the prince, through the crown, and I— I didn’t know how to deal with that.”

He raised his eyes to meet yours, his gaze intense and full of something you didn’t know how to name.

 “But now? I can’t run anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t feel this. I can’t pretend I don’t need you. I don’t care what the court says, what my advisors say, what my duty says. I want you. I need you.”

You were frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. His words were washing over you, stirring emotions you had long buried deep down. Why now? Why me? All the doubts you’d carried for so long began to surface, but underneath all of that, a quiet yearning grew. He was laying it all bare in front of you, exposing himself in a way you didn’t know was possible.

 Gojo continued, his voice breaking with frustration, a soft sob of helplessness caught in his throat: “But please—please just let me show you that this is real. I’ve never been more serious in my life. I don’t care what the kingdom expects from me anymore. All I care about is you. If you’ll have me.”

And the worst part? You found him so very pretty, his pure blue eyes shinned with tears-No. Stop it.

“I don’t know when I fell in love with you,” he said, his voice softening, trembling. “Maybe it was during the first ride, or maybe it was when I started to see the real you. The person who doesn’t bow to expectations, the person who doesn’t get caught up in all the nonsense. I fell in love with your strength. I fell in love with how you see the world. You’re not just another woman to me, you’re the woman who makes everything else fade away.”

Gojo reached out slowly, his fingers brushing your arm, and you didn’t pull away. His touch was warm, and his gaze never left you.

“You’re not a conquest,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “You’re everything. I’m not asking for perfection, I’m not asking for guarantees. I’m asking for the chance to love you. I’ll fight for you, even if it means tearing my world apart. Because you’re worth it.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill, but you kept your composure. 'This can’t be real. Not with him. Not with the crown prince.'

And yet, as you stood there, your breath shallow, you realised something—deep down, buried under the scepticism and the fear and the doubt—you wanted to believe him, so bad. 

He finally stood, ha-he was taller now.

How annoying.

You sniffled.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his hand tightening around yours just slightly. “But I’m willing to try. I’m willing to fight for you, for us. I want to be the man you deserve, not the prince who everyone expects me to be. But I need you to take a chance on me, just as I’m taking a chance on you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. 'Gods, he’s serious. He’s so serious.'

You couldn’t pretend anymore, not with him looking at you like that, so broken, so earnest, so full of desperate hope.

“Don’t make me a promise you can’t keep, Gojo,” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat.

He shook his head, his eyes hard with determination. “I won’t break it. I’ll keep it. I swear to you.”

And when Gojo finally kissed you, it wasn’t some dramatic declaration. It wasn’t a grand gesture. It was soft, tentative, and filled with the weight of everything that had come before it.

But in that kiss, you felt something shift. You felt something like love—raw, imperfect, and painfully real. And for the first time in your life, you didn’t want to run from it.

It was also a very, very wet kiss.

Miserable and wet. 

*-* 

The evening had been... overwhelming. That was the only way to describe it, right? Overwhelming and, in a way, utterly absurd. Gojo had confessed his feelings, dropped a bomb on you, and now... now, he was standing in front of your parents, looking entirely too calm for someone who had just ruined whatever sort of normalcy you’d once clung to.

What the fuck.

You had gone from crying over the crown prince a couple days ago, to... to this??

He had just kissed you, for the gods' sake—kissed you—and now you were supposed to just sit here and pretend that your world wasn’t about to spin completely out of orbit.

Your mother, sitting across from you, was holding herself together with an unnerving amount of composure, despite her hands shaking slightly. Your father, on the other hand, was staring at Gojo with all the suspicion of a man who had just been handed a live grenade.

Gojo, ever the composed prince, looked at your parents like this was just another day at the office—something he could handle with that all-too-charming smile of his. But tonight, that smile had a certain edge to it.

Gojo’s eyes flicked to you for a brief moment, the softness in them betraying the calm air he was trying so hard to maintain. And then, just like that, he turned his attention back to your parents.

“I have a request, actually,” Gojo said, his voice carrying a quiet weight. You froze, suddenly feeling like your heartbeat had gone missing. You had no idea what was coming, but it felt big. Too big.

Your father raised an eyebrow, his expression still guarded but curious. “A request?”

Gojo nodded, not a hint of hesitation in his posture. He was so sure of himself. “Yes,” he said, leaning forward, the words about to spill from his lips like an irreversible truth. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and I’ve come to a decision.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time with your daughter,” Gojo continued, his gaze flicking to you once more, this time more lingering. “I’ve gotten to know her, and I’ve realized something important. Something I didn’t expect. I’ve fallen in love with her. And I…” His gaze hardened a fraction, eyes now fixed on your parents with that undiluted confidence he wore so well. “I wish to marry her.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. 

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Did he just—

You stared at him, trying to make sense of the mess your heart had suddenly become. “So... you’re really serious about this?”

He grinned widely, that familiar sparkle in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have come all the way here, and kneeled like a fool, if I wasn’t serious.”

Your mother’s jaw nearly dropped, and your father blinked a couple of times as if the words had to be translated into something that made sense.

Your mother, composed as always, finally found her voice. 

“Well,” she began, her tone strained but polite, “that is quite the announcement.” Her eyes darted toward you, narrowing slightly, as if to silently ask, What have you done?

You didn’t respond. You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo, infuriatingly calm, kept his gaze on your father, clearly waiting for his reaction. There was no trace of his usual arrogance, but there was an undeniable determination in his expression—a resolve that made your stomach twist in a way you desperately didn’t want to think about.

Your father cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to wake up from a particularly strange dream. 

“You’re serious,” he repeated, sounding tired, bewildered. “You want to marry my daughter?”

Gojo leaned back in his chair, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. Instead, he was oddly serious, his hands folded in front of him like some kind of noble. He nodded.

'If you squint hard enough', you thought, 'he’s almost dignified- and even worse- he looked really pretty. Ew.'

Your mother's gaze softened for a brief moment, before it quickly turned back to Gojo. “But... this is Gojo Satoru. Crown Prince of the Kingdom. You think we—”

“I know exactly who I am,” Gojo interrupted, a rare note of seriousness in his voice. “But I also know who I am when I’m with her. And that’s someone who wants to spend every moment I can with her. Not because it’s convenient. Not because it’s politically advantageous. But because I genuinely love her."

Your father sighed: 

"Well.. who are we to refuse the crown prince?" He took a deep breath, "If you’re serious, then...” He trailed off, glancing at your mother for support. “I suppose we should discuss this properly.”

“Great,” you said flatly, sarcasm coating your words. “So, you’ve professed your love, secured the approval of my parents, and what? I’m supposed to swoon now?”

“Swooning would be nice,” he teased, but there was a nervous edge to it, like he wasn’t sure how far he could push. “Or, at least, less glaring.”

“I don’t trust you,” you said finally, quietly.

Gojo’s face softened, and for the first time, he looked unsure. Vulnerable.

“I know.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever trust you.”

“I’ll wait,” he said simply. No hesitation. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered, though your voice lacked the bite it should’ve had.

He grinned then, bright and disarming, like he hadn’t just knelt before you, kissed you, and then asked you parents for your hand in marriage. “I’ve been called worse.”

*-*

The spring air was cool, crisp, carrying the scent of blossoming lilacs across the estate’s sprawling grounds. It was the kind of evening that felt suspended in time, the sky bruised with hues of gold and lavender, the sun clinging stubbornly to the horizon as if it too didn’t want this moment to end.

You sat beneath the ancient oak tree on the edge of the gardens, your skirts spread out in a careless pool around you, watching as the last light painted everything in soft warmth. It had been a long year. A tumultuous one. And yet… here you were.

"You're hidding from me again." 

'Of course he found me. He always finds me.'

“I’m not hiding,” you said, your voice lazy, dripping with feigned innocence. “I’m merely... avoiding you.”

“And here I thought we were past the whole avoiding-each-other phase,” he said, his tone light but teasing. “Is this because I stole the last piece of cake last night?”

You finally lifted your gaze, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. “You didn’t steal it. You demanded it, like the royal tyrant you are.”

He grinned, wide and unrepentant, and it made him look like a mischievous boy rather than a crown prince. “I don’t remember you putting up much of a fight.”

“Only because I was too tired to argue,” you retorted, though the corners of your lips twitched despite yourself.

Gojo took that as his invitation, sinking down beside you with an exaggerated sigh, sprawling like he owned the entire earth. His shoulder brushed yours, warm and solid, and for a moment, you were hyper-aware of how close he was. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him in the cool spring air.

“So,” he said, tilting his head to look at you, his white hair catching the fading sunlight, “are you going to keep pretending you don’t enjoy my company?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not pretending. Your company is… tolerable, at best.”

“Ouch.” He clutched his chest dramatically, as if wounded. “You wound me, my love.”

You snorted. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” His voice softened, losing its playful edge. “You are.”

The words settled between you, gentle but firm, and for a moment, the sarcasm on your tongue faltered. Damn him. Damn him and that stupid sincerity.

You cleared your throat, trying to regain your footing. “You’re awfully confident for someone who’s been rejected more times than I can count.”

Gojo grinned, turning toward you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Rejected? You mean the time you said, ‘Leave me alone or I’ll push you into the lake’? That was just foreplay.”

You snorted, biting your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “Foreplay? You were soaking wet and whining like a child.”

“I was laughing,” he corrected, smug. “And you were staring at me the whole time.”

“Because I was making sure you didn’t drown. Didn't wanna be accused of killing the crown prince."

“How noble of you.” He leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Admit it. You like me.”

“I tolerate you,” you said, turning your face away to hide the warmth creeping up your neck.

“Tolerate,” he repeated, as if tasting the word. He let it hang in the air for a moment before leaning back on his hands, looking out over the gardens. “That’s progress. I’ll take it.”

And your lips met- you were kissing your fiancée, as the sun set on the lake of the royal palace. 

Though his hands got a little too handsy, you broke the kiss, 'tsk-ing' at him.

"Nuh uh, Satoru Gojo. The marriage is in a week." 

Gojo groaned dramatically, flopping onto his back and covering his eyes with an arm like a tragic hero. 

“Cruel. So cruel,” he lamented. “You tease me with kisses and then deny me any fun. What’s a man to do?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning over him, your hair falling in soft waves as you smirked. 

“A man should learn patience,” you quipped, flicking his forehead lightly. “Something you’ve clearly never mastered.”

He peeked at you from beneath his arm, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Patience is overrated,” he murmured, voice low and sultry, “especially when you’re this close.”

You leaned back just enough to deprive him of the closeness he was enjoying. “Ah, poor prince,” you mocked, feigning pity. “Reduced to whining like a child because he can’t get his way.”

Gojo sat up, propping himself on his elbows, his face only inches from yours. His expression softened, the teasing fading into something more genuine. “I’m not whining,” he said quietly, the words so different from his usual bravado that they caught you off guard. “I’m just... happy. Here. With you.”

You felt your heart stutter, and you hated that he had this effect on you. “You’re a menace,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

“And you’re stuck with me,” he replied, grinning again. “For better or worse, remember?”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to regain the upper hand. “We’re not married yet.”

“Details,” he waved dismissively. “You already said yes. No take-backs.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I should’ve made you sign something.”

“Oh, you want a contract?” He leaned in, so close you could feel his breath against your skin. “Fine. I, Satoru Gojo, do solemnly swear to be the most annoying husband ever.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “You didn’t even need to swear. I already knew that.”

He gave you a lazy, satisfied grin. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“Unfortunately,” you teased, though your tone was soft, affectionate.

He reached for your hand then, threading his fingers through yours, and the warmth of his touch was startlingly comforting. “I love you,” he said, with none of the usual flair, no theatrics. Just simple, honest truth.

You stared at him, the weight of those words settling over you like a blanket. “I know,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “I hate it.”

He laughed, the sound rich and full of joy, and you knew you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Good,” he said, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched. “Then we’re even.”

“Even?” you asked, amused.

“For all the times you’ve made me fall harder than I ever thought possible,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Yeah, we’re even.”

You sighed dramatically, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “You’re such a sap.”

“And you love it.”

“Unfortunately,” you echoed, letting the warmth of his presence wrap around you. “Yeah, I do to.”

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of deep indigo and gold, but neither of you noticed. 

You were too lost in each other.

A/N: i fr hope yall like this, love yall, stay safe and all

kiss kiss

:)

[user2772636]

Douzième Fille

12th girl

××《☆》××

Experimenting is bound to give you attention. Magazines are trending, and not just in the women's department. A one-eyed boy who has recently been caught with something vulgar has respect for women. How surprising.

===

Joseph Descamps x Reader

Warnings: boys being boys (worse than b4), swearing, one-sided anger, reference to a movie (Hot Rod), love triangle again (new character??), fluff (finally?!?!?!)

===

===

Chapter four: Flashy Magazines

===

I flip through page by page the new magazine I bought. It was imported from america, and the second I heard of it, I ran to the nearest booth.

That was yesterday. Today is Monday morning. I woke up a little earlier to scroll through my said magazine and look for inspiration. I thought I'd do something different. A bit more bold.

Hair bumps and bangs. A style well worn by Priscilla Beaulieu, the speculated lover of Elvis Presley. The magazine was filled with her.

I grab my scissors, lifting my head to look into my bathroom mirror. I read the directions on the magazine, parting a small section at the middle of my hair, pulling it in front of my eyes.

I take a deep breath in. A click from the scissors is heard. Not half bad, I say to myself. I shag it a little, smiling to myself.

I continue to read the instructions to Priscilla's hair bump, deciding to make it just a small bump, curling the ends, then adding hair spray to keep it all intact. Once I was done , I added a pair of pearl earrings.

There's a new dress waiting for me in my closet. It was a present from my parents. A knee-length flowy dress with a boat neckline and a thin strap belt, all in the colour of watermelon red.

I put it on, patting down the skirt, and grab my kitten heels. I pray that I don't get caught. This is probably how Michèle felt on the first day of school.

I take one last look in the mirror. I looked older, like a proper lady. I straighten my back and smile strainedly. I breathe out slowly.

I grab my satchel and coat, then head out of my flat. Walking to school, eyes follow me. From my lovely neighbour to the men smoking cigarettes in the street. I don't mind them and continue to make my way to school.

Once I get there, I see Laubrac walking away from Michèle. I walk up to her and put on a smile.

"Michèle. How have you been?" I lean in to hug her.

"Wow, Y/N. You're stunning. You look like you were made to be in movies." Michèle laughs, and I laugh with her.

"Don't go that far." We smile at each other and make it through the gate. Once again, eyes are on me, younger this time.

We look towards the bathroom, seeing Felbec run towards it, then get rejected access through. A tall frame pushes him away, and I knew exactly who it was. I furrow my eyebrows.

A boy then comes running through the gate, shouting out how he has the money. I notice Annick as she suddenly walks away. When he makes it there, the school bell rings. I laugh, watching him move around disappointed.

××《☆》××

"Literary salons are almost always hosted by women. Madame de Sèvignè, Madame de Lafayette." Our teacher says as he leans on his table with his arms.

The lecture fades, and all I hear is the tapping of my heels on the hardwood floor.

"Dupin." Our teacher calls out. I turn around to take a look, but my eyes lock with one. I squint at Descamps, then shift my eyes to Dupin.

"As you won't stop talking, you seem well-versed on the subject. Can you share your thoughts on the salons with us?" Dupin stands, and I smile softly, seeing his embarassed state.

I turn my head back to the front, but a stare stays on me, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

I ignored it at first, and then it started to get annoying. So I turned, and I saw him, and he was smiling. He's smiling. Every time I look at him, either he looks dead inside (though, in my opinion, no dead person could look that pretty.), or he's smiling. And that's what he's doing. He's smiling.

How I wish I could wipe it off.

××《☆》××

My ears pound as I hear Ms. Giraud's voice. I might go deaf, but I keep my composure. The bell rings, and we're finally dismissed.

I hear rushed shuffling. Ms. Giraud calls out to the boy.

"Are you in a rush, Lamazière?" Ms. Giraud yells. I notice it's the same boy that ran to the bathroom with money in his hand.

He gets punished, and I laugh quietly. I grab my things, rushing up to the girls.

"Hey, I need to go to the bathroom. Continue walking without me." They nod, and we part ways.

After using the toilet, I look at myself in the mirror. I never expected that. How conscious I'd be of my looks, my movements, and my habits.

Maybe it comes with the fact I dressed up. But for what, I start to wonder. I don't know why I dressed up in the first place. I know I said for a change, but is that really all?

A flash of an eye comes to mind. I quickly shake it off. No way. Not him.

I clear my throat, then grab my things. I hastily walk out the bathroom, suddenly needing fresh air. As I make it to the hallway of the stairwell, footsteps slow down, and eyes follow me. I stop in my tracks.

I scanned through them, what face they were wearing while looking at me. I look down on myself. I still looked presentable, so what were they looking at?

I start to walk, my eyes following the faces of the boys. Each step I take down feels slower. One flight finished, and I stop glancing at them. My feet tap on the porcelain floor of the stairs as I keep my head down.

One flight left, a tall frame walks into the school. He turns to the stairs, and I stop. Descamps stares at me. I stare at him. He then looks up and sees plenty of eyes on me. I see his jaw clench.

He claps his hands. I flinch at the echo of it.

"Will you boys keep staring, or will I go shopping for a new eye with all of yours?" This gets them moving. The stairwell is noisy again.

I turn my head back to Descamps, and I glare. Hard. I walk towards him, and then I'm reminded of our height difference. I crane my neck upward.

"I could've handled myself, you know?" I squint my eyes, and all he does is stare. Why is he just staring? Can't we fight already? I feel my cheeks flush in embarrassment.

"Are you just gonna stare or are you gonna sa-"

"You're beautiful." I barely even heard it. But I did. Then I acted like I didn't.

"What?" I stutter out, flushed cheeks redder than before.

"You're miserable. You clearly needed my help." I scoff, the comforting warmth I felt quickly replaced with boiling anger.

"Just leave me alone, Descamps." I walk away, and into the courtyard.

Who does he think he is? Some knight in shining armour? He's more like a thief in the streets. But then no thief could be as annoying, as dreadful, as smiley as him. That stupid smile, and those stupid words, and his stupid face. Stupid, stupid face. Sometimes I just wanna grab it and-

I stop in my tracks. There's a line in front of the boys' bathroom. What would they be lining up for? I see a mop of blonde hair and framed eyes. Applebaum. He hasn't talked to me, hasn't said hi, and I always wonder if I'd done anything wrong.

But he's the past. I guess he just doesn't like me. It's too bad. I had high hopes for him. A whip of air pushes by me, and it's Descamps again. He's jogging towards the bathroom. He's collecting coins from them. Really, what's going on?

I look in front of me. Michèle and Simone are seated on the stairs. I sigh in relief. I sit beside them.

"I can't do this anymore. All the boys, they're dreadful. Why did I come here in the first place?" I groan. The girls watch me, amused.

"Because you moved here from Paris and-" I cut Simone off.

"Rhetorical." I mutter. She purses her lips shut.

Michèle clears her throat. "So, you think you'll get married?" I lift my head up.

"To who?" My eyes are wide open as well as my ears.

"Eugène. Simone's lover boy." I cover my mouth in shock.

"What? I thought you had a thing for-" Simone cuts me off this time.

"No. It's a little too soon for that." She answers Michèle's question. I mouth sorry. She nods.

"Aren't you worried he'll want to take things further?" Michèle asks Simone. I started to click the pieces together. I bite on my lip to hide my smile.

"I don't know." Simone smiles at the thought. "Can I have a bite? Thanks." She says as she grabs Michèle's apple and takes a bite from it.

"I hope I find a husband soon. So I can get out of my parents house." I nod at Michèle's statement.

"That's true. But hopefully, no one from here. I'd rather die." They laugh at my overreaction, but honestly, I might just die than marry anyone here.

Well, except for one, maybe. Who, I ask myself. Right. Who am I even talking about? My eyes drift to a one-eyed boy. No. Don't even think about it.

Descamps as a husband? I laugh to myself.

Sure, I can imagine him going to work, coming home, smoking a cigarette or two as he reads the news.

Lounging in the living room one lazy afternoon, shirt slightly unbuttoned and pants a bit loose. Eating breakfast with his family, cooking with his wife (who, for some reason, looks almost like me. Very weird.), kissing her shoulders as his arms wrap around her waist.

His scent, his soft lips, his large frame. Carrying his kids in his arms as he spins them around the backyard. Teaching his son how to catch, playing dolls with his daughter, taking a break on a bench, one arm on his thigh, and the other on me.

Me? I shake my head. No, not me. His wife. Certainly not me. I grimace at the thought. Why would I even?

I sigh deeply, frustratedly. These damn thoughts are infuriating, just like him.

"Happy New Year, Ms. Palladino." My trance gets cut off.

"You too, Sir." Simone responds. I clear my throat, composing myself.

Michèle calls out for her uncle and gets up. I wonder what she's going to do. I don't pay much mind as I scoot over to Simone.

"It's Jean Pierre, isn't it?" She flinches.

"What do you mean?" I roll my eyes at her response.

"You know what I mean. Eugène? It's definitely Jean Pierre." Her cheeks flush, and she drops her head.

"I'm happy for you, really." I smile as she lifts her head, hope in her eyes. My smile wavers a bit. "But how will you tell Michèle?"

Her eyes lose that hope, and she looks away.

"I don't know. He said we shouldn't because she'll never let us see each other again."

"But one day, you'll have to." I grab her hand and rub it gently. She sighs.

"I wish you luck." I whisper, then hug her. She hugs me back. Once we pull away, Michèle sits with us again.

"He didn't want to lend it to me. What does 'adult' mean." I raise my eyebrows and puff out my cheeks, clearly not wanting to answer her question.

Michèle looks around. "What's up with everyone today?"

"You only noticed now?" I chuckle.

"Come with me." Me and Simone get up, following Michèle. She walks and calls towards Pichon.

"What's going on in the bathroom?" Pichon pauses. Too long of a pause.

"Nothing." I squint at him. Obviously not nothing.

"Somethings been going on in there today."

"Not at all. Nothing's going on." Pichon tries to walk away, but I stop him with a palm to his chest.

"Really? Why did you react that way when you ran into Mr. Bellanger?" I start to talk.

"What do you mean?" This is getting annoying.

"Don't act dumb. We know you aren't." I snap at him. "Now, why was your face all red?"

"No. It's not red." I furrow my eyebrows, now really getting angry. I almost shove him before Michèle holds me back.

"Simone, is his face red?" I ask her.

"It's red. Very red." I look back at Pichon and raise my eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

"It's not. It's just my complexion." I try to lunge at him, but Michèle's hands are tight on me.

"So you're not gonna tell us?" Michèle calls out for him. I whip my arms off of Michèle's hold, and she's quick to let me go.

"Of course he won't." I glare at the back of his head.

The bell rings.

××《☆》××

Descamps' group walks into the class together. They're rushing a bit.

"And Applebaum?" One of them asks.

"He's gonna sprain something." Descamps answers. Sprain what? What are they doing in that bathroom anyway?

"He's gonna go deaf." Oh. A shiver runs down my spine as I gag. Gross.

I hear Michèle ask Simone something, probably about what the boys are talking about. I don't wanna tell her.

Ms. Couret walks in and greets us. We're granted to sit. The door opens.

"Didn't you hear the bell, Mr. Applebaum." I gag again seeing him. I should've known he was like everyone else. To believe I might've given him a chance. I grimace.

The boys whisper and laugh. There's a boiling in my stomach. Ms. Couret moves on to the topic.

"Do you know the Beatles?" This catches my attention. No one answers, until Pichon does.

"The British band?" Ms. Couret nods.

"Yes. Let's see if those names ring a bell." I shuffle on my seat, giving my full attention to the discussion.

I don't notice the boys passing around a magazine 'till it comes flying towards Michèle's table. I peek over, and in front of her lies a flashy magazine.

××《☆》××

"He said if we didn't give him a name, the class would get detention every Thursday." Pichon says as everyone huddles in to listen. I feel a warm frame over and behind me, but I ignore it, thinking it's just another classmate.

"Then we all get detention." Dupin states, as if it wasn't already obvious.

"The whole class." Pichon exclaims.

"Even the girls?" My brows furrow. What did we do to be blamed?

"Everybody." We all stop.

"That's not fair." Simone says, and I nod with her.

"Right. What did we do? It was you guys who were being perverts." I call out.

I get more frustrated when a chest bumps into me. It's the same frame I felt earlier. I turn around, and I'm met with Descamps.

"You. You were the ones selling the magazine and passing it around." I glare at him.

"You're disgusting. I don't want you near me." I turn again and bid a quick goodbye to the girls then head home.

"Pardine!" I hear Descamps call out. I roll my eyes and keep walking. Once we're in a quieter area, he grabs my arm and gently pushes me to a wall.

"Please. I swear I would never." I glare up at him.

"Then why were you passing it around?" I ask him, tilting my head up.

His pants fill my ears. It's worrying. I place a hand on his chest.

"Calm down." I state, the worry etched in my voice.

He relaxed under my touch, I felt it, the way his muscles stopped being tense. I kept my face hard.

"Now, explain." My voice comes out demanding.

"I needed some money. What better way to collect it quickly than when there's hundreds of prepubescent boys in one school?" I roll my eyes. I almost walk away before he cages me in the wall with his arms.

"Please. Just... listen. I needed money, okay? I wanted to save up for... for..." He stutters, and my brows crease more.

"For?" I raise my brows, expecting an answer.

"For... records. Yeah. For my mother." I squint at his answer.

"That still won't excuse the fact you're a pervert."

"No, I swear. I would never. I know you don't believe me, but I swear. I swear on my mothers life I would never. Not in school, not anywhere. I respect a woman way too much to do something like that."

"A woman? Who? Your mother?" My brain turns to different answers.

"Yes." He stuttering again. "Definitely, my mother." He pushes away from me, and I feel cold.

I hum. Then I look back up at him, eyes still squinted.

"I'll let it pass for now." I see his face fill with relief, and I almost laugh.

I walk away, but before I get too far, I hear him mutter.

"You look pretty." I turn around, shocked and confused.

"What did you say?"

"I said you look shitty. Goodbye, Pardine!" He calls out as he walks away in a rush. I scoff, then turn back around to walk home.

××《☆》××

I pet George, lounging on my bed, thinking of going out to run some errands. I get up and head to the kitchen.

Stuck to the fridge, I read my mother's shopping list. I get rid of the magnet and stick the note into my coat pocket. I glance at George, then the door, then George again.

I sigh. I pick him up, head to my door, and lock it. We go down the stairs. I place him in my bicycle basket. I make sure he's tucked in well, then ride to the farmers market.

Once I'm there, I glance at the shopping list again. Some vegetables, fruit, flour, etc. I walk past each stall, buying what's needed. Just then, a boy, somewhere my age, walks towards me.

"Hi." He seems confident. "I'm Callum. What's your name?"

I look at him up and down, and then the hand he reaches out for a hand shake. He's tall, but not too tall. Maybe five feet and ten inches. He has long, wavy brown hair, neatly brushed behind his ears. He has deep doe eyes and a smile on his face. I hesitate.

"Y/N." I slowly lift my hand and shake his. His smile widens.

"So, I have a project that requires a model, and when I saw you, I thought you'd be the perfect candidate. Not to be blunt about it, but you're beautiful." I blush at the sudden compliment.

"All you need to do is let me take a couple of photos, and I'll pay you, about... 300 franc?" I gape at the offer.

"Are you sure? Just for pictures?" They nod.

"Yes. Good transaction, yeah? If I win the project, the pictures will be displayed in the front of a car magazine. Is that alright with you?" I think again, but what's there to think about when there's 300 franc on the table?

"Deal." I shake hands Callum's hand, and he smiles wider.

"Good. Now, I'll take you to my car, and you can do a couple of poses in front of it." He led me to his car, and the second I saw the bright mint blue of it, my jaw hits the floor.

"This pretty one," Callum pats the front of the car. "is a 1955 Ford Thunderbird. Mint blue exterior, white top, and a mix of both for the interior. It has the brake horsepower of 193, and she's my most prized possession. She goes up to 23,069 kilometres. Very lovely, right?" He leans on the car, almost hugging it.

I cover my mouth, hiding my smile. He walks over to me, gently grabbing my wrist and pulling it away from my face.

"Keep that smile on, pretty lady. We need it for the pictures." He tilts his head towards the car. "Go on."

I walk slowly. Once I'm near the passengers door, I pose, and I see the flash of the camera.

"Get inside. Take a feel around." I walk to the other side of the car, opening the door and closing it once I'm in. I feel the leather of the wheel against my palm, and I scoff in awe. The camera flashes again.

"I didn't get to pose!" I laugh, slightly embarassed.

"You didn't need to. You're a natural." He snaps another photo, and I laugh again.

After taking a few photos and reviewing them, Callum finally chose one. It was me smiling at the camera with my hands on the wheels, windows rolled down.

He told me I looked perfect, which was, based on what he said, the first thing that came into his mind when he saw me.

The rest of the day, he accompanied me shopping and even offered me a ride around town in his car. I obviously couldn't say no.

He pulled the hood down, letting the wind flow through my hair as we drove in the roads, making it to the fields, stopping by for some gas, and then getting on the road again.

××《☆》××

Callum parks the car in front of his flat, which was only a few blocks away from mine. We decided to walk to my place instead of draining out the car, not before him telling me that it was absolutely fine for him to drive me directly home. When I said I needed my legs moving, he stopped pushing it and agreed.

He puts the hood back on, locking the door with his keys. He walks to my side.

"Good luck with the project." My hands are in my coat pockets as Callum walks me home. He smiles, then looks at me.

"Meeting you was luck itself. That means if you're in my pictures, I'll bring luck with me." I roll my eyes.

"Cheesy." We come to a stop infront of my flat's door.

"Well, this is it." I purse my lips, looking up at him.

"Yup. I guess we're here." His eyes sort of lose its spark. I worry.

"You okay?" I raise my eyebrows, concerned.

"I wanna see you again." He blurts out. "Is tomorrow okay? The results will come out, and I sort of want you to be there."

"Sure. I'll be there." I rub his arm reassuringly. He slowly lifts his hand to cup mine on his arm. He lifts it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on it.

"Goodnight, Y/N." He smiles softly, lets go of my hand, and leaves. I stay in my place, unsure of what to do. When his frame disappears from my sight, I shiver. What was that?

I'm greeted by George as I get in my flat. My heart's beating out my chest, and I feel anxious. There's something in me. It doesn't feel so good. Some sort of regret. Why?

A boy. Not Callum. Someone else. Taller frame. Shorter hair. One eye. Fuck no. No way. I can't. I shouldn't. Why am I thinking about him?

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. 'I don't even call him by his first name.' Joseph Descamps. I feel indifferent calling him his first name. I'm not in terms with him like that. We aren't close enough for me to call him that.

Then suddenly, I want to. I want to call him Joseph. 'Why?' I wonder. Joseph, Joseph, Joseph. It feels nice on the tongue. Descamps is suddenly too long of a name. Joseph is fine. The name, I mean. Not him.

Then suddenly, again, it is. He is. 'No, he's not', but I want him to be. How do I get him to be? 'I can't do this. I really shouldn't.' But, oh, how much I want to.

'No.' I quiet my thoughts. 'No. Never. I won't do it.'

But I want to.

Fuck.

××《☆》××

The next morning, most of the boys are called to the principles office. I sigh in boredom, looking out the window.

"It certainly feels emptier today." Simone says, breaking the silence. I want to laugh, but I can't. I wanted to see the way Joseph's green cardigan looked on his wide frame longer.

I shake my head. I totally didn't get enough sleep last night with that thought popping in my head.

Though, that cardigan really suited him. Green really suits him. It makes him sort of glow. It's not like he doesn't already. Come to think of it, his hair glows, too. It was a bit messy. He probably rushed to school today. I wonder how soft it'll be against my fingers when I brush it off to look neater.

I remember how warm he was that day in the alley. He was so much taller, so he had to basically break his back to reach me. I double take that thought.

He had to break his back just to reach me.

I know he didn't actually break his back, but I just knew that sort of hurt. But it was nice, so I guess it was worth it for him. At least, I hope it was.

Okay, wait. Why am I thinking like this? I guess we're on good terms now. I mean, sure, we bicker, but not as much anymore? I don't know. Whatever. I guess we're fine. I want us to be. I'm tired of being mad at him for no reason.

Yeah. We're fine. That's why I'm thinking like this, right? You know, as a friendly, 'I want to take care of you' kind of way. Which is platonic. Totally. Yeah, that's fine.

Maybe I should say hi from time to time? Or no. Maybe just a nod for a greeting? Too bland. A smile will do. He might be creeped out, though.

I groan internally. Why am I overthinking this? Whatever, I'll just smile and wave. That's good. Simple and effective. Don't overthink it. There's nothing to overthink about.

Ms. Couret walks in, and the class collectively stands up. She's wearing a green dress. It looks nice. It reminds me of Joseph.

Woah. Why am I thinking about him? I think I'm just worried. Yeah. I'm worried about him because we're friends. Wait, are we friends? I'll ask later.

We're told to sit down, and we do. Ms. Couret pulls out a copy of the news. This must be about The Beatles, I remember from the last discussion, before it got interrupted. I light up in my seat.

"We won't wait for your classmates. They're getting tortured at the dean's dungeon." The class laughs.

"Today, we'll start with an article on President Kennedy's murder." So it isn't about The Beatles. I furrow my eyebrows.

I raise my hand.

"Yes?" Ms. Couret lifts her head.

"What about the song?" I shrug my shoulders, asking a bit sadly.

"No. There won't be a song. I don't have the record." I purse my lips in silent disappointment. She passes us some papers, and I sit the rest of the day quietly.

××《☆》××

I walk outside of the gate, the crowds of students slowly dissipating. My hair flows in the wind, styled the same way it was yesterday, except done in a half up half down style. My yellow dress lifts up and down as my legs do.

I'm headed to Callum's school, excited for the results. Almost halfway there, I stop. Joseph is in front of a magazine booth, buying. My heart drops, assuming it was another one of those flashy magazines. But then he leans out the booth, holding a magazine with my face on the cover.

My face is on the cover, and Joseph is buying it.

Two very important things.

One, I got on the cover, so Callum won. Two, Joseph is buying a magazine with my face on the cover. My question is, does he know it's me on the cover? Or is he buying it because he generally likes cars.

I take slow steps forward. The closer I am, the more I hear. And there's a voice inside my head repeating Joseph's words.

"That's my girl." He points to my picture in the magazine, showing the booth owner. "She's gorgeous. I mean, look at her." He makes the magazine face him again. There's a wide smile on his face.

He's smiling. I think I'm starting to like it on him.

The second he turns his head and sees me, the smile I just started to admire drops. He looks red under the afternoon sun.

"Pardine." He clears his throat, hiding the magazine. "What are you doing around here?"

"Headed to St. Patricks. You know the all boys school?" I smile softly. His nervousness seems to fade, for only a little.

"What would you be doing there?" He sounds off.

"Meeting a friend." I lift my shoulders, showing off a smile.

He looks like he melts, then stiffens back up. "A friend? Who? What's his name? What's he look like?"

"You ask a lot of questions. Answer mine first, then I'll answer yours." He nods. "What are you doing here?"

He stutters. "I was just looking around. Thought I'd buy a magazine but then saw you." He's acting uninterested. Or atleast trying to.

"Saw me walking towards you, or saw me in that magazine you have in your hands?" His eyes blow open. I hide my laugh.

"What? What do you- oh." He points to the magazine booth that he's still standing next to.

"That's you? Wow, I didn't know you modelled. It's not like I care or anything." He puts his head down, shrugging his shoulders.

"Why'd you buy it, Joseph?" I smirk, tilting my head, trying to meet his eyes. He shys away.

"I was... gonna burn it. Yeah. I was- wait. What did you call me?" He whips his head up. I try to recall, then flush when I do.

"Nothing."

"You totally called me Joseph." Yes, I did.

"No, I didn't." I shake my head.

"You never call me that." No, but like last night, I want to.

"I didn't call you Joseph."

"You just did."

"You're so childish, Joseph."

"You did it again!"

I groan, walking away from him, as red as when he saw me. Why was he red when he saw me? Whatever, I need to get to Callum.

I hear his steps behind me, and I roll my eyes.

"Y/N, come on." I turn around.

"You called me Y/N."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did." He definitely did.

"I didn't." Mhm, sure.

"You did. You never call me that." I mock him. He rolls his eye.

"Whatever."

"Whatever." I walk away from him. He doesn't seem to follow after me anymore, but then after a while, I hear his steps again.

"What's your friends name again? Are you sure I wasn't the friend you were gonna meet?" Oh right, I was gonna ask him about that.

"Are we friends?" I stop and turn to him.

He stops, too. No talking, no walking.

"Do you want us to be?" He asks. I pause.

"Yes."

"Then, yeah." There's that smile I missed.

"Good." I continue to walk.

"You didn't answer my first question."

"His name is Callum. He was the one who photographed me." I feel him grab my arm, and we stop again.

"He photographed you? When did you even meet? How are you sure he isn't some old creep?"

"Yes, he did. Yesterday, when I was in the market. He's our age, I made sure to ask."

"Okay, how exactly did he come up to you in the market?" He squints, tilting his head.

"Just went up to me, said hi, called me beautiful, offered money for the photos, took the photos, we drove around in his car, and then he walked me home." I shrug simply. He's still hesitant.

"You drove around in a stranger's car?"

"Correction, friends car."

"Yeah, a friend you just met."

"Whatever, I'm here now safe and sound anyways."

"But what if he was some creep? You need to be more careful, Y/N."

"I said it's whatever, Joseph." His eyebrows are furrowed, then after a while, he nods.

I continue to walk, and he follows. I don't stop him.

Once we're in front of St. Patricks' gate, I see the familiar Ford Thunderbird and quickly make my way, Joseph hot on my feet.

I see the familiar man leaning against the car with his hands in his pockets, then I see his toothy grin. I run up to him and give him a hug that he returns.

"Callum! Congratulations. I knew you had it in the bag." I say as I lean away from him. He keeps his arms wrapped around me. I feel a burning stare on us.

"Told you, you brought me luck." He takes his glasses off with his hand, then places the arm he used back on my waist. I hear footsteps and Callum's hold loosens.

There's an arm around my shoulder. Then, an all familiar voice.

"You alright, man? Congrats on the magazine. Y/N's told me about you." I look up at Joseph. His jaw's clenched.

"Of course she did. She told you about the ride on this pretty thing?" He pats the car, and I flush.

"Yeah, she did. I'm Joseph." He puts a hand out for Callum to shake. They clasp hands, and their grips are tight.

"Callum, but I guess you already knew that. If you don't mind me asking, who are you to Y/N?"

"Her b-"

"Friend. He's a friend." I cut him off. He looks at me with hurt in his eyes, then masks it with fake joy.

"Yup. I'm her friend." He nods to Callum.

"Oh. It's a bit weird that she hasn't mentioned you. You know, since you're friends and all." Joseph's arm tightens around me.

"Yeah, it's not like her to talk about her friends to someone she just met." There's a sarcastic smirk on his face.

Callum hums. "Well, s'nice to meet you, Joseph. Have a good one, yeah? And you, pretty lady..." Callum's gaze shifts to me, stare softening.

"Have a good night." He lifts my hand to his lips, placing a soft and lingering kiss on it. I take a deep breath in, maintaining composure, overwhelmed by the attention both boys were giving me.

Callum turns around and drives off on his car. Once his car was out of sight, I look back at Joseph, his stare still on the road where Callum rode off to.

"What was that?" I squint, tilting my head up. He instantly looks down at me with tending eyes.

"Nothing. I'll walk you home." His hand comes town to my arm, rubbing it gently. We turn to the way to my place.

The sun has set, and the street lights are on. It's a quiet night, the only things being heard are footsteps and draining water.

Only a block away from my flat, Joseph's arms are still around me. It feels comforting. It's nice to have a new friend. Though, I've known him longer.

"When you get home, I want you to say hi to George for me." I laugh at that. "I'm not kidding."

"Yeah, I'll say hi to George for you." I smile at the ground, then look up at him. He's already looking at me. We slow down a bit, just staring.

Then he leans in, and I mirror him. We lean in closer, closer, and closer. A moped engine turns on. We stop, and pull away.

"Here we are." He stops, and I didn't even notice we were already at my place.

"Oh. Right." He steps away from me, the arm around my shoulders gone. I feel alone again.

"Well, good night, Y/N." He stand there with his hands in his pockets.

"Good night, Joseph." I purse my lips. He nods. I walk up quarter way to the steps, then I stop.

I go back down, see Joseph, I tip toe, then press a kiss on his cheek. I quickly walk up the stairs again, almost tripping.

I make it to the inside of my flat, not bothering to turn the light on, then rush to the window. I peek out of it, and he's still there. He looks bewildered. Then, a smile slowly sits on his face. He stays there for a while, and then he walks away.

I slowly get up from my place, turning on the light, and I just stand there. Then, I squeal.

Holy fucking shit. Oh my gosh. No way, no way, no way, no way. I just kissed his cheek. Holy shit.

That's normal. Totally. Just a friendly kiss. But it felt nice.

I check the time. It's 12 in the morning. New year's kiss. I just had Joseph as my New Year's kiss. Kind of.

I see George, and smile wider.

"Joseph said hi."

I definitely don't hate not hating him anymore.

××《☆》××

End of- Chapter four: Flashy Magazines

Next- Chapter five: You Know Where To Find Me, and I Know Where To Look

××《☆》××

It's finally done 😭😭 watch me take a month for chapter five /j. Anw, this is a handful chapter. So many emotions. This is turning out to be an enemies to frienimies to lovers. What do u guys think abt Callum? Honestly, hes lowkey me cus i love cars. I wish i had his car. More of him soon too. I wanted tk add fluff so that u guys dont get the idea that im not making joseph and reader end game. I promise i am but u guys have to wait. Happy reading hope u guys liked this!!!

[strawberrysnoopy]

ACT ONE: The Photo Shoot, part one

prologue

summary of the series: for months, leon has been writhing in his bed dreaming of his friend's wife (you). he's been fighting the desperation for months until that one night you bring up a lingerie shoot you've done for a prestigious brand.

summary of this part: recalling the first time you and leon met, you've realized you've been poorly treated by your husband. leon is no different, in a toxic relationship with his wife, ada wong. as the seeds of resentment have begun to germinate, the desire for you grows like a brush fire nearby.

warnings: MENTIONS OF PUKE, BUT NOT ACTUAL PUKING, leon teaches you how to smoke (i don't wanna see no dumb stupid comments about "oh but leon hates smoking", well leon isn't disloyal but here we are), brief use of (adjective) girl (atta girl, good girl, silly girl), praise, mentions of misogyny (not from Leon ofc), awkward, tense ass convos, a fuckton of desc. and a little description, no sex (yet ;) ), cussing, descriptions of fucking, descriptions of masturbation, semi-public masturbation, almost caught masturbating, slight corruption kink (? if you squint), alcohol consumption, use of tobacco, smoking, implied sexual references, etc.

also a/n, writing this as of feb. 2nd, 2024: 60 notes?!!!!! i was writing this for my own personal pleasure but like...??!?! i got reblogged so many times?! im gagged, tysm you guys!!! making a playlist rn, so excited to release the soundtrack. if you see little random edits, i'm probably obsessing over the fic and trying to make it perfect lol/anticipate changes. i would also like to write I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING! always communicate with your partner, discuss issues, etc. this fic is just a lil’ taboo type of fantasy, do NOT cheat on your partners.

The first time you met Leon was at a grocery store: two weeks before your husband would have any idea of his existence and one week before he had invited Leon and his wife, Ada, over for dinner. You were picking up a bottle of red wine for you and your husband under the guise of wanting something nice for date night. The reality would actually be you were buying it for yourself after your husband decides you're not worth his affections anymore, lazily mosey on over to the spare room, and pull out his phone to text other women. The wine would be something to drink to inebriate you while you watched a shitty re-run of a sitcom from the 90s. Maybe if you got lucky, Golden Girls was on.

He was only browsing, stumbling upon the liquor section and staying to look if there would be anything worthwhile. And there was. It was you. He knew he had to think of something witty, something cool people say, before you left and thought he was some creep staring at you because he saw a smidgen of your breasts in a magazine. "You're a famous model, right?" He asked. Oh, how stupid he felt. He was a chronic overthinker: thinking of every last terrible scenario, a trait he picked up after becoming an agent. This had certainly felt like one of the worst options he picked, especially with how you would-- You interrupted him. "Yeah, that's me." The subtle sweetness, the slight rasp in your voice was better than anything any street drug could offer with the amount of dopamine flooding into his brain: overloading every neuron, synapse, dendrite, and cell membrane in his body.

But for whatever reason, he stretched his hand outwards and lazily grinned towards you. "I'm Leon." "Nice to meet you. Well, I'd say my name but y'know..." He nodded in an awkward agreement before you could even finish your sentence, but not daring to go as far to interrupt you. He felt as if he already started off the conversation with a cumbersome beginning. "Right, right. So, that's your real name? I see a lot of models use stage names n' stuff like that." He adjusts his weight from one foot to the other, switching the hand holding his grocery basket from his right to his left. He felt so...awkward around you. Maybe it was the fact you were a famous model, or maybe it was the fact you were just so calm. The joke causes a soft chuckle to leave your lips and the mere look of a fleeting moment of bliss to cross over your features makes his knees turn into gelatin. Those nerves solidify into stone when the overwhelming sense of guilt hits him like a tidal wave but allows it to wash over him for the sake of continuing the conversation.

"Yeah, just my regular name. I'm not that creative outside of modeling. Usually the photographers do the thinking and the creative processes for me." He chuckled, shaking his head and barely moving himself a little closer. Leon wanted to sink in that gentle, warm, and soft presence you carried around with you. Your aura felt comforting: like a hug after a tough day: it had felt so much more different than his wife. True, Ada could be affectionate but that's usually only after something good has happened to her or Leon was her last resort of attention. He really hated how much he would act like an obedient dog, awaiting her arrival home, coming back to her after she's treated him like dirt. You? You felt so goddamn altruistic and considerate. And he's only known you for three minutes.

You notice he's gone silent and you're silently hoping he thought you were cool. Cool. Like a teenager trying to fit in. You silently cringe at yourself until he smiles at you, almost like he's signaling you to continue the conversation. You can't think of any conversation starters. And you're a model for gods sake. You're usually so outgoing and social with other people but now it's like a cat came by and stole your voice box. Thankfully, he takes over that portion for you. "Buying wine?" He knew it was dry as all hell but he wanted to steer the conversation away from him being a fan of your modeling gigs. No, he just wanted to talk to you and discover what you were like behind the camera. (Okay, and maybe he wanted to see if you'd flirt with him.) "Yup. But I'm just buying wine for..." You paused, about to say 'for me and my husband' but your throat becomes dry whenever you feel like you're about to announce it to him. "...Myself."

He smiles. He likes that you're awkward in real life. The fact made you feel more real, like you weren't just some sexy model with expensive tastes and a bratty attitude. You were a person like anyone else.

"Right. Me too, just uh...just browsing." You nod, fidgeting anxiously with the sleeves of the coat you decided to toss on last minute before leaving the house.

The conversation went on to end when you eventually realized you would be home late. Although you thought that worrying your husband a little would be the thing that reignited the spark in your marriage, you knew that punctuality was a habit you'd like to upkeep. That, and you also knew if you talked to this handsome stranger for longer, you'd cheat on your husband. That night, Leon had fallen asleep to the thought of you for the first time. Soft little visions of pressing his lips against yours, caressing your cheek softly and whispering sweet nothings into your ear, etc, etc, cheesy lovey dovey bullshit. So much more different than the truly filthy thoughts he had about you nowadays. You're torn from your conversation with your friends when you make eye contact with him. You can practically feel his eyes travel from the hair at the highest point on your head to the very last bit of your black, leathery heels with perfect pretty pearls embellished on the pump. For a moment, you feel like you're trapped in some type of horny labyrinth while you stare longingly at him.

He's ripped out of his own longing by the feeling of your husband's hand slapping his back. Ada sat beside Leon with her arm protectively wrapped around his bicep. You felt as if the gesture were a signal to everyone at the party that Leon belonged to her. He was under her control, nobody else's. Or maybe the protective message was for her husband, as if he was an unruly friend to her husband. And you could agree with that. You fell in love with your husband because he was wild and care-free but after the diamond ring was slipped onto your ring finger, you realized he was also carefree in the sense that hurt you: talking to other women behind your back, and leaving for days at a time only to come back inebriated. But you stood by his side, no matter what. You hated how you felt like a doormat but you didn't know what else to do besides stay married and play the role of an oblivious wife while your husband fucks other women in various positions. In a way, you and Leon sat in the same loveless boat. Who knew when that same boat would be shaking from the violence of the both of you fucking, clothing pulled out and to the side instead of being fully taken off. Your thoughts become interrupted by an unmistakably handsome voice.

"Hey."

You feel a hand being placed upon your lower back except it's so much more different than your husband's. The palms were rough, callouses inside the nooks and crannies, and pulsing veins make you all dizzy if you thought about it for too long. His voice was dampened with some undertone of lust, his fingers prodding into the skin of your sides. He's always been a little too handsy for a man that's supposed to happily married. But you always figured touch was how he communicates: touch. But he's never touchy with your husband. Or any of your friends. And he missed you? Sure, your're friends due to the fact your husband was friends with Leon. (Even though you met him first, but I digress.) The simple phrase had your mind reeling, cheeks flushed red due to the hidden intimacy of it all. His wife shoots him a look and his hand immediately retreats back to his side, fighting the urge to palm the engorged erection struggling against the seam of his boxers. "Haven't seen you in so long, hm? Thought you disappeared on me for a minute." He's holding his facade of being totally and irrevocably in love with Ada up and steady. Like he had no feelings for you other than being friends.

"Of course not." You murmur, feeling a hearty chuckle reverberate from his chest. He takes his index finger and his thumb and gently swiping it against your chin.

"Atta girl." And of course, with how hoarse his voice is, your panties are instantly puddled with a thick pool of arousal. You hate his stupid, thick, sexy, and deep voice. You especially hate his voice whenever you imagine him degrading and praising you whenever your husband was away and you just happened to have your hand down your underwear, playing with your clit to ease the throbbing impulses you felt for Leon. He gives your back a single pat before moving back to stand beside his wife. You really hate that you feel jealousy flare like wildfire within you, but you brush it off.

Everyone would eventually be drawn to the several dining tables that were arranged in a group and had golden candlesticks and smooth white tablecloths on top. Once you are seated, you observe that Leon appears to be striving extra hard to guarantee his place beside you. He looks right at you for a brief moment. And only then can you see, just a hint of thirst sprouting in his eyes, before he glances away from you and gives Ada a quick smile while patting her thigh.

It's only a few minutes before Leon decides to break the awkward silence.

"How's that modeling gig going?" You nod, gulping down way too much champagne.

"Good, been going good. Have to admit it gets a little boring posing in front of the camera after a while but can't bite the hand that pays you, right?" You joke, and the table laughs with some sense of jealousy. "Nice to hear. What was your latest shoot?" He asked, leaning forward in a sudden rush of intrigue. Then those words pass your lips. Words he had never anticipated, even in his wildest guess (oddly.)

"A lingerie shoot. For Chanel." The table goes quiet. And everyone, including your dumb-ass husband, look at you. Someone (Ada) clears their throat in the dining room, hinting at you to elaborate and it's almost like you suddenly developed to ability to hear from light years away.

Leon, who had just finally got his goddamn boner under control feels his cock twitch back to life, fully hard instead of a semi this time. And correct him if he's wrong, but he starts to feel pre-cum smearing his dress pants. He's thankful he chose the black slacks instead of his lighter colored ones otherwise this would be downright humiliating.

"Sorry, um...I did an intimates photo-shoot for Chanel a few weeks ago for their new line of clothing." That seems to help lighten the mood a lot more because everyone goes back to their conversation with their respective friends, the embarrassing "confession" from you immediately leaving their minds. "The theme was Overtime. Like, staying later in the office with my shirt unbuttoned and stuff. Nothing that interesting."

The table simultaneously nodded, Leon going as far to excuse himself for a cigarette.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go have a smoke." Leon scoots out from his seat, heading towards the upstairs balcony to take care of business. Asshole, leaving me with his mean ass wife.

You decide to join him outside.

The air had finally gotten too tense, felt too judgmental for your taste. Scampering outside, you're met with the sight of Leon smoking a cigarette outside. That's odd: you've usually pegged him to be the straight-laced, no-nonsense type of man yet here he was, smoking a cigarette while leaning against the balustrade of their friend's top floor home. At the sound of the balcony door opening, he turns his head to see what you're doing out here. His eyes scan you, almost like he would while he's in combat but it's more or less to get another glimpse of the outfit you were wearing tonight. Okay, and maybe he wanted to commit the sight of you to memory.

"You alright?" He asked, trying his best to look straight forward when you step closer and cross your arms over the balustrade.

"M'fine, just needed a minute of fresh air, I think." When you sit beside Leon, there's a few things you notice. The first was his outfit. A white button-up that usually would be covered by his black suit jacket, though he left it behind on his chair in the dining room. There's also mentioning his blacks slacks, fitting his muscular thighs a bit tight but loose enough so they're comfortable. Then there's the dress shoes, ones he wore at his wedding due to how overly formal they looked. Maybe he wanted to get some more use out of them? Who knows.

"What about you? Why are you out here?" You decided to be the one to take the reigns since the air outside had become incredibly awkward as well. "Same. Thought I'd take a minute of fresh air, you know?" The second thing you notice about Leon is how much he calms you. More importantly, how much you never noticed that you were anxious when you were around others. He had this aura of relaxing or maybe you were just buzzed, who knows that either? Maybe it's the cigarette, speaking of...

"I haven't smoked since college. Cigarettes, I mean. Don't think I even know how to do it anymore." The confession makes his head tilt to the side, now taking more of an interest in the conversation than before. He grinned wolfishly, taking your chin in one of his thick and strong hands and pulling your head forward. For a second, you could almost be dumb enough to think he'd be moving in for a kiss. Of course not. You'd never be that lucky. "Open f'me, sweetheart." And like an obedient puppy, you opened your mouth just enough so your pretty pink-shaded lips could be parted. He placed the cigarette on your lip, the moisture making the filter stay in your mouth alongside his index and middle finger holding it up, thumb brushing your chin. Little hazes of grey smoke dance along your tongue without even taking a sip of the smoke yet, your lips trembling with a lustful agony. "Now close your mouth..." He whispered, his damp and hot and horny breath hitting your ear like an affectionate declaration of love. "And inhale."

You close your lips around the cigarette, faintly tasting the flavor of him where he had sucked on the cigarette. You got notes of citrus, rum or some expensive, top-shelf label of whiskey he used to help quell the pain he experienced on grueling missions, tobacco, and maybe even the slightest hint of his wife's lipstick. Chanel's Rogue Allure, if you had to guess correctly. "...Now hold it..."

You held it. "Silly girl." He whispered, pulling the cigarette away from your lips while you slowly exhaled the rest of the smoke you've been holding in your mouth and then some. You can't tell if it's because of the alcohol, Leon's presence, or your mere anxiety but you begin to feel dizzy. Thankfully Leon seems to swoop in with his questions to keep your head in the game. Bless him.

"Why'd you need a minute, huh?"

For a minute there, you didn't know how to respond. Looking down at the leathery pumps you chose for the evening, you begin to wonder why you even chose them instead of answering his question. But you answered him. Eventually.

"I'm just tired. This whole night just seems a bit…” You gesture to the party in the background. “Fake. I don’t want to be here."

He hummed in agreement, but it felt like more of a signal for you to keep going. "I'm also just terrible at making conversation. Especially when it's awkward and silent."

His eyes flicker down to the pumps he'd already stared at tonight, not finding an interest in them anymore than your own body. He tucked his lip between his teeth, pulling the pink flesh away from his mouth before he spoke up again. "You're not that bad, you know? I think you're pretty good. How about this?" He pauses. Then a beat passes.

"Tell me something true. Tell me something you wouldn't brag to anyone about." He moved his cigarette to rest on the balustrade instead of the space between his fingers. "Something that's yours...and only yours."

You look at Leon with wide eyes, mouth agape as you struggle to answer his question. Your eyes rake down his face from the space between his eyebrows to his parted, pink lips: just a little chapped from the cold chill of the night air. You wanted to kiss him. All of those times you've had him over for dinner, all of those times you've spent with your hand down your panties while your husband was away on "business": dreaming of his best friend, Leon, and god, all of those times you thought about throwing caution to the wind and leaning in to press your lips against his: the sum of all of those moments had you quivering for more.

But you'd never cheat. You have a reputation. You have a husband that gifted you the pretty diamond ring on your finger. But how did it always feel so...impossible? Like you couldn't live another day if you weren't able to fuck Leon like a rabid dog in heat. But he was staring at you, almost as if his eyes were laser beams and searing holes into your skin: you had to answer.

"I don't know what I could tell you that's only mine." You chew on your lip. "Huh. How about..."

How about the fact I wanna kiss you? I wish it was you I was in bed with rather than my stupid, cheating husband? The fact you are so much hotter than him?

"I hate being a trophy." And that brings the biggest grin on Leon's face. A massive shit-eating grin. Leon had gone stir crazy. He wanted to peel your entire being open, see all of the nooks and crannies of your soul and devour it whole. But now wasn't the time to scare you away: even if he wanted to fuck you, you were still a friend to him. So he calmed down. "I can't say that's too surprising. I mean, who would? Being able to be pretty and have money being tossed at you is nice until you want something deeper. Then it seems like one of the only things that are scarce in your life."

You nod, letting out a breath of consolation. "That's exactly how I feel. Like my only purpose is to sit still, look pretty, serve my husband, and be a hole when he needs it."

His eyes become downcast, looking down at the garden on the ground level of the restaurant. "I get what you mean." The moment was interrupted by a waiter peeking out on the two of you: head poked outside of the door that lead to the outside area. He pulls his hand away from your soft skin and back to his side, sighing wistfully that tonight wouldn't be the night he gets to act on his desires for you. Damn it all to hell.

"You should head back. I'll be back, yeah?" You nod and within a few seconds, you've returned to your spot at the dinner table. He sighs, hand slipping down to palm at his erection. Fuck. Can't go back like this.

Just resist. You're just another woman. You have a husband, He thinks to himself, I'm married to a lovely woman. I am a faithful husband. The silent mantra he practices on himself works about as well as a band-aid on a bullet hole. Resist. God, but you looked so pretty tonight. That cute jewelry set you wore with your little black dress? Hot. The smoothness of your skin?

Resist.

But he can't stop picturing you on your knees in front of him, sucking on his cock. The sounds your perfect, wet mouth would make. How he'd ease himself down your throat. How you'd whine.

Resist.

Or how about when he could be fucking his cock into your tight, wet, and warm cunt? The tip of his dick kissing your cervix? Or what about the positions he could force your body into? Like having his arm around your throat, bicep curling into your mouth to muffle your moans from his wife hearing? Or how one of his hands would be gripping your hips while he needily plowed into your pussy, while you begged him to let up. Resist.

Resist.

Fuck it.

In the few moments after he's excused himself from you, he's already rushing to the upstairs bathroom of the restaurant: thanking the holy beings above for making it a single stall bathroom for his jerking pleasure. He hastily unbuckles his belt with one hand, other hand impulsively opening Twitter as a first resort to find some fashion fanatic post about the slutty lingerie photo-shoot you did for Chanel. Alas, you're still a bit of an undiscovered goddess in the modeling industry at the moment: so Google is his next best option. He pulls out his half-hard but hardening cock from his jeans before he can even find your photo-shoot and gives it a quick few pumps to ease the throbbing that's starting to build up in his loins. Eventually, he finds it. Thank fucking god because the creativity for his fantasies are beginning to run quite dry. And instantly he's grunting and groaning while he strokes his cock and scrolls through the multiple scandalous photos the photographers took of you.

"Fuck." He winces in pleasurable agony as he stares at quite possibly his favorite photo of you. The photo was in black and white: theme being "Overtime" like you mentioned. The white button up shirt was undone, revealing you had nothing on underneath, and allowed for the side of your perfect breasts to be revealed. If he squinted just a little harder, he could see your puffy nipples threatening to peek out of the shirt. He tried squinting a little harder to see your nipples a little easier. And oh my god. You have piercings?! He almost shot his entire load on the spot. God, he needed to fuck you. And hard. He groans as he feel himself get closer to orgasm. Closer, and closer, until--

"Leon?"

Fuck. It was you. God, of course you're so goddamn sweet, checking up on him to make sure he's okay. He didn't dare stop stroking himself off, especially not when he's got jerk-worthy material of you almost catching him. That's also not mentioning the soft intonations of your almost innocent voice right there. He's trying not to cum too quick, wanting to savor those images for as long as he could but he also realized his wife might start asking some questions and she wouldn't be on the other side of the door if she came upstairs. "F-fuck, yeah?" He responded after much too long of hearing your sweet voice. "Did you need something?" "Are you okay? I just got worried when you left. You've been gone for like..." You check your wristwatch: a classic and dainty Timex from the 80s with a blank band that wrapped around your wrist snugly.

"Fifteen minutes. Do you need water? Ibuprofen?" He shakes his head as if you could see him while he continues to jerk himself off, hand swirling in a sort of cranking motion as he tries to work his cock to orgasm. But his pre-cum isn't coming out fast enough, not as fast as the pumping motions his hand was doing right now, so he spits in his hand before bringing his palm back down to his cock and lathering his dick in spit. You believe him enough to think he might be getting ready to vomit.

"Nah, jus'...ngh, drank too much, I think." Please keep talking, He selfishly thinks to himself. "Oh, okay. Well, if you need anything, just text me?" He nodded, grunting out a thank you while he continues to dream of ruthlessly fucking you until you're embedded into his mattress. He wants you. He needs you. He feels himself get a little closer until he finally releases into his fist. His hot and sticky cum ran down his palm while the waves of post-orgasmic bliss and post-nut clarity simultaneously moved together as one. For a few minutes, he's panting like a rabid dog in heat until his breath eventually stills and he's able to walk downstairs and look his wife in the face while giving her the impression that he definitely didn't just masturbate to his best friend's wife. When he sits down at the table, the first person he makes eye contact with is you. You smile at him, mouthing a "you okay?" because, of course, you're still worried about him being sick. He nods with a grin peeled onto his face. Because he came to the sound of your voice. And you didn't have a fucking clue.

credits: snoopy divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more heart divider by @saradika-graphics

[toxicanonymity]

menace

4k / (your) creep!Joel x f!Reader / night walks AU

Thank you @serenaxpedro for the pic and gif 🖤

Thank you @missannwinchester for a great smut prompt. 🖤

✨A/N: you can skip to the 🚬🚬🚬 divider to get to Joel faster and skip the plot with her aunt talking about joel.

WARNINGS: creepy!Joel, some angst (read Q&A Qs 1 & 2 if you don't want it), alcohol, public groping, fingering, and humping, references to addiction, Jack getting the jack treatment, somnophilia, grinding and dry humping, thigh fucking, unsafe P in V sex, reader POV for most of it, followed by Joel POV smut.  There's a floor plan at the bottom of the post.

“Following you? This is my spot, pumpkin.” He nods to the women’s room and lowers his voice to add, “C’mon, you know that.”  You voice the question you’ve been asking yourself ever you saw him in that booth.  “Would it bother you if I was out with another guy?” He offers a little smirk and steps closer until you’re almost up against the opposite wall. He lowers his voice more.

“I got nothin’ to worry ‘bout, baby.”  He tilts his head and gazes into your eyes.  “Go ‘head, know ya want it.”  He holds out his hand and you hesitantly give him yours. His thumb draws light circles on your palm. “Can’t stand it, can ya? Bein’ this close, and not close enough.” 

(Night Walks 8)

After seeing a topless picture of yourself in your brand new text conversation, you reply, “omg DELETE.”

Joel replies, “what’s it worth to ya?” 

You don’t answer. 

“Door’s unlocked,” he says. 

You don’t respond. Your aunt has planted a seed of doubt and shame, and the last thing you wanna do is rush back over to his place.  If he showed up at your basement door, it’d be a different story. 

-

You don’t expect to like the guy your uncle introduces you to, but you agree to it in order to get your aunt off your back.  Just in case what your aunt says about Joel is true, you figure it also won’t hurt to get your mind off Joel.  Diversify your investment.  Because after spending all night and all day with him for the first time, you realize you’re more invested than you want to be.  

Your aunt is relieved when you once again agree to be set up on the date.  She’s making dinner and you’re sitting at the kitchen table watching.  “So, that’ll give you someone new to spend time with.  A real looker, too.” She smiles over her shoulder, then stirs the boiling pasta to keep it from sticking.  “I know there aren’t that many people your age in the neighborhood,” she says louder since she’s facing away.  As if that must be why you’d resort to Joel.

“He’s a little older than you, but not more than 10 years. Definitely not as old as. . . “  She puts the utensil down on the spoon rest and her face falls, then she turns around to face you.  She crosses her arms and her brows knit together.  “I’m sorry,”  She opens her mouth to say something, closes it, then changes her mind again.  “What do you and Joel do when you ‘hang out’?” She squints at you and uses air quotes. 

You swallow, then look around.  “Watch tv, listen to music.”  

“That’s all? I wasn’t born yesterday, honey.”  

You shrug.  “I don’t get it.  You heard rumors, so what.  What am I missing?”

“Not just rumors, honey.”  She looks down and away and swallows.  A pit opens in your stomach.  

You’re not sure you want the answer, but you ask, “Did you. . . sleep with him?”

She laughs loudly, then covers her mouth with her eyes wide.  

You study her face in anticipation.  

“No, no.  God, no.”  She laughs more quietly.  “Sleep with him? No, of course not.” 

“What, then? What’s not a rumor” Your heart is racing. 

“It was a long time ago.”  She returns her attention to the pasta. 

“What was??” 

She turns the stove off and turns around, crossing her arms again.  “I mean, years ago.”  She approaches the table and sits down across from you.  “. . . there was a cook-out at his next-door neighbor’s house.  He showed up and he was all by himself.  The other men weren’t including him.  I felt kinda bad and went up and talked to him.  He had a fancy drink. I asked him what it was, and he said he’d make me one really quick if I came to his bar. I had a bad feeling, but I still went to his basement.”  She pauses and looks at you. Your face feels stone cold.  

"What happened?"

“He tried to get me to, um-” 

“To what.” 

She sighs.  “Smoke reefer with him.”  She shakes her head in disbelief. 

You suppress a laugh. "And you said no?"

"Of course I said no! If I was gonna try it, it wouldn't be with him."

"Did he take no for an answer?"

"Oh, yeah.”

“So what, then?”

“I just got this terrible feeling about him.”  She shakes her head.  “So, I left.” 

“That’s all?” 

“And I was so embarrassed to go back to the barbecue smelling like that.” She pinches her eyes shut at the memory, then opens them. “I mean, not like that, I don’t really mind smelling it.  But smelling like him.” She holds her head with her palms on her temples for a moment, then lets them down. “Your uncle wasn't happy either. And I got pulled into the rumor mill, too, until I told people what really happened. You’ve gotta trust your gut, honey.”

Your brain might know better, but you’re pretty sure your guts want that cock all up in them.  "Did he try to touch you or anything?"

"No, nothing like that."

“Did he ever make you the drink?”

“Oh yeah, that was the first thing he did.” 

"Why do you think he invited you?" 

She sighs. "I dunno.  Maybe he was bummed after the guys at the grill wouldn’t really talk to him.  When I went over to say hello, maybe he thought I wanted to hang out."

"Where were you sitting in his basement?" 

"At the bar, watching him make the drink. These are a lot of questions, honey. Are you sure he's just a friend?"

You ignore the question and think for a moment. "I guess I don't get it. You say he has girls coming and going at all hours as if that means he's sleeping with anyone who goes in his basement. But he didn't even make a pass at you?"

She sighs. "Okay, you don’t have to believe that. But he’s still bad news. You know he's an ex con, right?"

Your eyes go wide. You're not put off by it, but it's never come up.  If it’s true, you shouldn't be surprised, given you don't do a lot of talking, much less share your life stories.  So it’s not like he's hiding it. 

🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬

For the next few days, you and Joel don’t text each other, but you think about him every day and wish he would say something.  You think about your aunt’s concerns, too.  You feel a little better when you reflect on how this all started. How fixated Joel has been on you.  How fixated he is? You get nervous that he hasn’t texted.  You look him up. No criminal record in the last 10 years and you'd have to go to the courthouse to go back further.  You wouldn’t put it past the rumor mill to be wrong about this. 

One night, Joel texts “Walk?”  

When you don’t respond, an hour later, he says, “swim?” which makes you smile. 

“Not tonight, I have a headache.” 

He replies, “Feel better 💐🍆.” It makes you laugh but also turns you on.  You wonder why he doesn’t just show up one night.  

-

You go out with Jack and he’s surprisingly hot, nice to talk to, and funny. He's a welder with a nice physique. He obviously works with his hands.  His black hair is just beginning to gray.  On the first date, You tell him what brought you to the suburbs.  The need to save money and get some space from your immediate family. Jack says he wishes he felt like he could get that space.  He shares that his father is a recovering addict, and he checks in on his parents a lot.  He worries that his dad is going to slip.  You have some common interests and you like him enough to want to see him again. The two of you text casually throughout the week. 

For your second date, he picks you up for a drink at your favorite restaurant. It was Jack’s choice, but there aren’t exactly a lot of restaurants close by.  When you walk into the restaurant, your face heats up.  The last time you were there, you ran into Joel and he gave you head in the bathroom.  You’ve known this, but once you’re there, something about physically being in the space again makes you feel exposed, like the staff must somehow know. 

You sit at the bar and have a couple of drinks.  The bar is a big square island in the middle of the restaurant.  The main restaurant space is behind you.  The front door is straight ahead, and the other two walls in the bar area are lined with booths.  You’re in the middle of telling Jack about movies you’d like to see when you lose his attention.  His eyes fixate on a corner booth and his face falls.

You follow his line of sight and your heart skips a beat when you see Joel. He’s facing away from you, but you can see his profile and you’d recognize it anywhere.  You can see his pinstripe PJ pants, too, and a blazer which he's surely wearing over a very low-cut t-shirt. He’s sitting across from another attractive man Joel's age or older.  More gray.

You realize your hand is covering your mouth and your eyes are wide.  

Jack notices too and does a double take, then asks, "You know him??" 

"Uh, no, I don't think so, why? Do you?" 

“That’s my father.” Your heart almost beats out of your chest for a few seconds until you realize he’s obviously talking about the man facing y’all.  “And I’m pretty sure that other guy is a dealer.” 

You nod slowly. “I’m sorry.”

Jack’s eyes are welling up as he tries to call his dad and his dad ignores it. Jack’s dad gets up and slaps hands horizontally with Joel, punctuated by a finger grip, and his dad leaves.  Joel starts to turn around and in the corner of your eye you see him head toward the restrooms. 

“I’m gonna go to the ladies room,” you say and affectionately squeeze his shoulder.  

-

The restrooms are around the corner out of view.  Just before Joel opens the door to the men’s room, you ask, "Are you selling drugs to addicts?" 

He turns around with a confused expression, which turns to bemused when he sees your angry face.  You glance to his exposed chest and the subtle dip between his hard pecs. He looks you up and down and says,  “Lookin’ good tonight, pumpkin.” You try to remember if he’s seen you in a dress or skirt before.  Yeah. . . the gas station, and the last time you were here.  

“Well are you?”

“Not sellin’ to anyone these days.  Just an old friend sayin’ hey.  Who’s he to you?” 

“A friend’s dad.”  You squint and try to read his eyes.  You doubt he’d lie about something like this, only because he doesn’t seem to have any shame.  “Then what are you doing here? Are you following me?”

“Followin' you? This is my spot, pumpkin.” He nods to the women’s room and lowers his voice to add, “C’mon, you know that.” 

You decide to voice the question you’ve been asking yourself in your head ever since the moment you saw him in that booth.  “Would it bother you if I was out with another guy?”

He offers a little smirk and steps toward you. You step back until you’re almost up against the opposite wall of the hall. He lowers his voice more. “I got nothin’ to worry ‘bout, baby.”  He tilts his head and gazes into your eyes.  “Go ‘head, know ya want it.”  He holds out his hand and you hesitantly give him yours. His thumb draws light circles on your palm. “Can’t stand it, can ya? Bein’ this close, and not close enough.” 

He gently, slowly lowers your hand with plenty of time for you to pull it away, but you don’t.  He puts your palm against the front of his soft pants and takes a deep breath as he cups your hand around his cock. He’s barely hard, but still big. He uses your hand to slowly massage himself for a few seconds, breathing heavier as he hardens into your hand and a stab of need shoots through you. 

He takes his hand away and yours lingers on his crotch for a moment, pressing into him one more time before you drop your hand to your side.  He puts his hands on the wall on either side of your shoulders and leans into you, pressing his pelvis up against your body. He gets harder and leans in to nearly whisper in your ear, “feel that? your favorite drug?” 

His lips linger at your ear, his hot breath teasing you until he closes his mouth and really presses himself into you with an, “mmm.” His scruff brushes against your cheek as he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, your bodies still in contact, your panties getting wetter and wetter. “It’s all over your face, baby.”

He takes a deep breath, and his warm package further stiffens against you.  “Have your fun,” he murmurs. His face drifts closer to yours again.  He uses two fingers to tilt your chin up and your lips part. “You’ll be back, pumpkin.”  Then he closes his lips around yours and thrusts his tongue into your mouth.  He moans, “Mmm,” as his lips knead yours and he sucks your mouth. His hardness swells against you as you kiss, and your chest fills with butterflies.  

He steps back and adjusts himself with a raise of his eyebrows. “It’ll be here for ya.”  He winks then goes into the men’s room. 

-

You go back to the bar and awkwardly sip your drink as Jack texts his Mom and dad. 

“Are you sure he wasn’t just saying hi?” you ask. 

“I dunno,” Jack says and puts his head in his hands. He looks up again.  “He didn’t look like he’s been using, but it scares me.” 

You’re startled by Joel’s voice on the other side of you ordering a drink at the bar.  

"Don't I know you from somewhere?"

“You know this guy?” Jack asks quietly as if Joel isn’t there. 

"We’re neighbors.” 

“Neighbors, sure,” Joel says with a fakely contemplative frown, then mutters, “pillow neighbors.” You hope it isn’t too obvious when you elbow him. 

Jack must be too distracted to hear the comment. 

“What time is it?” Joel asks, then holds his phone so you can see it and presses a button to turn the screen on.  

The blood drains from your face–Joel’s lock screen is the topless photo of you.  The one you told him to delete.  You shift your body to try to block it. 

Jack’s phone rings and the screen says Mom. “I’m gonna take this,” he says and goes outside. 

-

Joel lingers next to you and sits at the bar after he gets his drink while Jack is still outside.  He swivels his stool to face you and you swivel yours to slightly face him.  

“What’s on the menu tonight?” he asks and lightly lays his hand on your knee. “Hmm?” Your legs part all on their own as he slowly slides his hand up your thigh.  He squeezes your thigh when his middle finger brushes the cotton finish line. ‘Member havin’ somethin’ juicy before.” He slides his ring and middle fingers under your panties. His lips form a small ‘o’ as he exhales upon feeling how wet you are.  Soaked.  “Hell yeah,” he murmurs.

You scoot to the edge of the stool, you can’t help yourself.  You keep glancing up at the door.  He slides his fingers along your cunt and teases your entrance, watching you squirm. He stands up to get closer and insert two fingers. He brings his mouth to your ear and whispers, “filthy, baby. bet ya'd take it right here”  He pulls back to watch your face and murmurs, “right on this stool, wrappin’ your legs around me. bet ya’d like that.” When he can see your breathing and eyelids both getting heavier, he slowly pulls his hand away with a smile and a quiet, self-satisfied laugh. 

He sits back down on his stool and orders four tequila shots.  One is for Jack, and there’s an extra one for you when Jack gets back.  Joel licks your hand and holds his dry hand out palm-up for margarita salt.  The bartender squints at him but obliges.  He sprinkles some of it on your hand and it sticks to his saliva.  Then, he taps his glistening fingers in the salt.  Your eyes go wide at the use of your slick for this purpose.  After taking the shot, he obscenely licks the salt and your juices off his fingers, sucks them clean, and winks at you.  The door opens and Jack comes back in.  

“Night, pumpkin,” Joel says as he gets up to leave. “Have a good time.”  On his way out, he gives Jack a friendly salute. 

Instead of driving, Jack orders an Uber for both of you together.  On the ride to your house, Jack is mostly quiet. His mom doesn’t think his dad is using.  Jack asks you if you do any drugs, and you tell him you smoke.  He doesn’t say anything judgmental but he nods pensively.  You tell him you’ve never bought anything from Joel and just know him from the neighborhood.  You try to comfort him about his dad and reassure him it’s probably nothing, and to trust his gut about how his dad looked.  He kisses you good night as the Uber pulls up to your house. It’s a long kiss, but melancholy on his end. You ask if he wants to come in, but he declines and leaves in the Uber.

The next day, Jack texts you that he doesn’t think he’s ready to be with someone who does any drugs at all, as much as he likes you. He thinks it would be easier to stop seeing each other now before it gets more serious. You’re hurt, but also a little relieved.  You won’t have to feel guilty about what happened with Joel at the restaurant. And at least you gave it a shot.

That evening, you take a walk but don’t run into Joel.  You decide to text him.  After typing and erasing multiple things, several of which invite him over or ask if you can come over, you simply send, “hey”. 

He doesn’t respond. You go to sleep pining for him, very turned on, but too sad and lazy to even bother with a toy. 

-

Joel is napping when you send the text, but he’s not surprised you do.  You can try to stay away all you want, but Joel knows it's always just a matter of time until you need his cock inside you.  That's where he belongs - inside you. 

When Joel wakes up, he showers and moseys over to your backyard instead of responding to your text.  Looks like you've gone to sleep early for once. All the better.  He lets himself into your basement and slinks into your room as easily as he did the first time. You remain fast asleep as he just barely lifts up the blanket and sheets for a moment.  He sees you're naked and his breath hitches. "Yeahhh," he says under his breath, then starts to undress.

He gets fully nude, then slides under the sheets and drapes his arm gently over you. His warm chest presses against your back, and his hardening cock lays against your ass.  You stir and softly moan in your sleep as he presses himself up against you. 

He cups your breast and bends his knees to nestle in behind you, your body entirely cradled by his. He can't help but rock his hips into you. "Mmm," you sigh, still asleep. He slides his hand down your torso and dips his finger between your legs just to check.  You're wet. 

"Fuck yeah," he whispers to himself. 

He holds his hand there for leverage and slowly humps against you.  He grinds against you rock hard and returns to groping your breast. He presses his lips against the nape of your neck.  Then you make the sweetest sound. 

"Joel," you sigh, making his cock swell harder against you.

"Shhhh," he whispers into your neck. "It’s okay, baby." You push your ass back into him. He's so hard, he's leaning precum and the head of his cock slides wetly against your warm skin.   "Shhhh," he repeats. “Go back to sleep.” 

You sigh and settle into his body as he grinds against you nice and slow. “Good girl.  Fuck ya real good in the mornin’." He slowly, carefully wedges his cock between your thighs for warmth and friction, and is met with all your wetness.  He slides his cock along your slippery seam and cups your crotch from the front.  He fucks your thighs until he can't contain himself anymore, and comes into his hand with the softest moan.  He cleans it off with a tissue from your nightstand and uses your hand sanitizer to haphazardly make his hand a little less sticky.

Then he settles in as close as possible again, his eyelids heavy from the orgasm. He cups your breast and falls asleep with his body cradling yours, his warm, softening dick pressed against your back. 

-

In the morning, his cock is rock-hard and nestled between your thighs again. When he wakes up, his hips are already moving, and you're pushing your ass back into him.  You interlace your fingers with his and place his hand on your breast. You moan softly as he wakes up and his movements become more deliberate.

"Fuck, baby," he whispers into the crown of your head. "Want it bad, don't ya?" His hips thrust gracefully and powerfully, sliding his stiff cock along your dripping cunt again.  You lift your top leg enough to wedge your hand between your thighs and your fingers meet the head of his cock. 

"Fuck me," you whisper. 

He continues to thrust into your thighs, grunting silently. 

 "Do it, Joel."  His breath hitches at the sound of his name.  

You tilt your hips just right and your fingertips gently nudge the firm, sensitive cock-head into your entrance. You press your ass back into him and your body practically sucks him in, sealing your tight, wet little hole around his tip.  

He moans, then replies, "yes ma'am." He wraps his arm over you for leverage and shoves his thick cock into you with a soft grunt. He moans as he feels your insides make way. He repeats the motion and you both sigh as he bottoms out. He stays there all the way inside you for a moment. 

"Feel so good, baby," he whispers as he pulls you back on his cock and rocks his hips, nudging a little further into you.  You're so tight around him. Your cunt is so needy for him. He slowly backs out most of the way and pauses.  You whine at the loss and your cunt grabs at him.  Then he rails into you again and you push your ass back to  meet his pelvis. “Ohhh,” he groans.  

"Fuck," you whisper. "Joel," you sigh and his cock twitches inside you at the sound of his name.  You push your ass back harder and he grabs your hip for leverage.

"That’s right, baby," he murmurs hoarsely.  He nibbles at your neck your nipples pucker

The firm tip of his cock nudges your g-spot and you moan, "Mmmmm." Your head tilts back and he lifts his head up from the pillow to kiss the side of your neck as he thrusts into you at a perfect beat and hungrily palms your breast. You fuck like this for a few minutes, and he can sense your climax building.   

"Fuck," you whisper, pushing your ass back harder, fucking yourself on his cock as he pounds you. "Close," you manage to spit out. You harshly swallow and it sounds like you almost choke on your own saliva. "Oh god, Joel," you say in a loud whisper.

He feels you twitching around him and sighs "Ohh, baby." His hips snap into you and his fingertips circle your clit. He buries his length to the hilt each time with a soft grunt. "That's it, baby. come on." 

You whine, "yeah," and he pounds into you."Just like that," you say.   

"All yours, baby," he pants. "Come on it."

You whimper, "fuck," and he pounds you harder. "So good," you whine and arch your back. 

"That's it baby."

You unravel with a moan and begin to clench around him. "Yeah," he breathes as he fucks you through it. "Ohhh, that's it, baby." His sweaty chest glides against your back.  He loves feeling your back against him.

You moan, "J-joel," as your cunt flutters and pulses tightly. 

He buries his mouth in your hair and slows down, then slams into you to the hilt with a grunt.  He knows he's there. He nudges further and groans as he erupts inside you, muffling himself with his mouth against your head as huge pulses fill you up with his warm load. 

He inhales your hair and kisses you on the head as you both recover.

It's still dark out.  Your bodies are sticky with each other's sweat. 

"Mornin', beautiful" he says, voice hoarse and low, cock still inside you.  "Miss it?" He asks with one last subtle thrust that makes you shudder.

"Mmm," you answer faintly and fucked out.   He holds you and you fall back asleep with him inside you.  Its where he belongs.

-

Q&A for this one.

-

Thank you so much for reading and engaging! It really means a lot to me, motivates me, and helps me know what worked. It also helps me recognize you if I see you in the wild. I love y'all, you're the best.

-

NW: @tehweeana @ele-meno-p @swedishscumfuck

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose  @fandomsfallnomore  @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339   @manazo @wolvesandvampires  @taeslarityy  @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk  @filthfairy  @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles  @harriedandharassed  @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy  @cutesyscreenname  @weddingfairy  @pedropascal-whore  @spideysimpossiblegirl  @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths

[demigodsanswer]

Love your modern royal au. Could we see a jealous annabeth who decides to stake her claim scene? With percy just being adorably confused or too polite or just watching what happens 🙂‍↕️

Modern Royals AU

Three weeks after Paris

Annabeth was quietly fuming into her tequila soda as one of Percy's friend tried to talk to her over the music. From the corner of her eye, she could see Percy still dancing with some red-headed girl and guy who's name she recognized from Percy's vague references -- Frank, the ex-boyfriend.

She'd landed in New York last week, and in that time, she and Percy had hardly been separated. She already had a toothbrush and contact lenses case in his loft.

Percy was clear when he invited her out tonight that it was to meet some of his friends. She just didn't expect it to be an ex-boyfriend, a girl who was clearly in love with him (ex or not, she didn't know), and an older blonde man who simply wouldn't leave Annabeth alone.

"--and Percy is like a brother to me, but if you ever wanted to ditch him, I am single," the man, Luke said, with that overly familiar, friendly tone.

Annabeth smiled, mouth closed, eyes squinted, at him. "I find that hard to believe," she deadpanned.

Then, thank god, Percy was at her side, throwing an arm over her shoulder, his side a bit sweaty but not unpleasant.

"Leave her alone, or I'm telling my mom you were being disrespectful to women again," Percy threatened.

Luke just messed up Percy's hair before leaving the bar for the dance floor with a simple "Nice to meet you, Annabeth."

"Threatening a thirty-five year old with your mother really works?" Annabeth asked.

Percy shrugged and he signaled the bartender for two more drinks. "He tried to corrupt me when I was little. My mom Uno-reversed the whole thing, turned him into a somewhat respectable man."

"Heavy on the somewhat," Annabeth mumbled, drinking down the last of her drink before picking up the new one.

"Was he really bugging you?" Percy asked, more serious now.

"No, no," Annabeth waved it off, "it was fine really. I'd just rather be talking to you." She offered him a sweet smile, and he looked like he was about to kiss her, when Cascada's "Every Time We Touch" started.

"Percy!" The redhead, Rachel, said, running over and pulling on Percy's arm, yanking him away from Annabeth. "Come on! It's our song!"

Rachel had this swipe of blue paint on her cheek that Annabeth was sure was there on purpose. It was meant to look like an accident, of course. Some signal to the world that she was, in fact, artsy and bohemian, taking a break from long hours of painting to grace this bar with her presence. Rachel had a full face of makeup on under the paint, and the blue splotch was artfully emphasizing one of her cheekbones, on the side with the dimple. If Rachel had decided to flirt with her tonight instead of with Percy, Annabeth might have found the little touch cute, endearing even. But seeing this woman try and pull Percy away from her made the phony paint swipe nothing but a pretentious annoyance.

Percy pulled away from her. "In a second, Rache, let me just settle up here," Percy said.

Rachel left him alone after that, and Percy turned back to Annabeth. The sour look on her face must have been obvious. He poked her between her eye brows, where she knew her face had scrunched up. Her make up had probably settled in the crease too. She hoped Percy couldn't see that in the dim bar.

"You okay?" He asked her.

"I just didn't expect half your friends to be in love with you, is all," Annabeth said.

"You mean Rachel?" Percy asked.

"And Frank," Annabeth added.

"Frank's with my cousin now, actually," Percy said, as if that helped. Annabeth just took an aggressive sip of her drink.

"Look, your brother once left me alone on a beach for hours. I'd like to not go 0 for 2 on being abandoned by infanti of Spain," Annabeth said.

"The King decided my dad's kids would get the infante title," Percy said. Annabeth just rolled her eyes and tried to turn her attention back to the bar, but Percy hooked his fingers under her chin and pulled her face back to his. He kissed her quick. "And I have no intentions of leaving you alone here," he promised.

Annabeth caught Rachel looking at them over Percy's shoulder. So, Annabeth just threw her arms over Percy's shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss. Annabeth let the kiss go on for an inappropriate amount of time, but she was waiting for the end of the song.

When they pulled away, Percy's eyes were wide.

"Wow, um, do you want to get out of here?" He asked.

Annabeth finished her drink. "Sure do," she said. Percy closed the tab quick as she got them a car, and they left without saying goodbye.

(A few hours later, Percy would lament that he'd been rude abandoning his friends like that and text them an apology, as Annabeth slipped back under the covers to remind him why he'd been so rude in the first place.)

[fanfiction4sooya]

Can't save you now

Shameless smut, dom/ sub dynamics, 18+ heavy mommy AND daddy kink, spitting, anal plugs, anal sex, use of whips, degradation kink, mentions and use of alcohol, there's voyeurism if you squint, dacryphilia, punishments, kazuha is a big crying baby, chaewon is kinda aggressive and sakura is too mommy for this world and probably something I'm forgetting

Words: 3,315

That's all fictional, very few things here are according to reality. (Requests are open even if you want to cuss me out, which won't work cuz I am too kinky to care)

Kazuha observes from the backseat of her girlfriends car how Sakura coos and whispers something on Chaewon's ear while she drives the expensive jaguar. She found it interesting because usually one of them was in the backseat with her, but not today. The more Sakura whispered, the stronger was Chaewon's grip on the stearing wheel.

"Mommy?" Sakura looked at her, her usual soft eyes were filled with this certain amusement that Kazuha loved to see. "What are you whispering to daddy?" She asked playfully, referring to them as she used to when the three of them were by themselves.

"Well, princess..." Sakura started, turning her body to look at Zuha. "I told you earlier you were being a little too flirty with those other idols" She chuckled a bit. "So I am trying to calm your daddy down so she can have a session with you, my love" Zuha smirked, her plan going all too well. "You know I would never allow her to be angry at you while in session, right?"

"Y-yes, mommy" Sakura reached her hand to stroke the younger one's face, caressing it. "Thank you mommy, you are the best" She kissed Kkura's palm, squirming in her seat.

"You baby her too much" Chaewon said, glaring at Kazuha's image on the review mirror as she smiled bratty as ever looking right back. "We'll see for how long you'll keep that cocky smile, brat" She took a deep breath unconsciously flexing her jaw, making Kazuha wet.

"Eyes on the road, puppy" Sakura said, petting her head. "Calm down and you talk to her at home, is that okay?" Her eyes softened, immediately melting onto her touch and focusing on the road ahead.

They got home and Chaewon was right ahead both of them, turning on the lights of the big house and taking of her high heels. She went to the kitchen and drank some water, taking another glass with her.

"Kazuha, come with me" She passed the two women, going upstairs to their shared bedroom. She looked at Sakura, waiting for her but the older woman just clicked her tongue.

"You two go first. I'll sort some things out and I'll be there in a minute, princess" Zuha pouted and mumbled and 'okay' whilst going upstairs following Chaewon.

"Daddy?" She pushed past through the big wooden door, her pussy throbbing in anticipation. Chaewon had her naked back turned to her, the only thing she was wearing was a strap on. A very big one.

"Strip" Was the only thing she said.

"But I look so pretty" Zuha bit her lip, knowing very well she was setting Chaewon off with those bratty little comments. Chaewon finally turned to her, making her drink that sinful image of her perky tits and hard nipples, that birth mark on her abdomen and her cute clit under the straps harness.

"If you don't take it off I'll rip it from your body" Chaewon took a few steps towards her, her eyes were like a controlled fire. She reached Zuha, pulling her by the waist and flushing their bodies together.

"It was expensive, daddy" She moaned, feeling the strap on poking her front, her mind dizzy with lust. The other licked the japanese's lips in a upward motion and she shivered, her pussy clenching with need.

"I'll buy ten more, I don't give a fuck" She said ripping the straps of Kazuha's dress easily, impressing the other girl and leaving her only on her white panties.

They started a fiery kiss; Chaewon ever so dominant, licked and sucked Zuha's lips, pulling her hair by the nape and making her moan. She redirected her kisses towards her neck, biting it and leaving a big red mark that soon would be absolutely purple.

"Daddy, please" Kazuha whined, trying to hump the tip of the strap. "I'm so wet, I need you inside me" She whispered on Chaewon's ear and the older girl just grinned.

"Is that so, princess?" She said, pulling Zuha's head back by the hair. "Do you think you deserve being filled up with daddy's thick cock?" She said trough gritted teeth.

"Y-yes?" Zuha tried to lie and Chaewon's expression darkened.

"Filthy slut" She said, slapping Zuha's pretty face, making the girl clench on nothing. "You deserve to be punished and you will, princess" She caressed the spot slapped a few moments ago. "On the bed, ass up and face down" She commanded and Kazuha blindly obeyed, doing exactly as she was told. "Oh, so now you wanna be a good girl?" She chuckled.

Kazuha didn't realized that on their nightstand a set of anal plugs were displayed, alongside with a lot of lube and a leather whip.

"I'll teach you what bad girls get, princess" She kissed Zuha's back, she was so aroused that Chaewon's words were just passing trough her ears, not really being processed. "I wanna fuck your pretty asshole today, is that okay?" She softly asked, caressing Zuha's butt cheek.

"Please, daddy" She whimpered.

"Oh, I see you two really started the fun" Sakura said, leaning on the door frame, a whiskey glass in one hand and the bottle on the other.

She looked stunning, already on her red silk robe and her brown hair down.

"Good you are here, mommy" Chaewon smiled with lust filled eyes. "I was about to tell our pretty princess that today I am not touching her pussy at all" She said and Kazuha gasped, looking back.

"Really?" She said, amused. "That's only fair" She took a sip of her whiskey, stepping closer to the edge of the bed and kneeling in front of the other japanese woman. "I tried to warn you, my love"

Kazuha got desperate, that was the worst punishment she has ever received. Not that it was like denying her orgasm, she knew for sure she could come being fucked in the ass, but it was a slow build, making her work and focus really hard for it to happen.

She quickly jumped on Sakura's arms, whining.

"Please mommy, don't let her do this to me" She said in the most spoiled tone she could. "Tell her you won't allow her to do it!" She pleaded, knowing very well that if Sakura told that to Chaewon she was more likely to comply.

"Pretty pretty princess..." She looked at Kazuha's pretty brown eyes, smiling. "I can't save you now, love" She kissed her, spitting in her mouth and smearing spit on her lips, the strong taste of whiskey on her tongue. "Now get back there"

"Yo-you can touch me, right?" Zuha pleaded and Sakura caressed her cheek, shaking her head.

"I am going to let daddy deal with you tonight, princess" She said, fucking Chaewon with her eyes while saying it. "I'll just enjoy the view, okay?" Zuha nodded, her eyes shiny with tears that didn't fall. "Be a good girl, mommy is watching you" And with that, she sat down on the carpet in front of the bed, facing the other two.

Zuha reluctantly went back in position, face down and ass up and Chaewon almost passed out with how pretty she looked that way, kissing one of her butt cheeks and massaging the other, smearing her spit there.

"What should I do to her, mommy?" Chaewon asked mischievously and Sakura lifted both her shoulders, resting in one hand.

"I have no ideia, puppy" She took a sip of her drink. "I'm only here for the show, remember?" Her eyes were sharp and encouraging, it was the first time Chaewon would lead a session. "Do your best, my love"

If that was a hierarchy, Chaewon was Kazuha's boss and Sakura was Chaewon's boss, per say. Sakura was dominating to the other two.

"I will, mommy" She nodded blushing a bit, turning her attention to the younger of them and kissing her muscular back. "What are you safe words, princess?" She softly asked, and Zuha smiled.

"Green to keep going, yellow to stop and check and red to stop the scene, daddy" She answered, pulsing.

"That's my good girl" She patted her head. "I'll start now" She got down and kissed Zuha in the mouth, licking the remains of Sakura' spit on her chin and positioning herself back behind her, on her knees.

She took Zuha's panties and threw them at Sakura, who smiled catching and sniffing them. Perv.

"My princess, you are soaked..." Her voice was like honey. "I wish I could drown on your juices now, fuck" She grabbed Zuha's ass cheeks, spreading them and taking a good look into her pretty pussy, the lips swollen and her clit poking out of it's hood. "It's a shame you decided to go all slutty playing with everyone at the party earlier" She clicked her tongue and Kazuha contorted her face, her pussy absolutely drenched at those words.

Sakura observed mesmerized by both of her girls, she trained them so well.

"But I'll have so much fun with your little hole, my love" She spat on Kazuha's asshole, teasing it with her tongue next. Kazuha tried to hold her moan, almost tearing the bed sheets apart but she almost screamed at that sudden rush of pleasure.

"Daddy, fuck" Was all she managed to say, while Chaewon hummed.

They separated and the oldest of them both turned to get the lube and one of the anal plugs; it was made of metal and had a pretty pink heart shaped rock on the end. She coated it with lube, spilling some directly onto Zuha's asshole, who mewled at the contact, specially because the lube was going down to her slit.

"Oh, you look so pretty" Chaewon hummed. "Spread your ass for me, princess" She asked and Kazuha obeyed, her eyes closed in anticipation. She jolted when the cold metal touched her asshole, mewling at it.

It was fairly big, but she took it well, moaning softly when the other pushed it inside. Her pussy clenching around nothing and pulsing so hard she was almost sure Chaewon could see it.

That postion she was in was the best for anal, yes, and it was absolutely mind blowing how could someone be so fuckable like that. Chaewon looked at the pretty plug on her lover's ass and smiled.

Zuha couldn't see, but Sakura observed how Chaewon was shaking in some mix of excitement and a little bit of fear. It was her first time not being led by Sakura after all, she was nervous. She looked at the oldest of them, receiving a small nod and a "You are doing good, puppy" as confirmation. Her heart swelled. Oh, how she loved those two.

"Now, princess..." She started, pulling Kazuha to her knees and speaking on her ear, one hand circling her hard nipple, pinching it. "How many spankings do you think you deserve for what you did earlier?" Kazuha gulped in excitement, the plug slightly moving inside of her hole and making her clench.

"Anything you give me, daddy" She answered and Chaewon slapped hard one of her tits and then the other. That took Sakura by surprise and she smirked.

"Good little slut" She roughly pushed Zuha's face down again, making her whimper. "Twenty each cheek, slut?"

"Yes, daddy" She nodded, gulping. Her eyes met Sakura's and she could swear her cunt was on fire, she never wanted to be touched so bad, to be taken by both of their straps at the same time.

"I'm playing with you, princess" Chaewon said, sliding the whip from her ass to her cunt, making her hiss and jump slightly. "Ten each cheek is more than enough" Sakura sipped on the second glass of whiskey, so relaxed it was dizzying to observe. "But I'll make sure you'll regret those ten for the rest of the week" She whispered to Kazuha, making her shiver. "Now count, slut. And if you mess up I'll start again"

And that's how started: Each flick of the whip Zuha jolted and counted, hissing loudly and moaning. Chaewon was definitely not holding back per usual; She was good with pain, stronger than the other two and definitelly not very merciful when it came to punishments. As the strokes were getting to the end, Zuha was crying with her eyes closed, a shaky and wet mess, too aroused to think.

"Keep counting princess, you are doing good" Chaewon said, the leather whip meeting Zuha's raw skin one more time.

"Seven!" She screamed, drooling on the bed sheets, her eyes now glued on Sakura's hopeful ones.

Sakura was more of a soft dom, so even tough she knew Kazuha liked that kind of treatment, sometimes that could be a little tough to watch.

She couldn't hold herself, kneeling in front of Kazuha and kissing her deeply, her tongue exploring the girl's mouth kind of in order to take her mind a little from sub space or else she would miss the count and had to start it again.

"Ten!" She screamed mid kiss, her tears making the kiss wet and salty. Sakura smiled relieved and Chaewon hugged Kazuha from behind, praising her for doing good, looking at her work of art, smiling at the reddened skin of her girlfriends ass.

"Fucking beautiful" She said, biting hard on Kazuha's back. "You did so well for me, princess" She said, slowly taking the plug from inside the japanese girl. She dripped lube on her fake shaft, turning Kazuha around and laying her on her back. "I wanna fuck your tight little asshole looking at your face, princess" kazuha hissed, her skin was burning.

She didn't even wait for the other girl's response, she simply shoved it inside her lubed hole, making her scream and grab Sakura's silk robe, her head on the other japanese woman's lap.

"Daddy, please" She rolled her eyes, drooling, shaking. "It-it hurts" Her voice cracked, almost gone. Each thrust making her pussy ache for more, Chaewon's abdomen casually brushing against her swollen clit and guiding her closer and closer to her orgasm.

"Do you want me to stop, slut?" Chaewon said, pounding hard onto the other's asshole, her pretty tits bouncing with the relentless pace the older one had set. Kazuha nodded, her eyes closed. "Then tell me your safe word" She punctuated each word with a hard thrust and Kazuha shook her head 'no', crying. "Dumb whore, I knew it", she kissed the girl, her tongue exploring her mouth, fucking her so hard the skin slapping could be heard from afar.

Chaewon straightened her back, putting both of Zuha's legs on her shoulders pounding even harder, deeper.

She closed her eyes, each thrust stimulating her clit as well, making her shake in pleasure, grunting loudly just like Kazuha.

Sakura saw it in first hand, both of them were about to climax; But as a dom Chaewon needed to do it after Kazuha, of course.

Sakura gently took Zuha's head out of her lap and went behind Chaewon, gently rubbing her sweaty back.

"Open your eyes, puppy" She gently said, cupping Chaewon's jaw with her right hand. The girl continued her relentless job of pounding the other, so into her approaching orgasm she could barely hear Sakura calling her. "Look at me, love" She called her again, more than a little bit of force on the grip of the other's jaw. Chaewon opened her eyes, they were glossy with pleasure.

"Mommy" She cried out, the grip on Kazuha's hips strong as fuck.

"I know, puppy" Sakura kissed her, whispering on her ear. "Take care of her orgasm first, puppy" She said, seeing in first hand how Zuha's pretty hole was clenching. "Look at her, she is about to cum" She whispered, holding Chaewon's hair by the nape and making her cry out, so aroused she felt she was about to pass out. "Be aware of what she says" Kkura said.

That was too hot for Chaewon to hear, but she needed to understand well what the other one was saying. Her sub's needs should always be her number one priority and she needed a clear mind so she could listen and observe for any kind of discomfort or any safe word falling from her lips.

"Hold it just a little more, listen to her needs first" Chaewon nodded, focusing on her sub. "Don't forget to breathe..." Sakura whispered into her ear.

She kept humping the strap inside her, now pinching both her nipples, twisting them with her fingers.

"D-daddy, please Chaewon, please" She moaned, basically screaming, accompanying the thrusts. "I'm cumming, fuck, fuck" She said and the other kept the hard pace, Kazuha's long nails ripping the skin of her forearms, scratching her.

"Princess" Was all she managed to say, before coming undone as well, her juices spilling all over the strap's harness. Breathing heavily, she could only feel Sakura beside her, patting her head for her to still pay attention to Kazuha.

Kazuha was still moaning, humping up with her eyes closed, tears falling from them freely. Chaewon opened her eyes, kissing the girl's jaw.

"Are you okay, princess?" She whispered and Zuha held her so tight it was hard to breathe, still crying. "You don't feel like answering, angel?" Chaewon said softly, her heart still beating fast.

"Daddy" Kazuha was fulling sobbing now, her whole body trembling.

"Yes, princess?" She frowned, it was unusual for Zuha to cry that hard.

Panicking a little she looked around looking for Sakura, trying to understand what was going on but she wasn't there.

"Did I hurt you princess? Can you point to me where it hurts?" Okay, she was full on panicking now that Kazuha was holding her like that and loudly sobbing. They spend some time like that, but the young woman culdn't contain her tears.

Sakura's foot steps could be heard, much for Chaewon's relief.

"Are you going to be mad at me?" She sobbed, hiding her face on the crook of the other's neck.

"Mad? Of course not my baby, please don't say that" Chaewon cooed, petting her head. "Tell me what do you need and I'll give it to you right away" She was a little more relieved now that Zuha has said something.

"I..." She whimpered. "I want mommy now, please" Chaewon's heart melted on her chest, sighing.

"Oh, my princess" She kissed Zuha's forehead, carefully taking the strap off of her. "Of course, baby" She got up, looking at Sakura.

"Come here" Sakura softly said, pulling Kazuha's limp body to her lap. She kept crying, hugging Sakura as if it was the last thing she would do on this earth. "Are you okay, baby?" She whispered and Kazuha slightly lifted her head, her eyes puffy and her nose red.

"I just missed you so much" She said, a little bit embarrassed. "Please let me stay here" She softly asked, clutching onto Kkura's silk robe.

"It is okay, baby" She said, looking into Chaewon's apprehensive eyes. "She just missed me, that's all" She smiled softly. "You did well, puppy"

"I love you, unnie" Kazuha directed her comment to Chaewon. "Thank you for this..." She said, already drifting off to sleep.

"Come here" Sakura called the younger woman, holding her hand and pulling her for a peck on the lips. "I love you too" She whispered. "Zuha will take a while to wake up, then we can do her aftercare"

"Right" Chaewon smiled, proud of herself.

"I filled the bathtub with hot water and your favorite lavender bath bomb" She whispered, not to disturb the other girl's nap. "There's tteokbokki on the kitchen for you, alright?" Sakura caressed her face and she leaned onto the older woman's touch.

"You are the absolute best, mommy" She kissed her lips one more time. "I love you so much!!"

Sakura smiled, watching her wrap her body in a towel and disappear onto the bathroom.

"I'm the luckiest woman alive..." She said, looking into Zuha's peaceful expression.

[cevansbrat0007]

Indecent Exposure Pt. II: Reality Bites

Summary: REPOST! After a night of hiding in your room, you're none too pleased to find your Dad's best friends, Bucky, Andy, and Steve waiting for you in the kitchen. Too bad they're more excited to see you than you are to see them. Read Part Three!

Warnings: Mature Themes, Bucky Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Unwanted Touching, Dad's Best Friend Themes, Older Men/Younger Women Themes, Brief Reference to Spanking and Discipline, Panty Sniffing, Semi-public Masturbation, Allusions to Breeding Kink, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: "THIS CHAPTER IS A REPOST WITH EDITS* Please heed all warnings. Part of my Indecent Exposure Series. If you'd like to be added to the tag list, please let me know.

You roll over in bed with a groan. Using your pillow to shield your face from the early morning sunlight, you reach for your phone to check the time. Squinting at the screen you’re surprised to see that it’s just past 9:00am. 

As if on cue, your stomach rumbles, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime yesterday. Last night you’d been so determined to avoid Bucky that you’d chosen to sequester yourself in your room. 

At some point you must’ve fallen asleep before you could even place your DoorDash order. It was a testament to just how upset and uncomfortable you were about your current predicament.

Sometimes reality really fucking bites.

But you were a big girl. You were going to figure out a way to navigate through this mess – uncles or no goddamn uncles. You were going to make sure they gave you the space you needed this summer. Which meant it was time to set some boundaries. 

Easing your way out of bed you pad over to the bathroom to quickly wash your face and brush your teeth. Once you’re feeling appropriately refreshed you head for the door. If you were being honest, you were kind of surprised that Bucky had left you alone last night.

Not that you were complaining or anything.

You take a second to put on your slippers before opening the door. As soon as you step into the hall, you’re greeted with the smell of frying bacon. Your stomach rumbles again as you begin to make your way down the stairs. 

Guard up, you pause just outside of the kitchen. You inadvertently bristle at the sound of several male voices floating out into the hallway. Apparently you had company. 

Fucking awesome. 

FInally ready to make your presence known, you breeze into the kitchen acting completely unbothered – making a point of ignoring the men who are taking up entirely too much space in your favorite room of the house.

Unfortunately, it’s too little, too late when you remember that you’re wearing nothing but a pair of hot pink sleep shorts and a matching Shortcake tank top. Had you actually thought about it, you would’ve donned your most modest flannel pjs, complete with a robe, before you set foot in a space with these men.

You could almost swear they had x-ray vision or something based on how hard they’re staring at you. Of course, you also knew that that couldn’t possibly be true. It had to be your imagination.  

“Good morning, sunshine.” One of them coos. Casting a quick glance over your shoulder you assume the greeting came from the handsome blonde on your right. 

Welcome to the party, Uncle Steve.

He looks different than the last time you saw him. His hair is longer, and he’s also rocking a beard. You begrudgingly have to agree that it looks good on him. Of their own accord, your gaze briefly strays to his massive biceps before you force yourself to look away. 

“Yo.” Your voice comes out a little rougher than usual, reminding you that you could use some coffee. 

“Clover.” Another voice is quick to admonish with a soft cluck of his tongue – which most likely belonged to Bucky. “Is that really how you’re going to greet your Uncle Steve? And you completely ignored Andy.” 

“Sup dawg?” You fire back as you feel your face heat. 

This is why you didn’t like engaging with other humans before you had your coffee. A fact that was especially true since you were doomed to entertain a group of annoying interlopers for the next several months. 

You go to reach for the pot, intending to pour yourself a healthy cup of joe, only to jump when you feel two hands come from behind you to grip your forearms before forcibly turning you around to face both of the men who were currently sitting at your kitchen table. 

Andy looks even better than you remembered. You vaguely recall that he was supposed to be an attorney or something, which was probably why he was rocking a suit and tie. You watch as he quirks one tawny brow at you, his bearded face making it clear that he doesn’t appreciate your not-so-subtle show of disrespect. 

“Let me go.” You growl, squirming against Bucky’s hold as your t-shirt rides up, exposing your belly. “Now, please.”

“Clover.” He hisses, his warm breath caressing your ear. “Apologize to your Uncles right now. I would hate to have to call Daddy to inform him that his precious “pumpkin” is being so blatantly disrespectful.” One brawny arm wraps around your middle, making it clear that there would be no escape.

Feeling helpless all you can do is mutter a defiant “bite me”. 

“You’re breaking my heart, sweetness.” Andy hums, politely stirring his coffee. “I canceled all of my morning meetings to be here with you, and I can’t even get a proper greeting?”

“Right?” Steve chimes in, his eyes hard as he agitatedly runs his thick fingers through his hair. “We all have places we could be, Clover. I get your Daddy went on tour and left you home all alone, but we’re sacrificing quite a bit to make sure you feel loved and supported.”

“Is this really the thanks we get? You being a brat?” Bucky’s voice is pure silk as he continues to reprimand you. “We love you, but I think I speak for all of us when I tell you we can only tolerate so much.” 

Your mind goes blank when he shifts his hold, allowing his muscled forearm to graze the underside of your breasts. Once again you try to break free, hating the way your face burns when you feel your nipples involuntarily pebble beneath the thin fabric of your t-shirt. 

Fucking hell! You really should’ve put on a fucking bra before you came downstairs. 

To make matters worse, you can tell that you’re not the only one who’s noticed your brand new predicament. You watch as Andy’s nostrils flare in surprise. Of course he tries to play off his interest by scrubbing a hand over his neatly cropped beard.

Meanwhile, Steve remains perfectly still, his face unreadable. But his white-knuckled grip on the edge of his chair lets you know that there’s something going on beneath the surface.  

“Apologize, Clover.” Bucky rasps as his large, calloused palm comes to rest on the exposed skin of your belly – the very same belly that was currently filled with a million unruly butterflies. “I promise you good girls will get to have a hell of a lot more fun this summer.”

“I–I’m sorry.” You respond hoarsely. Meanwhile, there’s also something hard pressing against your lower back. And it only seems to get harder the more you wriggle. 

Must be his keys. 

“That was okay, but I think we all know you can do better.”

Forcing yourself to take a deep breath you decide to try again. Because at this point you were pretty much willing to do anything to bring an end to this uncomfortable interaction. “I’m sorry, Uncle Steve. A-and I’m sorry, Uncle Andy.” 

“Good girl.”

Now that you’ve made a proper apology, you’ve apparently earned yourself a kiss from your would-be captor. Really, it’s nothing more than a chaste brush of his lips against your temple. But it’s enough to spike your blood pressure in a way that makes you more than a little nervous. 

You send up a silent prayer of thanks when Bucky finally decides to let you go. Your need for coffee remains all but forgotten as you skitter away in the opposite direction. Now that you’ve managed to put some distance between you and him, you can finally get a good look at the man who somehow managed to turn your legs to jelly. 

He’s wearing gray sweats and a white tank, giving you the impression that he must have just finished working out. The dark haired man then crosses his arms over his chest, showing off his impressive biceps. Say what you would about the men your Dad called friends, but you could not deny that they were all in amazing shape.

Built like fucking gods. Too bad they also happened to be self-righteous assholes. 

Feeling both outmanned and outgunned, you decide to beat a hasty retreat to the one place where you knew you would be safe. 

Your bedroom. 

“I…am just gonna go get changed for breakfast.” You tell them, wishing to God that the floor would just open up and swallow you whole right now. 

“Sounds good, princess.” Steve rises from his chair and heads toward the stove. “I was just about to make my famous scrambled eggs before you came downstairs. You still like cheddar cheese don’t you?” His once clouded blue orbs are now shining with an emotion that you can’t quite name.

Honestly, you’d rather snack on a plate full of drywall than eat breakfast with any of them. But bowing out of the meal no longer feels like a viable option. Which meant it was time to regroup. 

“Uh, yeah. Sounds…yummy.” You offer him a thin smile in return before spinning on your heel and beating a hasty retreat back upstairs.

“Hurry back, princess.” 

The moment they’re convinced you’re out of earshot, all three men break out in a fit of laughter. It lasts for a good thirty seconds before they manage to regain their composure. Bucky is the first to speak.

“Didn’t I tell you? We’ve got ourselves a little fucking brat.” He smacks his palm on the counter. 

“God, this is gonna be an amazing fucking summer.” Andy sighs before undoing his tie. Because who the fuck was he kidding? He had no intention of going into the office today. “I’ve already come up with half a dozen ways to put that smart mouth to good use.”

“I’m pretty sure Ari already called dibs on being the first one to make our little Clover warm his cock.” Steve reaches for the carton of eggs, cracking them into a bowl with learned skill. 

“He can’t have her pussy and her mouth. Tell your brother he gets to pick one. He can’t have both.”

Bucky can’t help the lecherous grin that slowly spreads across his features while he watches his buddies argue over their girl. And while he was pretty sure that you didn’t suspect a thing, he couldn’t wait to bury his head between your thighs. 

He planned to spend hours eating the holy fuck out of your pretty little pussy. And if his pals wanted to watch, then the more the merrier. Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes had never been the type to shy away from an audience. 

After all, they’d shared women before and it had been amazing. The only difference between then and now was that they actually cared about you. 

“What are you over there dreaming about, Buck?”

“Spreading our girl out on the kitchen table and devouring her tight little cunt until she’s crying and begging for me to stop.” He replies without missing a beat. 

“Oh fuck.” Andy rears back in his chair as if surprised by the other man’s answer. “Now I’d pay good money to see that. I bet it’d be even better if we could get Ari to tie her up. Maybe keep her like that all day.” He reaches down to adjust his growing erection.  

“As much as I enjoy the direction of this conversation, I’m going to have to ask that we talk about something else.” The blonde begins to whisk the eggs, only pausing long enough to add a dash of salt and pepper. 

“Why?”

“Because I’m hard as fuck, you punk. Plus, she’s gonna be back down here sooner rather than later. And we don’t wanna spook her. Do we?” He tosses a meaningful glare over his shoulder. 

“Fine.” They both concede, palms raised high.

The conversation briefly lapses into a comfortable silence before Steve pipes up with one more question. “Alright, this is the absolute last thing I’m gonna say.” He promises as he dumps a small bowl of cheddar cheese into a skillet containing the eggs. “The last fucking thing.”

“Sure it is.” Andy snorts, disbelief in his tone.

“I bet Ari $20 that Clover was going to earn her first spanking by the weekend. But he has faith that she’ll make it a little longer.” 

Bucky sucks in a breath as he tries to process what he just heard. “Oh, I want in on that one. You game, Andrew?”

The man in question simply rolls his eyes before rising from his seat. “Eh, I’m with Ari on this one. I’ll give her another week too.” He takes a moment to stretch his arms over his head, cracking his back as he does. “Our sweet little Clover doesn’t seem to like rules all that much. It’s obvious that Daddy Dale is an absolute pushover. But for now, I get the feeling she’s going to continue toeing the line. See how far she can push before she gets in trouble.”

 “Have patience, fellas. I have a feeling we’ll get the opportunity to claim our girl soon enough.” Jamming his hands in his pockets, Andy begins to head in the direction of the stairs, intending to check on just what was taking you so long. “Be back in a minute.”

Andy whistles low as he makes short work of climbing the stairs. In his defense, and he always has one, he didn’t consider himself a pervert. Now that you were legal, perhaps you’d come to realize that there was nothing wrong with enjoying the company of an older man. And what’s more, he was pretty certain that once he showed you what you were missing, you’d be just as affected by him as he was by you. 

When he reaches your door, he cautiously turns the knob, only to be surprised when he finds it unlocked. As he steps into the room he hears running water coming from the bathroom attached to your bedroom. 

Figuring he had a little time, he quietly skulks around your room, checking out everything that catches his eagle eye. The first thing he comes upon is your journal. While he’s tempted to thumb through it, he didn’t know how much time had before you were through with your shower.

Placing it back on your desk amongst the other clutter, he ambles over to a nearby wall. The one filled with pictures of you and your friends. There’s also a few of you and your parents. But none of him, Ari, Bucky, or Steve.

A fact that bothers him a little more than he’d ever like to admit. 

His mood slightly dampened, Andy steps over a pile of clothes on the floor in an effort to get to your closet. He pauses long enough to make sure he can still hear the water running before he does something he’s been dreaming about for a long time. 

He reaches into your hamper, haphazardly searching for the one thing he knew had the power to keep his baser urges at bay until your precious birthday. His eyes light up when he finally spies his prize.

A pair of used black, cotton panties. 

Andy brings them to his nose before inhaling deep, saving the unique scent that was all you. He startles when the bathroom door suddenly opens, revealing your towel clad form, prompting him to hastily shove them in his pocket.

“What the hell, Uncle Andy?!” You screech, wrapping the towel even tighter around your freshly scrubbed body.

“I…just came up to check on you, sweetheart.” He replies with a shrug. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen your room.” Andy makes a show of glancing around your room. “It’s kind of a mess in here.”

“Will you please just get out?” Each word is spoken through gritted teeth. 

“Sure thing, Clover.” Aware that his time was up, he heads for the door. And he’s not the least bit surprised when he hears it slam shut behind him, complete with a lock.

He doesn’t take it personally – especially since he’d been the one to intrude. He’d invaded your space without permission. But since he’d gotten what he came for, he was feeling pretty good. 

Andy’s feeling so good, that he hardly even responds when his buddies, Bucky and Steve, razz him about his sudden urge to rush out of the house after checking on you. They have no idea why he’s so pressed, and he doesn’t bother to clue them in either. 

Frankly, it was none of their fucking business. They could go on their own panty raid if they felt so inclined.

Climbing in his Lexus, he throws the car in drive before heading in the direction of a nearby local park. He was too excited to wait until he got home, especially since his newly found prize was damn near burning a hole in his pocket. 

It doesn’t take him long to reach his destination. And once he does, he doesn’t stop until he finds a secluded area where he can park. Blowing out an eager breath, he quickly undoes his slacks before reaching into his pocket to pull out the tiny piece of fabric he’d swiped from you earlier. 

Andy lets out a quiet moan as he sniffs them once more, finally giving in to his dark desires. And then he fists a trembling hand around his thick cock – the same one that holds your panties. He eagerly pumps his shaft, allowing his head to fall back against the seat as he imagines what it’s going to be like the first time he’s finally able to lose himself between your thighs. 

“Fuck!” He snarls as he increases the pace, his hips now jerking in time with his movements. Christ, he couldn’t wait until he got to cum inside you. The last couple nights he’d been dreaming about filling you with his seed, over and over again. 

Fucking breeding the shit out of you until he’d satisfied the beast in his mind that demanded he claim you in every possible way. He’d fill you up so good too, make sure that they didn’t waste a drop. An image of you, your belly swollen with his child, is all it takes for him to erupt, with rope after rope of hot, white cum splashing onto the steering wheel. 

“Ahh, fuck baby!” 

Breathing heavily, Andy decides to bask in the moment a little longer before cleaning himself up. It was going to be hard, giving you time to warm up to him and the others. But he was confident that he could do it. 

He could and would be patient. 

But until then, he had a feeling he was going to get a lot of use out of your pretty little panties. Which was okay too. He was almost positive you wouldn’t mind.

Especially since he already planned on buying you more. 

END

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[fxtalitygod]

VII. ~Survival~

Summary: You were determined to survive longer than anyone, even if you were set to marry him.

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, theme/depictions of horror, swearing/language, suggestive, mentioned pedophilia, child molestation, attempted child sexual assault, mentions of adult murder, implications of impregnating, implied Stockholm Syndrome, images/depictions of dead bodies, slight misogynistic themes (if you squint).

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Soooooo... this is the shortest chapter I've ever written, but it wasn't my intention. To be honest, I kept becoming unhappy with the results and kept going back to fix it, but it never felt right. At the end of the day, I decided to touch into an uncovered territory of (Y/n) that I had debated on for a while and enjoyed the results. I promise the next chapter will be longer and will cover more bases! Enjoy Chapter 7 of Survival!!

P.S. I know I said I'd get this chapter out in May, but it's currently June 1st, 12:26pm (for me), so take it or leave it!!! (╥﹏╥)

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules•

• Pt.I • Pt. II • Pt. III • Pt. IV • Pt. V • Pt. VI • Pt.VII • Pt. VIII

"Y/n, wait up!"

You turned to see your little sister running over to catch up to your quick pace, grabbing her hand as she extended it to you. The two of you were pushing through the crowd in the market, holding on to each other as if it were for dear life. You would rather be damned than lose any of your younger siblings upon your watch.

"We need to hurry! We have to be home before Mother starts dinner," you noted breathlessly, "She cannot even start if we do not get these ingredients to her on time," referring to the basket you were holding close to your form.

Your sister gave an obedient response as she focused on your swift gait. You could only smile at the young girl's compliance— had it been any of your other more youthful siblings, they may have given you replies of retaliation out of their immaturity, but she was a sweet child who clearly looked up to and admired you. Turning your attention back towards the road of the market square, you saw that you were close to the exit that would lead you on the path home, sighing in relief as you slightly sped up your stride; however, before the two of you could exit you felt a hand wrap around your arm, pulling you and your sister into a secluded area.

"Now, what do we have here?" A gruff voice sounded, "Two pretty little buds have stumbled upon my path."

The voice was clearly a male's, and he was undoubtedly intoxicated as his speech was slurred, plus his stride was far from straight as he walked closer towards you. He circled the two of you like a vulture over a carcass, his eyes narrow and intimidating as he looked at your youthful figures, disgustingly licking his lips. The predator eventually moved into the light, revealing his aged appearance. The man was clearly an older one, his rough, oily skin and few missing teeth being a telling sign of his seniority; if he was any younger than you had assumed, he did not age gracefully.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” you started, unintentionally stuttering as you spoke, “b-but we have to be home before sunset,” you finished explaining, your voice slightly cracking as you spoke due to the fear swelling in your chest. Despite your own terror, you tried to keep your stance straight to give your sister peace of mind, pulling the little girl behind you to act as her human shield.

“No worries,” the stranger chuckled, before reaching around you and grabbing your sister by her forearm before pushing you onto the ground, holding your chest down with his foot, “I’ll make you both into proper women before then,” the man closed his statement, making his advance on your younger sibling first.

You struggled as you tried to push the man’s foot off your torso, but your attempts were futile. The sick individual only grew tired of your punching, moving, and scratching as he decided to kick you to the nearby wall. Your gaze followed his figure as you weakly got up, only to be pushed into the wall once more, feeling cuts and scratches being made upon your flesh. The male took hold of something at the corner of your eye, still keeping your sister in a tight grip as she struggled. In moments, your hands and legs were tied, and a solid heavy stone was placed upon your lap to keep you from getting up anytime soon.

“Y/N!” Your sister screamed with tears in her eyes as the predator began to touch and kiss her pure skin with his contaminated flesh.

Your mind paced watching the scene, bile rising to your throat as you grew repulsed. Before long, the disgusting creature decided to yank at her clothes— that was the moment you snapped.

“Wait, take me instead! I’ll let you do whatever you want to me!” You yelled in haste. The decision was made with little thought, but as long as your sister was safe, you could live with the disgust.

The man paused to think for a moment before a repulsive grin overtook his expression, quickly going to restrain your sibling before removing your bonds. The moment you were free was the moment you were infested by his greedy touches. If the contact of his fingers and lips didn’t make you want to gag, the feeling of his bulge between your thighs made you want to vomit.

You thought that by sacrificing yourself for your sister's safety, you would be able to tolerate his blatant violation, but you could only feel your resolve weaken as his lingering touches began making your skin burn, but not in a good way. Despite your discomfort, you continued to indulge in his horrific actions, deciding to let out your emotions with tears and balled fists. Things weren't any easier as you heard the choked sobs of your younger sibling as she watched the setting, feeling your dignity and pride being washed away. Everything was going as the man wanted– he was getting his fixture of pleasure while two young girls suffered. If his hard-on wasn't a signal of his enjoyment, his chuckles and wretched words were an unmistakable banner.

"You're such a pretty little thing, so obedient for me. Y'know, I think that deserves a reward," the aged man cackled, moving his hands to remove his garments, changing course to strip you as well.

"(Y/N)!!!" your sister screeched, loud enough for her voice to echo in the alley.

Before you could say any words of comfort for the little girl, the man turned around, obviously not pleased with her outburst. The man's nostrils flared as he raised a hand and hit the young girl. The audible smack did not settle with you, and you could feel a temper you had never felt before build up inside you. You do not remember what happened next, but everything went pitch black for a second, and when you opened your eyes...

All you saw was the body of the pedophile lying on the floor, unmoving and breathless.

You stared at the lifeless figure, not knowing what to say as the scarlet liquid began to pool in a puddle beneath his form. Lifting your crown, you looked around to maybe see who the culprit of killing the man was; however, the alley was empty– just you and your sister. Speaking of the sibling in question, you swiftly moved to retrieve the girl only to see that her restraints were already broken and that she was unconscious, yet breathing.

Questions began to fill your mind, but you pushed them aside, focusing on the current circumstances. You wasted no more time as you went to lift the little girl onto your back, picking up the basket of ingredients before making your trek home. Although one problem was resolved, there was still another pressing matter...what would you tell your parents? Unfortunately, you did not have much time to think up an answer to that as you were now at your front door, sliding the object to reveal the worried expressions of your parents.

The couple rambled, asking what had happened, questioning why the two of you were late and battered. The more they interrogated, the louder the ringing in your ears started to develop, effectively drowning out their uneasy voices. You didn't know what to say or what to do. Would it be a good idea to tell them the truth? What if they wouldn't believe you? Would you be punished? How would they even react?

"We were playing in the fields and had an accident, but we're alright now. (S/n) fell asleep on our way back, she really exerted herself."

The lie was sour in your mouth, but you thought it was the better route when you pictured the corpse lying on the dirt floor. How would you explain such a gruesome sight? The answer is you would not because there wasn't an explanation to give– you didn't even know what had happened.

The night went on as usual, your parents buying your story and continuing regular activity. When your sister had risen, she didn't remember a thing, only saying the last thing she recalled was shopping at the market. Your parents didn't think much of it as they gave her a simple reply before having her eat with the family. When you were presented with your plate, you could hardly stomach the sight of the food; however, you knew it would be rude to waste a precious meal, so you ate and shoved whatever bile threatening to scale your esophagus down.

After the meal, you were tasked with helping your mother clean the dishes. It was quiet between you both as you scrubbed the dishware and bowls, not yet feeling comfortable to voice words. Although you opted to stay muted, your mother did not make indications she would do the same.

"Thank you for taking care of your sister," the woman started, giving you a warm smile, "she really looks up to you, and I could not be prouder of that."

Her words broke you then and there as your eyes glossed over, feeling tears cascade down your face. Your mom stopped what she was doing and took hold of your face to have you look at her, "Whatever is the matter, dear?"

"But I didn't take care of her. She got hurt today because of my incompetence. How can I call myself a good sister after that?" You choked out between quiet sobs.

"Accidents happen, my dear," the parent soothed as she pulled you in, petting your hair to calm you, "The best thing you can do is learn from them."

You could only nod into your mother's bosom, not trusting your own voice at the time being. Maybe she was right– you just had to ensure the incident wouldn't repeat itself. You repeated that statement mentally as she held you, so why did you still feel guilty.

"After all, you took care of it, my dear," your mother sounded, "You killed that vile man."

Your eyes shot open, your breathing heavy, and your pulse uneven as you woke from your nightmare. It wasn't the first time that night terror had occurred, but you had to admit it had been a while since it had. Ever since birthing your children, the nightmares had been more consistent.

At first, they were an occasional occurrence, but as the months passed, once or twice a month turned into three to four times a week. Some lasted longer than others, and others were more frightening than some. Either way, your once dreamless nights began to fill with discomforting and restless evenings. Despite the abnormality of some of the dreams, you only deduced it as a result of stress. You kept yourself levelheaded on the outside, but within, you were drowning in your overwhelming thoughts.

Ever since your everlasting pact with Sukuna, things around the temple began to change significantly, at least for you. Perhaps someone with an ordinary eye would not notice these small changes, but you were focused on the finer details. Minimal adjustments such as staffing, specifically the addition of two new guards. It was not a large sum of security, definitely not an army, but for even one guard to join Sukuna's ranks was unusual. Your husband had not much need for any more manpower as he had plenty of that as it already was; however, the stranger part is that they seemed to be patrolling the areas where the mothers resided. This did not go unnoticed by anyone as rumors were already spreading, but everyone seemed to hold an opposite reaction from your own.

"Well, they definitely do not hurt my eyes.~"

"I heard from one of the kitchen maids that they're Sukuna's spies. Apparently, one of the moms here is being distasteful."

"Our dear husband protecting his prizes, how sweet.~"

"This was bound to happen since last year's inspections– truly disappointing how many failed progeny there were."

Meaningless jokes, endearing words, bustling rumors, but no mentions of concerns. You found this new detail far from good because the guards were not focused on the mothers nor the children but rather on the surroundings of the room they inhabited. Their eyes were cautious and were jumping from place to place, their forms tense, almost as if they were waiting for something to happen. Despite these prominent cues, everyone seemed to overlook it– you had heard a few women state that `Sukuna did not want them looking upon his prizes.`

"Y/n-sama, I've been requested to escort you to the gardens," a voice sounded; however, it was not your attendant but rather Uraume who had called out to you.

You had been seeing the individual more often than usual– what started off as passing glances and minimal greetings had turned into confrontational meetings and regular appearances; this happened to be one of those instances. It did not take you long to rise from your relaxed state, moving to take hold of your children before turning to Sukuna's right hand. Uraume did not say anything, only giving you a bow and a gesture to follow them to the gardens, where your attendant would most likely be waiting. Usually, the girl would be the one who greeted you on these mornings, but because of your recurring night terrors, you opted to have her take the time to focus on other tasks, telling her that you could wake yourself; however, when you first brought this conversation up, she hesitated on the idea. After some convincing, your attendant finally caved and gave you the mornings to yourself, but that did not last long.

It took around a week or two for Sukuna to figure out that you were spending most of your mornings alone, which your partner did not appreciate. Despite his detesting of the news, he did not lash out at anybody for it– the man seemed more apprehensive than infuriated. It took only a few days for Sukuna to appoint his direct helper to retrieve you. From then on, you were seen with Uraume for most of the morning before they left to perform their other duties.

You followed the individual down the corridor, glancing at the walls and what inhabited them. There wasn't much decorating the temple as Sukuna was not a sentimental man– he hardly kept his offerings unless they were of necessity. The walls were blank and lifeless, and viewing them could drive you insane if you focused on them.

"Y/n-sama, do you love Sukun-sama?"

Your breath hitched as you moved your gaze to look at the back of Uraume's head. There question left you speechless; however, it was not because you did not have an answer but rather their sudden interest that took you aback. The person did not vocalize their thoughts much, but you could always tell when they were thinking to themselves.

"Yes, he is my husband. Why would I not love him?" you quickly stated.

"You do not have to lie to me (Y/n)-sama."

You could not help but worry at Uraume's comment. Did they know your intentions? Were they going to remove your twins from your care? Had they already discussed this with Sukuna? How long did you have left?

"And where is your evidence of that, Uraume?" you managed to keep your voice leveled despite the anxiety creeping up on you, but you needed to keep your composure if you wanted to win this little tussle, being if you had to fight at all.

A chuckle resonated through the hall.

"You're right... I have no proof, only my own conspiracies. I admire your ability to hold that over me– your defensive side is a site to see. If I'm being honest, when you first came to the temple, I did not think much of you as I thought you were just another woman to bear Sukuna's kin; you proved me wrong (Y/n)-sama. I do not understand how you managed, but you have Sukuna-sama wrapped around your finger like I have never seen before," Uruame voiced, a lightness to their tone before continuing, "Perhaps it is for the best, after all, you are both seem satisfied with your current standing."

For the rest of the trip, you sustained the following stillness, only giving the individual a hum in response to their last comment. When the garden came into view, you internally sighed in relief, glad to rid yourself of this mind-wracking conversation. Too bad things couldn't stay that way.

"Y/n-sama, your village has started to retaliate against Sukuna's command. Truth be told, it has been going on for the past year; however, things have started to escalate— for the sake of your family unit, keep yourself on guard," The righthand warned, turning to leave you to your daily activities.

Just peachy, another occurrence to write down in your list of troubles.

You would not get proper rest in a while.

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