#my woven beauty fic

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

:((((((((( i ran out of tags . tumblr hates to see me thrive!!!!!!!

ok niku just . read the tags first and then come back here ok 🙏🙏 i have a lot i still need to say this is so important to me . this fic changed my life .

(WARNING this got long ….. really long ….. mysteriously. i got carried away 💔 PLS don’t feel the need to respond to any of this btw i mean that sincerely i know this is kind of a Lot i just need you to know much i adored this fic <3333)

BACK TO GOJO ok so his talk w reader…… it was just so satisfying to see them finally get to tell someone about their experience. it must’ve been such a great feeling for them !!!! to get some of it off their chest :((( … and to have Gojo Fucking Satoru our safe harbour of a man there to believe them and listen to them and reassure them. he’s so mature when it comes down to it and you captured that so well…… like as much as he acts childish and teasing this is exactly how i picture him interacting w someone he doesn’t know in a situation like this!! he’s flirty and unserious but he tells you he’ll protect you and means it. (i’m so down bad it physically hurts)

sorry i’m abt to go on a tangent i think BUT I JUST 😔😔 really… REALLY love their dynamic…. how it evolves so much even though he doesn’t even know reader exists for most loops!! and to them he’s just this beautiful Something that they can’t help but look at…… ”inhumanly attractive” is a great way to put it like he’s just….. this magnetic force……….. and i feel like even before they speak to him for the first time they probably find some kind of hope in him.

AND that’s so important bc to me that’s like . the main Theme of the fic? hope. reader has to find some kind of hope to make it through shibuya and more often than not they find it in gojo!!! in just seeing a familiar handsome face, in learning how to navigate the timeline through his actions, in talking to him and finally having him on their side. their choice to trust him fully at the end just made me soooo insane. and obv the hope theme continues even after that because gojo believes in them!!! believes that they’ll be okay in the prison realm….. more on that later actually bc i Still. have a lot to talk abt 😔👉👈 i’m just wildly flipping through my notes at this point i’m sorry to throw this at u when we’ve barely interacted but in my defense this fic reached into my actual skull and started rewiring my brain so!!!! yeah.

i got completely sidetracked there but . yes!! the conversation between them when gojo gets sent back in time is. so good!!!!! so wonderfully written!!!!! i haven’t mentioned it that much yet i think but i love your writing i devoured every line…… i struggle w the flow of my own writing SO much but this just flows so incredibly well??? it was sm fun to read????? and the rhythm of the paragraphs (that sounds. Insane but i hope u know what i mean 😭😭) is so distinct!!! and ofc there are SO many banger lines in this in general…. the gore descriptions and the lines abt reader and their fixation on hope. on gojo!! ”He's a terrifying sort of beauty and you can't help but be captivated by him.” <- this is just one example but!! idk i’m just so enamored by ur writing style.

and the dialogue!!!!!!!! i cried!!!!!! it’s so consistently gojo…. him going all ”oh?” ”interesting…” but not explaining anything … the ”ding ding ding!” after making reader guess what he should just be telling them (it’s the teacher in him <33) AND AND AND these too!!!! :3

“Just think of it like having a lot of MP.”

“You know, your technique kind of reminds me of save scumming.” 

THEY JUST FEEL SO CANON that’s our gojo…… that’s exactly what he would say…… he’s so unserious and so funny and so charming 😔😔 sigh.

ANDDDDD reader telling him good luck!!!! gojo beaming and squeezing their shoulder!!!!! the lil wave!!!!! 🥺🥺 that made me smile so wide niku he’s so infuriatingly cute . it felt so genuine!!!! pls know that this gojo will probably live in my brain forever like genuinely . i’ve been brainrotting over him all week and this was the final nail in the coffin. i’ll never be free.

ok but also !!!! extremely important !!!!!!! before i get to the ending i just need to tell u . how much i loved kenjaku in this ……….. kenjaku nation (me & six others) will never forget these crumbs of content like he just feels so real!!!!! and he’s so interesting!!!!! made me realize how truly down bad i am for him bc these lines made me so fucking happy 😭😭 brain started releasing serotonin like CRAZY i’m so ashamed.

“You can come out, you know.”

”How interesting.”

"I'll be nice, though. I'll make it painless."

…….. he’s just ….. yeah. yeahhhhh. 😔😔 i’ll never be normal abt him. i think it’s SUCH an interesting detail that he always makes reader’s death painless in every single loop…. he never lies about it. that feels so in character to me too!!! he’s kinda fascinated at first and when that interest disappears he kills them. but he doesn’t make it unecessarily cruel because there’s just. no need. kenjaku is a sicko but he’s oddly polite at times and i’m just……. yeah. gonna need you to take over for gege akutami actually 🙏🙏 get in the writer’s chair!!! the fandom needs u!!!!!

wait while we’re on this topic pls just know the entire confrontation between reader and kenjaku was one of my favorite moments in the entire fic <333 not JUST because i’m a kenny stan ok……… reader’s resignation and ”I appreciate it.” made my brain spin because it’s just . kinda chilling? kinda sick? that they aren’t even really afraid of death anymore… or more like they’re just so frighteningly used to it.

AND AND ANDDDD niku your writing in this scene 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 gutted me like a fish.

Time doesn't flow in the box. He didn't lie. You die again.

i exploded btw . ackkk i wish i could explain it better i just!!! :< adore your writing. these lines made me go completely batshit they’re just so good. and the ”time doesn’t flow in the box” line … how that ties in with the ending and reader’s choice. whewww.

segway time <3333 this is the final rant i promise!!! i just need to talk about the ending bc it was so perfect and like many other things in this fic it made me insane …. have i said that already …. probably at least a couple times 😔👉👈 it’s true ok!! it’s just sooo interesting to me and obviously so wellwritten and fitting and just. thematically ties everything together so well? i was FLOORED

hhhhh i don’t know where to begin so i’ll just start w the final convo between reader and gojo :> he asks for their name !!!!!!! i cried !!!!!!!!!! calling someone by their name or knowing their name as a form of like . Closeness or Affection is one of my greatest weaknesses and i also think it’s soooo telling that GOJO wants to know Your Name. he wants to know you. to hear that from someone who seems so inhumanly beautiful and violent….. for him to kind of extend a final olive branch and attempt to connect w you :((((( it just says so much without spelling it out and i. started chewing at my desk. it’s so good!!!!!!! such a genius way to tie everything together!!!! and reader’s final words to him…

“Thank you, Satoru Gojo.” You burn the glittering glow of his brilliant bright blue eyes into your mind.  And then, everything is engulfed in an unending black. 

first of all!!! so so sooooo pretty. wowow. second of all THE THANK YOU ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ that’s also such a perfect conclusion…….. reader finally put their trust in someone and had that faith returned. and they thank him!!!! i like to think it means something to gojo too…. likeeee how often do people really thank him for what he does? how often is his hard work to protect people acknowledged and appreciated? sorry to bring gojo back into the discussion all the time sadly i AM in love w him….. 😔😔 and this fic made it worse so technically it’s your fault. kind of.

okay so my brain is kinda spinning away again so i’ll get to the final final thing!!!! for real this time!!!!! reader’s decision to be imprisoned in gojo’s stead… that’s so . genius? i’m so in awe??????? it makes so much sense from a character perspective based on what they’ve been through — after being at the mercy of time for so long, wouldn’t it be nice to be free of it? completely? it’s almost kind of chilling and just the idea of it scares me LMAO but it makes sm sense that reader would be drawn to it.

AND like i mentioned before!!! how it leads to a deeper connection between them and gojo, and how at the very end of the fic he’s the one who has faith in them. faith that they’ll be alright, of sound mind.

…… and that brings me to the final final final thing because. it’s just like the opening poem!! reader is the cat in the box. nobody can say for sure if they’re alright, not to mention alive, until the box is opened. and we don’t get to know!!! you leave us on a cliffhanger and that’s so good bc it really is like the cat in the box…. we can only wonder but it also gives us the freedom to decide for ourselves if we think they come out okay or not and i’m just………….. in love. with this fic. and the ending and the reader and gojo and you.

hopefully you’ve noticed atp but i really did go completely insane reading this 😭😭 i said it at the beginning but just to reiterate!!: for SURE one of my all time favorite gojo fics . AND loopfics in general…. thank you sm for your hard work :’3 aaaa i can’t tell u how much i admire the time you spent working on this??? your storytelling and writing and characterization skills????? i genuinely feel sooo giddy and excited and happy rn bc. i just adored this fic!!!! i’m so lucky i got to read it!!!!! :33 pls pat your gojo on the head from me and let him know i love him…. it’ll boost his ego but that’s a risk i’m willing to take 😔😔 i hope you have theeeee loveliest day or night a human being can have bc you made mine <3333333

beyond the unending night (reader + satoru gojo)

notes: it's finally here. the long awaited halloween fic. yes, i know it's march, but i did start working on it in september. haha. there's so much i could say, but i will leave it at that this fic is, in every sense, a fic that i would not normally write. and yet here we are.

contains: f!reader (no physical description or gendered language is used), no explicit romantic pairing (though you don't have to look hard to find the reader x gojo implications), major character death (played with), semi-graphic depictions of death, blood and violence, minor suicide ideation, canon retelling (lines of dialogue are pulled from the jjk english dub because i'm a dirty dub watcher). opening poem is from higurashi no naku koro ni (minagoroshi-hen). fic title is from giga's beyond the way.

please note that this is a time loop fic and, by nature contains repeating scenes (particularly from canon). please do not read this fic if you do not like that sort of thing.

wc: 21,883 read on ao3 (account required)

Please tell me what happened in this night. It's like the cat inside the box.

Please tell me what happened in this night. You don't know if the cat in the box is dead or alive. Please tell me what happened in this night. The cat in the box was dead.

The first time, it is instant— you don’t even know what’s happening.

The second, it is by flame, but you barely realize it, barely feel it— a second of mind numbing heat before nothing.

The third time, it is something slicing across your throat; you see the blood spilling everywhere, then the pain follows— a moment of pure agony before nothing.

The fourth time you realize what’s going on; what’s really going on.

You realize you’ve been dying.

You think your head is going to explode.

At first, you think it’s because the subway platform is crowded, insanely so— there are hundreds of people shoved into this space alongside you, packed like sardines in a can. You’ve never been one for crowds, but it’s the reality of things when you live in Tokyo. For the most part, you’ve learned to accept it, but even this crowd is a little much and you wish you hadn’t listened to your friends when they said you should go party in Shibuya for Halloween; you don’t even like partying.

There’s a sharp pain in your temple followed by a thought so loud that it feels like someone is screaming it at you through a megaphone positioned right next to your ear.

It’s the night of October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

For the eighth time.

Before you can even question the thought, images flash in your mind’s eye, blurry at first before they come into focus. The platform gates open. Chaos ensues. People dropping onto the subway tracks— spontaneously bursting into flame— their heads, necks sliced off, stomachs cut open—

Bile rapidly builds up in your throat, and you clamp your jaw shut, trying to force it down. Not here. Not now. You try to focus on something else, anything else happening outside of your brain. There’s a pair next to you musing about the people standing on the subway tracks, wondering what the two (the four?) of them are talking about. You blink back tears as you look. You can only see two: a freakishly tall man with white hair dressed in all black, and another man, dressed in strange, yet more traditional looking garb. Are those costumes too? You don’t have a lot of time to think about it as another image forces its way into your brain.

Your corpse— lifeless on the ground.

Your corpse— burning to ash.

Your corpse— bleeding out.

You can’t hold it in any more. Every fiber in your being screams at you to get away from the subway tracks, but instead you rush toward them, shoving people left and right as your hands desperately reach the stability of the gate. You grip it like a lifeline as you retch over the side of it, the contents of your stomach spilling all over the subway tracks.

There’s a quiet murmur of disgust behind you but you can’t be bothered to respond. You need to get out of here. You need to leave. You need to do it before—

The gates open and the crowd starts to move like a tidal wave, pushing and shoving their way through the gate. You’re swept away, vomit long forgotten as you and a few dozen others tumble onto the railway.

Alarm bells go off in your brain, loud and deafening. A voice in the back of your head screams for you to get off the track! Get off the track now before—

The platform erupts into a cacophony of screams, drenched in horror, saturated in fear. You are surrounded by people, by corpses— beheaded, sliced open, bursting into flames.

Your terror roots you to the ground as the carnage ensues around you. It’s only when another person, another corpse, dressed in a magical girl costume collides with your body that you can finally move. But it’s too late, you realize, despaired and helpless, as your bodies fall to the ground.

It’s too late.

You die an eighth time.

You think your chest is going to explode.

At first, you think it’s because it’s so hard to breathe, frustratingly so— there are hundreds of people squeezed into this space alongside you, packed like cattle for slaughter. You've never been one for crowds, but it’s the reality of things when you’re in Shibuya. For the most part, you’ve come to accept it, but this crowd is way too much and you wish you had just stayed home and ordered a pizza; though honestly, the thought of pizza kind of makes you sick.

There’s a dull throbbing in your forehead, followed by a thought so loud that it feels like someone’s hollering at you from a loudspeaker that’s been installed in your brain.

It’s the night of October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

You think it's the ninth time now.

Behind you, you hear a woman screaming, her voice crazed and terrified. You turn your head automatically to look at her and when you see her you realize you recognize her yellow and white magical girl costume. You can say with certainty that you’ve never seen her before and yet—

Before you can ruminate more on it, images— memories assault your mind’s eye with a clarity that is absolutely sickening. That woman colliding into you, your bodies slamming into the subway tracks before you both— Your stomach churns violently,

and you feel like you’re going to puke, but you force it down— can't afford to right now. Instead, you make your way over to the woman.

Her head is in her hands as she mutters over and over again about how everyone is going to die. People around her figure that being stuck in here with the crowd has probably gotten to her. You, however, know better.

“...hey,” you say softly.

Her muttering comes to an abrupt halt and slowly she raises her head to look at you. There’s a flash of recognition in her eyes and she grabs you violently by the shoulders. “You! You know, don’t you? That we’re going to die?”

If it weren’t for the fact that you have indeed experienced death here eight times already, then you would have thought she’s lost her mind. Slowly, you nod and she seems relieved by it, her grip on you loosening.

You can’t help but feel a little relieved too— glad to know that you’re not the only one experiencing this nightmare. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that’s confused though. Why is she only remembering now? But then again, it took you a few times before you realized yourself.

Around you people start to gasp, and you glance back toward the railway to see an abnormally tall man with white hair and dressed in all black jump down from the atrium onto the railway. He lands rather gracefully for someone who jumped at least one floor and starts to converse with the other three people (you think they're people— two of them are in some pretty wild costumes) on the track.

Wait. Isn’t it supposed to be just two people: the tall man and the one in the traditional clothes? Where did the other two come from?

“We have to get out of here,” the woman says. “Before they kill us.”

Her grip shifts from your shoulders to your arms and she starts to shove at everyone around you, trying to force her way through. She seems to know, just as well as you do, that any second now the gates will open and the crowd will start spilling onto the railway, littering the tracks with bodies and ash. Neither of you can let yourselves get swept up with the rest. If you do and you end up on those tracks, you’re as good as dead.

People move aside at a snail's pace, many of them too focused on trying to see what is going on on the subway tracks. This isn't good. You need to move faster or else—

The collective sound of the gates opening echoes in your head, a metallic hiss that makes your stomach fold into itself. Before either of you can stop yourselves, you both whip your heads back to look, to confirm, but it’s a mistake.

The briefest lapse in attention is enough to pull you both into the current of people, and try as you might to fight against it, the crowd splits you and the woman apart as it swallows you both whole. You’re both spat onto the tracks at the edge of the platform and your head collides with the metal rails of the track. It feels like your skull is about to crack in two, and it takes every fiber in your being to scramble to your feet. You're close enough to the platform that if you can just climb up it, then you'll be—

“Help! Help!”

It’s the woman’s voice. You turn to see that she ended up a couple meters away from you. She’s staring at you, eyes brimming with fear filled tears as she extends her hand in your direction. You take a step toward her, reaching out.

And then, her entire body is engulfed in flames, the skirt of her magical girl costume a ring of fiery death around her.

Her blood curdling scream is the only thing you can hear, her burning flesh, the only thing you can see. You don’t know what to do.

You can’t save her.

There's something touching your back. You can barely feel the pressure, but it's hot, scorching hot, mind numbingly hot, painfully hothothot.

You know this sensation. You have felt it before. The scent of burning cloth, burning hair, burning flesh clogs your nostrils. It's too late, you realize, helpless, despaired as the flames eat at your body— your soon to be corpse.

It's too late.

You die a ninth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the tenth time.

Your head hurts, but you ignore it. There’s something more important that you need to attend to. You immediately make your way to the woman you met during your last round, the one you watched burn to death. Her costume is still pristine, unmarred by fire and death.

For now.

She’s not screaming this time and while there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that’s concerned by this, you try to ignore it.

“Um, excuse me?” you say when she doesn’t acknowledge you as you approach.

The woman turns to look at you. You’re taken aback by the distinct lack of recognition and it feels almost as if the woman you encountered previously and the one before you now are two separate people. In a way, they technically are.

“Do I… know you?” she finally asks when you don’t say anything.

Your mouth is dry. How do you even answer that? You don’t know her. You just watched her die twice. You know her. She begged you for help. You couldn’t save her.

If you explain all of this you know she’s just going to think you’ve lost your mind. Maybe you already have— you’ve died nine times after all.

You give her a weak smile. “I… just wanted to tell you that you think your costume looks great.”

She blinks, taken aback by your words. There’s no doubt that she wasn’t expecting you to say that. It’s the truth though, her costume is nice; she’s dressed up as a character from a magical girl anime that was popular a couple years ago.

“Thank you! I made it myself!” The woman breaks out into a genuine smile and your heart hurts. In a few moments she’ll die and the costume she worked so hard to make will be nothing but ash on the subway tracks.

“Sorry,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

“For?”

For watching her die. For not being able to save her.“...I just kind of came up to you all of a sudden…”

She laughs. “It’s okay.”

It’s not.

You consider telling her that she should try to move. That if she stays here she will die. You don’t want her to die. Again. You can still hear her screaming in your ears as she burned to death. You want to tell her.

You don’t.

“Stay safe, okay?” you say. It almost sounds like you’re begging.

She gives you another smile, kind and gentle and you think you’re far too undeserving of it for not telling her what fate will soon befall her. “You too.”

“I’ll try,” you say and move away from the woman just as the gates open and the crowd surges toward the railway. You do not fight it as you are swept up into the crowd and despite what you said, you do not try, this time, to stay safe.

You die for the tenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the fourteenth time.

There’s a slight ache in your head, but it’s subtle enough that you can ignore it. The pain you feel lessens with each round and you think it’s a sign that your body no longer feels the need to remind you of the precarious situation that you’re in.

Or maybe you are just becoming numb to everything: your death, the death of the people around you, the death of the woman in the magical girl costume—

You try not to think about it too much as you reach into your bag to check the time on your phone: 8:37PM. There’s not a lot of time: you need to move.

At the very end of your last attempt to escape this nightmare you realized something. You need to know exactly what is going on around you so you can plan accordingly: where to not stand, where to not go. Up until now, you’ve relied almost solely on the knowledge gained from your previous failures to try and survive, but obviously it’s not enough to keep you alive. You’re not sure why you didn’t realize this earlier. The panic, maybe? The fear?

Maybe you really are becoming numb to all this.

Unlike previous iterations, this time you elect to move closer to the gate, positioning yourself somewhere against it where you’re unlikely to be pushed off the platform in a couple minutes when they open. You take great care to place yourself where you can see the ones responsible for the slaughter very clearly. At the beginning, you could only see one, the one who looks the most human, but with each repetition, the other two have become more and more clear. You wonder why. You don’t have time to think about it.

Murmurs nearby alert you to the arrival of the fourth major player involved in the night’s events. You look up and see the white haired man dressed in all black descending upon the platform like an angel from the heavens. This is your first time really looking at him and you realize there’s something almost inhumanly attractive about him. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it occurs to you that you shouldn’t even try; you don’t have the time to be drooling over some handsome stranger.

You’ve naturally never taken the time to try and listen to whatever the conversation the man and his opponents have before all hell breaks loose on the platform, but you try and lean closer to listen. It’s hard to hear over the dozens of conversations going on behind you, but you try anyway. There might be a clue to what’s actually going on— or better yet, a clue on how to get out of it.

It’s obvious that you’re missing context from what bits of the conversation you do manage to hear, but honestly it all sounds like stuff out of a shounen battle manga. There is one part of the exchange that you manage to hear with a startling sort of clarity. It feels almost as if your heart stops beating as your blood turns ice cold in your veins.

“If I run away, you’re just gonna kill everyone here, right?” the man in black asks.

There’s a pause, and if your heart was still beating it’d be long enough for just four heartbeats.

“If you run away?” The monster with cane repeats, the sadistic grin spreading wide across its features, displaying its charcoal black teeth. The gravelly sound of its voice sets fire to the blood in your veins, your stilled heart thumping wildly, in fear, in anticipation. Soon. It’s happening soon. You brace yourself. “We’re going to do that even if you don’t!”

You die a fourteenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the seventeenth time now.

Things are going surprisingly well, even as the people around you tumble onto the tracks. You manage to hold on, desperation keeping you from falling into the abyss. This is good, you tell yourself, despite the fact that it’s not the first time you’ve achieved this. Every little victory is worth celebrating, but you have to remain vigilant. This is yet another information gathering loop, and while you know that maybe this time you’ll be lucky and live, there’s still a chance, a big one, at that, that you will die again.

You have to make the most of each and every death.

It’s such a morbid thought, but the ends justify the means, or so you tell yourself. If you have to die a few times to make it out of this unending nightmare, then so be it.

The spot you’re in is a good vantage point; it’s easier to see everything happening below you. It’s so good that it’s actually sickening. You watch as the monster with the cane and one with what looks like branches for eyes slaughter the people on the track, mowing them down, setting them aflame. In another life, in another many lives, that was you down there, and for what feels like the first time in forever, you feel like you’re going to be sick. You feel like, at some point, you likened the scene before you to some kind of shounen battle manga, but you think that was wrong.

This is borderline horror.

Everything plays out before you like a scene out of an action horror flick. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were just an extra on set, but you know the reality is that you’re just an extra to whatever phantasmal battle is taking place in front of you. The monsters and the strangely dressed man all try to attack the man in black, but he manages to block every hit effortlessly, as if he is protected by some sort of invisible barrier. When it seems the two monsters are about to hit him, he merely jumps out of the way and the two monsters seem to collide, the force of their combined strength sending a gust of air throughout the crowd. The man in black neatly lands on a nearby platform half wall and says something about curse users, whatever those are, to the monsters, before he starts to mock them, pulling down his strange blindfold in the process.

And this, you’ve found, is where you start to get in trouble.

You clearly remember thinking, at some point, previously, that there was something attractive about this man. You still don’t know what it is. You haven’t had the time to try and figure it out, but there is one thing that you do know: you can’t keep your eyes off of him.

He drops back down onto the tracks, antagonizing his opponents in an arrogant tone as he approaches. When he comes to a stop between the two monsters, the second round of their fight begins. They try to hit him, but he dodges still, gracefully, fluidly, like the three of them are embroiled in some sort of passionate, yet violent dance.

You cannot turn your eyes away as he cruelly rips off one of the arms of the one-eyed monster.

You cannot turn your eyes away as he brutally kicks the branch-eyed monster in the abdomen, sending them flying to the other side of the platform.

You cannot turn your eyes away as he effortlessly hurls the one-eyed, now one-armed monster in the same direction, sending them smashing into the wall.

Only when the man in black seems to fly to the other side is the spell over you seemingly broken. Still, your eyes give chase, and your body too, rushing from one side of the platform to the other. You can’t lose sight of this fight, you tell yourself, settling in a spot you recall being safe during your last round. Doing so could mean another death, another loop, another October 31.

You watch as the man in black acrobatically dodges what looks to be vines or roots that the monster with branches for eyes seems to have summoned from the depths of the Tokyo metro. He lands on the monster’s shoulders, balancing on them as he uses its branch-eyes for leverage. The look in the man’s eyes is so crazed that you can see it from where you’re standing. He says something to it and then—

With a feral and sadistic smile, he rips their eyes straight out of their skull.

Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest as you watch the fight unfold. It is horrifyingly, disgustingly violent, yet still you watch as people on the track are killed by the human-like person, blood raining down as their freshly beheaded skulls go flying into the air. He and the one-eyed monster launch their counter attacks against the man in black and the blowback is so intense the power goes out causing everyone to scream.

There’s a faint glow where the man in black is standing that starts to grow brighter and brighter. You can make out his form turning to face the wall, and it seems almost like he’s slammed the monster that had branches for eyes against it with some sort of telekinetic power. Despite the panic from the people around you, you manage to hear him, chuckling like a mad man as he draws closer and closer to the monster.

The one-eyed monster yells out a name, a name you think must belong to the man, but he doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster as he extends his hands out toward the eyeless monster, exerting some kind of force that you can’t really see. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster as the eyeless monster’s entire body is vaporized in a flash of blue light. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster, as the lights flicker back on revealing a smoking crater stained with purple blood where the eyeless monster once stood.

But you do.

Satoru Gojo.

You make sure to remember that.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And this is the eighteenth time.

You watch as the man called Satoru Gojo stalks through the crowd of people on the subway tracks, chasing after the one-eyed fire monster. It throws people at him, in a clear attempt to slow him down.

It does not work.

Satoru Gojo climbs back onto the platform in a way that you can only describe as inhuman, and the people nearby shriek and move away from him, out of terror, out of fear. You, on the other hand, draw closer, refusing to lose sight of him.

He is relentless in his pursuit of the one-eyed monster. It continues to throw person after person at him, but he does not stop and the people float there, suspended in midair before they are gently lowered to the ground by some unseen force and scramble away.

No one dares get close to Satoru Gojo, everyone on the platform seems to know that doing so means certain death, yourself included. But you still feel the need to keep an eye on him. The monster and the strangely dressed man are focusing more on him than the crowd— anyone in between is just collateral damage.

But not you.

Especially since you’ve made it this far— you’ve never made it this far before.

A voice echoes throughout the platform; you realize it’s the automated announcement.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

You can hear everyone’s relief coming from all sides. The train is coming! The train is coming! A ripple of hope makes its way throughout the crowd. With the train comes the chance to get off the platform and the senseless violence that’s been happening here. Some of the people around you are talking excitedly and others are running toward the gates, toeing the yellow line they’ve been instructed to wait behind. And you, you should be excited, you should be hopeful.

All you feel is dread.

It eats at your stomach, at your chest, at your mind. Clawing and gnawing at you in a way that leaves you paralyzed on the platform. There’s something wrong here. You can’t be sure because you’ve never made it this far, never survived long enough for the train to come, but something is just not right.

No.

You must be paranoid. The train coming is a good thing. It has to be a good thing. You are just paranoid. It’s normal. It’s natural. Dying seventeen times would do that to anyone— rob them of hope, condemn them to an existence full of fear.

It is not lost on you that the thought of dying more than once, much less, dying seventeen times is not normal or natural in the very slightest.

But you need hope, you crave it, wildly, desperately. The hope of freedom, of escape is the only thing getting you through this unending nightmare. Every time you die, every time you wake, it is with the hope that maybe, just maybe this iteration will be different, maybe this one will be the one where you make it out, make it back to your friends who must be waiting for you, make it back home where you can be safe and sound. You need the hope to keep going. Because without hope, what will you have left?

The train screeches as it pulls into the station and the people around you laugh in both disbelief and relief. They start to push and shove toward it, fighting to be able to board because there’s no way everyone here will be able to get on an eight car train and being left behind at this point is practically synonymous with death. Unable to decide if you believe in the train as a symbol of hope or a new layer of fear, you are pushed along with the crowd toward it.

The doors of the train cars slide open and the current passengers all rush off as they disembark. You as well as everyone else on the platform can see with a horrifying clarity that the train is filled to the brim with monsters. Monsters that reach out and grab anyone their hands can reach. The woman to your left. The person to your right.

You.

Hope is gone.

What do you have left?

You die for the eighteenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is probably the twenty-sixth time now.

If there is anything this entire ordeal has taught you, it is that you are resilient. Whether it is some innate trait that you never had any reason to uncover before or just a byproduct of being trapped in an unending cycle of being dead and not dead, you don't know. What you do know, though, is that even if you no longer have hope, you at least have your resilience.

Whether you want it or not.

You check the time. It’s 8:35PM. Something flickers in your chest, like a faint light in a sea of darkness, but you ignore it. You don’t have time right now.

With a nimbleness born from your previous failures, you weave your way through the crowd. You’ve done this enough times to know where the gaps are— who will yield and who won’t. Your destination is the escalator that leads off the platform and up to a higher part of the station. You’d noticed previously that the escalator along with every other entrance onto the platform will eventually be blocked by vines or roots of some sort (the work of the branch-eyed monster probably). It’s not a perfect plan because you don’t know what happens on the other side, but whatever it is has to be better than whatever is happening on the side that you’ve been on.

You’d tried to get to the stairs during your last two rounds, but you’d just missed it. You hadn’t been fast enough and had gotten caged and slaughtered along with the rest. But this time, this time you have more time. It’s just one minute, but it’s enough. You know it is.

The flickering in your heart grows stronger. Hope. You try not to pay attention to it— you don’t want to be disappointed yet again. But you want to so badly. A voice in the back of your mind tells you to focus on the good, tells you that if there was truly no way out of this endless nightmare, then why would you get more and more time with each round to escape your fate?

With that thought in mind, you break out into a run, recklessly rushing through the crowd, shoving anyone who will not yield to the side. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the stark white of Satoru Gojo’s hair as he descends upon the platform.

You need to get up those stairs.

Now.

If you remember correctly, the roots and vines don’t close off the area the moment he touches down, but a little after they start talking, so you think there is probably some time, but you can’t leave it to chance.

The stairs are packed, and for some reason no one is moving. The escalator right next to it is just as full and the power doesn’t seem to be working. You don’t have time for this. You clamber onto the escalator’s rubber handrail, ignoring the weird feeling that passes through your body as you do so. You don’t have the time to worry about whatever that is. The people around you start exclaiming around you, but you don’t care, you don’t listen. You wobble as you try to balance yourself and when you think you’re steady you try to run.

But you trip.

And you die for the twenty-sixth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This marks the thirtieth time.

And you have, finally, finally made it up the escalator, up the stairs with barely a second to spare. You pause, glancing back as the roots or vines or whatever the hell they are seal off the entrance to the platform. You notice that the area where the plants come down is actually fairly clear, despite the crowd. It seems weird, but you don’t dwell on it.

A strange feeling envelops your entire body and your legs turn into jelly. As you sink to the floor, you realize what you’re feeling is relief as all the tension, maybe thirty iterations of Halloween 2018 worth, seeps from your being. You don't remember the last time you felt anything other than fear and dread; it’s weird, but not unwelcome.

That voice in the back of your mind tells you that you can't relax just yet: October 31st isn’t over. Even though you have repeated this night again and again, burning the events that play out on the platform into your memory, you do not know a single thing that happens over here. It would be smart to scope everything out.

Legs still shaky, you rise to your feet and start walking. You think it’s probably for the best to try and head up to the surface and you make your way up to the next floor.

It’s packed with people here too, but relatively peaceful, especially when you compare it to the pandemonium taking place beneath your feet. Still, you can make out the undeniable hum of displeasure resonating throughout the crowd. People complaining about how uncomfortable their costumes are, people complaining about how much they want to go home, people complaining about how much their nights have been ruined because they couldn’t meet up with their friends and—

A thought hits you like an eight car train.

You were supposed to meet up with your friends.

That’s why you were on the platform in the first place— you were waiting for them to arrive, but then the trains stopped working, and people just started pouring into the station out of seemingly nowhere (you think you heard some people say they’d come from the crossing?). Soon after that is when everything went to shit.

You check your phone, though, for once it’s not to look at the time (8:56PM). Instead, you open LINE to check your friends’ group chat. There’s no signal here, for whatever reason, so if there are any new messages, you haven’t received them. The last one was from Kei, mentioning he was enroute, but as far as you know, you’re the only one who made it to Shibuya before the trains stopped.

Did one of them maybe make it here though? Surely, you would have run into them if—

The image of a woman in a magical girl costume fills your vision, burning to death before your very eyes as her screams echo in your ears. It is the first time in what feels like forever that you’ve thought about her and your stomach churns violently. You couldn’t help her, you can’t even help yourself, so how could you even expect to do the same for your friends if they were here? The mere thought of having to watch them die over and over is almost enough to send you over the edge. You don’t know if you could do it.

Would you even have a choice?

No. You can't think like that. You have choices. You've had choices. If you didn’t then, you would still be down below, among the fire and brimstone. Dying, if not dead already. However, instead, you are up here, where, for the moment, it is quiet and peaceful.

That thought, in of itself, is enough to give you a shred of solace, a glimmer of hope.

You take a deep breath and fiddle with your phone a little more, changing your lock screen to a picture you and your friends took at a photo booth not too long ago. The four of you are huddled together, faces squished as if you're all struggling to fit in the frame, despite there being plenty of room. You're mid-laugh because it's the first time you've been in a photo booth in years, Mio and Shin are grinning mischievously and finally, Kei is smiling, but only just slightly, the embarrassment clear on his face. It's probably only been a few months since you all took this picture, but the fact that it feels like it's been years makes your heart ache.

You press your forehead to the screen, like a prayer, like a promise.

You will make it out of this nightmare.

No matter what.

A shrill scream yanks you from your thoughts and you are instantly on your feet, alert as your eyes flit around frantically to identify the source. It doesn't take long for you to find it and when you do, you think you might have stumbled upon a new layer of horror to this nightmare.

It’s not the corpse, dangling by a noose, that terrifies you— by now you’ve seen dozens upon dozens of dead bodies that the sight of just one more doesn’t faze you in the slightest. The thing that’s the most mortifying, that’s the most disturbing is that right next to where the body is tied are two girls, two teenage girls still dressed in their school uniforms.

You can accept monsters and weirdly dressed men being responsible for the carnage tonight, but children too? Both girls look like they’re barely in high school and try as you might to rationalize things, to chalk it up to coincidence, you cannot ignore the ominous energy radiating from them.

The very notion that these two children could have killed someone here is a hard pill to swallow, but so is the fact that you’ve died.

And you’ve had to swallow that pill thirty times now, so what’s once more?

“Listen up!” one of the girls yells over the crowd, but she is mostly ignored; you don’t think everyone here has noticed her and the corpse dangling from the rafters. She scowls and turns to the other girl and says something quietly to her. The other girl nods and almost instantly she’s stringing up another person, another example. You want to look away so badly, and yet you cannot bring yourself to and you watch the poor soul choke to death.

“I said listen, you dumb monkeys!” the girl shouts, and this time she’s caught most of the crowd’s attention. “If you don’t want to end up like these two, you’ll listen to what we have to say!”

There is clear dissent among the crowd, people dismissive as they utter their disbelief. Some seem to think it’s a prank, but you know better. It takes two more examples before the crowd goes silent before the two high schoolers.

“About damn time!” The girl roars and then points toward the atrium, which is currently covered by roots and branches. “All of you move over there!”

You have a bad feeling about this.

Still, you comply; the girls have made it abundantly clear that failure to do so will result in death, though, at this point, you're almost certain this iteration is a bust and death is all but imminent. You try to keep positive— thinking you can at least gather information or, who knows, maybe there's a chance that this one is the one.

Yet when you step onto the mound of vines and branches that cover the atrium it feels as if you've crossed the threshold into hell. Your footing is stable… but for how long?

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

It's faint, but you can hear the announcement from below. The liquid in your stomach curdles at the sound as you recall the train and, in particular, what is on board. Soon enough, those monsters will be swarming the platform, massacring everyone in reach, guzzling down their blood, feasting on their flesh—

It dawns on you that the people on the platform are the monsters' first course.

And you, and those around you here in the shrubbery, are the second.

As you realize this, the branches and vines disintegrate beneath your very feet and suddenly you are mid air— falling, falling into the abyss below.

You die for the thirtieth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

You've done this nearly sixty times now.

After countless failures, you've decided that you're just not going to go upstairs any more. No matter where you try to go, you still end up herded onto the death trap above the platform where you ultimately fall to your death. You've tried positioning yourself in the same spot, tried bracing yourself for the drop— but nothing seems to work: upon landing, assuming you manage to land without hurting yourself or dying in midair (which has happened a couple times) you get grabbed and killed by one of the monsters from the train. It's probably not impossible, you just don't have the physical prowess or reflexes for it.

If anything, you can try again later, but you sincerely hope you don't have to.

It's 8:32PM, and you have plenty of time to get to your chosen spot for this loop— it's close to the stairs, in the very center of the platform. Here, there's little risk of getting pushed off onto the tracks when the gates open. You'll probably have to move when the train comes, or even before (assuming you survive) to avoid the monsters, but you'll get to that when it's time.

You can't really see the fight once it breaks out after Satoru Gojo arrives, but you still try to keep track of it as best as you can. You see when he hurls both monsters across the platform and you're not sure if it's muscle memory or what but you have to fight the urge to move to the side and watch. It's been a while, yes, but you've seen the fight countless times before— it doesn't change. Satoru Gojo will give chase. He will rip the branches from the branch eyed monster's skull. He will use some kind of power to eviscerate them.

You don't need to watch, but there's something in you that wants to.

It doesn't make sense, you've seen it all before; if you're unlucky you'll see it all again.

The lights go out and people start screaming; Satoru Gojo is ending the life of that one monster. Soon enough he'll be back on the platform, in pursuit of the other. You think at that point it would be good to move, reposition yourself as far from the incoming train as possible.

When he rises from the tracks like a demon straight from hell, you realize it's the first time this loop that you've actually gotten a good look at him. You remind yourself, again, that this isn't the first time you've seen this man, this scene. You can't help but watch, but stare at Satoru Gojo as he stalks through the crowd in pursuit of his prey. His expression is an eerie sort of calm that's at odds with the acts of violence you've seen him commit— his eyes an unnaturally bright blue.

He's a terrifying sort of beauty and you can't help but be captivated by him.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

The sound of the announcement sends your heartbeat into a frenzy, snapping you out of your little trance. The train is coming and you need to get moving. As you dart to the edge of the platform, the thought occurs to you that even if you avoid the initial wave of monsters, it's likely you will inevitably be caught by them and killed. It wouldn't be impossible for Satoru Gojo to turn his attention to them instead of the two he's currently facing, but he's just one man— can he truly defeat all those monsters?

You can see the train pulling in and you brace yourself, praying that it'll work out somehow.

The doors hiss open and the screaming starts again as the monsters come bursting out of the train, biting and mauling anyone they can get their hands on. Those who were lucky enough to not be at the front start to scramble away and the monsters give chase. Your body is taut, ready to try and dodge any that come your way.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice something moving through the air. A person? With blue hair? You take the risk to look— they're attacking Satoru Gojo. He tries to punch them but they fly away from him to dodge— disappearing into the crowd.

You hear a loud cracking sound over the cacophony of the crowd and your stomach twists; you know what that sound is. The roots above the atrium disintegrate and bodies from above start to rain down onto the platform.

And then, you're not sure what happens— it's so quick that you only manage to see what looks like an explosion of blood surrounding Satoru Gojo. Corpses litter the ground around him and even from here you can tell he is shaken by the carnage.

The monsters have finally reached where you're standing, and you duck under one as it lunges at you. Although it's big and scary, you realize it's moving kind of slow. Right after it another one comes at you and you take a side step to avoid it; this monster is kind of slow too.

Maybe you can do this.

As soon as you think that a strange feeling courses through you. Every hair on your body feels like it's standing on edge and the voice in your head is telling you to look at Satoru Gojo. You don't understand why because you think he's the least of your worries right now, but you do it anyway.

He's in some sort of stance, one hand raised to his face, fingers bent in some kind of gesture. There's some sort of aura, oppressive and frightening emanating from his form.

Satoru Gojo is doing something.

You just can't tell what.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you are utterly confused.

Barring your first few loops when you weren't fully aware of what was happening, you have very distinct memories of how each of your previous iterations of this night have gone— of each and every one of your deaths. But for your last round, the last thing you remember was feeling the immense power radiating from Satoru Gojo's body, but that's it.

You do not remember dying.

In fact, you don't think you did.

And yet, here you are again, back at the start: it's 8:32PM and the monsters and strangely dressed man are standing on the subway tracks waiting for the arrival of Satoru Gojo.

You don't understand what's going on; you didn't die but you're still stuck in this damn loop. Up until now, your death has served as the trigger to restart the loop. It's not impossible that maybe you suffered a quick and painless death but you're almost certain that isn't the case.

Something else must have happened.

Something having to do with Satoru Gojo.

You have to find out what. If you don't, you won't know how to avoid it, and if you can't do that, then you really might spend an eternity stuck in this nightmare. And so you take great care to repeat the steps of your last round. You need to make sure to survive to the same point you made it to last time.

Miraculously, you do.

The moment you feel that sensation again, a prickling sort of feeling that envelops your entire body, your eyes are on Satoru Gojo— trying to figure out what the hell he's doing. His eyes are crazed with a desperate kind of focus. You see his mouth move— he's saying something. A spell? A prayer? A curse?

You don't know.

You do know.

Your brain feels like it's going to explode.

Again.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

Again.

You do not know how many times it's been the night of Halloween in Shibuya: you stopped counting around the hundredth loop. It feels like it's been a while since then. Or maybe it hasn't? You don't know any more.

What you do know is that this night ends up going one of two ways before you are forced to repeat it. Either you die, in some way, shape or form or something happens just after nine that forces you to reset. You still don't know what it is exactly; you only know that Satoru Gojo is responsible for it.

You do prefer it to dying— it's far less painful.

But if anything, you wish you could just die permanently and never have to repeat this night ever again.

Unfortunately, you know better.

The only good thing you’ve noticed about all of this is that you really do seem to keep waking up earlier and earlier. The last time you checked, it was at around 8:30. It might take hundreds of thousands of loops, but eventually you’ll certainly wake up early enough to avoid this damn entire mess.

But by the time that happens… will your sanity still be intact? Will you really be able to go back to a normal day to day life after living the equivalent of hundreds of years, repeating the same night over and over again? You don’t even know how you’ve managed to stay sane all this time and as much as you want to believe you could do it…

There has to be a breaking point.

For both your mind and this time loop.

If you’re lucky, you’ll reach the latter first.

There’s a dull ache in your head that feels foreign yet familiar. Your mind is foggy, all your thoughts hazy as you try to recall what the word for this feeling is.

Groggy.

It feels as if you’ve woken up from a nap and you blink the sleepiness away from your eyes. When was the last time you took a nap? It’s been a while… You think you maybe tried once or twice, but you were too nervous, too on edge. Awake or asleep, it didn’t matter because, either way, you were doomed to repeat this nightmare.

As you think this, you realize that something is different.

You’re used to how the start of each loop feels like waking up suddenly and abruptly and it becomes clear to you that you haven’t looped. This is completely uncharted territory.

You need to find out what’s going on.

The first thing you notice is that it’s quiet. Almost eerily so, especially when the last thing you remember was screaming and chaos. You glance around you and find that it looks like all the monsters from the train are dead, the ground littered in their bloodstains and corpses. There were so many of them, you don’t know how someone could have wiped them out so quickly… Could it possibly have been Satoru Gojo’s doing?

More concerning than the complete eradication of the monsters is the fact that nearly everyone else on the platform is standing stock still, their mouths ajar with blank expressions on their faces. It’s almost as if their souls have completely vacated their bodies…

Were you like that too before you woke up?

You hear voices, and your body immediately goes tense as you turn your head in their direction. A little ways ahead of you, you see a man dressed as a monk conversing with the blue haired person from earlier and before them is—

Your heart nearly stops: it’s Satoru Gojo, restrained and on his knees.

Honestly, you can’t make heads or tails of the conversation they’re having; it’s more shounen battle manga nonsense. Satoru Gojo doesn’t seem to be enjoying their conversation either, and he interrupts them, clearly annoyed.

“Are we gonna do this or what?” he asks. “The view sucks and I’m just kinda bored.”

“I wanted to enjoy this sight for a little bit longer, but you are right,” the monk says. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen— gate, close.”

When he says that, Satoru Gojo’s restraints move, the weirdly shaped cubes at the ends of them closing in around him, trapping him in a giant red cube. It starts to shrink until it’s small enough to fit in the monk’s hand.

You gulp and hope they don’t notice that you’re awake. The fact that they haven’t slaughtered the rest of the people standing around you is a good sign, but you don’t want to find out what happens if they know you’re cognizant.

It’s not hard to play the part of a living statue, especially when you compare it to everything else you’ve had to suffer through on this night. You watch as the monk’s allies, the ones who had attacked everyone on the platform, wake up, but before they can do or say anything, the box holding Satoru Gojo slips through the monk’s fingers and makes a dent in the concrete. The look on the monk’s face makes it clear that it’s a problem he wasn’t expecting.

You don’t know a damn thing about Satoru Gojo, but you feel like this kind of thing is the norm for him.

The blue haired person suddenly looks in your direction and you nearly stop breathing. Have they noticed you? It takes everything in you to keep perfectly still, in hopes that maybe they didn't, that maybe they’re looking at something else. They raise their arm and it extends, their hand acting like some kind of projectile. You almost shut your eyes and brace yourself for impact, but their hand flies upwards and hits something on the ceiling, destroying it.

Inwardly, you breathe a sigh of relief— you’re still safe.

For now.

You listen to their following conversation and while you still don’t fully understand everything, it’s clear they’re talking about what to do next since they’ve taken care of Satoru Gojo. Something having to do with someone named Yuji Itadori? The group seems split on what to do about him but it’s clear he’s their next target.

Eventually, everyone but the monk (you heard the blue haired person, who is apparently named Mahito, call him Geto?) runs off, probably to find this Yuji Itadori person. Once they’re gone, Geto speaks and, at first, you think he’s talking to you, but it becomes clear he’s addressing someone else. “Those cursed spirits are actually smarter than the two of you.”

“Give him back!” a voice hidden among the crowd hisses. Your blood runs cold at the sound. You recognize it; it’s one of the high school girls from the upper floor.

“We cooperated with you fully and kept dropping monkeys for you,” says another voice; it must be the other girl that was with her, the one who hung all those people.

“Now give us back Master Geto’s body like you promised!”

“Don’t toy with Master Geto any further than you have!”

You blink in confusion. Isn’t the monk named Geto? The way the girls are talking it sounds like they’re talking about someone else… Is it possible that the body is ‘Geto’ but the person they’re talking to is someone else possessing it? It sounds kind of crazy, but then again, so is every single thing you’ve experienced tonight.

Your suspicions concerning this ‘Geto’ are confirmed only seconds later as he says, “Now begone, or is it your desire to be killed by this body?”

One of the girls vows her revenge and you hear shuffling somewhere else in the crowd as they scurry away. Now you think it’s just you and whoever it is that’s puppeting Geto’s body. You see him plop down in front of the box (the prison realm, you think he’d called it) that’s holding Satoru Gojo.

“You can come out, you know,” he says after a while.

You freeze. The rest of the platform is completely silent. This time you think he might actually be talking to you.

“I know you’re there,” ‘Geto’ adds, his voice casual. “If you’re insistent on hiding, you should know that I’m not afraid of using whatever means necessary to smoke you out.”

Given everything his allies have done, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s serious. You were hoping to hide out among the crowd until he decided to leave, but it looks like you won’t be able to now.

Looks like this loop is a bust after all.

Your heart starts to race as you weave your way through the crowd. In every single one of your loops, you were always treated like a bit character, never noticed or singled out by any of the major players of the night. Although this is your first time encountering this ‘Geto’ it’s clear to you that he’s involved with everything that’s happened here and honestly, you get the feeling he might actually be the mastermind behind the massacre.

That makes you even more nervous.

You come to a stop in the place where Satoru Gojo was once kneeling before he was put in that box. Now that you’re out in the open, ‘Geto’ looks you over with some sort of nonchalant curiosity.

“You’re…” he starts, sounding thoughtful, "not a sorcerer, are you?”

Sorcerer. You heard that term thrown around by him and his group a few times. It’s what they’ve been referring to their enemies as. It probably wouldn’t be smart to lie and say you are one; you get the feeling he’d see through your lie anyway. “I’m not.”

He hums. “How interesting.”

“...what do you mean?” you ask before you can help yourself.

“It’s just you have an abnormally large amount of cursed energy for a non-sorcerer,” he explains. “Though, I suppose that all just sounds like gibberish to you."

You nod and look down at the box lodged in the floor. It has eyes, big creepy looking eyes. "...are you going to do the same thing to me as you did to that man?"

He laughs, "...fortunately for you, the prison realm only holds one person at a time and I need him sealed away more than you."

"...does that mean you're going to leave him in there forever?"

"If I'm feeling nice, I might unseal him in a hundred years or so."

One hundred years? At this point, you've probably lived roughly that amount of time through your loops alone, but for Satoru Gojo… "Won't he die first?"

"Only if he decides to," 'Geto' says, looking completely and wholly unbothered. "Time doesn't doesn't flow in the box, so when I unseal him, he'll be the same as he was just now. Physically anyway. Who knows how deteriorated his mind will be after all that."

Time doesn't flow in the box.

The words echo in your mind over and over. Time doesn't flow in the box. In other words, that means time has stopped in the box, and if that's the case then—

"Anyway, rather than worry about him, shouldn't you be more worried about yourself?"

You look at 'Geto' and he's smiling at you, it's friendly, but ominous. There's no doubt what is going to happen next, though you had already resigned yourself to this iteration being a bust; it was only a matter of time.

Time doesn't flow in the box.

"I was thinking I might keep you around, even if you aren’t a sorcerer, your wealth of cursed energy would serve my plans well," he muses. "But… it would be too much trouble trying to teach you how to use it in time."

As he talks, you realize this is probably the first time your death is intentional— every other death you've suffered has just been a byproduct of the ongoing slaughter. You were just another casualty, a victim, never a target.

You're scared.

Even though you know that once he kills you, once you die, you'll just loop back to around 8:30 again. You'll be on the platform again. And you'll play out some sequence of events before you eventually die again. And again and again.

Time doesn't flow in the box.

"I'll be nice, though," 'Geto' says, raising a hand and another monster appears out of nowhere. You don’t even bother trying to figure out from where. It doesn’t matter, especially since this monster will surely be the one to end your life. "I'll make it painless."

"...I appreciate it," you say and close your eyes hoping that he's not lying about it.

Time doesn't flow in the box.

He didn't lie.

You die again.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you're trapped.

You don't know how and you don't know why, but you are stuck in a time loop— forced to suffer through the horrific events of the night before you die and begin it all again. It's been a long time since you stopped counting how many loops you've gone through, but if you had to guess, it's probably somewhere in the hundreds now.

You are so very tired.

But it doesn't stop. It won't stop no matter what you seem to do. You are stuck. You are trapped. You are doomed.

“Time doesn't flow in the box.”

Ever since that first loop where you heard whoever is possessing Geto's body say that, the words have been stuck in your head, playing on loop.

You finally realize why.

“Time doesn't flow in the box.”

It's 8:25PM when you wake up; that should be plenty of time.

You need to find Satoru Gojo.

After hundreds of loops you've come to a singular conclusion: you need to prevent him being sealed in the prison realm. You've witnessed it enough to know that you won't be able to do it alone; you'll need his cooperation.

You rush upstairs as fast as you can, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine as you step onto the stairwell. According to your previous loops, Satoru Gojo arrives on the subway tracks at 8:40PM. With how crowded the upper floor is, you don’t know if you’ll have the time to intercept him and talk to him, but if you can at least figure out where to find him, then you can try and talk to him during a subsequent loop.

When you reach the fourth basement floor, however, you don’t know where you should even start. He’s pretty tall so you think you could spot him in the crowd, but… there are still so many people. It occurs to you that maybe it would be better to try and look from a higher vantage point so you head to the stairs that lead up to the third basement floor. You check your phone again. It’s 8:35PM; you need to hurry.

Luckily for you, you find him very easily on the third basement floor.

The only problem is that he’s in a hard to reach spot— squatting above a sign hanging over the crowd.

You check your phone again. It’s 8:38PM and he’s starting to move, presumably to meet with those waiting for him on the subway tracks. It’s good that you found him, but there’s no doubt about it.

You’re going to need more time.

The moment you wake up, you immediately bolt toward the stairs. It's taken many, many more loops, but you've finally brought the time you wake down to around 8:15. You're still not sure if it's enough time, but there's only one way to find out.

You barrel your way up to the next floor and zig zag through the crowd to get to the next flight of stairs. By the time you get to your destination, you're completely out of breath, your chest heaving as your lungs clamor for air. You’ve done this so many times, yet your body acts like it’s always the first. It sucks, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You slow to a brisk pace to catch your breath and check the time. It’s 8:27— a new record. Hopefully it’ll be enough.

The goal is to catch Satoru Gojo before he moves to his lookout point above the crowd. While not impossible, it would be difficult for you to follow him there. You eye the safety barricade that blocks off the area where he’ll be moving in just a few minutes warily.

Yes, getting over there would be extremely difficult.

You don’t want to think about it right now; you’ll deal with it when the time comes.

Especially since Satoru Gojo has now entered your field of vision.

Your heart starts to race at the sight of him and it feels like it’s beating a million times a second. There isn’t a lot of time. You need to talk to him, but your legs only wobble, your feet planted firmly to the ground. This is not good. You need to move. You need to move.

Finally, after what feels like both an instant and an eternity, your feet finally budge, propelling you in Satoru Gojo’s direction. The beating of your heart only grows louder as you make your way toward him, mingling with the single thought that’s echoing throughout your mind right now: will he even hear you out?

You need to make him.

“Excuse me!” The words nearly come out in a stutter as you realize that you are actually talking to Satoru Gojo. You have watched this man at a distance for so long that it almost felt like he wasn’t real, like he was just another fixture in this nightmare that you’ve been living for far too long. And yet, here he is, right in front of you, in the flesh.

And his attention is on you.

All sound stops: the crowd around you, the thoughts in your head, the beat of your heart. Even though you cannot see them through that blindfold of his, you know that Satoru Gojo’s eyes are on you and the thought of that, the knowledge of it is actually a little overwhelming. Your mouth is dry and suddenly you don’t know what to say, but you need to say something. You need to say something before he thinks maybe you bumped into him by accident and just walks away without a word.

“I need to talk to you!” The words just burst out from your mouth and something about it is just absolutely embarrassing. You’re not sure if it's desperation or the fact that you haven’t really talked to anyone other than the existence occupying Suguru Geto’s body in nearly forever.

Satoru Gojo’s lips slowly start to form a smile, “Oh, yeah?”

The sound of his voice makes your mind go blank. There’s something different about it right now; more playful, amused even. Maybe it’s because he’s talking to you, a harmless human being and not a monster trying to kill him. It’s almost kind of jarring, but you know, with certainty, what Satoru Gojo’s voice sounds like. And the fact that he’s actually talking to you right now has you kind of excited. You nod, doing your best to not show how thrilled you are that he’s not ignoring you.

He hums thoughtfully, “Sorry… but unfortunately I kind of have some business to attend to right now.”

“I—” You start to say that you know that he’s headed down to the platform below to fight with…Choso and Jogo, you think their names are— you don’t know the name of the monster with the branches for eyes. “It’s— it’s really important!”

Gojo tilts his head a little, clearly thinking. You should probably say something else, something to try and convince him to stay a little longer and hear you out, but your mind is both full and blank. Where do you start? From the beginning? Or do you start with what is most important? Maybe you should say what you think will get his attention. You’re not sure, and you realize you really should have thought about this earlier because you’re running out of time right now.

“...mind handing me your phone?”

You stare at Gojo, completely and wholly confused, but he just holds out his hand expectantly. When you don’t move, he wiggles his fingers a little, a silent gesture telling you to hurry it up. Without thinking, you reach into your bag and unlock your phone before handing it to him.

“Kind of sucks that cell service isn’t working right now,” he remarks as he types something into your phone before handing it back. “But! Here's my number.”

You look down at your phone and, sure enough, Satoru Gojo has added himself as one of your contacts. He’s even added a little star to the end of his name. That’s… a little unexpected. Why his number though?

“Are you… hitting on me?” you mutter in your confusion.

He laughs, “Well, you said you had something really important to talk to me about, right? So just give me a call when you get home or some time tomorrow and we can talk then!”

You’re not going to make it home, or even to tomorrow, and neither will Satoru Gojo. As you start to tell him this, he steps past you. Desperate, you try to grab him, but somehow, for some reason, you can’t. You remember he did this with Jogo and the other monster, made himself untouchable.

This is not good.

He gives you a little wave, cheery as he says, “I’ll talk to you later!”

You watch, helpless as he hops over the barricade beyond your reach.

Gripping your phone tightly, you take a deep breath. It's fine, it's not like you didn’t expect things to go well anyway.

You'll just have to try again.

Every time you’ve tried to solicit help from Satoru Gojo, it has gone the same way. He just won’t give you the time of day, and in some ways you can’t blame him; he’s clearly here to deal with the monsters down on the platform. You’re fairly certain that he probably thinks that whatever is going on with you is a much lesser issue in comparison.

Plus, it probably doesn’t help that in the times that you’ve approached him, you haven’t been able to articulate yourself particularly well. Once you start talking to him, you just get hit with something akin to stage fright and the connection between your mind and your mouth just stops working. It’s gotten better with each attempt, but…

It’s just so frustrating.

It is interesting that Gojo has given you his number every time, star symbol and all. You’re not sure what kind of person you were expecting him to be, but after witnessing him literally and viciously rip monsters apart, you’d figured he’d be a little more somber. However, in the fragmented conversations you’ve had with him he’s come off as far more friendly and playful than you would have thought. Is he the type of person to get more serious when the situation calls for it? You can’t help but wonder, but ultimately, it doesn’t really matter.

What really matters is that you’re able to convince him to help you.

You have to convince him.

“Excuse me!” you say, stepping in Satoru Gojo’s path. You don’t stutter this time, and your voice is more sure. This is good.

“Yes?”

His head turns in your direction and you gulp. Gojo’s gaze, despite that blindfold of his, still feels just as overwhelming as it did the very first time you approached him. You have no doubt that he’s sizing you up, but there’s just something about it that makes you feel like you’re being picked apart.

You take a deep breath and step closer to him, hoping your voice sounds firm enough as you say, “I need your help. I’m trapped.”

He chuckles a little, “I know, but yours truly is on his way to go beat up the bad guys keeping you all trapped here, so soon enough you’ll be all free to go on your merry little way.”

Right. You were so caught up in your own plight that you nearly forgot that technically you’re not the only one ‘trapped.’ Satoru Gojo obviously knows that everyone else is confined to this station, but you doubt he knows that you’re confined to this night alone.

“That’s not what I mean!” you sputter.

“Then what do you mean?” Gojo asks. Should you tell him that you mean that you’re trapped in a time loop? You’re honestly not sure— in the movies and manga you’ve read about time travel, revealing that sort of thing risks creating a time paradox which seems to be a bad thing. If you have to tell him, you will, but— “Oh, I get it.”

You stare, bewildered. Did you maybe just spew all of that aloud?

Gojo gives you a mischievous smile. “You’re hitting on me, aren’t you?”

“No!” The word comes flying out of your mouth. You can’t deny he’s attractive— you’ve thought it all this time, but that is not what’s happening here.

“No need to be embarrassed,” he continues, ignoring you. “I totally get it, so if you want, I’d be happy to give you my number!”

Again? You’ve received Satoru Gojo’s contact details in every loop you’ve talked to him, star symbol and all— you even have his number memorized. There’s something kind of odd about how he keeps giving you his number. Part of you wonders if he’s got some sort of ulterior motive, but you haven’t thought too deeply about it. There are way more important things going on.

“I don’t need your phone number,” you say. “I need to talk.”

Your response seems to give Gojo pause. Did you somehow manage to get through to him? No way. Your suspicions are all but confirmed when he gives you that familiar apologetic smile.

“Like, I said, I’m sort of in the middle of something, but…” Gojo reaches into his pockets and rummages around until one hand fishes out a folded up piece of paper. The other hand keeps digging around in his pocket and when Gojo seems to give up on whatever he’s looking for, he turns his attention back to you. “Got a pen?”

What?

Gojo tilts his head. “Well?”

“I do, but…” You trail off, unsure why he’s asking.

He holds out his hand waiting for you to just hand him the pen. You still don’t get it, but you reach into your bag’s front pocket and pull out the pen and hand it to him. Gojo looks almost like an excited child when he takes it from you, quickly scribbling something onto his paper before shoving it and your pen back into your hand.

You look at the paper; it looks like a receipt. For a disturbing amount of mochi that Gojo bought earlier today. The amount of money he spent is almost sickening; way too much to be paying for mochi. More importantly, you notice something juxtaposed over the receipt’s print.

It’s Satoru Gojo’s name and number.

He even drew a little star next to his name.

“If you change your mind later, just give me a call!” he tells you cheerily. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while!”

You gawk at him. He cannot be serious. You literally just told him that you didn’t need it and yet he still gave it to you. He must want you to contact him later, but you can’t even begin to understand why. It can’t have been something you said or did, right? Unless, he’s actually—

“Later!” Gojo’s voice cuts through your thoughts and you notice him walking off with a wave.

You can’t let him get away.

Again.

You crush the receipt in your hand and rush after him. Despite the crowd, Gojo seems to move through the people with ease and it almost seems like they are yielding to him naturally. It’s good for you. Makes him easier to chase.

“Wait!” you yell, but Gojo doesn’t even look back. Bastard. Your muscles strain as you try to run faster. You know you won’t be able to grab him if you get to him, but there has to still be something you can do to stop him. Circle around him? Cut him off before he—

Satoru Gojo reaches the barricade.

“Wait!” you yell again. “Satoru Gojo, wait!”

He does not even acknowledge you.

You’re almost there though. Almost. If you reach out your hand, then maybe, maybe you can grab him. Something in your head tells you that it’s useless; you’ve never been able to touch him. But, you don’t care, you don’t care because you have to try. You stretch out your hand, desperate and hoping, but just as you do, Gojo effortlessly jumps over the barricade, moving to survey the crowd.

Due to your momentum, you almost collide into the barricade, but you manage to stop yourself. You stare at Satoru Gojo through the glass. He watches the crowd for at most three minutes. Is this just another bust? Is there really nothing you can do? There must be a way you can get his attention. Is it possible to climb over the barricade? No, it’s too high. There’s nothing you can grasp onto or use as footing either.

This fucking sucks.

Another minute or two and Gojo will be on the move again, and there will be no way you can follow, no way you can get his attention. You press your hands against the glass, pushing against it. Naturally, it doesn’t budge. Why would it? If only you could get it out of the way. If only you could break it. This stupid barricade is the only thing between you and Satoru Gojo and there’s no way you can climb it, but if only you could break it.

If only you could fucking break it.

Suddenly, the glass feels warm. Satoru Gojo’s image starts to look a little distorted as the warmth beneath your fingers grows. Something is happening. The glass starts to vibrate and shake. Violently. The tremors grow stronger and stronger. You should stop. You should back away.

You don’t.

The barricade starts to crack and fracture and soon the sound of shattering glass resounds throughout the entire room. Everyone starts screaming. No one knows what’s going on— not even you. But you don’t care. It’s gone. The barricade is gone.

You take a step forward, toward Satoru Gojo. He’s on a beam that’s about a two meter drop from where you’re standing. That’s fine. That’s okay. You can make it. You have to. Without a second thought, you jump—

And you land on the beam. You look up and Satoru Gojo’s attention is back on you. He’s finally, finally turned toward you, face twisted into an expression you can’t decipher or even comprehend, but—

Something’s wrong; your world is turning on its axis, but—

Satoru Gojo is looking at you, and—

Up is very quickly becoming down, and—

Satoru Gojo is coming closer, but—

You’re slipping—

But he’s right there, and—

You’re falling, but—

He’s trying to catch you, but—

It’s too late. It’s too late.

The last thing you think you feel—

—is Satoru Gojo’s arms around you.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you are causing a commotion.

“Shit! Fuck!” you curse loudly. The people near you start to shift away but you barely notice; you don’t really care.

You were so close, so fucking close and yet… yet here you are again. It’s quarter past eight and you are back on the goddamn platform. You don’t know what happened; you remember falling and thinking you were going to die, but you are absolutely certain that, once again, this time, you didn’t die.

Is Satoru Gojo at fault again? Did he do something? Like he did all those other times you looped without dying? When you think about it more, you don’t think so. You don’t know what happened; all you know is that you tried to get to him, but you slipped.

And he caught you, you definitely remember that.

You still don’t understand why you looped, but there’s not much you can do about it now; it’s not like you can go back anymore. It just sucks, because you think he might have actually listened if you’d talked to him.

Or he would have come after you for… whatever happened with the barricade. It could have been taken as an attack on the crowd… But if he thought you were doing that, then why would he catch you?

You don’t know.

All you know is that you have to try again.

The only problem is that you don’t know how you managed to shatter the barricade. You think about it as you make your way up to where you’ll find Satoru Gojo. There is the possibility that it wasn’t you and something else happened to it instead, but that feels way too coincidental. It had to be you. That’s the only thing that makes sense. You just can’t figure out how you did it outside of wanting, wishing, praying for the barricade to break. It’s not like you have supernatural powers like Satoru Gojo and his enemies.

Despite your mind being completely and wholly occupied by trying to figure out how in the world you managed to break through that barricade, you still manage to make it to the second basement floor of Shibuya Hikarie by 8:25PM— a brand new record. Satoru Gojo doesn’t show up until around 8:34PM, so that gives you almost ten minutes to try and figure out what you need to do to try and replicate shattering the glass barricade again.

Except—

Except Satoru Gojo is already here.

The thought that maybe you’re mistaken flashes in your mind before it’s quickly dismissed; there’s no way you’d mistake anyone else for him. There is absolutely no denying it: that is Satoru Gojo. Bewildered, you double check the time on your phone. Maybe you misread it and you’re actually late but sure enough you read it right— Satoru Gojo is here early.

What the hell is going on?

Of the thousands of times you have experienced this night, this hell, this sort of thing has never happened before. Everything happens at a specific time, as if adhering to an unseen schedule. It’s likely that what happened in your last iteration did delay Satoru Gojo’s arrival onto the platform, but other than that there has never been a deviation to the time table.

And yet, here Satoru Gojo is, nine minutes early now.

You realize that that’s not the only thing that’s strange: he’s not moving. In previous rounds, when you encounter Gojo here, he’s walking to the lookout spot beyond the barricade. But, right now, he’s just standing there, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. It almost looks like he's waiting for something.

Or someone.

This unexpected turn of events has you rooted to the spot. You’re not sure what you should do. No. This shouldn’t change anything. You need to talk to him. As concerning as a change like this is, the extra time it gives you should be a good thing. Despite knowing that, your feet are still firmly planted to the ground.

The crowd shifts and you see Satoru Gojo start to move. Toward the barricade? No. He’s not heading in his usual direction, rather he’s—

You stop breathing.

He’s headed toward you.

All sound stops: the crowd around you, the thoughts in your head, the beat of your heart. Even though you cannot see them through that blindfold of his, you know that Satoru Gojo’s eyes are on you and the thought of that, the knowledge of it is absolutely mind numbing.

He comes to a stop before you, lips curled up to form an amused sort of smile as he says, “Soooo, you needed to talk to me?”

You try to answer but no words come out of your mouth. Are you dreaming? You have to be, right? There's no way that this is actually happening. Could it be that, after thousands of loops, you’ve finally lost it? Your mind shattering along with the glass of the barricade at the end of the last one?

Gojo tilts his head, indicating that he's still waiting for an answer. When you open your mouth, at first, nothing comes out, the words stuck in your throat. You force them out, your voice cracking, “...how did you know?”

He smiles, looking almost mischievous as he reaches up and lightly taps the side of his head. “I remembered, of course!”

All you can do is stare at Satoru Gojo. He remembered? How is that possible? From his perspective, this is the first time you’ve met and while it shouldn’t be possible for him to remember there’s something in your mind that’s keeping you from completely dismissing the possibility.

Gojo laughs, “I take it from the look on your face that you’re not used to this sort of thing happening. Is this the first time?”

“No.” The fact that the word is out of your mouth before you can even really think about it surprises you and you really have to think. Your face scrunches together as you try to remember. Is this really not the first time? Then, the memories assault you, overlapping as they replay simultaneously in your head— a woman in a yellow and white magical girl costume— begging you for help as she burns to death— smiling as she tells you she made her costume herself. “...it happened just once a long time ago.”

“‘A long time ago,’ huh. Sounds like you've been at this for a while now.”

“...unfortunately.”

Gojo hums. “So when you said you didn’t need my phone number…”

“You’d already given it to me a few times,” you say, figuring that’s where this conversation is going.

“Really now?”

Does he not believe you? Or is he just being an ass? You’re not sure, but since you had taken the liberty of memorizing Satoru Gojo’s phone number you recite it back to him to prove your point.

Just when you think you may have stunned Gojo into silence he starts to laugh, obviously finding something funny about the fact that you know his cell phone number. “Seems like you've got quite the fascinating technique there.”

Technique? What is he talking about? Your confusion must be plain on your face because he adds, elaborating, “The time travel.”

You continue to stare at him. You don't think you'd consider what you've been going through time travel, because traveling implies moving from point A to point B, but you've been stuck walking in circles at point A for a long time. What really gets you is… “What do you mean by ‘technique?’”

“You mean you don’t— oh. I get it; no wonder you’re trapped.”

That does not answer your question in the slightest. “Can you please explain what you're talking about? What do you mean by ‘technique?’”

“Right, right… So basically, a technique is like a special sort of power,” he finally explains. “Like I said, your technique seems to be a kind of time travel. Whenever you activate it, your mind is sent back in time.”

What he's saying makes sense, but… “How come you were sent back too?”

He laughs again. “Isn't it obvious? Think back to before— do you remember that I caught you as you were falling?”

You nod slowly. The memory of his arms around you is almost embarrassingly vivid. “...is it because we were touching?”

“Ding, ding, ding! That's correct! Anyone you happen to be touching when you activate your technique gets affected by it too!”

Something about his tone annoys you, but you try to ignore it. He could have just told you rather than make you guess. “How do you know that for sure?”

“Well,” he continues. “You’ve done your little time loop a bunch of times, right? If your technique affected everyone, or even a few people in a select range you would have noticed for sure. And if it affected only just you then we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, now would we?”

When you think about it, you do think that the woman in the magical girl costume might have bumped into you before the loop where she remembered.

“That’s honestly just conjecture, but I've got pretty good eyes, so I’m hardly ever wrong.”

Gojo gives you a grin and while you do think that his reasoning is sound enough his confidence is a little grating. More than that, though, you’re glad that this conversation is actually going really well.

“Either way,” he says thoughtfully. “It doesn’t look like you can control your technique. Usually a person’s technique manifests when they’re a kid, but you seem to be a special case… in fact, I bet your technique activated for the very first time tonight— probably under some pretty extreme circumstances, too.”

“...dying counts as an ‘extreme circumstance,’ right?”

“Oh, absolutely. Or legitimately thinking that you’re gonna die, but it seems like your body has been unconsciously activating your technique as a sort of defense mechanism. Which is why you’re trapped.”

“So, if I could control it I’d be able to make it out of this time loop.”

“Yeah, but in this case it probably wouldn’t end very well for you,” he points out with a chuckle. “It’s not like you actually want to die, right? I mean, if you did, then your technique wouldn’t even activate in the first place.”

You don’t; what you want is for this night to finally end. To be free from the endless cycle of dying over and over again and again. You don’t think death is quite the answer; even if you were to learn how to control this supposed technique of yours, there’s no guarantee that you would just unconsciously activate it when the grim reaper comes knocking on your door. No, the answer is…

“Anyway!” Gojo’s cheery voice cuts through your thoughts. “I highly doubt that you’re the type that makes a habit of jumping off ledges for the funsies, so the fact that you’ve been dying tells me that some pretty gruesome stuff is about to go down, so, tell me what happens tonight.”

The sudden drop of his voice sends a shiver running down your spine. If it weren’t for the fact that you’ve seen how serious Gojo can get, the sudden shift in demeanor would probably freak you out a bit, but it doesn’t. This is the Satoru Gojo you’re familiar with.

You do have one concern though. “That… won’t create a time paradox or anything, will it?”

“Nah,” Gojo shrugs. “You wouldn’t cause one with the way your technique works, besides, if you’ve only been going back at most an hour or two in time it’s hard to believe you’d be making a really big impact… unless you really believe in the butterfly effect.”

You’re still not quite sure.

“Trust me, it’ll be fine.”

His voice sounds strange. Gentle. Kind. It's the most soothing thing you've heard in a long time and it makes you want to believe him.

“...okay.”

Anxiety is still gripping at you, but you try to dispel it, taking a deep breath before beginning your explanation. For the sake of brevity, it’s probably best that you’re as concise as possible. There isn’t much need to really get into the nitty gritty of things unless he asks specifically.

Naturally, you begin with his arrival onto the platform and how soon after a fight breaks out and how the crowd is unfortunate enough to be involved. Gojo’s expression is passive for the most part, but he does crack the faintest hint of a smile when you mention how he manages to eviscerate one of the monsters.

It disappears once you tell him about the arrival of the train. Between the dozens upon dozens of people being dropped onto the platform by those two high school girls and the hoard of monsters disembarking from the train, everything devolves into pandemonium.

“Wait,” Gojo holds a hand up and you pause. This is his first interruption since you started recounting the night’s events for him. “Everyone is able to see the monsters?”

You stare at him. What a weird question. “...yeah?”

His mouth twists and it looks like he’s thinking about something. You can’t even begin to imagine what. Finally, he comments, “Makes sense.”

It does not, but you don’t ask him to elaborate. Surely if it was important he would have just done so.

“Anyway, in the middle of all that, you… you do something.” Your brows bunch together as you remember the stance Gojo took, the crazed and desperate look in his eyes, the feeling of your head about to explode. “I don’t know how to describe it. At first, it would just force me to… activate my technique, I guess. But now, it just knocks me out for a few minutes.”

Gojo frowns and he rubs at his chin, obviously thinking about what you’ve said. Eventually, he raises a hand and bends his fingers into a familiar gesture. It’s the one that preludes whatever he does on the platform. “Do I do this?”

“Yeah.”

He hums. “Interesting.”

You wait to see if he’ll explain. He doesn’t. Great. Even if he doesn’t think you need to know, it certainly would be nice to. It’s annoying otherwise, but you ignore the feeling and continue. “I can’t tell you what happens when I’m knocked out, but when I come to everyone is basically a zombie and all the monsters from the train are gone. I think you kill them.”

“I probably do,” he says casually. “But what about Volcano Head?”

“...you don't…get a chance to kill him,” you say slowly. Gojo tilts his head, waiting for you to elaborate, but you hesitate. You have to tell him, you know you do, but…

You have seen the interaction so many times and though you don't know the exact nature of the relationship between them, you can tell that seeing Suguru Geto (or rather seeing his body) shook Satoru Gojo to his very core.

There's no doubt in your mind that he will not take this news well.

“Come on now,” Gojo's tone is light-hearted, unaware. “Don't keep me in suspense here.”

It's as if you're withholding the punchline to a joke. In a way, you suppose you are, but you don't think he's going to find it funny.

You take a deep breath. You need to tell him. The worst thing that could happen is that he doesn't believe you, but if that's the case… you'll probably just end up repeating this all again until you find a loop where he does.

Having made it this far, you'd like to avoid all that.

“Before you can get Volcano Head you get restrained by something called the prison realm,” you say slowly, “by someone calling themselves… Suguru Geto.”

The second the name leaves your mouth, there is a clear and obvious shift in the air. Gone is Gojo’s laid-back and frivolous demeanor, replaced with something more somber and almost frightening. The tension grows more and more palpable to the point that you think it might almost choke you.

You almost wish that it would.

“You can’t be serious,” Gojo finally says, once your words have fully sunk in.

“I—” You start to speak, but come to an abrupt stop when you see him shove his hand into his pocket to yank out his phone of all things.

The both of you know full well that there’s no reception here, but you don’t think that he’s planning on making any calls. Gojo scrolls and scrolls on his phone before he stops and shoves the screen in your face. It shows a picture of three people— a teenage girl with a cigarette in her mouth, a younger, happier version of Gojo sporting a pair of round sunglasses and—

“When you say ‘Geto’ is this who you’re referring to?” Gojo demands, using his other hand to point at the third person in the frame— a handsome young man with long dark hair pulled up into a bun.

“Yes, but—”

“That’s impossible. It can’t be him,” Gojo interrupts, his voice firm, cold even. “He’s dead.”

There’s a note of finality in his words that is definitely meant to leave no room for argument. It doesn’t stop you, though. Instead, you glare at Gojo’s stupid blindfold and say, “...being dead doesn’t mean a damn thing! I’ve died hundreds of times and yet I’m still fucking here, but—”

“Your situation is different,” he interjects, the temperature of his tone hiking up, his words like heated hissing. “I killed him almost a year ago. There's no way—”

“You didn't get rid of the body properly!” You cut him off, raising your voice in hopes that he'll take even just a second to stop and listen. It seems to work and you add something you remember ‘Geto’ saying. “You should have had Shoko Ieiri get rid of it, but you didn’t and now some… some kind of gross brain thing is possessing the corpse!”

The air between you both is silent as the grave. Though you can't see it, you can feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. He’s definitely having second thoughts about everything you’ve said so far. There’s a chance he might even think you’re his enemy now. You stare him down though, refusing to look away. You’ve made it this far, you can’t— you won’t back down.

“...you’re not lying, are you.” Gojo’s words are more of a statement than a question. There’s no doubt in your mind that he knows the answer, and yet he’s still asking. You wonder if maybe he’s clinging onto some vain hope that maybe, just maybe this all a sick, cruel joke that’s gone way too far.

“I’m not.”

Gojo holds your gaze for a second longer before he lets out a curse. “Fuck!”

“...I’m sorry,” you say quietly, mostly because it feels like the most correct thing to say at this moment. You don’t know the whole story, but it seems like they were close. If so, then it must have hurt Gojo a lot to have killed him, and must hurt even more to know that someone is desecrating the body. You hate that you, a complete and utter stranger, happened to be the person to tell him, but…

It had to be done, for the sake of getting past this unending night, it had to be done.

Gojo runs a hand through his hair and lets out a ragged sigh. “Okay. What happens after that?”

You give him a rundown of what follows; he gets sealed, the monsters wake up and all but ‘Geto’ leave in search of their next target. When you mention the high school girls demanding the brain give Geto’s body back, Gojo snorts loudly.

“Fat chance of that,” he says derisively.

You nod in agreement. It was clear to you that the brain parasite has no intent on giving it up any time soon. “After they leave, he… talks to me.”

“Probably couldn't ignore all that cursed energy you have,” Gojo remarks offhandedly.

You stare at him, expression twisted in a way that shows that you have absolutely no clue what that means. It should be fine for you to ask this one question; it actually concerns you after all. “What does that even mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, though… probably doesn't make much sense to you, does it?”

You give him a pointed glare and all Gojo does is laugh.

“Just think of it like having a lot of MP.”

“...Like in a video game?”

“Exactly!” Then, Gojo tilts his head, clearly thinking. You don't bother asking; you don't feel like he'll explain.

“He does ask me if I'm a sorcerer, whatever that is. Is that why?”

“Probably. Ordinary people don't have even a fraction of the energy you're packing.”

‘Ordinary people’ he says as if you’re not an ordinary person who got caught up in all this supernatural sorcery bullshit. Or at least you were, but if the time loops are really a product of your own doing…

“Does he kill you when you answer?” Gojo asks to get the conversation back on track.

“Not right away. What happens next kind of varies,” you answer. “He usually lets me have a question or two before he kills me; I've asked him a couple different things.”

“Really taking advantage, aren’t you?” Gojo says and you're not sure what to make of his tone. Is he mocking you or is he easing back into that laid-back persona of his?

“If I’m doomed to repeat the same situation over and over, I might as well make the most of it,” you respond flatly.

“You know, your technique kind of reminds me of save scumming.”

He’s definitely gone back to acting almost completely unserious— all signs of his earlier agitation are nearly gone.

“So what did you learn?”

“Well, the prison realm only holds one occupant. Once they’re sealed, time stops for them and the only way out is if the bearer unseals them or if they choose to kill themselves.”

“I see… And what about our body jacker?”

“He didn’t go into detail but he said something about… striving toward the evolution of mankind?” You frown a little at the memory. He didn’t explain further because he said that you wouldn’t understand.

“Huh. Interesting. Wonder how he was gonna go about doing that.”

“I don't know, but I can't imagine you'd like it since he goes out of his way to seal you into that box,” you say. “Said you’d get in the way because you’re too strong.”

Gojo shrugs his shoulders and grins a little. Cocky. “Well, I am the strongest sorcerer around, you know.”

You would think him overconfident if you hadn't seen the magnitude of his strength first hand.

“Anyway, that's as far as I ever go. When he's decided he’s done talking to me, he kills me and I loop back.”

“So, in short, what you want help with is getting past that point, right?”

“More or less.”

“And all I have to do is avoid getting caught by the prison realm?”

You nod.

“What’s it look like?” he asks. “A big cage with a bunch of metal bars?”

Now that you think about it, you haven’t woken up early enough to see it before it traps him, but you can’t imagine it looks that much different. “No.. It’s a small box with eyes… It gets big enough to fit you in it, though.”

“Huh.” He stretches his arms out above his head as if he’s trying to emphasize how large he actually is and shoots you a grin. “Should be easy enough then. I bet our body snatcher used the shock of seeing Suguru to trap me but since I'll see it coming, avoiding it'll be a piece of cake.”

Gojo makes it sound so easy, and maybe it really is as simple as that, but you can't help but be worried still.

“Don't tell me you don't think I can do it,” he says, tilting his head.

“It's not that,” you admit. “I'm just concerned I might die before we can get to that point.”

Truthfully, since you know that will just result in another loop you're less concerned with dying itself and more worried about losing the progress you've made in convincing Gojo to help you. Even though it's been clearly proven you can loop him as well, there's no guarantee you'll be able to make the physical contact needed to do it upon death.

“You've made it pretty far on your own, though, right?”

“Yeah, but… I’ve messed up plenty of times.” More than you can even count. “There's also the possibility that taking the time to talk to you might have thrown things out of whack.”

Speaking of time, you check your phone. It's 8:39PM. You curse.

Gojo leans over to check your phone. “Let me guess, I'm supposed to be somewhere right now.”

“Yeah, this is when you’re descending down onto the platform.”

“You know where I am down to the exact minute?” He asks and you tilt your head back and forth a little. It’s not exact per se, but it’s close enough. Gojo chuckles a little. “Man, I didn’t realize that you were actually that into me.”

That earns Gojo a glare from you, but he just laughs it off. “I doubt being a few minutes late is going to make a big difference.”

You certainly hope so.

“Don't worry,” Gojo says and you notice he's using that tone from earlier. “You won't die.”

It’s hard to argue with him when he uses such a reassuring sounding voice and yet, you still open your mouth to try— to voice your doubts, but what he says next silences you before you even can.

“I'll protect you.”

You think your heart stops beating in your chest and your words dissolve in your throat.

He grins at you. “Did you fall in love with me just now?”

That catches you a little off guard. You're willing to admit he's hot, but surely he must be joking. “How could you even think of something like that at a time like this?”

Gojo laughs again. “Well, since someone is so worried about their time table being all messed up, I better head down there; can’t keep Volcano Head and friends waiting, right?”

You blink. Is that it? “Wait, shouldn’t we make a plan or something?”

“Isn’t the plan for me to not get caught in the prison realm?”

Yes, but… “But what about me? Is there anything I can do?”

Gojo stares at you, or at least you think he does. “...I don’t know, is there?”

You’ve seen the encounter between Satoru Gojo and those monsters so many times and you try to picture a version of it where you intervene and… all you can see is yourself getting in his way. You’re no fighter, no… sorcerer, or whatever he is, you’re just some ordinary person that was unfortunate enough to get all caught up in this mess. The most you can probably do is kick the prison realm out of the way when the time comes, but otherwise… “...no, I guess not.”

His expression turns sympathetic. “You’ve done plenty by telling me everything that happens. So just wait up here, and let me handle the monsters.”

You almost nod. Almost. But then you remember what transpires up here above the platform. You know it sounds safer up here where you’re less likely to get involved in the carnage, but… “Wait, no, if I stay up here then I’ll fall to my death when those girls—”

Gojo laughs, interrupting you. “Don’t worry about that. It’ll be fine.”

“How?”

“Just trust me.”

“I…” It’s hard to. After everything you’ve gone through it’s hard to trust in anything, to believe in anything. Even though you’ve made it this far this time, the worry that something will go wrong and that you’ll have to do it all again still lurks in the back of your mind.

Despite all that, you want to believe.

You want to believe that you can make it past this unending night, that one day you’ll wake up and it’ll no longer be October 31, 2018. And the first step towards that is trusting in Satoru Gojo.

“...okay,” you say quietly. “Okay.”

Gojo chuckles then asks, “Anything else before I head off?”

You start to ask if there’s anything you should say, in case things don’t work out, but you stop yourself. You’re choosing to trust him, to believe in him— you can figure out that stuff later if things end up going south after all. So, instead you give him a smile and it feels a little weird because you don’t remember the last time you did. “Good luck!”

For a split second, Gojo looks almost surprised, but then he laughs again, beaming widely at you. He starts to move past you and reaches out to give you what you think is meant to be a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder and then he’s off. You turn to watch him go, the crowd, once again, parting almost naturally for him.

When he reaches the barricade, he pauses, raising his hand as if he’s giving you one last wave. Then he jumps over it onto his little perch and then less than a minute later he’s gone, descending to the platform below.

Now, all you can do is wait.

You check your phone again and it’s 8:44PM. If you remember correctly, the high school girls start threatening everyone right before 9PM. With Gojo’s arrival being shifted back almost five minutes, does that mean that they’ll be shifted back too? It would make sense, but you’re not too sure.

Out of habit, you keep checking your phone and at nearly 9PM, you hear the shrill voice of one of the girls over the crowd, commanding everyone to do what she says, her partner stringing up bodies until everyone listens. Everything plays out just as you remember it, which is mildly comforting, though you know that the events that happen up here are more or less independent from what happens below.

Surely, just as Gojo said, a few minutes aren’t going to change anything, but—

No.

You agreed to trust him. To trust that everything would be fine.

When the girls start to demand that as many people as possible climb onto the roots and vines covering the atrium your heart starts to hammer in your chest. In just a few minutes, all the foliage will disintegrate beneath you, and you and everyone else here will fall into the abyss below.

You are afraid.

There isn’t a single loop where you’ve really survived this fall. If you don’t die in midair, you die right after landing. It’s a death trap, and that’s why you’ve stopped coming up here. There’s a part of you, the part that knows what’s about to happen, that wants to try and run back onto stable footing. But you can’t, because you know if you do then the girls will kill you for sure; you have to stay.

It’ll be fine, you tell yourself, it’ll be okay.

You just have to trust Gojo.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

You hear the announcement faintly below you. It’s almost time. You brace yourself and try to stay calm. Gojo said he would protect you, that you wouldn’t die. You don’t know how he intends to keep that promise, but all you can do is believe in his words.

It’ll be fine. It’ll be okay.

The vines and roots start to crack and the ground beneath you starts to give out. You squeeze your eyes shut as that sickening weightless feeling overtakes you. It occurs to you that this is actually quite literally a trust fall— will Satoru Gojo really be able to catch you?

As you fall, you realize almost instantly that something is different.

You’ve experienced this fall dozens of times and so, even though it has been a while since you’ve gone this route, you are very familiar with what it feels like. Something is different. You’re falling faster. The trajectory is changing. It’s like some force, other than gravity, is pulling at you.

Is this Gojo’s doing?

Just as your body collides with the ground you hear the sounds of mutilating flesh meld with the screams surrounding you. Blood and severed limbs litter the ground, but you try to ignore it. You need to focus on your own survival right now. Quickly, you scramble to your feet scan the area around you; you’re on the platform right now and right in front of you is—

Right in front of you is Satoru Gojo.

His back is turned to you, his focus currently elsewhere. Looking at him you realize you recognize this scene, though it’s much closer and at a different angle. He’s about to do that thing, that thing that knocks you out.

Something in you tells you to move closer to him, after all, he used his mysterious powers to deliberately bring you closer to him, right? You rush toward him and as you do something he said earlier pops up in your mind.

Anyone you happen to be touching when you activate your technique gets affected by it too!

Whatever he’s about to do… Is that his ‘technique?’ And if it is, would it work the same way as yours? If so, there’s only one way to find out: you need to touch him. You dodge monsters and other people as you run toward Satoru Gojo and—

A monster still manages to grab you, its large hands wrapping around your wrist. You try and yank it free, but it's much stronger than you are.

“Shit!” you hiss as the monster starts to pull you toward it and away from Gojo. What do you do? Your other hand is still free, should you try to punch it in the face? Or—

Before you can do anything, something blasts the monster’s head clean off. Shocked, you stare as the monster’s body slumps onto the ground, its grip loosening on you instantly. You whip your head around to find that while Gojo still has his back to you, his arm is bent back in your direction, his palm open as if he fired some invisible blast from it.

Then you feel it again, something pulling at you, but this time it's more forceful. Your body is yanked toward Gojo and the second you feel his hand press against you, you see him make that gesture with his other hand.

“Domain Expansion,” he whispers in a strained voice. “Infinite Void!”

Something happens and your vision flashes for a fraction of a second. And then—

The room is enveloped in an eerie stillness; all the violence and bloodshed coming to an abrupt stop. Monsters and humans alike stand like the living dead, unconscious with their eyes wide open as if they are staring into an infinite abyss. You recognize this scene, you’re familiar with it because it’s similar to the one you wake up to after being hit by Gojo’s ‘domain expansion.’ The only difference is the presence of the monsters, who are all but gone when you regain consciousness.

The pressure from Gojo’s hand is gone and he says to you, his voice still low. “If you’re squeamish when it comes to blood and gore, it might be best for you to close your eyes.”

And then he’s gone.

You do not take his advice. You do not close your eyes. How many loops were you unable to witness what’s about to unfold? A few hundred? A few thousand? And if all goes to plan, then you will never get another chance again: there’s no way you could possibly look away.

And what you see unfold before you is that Satoru Gojo was right.

He is the one to kill all the monsters.

It’s not as if you really had any doubt, after all, it seemed like the most logical conclusion to come to and yet…

There’s a difference between knowing and seeing.

All the violence resumes and the platform is engulfed in the sounds of carnage and slaughter once more. The lack of terrified screams makes everything more disconcerting— without them, all you can hear is the squelching echo of mangled flesh and blood splattering all over the place. You can’t really see him, but you can tell where Satoru Gojo is in the crowd as he leaves dozens upon dozens of decapitated heads soaring in his wake. Once or twice, he leaps out of the crowd and even from where you stand you can see the crazed glow of his inhumanly blue eyes as he massacres monster after monster.

Even though you don’t think you have anything to be scared of, you are still terrified: Satoru Gojo is no longer a man, but violence incarnate. You want to move closer to where Gojo gets trapped, but you’re afraid to. What if you get in his way? What if he kills you by accident?

Dying again when you’ve made it this far is definitely not ideal, but isn’t being killed by Gojo the best case scenario? Because then the two of you would probably loop together again and—

No.

Gojo said you wouldn’t die.

He said he’d protect you.

It’s hard to believe when he’s in the middle of a massacre, slaughtering monsters left and right, but you remind yourself yet again that you have to believe in him.

You take a deep breath and start moving, taking care to keep an eye on where Gojo is. You don’t know how long this is supposed to take, but you do know where he ends up when he’s just about done. The closer he gets to that spot, the sooner the prison realm will be unleashed upon him.

There’s a small group of zombified people nearby and you settle yourself among them. It’s not super close, but you think it's close enough that you'd be able to run over and kick the box away from Gojo if you have to. You do a quick survey to see if you can spot the body snatcher, but he's nowhere to be found. Hopefully, he hasn't noticed you moving around, or, if he has, he's more concerned with Gojo than he is with you. Given that you always seem to be the last thing he acknowledges, you'd like to think that he doesn't consider you a threat.

Which you're not, not really anyway.

The sounds of slaughter start to die down and you look to see Gojo approaching the spot where he gets caught. He looks beat, his eyes unfocused and his breathing heavy. You do another quick scan around him and notice a small box a few meters away from him, wrapped in what looks like paper charms or seals or whatever they're called. That has to be the prison realm— though it looks different than what you saw before. Gojo seems to notice it right after you do, his gaze honing in on it, examining it with some measure of bewilderment. Then, some invisible force slices through all the paper seals covering the box and it expands, the corners of the box floating up in midair to reveal what looks like a large sheet of dark red flesh with a large bloodshot eye stapled to the middle.

Disgusting.

If Gojo didn’t realize before, he seems to now, because he takes a step back, away from the grotesque thing. Good, good—

“Hey! Satoru!” Your blood runs cold at the sound of the body snatcher’s voice. He emerges from the crowd, smiling widely as he gives Gojo a wave. “Long time no see!”

Satoru Gojo’s entire body goes rigid. Shit. You told him, you warned him about what was going to happen, who he was going to see, but was that not enough? It’s possible that no amount of warning would have been enough to mentally prepare Satoru Gojo for the sight of the man he said he killed a year ago. After all, you know that there’s a stark difference between knowing and seeing. Even then, if Gojo doesn’t gather his wits and move now then he’s going to get caught and you can’t let that happen.

Your body moves before you can even think about it.

You scramble out from your hiding spot in the crowd and throw yourself in between Satoru Gojo and the prison realm. There’s no way you can kick it away from him now, not when it’s in this form, but maybe, if you get between them you can at least keep it from capturing him.

The eye quivers erratically, as it flits from Gojo to you. Every hair on your body stands on end as it watches you, the pupil dilating and contracting uncontrollably. You can’t look away from it, your own gaze fixed to your image reflected in the black abyss of the pupil. Something in the back of your mind tells you to stop, to get away, it’s dangerous, but you keep your feet firmly planted to the ground.

A second, or maybe even a minute passes and the prison realm shifts, its fleshy form morphing to restrain you.

The body jacker looks at you, his frown tinged with disgust. “Don’t you think you’re being rather rude by butting into what could have been a touching reunion?”

You scowl. Is he still trying to play the role of Suguru Geto?

He sighs and looks past you at Gojo. “Satoru, I thought bringing lesser sorcerers to fight alongside you was more trouble than it was worth?”

You hear Gojo snort from behind you, “It is… but this person here isn’t a sorcerer… Just like you aren’t Suguru Geto.”

The faker almost pouts and presses his hand to his chest as if Gojo's words have wounded him. “Satoru, I’m hurt, how could you say such a thing to your best friend?”

“Cut the bullshit,” Gojo snarls. “You can’t fucking fool me. You might be in Suguru’s body but I know with all my heart and soul that you’re not him.”

The corpse snatcher stares at Gojo, expression blank before he sighs once more. Then, his gaze shifts back to you, his eyes narrowed as he looks at you with sheer disdain. It feels as if you’ve been drenched in ice cold water. There's no smile this time but you already know what's going to happen.

He’s going to kill you.

“I intended to deal with you later since you seemed harmless enough,” he says, raising a hand to summon a monster— the same one he always uses to end your life. “But you’re in the way. So, I think it’s for the best if I just get rid of you right now.”

Instinctively, you try to take a step back but the prison realm’s restraints keep you in place. Not that it would have mattered much, even in the loops where you’ve tried to escape the faker’s monster, it still kills you, too fast and too agile for an ordinary human like you to avoid. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the monster to kill you. At least, it’s always painless.

Something touches your back.

Your eyes shoot open.

Before you is the monster, wiggling and writhing only mere centimeters from your face. It gurgles and snarls at you, desperate to fulfill its master’s wishes and kill you but it doesn’t move any closer. You stare at it with wide eyes, unsure of what to do.

Someone behind you clicks their tongue— Gojo. You try to turn your head to look at him, but your movements are too limited, the most you can do is turn your head to the side. The sounds the monster is making start to change, sounding more frenzied, almost as if it’s in pain, and you flit your eyes in its direction just in time to see its entire body explode. The monster's guts and bright purple blood fly off in every direction, getting on the floor, the ceiling, the zombified bodies of the people unfortunate enough to be nearby, but not on you.

This is Satoru Gojo’s doing.

He steps in front of you, half turned towards you as he moves in between you and the body snatcher. His hands are shoved in his pockets as he loudly says, “Did you really forget about me?”

You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or the body snatcher.

Past him, the imposter scowls, raising his hand once more, probably to summon even more monsters, but Gojo’s quicker, and it almost looks like his eyes are glowing even brighter, the blue looking almost white as he whips his head in the faker’s direction. The sound of mangling flesh and breaking bones echoes throughout the room as Gojo, using that mysterious power of his, seems to break the faker’s arm.

The body snatcher hisses loudly and despite the fact that his face is twisted in very obvious pain, he tries to shoot Gojo a mocking smile. “Do you really think you can kill your best friend again?”

“I already told you,” Gojo turns to fully face the monster inhabiting Geto’s corpse. He tilts his head a little to the side and some force starts to squeeze at the faker’s neck. “You’re not Suguru.”

You hear a loud crack as Gojo telekinetically snaps his neck.

The head rolls onto the ground and you almost look away, but then you notice his eyes still moving, looking around. Is he still alive? Then you remember: the thing possessing Suguru Geto’s body was some kind of parasite. “Gojo! Wait! The brain!”

He reacts almost instantly, head turning and in an instant the skull is crushed and all that remains is red splotch on the ground.

You almost relax. Almost.

But the body is still standing.

Horrified, you watch as it quivers violently before falling to the ground. Then what looks like dozens of black spirits start to erupt from the corpse and the entire room is engulfed with a shrill howling.

What the hell is going on?

“Those must be all the cursed spirits he consumed,” Gojo explains uselessly, voice barely audible over the screaming. “Guess he was empty before.”

You don’t bother asking what he means. There are bigger problems right now. “What do we do?”

“No choice to exorcise them,” he answers plainly.

For him to exorcise them, he means. You both know that there’s not much that you can do. You still can’t move and honestly, you don’t even know if it’s possible to get out of the prison realm’s restraints. Not without dying. And if you die now…

Everything will have been for naught.

You’ll reset time and have to do this all over again— assuming you can even get to this point again.

There has to be something, you just have to think outside the box.

Or rather—

“Gojo!”

He glances back at you.

“You need to seal me in the prison realm!” you exclaim. He turns to face you fully, looking bewildered and you start to explain as fast as you can. “Those things are going to attack any minute right? I can’t move or try to hide and I can’t expect you to protect me the entire time and if I die then I’ll end up looping time again, but— but, if you seal me in the prison realm then that won’t happen.”

Gojo frowns, looking conflicted. “You don’t think I can do it?”

“Wouldn't it be easier if you didn’t have to?”

He tilts head and you think he’s conceding your point.

“Please,” you beg, staring at him desperately. “We don’t have much time. The other… cursed spirits will wake up soon too!”

You don’t have to explain that you mean Volcano Head and friends.

It takes only a second for Gojo to consider the very few options you have. “...how do you seal it? Do you know?”

“I think so,” you answer. “There’s no guarantee it’ll work but I think that if you say ‘prison realm, gate close’ it should seal me inside.”

If anything, it’s worth a shot.

Gojo nods. “Do you know how to break the seal?”

“I… don’t,” you confess. You never asked, and you don’t think the body snatcher would have told you even if you did. He only told you that it holds one and that…

That time doesn’t flow in the box.

“...you don’t have to break the seal.”

Gojo frowns, “Wait a sec—”

“Even if I make it past tonight… What if this all happens again? What if I inadvertently trap myself in another time loop?” you ask. “I… I don’t want to have to go through all of this again. It’s better for me in a place where time doesn’t pass.”

You don’t know for sure if it’ll be better, but right here, right now, it seems like the best option.

It feels like an eternity passes before Gojo says anything.

“...fine,” he agrees and you don’t quite know how to feel about it. The howling around you all grows louder. You wonder why the cursed spirits haven’t attacked yet. Maybe Gojo’s power is holding them at bay… for now anyway. You both know that he can’t ignore them forever.

“...before I do, though, mind if I ask you just one thing?”

You blink. “Not sure what I can do for you in this state…”

He laughs. “I just want to know your name.”

What an odd request. Though, now that you think about it, you don’t think that during this loop or any other loop really, you’ve ever told him your name. It only seems fair to tell him, since you’ve known his for longer than he’s known of your existence.

You tell him your name.

He nods, looking as if he’s committing to memory. Probably easier to remember than his phone number. “Any last words?”

You try to think of something. Nothing comes to mind and you just shake your head.

Gojo takes a deep breath, “Alrighty then… Prison realm, gate close.”

Just as it did the many times you’ve seen Satoru Gojo sealed away, the boxes and restraints around you vibrate a little before they start to close around you, growing large enough to fit your body as they approach.

You won’t see it, but once you’re inside the box will shrink and become small enough to fit in the palm of someone’s hand.

Will it be quiet inside?

In your final seconds, some words, some last words come to mind, and you say them, hoping that he hears them in time. “Thank you, Satoru Gojo.”

You burn the glittering glow of his brilliant bright blue eyes into your mind.

And then, everything is engulfed in an unending black.

It’s November 30, 2018— morning on the campus of Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School.

Satoru Gojo strides through the school grounds, casually tossing a small silver box with eerie blue eyes known as the prison realm up and down in his grasp. Walking at his side is Shoko Ieiri, a pretty woman who’s been unfortunate enough to have been Satoru’s friend since high school.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Shoko asks, twirling a few strands of her long brown hair.

“What do you mean?” Satoru responds nonchalantly. “All my ideas are good ideas.”

Shoko hums in clear dissent, but doesn’t say anything more. Even she knows better than to try and waste her time trying to argue with Satoru. “I’m just worried about their mental state. Didn’t you say that time doesn’t flow in the box?”

“I’d be worried if it was some normal person,” Satoru says. “But after what they’ve gone through I think they’ll be fine.”

“...well, if you say so.”

The two arrive at their destination: the largest training area on the Jujutsu High grounds. Satoru places the prison realm at the center and takes a few steps back with Shoko standing behind him, in case anything happens.

He doesn’t think it will, but it’s always good to take at least a few precautions.

“Gojo, are you sure we should be doing this?” Shoko asks again. “Didn’t they want to remain in the box?”

“Of course I am,” Satoru says with his usual air of confidence before looking back at the prison realm nestled in the grass. He grins and then—

“Prison realm, gate open.”

if you made it this far. thank you. it's my sincerest hope that you enjoyed the ride. 3

[hoe4hotchner]

Ink | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader CW: Fluff, I mentioned haley once WC: 0.9k Summary: Hotch has tattoos

@lavenderspence my beloved, here's the tattooed hotch fic 🤭

           You stirred from your slumber, groggy and warm, wrapped up in the sheets as the morning sun filtered softly through the curtains. The familiar rustle of fabric and the quiet creak of the floorboards made you aware that Aaron had gotten out of bed and was getting ready for work. Through heavy eyelids, you saw him standing by the dresser, his broad back to you as he slipped his shirt over his shoulders. Your gaze lingered on the arm that had yet to disappear into his sleeve, taking in the sight of the black outlines covering it from wrist to shoulder.

           The ink swirled in intricate, detailed designs, tribal patterns that blended into abstract shapes and pictures, and hidden among them were symbols that meant something so profoundly personal to him. It was a side of him that still felt like a secret between the two of you, something he kept tucked away beneath the sharp, professional exterior of his suits.

           A soft smile curled at the corner of your lips. No one at the BAU, except perhaps Rossi, had any idea of this hidden layer to Aaron Hotchner - the loving, soft man who hid beautiful art that told the story of him under his perfectly tailored attire.

           You shifted under the sheets, drawing his attention as you yawned and stretched. “Morning,” you murmured, your voice was thick with sleep but laced with affection.

           Aaron turned, his lips curving into a gentle smile as his eyes met yours. He was already nearly dressed, his pants on, tie draped around his neck, but the buttons of his shirt remained undone. He moved with the same grace and composure you’d come to love - always so calm and collected, yet with you, there was an undercurrent of warmth.

           “Good morning,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

           You shook your head, sitting up slightly, propping yourself on your elbows. “No. Just woke up to a nice view,” you teased, your eyes dipping to the few parts of ink on his arm still exposed.

           He chuckled softly, a low sound that rumbled in his chest as he stepped closer to the bed. “The view, huh?” His tone was playful, his eyebrow slightly raised.

           Your fingers reached for his arm, gently brushing over the designs. You traced the lines of one of the patterns, something abstract and fluid, before shifting to the more personal details - the initials of Jack woven into the design, a small symbol from his days as a prosecutor, and something you knew was tied to Haley, but never dared to ask about, it was a reminder of his past.

           "I still can't believe you hide all this every day," you murmured, your fingers following the art up to his forearm.

           His smile softened, a glimmer of something fond in his eyes. "Not exactly professional to show up with tattoos on full display at a federal agency," he replied, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

           "Yeah, because Morgan doesn't do that every day," you teased, rolling your eyes, and then smiled more softly. "But I love that this part of you is mine to see," you whispered, your hand now resting on the inside of his forearm. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and you felt the steady pulse of his heartbeat there.

           He watched you for a moment, there was something tender and unguarded in his expression, and then he leaned down, bracing his hands on the bed on either side of you. "You like the tattoos?" he asked softly, his lips close to yours.

           You nodded, your breath catching slightly as his proximity made your heart race. “I love them. It’s such a contrast to the Aaron Hotchner everyone knows at the BAU.”

           His gaze flickered down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “I like that you get to see all of me,” he admitted, his voice lower now, rougher, as if confessing something vulnerable.

           You smiled, reaching up to brush a stray strand of his hair back. "And I can't wait to see more when you come home," you murmured, your voice teasing but sincere.

           Aaron smirked, leaning in to brush his lips lightly against yours, a fleeting kiss that left you wanting more. “I’ll show you as much as you want,” he whispered against your lips before pulling back slightly, his breath warm on your skin.

           “Promise?” you asked softly, your fingers trailing down the front of his shirt, still unbuttoned, leaving a trail of warmth where they touched.

           He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing for a brief second as he took in the moment. “Promise," he said, his voice soft but full of intent.

           Reluctantly, Aaron pulled away, straightening up as he finished buttoning his shirt, hiding the tattoos once more. You watched as the last bit of ink vanished beneath the crisp, white fabric, a small part of you already missing the sight.

           He reached for his tie, looping it around his neck with ease as you propped yourself up further on the bed, watching him with a mixture of admiration and affection. He caught your gaze in the mirror, smirking slightly at your look of longing.

           "Don’t worry," he said as he tucked the end of his tie into place, "Tonight, I’ll make it up to you.”

           You grinned, biting your lip. "You better."

           With a soft laugh, Aaron grabbed his jacket, leaning down for one last kiss before he headed to work. It was slow and lingering, a promise in itself that he’d be back later tonight.

           As the door closed behind him, you flopped back into the pillows, already counting down the hours until he returned. Because tonight, the suit would come off, and his ink would be on full display, and all of him would be yours once more.

[gracexthoughts]

northern hospitality

jacaerys velaryon x stark!reader

warnings; nothing really except use of y/n and reader description, barely edited

summary; jace flies to winterfell to ensure the north’s allegiance and finds himself entranced by northern beauty

a/n; I saw someone talk about how Cregan might have given Jace the cloak he wears on the wall bc it’s not the one he leaves/goes back to dragonstone in and I just had to write this edit: this is my first jace fic so suggestions and criticism is very welcome!!

The Prince Jacaerys shivers as he flies through the frigid Northern air on his way to Winterfell. His mission in the Eyrie was well met and his confidence bolstered in the promise of the Vale’s support of his mother’s claim. Vermax chitters as the castle of Winterfell appears on the horizon. The northern beauty is rumored through the realm but the young prince is still stunned by the sprawling majesty of the northern stronghold. Even if it is cruelly cold already in late summer.

Soon, Vermax lands on the frozen ground just outside the gates of the castle, which are open to await his arrival. Guards greet him reverently and escort him into the courtyard, where it seems the entire of Winterfell’s inhabitants stand and at the front of them stands Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.

“Lord Stark, I am very glad to meet you,” the young prince smiles, stepping forward to meet his hosts.

“The pleasure is ours, my prince. Winterfell is yours,” Lord Cregan responds diplomatically.

“I thank you. It is not often I find myself in the North. While I detest the circumstances, I am glad for the opportunity,” Jacaerys smiles, his eyes taking in his surroundings before landing on the woman standing to Cregan’s side. The Lady Y/N, he assumes, Cregan’s younger sister. Her beauty is rumored even in the South but no amount of whispers could have prepared the young prince for the vision that stands before him. Her hair is black as night, woven away from her face to hang over her shoulder, a thick fur cloak fastened with direwolf pins, and her smoke gray eyes seem to gaze through his confident facade seeing the prince for the frightened young man he really is. He’s always heard northern women were different than southern women and he feels he can sense a wildness in her—a fire that burns hot even this place of ice and snow.

“We welcome the opportunity to show the crown the value in the North, my prince,” she says with a proud smile, her voice melodious and sure, her northern accent intriguing to the southern prince.

“Let us retreat inside to the hearth so we may hear what messages you have brought us.” The prince tears his eyes away from the lady to her elder brother and nods with a smile, thanking him while they walk towards the castle and the warmth it offers.

Cregan and Jacaerys spend most of the day in conference, discussing the politics of the realm and the usurpations of the Greens, Lady Y/N left to attend to her brother’s typical duties. Jacaerys is determined in his diplomacy for his cause but in the idle moments of the day, his mind drifts to the lady of the castle. That night, the prince sits in his chambers, thinking of his home and family, hoping Luke fared well in his own mission, and warming himself by the fire. He had come largely unprepared for the cold of the North, incorrectly thinking it wouldn’t be as frigid in the summer, and had been attempting to mask his chill the whole day. A knock on the door pulls Jacaerys from his thoughts and he stands, leaving the warm embrace of the fire, crossing the room to the door.

“Pardon me, my prince,” a small servant girl says with a curtsy, her eyes downcast, as the door is opened. She carries a large bundle of furs in her arms, the pile so large it nearly covers her face.

“What is this?” the prince asks, his eyes scanning the furs in the girl's arms.

“The Lady Y/N sends cloaks for you. She had worried the chill more than you had expected,” the girl says softly.

“Oh, thank you,” Jacaerys replies, gently taking the furs from the girl, and watches her scurry off down the hall. He smiles to himself, stepping back into his bedchambers and examining the cloaks. They were black leather and fur and looked much warmer than the cloak he had brought with him. Northern hospitality, he thinks to himself, a small laugh escaping his lips.

The next morning, Jacaerys wakes early, and begins wandering the halls of Winterfell and finds himself in one of the courtyards, his new cloak keeping him much warmer and allowing him to journey outside with comfort, and sees Lady Y/N practicing her archery against the far wall, a massive gray wolf at her side.

“Early morning training, my lady?” The prince inquires, standing a few feet from her, wary of the great wolf laying at her feet. She turns to him, her eyes surprised, and nods.

“I’ve not ever been one to sleep late, unfortunately,” she responds, setting the bow down against the basket of arrows. She wears black coats that hang to her knees and lined with white fur on the collar, contrasting greatly with her woven black hair, a silver wolf broach on her breast, and dark trousers rather than skirts.

“Neither am I, in truth. Years of first light training has made me an early riser,” the prince laughs, staring into the smoky swirls of the lady’s eyes. “Thank you,” he adds suddenly, “for the cloaks. You must think me quite foolish not to bring warmer clothes.” The prince shifts his weight on his feet, feeling stranger under her knowing gaze.

“Just that one so used to warmth and fire may chill faster than us children of snow,” Y/N responds, adjusting the leather gloves on her hands, a kind smile on her lips.

“You are kind, my lady. And right, of course. I am much warmer today, thanks to your generosity,” the prince says looking down at the black fur cloak that hangs around his broad shoulders. “Are you well used to the cold, then? Or are the clothes just better made for it?”

“Both,” the lady answers. “Though this is nothing compared to true winter.”

“This is warmth for you, is it?” The prince asks bewildered, pulling a laugh out of the Stark girl. The mist of their breath mingles between them. The land is all frosted over in the morning chill, a few specs of summer snow visible from its last fall.

“A bit, the height of summer is warmer but not anything like the heat of the south. Your dragon blood would want of that cloak even when us Northerners shed ours.” The prince laughs, struggling to fathom such cold when the wolf next to Y/N stands suddenly, startling the prince slightly.

“Don’t mind Shadow, she’s tame,” Y/N chuckles, as the wolf nudges her leg and her gloved hand stroking the wolf’s fur.

“I didn’t know there were any direwolves south of the Wall. Let alone tame ones,” the young prince awes.

“Neither were dragons tame until your ancestors bound themselves to them. You’re not the only house with connections to great creatures,” she reminds him. “When I was a young girl, my father went to visit the Wall, took Cregan and I with him. One of the Rangers took us out riding just beyond the Wall and we came across Shadow. She was just a pup and quite injured. I begged my father to let me take her back home. Luckily, I can be quite convincing when I wish to be. She’s been my loyal friend ever since.”

“You have a kind heart, my lady,” Jacaerys says, eying the wolf with caution.

“You don’t have to be afraid of her. You can even pet her if you’d like. She won’t bite, unless I tell her to,” she teases, trying and failing to hide a sly smile.

“I am content as an observer, but thank you.”

“You were raised with dragons and yet you fear a wolf?”

“Dragons I know, wolves not as much. Would you like to meet a dragon?” The prince offers suddenly, smiling widely. Y/N meets his eyes, pausing for a moment, searching his eyes wondering if he really means it.

“Really?” Y/N’s smoke gray eyes are wide. The prince smiles, nodding and reaches out a hand to her. The lady hesitates for a moment before smiling wider and takes the prince’s hand. He leads her quickly across the frozen ground to where his dragon has been staying. As they approach, Y/N watches the creature carefully. His emerald green scales gleaming in the afternoon light.

The dragon groans softly as his rider approaches, Jacaerys eagerly approaching the creature and extending his hand to rest on the dragon’s large snout. “This is Vermax,” the prince says and Vermax sighs contentedly at Jacaerys’ touch, warm breath blowing his dark curls back slightly. Y/N hangs back, watching the interaction with awe.

“What are you waiting for?” The prince laughs over his shoulder.

“Exercising caution, my prince,” the lady says breathlessly.

“He won’t bite. Unless I ask him to, of course,” Jacaerys teases, the Lady smiling at his use of her words. The Prince eyes her momentarily before reaching his hand back, grabbing hers and pulling her closer. The prince takes her hand and places it on Vermax’s snout, his softly over top her own, guiding her gentle pets of the beast. Vermax chitters softly but Y/N mind is elsewhere, her thoughts not on the creature before her but the prince at her back. His hand on her shoulder, her hand in his against the powerful creature he has grown with, his breath ghosting against her cheek.

“See? Nothing to fear,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No, just a fire breathing dragon that could swallow me whole,” Y/N laughs slightly. The prince releases his grip, stepping away from both creatures. “He’s beautiful,” she adds, stepping away as well and turning to face the prince with her cheeks feeling warmer than moments before.

“Thank you. Maybe I can take you on a ride one day,” Jacaerys offers, enjoying the thought of riding with her.

“I would like that, if you’d have me,” she nods, their eyes locked for a tense moment, lost in the swirls of each other's eyes.

“My Prince, My Lady,” a voice breaks the moment and the pair turn to see a page making his way toward them. “I have been sent to inform you breakfast is laid.”

“Thank you, Noran,” Y/N responds, the page bowing slightly before retreating. “Hungry, my prince?”

“Jace, just call me Jace,” he says suddenly, surprising himself and her. “And yes, I’m famished,” the prince smiles, and allows her to lead him back towards the castle, his mind concocting all kinds of ways to spend more time with her.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

pairing: past wanda maximoff x fem!reader / present natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: When you see Wanda again after the secret relationship you shared during your college years, you realize the lasting impact she had on you. Haunted by flashbacks of your time together, you struggle to reconcile the memory of the Wanda you once knew with the woman she has become a decade later.

content warnings: angst, homophobia, a few homophobic slurs, internalized homophobia, heartbreak and grief, some smut, tragedy

word count: 7.1k+

Masterlist

A/N: This is heavily inspired by the song Us. By Gracie Abrams ft. Taylor Swift. I would recommend listening to it simply because it is a masterpiece and the foundation of this fic.

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

The Secret of Us

“Babe, are you ready?” 

Green eyes peek around the doorframe, delicate fingers working a dangling diamond studded earring through a slightly reddened ear. There’s a gentle smile on Natasha’s face, a strand escaping her perfectly curled hair and falling somewhat in front of her face. It brushes softly against her cheek, a sharp exhale moving it as a wince appears on her face. 

“Here, let me,” you say, curling a single finger in her direction. You place your makeup brushes onto the vanity in front of you, your fingers gentle as you pluck the earring from Natasha’s hand. 

It’s a beautiful piece. The golden metal is dainty, yet solid, woven into complex swirls that catch the dying rays of sunshine streaming in from your window. Your hands are careful, threading the earring through her skin like a seamstress, with confidence that comes from years of practice and love woven into each measured touch. 

“Perfect,” you mutter. You both know you’re not just talking about the earring. 

Natasha smirks at you, full of confidence that is only slightly contrasted by the pink flush rising to her cheeks. You laugh slightly, the sound low and full of warmth as you turn back towards the mirror. 

Strong hands rest lightly on your shoulders as Natasha’s fingers firmly rub circles into your skin. You can feel the tight knots give away beneath her ministrations and sigh in relief as you brush highlighter onto the highest point of your cheekbones. Green eyes track your movements lazily, taking you in like it's the first time she’s seeing you. You find it quite romantic and tell her just as much.

“Well,” the bright smile on Natasha’s face shines through the word, “That was my goal, detka.”

A soft shove from you has Natasha’s hands wrapping around your own as she pulls you to your feet. You sway slightly, blinking against the headrush that comes from changing positions too quickly. Arms wrap around your waist as strong as the pull of gravity, unwavering and inevitable. 

“You look beautiful,” Natasha murmurs, her lips brushing yours. 

“Compared to you, I am nothing.” The words flow from your lips easily, the truth of them lying comfortably under your skin, feeling like the steady weight of a cat curled up on your chest. You kiss away any protests, your tongue swiping against hers when she tries to speak. 

“We should go,” Natasha manages to say, the words separated with the firm kisses she places against your lips. “We’re about to run late, and I know you hate it when people are inconsiderate with their timing.”

You nod against her, your hands squeezing her waist gently as you breathe deeply through your nose, unwilling to part your lips from hers. 

“Sweetheart.”

Natasha’s tone is firm, her hand pressed against your sternum as she pushes you away. It's gentle, almost hesitant. You know that if you pressed back against it, she would crumble like a sandcastle at high tide. It's for that very reason that you don’t, not wanting to disrupt her carefully planned evening. 

“Lead the way, my love.”

—

You find yourself hanging from Natasha’s arm, feeling every bit like a trophy. Shining, and put on the highest shelf, gazes sliding appreciatively over you before moving on to the next impressive thing. You wonder how long it will be before the dust begins to collect. 

A man, standing close to your wife. His fingers twitch, his eyes glancing dismissively at you. He’s talking just a bit too loud for the short distance between him and Natasha, and you feel a white-hot rage rising before you take in the fake smile plastered across her face. 

It's too wide, showing too many teeth and yet not enough at the same time. Her eyes are sharp, the soft crow’s feet that normally appear at the edges nowhere to be found. The pressure of her fingers against your waist grounds you, leaving you feeling every bit like a rock standing solidly against the crashing waves. 

The man moves on, loses interest. You don’t mind. The memory of him is already floating away, being replaced by the soft look Natasha is sending your way. You feel shiny again, not a speck of dust in sight. 

Dragging your eyes around the room, you let yourself get lost in the sea of bodies. 

Natasha had brought you to some important work event. It was essentially a party, disguised under layers of professionalism in celebration of a multi-million dollar partnership with their rival company. 

There was an undercurrent of tension, being slowly filtered into a sort of understanding and grudging respect. The alcohol probably helped. 

A woman’s laughter rang around the room. The tension in the air shuddered and released its hold slightly. 

You amend your statement. The alcohol definitely helped. 

Lazily, you return your gaze to the room. Natasha is slowly walking you towards the center of the room, leading you with gentle touches at your waist. You feel every bit like a lamb, awkward with growing limbs as it is shepherded into a crowd. 

Bouncing around the room, your eyes take in the multitude of people. Features start to blur together. A pointed nose, blue eyes almost hidden under thick eyeliner, shimmering dresses that catch the light and make your head spin.

Your eyes catch on brunette hair. Soft, flowing like a calm river on a warm summer's day. 

Startling slightly, you blink, a memory dredging its way to the front of your brain like molten lava, slow and inevitable. 

Brunette hair, falling effortlessly over strong shoulders. The scent of vanilla washing over you and enveloping you like a well-known embrace. Green eyes sparkling down at you as soft lips move. You focus, dragging your eyes away from the perfectly manicured nails softly brushing against your desk. 

“Mind if I sit here?” 

A feeble shake of your head, and rapid blinking as you attempt to return the moisture lost to wide-eyed staring back into your eyes. 

She’s beautiful. 

Her words are kind, a small smile seemingly locked into place on her lips as she regards you. Green eyes roam your face, lingering around your lips for just a second too long.

“I’m Wanda.”

The memory slams into your skull, reverberating painfully around as you feel an age-old, nearly forgotten crack in your heart reopen. It takes your breath away, the weight in your chest feeling like a paperweight, settling down on the last few pages of a story full of loss and anguish. 

Natasha’s speaking to someone, her raspy voice filtering through your ears. It’s nothing like the cadence of melted butter you still sometimes hear in your dreams. It's different, better. You wonder when the lies will morph into a semblance of truth. 

You take a deep breath, letting those thoughts slide back to where they belong. In the back of your mind, locked away and left to be forgotten. It wouldn’t do you any good to dwell on the past, with its looming, crumbling chess pieces that dance around you in a game that you don’t quite understand the rules of. 

“Ah, fuck.” Comes Natasha’s voice, the words mumbled directly in your ear. 

You twist your head, shaking it free of cobwebs sticky with memory as you take in your wife. Her eyes are locked on something across the room, the faint furrow of her brows the only sign of displeasure etched on her face. Her lips are moving, mumbling something about an important blah blah man blah blah, rich and influential at her rival company blah blah…

Smiling slightly, you hide your amusement with practiced ease as you turn your gaze towards the man, no, a couple heading your way. Your eyes barely register the neatly parted blonde hair of a tall man, his eyes locked on Natasha with a calculating sort of look in them before your eyes slide over to the woman on his arm.

Fuck, indeed. 

Your heartbeat rushes through your ears, a dull ringing cascading through them as you feel your breath catch. Everything has gone numb, or cold, or tingly. You’re not really sure. Everything is too much and the room is too hot even as goosebumps rise on the surface of your exposed flesh. You suddenly see yourself in a third-person view, your mind projecting outside your body as you go rigid at the sight of her.

Wanda Maximoff. 

Green eyes, brighter and lighter than the ones you stared lovingly into at the altar. Her gaze flickers over to you, not fully meeting your eyes, a forced sort of dissonance playing out briefly on those perfect features before she focuses on Natasha.  

Another memory slams into you, rising unbidden from the depths of your mind before you can stop it. 

Soft laughter, echoing around the room before it's absorbed by the four walls surrounding you. Green eyes, smiling at you before returning their focus to the pen and paper in front of her. 

Wanda writes something down, your eyes tracing the elegant script that flowed easily from her fingertips. Something scratches at the back of your mind, a tendril of something fond, warm. It feels like coming home, future impressions of familiarity beginning to take root. 

“Let me see,” you’re saying, moving closer. Your hands reach for the book. No, it's a leather-bound journal. You’d picked them out earlier, after walking to the store with Wanda from your English literature class. 

“No, oh my god,” Wanda was saying, giggles erupting from her as she half-heartedly wrestled the journal away from you. Her hand lands on your knee, her cheeks a little too flushed. It reminds you of the cherry she’d eaten earlier, licking the whipped cream from her milkshake off before smiling and sucking the fruit into her mouth. 

Her hand stills, awkward and stiff for a moment. You don’t comment on it, shifting your body weight to be slightly closer to her. The warmth from her palm spreads through your body like a slow creek, new and small and promising bigger currents down the road. 

“Let me read yours out loud and I’ll let you read mine,” you offer, taking her journal gently and placing yours in her lap.

“It’s just poetry,” the words flow from your lips, but you know it’s more than that. It’s the very contents of your soul, laid bare for her to see, wrapped under layers of grammar and careful wording. It’s a confession, it’s a sin, it’s something twisting and beautiful and as graceless as a newborn foal. Her eyes meet yours, your thoughts reflected back at you as her fingers twitch slightly on your knee. 

Wanda’s hand takes your journal, those green eyes skimming the words as her lips move silently.

You don’t look away, you can’t look away. Her hair is falling over her shoulder, as delicate and soft as the words written before you. There’s a palpable tension in the air, low and thumping like a familiar heartbeat. 

Green eyes, flickering back to you. Something behind them that you can’t interpret. You feel like she can see your every thought, the very contents of your being laid out before her as she analyzes each individual piece. It’s frightening and it’s intoxicating, and you look away. 

You’re reading her words now, the sentences flowing and mashing together in your mind as you pluck the strings of her mind with your careful hands. It’s beautiful and well-written, layered with so many truths and lies that you can’t begin to interpret the true meaning of her sentences. 

Something tingles at the base of your skull, warm and light as it blossoms through your head. Understanding. Or, the semblance of it. 

You look up. Light green eyes stare back into yours. They’re captivating, and you wonder if they ever left. If she watched you the same way you did her, attempting to unravel her very being through carefully constructed lines and flowing script and words layered with meaning. 

Those green eyes have the power to shatter you. You pick up your pen. 

“So what is it that you do?” The man is speaking. 

Your mind crashes back into the present, another hairline fracture appearing on the surface of your heart. You can practically feel it, the torment running deeper than the illusion the thin crack offers. It’s bone-aching, and you suddenly feel exhausted. 

“I’m a copywriter,” Natasha answers, sounding casual. You can sense the clipped tone and undercurrent of frustration, and your hand gently traces circles against her wrist. “I graduated with a degree in English Literature.”

“Ah,” the man says, sounding every bit as pretentious as he looks. “My wife got a degree in that as well.”

Another crack, splintering into you. Your eyes flick down, catching the ring on Wanda’s finger. It’s shining and big, the diamonds glittering back at you, the mockery of it seeping into your soul. The meaning of it is every bit as surface level as what you assume Wanda’s feelings for this man are. You know better, she had told you just as much. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever love a man in the way I’m meant to.” 

You don’t have to ask what she means. You don’t respond, a gentle sigh escaping you as the weight of her head rests solidly on your shoulder. The clock on your nightstand blinks back at you, the numbers twinkling in the early morning. Pens and paper and journals are strewn around you, a poetry book facedown in your lap. Your voice had grown too tired from reading, but neither of you seemed to mind the comfortable silence stretching around the room.

Until now.

“I know,” you say. There are not many words you can speak.

It's simple. That’s a lie. It’s not, it’s complicated and it's painful and there’s nothing you can do to take that away from her. You wish you could. You would do anything to let Wanda’s soul have respite in your presence, to be unburdened from thoughts of sin and duty, to be able to finally breathe properly. 

Soft fingers find your hand, tangling with your fingers almost hesitantly. Your palm slides easily against hers, and you swallow the lump in your throat. Your hands fit like a jigsaw puzzle, feeling like the final piece as it clicks into place. Confusion and frustration sliding away as the picture finally makes sense. 

“Poetry feels like prayer.” Wanda’s voice is quiet, and you know what she means. It feels holy, even with the words only spoken in the sublunary space of your dorm room. Her head twists on your shoulder, and you feel your gaze drawn to her like the inevitable magnetic pull of the earth. Her green eyes peer up at you. “Will you pray with me?” 

Picking up the poetry book in your lap, you begin reading. Your thumb runs over the pages. Staring at the words in front of you, you wonder why they’re blurry. You realize later, after Wanda had fallen asleep from being lulled into comfort by your voice, that it had been unshed tears. 

You let them fall.

“Yes,” Wanda is saying, and her voice is exactly the same as you’d remembered. She’s speaking, saying something about the university she’d attended and how she got her degree. The only thing you can focus on is the familiar lilt of her words, the smooth cadence you’ve memorized and seared into your brain. 

It’s painful, but you can’t take your eyes off of her. Natasha’s hand moves slightly against your waist, and you blink. The man next to Wanda has his arms almost possessively around her shoulders, his hawkish eyes watching you. 

You look away. 

“Oh, you and my wife went to the same University,” Natasha says, trying to be helpful. You don’t appreciate it. Her words are genuine, but the statement falls short, a beat of awkward silence stretching into an eternity as you try to respond. What could you even say?

Yes. We did. I fell in love with the confident, full-of-life brunette who looked at me like I hung the moon, and I looked at her like she painted the stars just to give the moon some company. I loved her as easy as breathing, and now my lungs never feel full enough, my breaths labored and weighted with the words of love I breathed into her ear that I can’t take back, won’t take back. 

Refuse to take back. 

“We must have missed each other,” Wanda says, her eyes flashing in your direction, but not fully meeting yours. “It’s a big school.”

A polite smile plasters itself onto your face, too small and stiff to be sincere. Your heart clenches painfully, a small part of your mind begging Wanda to meet your eyes. God, it feels just like when you were at University. 

Her husband’s fingers tighten slightly around her shoulder, pulling her further into his side. You wonder if Wanda feels like she’s suffocating yet. You hope not, you want her to breathe. To fill her lungs with light and hope and passion and… not whatever this is.

Another memory, sludging through your mind like a heavy foot through quicksand. 

You don’t talk to Wanda much outside of class and the late-night poetry readings in your dorm. She blames it on her busy social life, being in a sorority is apparently no joke. You’ve learned to keep your head down when you see her in public, her eyes always lingering near you, but never fully meeting yours, too focused on the sorority sisters that always seem to surround her. Appearances are everything to her, you know that. 

But god, it hurts. 

It still doesn’t cut quite as deep as the weekend her parents came to visit. 

Wanda had grown up the daughter of a pastor, a well-spoken man with a quiet, hidden-in-the-shadows wife. You’d watched from afar, noticing the small glances her mother would send her way, and the nervous twitching of her fingers as she adjusted Wanda's collar, or brushed a piece of invisible lint from her daughter's skirt. 

Per usual, Wanda was nothing short of perfect. Her hair was perfectly curled, laying gently over her shoulders as the brunette strands glowed in the sunlight. She’d done her makeup just subtle enough to perfect her already dainty features, but not enough to rouse suspicion that she was promiscuous. 

You’d watched her do her makeup many times, her hands perfecting the art. You wondered how much of her father’s influence and mother’s worry controlled the easy flick of her brush as it spread a light blush across her cheeks. 

Tracing your gaze down her form, you glance back to the book in front of you. A poem glared up at you, the words swimming off the page as you remember the subtle curve of Wanda’s spine, her head bowed slightly as her father spoke into her ear. 

Wanda was full of life, shining brightly and standing out amongst the rest of the population at this university. Or perhaps that was simply your own observation, after all, your entire waking moments were consumed by thoughts of her. 

The point is, she wasn’t… docile. Or submissive, or meek like her posture suggests when her father lays a hand on her shoulder. You can’t tell if he’s gripping his fingers tightly or gently around her, but either way, Wanda doesn’t make a move to remove his hand. 

She’s nodding, her head turning towards him. You can see her smiling easily at him, saying something back. 

His hand returns to his side, and you hope that you imagine the slope of her mother’s shoulders relaxing. The way her fingers twitch towards her daughter, wanting to replace the feeling of his hand against her skin, but choosing to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear instead. Always deflecting her true intentions.

Wanda’s face turns towards her mother. You see the momentary look that passes between them, but you’re unable to interpret it from across the quad. The moment passes, and her mother returns her attention back to her husband. Always a faithful, obedient wife. 

When Wanda and her parents pass by the table you’re seated at, she doesn’t spare you a second glance. Her green eyes are focused on some unimportant thing in the distance, her father’s lips moving near her ear again. You silently plead with her to look your way, to take solace in the silent comfort you can provide. 

Her green eyes don’t meet yours. You feel a crack appear on your heart, and you swallow harshly as you stare blankly at the poetry in front of you. Shoving the crack down where you’ve displaced all the other ones, you begin to read. 

The poem is a romantic one. Full of yearning and hope and unbridled passion. The only thing you can think about is how incredibly tragic it seems. 

Natasha’s thumb is slowly moving, caressing your hip as she holds you loosely by her side. Not possessive, but not without care either. You’re grateful for the touch, and focus on it as Wanda’s husband continues to talk about… what is he talking about?

You don’t really care. 

The version of Wanda that you knew and the woman you see in front of you clash in your mind, splintering your thoughts. You’re also aware of your wife beside you, and guilt creeps into your heart. 

You chose Natasha. You’re happy with her, you stood across from her and declared your love and promised her that you would love her until the end of time. You intend to stand by that, to uphold your promise. Imagining a future without her seems impossible. 

But you’d also imagined a future with Wanda once. It didn’t seem right to just ignore that. And it was impossible to keep the memories at bay. Not when she was standing before you for the first time in ten fucking years, with her perfect hair and her natural looking makeup and her light green eyes and the scent of vanilla washing over you and and and-

Breathing in, feeling the comforting scent of vanilla enveloping you in the strong embrace of a familiar lover. Wanda’s hair just beneath your nose, the silky strands brushing against your cheek and chin as you place a gentle kiss on her head. 

Her arms are wrapped around you, her breaths even. You aren’t asleep, but you let her think that you are. It's easier for her to be herself when she thinks nobody is watching. Her fingers slowly dance along the exposed skin of your stomach, softly tracing nonsensical patterns against you as you feel your heart pound steadily. 

A poetry book rests at your side, forgotten in the favor of holding her in your arms. You understand what all the poets mean, with their suffering and their longing written painstakingly on pages of crinkled paper beneath their ink-stained hands, as you hold Wanda gently against you. This moment feels too precious, too raw to ever be put into words, to write down for the world to see. 

No, you’d much rather keep this moment pure and untouched, resting in your heart alongside the inevitability of Wanda Maximoff. 

You can feel her in your soul. Or rather, maybe it’s your soul that’s bleeding and filling the space between you two. You hope that it is mixing with Wanda’s, filling the painful parts of her that she pushes down and cushioning them with warmth. Is it too much to hope that she’ll carry a part of you with her forever? Is it selfish to take the willing parts of her soul that bleed into yours and keep them there until they’re so ingrained in the fiber of your being that you would lose yourself if she took it back?

Maybe that's the true definition of love. 

Natasha's hand grips you tightly, her fingers tense around your hip. Her eyes are locked on Wanda’s husband, his drawling voice grating your nerves. You risk a glance at Wanda, recognizing her blank look at the ground for what it is. Escape. 

She used to tell you about the places she’d go inside her mind when life got to be too much for her. It sounded peaceful. She could be whoever she wanted inside her own head, without the pressure of her father or the quiet concern of her mother and the encompassing guilt that she was never making the right choices. You hope she's there right now, and return your gaze towards her husband. 

“I mean,” Her husband's eyes are sharp, glinting dangerously at your wife. “It’s so nice that they allow so many… diverse individuals to work with your company.” 

His eyes travel down her body before flicking over to you briefly. 

“Is it hard to keep your lifestyle and work life separate?” he asks, and your blood boils. You see Wanda’s head lower further. “I imagine it's quite difficult to relate to your peers, with a secret like that.”

Natasha is seconds away from exploding, tearing him down with sharp words and securing her own termination in the same breath. 

You find your voice, the quiet strength of your words surprising you. “I’ve been out and proud since I was in high school. I’ve never been ashamed of who I am. And neither is my wife.”

Wanda’s eyes cut sharply over to you, that specific shade of light green filling your vision. 

“Why the fuck would you give this to me if you didn’t want me to interpret it that way?” You’re not yelling, you never would. Not at her. Never at Wanda. But you can feel the frustration leaking into each syllable, and you hate the way that Wanda’s shoulders seem to hunch in on themselves. 

“I never meant for you to…” Wanda can’t continue, her eyes locked on the poetry book you’re clutching between your fingers. 

“You never meant for me to fall in love with you?” 

A flinch, green eyes staring at the carpet and gentle fingers clenched uselessly over the back of a chair. The words bounce around your dorm room, settling in with a tentative weariness. 

“Why would you give me this poetry book about romance and passion and fighting for love if that’s not what you wanted me to think about you?” you set the book down on your desk, the pages flipping open. You can see the smudged ink of your annotations. That was a flaw of yours, always writing too fast as you try to keep up with the thoughts in your head. 

“That’s not what I mean I-” Wanda’s eyes are locked on the book and you watch her swallow harshly. Her voice is shaky, her head bowed. You hate it, and there’s nothing you can do to make it better. “I can’t love you.”

“You don’t love me?”

“That’s not what I said.” Wanda’s voice is quiet. 

Oh. 

“You don’t understand,” Wanda has unshed tears in her eyes. You want to wipe them away, your fingers twitching, unsure if you’re allowed to anymore. “My family means everything to me.”

Oh.

The weight of tragedy settles in, burying itself deep within your bones and wrapping around your heart and squeezing. All of the cracks you’d smothered appear at once, splintering and creating new fractures with each labored pump of poisonous blood coursing through your body. 

You finally understand what the poets mean. The metaphors and desperation, the weight of grief and longing and the way it sticks to your very soul like a parasite that you keep feeding and nurturing because the pain of forgetting is worse than the crushing travesty of remembering. 

Wanda is talking, and for the first time, you’re not paying attention to her words. She’s saying something about her parents and financial dependence and them cutting her off and all you can hear is that she’s stuck and scared and trying to protect herself and you can’t choose her path for her. 

It’s agony, it’s grief and it’s nothing like what you imagined as you innocently read the words scattered across the pages of your poetry book. It’s so much fucking worse. Wanda’s hand is on the doorknob of your dorm, her vanilla scent already fading from your walls as she looks at you with longing and grief and something devastating hidden and suppressed deep within her soul. You wonder if this will be the last time her green eyes ever look at you with genuine emotion shining through them. 

You wonder if you’ll ever escape the numbing chill of loneliness that settles beneath your skin like an old friend. 

Vision, you’d learned his name at some point during the conversation, seems at a loss for words for the first time since you’ve met him. His face is steadily reddening, the tips of his ears practically scarlet as you watch the hand on Wanda’s shoulder tighten.

“I’ve seen your name credited a lot, you must be very good at what you do.” Wanda’s voice is melodic, her words placating yet genuine. She’s mending the rift, her words an unspoken apology for her husband’s behavior as he stands sullen beside her. 

Natasha smiles and begins speaking.

It’s strange, to see the woman you’re in love with talking with Wanda. There was a time when you thought you’d never find someone who made you feel the way Wanda did. You were convinced that your love would live and die with her. 

Then, you met your wife. 

Natasha was everything you could have ever hoped for. She loved you openly and proudly from the moment she met you. Her commitment to you had never waned, her gestures true and meanings genuine. You’d never trusted somebody more, never felt as comfortable with another person. 

She stood by your side when others did not. She held you when you were sick, and stayed by your side when you were at your lowest. The day that you had married her was the best day of your life, and your vows were nothing short of pure truth. The green eyes that had looked at you from across the altar were vibrant and dark, your love for that shade of green far surpassing the one you’d loved all those years ago. 

So why did it still hurt to think about Wanda?

If you had to choose. Right now, Natasha or Wanda, you knew you’d choose your wife in every lifetime. But that didn’t explain the splintering cracks reappearing on your heart the longer you stayed in Wanda’s presence. 

Music rattles the floor, a plethora of swirling hues surrounding you. Your senses are dulled by the fiery liquor burning within your veins, your brain finally relaxing. 

“Dude, come on don’t just stand there like a weirdo,” Kate pulls you away from the wall, spilling your cup in the process. 

You both look down at it for a moment, before bursting into peals of laughter that leave you clutching her shoulder for support as she bends at the waist. Her dark hair falls neatly over her shoulders, her backward cap holding it in place. 

The music drowns out most of your laughter, but you’re aware of the eyes on both you and Kate as you wipe tears from your eyes. She’s pulling you closer to the DJ, dancing sloppily with you. You can’t bring yourself to care about the people around you. There was one goal tonight, get absolutely sloshed at the local college bars and then pass out on Kate’s couch to forget about the whole thing. 

“Who the fuck let the sloppy, drunk dykes in?”

Kate doesn’t hear the words, but you do. You turn to face the group near you, the liquor making you bold. It’s a bunch of sorority girls, with their skin-tight dresses and judging eyes watching you with caked-on mascara. Your heart drops when you see Wanda standing in the middle of them. 

Your blood runs cold, a surge of sadness and fury sweeping through you. It’s confusing, but most of all, it’s fucking infuriating. 

Behind you, Kate stumbles, her elbow knocking into your side. Your arms wrap around her, keeping her upright as she mumbles an apology in your ear. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Wanda whisper something to one of the girls, their eyes on you and filled with mirthful laughter. 

“You’re right, Wanda,” the girl says, loud enough for the whole group to hear. “These dyke sluts would probably jump on the nearest dick they could find, since nobody else wants to fuck them.”

The blood rushes to your ears, and Kate’s gasp reverberates around your skull. The bar seems quieter than before, and a multitude of eyes are on you and the blonde bitch in front of you is smirking like she just stole your favorite candy and Wanda is laughing and pointedly avoiding eye contact with you but her smile wavers slightly as her eyes grow sad for a split second before she remembers where she is and you’re so fucking mad and it all just seems so goddamn tragic and-

Your fist connects solidly with that stupid, smug smirk that the blonde girl proudly plasters on her face. There are gasps and Kate whooping loudly in your ear and arms wrapped around you and pulling you towards the door and alcohol making your head spin and fuck you’ve never felt more alive. 

Wanda’s eyes finally meet yours. They’re filled with shock, but just before she turns away, you see a sliver of gratitude and the hint of an apology glimmering in their depths. 

Needless to say, both you and Kate are banned from that bar. 

Your wife is laughing. The echoes of mean laughter from Wanda and her sorority sisters fade into the background noise of your brain as you refocus on the conversation. Natasha’s soft chuckles bring a smile to your face before you can stop it, your lips turning up as you look at her. 

She’s effortlessly pretty, her eyes crinkled slightly at the edges even as her gaze flickers warily over to Vision. Her arm is wrapped around your waist, solid yet unrestrictive. 

Wanda’s eyes linger around the fingers that lightly draw circles against your hip. She seems to shake herself, eyes quickly moving back towards safer territory as she focuses on Natasha’s face. You don’t miss the fleeting expression of longing that flits across her face, her appearance seeming soul-crushingly tired for a mere moment before it smooths over in a way that speaks to years of practice. 

You wonder if she’s remembering the same night that rises to the front of your mind. You try to combat it, to stay in the moment. Natasha's fingers squeeze your hips lovingly, and you descend into the memory with bone-deep guilt. 

The concrete is cold beneath you, the wind picking up slightly and threading its way through your hair. You shiver, feeling Wanda adjust her body closer to yours. You’re aware of her heat spreading through you. Her hand fits seamlessly in yours, and you wonder when loving Wanda became as easy and inevitable as breathing. 

“Do you think the poets compared their words to the stars?” Wanda asks.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” you say, breathing in her vanilla scent. It’s hard to focus on her words when her body is pressed fully against yours, your left side burning with warmth and something else that you’re almost scared to identify. 

Wanda chuckles, the sound heating your cheeks further. 

“Well,” she pauses. That’s one of the things you love about her, how careful she is with her words. “Do you think they viewed their words, their poems, as unattainable yet beautiful and pure?”

You’re quiet. You can think of something that is also unattainable, pure and completely inevitable. It’s not poetry, and it’s not the glittering stars that take up your vision. She’s lying right beside you, her nose bright red from the wind and a future stretching out ahead of her that she is able to mold into something beautiful and something that is completely her own. If only she had the courage to do so. You hope she does. 

“Of course they did. They’re poets,” you respond, and Wanda hums. “Do you feel that way?”

Wanda doesn’t respond, and that’s enough of an answer for you. 

The silence stretches on, but it's comfortable. Wanda is shifting silently, more of her body pressing against you, the wind having died down a while ago, leaving no easy excuses for her leg pressed fully against yours. 

“You wanna know what I think?” Wanda’s voice is quiet, yet firm. 

Turning your head, you look at her. She looks back, her lips mere inches away from yours. You can feel the soft, warm breath escaping her lips and hitting your face as she speaks. 

“I think that you’re like the stars,” Wanda begins, her green eyes sparkling at you. They glance down imperceptibly, almost too quickly for you to catch. You notice, of course you do. “You're incomparable, chemical almost.” 

Wanda trails off, her eyes firmly focused on your lips. You understand, you always do. 

“I can’t tell if you’re a curse or a miracle,” you whisper, feeling Wanda lean in. The tension vibrates palpably between your lips and hers. “But I don’t really care.”

Soft lips collide with yours, a seismic shift that causes your head to spin for a moment. It’s perfect and pure and something bordering on holiness and you find yourself never wanting to leave this moment. Then, Wanda’s lips are moving against yours and the heat inside you is rising and her hands are everywhere and you can’t get enough of her and-

Her moans feel almost reverent, stretching out into the minimal space between you as she arches herself closer to you. Her skin is pressed against yours, warm and alive and feeling every last bit like an all-consuming force that you gladly pull closer. Your fingers slip inside her easily, the feeling of her bringing tears to your eyes. You want to live in this moment forever, with the taste of her on your lips and her thighs impossibly soft around you, her head thrown back as she chants your name like a prayer. 

You’ve never believed in God. But in this moment, you finally know what it truly means to worship. 

A man’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. 

“Well, as lovely as it’s been to meet you…” Vision trails off, and Natasha simply raises an eyebrow. 

“Thank you for the wonderful conversation,” Wanda’s smooth words cut in, another unspoken apology and excuse for her husband's behavior. “We should probably be leaving, it’s getting late.”

Green eyes glance at her husband, whether for permission or in reprimand, you can’t tell. Either way, it gets Vision to move, a firm head nod directed towards your wife before he’s striding towards the door, pulling Wanda with him. 

She’s leaving. Again. 

A final memory claws its way to the surface. You know this one. It's a memory that you’ve kept hidden in the deepest part of your brain, in a place full of sticky cobwebs and scarce lighting, meant to be forgotten. 

It’s inevitable.

Wanda is almost at the exit, her husband's hand possessive against the small of her back. It speaks of ownership, of pride. You despise it. It’s nothing like the soft, loving touch of your wife’s hand against your waist.

The turn of a head and soft brunette waves falling gently around delicate, hunched shoulders. Soft skin, glowing slightly in the dim, red lighting of an exit sign. Green eyes, piercing yours in the same manner that they had all those years ago. 

Your breath catches, lodging itself painfully in your throat. Or maybe it's just your chest, and what lies beneath the surface. A heart, with cracks all along the surface, squeezing painfully, the tension, the agony almost too much to bear. 

A single tear slides down your cheek. You hear Natasha murmuring something in your ear, a gentle hand wiping your face dry. 

There’s a mask sliding into place over those perfect features that you’d memorized a decade ago. Green eyes, light in shade, sliding past you as if you’re an insignificant, forgotten trophy on the highest shelf. And then she’s gone, out the door with only the faint scent of vanilla and a permanent memory etched into your mind. 

The cracks splinter, and without warning, shatter completely.

“Pick up, pick up… please just… fucking. Ah, just, goddamnit pick up the fucking phone Wanda.”

You’re drunk, the phone feeling awkward and heavy in your hands. The sound of a dial tone beeping ricochets through your mind, and you clumsily jerk the phone away from your ear.  Blearily, you take in the four previous calls you’ve made to Wanda. 

One more try can’t hurt. Right?

You firmly press your finger against her name, the sound of your phone dialing her number washing over you. The tiny numbers in the corner of your screen read somewhere between one or two in the morning, but you don’t care. All you need is for Wanda to pick up. 

A sound, different from before. You hear quiet breathing on the other side of the line. 

God, you’ve missed that sound. The feeling of her head resting against your shoulder or chest as slow measured breaths fill the four walls of your dorm room. The small puffs of air hitting your skin when she shifted, burying her face in your neck. 

You say as much, the words spilling out of you. You’re not sure if Wanda is listening, but you hope she is. 

“Fuck, I- I just miss you so much. It feels like I’m dying every time I see you, and I can’t take your eyes avoiding mine anymore. I mean,” you hiccup, the sound pathetic even to your own ears. It doesn’t matter. 

“Don’t you miss us?” you say, your voice quiet. The soft breaths on the other end of the line hitch, and you grasp at it. “I miss the flame of what we were, I don’t even really know what we were, but… I miss the small reign we had. Even if it was just in the space of my dorm room. I would go through the pain of you every day if it meant I could be close to you. I-”

You lose the words, the regret pouring through you as quickly as a flooding river. The words can’t escape fast enough. 

“Do you regret us? I know we were a secret, and I was okay with that. I would have done anything, kept anything private, secret even, just to keep you in my life. You know that Wanda.” You draw a shaky breath. You hope that you don’t imagine the same type of breath on the other end of the line. 

“Do you miss it?” You ask, hating the way your voice cracks gently. You hear Wanda’s sharp, soft inhale. “Do you regret the secret of us?”

Click.

---

Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @marvels--slut @justabrokensunshine @dorabledewdroop @wandsmxmff @esposadejoyhuerta @captivepotato

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Too Late To Dream ༓ jjk (m) I Epilogue: Stargaze

✑ Summary: The topic of starting a family has been a vulnerable subject for both of you, especially over the past year as you've struggled to conceive. But tonight, under the blanket of the twinkling sky, your love proves stronger as neither of you is willing to give up hope just yet —and maybe you won't have to.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, fluff, smut, marriage au, slice of life

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: 8-year age gap, professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), swearing, mentions of past apprehensions of fatherhood, mentions of difficult past, pregnancy journey, and some sexual/suggestive content

Sexual/suggestive warnings: swearing, kissing (making out, neck kisses, etc), hair tugging/playing, sentimental tears, mention of pregnant s*x/c*ming

Now Playing: Heaven by Bryan Adams

a/n: About a year ago I started a series that I'm sure a decent amount of my readers are familiar with. It's one that will always stay close to my heart because of its very nature....it's simply touching for me. Anyway, I've owed everyone, including myself, an epilogue for quite some time. This can be read as a stand-alone, but I do recommend reading the series if you wish to have more context, etc.

Hope you enjoy 🥰

Series Masterlist | Requests: closed | Taglist | Fic Recs

Tonight, under the vast canopy of stars in the late summer night sky, you feel a peacefulness in your heart as you lie beside your husband of three years on a soft blanket spread out in the backyard.

The air is cool with the scent of freshly cut grass, and the stars shimmer like diamonds above you. You and Jungkook have always loved stargazing together—it's a cherished ritual that brings you closer, grounding you in the beauty and wonder of the universe.

"Look," Jungkook murmurs, pointing towards a particularly bright star. "That one's so bright tonight."

You follow his gaze, smiling softly. "Yeah, it's beautiful."

Jungkook turns to you, his eyes reflecting the starlight. "This is my favorite place to be with you, you know?”

“Mine too,” you reply, snuggling closer to him.

The gentle rustling of leaves fills the silence for a few moments before Jungkook speaks again.

“I’ve been thinking…about us, about our future," he starts.

Your heart skips a beat, sensing the weight of his words. "What about our future?"

"I want us to keep trying to build our family," he says earnestly, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. "I know it hasn't been easy, and we expected to be pregnant months ago, but I believe our time will come."

The topic of starting a family has been a vulnerable subject for both of you, especially over the past year as you've struggled to conceive. It's been filled with tender moments and heartaches, each negative test a painful reminder of the journey.

Countless visits to Dr. Kim for advice and reassurances couldn’t fill the void left by each disappointment. Yet, through it all, neither of you could let the anticipation and hope that have woven themselves into the fabric of your days and nights diminish.

"I believe it too, Kook," you reply, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze his hand.

He turns to face you fully, his gaze searching yours. "I've wrestled with the idea of becoming a father in the past because of my own doubts and fears. But now, I can't wait to be a father, with you by my side. Even if more challenges await us, I want to share this journey with you, every step of the way."

A surge of emotion wells up inside you as memories of the past two years together start flashing through your mind. It was after an unexpectedly sweet encounter with a toddler at the park while painting, that you first brought up the idea of having children to Jungkook. He was initially apprehensive, recalling that neither of you had considered children when you first married for various reasons. But he loved you deeply, so he promised to be open to the idea.

Together, you agreed that rushing into such a significant decision as having a baby wouldn't be wise, considering it was an entirely new venture for both of you. However, over time, through therapy sessions, ongoing exposure to children, and heartfelt discussions, you both gradually felt more prepared and ready to finally welcome this new chapter in your life.

"Jungkook, I…," you pause, knowing that what you're about to share is something you've been bottling up all day, a dream waiting for the perfect moment to be revealed. "I have a feeling things might be different this time."

His eyes widen in surprise, a spark of curiosity igniting within them. "What do you mean?"

You take a deep breath, your voice trembling with mixed emotions. "I mean... today, I took a test. It was positive."

Jungkook's breath catches in his throat, excitement dancing in his eyes before quickly filling with tears of joy. "You mean...?"

You nod, a couple of tears streaming down your cheeks. "Yes, Kook. We're going to have a baby."

In an instant, Jungkook pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. His laughter mingles with your tears as you cling to each other, overwhelmed with happiness.

"I can't believe it," he whispers, pressing a kiss on top of your head. "We're going to be parents."

You nod against his shoulder, the news feeling just as surreal to you as it does to him. "Together, Kook. We're going to be parents."

As you lie under the starlit sky, wrapped in each other's arms and the promise of a new life growing within you, you know that this night will forever be etched in your hearts.

"I love you, and I can't wait to meet our baby," Jungkook says softly, placing a gentle hand on your stomach.

"I love you too." Cradling his face in your hands, you lean in and press your lips gently against his.

With the first month of your pregnancy underway, joy overwhelms you as you and Jungkook share the news with close family and friends.

"I can't believe it! You're finally joining the parent club," Yoongi teases, a mischievous glint in his eye as he recalls his own experience with twin girls. "Get ready for sleepless nights and endless diaper changes."

Taehyung chimes in eagerly, "And I demand to be their godfather! I'll teach your child everything about art and creativity."

"Hey, I think I can handle that part pretty well myself," you playfully interject, gesturing to your personal artwork hanging on the walls.

Taehyung grins, "I suppose you have a point there. But seriously, if you ever need help with anything, you know I'm here."

Jungkook chuckles warmly and pats Taehyung on the shoulder. "Thanks, man. That means a lot."

Yoongi smirks, leaning back in his chair. "Your kid will have the best of both worlds Jungkook—__'s artistic flair and your… well, whatever you bring to the table."

"Muscles," you say with a cheeky smirk. "He'll bring the muscles."

The second month arrives fast, but it's not as cheery as the first. Morning sickness kicks in full force, testing your patience and resilience.

Jungkook becomes your pillar of support, always ready with ginger tea and comforting words.

"You're doing great, sweetheart," he reassures you, rubbing your back gently as you rest your head against his shoulder.

"I feel terrible," you admit, tears welling up in your eyes. "I just wish our baby was already here."

"We'll get through this together," Jungkook says softly, planting a kiss on your forehead. "And hey, at least we're getting really good at making ginger tea!"

You manage a weak laugh, grateful to have him by your side.

By the third month, your bump begins to show. Despite your mixed feelings about your changing body, you can't help but feel wonder and amazement at the miracle growing inside you.

"Look at this," Jungkook whispers, gently placing his hand on your belly. "Our little one is growing so fast."

You glance down at his hand, then back up at him with a soft smile. "I know. It's incredible, isn't it? Sometimes it feels like just yesterday we found out. I can't wait to meet them."

Jungkook nods, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Me too. I want to teach them everything I know. I wonder what they'll be like."

You chuckle softly, imagining the possibilities. "Who knows? Maybe they'll have your sense of adventure and my love for creativity. Or maybe they'll be completely different from both of us, which will be okay too."

He grins, pressing a gentle kiss on your belly. "We'll love them no matter what, no doubt about it."

It's the fourth month when you feel your energy returning and renewed optimism as morning sickness subsides. You and Jungkook take walks in the park, hand-in-hand, discussing baby names and nursery decor.

"I think we should go with a woodland theme for the nursery," Jungkook suggests, swinging your intertwined hands as the crisp autumn leaves crunch beneath your feet.

"Sounds perfect," you agree, smiling at his enthusiasm. "We could have little animal decorations and maybe even a mural of a forest. Taehyung hasn't been subtle about wanting to paint the room for us."

"Definitely," Jungkook replies, his eyes bright with excitement. "He'd probably add his own artistic touch too, knowing him."

You chuckle softly, imagining Taehyung's vibrant and whimsical style adorning the nursery walls. "That would be amazing. Our baby would have the most creative room ever."

As you walk, you discuss more details—what kind of crib to get, whether to use soft pastels or earthy tones, and even what kind of mobile would best fit the woodland theme. Jungkook talks about how he wants to try building some of the furniture himself, adding a personal touch to the nursery.

"I want our baby to know how much love went into creating their space one day," he says, squeezing your hand gently.

"I can't wait to see it all come together," you sigh.

Jungkook stops walking and pulls you into a gentle hug, resting his chin on top of your head. "I can't wait either," he whispers.

“Hey,” you say softly, pulling back slightly from his embrace to meet his deep coffee-black eyes. “What would you say if we went home and did something we haven’t been able to do for a little while?”

You then wrap your arms around his neck with a playful smile.

"You mean…sex?” Your husband's eyes widen as he begins to grasp the extent of your suggestion. “But would that be…”

“It’s safe,” you confirm, “Dr. Kim says it’s completely okay and lots of couples do it. No need to worry.”

Jungkook's prior concern washes away, replaced by shock the moment he hears the words drop from your lips. “You asked Seokjin about this?! Our friend?" His eyebrows knit together in confusion and mild disbelief.

“Well, why wouldn’t I?” You chuckle at how cute he looks. “He’s been our doctor for years, Kook. Why wouldn’t I ask him?”

“I know, but it’s…Seokjin.”

“Honey, come on,” you say, attempting to reason with the man. “Are you still mad at him for questioning your sexual ability all those months ago? When we asked his advice on how to increase our chances of conception? You know he didn’t mean it to be anything hurtful.”

“Maybe I’m still irritated about it,” Jungkook pouts. “I guess I’m being petty though. I know he was trying to help.”

“Well, in any case, he was wrong, wasn’t he?” You subtly gesture to your stomach. “Seeing as I’m pregnant with our baby.”

Jungkook's mood seems to lift again as his hands travel down to grip your waist. A playful grin spreads across his face. “I think we should go home now and see if we can prove him even more wrong. What would you say about us having twins?”

You laugh, easily reading between the lines. “Have you been talking to Kim Taehyung? It doesn’t work like that and you know it. You can’t just make love to me while I’m pregnant and expect two babies instead of one. B+ for effort though.”

“Damn, B+? You’re a tough grader, baby. Good thing I might know a thing or two of what you like to get that reaccessed.” He then kisses you before granting you a chance to respond, deepening it within a second.

You feel a tightening build in your core as his tongue smoothly invites itself to slip between the seam of your lips. And despite literally being in the middle of a park, you moan immediately, tugging at a few strands of his hair. A low groan elicits from him as you do this.

Thank god most of the people have left for dinner by now.

“No,” you suddenly mumble, breaking your heated kiss. “This isn’t how we like to do it. We need to go home. Please, let's go home, Kook.”

Jungkook merely smiles in response, takes your hand in his, and quickly leads you to the car where he drives you both home.

That night, as the brisk autumn wind howls outside, your husband doesn't hesitate to take the lead as he makes love to you with all of his being. And by the end of it all, when you both come, you can visibly see the dried tears on both of each other's cheeks.

"Looks like we're starting to turn into two cry babies," you break the silence first.

"I think so too," Jungkook replies, a tad bit breathless. "Is that okay?"

"Of course. As long as you're okay with it too."

"Can't think of a single reason for it not to be." Your husband buries his head in the crook of your neck, kissing your neck lightly. "I love you, __, so much if you couldn't already tell." He then looks at you and smiles, his eyes brimming with happiness.

"I love you too," you reply simply. "I always will."

In early December, during your fifth month of pregnancy, emotions run high as you start feeling the baby's first kicks. It's a touching reminder of the life growing within you, bringing tears of joy and occasional bouts of anxiety about the future.

"Feel that?" you ask Jungkook, taking his hand and placing it on your belly where the baby kicks again.

"Wow," he breathes, feeling the tiny nudges beneath his hand. "They're already making their presence known."

You nod, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling within you. "Seems like they're eager to join the party."

Jungkook grins, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I guess they heard about your cooking and couldn't wait. They've got good taste already."

You laugh softly, giving his hand a playful squeeze. "Let's hope they also inherit my better sense of direction."

He raises an eyebrow teasingly. "Hey, I've got great instincts."

You shake your head with mock seriousness. "You once got lost in our own neighborhood, Kook."

Jungkook feigns offense, but his smile widens. "Alright, fair point. But I promise I'll navigate parenthood better."

"It's a little bit scary, isn't it?" you say softly.

"It is," Jungkook admits, his grip on your hand tightening reassuringly. "But we'll figure it out together, like we always do."

In the sixth month, you and Jungkook find yourselves nervously seated in the ultrasound room, with you on the medical bed and Jungkook in a chair beside you. The doctor moves the wand over your belly. After a few moments of silence, the screen lights up with images of your baby. Both of you gasp in awe as you see your baby's tiny fingers and toes, their heart beating steadily.

"Everything looks perfectly healthy," the doctor announces warmly, pointing out different features and measurements. "Would you like to know the gender?"

You glance over at your husband, whose eyes are fixed intently on the screen. "What do you think?" you ask. "Do we want to know?"

Jungkook's gaze shifts from the screen to you, reflecting both eagerness and nervousness in his eyes. "I think… yes," he says finally, his voice filled with anticipation.

The doctor smiles warmly and adjusts the ultrasound wand, focusing on a specific area. "Well, it looks like you're having a…"

The suspense lingers in the air as the doctor takes a moment before revealing the gender of your baby. When they do, you and Jungkook can't help but grin at each other.

It’s a girl.

The reality of impending parenthood settles in deeper during the seventh month as you and Jungkook diligently attend prenatal classes together. The sessions are eye-opening, filled with valuable information, but they also serve as stark reminders of the challenges awaiting you both. There are moments of frustration and tears as you grapple with sleepless nights and discomfort.

"I'm so tired," you confess one evening, sinking into Jungkook's arms with a sigh, the weight of exhaustion evident in your voice.

Jungkook wraps his arms around you, offering a comforting embrace. "Well, they say parenthood is good practice for functioning on minimal sleep, right?"

You can't help but chuckle at his attempt to lighten the mood. "I think I need a lot more practice."

"You're doing an amazing job, baby," he assures you, his hands rubbing small, soothing circles on your back. "I'm truly in awe of you."

"Thanks, but I feel like a mess most of the time."

Jungkook shakes his head and gently guides you to look up at him. "If this is what a mess looks like, then I'll take it," he says softly, leaning in to steal a kiss.

In the eighth month, the physical strain of pregnancy becomes more apparent, introducing moments of fatigue and vulnerability. Everyday tasks like tying your shoes or putting a load of laundry in become increasingly challenging. However, with Jungkook as your husband, his attentive care shines through. He insists on handling all the chores without a second thought, from washing the dishes to preparing meals, often coaxing you to rest while he handles things.

"You really don't have to do all this," you protest with a weary smile as Jungkook scrubs a pot clean, his sleeves rolled up.

"I want to," he insists, flashing a reassuring grin over his shoulder.

You start to rise from the couch, still intent on helping, but Jungkook rushes over and gently guides you back onto the cushions. His touch is both firm and tender.

"Please, just relax, honey," he says softly, kneeling beside you. His hands find yours, warm and comforting, as he gives them a light kiss.

"But-" you begin, a hint of resistance in your voice as you look up at Jungkook.

"I know this isn’t easy," he says, his expression softening with understanding. "But let me take care of you, okay? I've got this."

You sigh, torn between wanting to ease his burden and accepting his offer of support. "I just feel like I should be doing more," you admit, your voice tinged with frustration.

Jungkook shakes his head, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "You've already done so much," he reassures you, his gaze unwavering. "Let me handle things tonight. Tomorrow, we can tackle everything together again, okay?"

His words soothe the inner conflict within you, and you reluctantly nod, knowing he's right. "Okay," you concede softly, “Thank you.”

In the ninth month, you're surrounded by friends and family who gather at your house to celebrate your baby shower. The room is adorned with soft pastel decorations and delicate baby-themed accents, reflecting the joyous anticipation of your impending newborn.

"Look at you, all grown up and about to be a dad," Yoongi teases Jungkook, earning a playful swat on the arm from his wife.

Jungkook laughs, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, I guess it's happening. Better start practicing my dad jokes, huh? Got any you haven’t used yet hyung?" He winks at Yoongi, who rolls his eyes in good-natured amusement.

Taehyung joins in, holding up a quirky baby outfit. "This would look adorable on your little one, don't you think?" he suggests with a grin, adding to the playful banter.

Jimin, always the entertainer, spins around the room, capturing everyone's attention. "I can't wait to spoil this baby rotten!" he exclaims with a mischievous grin, eliciting laughter from the group. "I'll be the best uncle ever, just you wait!"

Jungkook chuckles, wrapping an arm around you. "Yeah, we might have to keep an eye on Uncle Jimin's antics once this baby is born.”

Finally, the tenth month arrives, and you approach your due date with growing anticipation. One June morning, as you're bustling about the kitchen, an unfamiliar warmth between your legs startles you. Your heart skips a beat with excitement and a touch of nervousness as you realize what’s just happened.

"Jungkook!" you call out, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jungkook hurries into the kitchen, eyes widening as he sees the puddle on the floor. "Please tell me your water just broke and that's not just a spill," he says, his voice filled with a mix of concern and excitement.

You nod, feeling a rush of emotions. "I think so. We need to go to the hospital."

With swift action, Jungkook helps you gather your hospital bag and gently guides you to the car. The drive is filled with a mix of anticipation and supportive words from Jungkook, his hand firmly holding yours all the way. You focus on your breathing, trying to stay calm and centered as you prepare for the birth of your baby girl.

In the delivery room, surrounded by medical staff and with Jungkook by your side, you endure the intensity of labor. Hours pass in a whirlwind of effort and support, until finally, with a spirited cry, your baby girl enters the world.

As you hold her for the first time, a sense of overwhelming love washes over you both. "She's perfect," you whisper, tears of joy streaming down your cheeks.

Jungkook leans in for a quick peck before gently kissing your baby girl’s forehead. "Just like her mom," he murmurs, his voice filled with awe.

After much consideration, you both decide on the name Ara, a name that symbolizes beauty and grace, perfectly fitting for your precious daughter.

It's now mid-July, and the late afternoon sun bathes the living room in a soft, golden glow as Jungkook sways gently with Ara in his arms. It's hard to believe almost six weeks have passed since bringing your little angel home. Ara has recently started smiling, and you can't help but notice how much it resembles her father's. Her small frame seems even tinier against his broad chest now, her head nestled against his shoulder as if she were listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Jungkook's movements are graceful and tender, his voice humming along to the lullaby as he continues dancing with your daughter. You lean against the doorway, a tender smile playing on your lips as you watch the scene unfold. Soft strains of a lullaby play in the background, blending with the sweet sound of your daughter's giggles while her tiny hands reach up to grasp Jungkook's fingers.

"Appa's dancing with you, sweetheart," you murmur, your voice filled with affection and pride.

Jungkook glances up, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of love and happiness. "She loves our little dance sessions, doesn't she?"

"She adores you," you reply softly, feeling a warm swell of love in your chest.

Seeing Jungkook, once uncertain about fatherhood due to his difficult past, now embracing your daughter with tenderness, fills you with pride. The love and devotion he pours into every sway speak volumes about the kind of father he has become – patient, nurturing, and utterly devoted.

As the lullaby reaches its gentle conclusion, Jungkook carefully lowers your daughter into her crib, tucking her in with a soft blanket. She coos softly, her eyelids fluttering as she settles into a peaceful sleep. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to us," he whispers before pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

Later that evening, after a leisurely dinner, you find yourselves nestled on the couch in the cozy warmth of your living room. A single lamp in the far corner casts soft shadows across Jungkook's face as he idly traces patterns on your arm, lost in thought.

"Hey," you say softly, breaking the comfortable silence that envelops you. "What's on your mind?"

Jungkook looks at you, a faint smile playing on his lips. His eyes hold a glint of contemplation.

"I was thinking… about Ara."

You nod encouragingly, "What about her?"

"She's going to grow up so fast," Jungkook muses, his voice laced with a hint of sentiment. "And… I can't help but imagine her with a little brother or sister someday."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, a rush of emotions flooding through you. "You've been thinking about another baby?"

Jungkook nods, his gaze searching yours for understanding and reassurance. "Yeah. I mean, not right now, of course. But… in the future. I think Ara would love having a sibling to grow up with."

A soft smile graces your lips as you squeeze his hand gently. "I think so too. I'm sure she'd make a wonderful big sister."

He leans closer, his forehead brushing against yours in a gesture of intimacy and connection. "I just wanted to talk about it, you know? Make sure we're on the same page."

"We are," you assure him, "Whenever you're ready, I'm ready too."

Jungkook's lips find yours in a tender kiss, his touch gentle and reassuring. “I love you and I'm so happy we're finally starting a family. Thank you for making me a father."

a/n: Too sweet? Perhaps so, but it's how I roll 😎 haha anyway, if you were looking forward to a more detailed baby-making scene, well it's in the series so have at it lol. But now...I'm going to sleep. Maybe I'll open my requests for some more drabbles with the TLTD couple (or I'll make my own requests haha)

Tags:

@frieschan @oldermenluverrr @tatamicc @kookswifesblog @llallaaa @sunnybyeol @namtaeh @exactlygreatcoffee @whipwhoops @yoongisducky @ktnj91 @junecat18 @thvlover7 @yoongiworshiper @ellesalazar @monbebe234-blog @parkinglot-nights @borahaexoxo @hobiswhore @kimseokjinbangtan @jjk97091 @mk-id @blueberry711 @givemethemaknaes16 @iammartian07 @jjkluver7 @itsdingdong @jiminshi20 @sweet-sourhotcoco @lubtou @lovingkoalaface @starsinsky1999 @rockstarrgyu @chaconnelatte @kaithezaftig @skzthinker @babystarcandykookie @glossyyyymin @siudema @justanotherkpopstanlol

Masterlist | Requests: closed | Taglist | Fic Recs

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[mischiefmanagers]

Eris Vanserra Fic Rec Library 🍁❤️‍🔥

these fics are a mix of Eris x reader, Eris x OC, and a few general Eris fics with no pairing. if you've never read an Eris fic before, I highly recommend starting with the first rec below (gust & flame) because that fic made me fall in love with him. enjoy ✨

🌼 personal favorite 🥀 angst 💞 fluff 🔥 smut

by @invisibleanonymousmonsters

gust & flame (series) 🥀💞🌼

by @theostrophywife

here in your arms. 💞

like you wanna be loved 💞

by @acourtofmenandthirst

The Fox & The Hound 💞

by @leafsandstarlight

Destiny's Battleground (series) 🥀💞🔥

In Spite of Our Differences (series) 🥀💞🔥🌼

Great Rite 🔥

The Prince of Blood

by @profound-imagination

Finding Home 💞

Rose Gardens

by @munsons-hellfire

Happiness in the Heart 🥀💞

by @sweetcarolina-24

Scorched Shadows

by @azrielbrainrot

Fire on Fire

Mind Over Matter 🥀

by @danikamariewrites

Rescue 💞🥀

Fake Sleeper 💞

Peace 💞

Seekers 💞🌼

Did You Just Say No?

Song of Death

Starfall Revelations 🥀💞

Guilt 🥀💞

Kisses 💞

by @redbleedingrose

Till the End of Time 💞🥀

Pretty? 🥀💞

by @b0xerdancer-writes

It Wasn't Supposed to Happen Like This 🥀💞

by @thisblogisaboutabook

Bad Idea, Right? 🥀🔥

by @azsazz

Cherries, Juniper, and Orange Slices 💞

Fire & Water 🥀🔥

by @honeybeefae

Cauldron Fated 💞🥀🔥🌼

Forgotten Ties 🥀

Valentine's Mini Fic 💞

A Court of Wings & Fire (series) 🥀

Past and Present 🥀💞

Coronation Day 💞

Potions 🔥🌼

by @we-were-beautiful

The Fox and the Hounds 💞

by @bubbles-for-all-of-us

My little flame 💞

Her 🌼

My tears ricochet 🥀

by @2thestars-andbeyond

The Fire That Burns Within (series) 💞🥀🔥

by @simkaswriting

What if…Eris had danced with y/n instead?

by @jeannineee

Daylight 🥀💞

Breeding 🔥

by @jdeclerc

a brother's intervention 🥀

by @azrielsdove

Playing With Fire 🥀🔥Azriel x Reader x Eris

by @cassiefromhell

Unexpected 💞🥀🔥Azriel x Reader x Eris

by @fieldofdaisiies

Late Again 🥀

Brother 🥀💞 no pairing

Falling 💞🌼

by @azrielsoulmate

Covered in you 💞

by @cupidojenphrodite

Morning After 🔥

by @acourtofwhatthefuck

Loose Lips 🥀🔥

by @thelov3lybookworm

Remember me? (series) 💞🥀 from Rhysand x Reader to Eris x Reader

Bloodshed 🥀💞

Not what I expected 🥀💞🌼

by @fineghkst

How Eris acts around his mate 💞

by @ladyescapism

fractured bonds 🥀

by @clairebear08

Woven 🥀

Use Me 🔥

by @historiaxvanserra

If I Can't Have Love, I Want Power 🥀🌼

I Am Not a Martyr, I'm a Problem

by @shadowdaddies

Autumn's Eden 💞

Bramble 💞

by @azrielslightintheshadows

Fake love. 🥀

by @crypticandmachiavellianaugustine

Sweet Nothings 💞🌼

by @readychilledwine

Death of Peace of Mind 🥀🔥🌼

Safe Haven 💞

Relief

Unconditional 💞

Leap 💞🌼

Kissed By Fire

Lapcat 🔥

Pack Mentality 💞

Tainted Love 🥀

by @throneofsmut

Bound In Flames (series) 🥀💞🔥

by @parkerslatte

Overlooked 🥀🌼

Warm Me Up 💞🔥

by @prythianpages

Like An Angel 💞

Cruel, Wicked Thing

by @saphirered

Frozen lake 🔥💞

by @thehighladywrites

Professor Eris 🥀💞🔥

by @thevanserrras

Breaking Point 🥀

Den of Foxes 🥀💞

Happy Equinox at Last 💞

Wake Up 🥀💞 Azriel x Reader x Eris

Petty 🥀💞

by @secret-third-thing

Never An Honest Word 🥀 no pairing

by @nocasdatsgay

From the Ashes, the Wildflowers Grow (series) 🥀💞🔥🌼

by @lucienforhighking

Hounds of Love 💞

Dancing 💞🔥

by @callmeblaire

when fire and ice dance

by @moonlightazriel

Symphonies 💞

When no one hears your calls 🥀💞

by @sellyoursoulforagoodfic

Monstrous Secrets 🥀💞

by @florencemtrash

Flame, Shadow, Beast 🥀💞 Azriel x Reader x Eris

by @serpentandlily

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny (series) 🌼

Last Solstice 🥀💞🌼

by @fever-fluff

Unconditional

by @yearning-for-autumn

Would That I

[tasteracha]

the storm.

a/n: happy (early) birthday to my shining star xian @forlix i love you so much i ache with it. i love this universe you've created and i love your characters and your beautiful, beautiful mc that i'm so happy you've let me play with.

warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, teasing, pretty tame for me tbh! many big emotions. wc 2.7k. hurt/comfort sex between two people who love each other.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader, she/her!reader, based off of xian's lovely crying lightning (you can read this as a stand alone but why would you? xian's fic is phenomenal. please read it.)

as beautiful and wonderful and kind and patient hyunjin is, it’s hard to forget sometimes that his general presence is still exceptionally infuriating sometimes. the days of your loneliness, before the two of you had finally come together into one woven cord instead of two strings dancing alongside one another, were all but a distant memory. overriding that was the smell of his skin in the morning, the glint in his eye when he catches yours across the cameras and fans, the warm weight of his hand steady on the small of your back, protective and possessive. all you knew now was the cracking of lightning across a stormy sky, raindrops hitting your face in a welcome intrusion to your mundane day to day. 

the all expanse of the storm did its job well of making you forget that sometimes the raindrops were irritating, too. 

they came in the form of him opening one eye slowly as you tried to swipe shadow across his lid, upsetting your plan and making you double back once you’ve scolded him; the air moving around you as he walks away from you after teasing you one too many times; the sound of his laugh when he’s behind the camera of someone, making eyes at the lens that should have been reserved for you only. each one was a piercing cold drop of water to your face, piercing as they fall and sliding down to form a puddle at your feet. 

it didn’t escape your notice that you weren’t upset at him, really; it wasn’t his fault that you were spiteful. even thinking the word makes you shiver in disgust - this isn’t you. you had never been one to let your feelings affect your actions, you selfishly prided yourself in your ability to compartmentalize, but he had this hold on you that made you experience things you never thought were possible. 

he, of course, finds the entire show encompassingly amusing. you could see the mirth in his eyes from across the room when he meets yours, recognize your own expression in them like a mirror and it made your scowl deepen in it’s permanence. you almost wish for the time when he didn’t know of your affection for him; the surety in his step when he makes you frown is maddening, overshadowed by the smugness he holds in knowing he could make you smile with greater ease. let it be known that you didn’t lack in confidence - your spine is stood high, head held with authority and feet planted firmly on the floor. envy wasn’t something that ever crawled up your legs like ivy over an ancient grecian statue. jealousy, even, seemed too harsh a sentence for your current charge. to put it simply, you were annoyed. 

he knows this, of course. he knows you, inside and out, and on your best days it’s a rare gift that you treasure, hidden away in the deepest corners of the closet that is your heart. on your worst days it’s utterly terrifying, the feeling of being laid out to shrivel in the sun with no chance of respite. and wasn’t it ironic that the one thing that made you feel this way was the one that cured you too?

it’s with an embarrassing amount of pleasure that you remind yourself that you are the one he goes home with, at the end of the day. you’re cleaning up your station and you hear his laugh in the background, not directed at you but ringing like sweet bells nonetheless. every brush that returns home into your kit, every lip product that gets swiped into a bag, every charcoal pencil is the ticking of time that needs to pass before he is yours again. simply yours, not belonging to the cameras or the managers or the staff whose stare linger on him for longer than they should be allowed to. 

you knew where your talents were - in your art, your ability to read people, your creativity and your drive for perfection. these uncharted waters were not in your skillset, but as hyunjin stalks across the room to reunite with you after what seemed like hours, you took a moment to be grateful that it seemed to be in his. putting yourself in someone else’s hands, feeling the level of trust that you had for him, sent a tingle up your spine, but if anyone was going to take care of you it was him; the thought soothes you like a balm, not enough to be permanent but enough to get you by for now.

“missed me that much?” he crowds into your space to press a light kiss to your hairline, expertly moving his body so that no one could see. “i’ve only been shooting for an hour.”

“keep talking and you’ll get shot,” you mutter, ignoring the heat that rises up to your cheeks as you turn from him to gather your things, aching to be home and in his arms and away from prying stares. his heat is still pressed up against your back, standing as close as he could while still letting you move freely. as much as you want to drag him into some secluded hallway and refamiliarise yourself with the taste of his skin, you had to pull out your endless supply of restraint. getting caught with your hand down his pants in a building that you frequented often was not an outcome that you wished to experience, at least not today. 

his hand is warm on the small of your back as he walks you out a series of doors and stairs to the parking garage, the sound of your shoes bouncing off of the walls a bit jarring. 

“you looked nice today,” you tell him, honest, as he slides into the passenger seat of your car. the worn seats smell like his cologne and his old bracelet hangs from the rearview mirror - god, even your car was reminding you of how much of your life he encompassed - not that you were complaining about that. 

“that was all you,” pride drips from his voice and you catch his soft gaze when you turn to look behind you so you could back out of your parking spot. 

“i may have helped, but it’s still your face,” you counter, hand busy on the gear shift, as eager as your heart was to finally get home. 

“if i didn’t know you, i would have thought you were obsessed with me,” he says, the biting tease dripping off his tongue like citrus. “with the way you were staring at me, back there.”

“i’ll make you walk home,” you tighten your grip on the steering wheel despite the threat being empty. he knows which threads to tug on without unraveling you, playing you with his words like it was muscle memory. 

“you’d make me walk?” he gasps theatrically, pressing his palm to his chest and fluttering his eyes at you. “what if i get kidnapped, or mugged? how would you live with yourself?”

“you’re an idiot,” you deadpan, cursing the betraying fondness that rises up in you. 

“your idiot,” he grins stupidly, settling his hand on your thigh as he watches the streetlights shine across your face as you drive. his touch is scalding, long fingers pressing into your very nerves and leaving them flayed out. 

“yeah, remember that,” you retort, and you hope he thinks you mean the idiot part. 

the remainder of the short drive home was spent in comfortable silence, hyunjin tapping away on his phone with his free hand as you speeded down the freeway. when you park you let out a sigh and your keys jangle in melancholy along with you when you take them out of the ignition. hyunjin presses his fingers into your thigh in a final squeeze before he exits the car, long legs carrying him over to your door before you could blink to open it for you. 

walking up the stairs to your third story apartment never felt more relaxing, the breath they stole from you a necessary tax to pay to enter the comfort of your own walls. 

you pull him to the bedroom as soon as you walk through the front door, dropping your things in the foyer with as much care as you could muster. 

it takes you a couple of seconds to push him to sit up against the headboard, a couple more for him to complain about it, and less than that for you to climb into his lap and press a searing kiss to his lips. 

he opens himself to you, open mouth curved into a smile as you lick into it. you taste the coffee you had made for him this morning, the croissant he had eaten during a break, the gloss that you had carefully dabbed across his plush lips. 

you want him, no one else could have him. how could you feel this much possessiveness over someone you already hold as yours?

his hands circle your waist and his thumbs press into your skin, holding you against him even as you pull away from him. his lips are left glistening red and he looks up at you with a kind of reverence that you don’t think you’ll ever get used to. 

“slow, angel,” he moves his thumbs in slow circles. “i’m not going anywhere.” 

“hyune,” you gasp, going lax against him. you’re far too drained to pretend that your entire body didn’t ache for him. “need you.”

“i know,” he shushes you, trailing his fingers up and down your spine. he loves to tease but he’d never do so at your expense; he must sense that your emotional turmoil is bubbling into the direction of a vortex. “you have me. take what you need, baby.”

the reminder that he was yours, though wholly unneeded, sounds so sweet to your ears. your fingers slide up his chest, twisting into the button at his collar and popping it open with practiced ease. you peel the panels of material off of him to expose his sun-kissed skin, abdominal muscles tensing with how he’s holding back from jerking up into your lap. 

“what does my baby want, hmm?” he says, voice catching when your hands slide over his chest and brush over his nipples. he groans when you roll one between your fingers and the sound of it makes your heart soar.

“i want you to shut up and take your pants off,” you back off of him to rid yourself of your own clothes, folding them into a neat little pile at the foot of the bed. he shows no such care for his own, kicking off his pants and boxers throwing them along with his shirt across the room. his hungry eyes stay on you the whole time, shining with excitement as if it was the first time he was witnessing you undress.

you climb back over him as fast as humanly possible, the feeling of his bare skin against yours like an eternal gift. you grind down against him, his rapidly hardening cock sliding between your folds and his head catching against your clit. you’re wet, of course you are; you have been since his hand was on your thigh on the car ride home you moan and duck your head, a little embarrassed by how affected you are by such a simple motion.

he braces himself on his elbow as other hand moves to your hairline, brushing a few strands back behind your ear on it’s path towards cupping the back of your neck. he moves closer, lips so close to yours that you can almost taste them again, but before they meet you’re feeling the earth’s weight shift and your own balance break. 

“i want to take care of you,” he explains when you look up at him in a daze, dizzy from how quickly he had flipped you underneath him. “let me?”

“i thought i told you to shut up,” you were breathless but the permission still rang true under your words. you’d let him do whatever he wanted, how could you deny such a sweet request?

he grins something wicked as one of his hands slides down your chest towards your lower belly. his fingers part your folds easily and you feel so exposed even though he wasn’t looking. he decidedly keeps his mouth shut even as whines begin to spill from your lips, your eyes fluttering closed as a familiar burning sensation starts to take over your body. 

he alternates between rubbing gentle circles into your clit and teasing his fingers at your entrance, so close to dipping inside but not quite. he ducks his head to mouth at your neck, sucking a constellation of marks into your skin until you’re panting into his hair and shaking apart in your orgasm. 

he gives you a moment to recover, waiting patiently until you open your eyes to see his fond smile aimed at you. 

“what’s that look for?” the snark is completely absent in your voice post-orgasm, and it almost comes out dreamy. 

“i can’t even look at you now?” he breaks his unspoken vow of silence to ask. “i can’t help myself. i have the most gorgeous person walking this earth underneath me, looking at you is the tamest thing i can do to you.”

the blood returns to your cheeks as you take in his words. you don’t respond because you didn’t know how; what could you even say to that? he doesn’t seem to mind as he moves impossibly closer to you, leaning a bit of his weight against you. it’s not too much, just enough that you could feel his chest moving with his breaths. he lines his cock up to your entrance, his hips flush against yours as he slowly pushes in. 

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding when he enters you fully, every inch settling your frustration as it flows out of you along with the air in your lungs. this feeling was worth all of it, the early mornings and the onlookers and the sharing of him when all you wanted to do was lock him away for you and you alone.

he loves you. he was so in love with you that it poured out of his very being, in his gentle touch and the slide of his lips against yours and the slide of his cock against your walls. each drag of his hips sends burning pleasure up your spine, licking flames against your vertebrae until you can’t move. 

you’re so drunk on him that you lose track of time, all of your senses falling away until hyunjin is the only thing you can feel, see, touch. you lose your words, unintelligible syllables trying to shape his name falling from your lips, pressed against the skin of his neck and floating to his ears in a sweet symphony. 

it isn’t long before you’re falling apart underneath him, electricity crackling between you as fucks you through your orgasm. he gathers you in his arms as he tumbles over the edge after you, folding himself over you so he can kiss you, and you don’t realize that you were crying until his cheeks come back glistening with salty water. 

“god, i love you,” and to this day it still feels like a heavy declaration, the words never diminishing their weight despite the number of times they’ve fallen off of his tongue. “you are everything to me.”

“hyunjin,” is all you can say, but you know he reads between the curved letters of his name. i love you too, you mean the world to me, what would i be without you. 

he cares for you like the cracked piece of porcelain that you are, light fingertips tracing along the tear tracks on your cheeks that move to turn you on your side so you could smush yourself into his chest. your hand rests right above his heart, and if you looked close enough you could see the static sparks of electricity that connect the two of you together. 

[kingpippthe2nd]

It took me until this week to realise how much season two has changed my perspective on... well almost everything Good Omens.

I finally rewatched season 1 for the first time since Neil broke my stupid little heart. Honestly, I had convinced myself that I was over the heartbreak.

Do I torture myself on this website on a regular basis? Yes. Do I refuse to read fics without a "hurt/comfort" tag? Yes. But I was fine. I was healing. I was good. I was over it.

Did episode 3 hit differently after everything I'd been through after S2? A bit. But nothing I didn't expect.

And then there was S1E6. The Ritz. Nightingales. And I just wasn't ready. I had heard that song a thousand times throughout the last few weeks. But context does seem to matter. Because here I was, three notes in, sobbing mercilessly.

This scene used to be a safe space for me. A warm little patch of sunshine to curl up in, when I felt down. It was hot cocoa on a rainy autumn day. It projected to so much love and comfort. And now it's all twisted.

The contrast to S2E6 couldn't be sharper. Oh, what a beautiful web of similarities Neil has woven for us. Here are our two favourite idiots, smiling at each other, so in love, not a care in the world, because the world is safe and they are toasting it. Yet I know, what the future holds for them. I know, how incapable of truely communicating they are. I know, how they will break each others hearts, paving each others way to hell with all the best intentions.

You have to hand to Neil. He really knows how to tell a good story.

I haven't dared to listen to " A Nightingale sang in Berkeley Square" in the last week. It will take me a good long while to work up the courage again.

I don't even know, how to end this mess of a post. I just hope, Neil will bring the song back in season 3 and make it be all fluffy and comfortable and lovely again.

To the world, my friends.

[mononijikayu]

to you 2,000... or... 20,000 years from now… — ryomen sukuna.

As they stand to leave, his gaze drifts to one of his portraits—a work that captures a moment from another time, another life. In it, the King of Curses sits beside his beloved concubine, her expression full of light and laughter, radiant in a way that suggests an unbreakable bond. Ryomen Sukuna pauses, his hand still entwined with hers, and a rare, gentle smile crosses his face. Looking at the painting, he lets himself hope, just a little. Perhaps, even in a world he once saw as cold and unyielding, there are threads of something beautiful woven into his story. Perhaps, even for someone like him, there could be a happy ending, one he’d never dared to imagine. He leans down and whispers softly, almost as if confessing a secret. “I like to think they found each other again, you know? That somehow… this time, they got to be happy.”

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation;

WARNING/S: post canon, future timeline, fluff, possible romance, getting together, mild angst, reincarnation, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, dreams and nightmares, distress, grief, feelings, physical touch, character death, moving on, flashback, humor, no curse future au, pining, light-hearted, happy ending, depiction of the future, depiction of reincarnation, depiction of letting go, depiction of flashback, depiction of getting together, depiction of depiction of character death, depiction of distress, depiction of grief, mention of character death, mention of the past, mention of letting go, mention of grief, reincarnated! sukuna, reincarnated concubine! reader;

WORDS: 15k words.

NOTE: this concludes the final part of the main story of the other woman. i'm genuinely grateful for you love and attention towards my story. this was never supposed to be a series, it was supposed to be a one off fic. but because of your love for concubine reader, i was inspired to bring more to her life.

as i promised, this is a happy ending. well, the happy end that i think would suit the story. of course, this is not the end of concubine reader's story. there will be drabbles of sukuna and concubine reader's life that i never managed to put out.

if you have any suggestion or questions about the story, you can drop some words down in the inbox!!! i'm very happy when you ask questions about the story or have suggestions of what you wanna see next!!! please do so everyone!!!

i hope you look forward to them!!! thank you for reading, thank you for your support and love. i'll continue to write for you all!!! i love you <3

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if you want to, tip! <3

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HE DOESN’T KNOW HOW HE’LL GET THROUGH THIS. He’d never felt like this before. What do his other artist friends call it? Oh, that’s right. A slump. An artist’s slump. Yeah, that’s what it’s called. He’s never had that before.

But why should he? Ryomen Sukuna was a protege. He was a stellar artist with a golden hand, one who never stops. The one who works as though he’s running out of time. It’s him. 

And yet, at that moment, he wasn’t.

Ryomen Sukuna had a problem.

He was stumped from hell and back.

And he doesn’t understand why.

A loud exhale releases from his mouth as he looks up at all the drying canvas in front of him in the various easels. They’re all beautiful, don’t get him wrong. But they’re all the same.

And that bothers Ryomen Sukuna as he purses his lips in a flat line. His own studio has become a homage to these paintings and sketches as of late. There was nothing else coming out of him. Nothing else was occupying his mind.

In the maze of half-finished canvases and dried paint of his studio, there were only those same eyes staring at him. He could feel it even now under the dim lighting casting long, wavering shadows across each and every tender gaze.

He couldn’t stand up anymore. He’s exhausted. He’s been up since god knows when. Everywhere there was paint. His hands are stained, his shirt splattered with colors that have long since dulled. It’s been weeks.

He doesn't know how to deal with this. How could he, when she finds him in every moment? How easy it was to be that way. He’s stopped keeping track of time, because time means nothing when all he can see, all he can paint, is her.

As of late, it was this that haunted him. It was the same as always. It was this woman with those kind eyes looking back at him. That same tender smile greeting him. That same beauty yearning towards him. Everything about the woman’s face consumes him. Everything that she is continues to follow him like a ghost, over and over. 

He can’t even pinpoint when it started. It just started happening out of nowhere. At one point there were normal dreams and soon enough, there were something else.

And as time passed by, there was nothing else left but her. Her beautiful smiling face looking at him. Every single time, she never fails to be warm towards him. As though she could feel him, as though she could see him.

She’s become more than a fixation; she’s an infection, seeping into every corner of his mind, haunting the hours he’s awake as much as those precious few where he drifts into a broken sleep.

She first appeared in his dreams like a fleeting whisper, but her image has grown, intensifying with each passing night, filling his dreams with a crescendo of color and dread. And over and over, it was repeating.

Like a piano key stuck on the board, playing over and over that same repetitive note. And yet, it was still lovely. It was still tender. And then suddenly, it wasn’t. That was the worst part of it all, he thinks. He captures the beauty of her and then suddenly, it just disappears. It goes. Almost like smoke. 

The dream is always the same every night. At first it was terrifying to him. He’d never seen anything like her before. He’d never seen what happened to her before, not to anyone. Not ever. But with her, it repeats.

That nightmare continues over and over again. And he hated it. He hated how he has memorized it. He has hated how it was all he could see over and over again. He hated how this was the fate that such a beautiful, kind woman had to meet.

That beautiful lady, she would stand there and smile at him. Often, she stands at the edge of a crumbling cliff, the ocean roiling and dark beneath her, waves crashing against jagged rocks far below.

She turns, her eyes fixed on him, lips curling into a smile that might be tender, might be mocking, it shifts each time, eluding any attempt to decipher it.

She extends a hand, beckoning, imploring him to come closer. His heart races, his feet propel him forward, but just as he reaches for her, she slips, and he’s left grasping at nothing but empty air.

Again and again, he tries to save her. Again and again, she falls.

The dream wakes him in a cold sweat, heart pounding, breath shallow. He stumbles to his studio, and without thinking, he begins to paint. Her face materializes with each stroke, her eyes holding secrets he can’t unlock.

Her smile flickering with a mystery that tightens his chest. He paints her until his fingers go numb, until his eyes blur from exhaustion. He paints her even when he’s on the verge of madness. And he hates it—hates her—but he’s powerless to stop.

The people around him have noticed the shift, though they don’t understand it. They speak of his new works with reverence, captivated by the haunting beauty of the unknown woman he’s made famous.

But they don’t see the toll she takes on him. They don’t see the shadow of sleeplessness etched into his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the wild desperation lurking just beneath his cool exterior.

Every time he tries to paint something else. Absolutely anything else, it does not work. Not anymore. He would feel his hands freeze, his mind goes blank, and all he can see is her smile.

She’s everywhere, a ghost in his waking hours, her gaze piercing through every wall he builds to keep her out. The thrill of creation is gone; all that remains is the raw compulsion to recreate her face, an act that feels more like exorcism than art.

Ryomen Sukuna slumps back into his chair, eyes trained on the painting before him, hands limp and smeared with shades of red and soft violet. Her face, the delicate arch of her brows, the smirk teasing at her lips. All of it stares back at him, alive, taunting. 

It’s as though she’s watching him, laughing softly at his obsession, fully aware of the hold she has over him. The painted eyes seem to flicker, and in his exhaustion, Sukuna wonders if he’s the one painting her, or if she’s the one reaching through the canvas, carving her image into his mind with a precision that leaves him helpless.

“Damn it. This is so annoying.” he mutters, his voice echoing hollowly in the quiet room. He reaches for his brush, the movement automatic, but his hand falters, dropping it back onto the table as he releases a frustrated sigh. 

The curse feels weak, a pitiful attempt to regain some control, but he knows it’s useless. She’s an endless riddle, one he’s compelled to solve yet doomed to never fully understand.

No matter how many times he paints her, he can’t capture her—not completely. The harder he tries, the more elusive she becomes, as though she’s slipping through his fingers, mocking his every attempt.

He sits there, shoulders slouched, the steady tick of the clock filling the empty space around him. Hours blur into each other, and yet he can’t bring himself to look away, his gaze locked on her face, that faint smile hinting at secrets she will never share.

And then, just as the clock strikes midnight, he hears it. That tender voice giving him grief. That warm voice turning him cold. That voice echoed that whisper, soft as a breeze, calling his name.

“My lord…..my lord Sukuna.”

He closes his eyes, the sound reverberating through him, familiar and yet so distant. She’s there, in his mind, like an echo carried across lifetimes, the warmth of her voice stirring something deep inside.

He knows it’s a dream, an illusion conjured by his own obsession, but he doesn’t care. For a brief moment, he lets himself lean into it, lets her voice wash over him like a balm.

“My lord, my beloved lord Sukuna…” Her voice is softer this time, coaxing, filled with a strange tenderness that he’s certain only exists in his imagination. He can almost feel her fingers trailing along his cheek, the faintest touch, leaving warmth in their wake.

“What do you want from me?” he murmurs, his voice a weary plea, barely audible, as if afraid to break the fragile spell she’s cast over him. “You’re there every night, haunting me, making me see you even when I close my eyes. But what do you want?”

In his mind, her laughter echoes, soft and familiar, as if she’s toying with him. “You know what I want, my lord Sukuna. You’ve always known.”

He clenches his fists, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “Then tell me, damn it. Tell me what I need to do to set you free.”

“Set me free?” she repeats, and there’s a hint of amusement in her voice, as if the very idea amuses her. “Oh, my lord Sukuna… it’s not me who needs freeing.”

His breath hitches, her words cutting through him like a blade. The realization settles over him like a heavy weight, and he knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she’s right.

She isn’t the one trapped here—he is. Bound by his own memories, his own regrets, unable to let go of the past that has woven her image into every part of him.

He opens his eyes, staring at the canvas again, her face seeming to shift. It was almost ever so easy for her to taunt him like that, to tease him. Everything about her gave him that feeling that overwhelms him. Feelings that he's never felt in his entire life.

He could feel her eyes glinting with a knowing look that sends a shiver down his spine. He reaches for the brush, hand trembling as he adds another stroke, trying to bring her into focus, to finally capture the essence of her that has haunted him. But no matter what he does, he can’t reach her, can’t grasp the fleeting vision that seems to dance just beyond his reach.

“I’ll keep painting you. I swear.” he whispers, his voice raw, laced with something close to desperation. “Every night, every dream, until you’re satisfied. Until you let me go.”

But he knows, even as the words leave his lips, that she won’t; she’ll never truly leave. She’ll linger there, a silent muse, a relentless force guiding his hand, embedding herself deeper with every brushstroke.

And he, trapped in this beautiful, maddening cycle, will keep painting her face, night after night, each canvas only revealing a fragment of her and yet never enough.

The clock ticks on, marking the hours that slip away in her wake, but he’s long since stopped noticing. She’s there, in every line, every shadow, every flicker of light on the canvas.

She’s his prison, his muse, his madness—and he knows, even as he tries to break free, that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

══════════════════

BY THIS POINT, HE WOULD HAVE BEEN FINISHED WITH HIS COLLECTION. Usually, Ryomen Sukuna finishes his pieces weeks ahead, leaving everyone else; especially Gojo Satoru—scrambling to catch up. Well, perhaps because he usually doesn’t work until he stops messing about. 

Still, the rivalry is a running joke among their peers. Gojo Satoru  would tease him endlessly, his voice loud and mocking. “The world might as well end if you didn’t finish first, Ryomen Sukuna. I’d have to check if hell froze over.”

Gojo Satoru would say with that infuriating grin, and Sukuna would just roll his scarlet eyes, barely dignifying it with a response. He didn’t need to—he’d simply outdo him, his work claiming the prime spot at the National Gallery, cycle after cycle. That’s just how it works for them.

But now, as the days tick by and his canvas remains trapped in this maddening loop, the weight of that old joke feels heavier. Maybe it would be better if the world did end, he muses grimly, his frustration boiling under the surface. Each day that he fails to paint anything else, fails to break free from this woman’s image—drains him. 

Every line, every shadow, every detail is etched with painstaking care, and yet each piece feels incomplete. He lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes narrowing as he looks once more at the canvas, the same haunting face staring back.

Another artist would leave the piece for a day, perhaps even a week, and come back with fresh eyes. But not Sukuna. He’s stubborn, relentless. Yet this time, it feels as though he’s been bested, and that thought is infuriating.

A soft knock sounds at the studio door, but he doesn’t respond. The door creaks open, and he doesn’t need to look up to know who it is—he can practically feel Gojo Satoru’s grin from across the room. This was a rare visit from his rival and somewhat friend. But, he already regrets giving him his address.

“Not done yet?” Gojo drawls, strolling in with a lazy confidence, hands shoved into his pockets. “Well, this must be it—the end of the world. Should I start making apocalypse preparations?”

“Leave, Satoru.” Sukuna mutters, his voice a low growl. But Gojo just chuckles, unperturbed.

“Can’t. I live wayyyyyy tooo far. Besides, I came all this way to see the fall of the great Ryomen Sukuna. And boy, is it a sight.” Gojo steps closer, his gaze shifting to the canvas. “Her again, huh? Your mystery woman? I thought you were done with her!”

Sukuna’s jaw tightens. “Say another word, and you’ll be painting with your own blood.”

Gojo just laughs, crossing his arms as he leans back against the wall. “Fine, fine. But it’s… interesting, don’t you think? You, stuck on the same image, over and over. And all of this because of one woman.”

Sukuna can feel his patience fraying, each word from Gojo Satoru like sandpaper on a wound that refuses to heal. But Gojo doesn’t stop, his tone shifting from mocking to genuinely curious. It’s already giving him a headache.

“So, bestie……” he says, a glint in his bright blue eyes. “Who is she? A muse? Some long-lost love? Because whatever it is, you’re about to drive yourself mad over her.”

“She’s nothing.” Sukuna says sharply, but the words lack conviction. He doesn’t want to dive into it. Especially for Gojo Satoru. He’d only try to make it all a joke and laugh about it. “Just a woman. Just a damn face that refuses to disappear.”

Gojo Satoru couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow. “Nothing? Could’ve fooled me, seeing as she’s all you’ve painted for weeks. Either she’s ‘just a woman,’ or she’s haunting you.”

Sukuna clenches his fists, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I can’t… get her out of my head, no matter how many times I try. It’s like she’s taunting me. Every stroke feels like a chase, and I can’t catch her.”

For once, Gojo’s grin fades, a shadow of understanding passing over his face. “So that’s it, huh? You’ve finally found a challenge you can’t conquer. Even after all these years.”

Sukuna scowls, eyes narrowing. “It’s not a challenge. It’s… more than that.” His voice trails off as he glances at the painting, his expression a mixture of longing and frustration.

“Then stop,” Gojo says bluntly. “If she’s driving you insane, stop trying to capture her. Paint something else. Anything else. Get back to your work, to the craft that’s kept you sane all this time.”

But Sukuna only shakes his head, his gaze fixed on the canvas. “It’s not that simple, Satoru. I can’t stop. I need to understand… Why is she here? Why does she keep coming back to me?”

Gojo sighs, running a hand through his bright snow colored hair, clearly torn between amusement and pity. “Well, I can’t say I envy you. But maybe you should try looking beyond the canvas, for once.”

Sukuna scoffs, though a hint of doubt creeps into his expression. “You think there’s anything outside this room that could give me answers?”

Gojo shrugs. “Who knows? Sometimes the answers we need are the ones we’re not looking for. But if this is what’s keeping you chained…” he nods towards the door, his voice lowering, “then maybe it’s time to find out why.”

Ryomen Sukuna says nothing, his gaze flicking between Gojo and the woman’s face on the canvas. And as Gojo slips out the door with a knowing smile, Sukuna feels the weight of his words lingering, as if daring him to break free of the chains he’s crafted for himself.

Gojo Satoru stayed in his studio for a while; the entire time his head hurt. But he couldn’t help admitting that his frustration was put on hold and that he was grateful for it. Annoying as he was, it was better than suffering what he had been suffering with the woman that haunts him.

But when Gojo Satoru leaves, he finds himself unable to leave either. From the night before, he hadn’t really found himself to sleep. But if he was still being honest, he really doesn’t think he made any progress from the ones he had already made  that he feels happy about.

Well, except perhaps three more additions to his deluded dreams of this woman. He couldn’t stop with that. That was not something he could enjoy. It didn’t look good. He didn’t think it was the best he had ever done. He looks at his canvas again and squints his eyes. It was as though he was hoping that he had painted something else. But he knew he hadn’t. There was no need to double check. 

Okay, well, he should be more honest — it’s four now. This is the fourth one. The fourth one for a while and it’s only past lunch time the next day.  Wait, is it really lunch time? He looked around again and saw his clock. His mouth agape in shock. It’s already been a whole day? It’s already the blue hour? What the actual fuck is going on?

He groans as he puts down his paintbrush and covers his face with his hands. A loud groan echoes against his skin, reflecting that bitterness he feels. He was going mad, he’s genuinely sure that he’s really going mad. This time for real. The world is ending and he’s going mad.

Once more, Ryomen Sukuna sits slumped in his studio chair, the dim, cold light from the nearby cityscape casting a pallor over his face. How can this be possible? He's rubbing his temples, staring at yet another drying and yet truly unfinished portrait of her when a familiar voice cuts through his brooding. Ryomen Sukuna turned his back and turned it back once more, just as quickly.

Fuck, its Uraume.

Shit, shit. Is it already that time?

He hasn’t messaged them for two days.

How the fuck is he going to survive—

“Sukuna–san, you have the exhibition in two weeks, you know that!” Uraume reminds him, waking over with their tone both gentle and insistent. They’re standing at the edge of the cluttered studio, arms crossed, their eyes flicking between Sukuna and the growing stack of canvases lining the walls. “Everyone’s expecting new work, Sukuna–san. You can’t just say you aren’t producing anything when this is—”

He cuts them off with a frustrated wave of his hand, as if trying to dismiss both them and the exhibition out of his mind. “I know, I know, Uraume–san. You already know that I know. Don’t you think I know? I just…… What’s the point of even going here? It’s not…it’s not finished—nothing is complete.” 

“That’s not what you’re supposed to be telling me—”

“I know, I know.” His voice trails off, heavy with exhaustion. He looks at the half-finished canvas before him, her familiar eyes staring back, mocking him. “Look, I need time. Okay? Just a little more time to get over it. I promise. It will be done soon.”

Uraume steps carefully, sidestepping the mess of brushes, scattered paint, and half-finished canvases that litter the studio floor. Their usual calm is tinged with a hint of bewilderment, their brows furrowing as they glance over at Ryomen Sukuna, who sits slouched in his chair, staring blankly at the portrait before him. 

This is the first time they’ve seen him like this—so unfocused, so… lost. It’s unnerving. For as long as they’ve known him, Sukuna was always in control, his power and his confidence absolute. Nothing stumped him; nothing could shake him from his single-minded determination.

And yet, here he is, surrounded by portraits of a woman they’ve never met, trapped in a spiral of obsession that they don’t understand.

“Get over what, exactly?” Uraume asks, a soft but firm edge to their voice, breaking the silence that has grown heavy in the room. “The exhibition is practically sold out already. You are the star of this show—you know that.” 

They hesitate, crossing their arms as they study his profile. “If you let yourself slip now, you’re going to lose everything. They expect something… groundbreaking, something other than…”

Their voice trails off as they catch sight of another painting, and then another; all of them of her. Each one shows a different expression, a different tilt of her head, a different light in her eyes, but always the same haunting face. Uraume’s gaze lingers on the latest painting, her smirk, subtle yet all-consuming, as if she’s daring anyone who looks at her to understand.

They shake their heads slowly, exhaling in frustration. “This obsession of yours…” They struggle for the right words, their gaze hardening as they glance back at him. “I don’t understand it. Who is she? And why are you letting her control you like this?”

Sukuna looks up, his expression weary, but there’s a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes, a glint that only appears when he’s truly challenged. “You wouldn’t understand, Uraume–san.” he mutters, his voice low, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “No one would. Not unless you felt what she did to me.”

Uraume raises a brow, taken aback. This isn’t like him—this vulnerability, this almost painful honesty. They’ve seen Sukuna bring cities to their knees, watched him command fear and respect with the simplest look, but now? Now, he looks more like a man haunted than a man in control. 

“Then tell me, Sukuna–san.” Uraume says, their voice softening slightly, more curious than before. “What is it about her? Why does she matter so much?”

He leans back, a bitter smile crossing his lips. “It’s like… no matter how many times I paint her, she’s always out of reach, Uraume–san.” he says, his eyes flicking to the painting in front of him, the smirk that never changes. “Every stroke, every color—it’s as if she’s taunting me, daring me to try again, knowing I’ll never capture her.”

There’s a pause, the weight of his words settling between them, thick and tangible. Uraume takes a step back, their expression wavering. They’re used to seeing Sukuna drive toward a goal with relentless force, breaking anything that stands in his way. But this? This is something else. Something they can’t touch.

“Is she worth all this?” Uraume asks, more gently than they intended. “Worth losing your edge, your control?” They gesture to the canvases around them. “If she’s haunting you this much, perhaps it’s time to let her go.”

A dark laugh escapes Sukuna, low and humorless. “Let her go?” he repeats, his gaze still fixed on the painting. “I’ve tried, Uraume–san. But she’s there, every time I close my eyes. And I can’t…” He stops himself, the words caught in his throat. “She won’t let me go.”

Uraume watches him, feeling a pang of something they can’t quite name—pity, perhaps, or fear for what this fixation could mean for him. They take a step forward, daring to place a hand on his shoulder. 

“You’re stronger than this, Sukuna–san.” they say softly, but firmly. “Whatever hold she has over you, it doesn’t control you. You’re the one in charge here, remember?”

For a moment, Sukuna seems to consider their words, a flicker of clarity in his eyes. But then he glances back at the canvas, at her knowing smile, and his face hardens, as if he’s resigned to the fact that he’s already lost.

“I thought so too, Uraume–san.” he murmurs, barely loud enough for Uraume to hear. “But I’m beginning to wonder… maybe she’s the one painting me.”

Uraume watches him in silence, feeling the cold truth of his words settle between them. They realize, in that moment, that they may be witnessing the unraveling of the man they thought was unbreakable. And for the first time, they wonder if he can even escape from the shadows of his own creation.

Sukuna follows their gaze, feeling a surge of irritation and helplessness. “It’s not that simple, Uraume–san. God, it’s just….” he mutters, running a hand through his messy fuschia hair, which is starting to look as unruly as he feels.

“She’s—she’s everywhere to me. And maybe that’s why she’s always here. Every time I try to start something else, there she is. Like a bad dream I can’t wake up from.” 

He glances at Uraume, searching their face for some flicker of understanding. “Don’t you get it? I need to work through this. You can’t just snap your fingers and make it go away. If I had magic, it would have been fine, but I just….”

“Then maybe make her part of it.” Uraume replies, unphased by his frustration. “People will want to see this obsession—whatever it is. But they won’t be satisfied with half-finished canvases of the same face over and over.”

He stands up abruptly, pacing, as if movement will shake off the weight pressing down on him. “It’s not an obsession,” he says, though the words sound hollow, even to him. “I just need… time. To figure this out. To move past her.”

Uraume watches him with a calm patience that only irritates him further. “You’ve had time, Sukuna-san. And every day, I’ve watched you do nothing but chase shadows.” They gesture to the rows of unfinished canvases, the dozens of faces that all share her haunting expression.

“Maybe you don’t need to get past her. Maybe you need to go deeper, to figure out what she’s trying to tell you.”

Sukuna clenches his jaw, feeling the heat rise in his chest. He hates that Uraume, of all people, might be right. But how could he go deeper when she’s already consuming him? They should know that this is not what he needs right now. He needs support about this trying situation. He needs kindness about this. He needs—

He turns his eyes slightly and soon enough, they land on the first portrait he’s drawn of her. It was rough around the edges, it was true. But he was trying really hard to capture what he had found in her. He thought he would never see her again. That first time, it was all too interesting. Because he thought he would never see her again. And her smile would have been everything even that one time. 

That once would have been enough, it would have fulfilled him whole enough. That one portrait, that first one — it would have been enough for Ryomen Sukuna to feel like someone was always going to look at him kindly. 

That someone would always look at him with such tender eyes. He purses his lips in a line. Here she was. Once again, staring into his soul. Frozen in time. Looking towards him as though he was the world. As though life can only be known through looking at him. He gulped.

“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.” he says finally, forcing his voice to steady. “Just… let me handle it my way.”

Uraume sighs, a long, exasperated sound. “Fine. But remember, Sukuna–san, time waits for no one. Especially not for you.” 

And with that, they turn, leaving him alone once more in his dimly lit prison, with nothing but her face and the ticking of the clock to keep him company. Ryomen Sukuna could not move anymore for a while. He couldn’t. Not when you were looking at him like that.

The echoes of the night pangs into the slumber of the bright starry sky, and the silence in Ryomen Sukuna’s studio is absolute, broken only by the occasional soft creak of his chair or the quiet scratch of his brush against the canvas. And he despises it. Usually, he would be happy about that. It helps him focus on his work. 

Yet, he’s almost afraid to move or make more noise or appease the silence with his enjoyment. Ryomen Sukuna was afraid that if he does, he’ll break the spell that’s settled over him, the fragile connection that’s come alive between him and her.

This ghostly woman, this chasing woman who has rooted herself so deeply in his psyche. He knows she’s not real, and yet every inch of him feels as if she’s in the room with him, closer than a shadow, more vivid than any memory.

The woman on the canvas feels different this time. He’s pushed past the limits of his frustration and reached a depth of expression that feels raw, unnerving. Her face, no longer a series of lifeless shapes and colors, seems to breathe on the canvas. 

Her smile is softer now, her eyes almost… knowing. But the knowing isn’t comforting; it unsettles him, strikes some primal nerve deep inside. He steps back, shaking his head as if to clear it, to dispel the irrational thought that she’s looking back at him with intent, with purpose.

But even standing back, even half-closing his eyes, he can’t unsee her. She seems more real than ever before, like he’s peeled away another layer, only to find her hiding deeper within. He feels his heart beat faster, a slow wave of dread creeping into his veins. How can a face he created himself feel so alive? So sentient?

He backs away from the canvas, his hands covered in paint, feeling a chill settle over him. He’s been pushing himself to exhaustion these past few weeks, painting her in every possible way, but this—this feels different, like he’s crossed an invisible line. For the first time, the compulsion to paint her is laced with fear.

Still, he can’t look away. Her presence fills the room, and he feels the weight of it like a physical force. His eyes roam over her face: the faint shadows around her eyes, the suggestion of pain hidden in the tilt of her lips, the look of sorrow mingling with defiance. Each detail tells a story he’s not sure he wants to know, yet he’s desperate to understand it.

Uraume’s words echo in his mind again: Maybe you don’t need to get past her. Maybe you need to go deeper, to figure out what she’s trying to tell you.

He shudders, the thought reverberating through him. What if this woman, this apparition, isn’t just an accident of his imagination? What if she’s here for a reason, some purpose he’s been too afraid to uncover?

He recalls the dreams—the cliff, the ocean raging below, the way she extends her hand to him with that haunting smile, beckoning him forward only to disappear again and again. It’s always the same. He can’t save her, but he can’t let her go.

He’s always believed that his art comes from somewhere deep within him, from emotions he doesn’t fully understand, from memories he can’t articulate. But this feels different to him. He had never dealt with this before. 

It was almost as if it’s coming from outside of him, as though she’s reaching through the boundary of his mind, using his hands as a conduit. He lets out a shaky breath, clutching the paint-stained edge of his workbench. Is this woman, this image, an echo from his past? A ghost? Or something darker, something he’s unlocked without meaning to?

The thought stirs something in him, a strange, unexplainable pull to keep going, to lose himself in this process of bringing her fully to life. He walks back to the canvas, hand trembling as he picks up his brush once more.

This time, he paints her hand, reaching out, as if extending toward him. The fingers are delicate, almost ghostly, and he layers shadows beneath them, giving them depth, weight. He works until the details blur, until his vision is smeared with exhaustion.

He steps back again, chest tight. Her hand stretches toward him now, inviting him, her fingers just a breath away. The air in the room feels thick, electric, as if she’s drawing him closer, beckoning him to cross some unseen line. He reaches out instinctively, the tips of his fingers barely brushing the canvas.

In that instant, a shiver courses through him, the chill going bone-deep. He feels his hand pull back, but it’s as if something is holding it there, holding him in place. His heart races. He hears the ticking of the clock, each tick louder, more insistent. The woman on the canvas seems closer now, her eyes sharper, more alive, her expression shifting as though she’s on the edge of speaking.

He tears his hand away, stumbling backward, the sudden movement jarring him back to himself. His studio comes into focus, the familiar mess of paint and brushes scattered around, the quiet hum of the city outside. But she’s still there, her face on the canvas, watching him with that faint, knowing smile.

His heart still pounding, he grabs his coat and stumbles out of the studio, leaving her behind, feeling her gaze burning into his back even as he shuts the door. The air outside is cold, crisp, and he gulps it down, trying to shake off the feeling that he’s walked out of a nightmare he can’t wake from.

But even as he steps into the city streets, even as the lights and the noise surround him, he can still see her in his mind, as clearly as if she were standing beside him.

And he knows, with a strange certainty, that no matter how far he runs, she’ll be waiting for him, waiting in the studio, in his dreams, until he finally dares to confront whatever truth she holds.

══════════════════

HE REALLY CAN’T HELP IT. Ryomen Sukuna’s heart hammers in his chest, louder than the muffled hum of voices in the museum, louder than the memories raging through his mind. He stands frozen, his scarlet eyes locked onto her.

This was the woman from his dreams, the face he painted until his hands went numb, until his sanity frayed. The woman he has known is like the back of his hand. She’s here, in the flesh, not on a canvas or a hazy memory, but real, close enough to reach out and touch. And yet, at this moment, she feels farther away than ever.

The woman doesn’t notice him. Of course she wouldn’t have. Why would she? He doesn’t expect her to know what he’s feeling now. She’s oblivious to the storm her presence has unleashed in his chest, the way his pulse spikes as he watches her, every nerve in his body caught between reaching for her and running away. 

She’s gazing intently at the displays, her head tilting thoughtfully as she studies each artifact, and with each subtle movement, she reminds him achingly of her—of the woman he’d known in that past life, his concubine, the one he’d lost so long ago. She has that same air of quiet intensity, that gentle focus, the same soft curiosity he remembers.

And then she steps closer to the display holding the hairpin. That hairpin—the one he’d given to his concubine as a symbol of the promise he couldn’t keep, the one she had treasured even on the darkest nights, when the weight of their hidden love had pressed heavy upon them both. The hairpin he’d clasped in her hair before she was taken from him.

The sight of it had been a punch to the gut even before he saw her. But now, watching this woman—a stranger, yet painfully familiar—reach out as though to touch the glass, Sukuna feels something crack open inside him, a wound he’d buried lifetimes ago tearing fresh and raw.

She lifts her hand, her fingers hovering near the glass, her eyes lingering on the hairpin with a look he recognizes—sadness, longing, nostalgia she can’t possibly understand.

Her face is calm, her expression serene, but he knows that look, knows that feeling. Does she feel it too? Does she feel the echo of something lost, something distant yet so deeply embedded in her soul?

His own hand trembles at his side. He wants to go to her, to pull her aside, to demand to know if she remembers, if somewhere in her heart she feels that same aching void he’s carried for centuries. But the reality sinks in, cold and unyielding: to her, he’s a stranger. 

She has no idea who he is. She doesn’t remember their stolen moments under moonlight, their whispered vows, the quiet, forbidden love that had bound them tighter than any promise. She doesn’t remember his face, doesn’t know the agony he’s endured, living each lifetime haunted by her ghost, painting her face in the desperate hope it might bring her back.

And yet, the hairpin calls to her. He watches her, rooted to the spot, as she studies it with a reverence she can’t name, can’t explain, an inexplicable connection to something lost to time. He can almost see the weight of her past life hovering over her like a shadow she doesn’t even know is there.

Sukuna’s fingers twitch, aching to touch her, to break this unbearable silence and tell her everything: that he’s waited lifetimes for her, that he’s dreamed of her every night, that every stroke of his brush was a desperate attempt to remember her, to reach her, to feel even an echo of what they once had. But how could he explain that? How could he unload centuries of grief, of longing, on her shoulders, when she doesn’t even know his name?

She turns, moving slowly to the next display. But for a single heartbeat, her gaze drifts in his direction. Their eyes meet, and in that split second, the air thickens, everything around him falling away. Her eyes—those same eyes, dark and deep, full of questions and secrets—fix on him, and he feels the weight of their shared history settle like a heavy cloak over them both.

He watches as something flickers in her gaze, an almost imperceptible flash of recognition. She blinks, and it’s gone, but he clings to it, desperate. Did she feel it, even if only for a moment? Did she feel the weight of a life before, a life they shared, a love they lost?

But she turns away, her brows furrowing slightly, as if shaking off a strange thought, and the moment shatters, leaving him stranded in a sea of regret and unspoken words. She disappears around the corner, her silhouette swallowed by the shadows of the exhibit.

A bitter pang cuts through him, deeper than anything he’s felt in centuries. She’s here, alive, within his reach, and yet she’s still lost to him. He’s still haunted by the echo of her smile, the shadow of her memory, the woman he could never save.

Slowly, Ryomen Sukuna forces himself to step away, his gaze lingering on the hairpin. He clenches his fists, feeling the familiar sting of regret, of promises broken, of lives tangled and torn apart.

He’d thought he was prepared to face her, though he could handle the pain that would come with seeing her again. But the reality is raw and relentless, tearing open old wounds he thought were healed.

In that moment, he was the only one who knew the truth: he’ll always be trapped in this cycle, drawn to her only to watch her slip away. No matter how many times he finds her, she’ll always be just out of reach, a dream he can never wake from.

Ryomen Sukuna’s heart nearly stops when he feels a soft hand on his arm, drawing him back to the present. His present. In front of this woman, this woman who haunted him with everything and anything in him.

“Are you… okay?” the woman asks, her voice gentle, her eyes warm with concern.

He’s stunned, his breath catching as he looks down at her, the stranger with the face he’s known all too well, the stranger who feels like a ghost comes to life. But he forces himself to gather his thoughts, to act like this is a normal interaction with a stranger, even though every nerve in his body feels charged with recognition.

“Ah… yes, I’m….I’m good.” he finally says, his voice rough but steady. “I just find the gallery… interesting.” The words feel absurdly inadequate, but it’s the only thing he can manage.

A small smile breaks over her lips, and the sight of it sends a sharp pang through him. It’s so familiar, so achingly familiar, that he has to clench his fists to keep himself grounded. She glances around the exhibit, her expression softening with a hint of pride.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, stranger.” she says. “It was… hard to tell the story. To do it justice, I mean.” Her gaze returns to his, warm and inviting. “I’m a Mikoto, by the way. A descendant of Hiromi.”

He feels his heart stop at the name, and it takes him a beat to respond. “Ryomen… Ryomen Sukuna, that’s my name.” he says, his voice catching slightly as he introduces himself. 

He could only watch as her eyes widened in surprise, and she studied him, the weight of recognition glinting faintly in her gaze, though she didn't seem to realize its true depth. She probably did not expect him to have that name, that exact name, also.

“A descendant of Hiromi, too?” she asks with a soft laugh, her expression open, friendly. When he doesn’t answer, she shakes her head with a lighthearted smile. “It’s okay. The family’s too big for everyone to know where they come from anyway.”

He nods stiffly, a bit overwhelmed, struggling to keep his composure as memories flicker before him. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he aches to tell her, but he swallows it all down, letting the silence sit between them, as heavy as it is fragile.

Then, gathering his nerve, he glances at her. “Can I… can I ask you something about the exhibit? About Ryomen Sukuna?”

She tilts her head, curious. “Of course, you can.” she says. “But fair warning—it’s going to be a long story. A sad story.”

He meets her gaze, and in that moment, he sees a flicker of recognition in her eyes, something deep and familiar that calls to him. He nods. “That’s okay.” he says softly. “I think I need to hear it.”

She studies him a moment, as if trying to understand his need to know. Judging from her own reaction, it's a difficult story to even try and tell. But he was curious. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he wanted to know so badly.

He wanted to know more than anything how these two people lived. How she lived, that woman in his dreams — the woman right in front of him. He looks at her tenderly, curiously. And she nods, a quiet understanding in her expression. 

“Ryomen Sukuna… and his concubine. Their stories are really not easy. Nor is her own. His concubine’s story is difficult. She led a long, sad life. They were together for a long time, longer than Sukuna and Hiromi were wed.” Her eyes lowered, the sight gleaming with sorrow as she touched the glass, trying to reach for the hairpin. 

“She was devoted to him, in all the ways that one could describe devotion. And yet….she suffered under him… Quite a lot, if we’re to be honest. She gave him a son and she lost him and his indifference at times, it broke her.” She hesitates, glancing at him before continuing. “Though in his own way, he loved her. But well, was it enough? We cannot truly tell. From what we know from Ryomen Chiharu, she died without knowing. But perhaps, those are claims.”

The words pierce him like a knife. Hearing it from her lips, from her gentle voice, makes it all feel too real. The bitterness, the heartbreak, the weight of it all surges within him, yet he can’t look away from her. Is that what she has had to live through all that time? Was it only the heartbreak she had lived through? In that past life, in her past life — was it just grief born out of more, one after the other? Is that why she kept falling to her death? Suffering in all that pain? 

“If he had loved her then….” Sukuna could feel some sense of anger bubble through him. “Why is it not ever clear, his feelings? If you love someone, you….you tell them! You make them know when they’re alive. Not when they’re gone! What kind of man is he? Is he even a man at that point? That’s cruel….That’s…..”

In that moment, her eyes turned wide as she gazed at him. She had seen people get angry on behalf of the long suffering concubine of the King of Curses. That was normal, to feel anguish on her behalf. And yet, this mayhaps is the first time he’s ever seen someone so infuriated. And aggrieved. And bitter. Truly, in the sense of the word. Her heart felt warm about that. 

She smiles softly at him and places her hand on his own. “You know….he still did care. Even if he was a terrible man. In some ways.”

“Even then—”

“Come with me, stranger!” she says, her voice soft as she takes his hand, her touch sending an electric shock through him. She leads him to a long table draped in dark fabric, a single scroll lying open at the center. It was a magnificent piece of work.

In the middle was her, that concubine. With her elegant features and her bright eyed gaze, her tender smile that could bring life to a mundane world. The colors illuminated her with such ethereality that one couldn’t even understand. It would have taken much too much time to do this in their lifetime, during the Heian Era.

 And yet, it was so carefully made, carefully thought of. So full of devotion to her, details that one couldn’t even find in any other portraiture in that time. Sukuna could only watch as her fingers glide along its edge with a reverence that pulls him in, as though she’s sharing a secret between them. Her smile grows wider.

“This is painted and written by Sukuna himself, mayhaps, a few years before she passed.” she whispers, her eyes shining as she looks at him. “We don’t know, if he had painted and made this in secret. Or if she had known and seen it.  But….it was to her… a message. From him to her.”

The scroll is faded, ink blurred by age but unmistakable. And as Sukuna reads it, he feels his breath leave him, his pulse racing as he takes in the words he never thought he’d see again. In ancient script, barely visible, are the words he remembers writing so many lifetimes ago, a promise that felt foolish and desperate even as he wrote it:

“To you, my little one, from a thousand years to another twenty thousand years from now, you who will continue to be dear to me.”

His vision blurs, and he forces himself to swallow down the ache rising in his chest. How is that man ever so contradictory? How could he cause her hurt and then do…do something like this? How can one ever make amends, or show love, knowing they had caused grief and pain and suffering? 

He purses his lips, his face echoing in conflict. He could feel his hand tighten in a fist. The woman he saw in his dreams, and the woman he sees before him now. How they both suffered to get to this point. 

That smile a thousand years ago, so gentle and yet….so pained. And now, so beautiful and serene, happy. Truly so happy. He couldn’t help but be so overwhelmed by emotion. By all of this. She looks up at him, her face soft with empathy and warmth, her hand still resting lightly on his arm.

“What kind of person do you think could write something like that?” she asks gently, studying his reaction.

He swallows, searching for the right words, his voice barely a whisper. “Someone who knew… he’d never find peace without her.” he says, almost to himself, his gaze lingering on the scroll. “Someone… who wanted more time.”

Her eyes meet his, something unspoken passing between them, a quiet understanding that hangs thick in the air. She doesn’t say anything, but her expression shifts, her gaze softening, as if she’s sensing something she can’t quite place, something from another life pressing against the present.

In that moment, he knows he can’t tell her, can’t burden her with the weight of it all. This life may not hold the memory, the pain, the love he’d lost, but here she stands, still at his side. The universe, fate, something unknown has brought them here, and for now, in this fragile moment, it’s enough.

Sukuna’s mind swirls, each beat of his heart drumming louder against the silence that now surrounds them. The faint traces of this man’s ancient words—his promise, his plea—are scrawled on the scroll, untouched by time. 

The weight of it feels unbearable, as if this fragile piece of paper holds not just a message from the past but the entirety of his soul. He risks a glance at her, the woman with his concubine’s face, her warmth, her spirit.

She’s watching him with an intensity that pulls him back from his reverie. “I wonder if he ever found her, if he was ever reborn and given new life.” she murmurs, more to herself than to him. “If… across all that time, they somehow managed to find each other again. And are more truthful to each other. I always thought that, even when I was a child. I hoped and prayed that they found happiness together in a new life.”

Her words send a chill down his spine. He wants to tell her they did, that he’s standing here, right now, because of her. But he knows he can’t—no matter how much his heart aches to reach out, to let her in on the truth he’s carried alone for so long. The curse of knowing, of remembering, is his burden alone.

Instead, he lets his fingers drift across the edge of the scroll, keeping his gaze lowered. “Maybe he never stopped searching. Even if he is reborn. Maybe if he doesn’t remember it all. He should find her and make amends.” he says softly. “Maybe that’s why his name and his memory linger even now. So that she’ll notice. And…maybe they’ll live the way you want them to.”

She tilts her head, considering him, her smile touched with the slightest hint of sadness. “That’s a beautiful thought. Almost… almost as if he’s still out there, waiting. Even if he had to endure every lifetime alone.”

Sukuna swallows, struggling to keep his composure. “Sometimes, we don’t have a choice, about it all.” he says, his voice low. “We’re bound by memories we can’t remember, by the promises our futures will have to remake, even if we have to carry them alone.”

She studies him for a moment, her expression thoughtful, as if she’s trying to glimpse the truth beneath his words. “That sounds like something he would have said, perhaps….perhaps to her.” she murmurs, almost to herself.

The weight of her gaze feels like a hand pressing against his heart, pulling him toward her, tethering him in a way that feels more ancient than memory. But she turns her attention back to the scroll, breaking the spell, and a soft smile touches her lips as she reads the words he once wrote.

“You know,” she says after a pause, “my family used to tell stories about Sukuna. He’s more of a legend now than a real person, but there are so many conflicting tales. Some say he was ruthless, others say he was capable of great kindness. I’ve always been fascinated by that contradiction.” She glances up at him, eyes alight with curiosity. “What do you think? Was he a monster… or was he something more?”

Sukuna’s breath catches at the question, the answer sitting like a stone in his throat. How can he possibly explain that the truth was more complicated than either legend or history could capture? That he was both and neither, a man torn by his own humanity and haunted by a love he couldn’t protect?

“It’s hard to say what he was.” he answers carefully. “Maybe he was both. A monster to some, but to others… he was someone who gave everything he had. No one is….no one is truly a villain, after all.”

She nods slowly, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “I like that answer.” she says quietly. “I think we all have pieces of light and shadow inside us. Maybe he was just… someone trying to find a balance, even if he had caused so much hurt. Even if he had failed.”

The irony cuts deep, the tragic poetry of her words like salt in an old wound. Her voice is gentle, but there’s a conviction in her tone that makes his chest tighten. If she knew the truth—if she knew what he’d lost, the sacrifices he’d made—would she still look at him this way, with this soft reverence and understanding?

Lost in thought, he hardly notices her reaching for his hand. Her fingers wrap around his, warm and grounding, and he’s stunned by the simple, natural ease of her touch, as though they’ve done this a thousand times before. Her hand fits perfectly in his, and for the first time in centuries, a glimmer of hope stirs within him.

“Come with me again, stranger.” she says, leading him past the scroll and into a smaller room at the end of the hall. “There’s something else I want you to see.”

They walk in silence, and he lets her guide him, his heart racing, wondering if perhaps, just maybe, she’s starting to feel the pull too—the invisible thread binding them across lifetimes. She stops in front of a display case holding a small, intricately carved pendant, its silver chain gleaming under the soft lights.

“This pendant, it was passed down to Ryomen Chiharu, after a few years.” she says, gazing at it with a fondness that surprises him. “It belonged to her. His concubine. One of the only things she kept close to her heart.”

Sukuna stares at it, his mind reeling. The pendant was once his gift to her, that King of Curses—a token, a promise of protection. Seeing it now, preserved and cared for, feels surreal, a whisper of the life they once shared. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, his voice thick with emotion he’s barely keeping in check.

He wondered, maybe if it was the right time, the right place. If he hadn’t been so enthralled with another — maybe it would have been a match that would have ended with less pain and more joy. Perhaps if the King of Curses had found himself able to move forward, he would have been happier. Maybe his concubine would have been happier. 

But that was a thousand years ago. And humanity keeps making that same mistake. Little by little, you could find people repeating it over and over again. That makes Sukuna so bitter and sad, grievous and angry all at once. How could fate be so twisted? How could fate seem so indifferent to it all? How could…how could fate not stop such suffering of people who wish to be happy? 

“I always thought it was sad, you know?” she continued, her tone soft. “She must have known he’d never be hers completely. But she still kept this close to her heart.  Thinking of him. It’s like she never stopped hoping.”

Sukuna’s throat tightens, the weight of her words pressing into the raw ache within him. “Hope….hope is fragile.” he echoes, his voice hollow. “It can be a painful thing to carry, especially when there’s no chance of seeing it fulfilled.”

Her gaze turns up to him, searching, as though she can sense the depth of his grief but can’t name its source. “Maybe.” she says, her voice a whisper. “But sometimes… hope is all we have.”

He looks away, afraid she’ll see the truth in his eyes. He wonders if she understands, if somewhere deep down, a part of her remembers. But even if she doesn’t, he can feel her empathy, her gentle warmth reaching out to him, soothing his restless spirit.

She squeezes his hand, her touch gentle and grounding. “Thank you,” she says, smiling softly. “For listening to her story with me. I know it’s heavy, but… it’s part of our legacy, isn’t it?”

He nods, his heart raw and open, feeling the weight of the centuries fall away, even if just for this fleeting moment. It’s not enough—not enough to heal the wounds, to bring back what they’d lost—but for the first time, he feels something close to peace.

And in that silence, in her quiet smile, he dares to hope that maybe, just maybe, there will be a way to find and know each other again. She was right there. He likes to think she is. Right in front of him. There was hope, somehow. 

That she would be happy. That maybe, just maybe – he could see her smile so beautifully again. A smile that would reach all the way to her eyes and warm her face and towards the reach of all the heavens.

Sukuna stands there, his fingers still brushing the edge of the glass case, the pendant gleaming faintly beneath his touch. He feels an unfamiliar warmth stirring within him, a strange, hesitant urge for something… more, something real and tangible. He looks down at her, her expression still soft with that quiet empathy that unsettles him as much as it comforts him.

Before he can second-guess himself, he clears his throat, casting a sidelong glance her way. “Would you, uh… would you like to grab a coffee sometime?” he asks, a bit gruffly, as if trying to sound casual. “Maybe you could help me with some ideas for my art. I’m….an artist by the way. ”

The question hangs in the air between them, and for a moment, he feels exposed in a way he hasn’t in centuries, like he’s offering a piece of himself he’s long since hidden. He braces himself for rejection, for her to smile politely and turn him down.

Sukuna watches her smile, a genuine, radiant expression that spreads across her face like dawn breaking over a darkened sky. It’s infectious, igniting something deep within him, as though it was a feeling that has lain dormant for centuries beneath layers of pain and regret. 

Everything in him felt warm inside. Everything in him grasped to life, hoping that she could nourish it to last forever. Her acceptance feels like a lifeline thrown into the stormy sea of his existence, and he clings to it with a desperation he can’t quite articulate.

“Tomorrow sounds perfect, stranger.” she says, her voice a gentle balm against the jagged edges of his heart. “Oh, I should stop calling you that, shouldn’t I? My apologies, Sukuna–san. I wanted to tease you for a little more time.”

As she writes her number on a slip of paper, the world around them fades into a blur. The museum, the exhibits, the weight of history—all of it dissolves until it’s just the two of them, suspended in this fragile moment of connection.

He takes the paper from her, fingers brushing against hers for the briefest second. It sends an unexpected spark through him, and he’s momentarily lost in the warmth of her skin, the softness of her touch. He forces himself to pull away, catching her gaze again, wanting to savor the moment a little longer.

“What do you like to drink?” he asks, trying to keep the conversation going, to stretch this fleeting connection into something more tangible.

“Coffee, mostly. I love a good espresso.” she replies, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. “But I’m always open to trying new things. I’m sure the cafe will have new wonders. How about you?”

He nods, remembering the countless cups of coffee he’d consumed over the years, each one a bitter reminder of the countless sleepless nights spent alone. “I’m more of a dark roast person myself. Stronger the better.”

“Then I’ll make sure to introduce you to the best place in town. They have the most incredible brews, fit for a long suffering artist.” she says with a playful grin, and for the first time, he can’t help but smile back. It’s a small, simple thing, but it feels monumental, like a bridge forming over a chasm he thought would always divide him.

“Great….I uh….” he replies, his voice a little steadier. “I look forward to it.”

They linger for a moment, both seeming to hesitate, caught in a bubble of anticipation and something deeper that he can’t quite name. He’s never been one for lighthearted interactions, especially when it comes to connections. Yet here he is, standing before a woman who feels like a piece of his lost history, someone he feels inexplicably drawn to.

With one last lingering look, she steps back, her smile still warming the air between them. “See you soon, then, Sukuna–san.” she says, her voice light yet meaningful.

“Yeah….. I’ll see you soon.” he echoes, his heart pounding in his chest as he watches her walk away, the soft sway of her figure leaving him breathless.

As he turns to leave the gallery, the weight of the memories of a thousand years presses less heavily on him. He had left behind Sukuna's world, and birthed a new. He hopes he can. He wants to. He wants to make that woman happy. She deserves to. She deserves to be happy, in the way he couldn’t do it. He promises himself that.

For the first time, he feels a flicker of inspiration reigniting in his chest, like a spark that’s been waiting for just the right moment to burst into flame. The idea of coffee, of sharing thoughts and laughter, of discussing art with someone who understands the nuances of his legacy—it excites him in a way he hadn’t felt in what seems like an eternity. It excites him to burn with joy.

The streets outside are bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, the colors alive and vibrant, reminding him of the canvases he has yet to fill. He can almost picture it now, a new piece forming in his mind—a swirling mix of shadows and light, of loss and hope, reflecting everything that has led him to this moment.

In the days and nights that follow, he begins to sketch again. The woman’s face, a beautiful blend of familiarity and freshness, dominates the canvas, layered with strokes of longing and the bittersweet pang of memory. He paints her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and the gentle warmth that radiated from her smile.

Every brushstroke feels like a conversation, a way to weave their stories together—a blend of art, history, and the unspoken connection that binds them. The artist’s block that had once felt insurmountable begins to crumble, each session at the easel pulling him deeper into his thoughts and feelings, and farther from the suffocating grasp of despair.

He dreams of their meeting, the way her presence felt like coming home, and as their coffee date approaches, he finds himself wrapped in a mix of excitement and nerves. What would they talk about? What would she think of his art?

That evening, as he stands in front of the mirror, he catches a glimpse of himself—disheveled fuschia colored hair, weary bright scarlet eyes; but beneath it all, there’s a glimmer of something he hasn’t seen in ages: hope. A hope for the future. A hope for a new world, a new life. One that will echo years and years from now about joy.

Tomorrow, he tells himself as he brushes down his shirt, it will be different. 

Tomorrow, he’ll make her the happiest person in the world.

Tomorrow, he’ll hope that she will never have any more days to frown.

When the sun rises, he feels it all too well. There was a flutter of anticipation in his chest as he prepared to meet her. Each step feels lighter, each moment filled with possibility. The thought of sharing coffee and stories—his past entwined with hers—ignites a spark of creativity he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

As he enters the café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee envelops him, and he scans the room, searching for her familiar face. When he spots her, seated at a cozy corner table, her hair cascading softly around her shoulders, he feels a rush of warmth.

Her smile brightens the space around them, and as their eyes meet, he knows he’s ready to embrace whatever this connection holds. It’s a chance to delve deeper into their stories, to explore the tangled threads of fate that brought them together.

“Hey!” she says, her voice lighting up the air between them as he approaches. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” he replies, the weight of the past lifting as he takes a seat across from her. “So, what’s first on the menu?”

As you sit together, enveloped in the warmth of shared memories and laughter, Sukuna leans forward, his gaze both intense and gentle. The edges of his usually guarded expression soften, and the small lines near his eyes deepen with a smile that’s almost boyish.

“You know," Sukuna says, his voice low and thoughtful, “I have to say this to you… but… I never thought I’d find someone who could understand me like this. The things I’ve seen—it’s hard to explain to people who haven’t lived through the same nightmares."

He glances down at his coffee, a faint smirk on his lips. “But with you, it doesn’t feel like explaining. It’s like I’m just… remembering with someone else who was there too. This feels so natural. Between you and I.”

She smiles, feeling a warmth blossom within her. “It’s strange, isn’t it? I mean, if someone had told me even a month ago that I’d be here with you, talking like this…” She trails off, laughing softly, feeling a little lost for words. “I would’ve thought they were crazy. But here we are.”

Sukuna chuckles, the sound surprisingly warm, free of his usual biting edge. “Crazy doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He pauses, his gaze meeting hers, searching as if he’s trying to decipher something hidden. “It feels like I know you… not just from now, but from a long time ago. Almost like I was meant to find you.”

His words send a shiver through her, a feeling both comforting and unsettling in its intensity. She nods slowly, letting the feeling settle within her. “I know what you mean,” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath. “It’s like we’re picking up where we left off… wherever that was.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving hers. “Every lifetime,” he murmurs, as if saying it to himself. “Every single one, I think I’d find you.” His hand drifts across the table, his fingers brushing hers in a tentative, almost reverent way. “And every time, I’d be the luckiest man alive.”

She looks down at his hand, his touch grounding her. “Do you believe in that, then? In soulmates? Lifetimes together?”

He smiles, almost a little sadly, as if unsure of his own answer. “Maybe I never did before… but with you, I can’t help but think maybe I was wrong.”

A comfortable silence settles between them, the words hanging like a delicate thread binding them together. After a while, he speaks again, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You… you make me see things differently, you know that? I just met you, but I just… I think it’s meant to be.”

There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, one she’d never expected to see. “Like maybe life doesn’t have to be as lonely as I thought it was. Or maybe, it just doesn’t matter, as long as I’m here… with you.”

Her heart aches at his words, sensing the pain he’s carried and the hope he’s now daring to hold onto. She laces her fingers with his, giving a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Sukuna-san,” she says softly. “Not as long as we have this. As long as we have each other. Maybe… maybe we’ll find something more to life together.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding. When he opens them again, there’s something raw, something almost fragile in his gaze. “I’m… I’m honored,” he whispers gently, a small smile forming on his face. “If that means I’ll be able to live by your side in this life.”

She blushes, feeling the depth of his sincerity. “I’m just as grateful, you know?”

“Thank you.” he says, the words rough, yet sincere. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“You never have to say thank you to me.” She whispered back to him, smiling even wider. “Or say sorry. Okay?”

“Okay.” He smiles back at her, almost contagiously. 

“So, do you….do you wanna watch a movie with me?”

“I’d be honored.”

In that moment, it feels as though nothing else exists—just her and him, caught in the quiet gravity of each other’s presence. 

As the sun sets outside, casting a warm glow over their table, Ryomen Sukuna feels a flicker of something he thought long extinguished. 

And as long as she’s beside him, he knows he’ll be right there with her, finding a new meaning to every breath and every heartbeat, perhaps better than he’d ever dreamed. 

After that day, Ryomen Sukuna stopped having those nightmares about that long suffering concubine.

Instead, he started to dream of a tall man and that long suffering concubine, walking away from him — smiling. Together.

══════════════════

HE WAS LUCKY HE MADE IT. He hadn’t slept much, but it was all worth it. He liked to think that he made his best gallery presentation yet. He knew she liked it just as much as he did. And that had made him even more happy. 

He wasn’t the best of storytellers, he knew that much. Writing was more or less something else to him. But, art like this? He could do it. And so, as he promised, he would make happiness appear on his canvas. He would make that concubine happy again. 

 As the evening progresses, the atmosphere in the gallery transforms, infused with a blend of excitement and reverence. Guests drift in and out, their whispers and laughter weaving a tapestry of shared appreciation for Sukuna's work. 

The vibrant energy of the space pulses with life, but at its core lies a poignant sense of introspection; a collective acknowledgment of the stories each painting holds.

Sukuna stands near the centerpiece, his gaze lingering on the depiction of himself and his concubine, locked in an eternal moment of tenderness. The hues swirl together, capturing not just their faces but the very essence of their souls; a connection that feels almost palpable. Each brushstroke is infused with the weight of longing and regret, but now, standing beside his companion, he recognizes a glimmer of hope amid the sorrow.

As the crowd ebbs and flows, Sukuna finds solace in watching her interact with the guests, her warmth radiating in waves. She engages effortlessly, sharing her thoughts on the art, her enthusiasm infectious.

He catches snippets of their conversations, her laughter ringing out like music, and he can’t help but smile at the ease with which she navigates the social landscape. It’s a stark contrast to his own guarded demeanor, and yet, her presence encourages him to lower his defenses, to engage in this world he once viewed from the shadows.

With each passing moment, Sukuna feels a shift within himself. The uncertainty that had plagued him for so long begins to dissolve, replaced by an exhilarating sense of possibility. As the crowd gradually dwindles, he glances at the painting again, his heart swelling with emotion. It’s more than just an image; it’s a testament to love that transcends time, a narrative that binds past and present.

Suddenly, he turns to find her standing close, her expression reflecting a mixture of admiration and something deeper. “You’ve poured so much of yourself into this, Sukuna.” she says softly, her eyes shimmering with sincerity. “It’s not just about the concubine; it’s about you, too. You’ve laid bare your soul.”

The intensity of her gaze sends a shiver down his spine, and he swallows hard, feeling exposed yet liberated. “I wanted to capture the essence of what we had… to honor her, in my own little ways.” he replies, his voice low and steady. “But I realize now it’s also about my journey. This is as much about my pain as it is about her love.”

She nods, her understanding palpable, and in that moment, he feels a deep connection; there was an unspoken bond that links them through shared experiences and emotions.

The weight of his past no longer feels like a burden; instead, it becomes a source of strength, a wellspring of creativity he can draw from as he embraces this new chapter in his life.

“I think you’ve done an incredible job of that, you know?” she says, her voice softening. “You’ve shown that even in our darkest moments, love remains a guiding light. It’s beautiful.”

Sukuna’s heart races at her words, and he feels a warmth blooming in his chest—a mixture of gratitude and affection. “Thank you, really.” he replies, his voice sincere. “It means a lot to hear that from you. You’ve been… a source of inspiration for me.”

Her smile deepens, and there’s a spark of something electric in the air, a subtle shift that sends his pulse racing. “I’m glad I could be here for you, you know?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s a privilege to witness your journey, to see you reclaim a sad story to a happy one.”

He looks at her, the soft glow of the gallery lights illuminating her features, and he feels a wave of emotion wash over him. For so long, he had been shackled by the weight of his past, haunted by the ghost of his concubine and the mistakes that had led to their separation. But here, in this moment, standing with her amidst the beauty of his creations, he feels the chains loosening.

“Will you stay a little longer?” he asks, almost hesitantly, fearing her response. “I’d like to talk more… about the paintings, about everything.”

Her eyes light up, and the warmth in her smile reassures him. “I’d love that.” she replies, and they find a quieter corner of the gallery, away from the remnants of the evening’s festivities.

As they settle into a cozy nook, surrounded by the lingering essence of art and history, Sukuna feels a sense of calm wash over him. The world outside fades, leaving only the two of them and the unspoken connection that has blossomed between them. 

“What do you see in these paintings?” he asks, eager to hear her perspective.

She leans forward, her gaze thoughtful. “I see love, loss, and resilience. Each piece speaks of a journey, a struggle to find beauty amidst pain. But what resonates most is the longing—the desire to reconnect with something that was lost. It’s powerful.”

He nods, her words echoing his own feelings, and as they discuss each painting in turn, he feels an exhilarating rush of creativity and clarity. The art becomes a conduit for their emotions, a way to explore the complexities of their shared experiences.

They dive deep into conversation, their voices low and intimate, each word exchanged drawing them closer together. She shares her own stories of loss and heartache, of moments when she thought she’d never find her way again. It’s a cathartic exchange, and he listens intently, captivated by her honesty and the strength she exudes.

With each revelation, Sukuna feels the walls that the King of Curses had built around himself begin to crumble. He shares his own struggles, the weight of his legacy, and the guilt that had shadowed him for centuries.

And perhaps, redemption may soon come for him in love.  In this safe space, he finds himself opening up that man, that myth, that curse,  in ways he never thought possible, unearthing emotions he had long buried. 

The night wears on, and as the last of the guests trickle out, the gallery transforms into a cocoon of intimacy. It’s just him and her, surrounded by the echoes of their stories, and for the first time in ages, he feels a sense of belonging—a connection that transcends time and pain.

“I never thought I could feel this way again.” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “After everything I’ve lived through… I thought I’d lost the ability to truly connect with anyone.”

She reaches out, her hand brushing against his in a gentle, reassuring gesture. “You haven’t lost that ability, Sukuna. You’ve just been waiting for the right moment, the right person….the right time.” she says, her gaze steady and filled with warmth. “I’m here now, and I want to be part of your journey.”

The sincerity in her words washes over him, and in that moment, he knows he’s found something rare—a connection that has the potential to redefine his understanding of love, art, and the future. The vulnerability he feels is both terrifying and exhilarating, but he knows he’s ready to embrace it.

As the last notes of music drift into silence and the soft, warm lights dim, the two of them sit close, hands intertwined, surrounded by the vibrant, intimate world he has created.

Each painting on the wall, each sculpture in the dim light feels like a memory brought to life, and she feels him relax beside her, the weight of his past somehow easing with each quiet heartbeat.

His thumb gently strokes her hand, and in that small, tender motion, she feels him say more than words ever could. With her here, in this sanctuary he’s built out of his own creativity and passion, he’s no longer the solitary figure haunted by shadows. He’s simply a man who has finally, against all odds, found someone who can see past his darkness and anchor him in light.

As they stand to leave, his gaze drifts to one of his portraits—a work that captures a moment from another time, another life. In it, the King of Curses sits beside his beloved concubine, her expression full of light and laughter, radiant in a way that suggests an unbreakable bond. 

Ryomen Sukuna pauses, his hand still entwined with hers, and a rare, gentle smile crosses his face.

Looking at the painting, he lets himself hope, just a little. Perhaps, even in a world he once saw as cold and unyielding, there are threads of something beautiful woven into his story. Perhaps, even for someone like him, there could be a happy ending, one he’d never dared to imagine.

He leans down and whispers softly, almost as if confessing a secret. “I like to think they found each other again, you know? That somehow… this time, they got to be happy.”

She squeezes his hand, her eyes shining with warmth and understanding. “I like to think that too.” she replies gently, her voice full of affection.

They walk out together, the cool night air surrounding them as they leave his art behind. And as he catches her smile, he feels his heart swell with gratitude and a strange sense of peace.

For once, he isn’t looking back, haunted by the ghosts of what once was. Instead, he’s looking forward—toward a future that, with her beside him, feels so much brighter than he ever thought possible.

In his heart, he offers a silent prayer, hoping that they’ll continue to find each other, in this life and in all the ones to come. And as they disappear into the night, hands intertwined, this Ryomen Sukuna hopes that the King of Curses finally allows himself to believe that, this time, happiness might be his after all.

══════════════════

THERE WOULD BE NO MEMORY OF THIS WHEN HE’S REBORN. Ryomen Sukuna knows that much. That is the will of the unknown, of the gods unseen and unheard. He does not care much about the propriety of the accuracy. Why should it matter what their name is? He was dead, why should he care?  

In the stillness of the afterlife, everything feels suspended, timeless. Everything was not what he had expected. Long ago, he had resigned himself to the thought that a final death would lead to the depths of burning inferno. And yet, it was not. He was stuck in a journey, a journey that continuously repeats over and over again. 

He does not know what those gods intended with that. What was the purpose designed by the gods? What was the purpose of this journey? He had asked himself that for hundreds of years, walking and walking like the pilgrim he was and yet without end in sight. There was no road that was left to find a stop.

Perhaps, that is until now.

Ryomen Sukuna was the first to notice.

There was a wide shoji that appeared before them.

Ryomen Hiromi was quite unsure about what that was all about. But when she stepped right in front of it, the field protecting it had barred her from even touching it. She pursed her lips in a flat line. This door was not one for her to enter. 

And she probably had already known that. Looking at him with those knowing purple eyes, she knew that it was not for her. It was for him. The gods had sent him a path, and it was not to be with her. It was a road for him to take, a road that was for him. Only him.

He took a short step towards it and allowed his hands to feel the space occupied by the massive wooden shoji. His touch could pierce its space. It was truly for him. There was no mistake in that. Uraume looked at him with a tense uncertainty. His most loyal Uraume is quite that timid  child, still. Just as when Sukuna had met them years and years ago. 

For a moment, it reminded him of Chizuru. That gentleness of that youth, that tenderness of youth. He could only see his little one. The little one that he misses most. His soul is already at peace, and perhaps Sukuna would never see him again. 

He doesn’t deserve to. He wasn’t a good father to him. But moments like this, it gives him relief. Even if Chizuru didn’t need him anymore, then someone else did. And that someone still needed him. Even if he wasn’t the person suited to be needed.

Sukuna looked down at them, and then nodded reassuringly. Uraume reached forward and gasped. Their touch too pierced through its barrier. Of course, Sukuna thought to himself. Uraume tied their entire life to him.

They were one in the same. The loyal servant cannot live without the master. No, no. Sukuna corrects himself. There was always a need for someone. People will always need people.

He stands there idly as Ryomen Hiromi stood beside him, though keeping a distance. Everything around them had grown brighter. Brighter than before. All that surrounded them had been bathed in a soft, eternal light that neither burns nor fades. 

This place, this moment, is for closure—a place where the bonds of the past can either linger or be released. A purgatory for souls, sinner or not. All souls look the same to the gods. Well, that’s what Hiromi had told him.

Sukuna’s gaze rests on Hiromi, taking in the warmth in her expression, the calmness in her presence. Even here, she glows with an inner light that he has always cherished. Serene as the moonlight, as mellow as the clouds. 

There had always been a quiet grace that no one could replicate. He had known that in his long lifetime. And for as long as he had lived, he thought that his job had been to protect it. To protect her. No matter what, with everything in him —  even if it often meant tearing down the world around him.

For a long while, they simply stand together, the weight of their shared history resting between them. A thousand years, feeling even more than that, reflected in the understanding that came in the silence. He had known her too well, she had known him too well.

There was nothing left between them. Only knowing. And perhaps, that’s why it wouldn’t have ever worked. He thinks about that. Knowing someone, even too well, will never truly be living a life with them. 

There was too much he did not know about her life. There was much she did not know about his own. They had lived lives that grew out of their tender love. People who loved each other so much, that they risked everything in the world — finally became two boats in the night waiting for each other to pass. 

Perhaps that’s all that there could be, he thinks about it now. No matter how much he loved her, no matter how much he still does love  her — they were parallel lines. Right people, wrong place. Right place, wrong time. 

That in itself was hard to admit, he knows that. He always has. But it was hard to say. It was hard to accept. Perhaps it always will be. Yet there is so much more beyond that grief of something already lost. Of life already lived and passed by. No matter how much he wants to follow Ryomen Hiromi with all the love in his heart, with all the devotion given from all his life, there will always be fate. And fate knows better than he. 

As much as he tries, he was not a god.

He will never be one, he has tried to be.

He was just a sinner, a cruel cursed sinner.

Taking a deep breath, Sukuna speaks, his voice soft, yet resolute. "I can feel it, Hiromi." he says, looking down at his feet. “Somewhere out there……..I am soon to be reborn. Soon….I must enter this door.”

Ryomen Hiromi’s face softens, and a knowing smile tugs at her lips. She tilts her head, teasing, but with a hint of sadness that she can’t entirely hide. How could she? Ryomen Sukuna was her person. He was her family. Her dearest friend, her confidant.  The man she loved, still does love. The love of her life. 

But she knew that he was not yet ready. Perhaps he will never be ready to move forward like this. There was much tying him to the world of the living. To the earthly life. And she knew it wouldn't be her. It will never be her. 

She could see it in the corner of his scarlet eyes. He too had lived a life. He had moved on. And he wants to see that loved one again. He wants to return. Even if he does not know it. He wants to see that smile on her face again.

"So, you’ll stop following me now, huh?"

He chuckles, the sound quiet, almost reverent, as he brings her hand to his chest. "I’ll love you most in the world, you know that.” he murmurs, each word weighed with truth. “You were the part of me that was good, Hiromi. Everything I am….was because of you.”

She looks at him, shaking her head. She remains smiling. “Endless flattery is not your style.”

His eyes warmed towards her. “It is not flattery if it's true. You know that most. I do not lie, not easily. Not without reason.”

“I know.” She huffs back in response, her eyes lowered to the floor. “I know you too well.”

“I need to go. You know that. There are still…..too much left undone. I have a lot to make amends for, things I must repair.” His voice grows steady, almost solemn. “I need to start with someone else I love. Someone who’s waiting, on the other side of the shore.”

Hiromi’s gaze flickers, her surprise shifting to understanding. There’s a light in her bright purple eyes, a pride that only deepens as she studies his face. For a moment, she wondered when he had grown up. When had he aged this well, lived this well. A part of her mourns the things they never saw. But she knew it was too late. He had someone else waiting to see those sides of him now. 

“I always hoped you’d find something worth living for, beyond me. Beyond our clan. Beyond Jujutsu.” she says, her words carrying an emotion he hadn’t expected. She laughs. “You’ve done well, Sukuna. I know you would. And now you’re better at admitting your faults. You’ve….you’ve truly grown up! Father and uncle would be so glad to see it, don’t you think?”

The weight of her words settles deeply into him, her silent devotion across lifetimes coming into sharp focus. Ryomen Sukuna closes his eyes, feeling the immensity of all that they’ve shared, all that he’s never truly expressed. 

“There’s still much for me to set right, Hiromi.” He looks at her, his expression softening as he finally speaks the words he’s never quite managed to say before. “But the love we shared… It's the best part of me. It’s the part of me I want to carry into the next life. Everything you taught me, it will be for the better.”

A soft laugh escapes her once more, and she shakes her head as if she’s hearing a promise she’s waited lifetimes for him to make. Her hand reaches up, gentle, almost motherly, as she brushes a stray hair back from his face. Leaning in, she presses a delicate kiss to his cheek. 

“You don’t have to say anything else. I’ve always known you loved me.” She pulls back slightly, her hand lingering against his face. “I’ll always love you too, Sukuna. But we have different lives now. Paths that aren’t tied together anymore. No paths are bound, after all. Isn’t that what was taught?” 

Her words are tender but firm, and he nods, finally accepting what she’s known all along. “I know.” he whispers, the smile on his face tinged with the bittersweet ache of goodbye. “But I think I’ll be alright, night flower. I’ve found something, someone… who I believe can make me better. She’s out there, waiting.”

For a moment, she could feel her heart shatter. In that moment, to remember what he had called her. With those words, with that tone of finality. With that tone of farewell. She could feel the warmth of water echo through her eyes. But she tries to make sure they do not pour. Those tears shouldn’t be poured. Not for him. He does not need it. She must send him happily. She must send him off with a smile. A good farewell.

Hiromi pulls away, her hand slipping from his, though her gaze remains fixed on him with a profound love and pride. Her bright eyes gleamed at him, even brighter than before. She smiles at him, though he could notice how tight it was. No matter how happy she is for him — she will mourn. She can’t help it. 

“Then, I want you to find her, hm?” she says softly, the conviction in her voice like a benediction. “Find her and find your happiness, the kind that lasts. The kind that you finally deserve.”

He nods, and there’s a rare, open softness in his expression, a gratitude as deep as the ages they’ve spent together. He takes a good look at her, as though he was memorizing this moment. For as long as it still lasts, he wants to remember it. He wants to remember her, giving her blessing. 

“Then, I’ll go, nightflower.” he says, his voice low and filled with purpose. “I’ll find her… and try to live the life I dreamed of with you.”

Hiromi smiles gently, and with one last lingering look, she turns to leave, pausing only to say. “Someday, I hope to meet her too—the one who brought you peace. Bring her back with you. So that I may thank her for taking care of you.”

He nodded at her. He takes a deep breath as he lowers his gaze and sees Uraume looking at him, as though asking for courage. Sukuna takes Uraume’s hand and tightly grips it, but is careful not to hurt them. A ghostly smile appears on his face, beaming it towards them. 

Uraume could feel their eyes glisten as they felt the warmth of that smile. Uraume could feel warmth in them, tenderness — tenderness that molds their will to live with courage. Sukuna turns his head slightly, looking at Hiromi. His smile gets wider, and becomes more honest than before. She smiled at him, waving him off. 

As he and Uraume walked towards the shoji, Ryomen Hiromi knew that she too has to move away. Ryomen Sukuna slowly watches her walk away into the path of light, alone, feeling the weight of a thousand lifetimes lifting from his shoulders. He could feel his breath hitch as he watches her walk away, perhaps for the final time, perhaps until they get reborn again. 

If you were not waiting for him, if he had not met you, if he had not loved you — perhaps he would have turned away from these doors and moved towards the path of life and rejected rebirth. He would have let his soul rest in peace for all of time. But he knows that he was no longer that person anymore. He wanted to move forward. He wanted to break the cycle. He wanted to be with you.

Ryomen Sukuna is ready to face the world again, this time with a purpose that is as clear as the love he feels for the woman he will now seek.  He must atone. He must live a new life. He must make you happy. 

Both of you will be happy, he knows that. And as he steps forward, towards his own rebirth, he carries her blessings, his heart finally open to the happiness he had once believed was out of reach. He will live it now. He will atone, he will find redemption. He will make you happy.

[cruel-hiraeth]

꒰ AS YOU WISH ꒱ DILUC RAGNVINDR X READER

warnings ⟢ minors do not interact—i will block you! bondage. slight dubcon (but not really...trust). cunnilingus. reader has a vagina, wears panties, is shorter than diluc, and is referred to as “dearest” once.

word count ⟢ 952

notes �� this fic is part of @ficsforgaza’s kinktober event! my prompt was diluc + bondage. i want to give a HUGE thank you to my beloved zebra (@tartagliove) for the beautiful redraw of darknight hero diluc in the banner. ze—i’m in awe of your talent, and i feel honored to have your artwork at the top of my fic!

The sounds of gore cease suddenly.

You hold your breath and listen, straining to hear signs of who won the battle. Tendrils of smoke drift into the air and the ripe stench of death coats your tongue; gooseflesh skitters across your limbs. When the blindfold is ripped from your head, you let out a shriek, chest heaving as you regain composure. A mere pace from you is a masked figure who is renowned in Mondstadt, more legend than man: the Darknight Hero.

His entire body is obscured by an inky cloak, a birdlike mask covering all but the lower half of his face. A shock of crimson hair is gathered high into a ponytail at his crown, his tresses a cascade of flames that lick down his neck and back. His irises are the same color: the glowing embers of a dying fire, sparking hot then fizzling out.

Before you can so much as thank him, he gestures to your arms. They are bound with rope that looks like it was dipped in the cosmos—indigo charmeuse pinpricked with wandering stars—intricately woven with Abyssal magic to suspend your wrists above your head.

“It’s going to be a while until that magic wears off.”

His voice is rich and flinty; it reminds you of charcoal. When his gaze flickers to your flimsy nightwear, you squirm against your restraints, acutely aware of your vulnerability.

“What would an Abyss Herald want to do with you, I wonder?” The hero slowly circles you, appraising, an umbertail falcon stalking his prey. “You have no vision. And you certainly aren’t prepared to fight.” A gloved fingertip, sooty with ash and ichor, grazes the hem of your shorts—much too close to your inner thigh.

“Is this an interrogation?” you snap. “Because I’d also love to know why I’m here.”

An amused smile tugs at the man’s lips. He’s so near that you can see the puckered flesh of a scar that cuts across his cheek; he grasps your chin with surprising gentleness. While his words are terse, they drip with honey. “You’re a mouthy one, hm? So tell me, then,” he pulls your shorts down and they fall to your ankles, a digit moving to stroke the waistband of your panties, “were you touched here?”

“S-stop,” you stutter, swallowing thickly. “This hardly seems appropriate for the hero of Mondstadt.”

One strong hand steadies your waist while the other pets the pubic hair that curls out from beneath your lacy briefs. He chuckles and leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear in a whisper, “Are you claiming you don’t want this?”

From the moment you first spied the tall, broad figure of your savior, a simmering warmth ignited in your belly, kindling into a roaring fire. Lust seeps through the thin garment that barely preserves your modesty, clinging to your labia. Even in the dim, flickering light of the room, your need is apparent in your smoldering stare and spit-slick pout.

Swiftly, he withdraws. “I will not stoop so low as to force myself on—”

“Don’t play the proper gentleman all of a sudden. Touch me.”

Without another word, the Darknight Hero drops to his knees. His eyes are a dusky glass of dandelion wine, drinking you in as he mouths at your clit through sopping fabric, his tongue pressed flat, savoring your arousal. But he doesn’t tease you for long; he tears off your final layer and discards it like an afterthought, humming at the sight of your exposed cunt. The stubble on his cheek scrapes the plush of your thighs as he spreads your legs. You wobble with the movement, the rope burning your wrists as your arms stretch uncomfortably.

A sweet peck to your clit is your only warning before he slips between your folds. He starts with tender licks and caresses, occasionally dipping down to lave at your hole, then returning to where you need him most, sloppily sucking until your head grows fuzzy with pleasure. You try to focus on and decipher the patterns that his slippery muscle weaves. His mouth melds perfectly with your heat, and his deep, rumbling groans heighten your bliss.

But your shoulders ache, and you’re worried that your ankles are going to give out on you.

“Diluc,” you whimper.

In an instant, your husband stands up—chin dewy with your desire. He rips off a glove and singes the rope; your body floods with relief as your arms fall slack. He removes his mask to reveal his drawn expression: brow furrowed and jaw firmly set. “I pushed you too far,” he states, examining the bands of raw flesh that encircle your wrists.

You shake your head vehemently. “No—not at all. I agreed to this, you know.”

His visage softens with your reassurance, though his eyes still shine with concern. He presses a featherlight kiss to each of your injuries. “Shall we return home? I’d like to get some salve on your wounds as soon as possible. In fact, I may visit Sucrose for a fresh jar. Of course I won’t detail what happened or why we need the salve...”

Diluc’s anxious rambling trails off, and he soaks in your palpable irritation as you frown.

“What is it, dearest?”

“Well, I was hoping the Darknight Hero would finish what he started,” you huff, ignoring the heat that blooms in your face at the admission.

“Oh,” he smirks, stepping closer, “is that right?”

“Don’t make fun of me—I’ll make you regret it.”

“I would never dream of such a thing.”

“So…” You press your palms to his chest, rising to your toes. “You’ll take me up to Mr. Ragnvindr’s study, hero?”

His lips ghost yours, sticky, heady with you. “As you wish.”

[connorsui]

“Earth and pine, breath and heart” || Halsin ||

Synopsis: Amidst the quiet nature of the forest, Halsin finds a new kind of peace in your shared intimacy, realizing that you are the missing piece he's been searching for beyond the balance of the wilds.

Genre/warnings: fluff, a tad bit of slow burn, itty bitty soft moments, quiet intimacy, emotional vulnerability, halsin lowkey loving you …no warnings tho …halsin ain't about that angst

Note: halsin has been on my radar for like awhile …I needed to make a fic out of my bear man

w.c: 1.1K

The warmth of Halsin’s breath whispered across your skin, delicate yet undeniable, carrying with it not just the scent of pine and earth but the very essence of the forest itself. His presence was vast, ancient, yet it didn’t overwhelm—you felt steadied, as though in his nearness you had discovered a sanctuary amidst the wilderness of life. The air between you hummed, alive with unspoken thoughts, the silence more profound than any words.

Neither of you dared break that silence, a fragile thread woven from the crackling of the fire and the rhythmic night sounds. Halsin’s eyes, deep and unyielding like the forest at midnight, flickered in the firelight. His gaze held no urgency, no demand—only a patient curiosity, like the pull of the moon on the ocean, inexorable yet gentle.

“You are different,” he said at last, his voice a low rumble, steady as the roots of an ancient tree. It felt as though he were speaking from some place beyond this moment, reaching for something timeless.

A soft smile ghosted across your lips, but you could not hold back the curiosity his words stirred within you. “In what way do you see me, exactly?”

His brow furrowed slightly, a crease forming between his eyes as though he were contemplating something larger than either of you. “In you,” he said slowly, his voice hushed with reverence, “I see a reflection of home. Not the wild, untamed places I’ve known, but a kind of stillness. A peace that settles, like the calm after a storm. You carry it with you, though you may not realize it.”

His words took root within you, warmth blooming in your chest like the first light of dawn. His hand, rough from years spent in the wilds, was surprisingly tender as he turned his palm upwards, meeting your fingers with a gentleness that felt like a promise, unspoken but deeply understood.

"The wilds will always be part of me," he murmured, more to himself than to you, his gaze distant for a moment, as though searching the horizon for something he had long lost. "But lately... I’ve begun to wonder if there’s more. If balance, in all its beauty, is enough." His eyes found yours again, and in them, you saw not the fierce protector of nature, but the man—uncertain, searching, longing. "Now, I find myself drawn to you, as if you’re the part of me I didn’t know I was missing."

There was a weight to his words, a quiet intensity that made your breath catch. The world seemed to still, the sounds of the forest fading until all that remained was the rhythm of your heartbeat and the warmth of his hand in yours. In the space between words, something passed between you—a recognition, a quiet understanding of something neither of you had named, yet both had felt growing, quietly and inevitably.

You smiled softly, a flush rising in your cheeks as your thumb traced slow circles across his palm. It was such a simple thing, this touch, yet it felt like so much more—a bridge between you, a silent affirmation of the connection that had taken root.

What you hadn’t realized, or perhaps had only begun to understand, was that Halsin was as captivated by you as the forest was by the rain. His gaze lingered on the curve of your lips, the way your hair caught the firelight, making the ordinary seem luminous. You spoke, and he listened—not just to your words, but to the melody of your voice, filling the spaces between the trees and reverberating in places within him that had long been silent.

Without thinking, your knee brushed against his, and you didn’t pull away. In that touch, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. There was only the quiet thrum of connection, as natural and inevitable as the turning of seasons.

Halsin’s breath caught, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. His eyes, dark and fathomless, never left yours, and yet within them, you saw something tender, something vulnerable. Gently, almost hesitantly, he lifted your hand, his thumb grazing the soft skin of your fingers before tilting your chin upward, guiding your gaze to meet his.

Even sitting, he seemed to tower over you, a force of nature contained within a man. Yet, there was no dominance in his gesture, no need to assert power—only a quiet tenderness, as though he had found something precious in you and could not look away.

His thumb brushed your lower lip, so soft it might have been a dream, and in that instant, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you, suspended in a moment both infinite and impossibly fragile.

The air between you hummed with unspoken possibility, and then, as though drawn by something greater than either of you, he leaned in. His lips met yours in a slow, deliberate kiss—a gentle, careful press that felt like the first touch of spring after a long winter. It was tender, yet full of promise—a beginning, not an ending.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between words. His eyes, so often distant and watchful, were soft now, vulnerable in a way that took your breath away.

"You are my peace," he whispered, the words a quiet confession, a truth that had long taken root and was only now finding the light.

The silence that followed was full, rich with meaning, like the stillness before dawn. And as you looked into his eyes, you understood that this was no fleeting moment. It was a seed, planted in the fertile ground of shared breath and whispered words, and it would grow—quietly, steadily—into something deeper, something that would stand the test of time.

Halsin’s thumb brushed your lip once more, lingering, as though he could not bear to let go just yet. "The peace I’ve sought for so long," he said, his voice faltering slightly, "it’s not in the wilds alone... I see it here, in you."

Under the watchful stars, you came to understand that peace was not a destination, but something carried within—growing in the quiet spaces between heartbeats, in the brush of a hand, in the unspoken certainty of a love that needed no words to be felt.

Halsin, with his unshakable connection to the untamed wilds, had found a new home—in you.

I want another kiss like a selfish woman that I am

[bvidzsoo]

Fine Line Of Our Worlds

Author: bvidzsoo

Warnings: cursing, suggestive

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

Word count: 40,3k

Summary: Song Mingi didn't choose to become a Pirate, but after getting saved by the crew, he decided to stay. Nobody at home would miss him, they didn't like him much. However, he would miss his riches dearly, teeth always aching for gold and money. He was a little kleptomaniac, it's mostly why he was punished so often back at home. But here, with Ateez, he was free to do whatever and he loved the idea. You were also rich, very rich. You had ties to the royal family, but never said much about it since it was due to your mother's bloodline, who died giving birth to you. You were daddy's little girl, always getting whatever you wanted, never reprimanded for anything. But your life was boring, you were closed inside your mansion's walls all day long and the only people you could torment to have fun were your maids, who grew tired of your antics. Let's not forget the fact that you also loved stealing. It started out as a little talent of yours when you were just a child, but growing up you realized it became a very unconscious habit. And one night, Mingi seemed to come into your life just at the right moment, sweeping your off your feet, quite literally, and taking you onto a Pirate ship, your fates interlacing forever. (Reader is called Yoon Areum in the following oneshots.)

A/N: Oh, my God, my lovelies!!! I swear to GOD this was NEVER supposed to be this long I can't believe I wrote something THIS long, like I'm CRYING TEARS OF JOY. This is the longest and biggest oneshot I've EVER written and oh my God, idk what to do with myself anymore. I am so so curious what you all will think of it, so please, let me know your thoughts about this monster of a fic lol! I am really sorry for the super long wait for this part, but I believe nothing is accidental, and the timing is perfect for this fic as I'm sure months ago this story wouldn't have turned out like this, because I wasn't so feral for Song Mingi back then, LOL. Check out the previous parts if you haven't already, as they are tightly woven together! I hope you enjoy, and happy reading now!

Taglist: @pingyu-in-wonderland @marievllr-abg @lelaleleb @loveforred @horanghae8 @jeonghanscarat7 @orshii @mundayoonimnida @m3tavita @silentcry329 @icarusignite @cooljuni @sharksandminhos @mountiiny

Series Masterlist ↭ Previous Part

            The light padding of feet echoed around in the quiet room as I pressed my head further against the pillow, irritated by the sudden disturbance. Then, the ring of a small bell and the sound of curtains being drawn apart, and a blinding light, which flooded my grandeur room. I groaned loudly and pulled the thick covers over my shivering form, eyebrows furrowing when that damned ringing wouldn’t stop. Who would dare interrupt my beauty sleep? Who would dare wake me up from a dream where a charming prince was just about to confess his everlasting love for me?!

“Miss Yoon, it’s almost noon,” A soft voice called out, the ringing of the bell finally gone, “Your father inquired about your whereabouts.”

I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut tighter, burying my head into the pillow even more. I didn’t want to get out of bed. It was so warm and comfortable. I wanted to sleep all day long and dream about a prince, which would finally whisk me away from this place and treat me like the royalty I am. Well…the royalty I would have been if my mother didn’t die and cause a rift between our family and hers. Certainly her being third cousin with the Queen would’ve granted us a spot in the palace. I would’ve very much liked that. To be pampered all day long with expensive things, living a lavished life without having to worry about anything. What a life that would’ve been. Instead, I was stuck in a golden decorated mansion where I suffered of bored all day long, and top of that, my two maids were incompetent too. If only father would sometimes listen to me…we wouldn’t be here still.

“Miss Yoon,” Another quiet voice said, “your father’s friends will be arriving soon, he doesn’t want you to miss greeting them.”

“I couldn’t care less about my father’s friends!” I hissed, sitting up abruptly, glaring at my two maids. They were shorter than me, and skinnier, their clothes clinging to their bodies in an uncomfortable way. I have offered some of my dresses to them, but them being ungrateful, refused to take them. If a warm-hearted woman like myself offered me a dress made of silk and littered with gems, I wouldn’t even think about refusing it. Not everyone was as generous as myself, the thought made me roll my eyes.

“Miss Yoon,” The blonde maid, Soyeon, said, “Sir Yoon asked me to let you know that the friends would be here in an hour.”

I opened my mouth to tell her that I wouldn’t get out of bed, but the black-haired maid, Soojin, cut me off before I could make a sound, “Your bath will get cold, Miss Yoon.”

I scoffed and leaned back into my pillows, crossing my arms in front of my chest, “I’m not getting out of bed today, get lost, you two.”

The maids said nothing as they fidgeted around, glancing at each other. I closed my eyes and hummed contently as my muscles grew soft once again, allowing the bed’s warmth to wrap me in a cocoon of comfort and serenity, which of course, didn’t last for long as one of the maid’s cleared their throat very quietly.

“Your breakfast will also get cold, Miss Yoon—”

“Fine!” I exclaimed and sat up with a glare, huffing as I threw the covers off myself, “Are you happy now?”

Before they could say anything, I got out of bed, almost tripping in the sheet as it had fallen to the floor, making the maids gasp as I quickly stood up straight, narrowing my eyes at them. They quickly looked away and I tsked, pulling the hair out of my eyes as I stepped into my fluffy slippers, and stormed past the two pathetic women, headed for my spacious bathroom. The walls and floor were a dark green marble, my favorite color, and the big window was opened to allow fresh air inside. The breeze was warm as I let my silky nightgown slip down my body, and I quickly got inside the bathtub which was decorated with golden accents, my father had made it specifically for me. I heard my maids hurrying inside the bathroom as I lowered myself further down in the warm water, wetting my hair and washing my eyes as I got above the surface, Soojin with the soap and sponge in her hands as she approached me. She didn’t look in my eyes as she started washing my body, and I rolled my eyes as Soyeon finally showed up with my breakfast.

I was starving.

Pancakes with maple syrup and blackberries were my favorite breakfast, our personal chef certainly knows me well. It’s like he read my mind that I was craving something sweet, but healthy, today.

“Are you going to wait until the night comes upon us?” I deadpanned as I looked at Soyeon, leaning forward when Soojin tried to wash my back without saying anything. Stupid girl, she couldn’t even use her mouth for a simple request.

“Apologies, Miss Yoon.” Soyeon slightly bowed her head and came near, getting on her knees to be at a more comfortable angle. I smiled at her widely as she raised the fork up towards my lips, pancake and blueberry on it. She certainly knew how I liked eating my favorite breakfast. I hummed as I closed my eyes and chewed the food, my mood instantly getting better. These two girls could perform their duties really well, they just needed little scolding and motivation from time to time. I sighed in contentment as Soyeon continued feeding me while Soojin thoroughly washed my body, not an ounce of grime on my skin. I hated being dirty, on rather hot days I would even bathe twice a day. The opened window allowed the warm breeze to waft inside, the crashing of the waves distant, but strong enough to be heard as our mansion was rather close to the beach. Once I was done with my breakfast, Soyeon handed me my cup filled with tea and I took a few sips, washing down the food, and enjoying the minty taste of it.

“Miss Yoon,” Soojin spoke up hesitantly as she washed my hair, voice quiet, “I overheard your father talking about a ball this morning—”

“A ball?!” I exclaimed, eyes shooting open as I sat up straight in the bathtub. A little water splashed over, Soyeon’s eyes stuck to it as she sighed quietly.

“It’s nothing certain, Miss Yoon, I don’t even know when it’ll be.” Soojin quickly explained, regret in her voice. If my father didn’t want me to know about it, then he had bad luck, because my loyal maids always told me everything that happened outside of my room’s doors.

“Soyeon, pick out my prettiest dress and prepare it for the ball!” I demanded, hissing when Soojin pulled on my scalp harshly with the towel. She quickly apologized and I rolled my eyes, Soyeon seeming lost as she looked at me before looking at Soojin.

“We don’t know when the ball will take place—”

“I said, prepare my dress for the ball.” I raised my eyebrows at her, daring her to disobey me. Soyeon quickly nodded as Soojin wrapped my hair in the towel, stepping aside to search for the one for my body. It was next to Soyeon, and she was quick to help out her fellow maid as she handed the towel to Soojin. I grinned with distaste, unimpressed by how eager they always were to help each other out. Yet, they would never helped me out, unless I demanded it. Two faced little demons is what they were, “Help me out.”

My voice was sweet as I raised my hand, halting Soojin’s movements. Soyeon’s eyes fell on me and I let a slow smile stretch onto my lips, eyebrows raised. She hesitated as she glanced at Soojin briefly, before taking a reluctant step towards me. I delicately raised my left arm too, barely placing my hand on Soyeon’s open palm. I didn’t necessarily like holding dirty things with my hands. I stood up and allowed Soyeon to guide me to my feet, eyes staying on my face as I stood naked in front of the two girls. I felt Soojin step closer from behind and wrap the towel around myself, my fingers tightening around Soyeon’s hand, a smirk forming on my lips. She looked down uncomfortably and that just allowed my next move to be easier than I thought it would be. I forcefully tugged on Soyeon’s hand, and suddenly, she was falling towards me with a loud cry. I released her hand as she fell in the bathtub, splashing water all over the floor and on the towel around my body. My amused expression dropped as I looked down at the girl with disgust, hand still in the air. She was gasping for air as she tried to get her hair out of her face, Soojin standing to the side with a shocked expression. When I glanced at her, she pressed her hands against her mouth and I rolled my eyes, stepping out of the bathtub. They certainly looked pathetic right now.

“Perhaps that taught you not to question when I say something, Soyeon.” My voice was cold as I turned around and took off towards the door, halting in the doorway, “Go get changed quickly, do you think Soojin is capable of braiding my hair the way I like it?”

“Yes, Miss Yoon, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Soyeon’s voice quivered as she hauled herself out of the bathtub, Soojin rushing to her side to help her out. I rolled my eyes and walked back inside my room, sitting at my vanity table as I looked out the window, a peculiar ship appearing on the horizon as it seemed to sail. Whether if it was coming towards our Kingdom or departing from it, I couldn’t tell, and I wondered what type of people were on it. Sailors, perhaps? But they were too far away from the shore, it couldn’t have been them. Or perhaps it was a merchant ship. Or maybe the Navy’s fleet. Oh, how handsome those soldiers were. Especially Lieutenant Kim. Pity he wasn’t rich or from an influential family, I would’ve long married him if that were the case, and of course, if my father wasn’t so overprotective of his little daughter. He barely let me out of his sight, even at my fragile age of nineteen. He was scared his little girl would get whisked away by some handsome man, and oh, how I wished for that to happen. But with my father always breathing down my neck and monitoring each step of mine, none of that was happening anytime soon. He had always thought his little friends were better, more mature, more respectful. But when he wasn’t looking our way, those old grimy men would send me flirty looks and whisper sweet nothings about a life lived in posh if I were to accept their proposals. But that’s not what I needed, nor wanted.

I wanted someone good looking. Someone, who was tall with sharp features and demanding eyes that made my heart race wildly. Someone, who made me forget my own name. Someone, who fell so madly in love with me that he’d worship the ground I walked on. That’s what I needed, and tons of money, of course, not some sticky fingers and fat old men who only wanted to taint my innocence. They thought they were sleek, but I was even sleeker. My eyes fell on the expensive watch placed on display on my vanity, making me chuckle to myself as I reached for it, tracing the leather with a finger. Lord Lee was still looking for it, pity he’d never ever again find it. I smirked as I reached over and opened my little chest filled with all the shiny goods I stole, although I prefer calling them borrowed, from my father’s business partners and friends. The floorboard creaking from behind made me look up, and through the mirror I saw Soojin walking inside my room, holding a pale blue dress. My eyebrows furrowed and I turned in my seat, tsking.

“Is that what you want me to wear to the ball?” My tone was snappy and skeptical as it made Soojin pause, eyes averted as she remained silent, “You can burn that old rag, I won’t wear it ever again.”

“Yes, Miss Yoon.” Soojin’s voice was small and as I continued looking at her, I could see the yearning in her eyes as her grip tightened around the fabric. I scoffed and faced my mirror again, Soyeon finally walking back inside, her clothes dry and hair disheveled as her eyes were red. God, this stupid girl had been crying again. These two maids were so sensitive, it was embarrassing at this point, “God, you two are so pathetic. I wonder why my father keeps you around still. I should just get a competent maid like the Queen has at her Palace.”

There was silence as Soyeon walked over, grabbing an oily lotion and putting it on her hands before she massaged it into my smooth hair, making me sigh in content as I closed my eyes. The floorboard creaked again and I figured Soojin was on her way to pick out a new dress, “You want to keep that old rag?”

Soyeon paused for a second before I felt her grabbing the brush from my vanity, making me open my eyes and hiss when the brush got tangled in the knots in my hair. I gave her a glare through the mirror as she bit her lower lip, embarrassed. If she cries another time I’d rather just jump out the window right now and save myself of this clownery.

“I cannot accept anything that was once Miss Yoon’s—”

“Oh, Lord,” I muttered with a groan, glaring at Soojin through the mirror, “Just keep that wrenched dress, nobody will have your head for it! I’m letting you wear it. Do you need anyone else to give you permission to do so?”

Soojin shook her head as she averted her eyes, and I hummed, settling back in my seat as Soyeon finally started braiding my hair, “Good, then stop whining and asking for attention and keep it.”

“Miss Yoon, your generosity is unlimited.” I scoffed and rolled my eyes at Soojin’s obvious flattery.

“Of course, it is.” I muttered and watched Soyeon through the mirror as my other maid disappeared back inside my huge closet filled with pretty dresses to the brim. Soyeon kept sniffing and avoiding eye contact as my stare turned insistent, but her hands worked diligently as she braided my hair the way I liked it. My curly hair was long as it reached the middle of my back and dense, making it hard for everyone but Soyeon to maneuver it any way she wanted to. Two curly front pieces were left alone to frame my face as the braided the rest from the sides, creating the impression of a small crown in my hair. She usually put gemstones in it and left the rest hang freely against my shoulders after she ruffled it up to make it fluffier looking. When she was done with my hair, I crossed my arms in front of my chest and threw her a glare, watching as her body visibly tensed.

“Did I mess up, Miss Yoon? Do you not like your hair?” Her voice was squeaky and I huffed.

“At least look me in the eyes when you speak to me, brat.” I snapped and Soyeon quickly looked up, her eyes filled with tears. I groaned loudly at her theatrics and leaned forward, opening my chest of stollen, borrowed, goods. The first pearl necklace that my eyes fell on belonged to a maiden from a charity event, and I grinned as I grabbed it, raising it up to my eyes to inspect it from up closer. Soyeon watched me through the mirror and I stood, turning around. I was almost two heads taller than her, “Take it and stop being a cry-baby. But don’t let my father know or he’ll have your hands for stealing it.”

“Is this—not yours, Miss Yoon?” Soyeon asked reluctantly as Soojin walked back inside the room, holding a gorgeous sage green dress that once belonged to my mother. I grinned as she raised the dress up, my eyes drinking in the lace and small flower designs on it. It would be perfect for the ball; I couldn’t wait to wear it now.

“Of course, it’s not mine, Soyeon. Do I wear such cheap jewelry such as this?” I chuckled and pressed the pearl necklace forcefully into my maid’s hands. These two knew about my little hobby of stealing from others, but I made them swear to never tell my father as he’d certainly punish me for doing such lowly things, and forbid me from going to balls and tea parties with the ladies from the neighboring houses. I couldn’t let that happen, I was already bored and dying every day in this boring mansion surrounded by servants and my father. I needed something which would bring life in me, excite me and show me what the world consisted of.

“I cannot accept this—”

“I said, take it, and stop crying so much.” I huffed and walked away, watching as the maid struggled not to drop the pearl necklace, “Get lost, now, I will change on my own.”

And it didn’t take long for the two maids to scramble out of my room, leaving me alone as I sighed loudly and walked inside my dressing room. The curtains were drawn but I opened them as I stared out the window again, longingly watching the ship in the distance as I grabbed my stockings to wear over my undergarments. What would a life on the sea feel like?

            After wearing a soft pink dress and making sure I looked presentable, I made my way to the gardens to greet my father first before we walked to the little fountain where his friends were gathered around, laughing about something inaudible to us. I plastered on my sweetest smile as my father gripped my arm slightly tighter, signaling that I should stand up even straighter. I chuckled, but cursed him in my head as the corset I was wearing was already constricting enough. If I stood any straighter it would dig into my flesh and make it bleed by the evening, but I obliged to my father’s wish as Mr. Lee noticed us and grinned like a Chesire cat. I hated that ugly man. He was always eating something, his fingertips greasy because of it, and he was greedy. All he saw were the assets he placed into something and how even the smallest business could bring more money to him. My father was blind to his schemes of trying to rob us, but thankfully, his smart little daughter was always there to convince him against doing business with Mr. Lee, and thus saving our legacy.

“Mr. Yoon!” Sir Oh exclaimed, an obnoxious and quite annoying man, waving happily towards us, “Lovely sunshine, we thought you’d never make it here today.”

The man around him laughed and I chuckled, although I wished to spit at them and press their heads under the water of the fountain. I hated it when they called me any names, and certainly Sir Oh was my least favorite as he found a stupid new nickname to call me by for each time he came to visit us.

“Friends, it’s been a while, hasn’t it been?” My father asked with a chuckle as he patted my hand, then released me, finally. It’s been exactly two weeks since these idiots have seen each other, yet they were being more dramatic about it than me and my tea party ladies would ever be.

“It certainly has been.” Mr. Yu, perhaps the man I hated most as he was quite unashamed with his advances towards me, and he was hitting the age of fifty. Who wanted a scrawny old man good for nothing but reading his newspaper and crying about the weather? Certainly not me, “Miss Yoon, just as beautiful as always.”

I chuckled as I masked my disgust, plastering on a fake smile, “You flatter me, Mr. Yu.”

My father chuckled and beckoned everyone over to the round table, asking us to sit down. I certainly did not want to be here and entertaining these fools, but I had no choice but to appease my father as he promised to buy me a ruby sometime next week, if I behaved well today. My little gemstone collection hadn’t been updated in long, it certainly was about time I got something new and shiny. A diamond would’ve been better, but my father said he couldn’t find one in our region just yet—how tragic. Before my father could sit, he seemed to remember something and he quickly excused himself, hurrying back towards the house. He left me alone with the wolves, and I remained collected as I watched his friends eyes taking me in closely. I chuckled and leaned back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest. It didn’t help that the corset was already pushing up my breasts, sitting uncomfortable due to the metal digging into my waist.

“Lovely weather today, isn’t it, Mr. Yu?” I spoke up disinterested, but the men didn’t seem to notice as he went off about how the weather was lovely, the breeze just perfect, and the waves not too harsh if anyone wanted to go for a swim. And of course, the sun was just perfectly hot today, not strong enough to burn your skin, but enough to leave a nice tan. Good thing I didn’t expose much of myself, then.

“Any charming men on the horizon, Miss?” Sir Oh inquired with a small laugh, but it was easy to see the curiosity on his face as he leaned forward in his seat, eyes twinkling. Of course, to men like him it didn’t matter that a wife and three children were waiting for him to return home. All he cared about was young flesh for a night, something to satiate his needs and reassure him that he’s still got in him, that he was still capable of charming ladies left and right. It was sad how Sir Oh failed to notice that it was just his money drawing in clueless ladies, ready to extort him of it. It was rather hilarious, yet disgusting at the same time.

“Tell me, Sir Oh, what can you see on the horizon?” I raised my eyebrows as all three men across me turned their heads towards the sea, which was perfectly visible from our veranda overlooking it. I didn’t have to look to know that the ship was still there. I smirked as they remained silent, telling that they didn’t know more than I did.

“You must have surely heard of pirates before, Miss Yoon.” Mr. Lee said mystically, head turning to look me in the eyes, “There’s rumor that Ateez had sailed close to our shores—”

“Ah, nonsense!” Mr. Yu exclaimed, eyebrows furrowed, “There’s no such thing as those dirty criminals nearing our shores. The Navy fleet will take them out in no second!”

“I wouldn’t bet too much on that, Mr. Yu.” Mr. Lee chuckled, his eyes traveling back onto the sea. Intrigued, I also looked towards the sea, eyes finding the ship in the distance. Pirates, they say? Doesn’t that sound exciting? I grinned as I imagined what they must look like and what they might want from our humble town. Surely if they were looking for our Queen, then they were in the wrong spot. Our Queen was miles away from us, unfortunately.

“Are these so-called pirates dangerous?” I asked with feigned ignorance, and Mr. Lee snorted as if I had asked a hilarious question. I refrained from glaring at him as I turned my head to face the men again.

“Dangerous?! Pray they never find a young woman like yourself and ravage you.” My glare was instant as I didn’t even try to hide it, jaw clenching at Mr. Lee’s blatant offensive remark. He had no shame, it was disgusting.

“Mr. Lee!” Sir Oh exclaimed, looking alarmed, “Apologize to Miss Yoon, right now!”

Mr. Yu looked just as appalled, acting as if he hadn’t tried sleeping with me not even one week ago. It still made my skin crawl as I bit back a snarl, raising my eyebrows at Mr. Lee.

“My apologies, Miss Yoon, that was harsh—”

“It merely mirrors your own thoughts, Mr. Lee.” I cut him off with a spiteful glare and the men looked shocked for a second as my face morphed into pure hatred, “You all act like saints in front of my father, and then you try to have your way with me behind his back. Pathetic, especially if your wives were to know.”

The men remained gaping as I stood up, plastering on a wide smile when I heard the clanking of cups against a tray coming from behind. My father must’ve gone back to ask the servants to bring tea and cookies. The three men in front of me struggled to gathered themselves and fix their expressions, but when my father appeared next to me, they quickly did so. I gave them a look before turning to face my father.

“Papa, all this sitting in the sun is making me feel lightheaded,” I made my voice sound soft and weak as I pouted, grabbing my father’s hand, “Would you mind if I were to excuse myself?”

“My dear, not at all!” He exclaimed and pressed a palm against my forehead alarmed, “You’re burning up, head inside quickly!”

“Thank you, papa.” I pressed a kiss against my father’s cheek and he squeezed my hand reassuringly before turning to face a servant, Shindong.

“Please, walk my daughter back to her room.” My father instructed softly, “Make sure she has enough water and ask the cook to prepare soup for her. Let her maids know about her early return too, Shindong. Thank you.”

The servant bowed his head and extended a hand towards me, prompting me to hold his gloved hand as he helped me away from the chair and around the table. I knocked my leg into the foot of Mr. Yu’s chair as I passed behind him, acting as if I stumbled a bit. I leaned down and grabbed a silver spoon from the ground, which obviously wasn’t there but I had grabbed it off the tray before Shindong could realize, and pretended to pick it up.

“Mr. Yu, when did you drop this?” I asked with confusion as I held the spoon in my hand, eyebrows furrowed. Minhyuk, the servant who was setting the table looked alarmed for a second, counting the spoons on the table and the ones still on his tray, looking lost as he looked at the one I was holding. I tried to bite down my smirk, amused by their confusion as to how the spoon landed on the ground when one hadn’t even been served to Mr. Yu yet.

“Oh, thank you, dear.” Our fingers touched and I suppressed the shiver threatening to shake my body, Shindong gingerly holding my hand as I bowed my head lightly, swiftly pulling my hand back from Mr. Yu’s. My father shooed Shindong and I away, and I happily obliged as the servant walked us back towards the house, my fist hidden behind my back as the weight of a silver ring laid heavily in my hand. Away from everyone, I allowed the smirk to finally plaster on my face as I yanked my hand out of Shindong’s, raising the silver ring up Mr. Yu had on his finger a few seconds ago. Shindong gave me a small glance, but remained silent as he lead the way back to my room, telling me that Soojin and Soyeon would be soon here if I needed anything. I entered my room without saying anything, inspecting the huge ruby molded into the silver. I didn’t have to wait another week to get my hands on a ruby, after all. Maybe Mr. Yu was good for something.

            The day seemed to drag on after I returned to my room, jumping on my fluffy bed face down and groaning loudly as the waves crashing against the rocks echoed inside my room through the opened window. It was indeed a lovely day and I found myself craving to go on a walk, but with my father’s friends here, I couldn’t go, because my father never allowed me to leave the mansion without him by my side. I could’ve gone with one of the servants, or even guards, but he never trusted them enough to let me out with them. Or maybe Shindong had snitched on me after the few rare occasions I was allowed to go outside with the guards as I have disappeared for a few hours. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, so I didn’t understand their distress and my father’s anger and concern when he came storming inside my room and yelling at me that I was to stay in my room for the next week. It was horrible, but with the help of my maids, I did manage to sneak out to the gardens every night, laying in the soft grass and gazing at the bright stars, daydreaming about a life where a rich prince whisked me away on his white horse. The reason why I even disappeared for a few hours was simple, and many would’ve laughed at it, not punished their child for it. I just wanted to buy some pastries and roam the cobblestone covered roads of our buzzing town, later headed to the beach to take a quick swim. But my father couldn’t look past his worry and anger to realize that I was merely craving some fun and freedom from his close watch.

But I knew how to use my father’s friends being here to my advantage, and after changing into a dress lighter than the one I wore in the morning, I tied my hair in a low bun and sneaked out of my room. There were few times when I was allowed to read whatever that wasn’t essential to my education, and so I skipped my way towards the library, hiding from the servants who’d roam the halls as they were headed to their duties. I knew if Shindong saw me he’d snitch to my father, that loyal bastard. He was very good at his job, but perhaps too good as he was my father’s second eyes, never failing to notice any missteps I had taken. At least he was smart enough to keep it to himself when he caught me borrowing goods from others. I knew my maids were looking for me, Soyeon’s desperate calls quiet as they carried down the empty hallways, prompting me on to do better and hide so that they wouldn’t find me. And my plan of reading in the library from the forbidden section, which were actually my mother’s most favorite romance novels, turned into me playing hide and seek with my very desperate sounding maids as they ran mindlessly up and down the hallways, searching every room as I stood hidden behind curtains, trying to contain my giggles. However, my fun was short lived when Minhyuk easily found me, his lips pulled into an amused smile. He was barely twenty-five and we were never allowed to be in the same chambers on our own, but my father was apparently looking for me, and Minhyuk was the first one to find me. I stuck my tongue out at him as he lead the way towards my father’s study room, ushering me inside with a chuckle when I threw him a glare.

“You had called for me, papa?” I asked with a sweet smile, voice soft as it carried around in the quiet room. My father hummed as his eyes raised from the map he was inspecting, suddenly looking tired. His foolish friends must’ve tired him out with their stupid stories.

“Did you happen to see a silver ruby ring, by chance, my dear?” My eyebrows furrowed as I jutted my lower lips out innocently, and shook my head no, “I understand, thank you, my dear. Mr. Yu swears he lost his ring here somewhere, but we both know that man is just simply forgetful.”

“And old and ugly.” I muttered under my breath with a sneer, which was quickly gone when my father looked at me with raised eyebrows. I fixed my expression and smiled sweetly at him.

“Oh, papa, don’t you wish to go on a walk with your dear daughter?” I asked as I walked closer to him, letting my hand rest on his as I leaned against his sturdy desk, “We’ve still got a few hours before sunset, it would be lovely to take a walk on the beach. You look tired, the fresh and warm breeze will do you good, papa.”

My father smiled and hummed, turning his hand around to grab mine in his, squeezing our hands together, “You are just as bewitching as your mother once was, my dear. But I must refuse your proposal, I’m afraid.”

“But papa—” My whiney voice got cut off by my father’s chuckle, shaking his head as he released my hand and pushed his chair back.

“You didn’t let me finish, my dear.” He grinned as a mischievous look appeared on his face, making my eyebrows raise in curiosity, “We’ve been invited to Mrs. Boo’s ball, you might want to get ready for that—”

I squealed loudly as I leaped at my father and pressed a kiss against his cheek, twirling around in his spacious study as my heartbeat quickened. So my stupid maids were right, after all! And I didn’t even have to wait much more until we’d get to attend the ball, this was like a blessing, “Papa! I must get ready then! It’s been too long since we’ve been to a ball—and oh, the balls organized by Mrs. Boo are always so—majestic.”

My father chuckled as he listened to me ranting, just nodding his head as I hurried towards his door, “See you before sunset, father. I shall be ready by then!”

“You better or else you’ll be staying here.” His threat was empty, but I still pretended to be scared as I clumsily saluted him, making my father laugh as I left his study in a hurry, running down the hallways to reach my room as fast as I could.

“Soojin! Soyeon!” I shouted as I passed by the kitchens, where these two seemed to spend most of their time if they weren’t with me, “I’m going to a ball tonight!”

            And the preparations for the ball took time, because everything had to be perfect. Even the curls in my hair had to sit perfectly, enhanced by Soyeon as we decided to let my hair fall freely tonight, barely braiding a few strands at the sides, which she clipped back so that the front pieces would frame my face nicely, enhancing my sharp cheekbones. Soojin helped by adding blush to my cheeks, which looked absolutely lovely as it complimented by sun kissed complexion and the lip tint was a dark cherry color, making my lips pop with color. A little bit of glitter had been added to my eyelids and I stood proudly in my dressing room, twirling around in front of the big mirror, admiring the way the sage green dress complemented my frame and skin complexion. The skirt was big and made me feel like a princess, the corset underneath tightly pulled together to keep my posture straight at all times. It got restricting after a while, lungs feeling like they were compressed, but I sucked it up and plastered on a smile despite the growing discomfort if I had to sit rather than stand. The top of the dress was off-shoulders and had long, loose sleeves, and the fabric around my breasts was held together by strings, similar to my corset as lace decorated the surface of it. With sunset nearing, and feeling pleased by my appearance, I headed to the front gates of the mansion, and got inside our little carriage as my father was already there and waiting for me. His eyes widened when I sat across from him and they filled with tears, making me confused as my first thought was that I didn’t look sufficiently good enough for tonight’s ball. I adjusted the golden necklace around my neck uncomfortably, waiting for my father to speak up first.

“You look stunning, my dear.” He whispered before sniffing loudly, looking out the window of the carriage, “Your mother wore this dress the day we met—I didn’t even know you had it.”

I cleared my throat and shrugged, looking down at my hands, “I had visited her chambers not too long ago. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, my dear.” My father quickly reassured me as he reached out for my hand, “She would absolutely love seeing you wearing it, and I am happy as well. You truly did inherit all of her beauty.”

I chuckled as I became shy, lightly bowing my head in gratitude, “In that case, I can’t wait to meet my own rich husband, soon, hopefully.”

My father’s face became grim and he hummed, looking all of a sudden disinterested in the conversation. Of course he did, he always did this when I brought up the subject of husband or even just a simple suitor, “Focus on your studies for now, my dear. Men come and go, but your virtue stays.”

“You always say that, papa.” I mumbled with a sigh and my father tsked.

“A lady does not mumble; she speaks well and clearly. And I always say that because I know what men are like, and until the day you find a man who’s worthy of you, I shall continue deterring the bad wolves away from my little princess. Understand, my dear?”

I hummed with a pout and looked at my father with slight irritation, unable to slump against the plush seat of the carriage due to the corset I was wearing, “Yes, I do, papa. I hear this at least twice a week.”

“Very well,” My father looked amused as he retreated his hand from mine and sat back with a pleased expression, “It means you’ll never forget it.”

And I had remained silent as the carriage finally took off, and for the rest of the ride as well. I couldn’t say that I was mad at my father, but I could still resent him a little bit for keeping me away from every man that I showed even the slightest interest in me. It seemed like nobody was worthy enough. And even when they were, my father somehow managed to find some dirt about them and scare them away, consoling me that he was only showing me the dark side, the secrets these suitors were trying to hide from me. But perhaps, if my father allowed them enough time to stick around for longer, they would’ve told me themselves of these missteps they have taken along the way. Nobody was perfect, despite my desires to believe so, and as long as they had enough money, I could overlook some of their flaws.

The carriage ride didn’t take too long as Mrs. Boo and her family lived quite close to us. I could hear the music from outside the gates already as we have finally stopped moving, and got out of the carriage. My father helped me down and then crossed his arm with mine, keeping me close to himself so that I wouldn’t slip away. I knew it would take only a few glasses of champagne for me to be able to do so anyways, perhaps even faster if the people he knew came over to talk to my father. Most of the times they talked about things that were none of my concerns, and therefore I was allowed to roam around the place as long as my father could see me. And I did just that as we entered the marble covered vast chamber of Mrs. Boo’s family, her ballroom. It was spectacular, like every time, decorated in burgundy and golden accents. It screamed prestige and money, and I was pleased to see that I was the best dressed out of all the young ladies attending the ball tonight. It always brought pleasure and pride to me when I was the prettiest at these events, and it was only proven right when I noticed the jealousy in the other ladies eyes as my father and I walked by them. I grinned at them and mockingly waved, curling my fingers before ignoring them completely. We were barely inside, yet my father already had a glass of champagne in his hands as we were headed towards Mrs. Boo to greet her and thank her for inviting us. I put on my best smile as we arrived in front of her, her puffy cheeks disturbingly pink. Her makeup choices had always been questionable.

“Oh, Mr. and Miss Yoon.” She said delighted as she clapped her hands once, “Lovely seeing you made it.”

“My daughter would have had my head if I dared skipping tonight’s ball.” My father said cordially and I refrained from rolling my eyes.

“The decoration is marvelous, Mrs. Boo, you never fail to amaze me.” I complimented the woman, knowing how much she liked hearing such words. Besides, I knew it meant I would get invited to her next tea party and that was exactly what I was hoping for.

“Thank you, lovely.” She chuckled as she looked past us, her eyes narrowing slightly before she composed her expression quickly. It didn’t take long to realize it was because her son was coming over, face a constant mask of judgement. The two of us had nothing against each other, Seungkwan could be a pleasant companion if he put in a little effort, but otherwise the man was too nagging and posh for my taste. He couldn’t even pull the chair out for himself, let alone for his lover.

“Ah, Junior.” My father chuckled as Seungkwan came to a stop next to his mother, and he released my arm to shake Seungkwan’s hand. I smiled as Seungkwan kissed my hand next, curtsying to him in return.

“It’s been a while, Miss Yoon.”  He said cordially and I hummed, smile fixed on my face.

“Indeed, I see you’re just as healthy as always.” I noted, and Seungkwan’s mother laughed as she patted her son’s shoulder.

“Of course, he is. There isn’t a day my boy doesn’t eat his vegetables.” I nodded in understanding, but didn’t miss the way Seungkwan almost rolled his eyes, “Mr. Yoon, should we leave the young ones alone? I’m not sure you have met Sir Bae yet, father of the Navy fleet’s commandant?”

My father’s eyes widened and he threw me one small glance before he was agreeing to walk with Mrs. Boo, interested in expanding his friend and business list. I scoffed and stepped next to Seungkwan, facing the crowd as we both looked at the dancing people in front of us.

“He’s still breathing down your neck?” Seungkwan asked, finally dropping that irritatingly sweet tone of his. I chuckled and crossed my arms in front of my chest, stealing a grape first from the tray next to me on the table.

“Obviously, I should buy your mother something generous for always seemingly stealing him away at balls like these.” Seungkwan threw me an amused glance before stealing a grape from my hand. I threw him a glare and quickly ate the rest.

“Of course she does. She keeps saying you’ll never find a man if he keeps breathing down your neck.” I chuckled and turned to face Seungkwan.

“And how right she is,” I pinched his cheek teasingly, making him snap my hand away, “Did she play matchmaker again? Where’s your lady for the night?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Seungkwan looked uncomfortable as I chuckled and smirked at him, “She thankfully didn’t have the time to find anyone for the ball, so I’m on my own tonight.”

“Poor you.” I teased and Seungkwan threw me a swift glare as suddenly a man was headed our way. My heart skipped a beat as I straightened my stance, and plastered on a sweet smile on my lips, eyes falling on the tall body of Lieutenant Kim. His body was adorned in his uniform, form lean and strong as the well-worked muscles bulged through the fabric just slightly. His short black hair was swept back, leaving his forehead on display, and I tried to hide my blush at the dashing smile he sent our way. His canines poked through and his cherry-red lips looked soft, complimenting his gorgeous tan skin. Kim Mingyu was a dreamy man, hardworking, and dedicated. He was respectful and extremely smart, and quick on his feet. Every man envied him. He could have anyone he wanted, yet he chose to dedicate his life to the Navy—after I turned him down. Many had called me crazy, but my father was glad. He said Mingyu wasn’t who he portrayed himself to be, and even if that were true, that wasn’t the reason I didn’t want to marry him. Despite his looks and personality, he never actually managed to sweep me off my feet. He never stole my breath away, and he never made me yearn for him. And if love wasn’t like that, I didn’t want it. And I wouldn’t stop until I found this type of love, ethereal, everlasting.

“Good evening,” Kim Mingyu bowed his head, making Seungkwan chuckle, “Mr. Boo. Miss Yoon.”

I giggled quietly when he grabbed my hand with his big one, pressing a lasting kiss against my knuckles as he held eye contact, making Seungkwan scoff next to us.

“The girl rejected you once, Mingyu, what are you doing?” Seungkwan teased his best friend lightly and I chuckled embarrassed, subtly elbowing the man in the ribs. Mingyu had a similar blush on his cheeks to mine as he cleared his throat and threw a warning glare at his friend.

“I’m merely greeting her the way a man is supposed to, Seungkwan, jealous?” The banter between the two was natural, their love language full of teasing and nagging each other.

“You wish I were.” Seungkwan chuckled and whisked away three glasses of champagne from a tray as a servant passed by with it. I made sure my father wasn’t looking as I accepted one, clanking my glass against the other two men’s.

“How are you feeling tonight, Miss Yoon?” Mingyu looked at me and I hummed, looking over the dancing crowd, an idea occurring in my mind. I looked back at the tall man with a grin and pressed my glass of champagne into Seungkwan’s chest.

“I would be doing a lot better if a handsome man cared to ask me to dance.” The cheeky smile kicked Mingyu into action as he pressed his own glass into Seungkwan’s chest, making him groan. Mingyu took my hand tenderly and gestured towards the dance floor.

“May I, then?” He asked dashingly, his smile leaving me a blushing mess once again. I chuckled, out of embarrassment, and then nodded as he lead us towards the dancing crowd.

“Of course, leave me all by myself, you two!” Seungkwan called after us, but didn’t seem too sad as he got to drink not only his champagne, but ours too. Mingyu lead us towards the end of the room, where the crowd wasn’t so dense, and where my father couldn’t see us well, and I chuckled. Mingyu knew about my father’s rules as I have told him once, and he always enjoyed breaking them, angering my father a little each time. Perhaps that was the reason why he didn’t like Mingyu. Mingyu’s calloused hand took a firm hold of my waist as his other held my hand gingerly, and I allowed my hand to rest against his firm shoulder, the fabric soft under my tender touch.

“You look gorgeous, Miss Yoon.” Mingyu said, sounding almost breathless as he looked down at me. I chuckled and bowed my head slightly as I followed Mingyu’s lead, the orchestra playing a slow and lovely song.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Kim, you have been certainly turning heads as well tonight.” Mingyu laughed as he nodded, looking over the crowd. He was taller than most people in here, even in my heels, the top of my head barely reached above his eyes.

“I have noticed,” He said as his eyes fell back on me, and I raised an eyebrow teasingly, “But my eyes were only on you the whole time, Miss Yoon.”

I didn’t mean to blush as hard as I did, and Mingyu chuckled, squeezing my waist for a second as I cleared my throat, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. Averting my eyes to avoid blushing even more, I looked at the beautiful necklace hidden beneath Mingyu’s uniform’s collar, and I found my fingers absentmindedly toying with the gold. Mingyu didn’t seem to mind as he hummed along to the music, swaying us expertly to it. I looked around and noticed my father glaring in our direction furiously before Mrs. Boo noticed as well and whisked him away, pulling him towards a smaller crowd of both men and women, who seemed to be deep in discussion. Mrs. Boo and I made eye contact and she winked sneakily, making me grin as I looked back at Mingyu. He was already looking down at me and I cleared my throat.

“How were your days lately? Is the job demanding?” I made conversation, genuinely curious of Mingyu’s wellbeing. Mingyu’s lower lip jutted out as he hummed and maneuvered us around a couple almost strategically, so that we wouldn’t crash into them. They apologized before continuing on dancing.

“I’m afraid my job will be always demanding,” Mingyu started with a little smile, “but I enjoy it, so I can’t whine about it too much. It’s been quiet, the waters, I mean…until these past few days.”

“What happened?” I asked, my eyebrows furrowing. The orchestra changed the pace and I followed Mingyu as his long legs moved faster, steps still careful so that he wouldn’t step on my heeled toes.

“An unidentified ship has been seen on the horizon,” Mingyu explained, and my eyebrows raised as I suddenly remembered what Mr. Yu had said earlier today, “We can’t really do much if they don’t trespass the border, but we’ve been keeping an eye on them—”

“Do you think they could be pirates?” I didn’t mean to cut the Lieutenant off, but in my excitement I forgot I wasn’t supposed to be this eager when speaking about pirates, so, I quickly fixed my expression as Mingyu looked at me perplexed for a second.

“We know they are pirates, but, Miss Yoon…how would you know that?” Mingyu looked slightly alarmed as he lowered his voice and I just shrugged, looking off to the side.

“Word travels fast around here, you shouldn’t be so surprised, Lieutenant.” I gave him a teasing wink and Mingyu chuckled, opening his mouth to say something, when a loud crashing sound disturbed the ambivalence of the room, people gasping and turning their heads to look at where the sound came from. Curios myself, I quickly turned my head around, only to be met with an unfortunate scene. A servant lay on the floor with a tray full of dessert scattered around him, delicious looking sweets now ruined and uneatable. However, what caught my attention was the peculiar actions of the man crouched down next to the servant, who was scrambling around to put everything back on the tray. I could see the profile of the unknown man as he grinned at the servant, mumbling something to him before stealing a cherry off the tray, making the few ladies still watching gasp as he ate it. My eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched up at the action, but the man seemed not to care that the cherry had been on the dirty floor just seconds ago. As he stood up, I was taken aback by his height. Perhaps he lacked a few centimeters compared to Mingyu, but he was still toweringly tall. He cleared his throat and fixed the collar of his long, black, velvet coat, sweeping his hands through his long, blonde hair. My eyes followed the action and remained fixed on the stranger’s ringer clad fingers, the jewelry huge, shiny, and expensive looking. His whole outfit looked expensive, but I didn’t get the chance to have a better look at it as he patted the servant on the back and waltzed off like nothing had happened, his shoulders broad as he had a looming figure.

“Miss Yoon?” My head snapped back around, looking wide eyed at Mingyu as his eyebrows were furrowed.

“Excuse me, I got distracted.” I admitted and quickly cleared my throat, suddenly not in the mood to dance with the Lieutenant anymore. Who was this stranger? I knew everyone who frequented Mrs. Boo’s balls, so who was this mysterious man? My heart skipped a beat at the thought of a new person having moved into town, young and rich. If he was handsome too, I might have just hit the jackpot.

“I was just asking if you got startled.” Mingyu said, bringing me out of my thoughts once again. I plastered on a fake smile and brushed him off.

“Of course, I got startled,” I chuckled and lightly pushed myself away from Mingyu, “Excuse me, but I must hydrate myself now, it’s becoming too warm in here.”

Mingyu looked disappointed as he was forced to let go of me, bowing his head slightly before he led us out of the crowd, saying something, but I wasn’t paying attention to him anymore as I was looking around, eyes searching for the blonde, tall man.

            And my night went on just like that, searching the crowd relentlessly for the stranger, yet never quite finding him. I was only able to catch glimpses of him, he moved as if he was a ghost, gliding through the crowd as if he was trying to evade the people. It was becoming frustrating, and it got even worse when my father found me and demanded I remain by his side as he was unimpressed by me dancing with Mingyu. I said nothing and did as was told, sneakily drinking some more champagne when my father found himself in heated debates about things I wasn’t interested in. But my curiosity sparked even more as I heard a raspy, deep voice laughing not too far from us, the deep baritone carried over even the music. I tried not to be too obvious as I craned my neck and looked around for the voice, eyes widening when they fell on the stranger. He was merely a few feet away, talking to some ladies. He was leaning against a tall table, his fingers circling the rim of his champagne glass as he played with it, red lips pulled into a charming smile. I gulped as my eyes took in every curve of his face, his tall nose and his sharp eyes, his defined cheekbones and a jawline that was very sharp. His eyebrows were thick, but they complimented his features nicely, and his skin looked slightly burnt, like he had been out in the sun excessively. His blonde hair was long and brushed back behind his ears, the roots barely showing. I could see the way the ladies he was talking to were trying to push their chests our even more than their corsets already did for them, and it was hard to miss their blatant flirting as they tried to touch his hand at any given chance. My eyes narrowed as I watched the interaction, every nerve in my body begging me to walk over and introduce myself to the stranger, to earn his undivided attention. My eyes soaked him in, taking in his black outfit, the velvet clinging to his toned body, and I was startled to find he wore nothing underneath his black vest, a vest that didn’t even reach the waistband of his velvet pants. It was a scandalous outfit, too daring, and it was obviously gaining more and more attention as men glared at the stranger and ladies tried to approach him. Perhaps that was the point, to draw attention to himself, and it was working.

I gulped as I watched his lips move, pulled into a smirk as he reached out and fixed the hair of one of the young girl’s, and it made me scoff as I was aware of what he was doing. What I didn’t expect was the way his eyes snapped to me, as if he knew where he had to look, who he had to look at. My eyes widened slightly, but I didn’t avert my gaze as his remained fixed on me, raising an eyebrow just slightly. I misjudged the distance between us as he very well heard my scoff, and now he was taking me in, a challenging glint in his eyes. My fingers tightened around the glass I was holding and I smirked as I brough the glass up to my lips, taking a sip as the man smirked back, subtly tilting his glass in my direction. Our little exchange caught the attention of the ladies he was with and as they looked at me, they scowled and sent glares my way. I didn’t care, nothing mattered as I was enticed by the handsome stranger, features unique, quickly engraved into my brain.

But our little moment was broken the second a very drunken Sir Oh loudly called out, weaving towards me with his wife on his side, “Little sunshine!”

I tried not to grit my teeth as I was forced to look away from the stranger, but thankfully my father didn’t see the exchange between the two of us as he suddenly started ignoring the man trying to convince him that investing into diamonds was smart as he went to hug Sir Oh, as if they haven’t seen each other just hours ago. I sneaked a subtle glance towards the stranger, but he was gone, and I couldn’t help but feel disappointed as I sighed loudly, suddenly wishing to go home…or just leave this party.

             And leave the party I did, of course, after making sure my father was drunk enough to not notice his little princess slipping away. There was nothing enjoyable about the ball anymore. All the men were boring and they only wanted one thing…to get into my good graces, because I come from a well-off family. But they were boring and quite ugly, most of them on poorer side too. I had no interest in listening to their fake stories about all the things they haven’t actually done, but were saying just to try and impress me. I’ve been looking out for the handsome stranger all night long, but I never caught a glimpse of him again. It’s like he suddenly vanished, gone as quickly as he had come. It was disheartening, and I found myself pouting at a boy not even my age, who was boasting about visiting the royal castle and seeing the Queen.

“She is majestic, just like in the stories. Her eyes sparkle, and her crown is filled with diamonds—” I couldn’t listen to him anymore as I scoffed.

“And does Her Majesty drink her tea at five o’clock like everyone else does? Are her dresses of the latest trends made of silk and wool? Please, I am directly linked to the Queen, do you think I haven’t met her already? Talked to her, and spent my days with her?” My tone was snappy, the continuous glasses of champagne I kept sipping on made my world hazy, I couldn’t filter my words like I would usually do so, “Save yourself the grace and get lost, little boy.”

The man standing across me gasped, looking appalled before he turned around, pushing his nose high up in the air. I scoffed and reached forward with a smirk on my face, fingers delicately latching onto the golden chain hanging out of his pocket carelessly. Perhaps this boy should be more careful with his belongings.

And after that, I just slipped through the crowd, making sure I didn’t linger long enough for anyone to notice who I was and where I was headed to. I took a final glance towards my father before I quickly hurried through the wide doors of the ballroom, barely avoiding running into Seungkwan. But it seemed like he didn’t notice me slipping away, and so, with a smile on my face, I was quickly headed towards the outside with one goal in mind. Leave the Boo estate and go find something fun to do for the remaining of the night. I couldn’t tell what time it was exactly, not that it mattered judged by the slight hammering of my head and the haze surrounding my thoughts, and the dizziness clouding my vision. People threw curious glances at me as they noticed me walking without my father, but I just ignored them and smiled widely once I had reached the front gates. The two guardians looked at me with confusion written all over their faces as they shared a glance.

“Miss Yoon, everything alright?” One of them asked, and I smiled sweetly as I nodded wordlessly.

“Leaving without your father?” The other one inquired, crocking an eyebrow. I chuckled and subtly pushed my chest out, not missing the way their gazes fixated on the exposed skin of my collarbones.

“He’ll be here in a moment,” I spoke up, voice sickly sweet as I smiled charmingly at them, “I will go ahead and find our carriage.”

“But Miss Yoon—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” I tsked and shook my finger at the two bewildered men, “I am very capable of being on my own, gentlemen, don’t you think so?”

They said nothing as they shared a look, but ultimately allowed me to walk past as they sighed in unison, shrugging. I flashed them another wide smile and took off, giggling as my feet carried me towards the unknown, enjoying the warm salty breeze of the night, the waves crashing against the huge rocks loud as I was closer to the cliffs here. I took a glance behind myself, making sure nobody was following me, before I stopped to take a deep breath, closing my eyes. Freedom has never felt so good before, and I couldn’t help but raise my arms in the air and twirl around while chuckling, watching the way the skirt of the dress swirled around with me. But perhaps twirling around wasn’t a smart idea when your world was already spinning, and I came to an abrupt stop as nausea suddenly washed over me, making my eyebrows furrow as bile raised in my throat. There was absolutely no chance that a lady, a princess, like myself would throw up, therefore I took three deep breaths and anchored myself. No sudden actions should make this fine. I nodded to myself and took off again, headed to the town square, where I knew some pubs would be still open at this hour. Perhaps going to a pub alone, a beautiful woman like myself, wasn’t the brightest idea, but I wanted to see what it was like. I’ve never been to one, I only heard stories from the ladies I spent the tea parties with. I wanted to experience the same fun they had each time when going to a pub, I wanted to meet new people and perhaps…find a suitor. That was all I needed to remember the handsome stranger, and I couldn’t help but blush as I remembered his sharp eyes holding eye contact with me, his plush lips curling up into a dashing smirk, glint playful in his eyes. Everything about him screamed confidence, and I couldn’t help but giggle as I envisioned him sweeping me off my feet, carrying me effortlessly in his strong arms.

My journey came to a quick stop as Mrs. Boo didn’t leave too far from the square, and my attention was easily taken by the loud pub from the corner of the street. The lights were on inside and music poured out through the open door, very different from the soft music the orchestra had played at Mrs. Boo’s ball. The music was livelier here, heavier and louder, I found myself liking it as I approached the pub, taking in the exterior of it. The bricks were white and the windows sparkling, the dim lighting of the place pouring outside. A man stumbled through the doors clumsily, clutching his hat to his chest as he mumbled incoherent things to himself. His eyes fell on me as he looked up, and his face looked funny. It was oddly red and his eyes looked crisscrossed as he tipped his head in my direction, making me frown at him. The stench coming off him was disgusting and I quickly walked past him, marching inside the pub. The music got louder now that I was inside, but it wasn’t unbearable, you could still overhear the conversations people had…maybe because almost everyone was shouting. There was a weird smell in the air, and I covered my nose as I walked further inside, looking for a free table. Most were occupied by men and women, gathered around in large groups. The dim lightning and the weird smell made my head spin more, but I was proud of myself that I managed to walk in a straight line, eyes set on the free table towards the back of the pub. In my tipsy state, I missed the curious or hungry gazes sent my way, men watching me like haws, women scowling at me, acting as if I was here to steal their men.

When I finally reached the table, I gripped the chair and pulled it back, surprised by its heaviness as it dragged loudly against the wooden floorboards, but thankfully the music was loud enough to mask the atrocious sound. Despite being—probably—tipsy, I managed to sit down graciously, adjusting the skirt of my dress so that nobody would step on it and that I wouldn’t pull a string loose. The dress was dear to me, after all, it once belonged to my deceased mother. And it is also a very pretty, and pricey, dress. The corset seemed to get tighter for a second as I found myself gasping for air, eyebrows furrowing as I straightened my back to the point my back muscles were numb. I couldn’t dwell on the sudden ache for much longer as someone approached the table, looking rather perplexed by my presence here.

“Miss,” It was a young boy, perhaps fifteen, “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” I fired back, raising my eyebrows unimpressed.

“I work here.” He answered, looking away for a second, “And if you sit down then you must order something as well.”

“Fine,” I huffed, looking around the place. I had definitely seen worse places before, they certainly must have something that is worth my money here, “Bring me your finest wine, then.”

“Can you afford it?” I was appalled by the blatant mockery in the young boy’s tone, eyebrows raised and expression demanding as I snorted loudly, digging my hand down the front of my dress, between my breasts. The boy’s eyes widened and he quickly averted his eyes, cheeks flushing. I rolled my eyes before pulling my hand out of my dress, bringing it above the table and opening my palm. The sudden loud clanking caught the young boy’s attention as he turned his head, eyes widening as he looked at all the goods I had disregarded on the wooden table. I smirked at him, leaning my arms on the table as I leaned towards him.

“Do you think I can afford it?” I asked arrogantly, cocking an eyebrow. The boy just gulped and averted his eyes quickly.

“I’ll be by with our best wine, Miss.” I smiled and shushed him away quickly, looking back down at the little treasures I had borrowed throughout the night. A hairpin filled with tiny emeralds, a golden chain attached to an old looking golden pocket watch, three engagement rings with diamonds, a simple golden chain with a cross medal, and Mingyu’s necklace with a trident pendant. I placed my hands over them and pulled them towards myself, making sure nobody could steal them away from me. I debated whether or not in giving Mingyu’s necklace away as well, but in the end settled on slipping it back inside my corset, patting my chest down to make sure it was secured between my breasts. I didn’t have it in myself to part with this item, after all, Mingyu wasn’t a bad man nor ever had any bad intentions towards me. But as we danced tonight, I just couldn’t help myself. By the time I noticed what I had done, the thin golden necklace was clutched tightly in my palm, the trident pendant digging into the skin of my palm, a reminder that what I had once started doing as a joke, had now turned into a serious issue. I never truly meant to steal people’s things, but after realizing that I was so swift they wouldn’t even notice me taking their things away, it became a game to me. A curiosity to see how far I could get before somebody finally caught me. I knew my father would be devastated that his little daughter was a thief, or a kleptomaniac, and I would also probably go to prison since I was too wealthy to have my hand cut off. The constable would never do such horrendous thing to a girl like me.

My attention was suddenly caught by the man shuffling next to my right, head slightly bowed as he gripped a pint of beer in his clammy looking hand. His hair was already greying and his face was wrinkly. To be fair, he looked quite disgusting as he raised his head and flashed a yellow toothed smile my way, making me cringe. I covered away when he stepped even closer, mouth pulled into a grimace as the man tried to smirk, but he could barely stand on his feet as he had to lean into the table for support.

“Youn’ girl like yerself shouldn’t be in her’.” His words were slurred, but he seemed too determined to speak to me to realize that, “It’s dangerous.”

“I can see that,” I eyed the beer he held in his hand, dangerously close to my dress, “I would like it if you kept your cheap beer away from my dress.”

“Yer a spoiled one, eh?” He snickered, raising his beer up to his lips as he took a huge swing of it. I cringed at the action and looked around, trying to find the boy working here. He must surely tell this weird man to leave me alone. He would do that for me, right?

“And you’re disgusting, old, and poor.” I snapped back, glaring viciously at the man as he suddenly cackled as if I said something funny.

“The feisty ones are good in bed.” My jaw would’ve probably hit the floor if it could, eyes widening at his disgusting words. I huffed loudly, blood boiling at his blatant audacity. My hands clenched into fists and my jaw tightened as I glared furiously at this disgusting pig, a few seconds away from kicking the pint of beer out of his hand and smashing the glass on his head. But just as I pushed my chair back to scream at the man and chase him away, a tall figure inserted himself between the man and myself, black velvet coat way too familiar. It took a few seconds for my hazy brain to catch on that it was the stranger from Mrs. Boo’s ball. My eyes widened as I stared at the back of his head awestruck, wondering whether this was real or if my alcohol infused brain was playing tricks on me now.

“What did you just say?” The man’s voice was very deep, sharp, and it made me shiver as I continued staring at his blonde hair. His shoulders were incredibly broad from up-close, and I suddenly caught a whiff of something very sweet, almost vanilla like. It hadn’t been there before the stranger’s arrival, and it made me bite my lower lip as I felt even more drawn to the stranger.

“How dare you talk to a lady like that, you disgusting pig?!” The stranger’s voice was gravely and I watched taken aback as he took another step towards the old man, towering over him almost dangerously, “You’re lucky there’s too many people watching—otherwise I would’ve cracked your skull open, asshat.”

The old man seemed speechless as he stared up at the handsome stranger with shaking eyes, seemingly at a loss of words, “What—yer asking for it, son! Uneducated prick. How dare you talk to a lord like that? I will call the constable on you—”

“And I will tell the constable that you had been harassing my betrothed.” My heart skipped a beat as my eyebrows rose, staring at the stranger’s profile as I cocked my head to the right. Very subtly, he turned his head towards me and we made eye contact for a second. His lips twitched and I was sure he was trying not to smirk. My alcohol infused brain found the situation hilarious but also interesting, and I found myself playing along as I stepped up next to the handsome stranger, latching onto his right arm.

“Can you make this pig go away, love?” I asked with a pout, throwing a side glance at the old man. His face had turned red and he was glaring dagger at us, it almost made me chuckle. As I looked up in the stranger’s small, but sharp, eyes, the wind was knocked out of my lungs. He was so handsome, breathtaking from up-close. His features were sharp and nothing like I had seen before, a stray strand of blonde hair falling in his eyes. His dark eyes were warm and inviting, even playful as he chuckled, nodding his head at me.

“Will you turn away if I have to punch him?” His deep voice caught a lighter tone and I gulped, trying to ignore the rapid beating of my heart. I was sure my cheeks were warm, tinged red due to this handsome stranger. My body was reacting in a way it never had towards a man before.

“You shouldn’t bloody your pretty hands because of an incompetent leech.” I found myself saying, my left hand slipping down his arm and intertwining with his fingers. I could hear my own heartbeat, it was very loud and it was in my throat, thumping fast and strongly as the stranger tightened his hold against mine, his cold rings digging into my skin. His palm was calloused and big, almost engulfing mine wholly in his. They were warm and it made my skin feel even hotter than it already was before. Suddenly, he turned his head and his jaw locked, eyes narrowing at the old man.

“Get lost.” His words were punctuated and I watched as a dark look crossed his features, for a second making me question whether he was dangerous or safe to be around. But as he faced me again, his features relaxed and he flashed a wide smile at me, his teeth impeccably white, the front ones protruding a little, giving him a boyish look. His tall nose scrunched and his small eyes became even smaller, and I found myself completely enticed by him. I didn’t realize I let out a small sigh, having forgotten about the old prick as he had finally walked away, muttering profanities under his breath. I couldn’t care anymore as I kept staring into the handsome stranger’s eyes, seeing galaxies in them, dark brown chocolate swirling around his irises. I had completely forgotten that we were holding hands, too taken by his face, and suddenly, he detached himself from me. My body instantly felt cold as he took a small step away from me, a smirk adorning his lips. My eyebrows lightly furrowed as the dim lights swirled around me, but it was clear that he was about to walk away. And I couldn’t let that happen.

“Wait,” I reached out, griping his hand once again, stopping the handsome stranger from leaving, “If you leave right now, that old man will come back to bother me more. Since you lied, we better stick to it.”

The stranger’s eyebrows lightly furrowed as his eyes slowly fell onto our joint hands, and I swiftly let his hand go, feeling my cheeks flush in embarrassment. He looked at my face again, but I couldn’t hold eye contact with him just yet.

“You’re right, darling.” My eyes snapped up at the nickname, skin tingling and my stomach doing a weird flip at the hear of it. The stranger smiled at me dashingly, pointing for me to sit as he pulled out a chair for himself. I gulped, not quite considering what I was getting myself into as I took my seat at the table. It was silent between us as the stranger settled down too, our eyes meeting again despite me shying away quickly, all of my confidence suddenly out the window. The handsome stranger opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the young boy working here appeared with a glass of wine and two tall glasses in his hands. My eyes snapped to him as he placed everything down on the table, looking at me expectantly once he poured wine for us. I chuckled and gathered the jewelry I had borrowed and placed it in his open palm. However, the boy didn’t leave right away, he picked at the golden pieces with a frown on his face, looking back at me with narrowed eyes.

“Wasn’t there another necklace?” He asked, his voice judgmental. I chuckled as I grabbed my glass of wine and raised it to my mouth, smelling it. It seemed sweet, but not very fresh. It probably wasn’t from around here. I looked at the boy as I took a small sip of the wine, the taste not quite like I was expecting it to be. Ah, perhaps this is the best this pub could offer.

“Will you serve me actual good wine if there was another one?” I raised an eyebrow, smirking in victory when the boy rolled his eyes, storming away while mumbling, ‘spoiled princess’ under his breath. I chuckled, having forgotten for a second that the handsome stranger was sitting at the table with me. His snort alerted me and I quickly looked at him, but he just stook a large sip of his wine, eyebrows scrunching almost in distaste.

“Oh, well, that’s damn sweet.” My eyebrows raised at his choice of words; his voice gruff as he grimaced. He looked like a gentleman through and through, it was quite rare to hear them cursing, let alone around ladies. This stranger was quite interesting. I took another sip of my drink, checking for the taste again, but I didn’t find it as repulsive as the stranger made it seem to be. I chuckled, quirking an eyebrow in his direction.

“Do you not like it?” I asked lightly, motioning around us, “Would you like a pint of beer like all the other disgusting pricks from inside this pub?”

The man chuckled like I had said something funny, when my question was meant to be very serious. I wanted to know who I was dealing with.

“No, darling, I prefer rum.” He said with a smile, winking as he gulped down the rest of his wine in one go. My eyes widened at that and I glanced back down at my glass, finding that I had barely drunken anything from it. I had to catch up with him, I supposed. This was stupid, deep down I knew it was. What was I doing in a scruffy pub drinking wine with an insanely attractive stranger? This was so dangerous, I could get in so much trouble…yet my mind was focused on different things at the moment due to the alcohol intoxicating it, like the huge ruby ring this man wore on his left middle finger. His hands were placed on the table as he was playing with the glass, passing it between his large hands, his lower lip sucked between his teeth as I didn’t miss the way his eyes ran over my body, checking me out, “What are you doing here all alone, princess?”

I chuckled at the nickname, my stomach doing another weird flip as I took a bigger sip of my wine, suddenly getting bolder under the watchful gaze of the stranger, “What makes you think I’m alone and not with my guardians?”

“I had to step in to help you, didn’t I?” The stranger chuckled, “I doubt your guardians would’ve let that old asshat harass you like that.”

I couldn’t help but giggle when he said ‘asshat’, finding the word new in my vocabulary. I have never heard anyone saying it before, “You’re cursing quite boldly around a lady, love, don’t you fear your gruffness might drive me away?”

“Is it driving you away?” The stranger asked lowly as he suddenly leaned over the table, getting incredibly close to my face. I gulped as I felt at a loss of words, suddenly very aware of the painful thumping of my head. Would drinking more wine help in making that go away?

“No.” I found myself whispering, mesmerized by the glint in his eyes as the stranger hummed, settling back in his seat. My eyes were drawn back to his hands as he started playing with a particularly big ring, a letter carved on it. I couldn’t quite make it out, but it suspiciously looked like the letter A.

“You wear a lot of jewelry, it’s attractive.” I found myself mumbling absentmindedly, eyes widening when I realized the handsome stranger had heard me. He was in the middle of pouring himself another glass of wine, his eyebrows slightly raising as he looked confused for one little second, complacency quickly overtaking his features. His eyes narrowed slightly as he flexed his fingers, wriggling them even, before continuing to pour some more wine for himself. I cleared my throat and straightened my stance, holding my head high, “I haven’t seen you around before. Have you moved here recently?”

The stranger seemed to ponder for a second before he hummed, looking me in the eyes as he took a sip of his wine, “My name is Song Mingi.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Song.” I smiled brightly at him, finally associating a name to the handsome face, “My name is Yoon Y/N.”

Suddenly, he reached over the table and grabbed my hand, pulling my arm towards himself rather forcefully. I watched with interest as he raised my knuckles up to his plush lips and pressed a lasting kiss against it, his nose pressing into my skin, his breath hot as it hit my skin. Suddenly, everything felt hot around me as I watched him, feeling his soft lips and hot breath against the sensitive skin of my hand, it felt overwhelming as goosebumps covered my skin. I knew my face was flushed, but perhaps it wasn’t from the alcohol anymore. As he finally pulled my hand away from his face, I felt like I could breathe again and at the look in his eyes, I felt forced to take another large sip of my wine, curious as to where things were leading with this mysterious Song Mingi.

“I’m not quite from here,” He explained, still not having released my hand, “But I am from the Sun Rise Kingdom.”

I hummed, hand getting clammy in his grip, so I gently pulled it back, flexing my fingers as I gripped my glass of wine with both hands, “And what are you doing in this quiet town?”

Mingi chuckled, a playful expression on his face, “Hmm, I’d say I’m a traveler.”

“We don’t have many of those here.” I mumbled as I took another sip, coming to the realization that I had finished my wine. My head spun and body felt hot, the air sticky inside the pub, but I couldn’t find it in myself to move just yet. My father was probably losing his mind by now if he noticed his little daughter was gone.

“Have you traveled outside of your little town, Y/N?” Hearing him say my name felt strange, it sent a shiver down my spine. The way his baritone shook with the pronunciation of my name made my mouth go dry all of a sudden, and to my surprise, Mingi was pouring me another glass of wine. It had completely gone over my head that he was being rather informal with me despite having just met each other. For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to care.

“Of course I have, Mingi.” I paused for a second, watching his reaction to saying his name so casually, but it didn’t seem to bother him, he looked used to it, which was strange, “I’ve visited the Queen’s castle quite a few times already.”

“Oh,” Mingi suddenly seemed quite interested as he leaned forward, one hand reached out on the table, close to mine, “How come?”

I chuckled and shrugged, taking another sip of my wine as Mingi seemed to be patiently waiting for me to continue, “Well, we’re acquittanced, you know?”

His eyes widened for a second, but then he quickly fixed his expression and an overly friendly smile appeared on his lips, “Really? I would have never thought so.”

“Is that so?” I chuckled, licking my smooth lips. It seemed like Mingi thought he might’ve offended me, because his extended hand was suddenly placed over mine, his warm palm pressing against my smaller hand.

“My apologies, darling,” He batted his eyelashes at me, a quite comical look coming from a man, “I did not mean to assume anything. You look quite exactly like a Queen would look like.”

I didn’t mean to laugh so loudly, it was un-ladylike and against everything my governess had taught me, but for some reason I found Mingi’s flattering hilarious. And it was a compliment I hadn’t quite heard before.

“Oh, my, seems like you have met plenty of Queens in your lifetime, then.” I teased him with a cheeky smile. Mingi chuckled, looking down for a second before his gaze connected with mine again.

“I have, and none were as beautiful as you, Y/N.” The obvious and generic compliment shouldn’t have made me blush so deeply, but I opted to blame it on the wine I was consuming currently. I didn’t miss the way Mingi’s lips twitched into a small smirk before he tried to look friendly instead of smug again.

“Don’t you have a way with words, Mr. Song?” I mumbled before taking a small sip of my wine.

“Mingi is just fine.” He corrected and I felt his long finger grazing against my knuckles, caressing them. My heart skipped a beat. I had never been so taken by a man before. Everything about Mingi seemed to draw me in. His looks were the main reason I even paid attention to him in the first place, but his personality was mysterious yet exciting, it kept me wanting to talk to him.

“Mingi, then.” I said with a smile, flipping my hand upside down, Mingi slotted his fingers next to mine instantly, “You must be quite wealthy if you attended Mrs. Boo’s ball tonight.”

Mingi’s smirk returned, but it was cheeky this time, “What if I told you that I sneaked in? Will you continue talking to me? Or will you leave me alone, here at this table, princess?”

I hummed in thought for a second, considering his words. He certainly didn’t look like someone who would sneak into a ball like that, but his behavior was indeed weird. I allowed my eyes to run over his physique, and instantly regretted it as I was presented with his bare chest, the singular vest he had on doing a horrible job at covering the man up. The single silver chain dangling around his neck had my eyes fixated on it, and I had to force my hazy brain to focus on anything else but the way it sat against his collarbones.

“Since you’re being so vague I will continue talking to you, love.” Mingi chuckled, nodding his head, looking quite pleased with my answer, “I only asked because only the richest attend her balls.”

“Oh, really?” Mingi raised an eyebrow and took another sip of his wine, fingers flexing against mine.

“Really.” I said, mirroring him and taking another sip of my wine.

“So, that means you’re filthy rich?” He asked without any hesitation and I laughed again, grinning at him, enjoying how upfront he was.

“Yes, and I would be even richer if my mother hadn’t died.” I might’ve sounded like a spoiled, ungrateful, brat, but I was merely stating the truth. Mingi’s face lit up, an expression unfamiliar overtaking his face. He almost looked hungry…greedy, perhaps. I gulped and watched him, wondering whether saying that was smart or not.

“How come?” He asked nonchalantly, yet the glint in his eyes said otherwise.

“My mother was related to the Queen of the Sun Rise Kingdom, therefore I’m also a descended of the royal family.” If Mingi’s grip on my hand hadn’t been firm, now it turned almost painful, but my heart was racing and I didn’t want him to let go, his skin warm against mine.

“Oh, really?” Mingi grinned like a mad hatter, “So, you’re a princess then?”

I chuckled, shaking my head slowly, “Sadly, I am not. Even though I should be—look at me!”

“Oh, I am looking.” Mingi bit his lower lip as he said that, his intense eyes raking over my body again and suddenly I felt hot all over again, mouth going dry at the sudden shift of his tone and expression, something like hunger appearing in his eyes again, but I couldn’t decipher what it was this time. And I didn’t want to know as my skin tingled once Mingi’s fingers trailed up to my wrist, caressing my soft skin with his lip between his teeth still, “I think you’ve had enough drinks for tonight, princess.”

“Do I?” I challenged as I downed half of my glass in one go, regretting it as it burned my throat slightly. Mingi laughed for the first time, loud and wheezy, head thrown back slightly as he gripped my wrist firmly, fingers hooking around my delicate bracelet. I felt the action and found myself gripping his wrist unconsciously too, linking our hands so nobody would separate us. The silver chain on his wrist dug into my skin, and I found myself gripping it subconsciously, fingers softly feeling around for a clasp. But Mingi suddenly stood, taking my attention off the bracelet my fingers itched to slip off his wrist.

“Darling, let me walk you home,” He carefully pulled me up to my feet, making me aware of how badly my world was spinning around me at this point, “I would hate it if any gentleman took advantage of you.”

“I would hate that as well.” I said as I looked up in his eyes, his body suddenly too close to mine, my eyes landing on his exposed collarbones. Mingi’s hand slipped back down and he intertwined his fingers with mine as suddenly there was a finger underneath my chin, tilting my head up.

“Should I lead the way?” He asked almost breathless, staring down in my eyes deeply. I licked my lips as I watched his lips form the words, lips which looked soft and plush. I wondered what they tasted like.

“Yes, please, lead the way.” I whispered, daring to look back in his eyes once again.

“Good, princess.” And then he maneuvered us out of the pub, the air now chilly as we walked down the dark streets of the town. My world was spinning with me nauseatingly, and the dark made it harder to see anything. I knew which way I had to walk to reach the Yoon Manor, and surprisingly Mingi did too as he lead the way confidently. For someone who wasn’t from here, he knew the roads extremely well. Or maybe I was simply too drunk to realize that Mingi wasn’t leading me back to the safety of my manor, but towards the beach which my room overlooked. The breeze was pleasant despite the chill in the air, and I realized I was struggling to walk in my high heels, ankles aching with each step as Mingi had to steady me, allowing me to lean into his side as he threw one arm around my shoulders, while interlocking his fingers with mine with his other hand. Nothing much was said between the two of us as we continued on walking, huffs and puffs leaving my lips way too often, my eyes threatening to drop every second.

“Mingi,” I whispered, body completely worn out, “I don’t think I can walk anymore.”

We stopped walking, and I felt a hand cupping my cheek as I closed my eyes and nuzzled into the warm palm. Suddenly, the familiar sweet scent of vanilla engulfed my senses and I was a second too late to realize that I wasn’t standing on my feet anymore, “Let me carry you, princess.”

I hummed as I allowed my eyes to fall closed shut, arms around Mingi’s neck as he carried me, holding me securely in his strong arms. The vanilla was even stronger, now and I couldn’t help but notice the added scent of salt and…gunpowder? I inhaled deeply as my nose pressed against Mingi’s collarbone, and I heard him gasp quietly.

“Are you sure you know the way towards the Yoon Manor?” I mumbled into his skin, my lips pressing against his warm flesh. Mingi’s hold seemed to tighten as he cleared his throat, voice sounding raspier than before.

“Of course, princess. You can go to sleep now.” And because I was drunk and foolish, I followed his command, closing my eyes and falling asleep to the steady beats of his heart, failing to notice that we were way too far from the Yoon manor…and we’d only get even more far away from it.

            A loud crash resounding around me made me suddenly stir. My body felt cold and stiff as I lay unmoving, eyes squeezed tight shut, suddenly aware of the soft rocking of the bed. It made me wonder where that could be coming from or was it…the alcohol’s fault? Almost as if thinking about it sent some sensors off in my brain, my head started pulsing harshly, making me whine as I raised a hand to press against my forehead, softly rubbing my sweaty skin. My nose scrunched up as I tapped my forehead, then face, realizing the air was quite damp around me as my dress stuck to my skin. With a grimace expanding on my lips, I became aware of the weird stench surrounding me. It smelled like the sea and…fish. And I hated fish, it almost made me gag.

“Soyeon, Soojin.” I croaked out, almost inaudibly, surprised by how dry my throat felt. I gulped a few times, clearing my throat in an attempt of trying to get my voice to work as I called out again, slightly louder, “Soyeon. Soojin.”

I waited a few seconds, listening to the thudding of feet against the marble floors, the opening of my door, but there was nothing. My maids were nowhere to be found…or heard. I huffed and turned onto my side, nuzzling my nose against the silky sheet of the pillow, a little off-thrown by the vanilla scent of it. That’s certainly not what my pillowcases smell like, but perhaps the servants scented it differently this time and failed to let me know about it. That was something they would be reprimanded for as I didn’t like it when they did something without asking me first. I quite enjoy the fruity scent of my pillowcases.

“Soyeon.” I snapped, voice harsher, “Soojin.”

Eyebrows furrowing, I waited for my maids to finally spring into action, but there was nothing still, “Soyeon! Soojin!”

Eyes snapping open furiously, I was about to huff and puff loudly, but my whole blood froze in me. My eyes widened and anger vanished instantly as I realized I was in a foreign room. Eyes turning to the pillow I had my head on, I realized it wasn’t mine, and I instantly sprung up into a sitting position.

What was this?

Where was I?

With a gaping mouth, I took in the room, appalled by its simplicity and—by how mucked up it was. The large closet right next to the bed seemed eaten up by wood-beetles, the door quite off its hinges. Suddenly, I was thrown back into the bed and I groaned, eyebrows furrowing as I couldn’t quite fathom what was happening. There was a rather loud groan coming from somewhere outside this beaten down room, and I sat back up, continuing to take in the room. There was a desk underneath the small round window, and it was littered with books. My interest would’ve been peeked if I wasn’t in an unknown room, which, by the way, made my skin crawl due to its state. There were three large chests on the wall opposite of the bed, all closed, and apparently locked with an iron locket. My heart was beating fast and I felt myself sweating even more as I realized I could’ve been kidnaped, that some disgusting, crazed, man decided to take me captive and only God knows what will happen to me now—Mingi. Wasn’t…didn’t I leave with a man last night? A very handsome stranger, no, Song Mingi. That was his name. But he said he’d take me home, so why was I here right now?

I gasped, pressing my hands against my mouth as the thought occurred that perhaps something happened to Mingi. That would be such a shame, the man was too handsome for his own good. My skin tingled just at the thought of him, and I couldn’t help but blush as hazy memories of being in his arms, nose pressed against his bare skin, resurfaced in my mind. But reality quickly washed over me as there was another tumble to this strange place I found myself in, making me panic once again as I realized I had to get out of here somehow. I needed my father; he would know what to do. Even my maids would know! My lips quivered as I realized I was left alone and defenseless, this crazed man who kidnapped me could do anything to me right now, and I wouldn’t be able to protect myself. I blinked away the tears in my eyes as I reluctantly threw my legs over the edge of the bed, deciding that I needed to do something for myself right now. My father and maids weren’t around to guide me, I had to use all my knowledge while I remained calm and level-headed. But I couldn’t help trying once again, hopeful that this was just a bad dream that I haven’t woken up from just yet.

“Papa!” I screamed loudly, gripping the bedsheets tightly in my hands, “Soojin! Soyeon!”

And suddenly, there was another loud crash coming from outside of the room and I jumped, muscles tensing as my eyes snapped to the door. There was a loud deep groan, and then this weird place rocked violently again, sending something crashing into the door from the outside. I could hear a muffled voice cursing loudly as the door was suddenly flung open, making my eyes widen as I sprung up to my feet in fright. I didn’t know what was about to happen right now, but I was ready to put up a fight if this monster of a man, who dared to kidnap me, tried doing anything to me. But the scream I was ready to let out got stuck in my throat as I was met with a rather familiar face.

In the daylight, he looked completely different. His long blonde hair was in a manbun, a few shorter strands falling out of it as it framed his face. His skin looked to be glowing as sweat sheen on his exposed chest, the skin tan, and smooth looking. Mingi looked even taller in the rather small room we were in, his white shirt unbuttoned down to his chest, three different length silver chains adorning his neck, falling against his tan skin. Leather black pants clung to his muscular thighs, and I was slightly taken aback by his narrow waist, the thick leather belt hugging it tightly, his shirt tucked in. I knew a few ladies who would’ve killed to have his waist.

“Hey, quit screaming.” Mingi hissed, his thick eyebrows furrowed as he looked at me with his sharp eyes, “Not everyone is up yet, princess.”

I gulped, trying to gather my thoughts. Why did his voice sound even deeper compared to last night?

“What am I doing here?” I managed to ask, blinking my eyes fast when I caught myself staring at his rather firm chest. Mingi remained silent for a second, staring at me with amusement washing over his face.

“Well, princess,” He started, walking further inside the room, making me step back as the back of my knees crashed into the bed behind me, I felt caged in, “You needed a helping hand last night as you were a tad bit too drunk.”

Mingi chuckled as he watched confusion written all over my face as I tried to place the missing pieces together. Well yes, he wasn’t wrong, I might’ve had too much to drink last night, but that still didn’t explain why I wasn’t currently in my room, with my maids there to take care of me, and with my father screaming at me for running off last night. I could only assume this was Mingi’s place, and it was disgusting. Wasn’t he rich? And if he was, why did his place look like this? Certainly there must be nicer Inns in this little town, why did he willingly choose to stay in the dirties and most beaten down one?

“Well, I—” I cleared my throat as it still felt dry, I found it a little bit hard to speak, “I certainly had a little bit more than a lady like myself is supposed to have.”

I tried to look confident, ignore the light flush of my cheeks as I remembered more of what has happened last night, the way Mingi’s fingers curled against mine, his rings digging into my skin. Almost as if on cue, my eyes travelled down towards his hands, and I wasn’t surprised to find them decorated by big and thick rings, the red ruby on his middle finger almost glinting in the sunlight coming through the small round window of this wretched room. Mingi hummed, making me look back up at his face as I tried to ignore the knowing smirk on his lips. But he didn’t say anything, and it made me nervous as I sniffed, fidgeting on the bed for a second before I stood once again, glancing around the room. Since I wasn’t kidnaped by a scruffy man, but Mingi…did it mean I was here because…something that I failed to recall has happened between the two of us last night?

And as if Mingi could read my mind, a chuckle left his lips, “You move around a lot in your sleep, princess, I certainly got an elbow to my ribs once or twice during the night—”

“During the night?!” I didn’t mean to exclaim as my eyes widened, mouth going even drier, “We—we slept in the same bed?!”

Mingi raised his eyebrows nonchalantly and took another step towards me, making me clutch onto the skirt of my dress, “Of course, we did, princess. Did you think I would offer up my precious bed to you and sleep on the hard wooden floor myself?”

“Well, I—yes.” I said as I threw him a small glare, “That’s what a gentleman is supposed to do.”

Mingi chuckled, giving me a cheeky smile, “But I’m not a gentleman, darling. God forbid I treat you like the princess you are.”

I wasn’t an actual princess, but I didn’t feel like correcting him, “But if we slept in the same bed—oh, no.”

I let out a harsh breath, eyes widening as I glanced behind myself at the bed, heart suddenly thumping wildly. My ears started ringing and I bit my lower lip, eyebrows furrowing as I wracked my brain to remember anything…inappropriate that’s happened between myself and Mingi. But I was coming up blank, and it only unsettled me more as Mingi remained unphased, an amused smirk on his lips when I looked back up at him.

“Oh, no, what, darling?” He closed the gap between our bodies and suddenly reached out, twirling a curly strand of my hair between his fingers, “Do you not remember? Didn’t think you’d forget based on the way you were screaming my name last night.”

“Wha—what?!” I stammered mortified. Mingi had the audacity to pout as I swiftly slapped his hand playing with my hair away, skin burning, and face beat red. For a second, I couldn’t breathe as Mingi remained silent, obviously enjoying my distress as he chuckled loudly, leaning slightly down to be eye level with me. My eyebrows furrowed and I leaned back, hands fisting the skirt of my dress so tightly that my grip was becoming painful.

“Your face is precious right now, darling.” Mingi chuckled, and I felt on the verge of passing out from embarrassment and anger, “But as much as I love the look on your face, I have to admit that it was just a bloody joke, Y/N. I like my partners conscious and sober when we have sex, darling, and you were passed out and far from sobriety. And even I, myself, certainly wasn’t in the right state last night to even think of doing anything to you.”

I needed a moment to truly understand Mingi’s words, soak them in and analyze them, to finally realize that we hadn’t actually done anything. Like he had said, I passed out from drinking too much, and based on his words, he was also too drunk to attempt doing anything. Knowing this settled the frantic beat of my heart, but I still didn’t feel at ease. I was a respectable and an exemplary lady, even just sharing a bed for a night with a man would ruin my reputation and pure image. My father would certainly lose his mind if he were to ever know.

“Good,” I snapped, bunching up my skirt around my ankles, glaring daggers at Mingi, “and you’re not funny, Mingi, your sense of humor is quite lacking if you enjoy watching a lady in distress due to such sensitive topic. And if we’re done here now, then I’m leaving.”

I went to push past Mingi as I huffed loudly, but his hand shot forward all of a sudden, and he gripped my upper arm, “You’re not going anywhere, Y/N.”

“Yes, I am.” I snapped with a tsk, yanking on my arm, but he didn’t want to release it. Mingi just rolled his eyes and tightened his grip, leaning closer in as his own eyes narrowed at me.

“No, you’re not.” He emphasized his words, voice imitating mine, slightly deeper as he was glaring back at me now, looking rather intimidating. A blonde strand fell into his eye and I was rather flabbergasted when I found myself wanting to tuck it behind his ear.

“Oh, really?” I smirked, stepping so close to him that the toes of our shoes pressed against each other painfully, our faces barely inches away as I raised my head, “And who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do, Mingi?”

“Well, for starters, I’m Mingi.” The stupid smile that showed his adorable front teeth was irritating, and my jaw clenched as Mingi’s fingers teasingly glided down my arm, fingers intertwining with mine, yanking on my hand so that I fell against his chest. I gasped, craning my neck to look up at him, heart beating fast as our exposed collarbones lightly brushed against each other, “And I’m a pirate, sweetheart. And I’ve taken you hostage, so until daddy dearest pays up, you’re staying here with me.”

My eyebrows furrowed as I studied his face for any signs of amusement, but Mingi was serious. Too serious all of a sudden, and I found myself panicking once again as I lightly shook my head no, “Right, and you expect me to believe you, because—”

“Because the whole town is looking for you right now as we speak, and unless daddy dearest decided to sleep in—which I highly doubt—then he’s found a letter with my pretty handwriting on the desk in his study room, and is writing back to us just this second, probably desperate enough to pay us the requested money, if that means he gets his little gemstone back.” Did Mingi consider that I was like a gemstone, then? I subtly shook my head, getting rid of such silly thoughts in such serious situation. This couldn’t be real, I must be still asleep, having a nightmare. There’s no possibility that I was kidnapped by a pirate, who’s now asking my father to pay him copious amount of money if he wants me back. It felt like my stomach dropped all of a sudden, and I felt nauseous just like last night as my eyebrows furrowed.

“I—I—” I took a deep breath and gripped Mingi’s fingers tightly, gritting my teeth as I refused to allow this stupid pirate to play around with me, “I refuse to be your hostage.”

My words sent Mingi into a fit of giggles and my glare just deepened as he seemed to gloss over my words, throwing his head back as his giggles turned into loud laughter. Wasn’t I supposed to stay silent because other’s were still sleeping? Did that not apply to Mingi as well? But his momentarily lack of attention served me just right as I remembered he never bothered to close the door of the room, or lock it for that matter, and it was my chance for an escape. It was too easy, too perfect, and I took advantage of that to the fullest. Just as Mingi opened his mouth, seemingly having calmed down, my right leg rose as I aimed for his neither region, kneeling him hard in the balls. Mingi’s lips parted in a loud cry and I chuckled as I was able to push him back, send him tumbling into the desk as he doubled over, face scrunched up in pain as he started moaning in pain. I didn’t waste any more time as I took off towards the door, sprinting out of the room, a little disheartened when I noticed the long hallway littered with doors on both sides. But I noticed light pouring down from one direction and I took off towards it, the skirt of my dress raised above my knees as I felt thankful for being a fast runner, my feet carrying me to the stairs in no time, able to hear the waves crashing against the shore and the salty air as I ran up the stairs, momentarily blinded by the strong sunlight. I have reached my freedom, Mingi had no chance of catching me, and I would return home to my father unscathed, saving him from having to give out God knows how much money to this stupid pirate.

But I wasn’t prepared for the scene unfolding in front of me as I reached the top of the stairs. A man held a big sword in his hands as he seemed to be sparring with a red-haired woman, their swords loud as they clashed against each other. There was a man climbed up high and looking over the water. There were a few men walking around, pulling barrels or just sharpening their knives, but perhaps, what was the most shocking was how far away the shore seemed to be. It sent my heart into a frenzy as I stepped further outside, realizing that water was the only thing that surrounded us, making it harder to breathe as I spun around in one place, taking everything in. The stench in the room, the sea and the fish, the constant rocking and loud waves—we were out on the open sea on a large ship. I gasped as I pressed a hand against my mouth, trying to catch my breath as my heart was pumping wildly, making me dizzy as the loud clanking of swords came to an abrupt stop, becoming eerily silent around me as I looked up. All eyes were on me, and I gulped nervously, unsettled by the weird looks the older men were giving me. Or perhaps I should calling them pirates. I wasn’t so curious to find out anything more about them, I just wanted to go home to my father. There were some rapid thuds behind me, until I became aware of the footsteps headed heavily towards me, catching me off guard when a harsh grip was settled around my bicep. It didn’t feel like Mingi’s grip, however, and I found myself struggling against it instantly, uncaring of the people watching. I had to free myself, I needed to get away sooner than later while I was still up on deck. Perhaps I could swim back to the shore.

“Let me go you filthy—” My eyes widened as I whipped my head around, yanking against the grip, only to be taken off guard at the extremely gorgeous man back staring at me, unbudging despite my attempts to free myself, “oh, you look quite pristine for a pirate.”

An amused chuckle left the black-haired man’s lips, and his hair was in a manbun similar to Mingi’s, however his hair was a lot longer. His eyes were big and his lips plump, his skin tan. His outfit was put together and looked to be in perfect state, a dark corset around his torso as a long coat hung off his shoulders, I’ve never seen a man wear a corset before. He was tall, but not as tall as Mingi.

“That’s a compliment I hadn’t gotten before,” His voice was deeper, yet his chuckle high pitched. He talked smoothly and elegantly, confusing me the longer I took him in, “But I must ask who you are, love.”

“You first, love.” I snapped, eyes narrowing at the stupidly gorgeous man. He chuckled, lips curling into a rather unsettling smile as his round eyes lost their friendliness.

“Park Seonghwa, Quartermaster of Ateez, pleased, love?” His tone was mocking and rather cold, unappreciative of my demanding nature. I gulped and nodded, but refused to speak up. I wasn’t about to give away my identity, it meant not everyone knew who I was. Maybe it was just Mingi who knew, and I intended on keeping it that way.

“And just who brought this yapping brat on my ship?” There was another voice calling out, higher pitched and snappy, and I gasped offended as my eyes snapped up towards the voice. There was a cat-like eyed man leaning over the railing, features sharp and well defined as his aura was demanding and intimidating, glaring daggers at me.

Before I could say anything, there was another unknown voice speaking up, “Probably Mingi, you know he has an affinity for shiny new things—”

A groan cut his words off as I looked his way, surprised to find the red-haired woman glaring at the tall man, he seemed to be around Mingi’s height. The man chuckled sheepishly, looking away from the woman with a shrug, “What? You know it’s true.”

“Yunho.” The woman reprimanded as my eyes remained on them, noticing the quick yet obvious loving look in the man’s eyes as he smiled at the woman, his hand finding hers, fingers intertwining. It made me think of Mingi as he often did that, and I found myself blushing stupidly as I huffed out loud. It caught the attention of the man holding me and I quickly yanked my arm free, stumbling as I had thought he wouldn’t release me so easily. I caught my footing quickly, however, and quickly patted down my dress, pulling my shoulders back and holding my chin high. The man holding me previously and the other one leaning against the railing chuckled almost simultaneously and I scowled, giving them both a glare that would’ve shut up any servant back at the manor, but these two idiots seemed even more amused as they started snickering while they shared a glance.

“Hey!” There was suddenly a commotion downstairs, until loud thuds hit the wooden stairs as my head snapped towards the sound, “Y/N! Come back here! I will—”

Mingi froze as he got on deck, now all eyes on him as his chest was heaving, eyes widening when he looked up towards the railing, “Captain!”

“Good morning, Mingi.” The man smirked, placing his chin in his open palm, “Care to explain yourself?”

“This isn’t like last time, I swear!” Mingi was quick to exclaim, and gone was the cocky and confident man as his eyes widened, and he scrambled to explain himself to the, apparently, Captain of the ship, “She’s like—super rich. She’s a princess, Hongjoong! We’re gonna get so much money this time, that we won’t have to trade for a whole month!”

“Is that so, Mingi?” The Captain looked intrigued as he quirked an eyebrow, looking in my direction. I scoffed and crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at the man, “But Wooyoung and Haneul are taking care of that issue currently.”

“Sure, but we’ve still got some weeks until we meet up with them, surely the plus income comes in handy, right, Seonghwa?” Mingi raised his eyebrows as he looked towards the other man with a manbun, who’s lips were pursed as he hummed.

“I’m always up for more money, but it depends what our Captain wants—”

“I’m not a princess.” I suddenly stated loudly, all eyes snapping onto me. Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked confused for a second before his eyes narrowed.

“Too late, princess, you’ve already told me last night—”

“And I lied.” I smirked, looking at Mingi challengingly as his eyebrows furrowed even more as he took some steps towards me.

“No, you didn’t—”

“I am related to the Queen, but I am not a princess, although I should be one.” There were a few snickers but I didn’t look to see from whom as I watched Mingi’s expression fall, and face contort into anger. It felt nice to have the upper hand for once, having tricked him into believing I was royalty. I chuckled, grinning as he came to a stop in front of me.

“In that case, throw her overboard.” My eyes widened at the Captain’s nonchalant sentence, attention already elsewhere as he went back to the wheel, looking out onto the sea.

“Hongjoong—” The red-haired woman started, but I cut her off as my heartbeat picked up again.

“I’m rich!” I exclaimed, looking between Mingi and the Captain, “My father can surely pay however much you ask of him. We are…filthy rich!”

Mingi chuckled, looking at me smugly, and it made me want to grab onto his manbun and yank on it.

“Is that so?” The Captain called, but looked rather uninterested as Seonghwa also seemed to turn his attention elsewhere, looking like he started patrolling, talking to the other pirates on deck. Yunho and the red-haired girl also went back to sparing, and I just now noticed that the man high up in the sky was watching everything unfold beneath him.

“I’ll take care of her, don’t worry, Hongjoong.” Mingi mockingly saluted towards the Captain before he gripped me by the nape and turned me around, forcing me to walk towards the stairs. I hissed and tried to get out of his grip, but Mingi just grunted in warning and made me walk down the stairs, leading me back to that God-awful room, probably.

            As the minutes went by, I started to realize that this man was just as stupid as any other one, not one complete or smart thought in his head as he stood glaring in my direction, seemingly having ran out of patience. I scoffed as I glared back at him, just as fed up with him as he was with me. As Mingi opened his mouth to speak, I quickly spoke up with a loud and clear voice.

“For the last time, Song Mingi, you are not chaining me to your goddamn bed!” My voice cracked at the end as I was turning borderline hysterical, body starting to shake. There was no way in hell that this man was chaining me to his dirty bed!

“And for the last time, Yoon Y/N, I am chaining you to my goddamn bed!” Mingi snapped back, his deep voice a few octaves higher as the huff he let out was loud, eyes ablaze. My jaw tensed and I crossed my arms in front of my chest, staring him down challengingly.

“If you touch me, I will break your fingers and then Lieutenant Kim will have your head for it—”

“Is that the man you were dancing with at that ridiculous ball?” Mingi cut me off, jaw tense like mine as his grip tightened around the chains he was holding in both hands. They looked heavy, and I refused to have those rusty things touching my skin.

“Why?” I smirked, uncrossing my arms, “Are you jealous?”

Mingi scoffed, rolling his eyes theatrically, “As if…you wish, darling.”

“As much as I love a little drama,” I smiled sweetly, raising my hand to look at my nails nonchalantly, rather unpleased to see the nail polish already peeling off. Soojin had always been quite incompetent when it came to applying nail polish, “I’d rather not have a stupid and incompetent pirate and a gorgeous but poor Lieutenant fighting over me—”

“How arrogant to think that’d we’d ever want to fight over you.” Mingi cut me off, snappy as he stormed up to me, glaring down at me. My lips curled into a mocking smirk as I grabbed his hands and squeezed them harder over the chain he was holding, making him hiss.

“Surely you didn’t take me hostage just because I’m rich,” I chuckled, trailing my forefinger from his wrist right up to his elbow, watching as Mingi gulped nervously, “If I wasn’t as beautiful as I am, you wouldn’t have even as much as glanced my way, pirate.”

Mingi seemed to fidget for a second, but he cleared his throat and looked at me intently, eyes narrowing, “You seem to think rather highly of yourself, princess, so let me set some things straight. In fact, I did not give two flying fucks about your or any other lady’s looks from that ball when I was looking for my next prey. I’m not here looking for a partner, I’m here looking for money. And whoever has the bigger wealth, is whoever I pick. Maybe this will humble you a little, darling, but you were the easiest prey last night as you had stupidly exposed yourself to everyone by leaving that God-awful ball…and you just made my job so much easier, thank you for that, peasant.”

I gasped at the last word, slapping Mingi’s exposed chest before pushing him backwards, glaring at him furiously as a wide smirk stretched onto his lips, watching me smugly and pleased of himself, while I tried to control my rage. How dare he disrespect me like that?! Who was he to say such things to me, a noble and higher up on the social anarchy?! He was the peasant here, not me.

“And a peasant must be put on chains, unless we want them causing any more problems—”

“A peasant,” I took a deep breath, trying to control the tremor in my voice, “doesn’t have to beg for others to give them money, to blackmail a poor father after kidnaping his daughter, nor does he have to think about how to fend for himself day after day—oh, wait! That is what a peasant does, pirate, sounds like you two have a lot more in common than I, a noble, and a peasant does. So who exactly are you calling a peasant here, idiot?”

Mingi’s jaw locked as he bit his lower lip, nodding his head wordlessly, staring down at the wooden floor, chains rattling in his grip as he shook his hands. I continued to hold my head high as Mingi slowly looked up, eyes ablaze and face turned into a scowl as a venomous expression spread over his face, “Excuse me, your highness, that not all of us are raised in puff and lavish. That not all of us have thirty servants fending for our mansions and castles, maids who wipe our asses because we don’t know how to do that ourselves, or chests filled with gold to the brim, awaiting to be spent on useless items, such as the newest dress the Queen thinks is fashionable. And now—shut up, Y/N, I’ve had enough of hearing your stupid voice and ignorant words! I’ll chain you up, and you will shut up, unless you want me to gag you as well.”

And then he suddenly marched up to me, the backs of my knees already pressing into the bed, leaving no space for me to run away. My eyebrows furrowed and I whined as he took hold of my left wrist forcefully, trying to push me down on the bed, but I held myself strong, glaring daggers in his face as we made eye contact. Mingi was visibly furious, a constant sneer on his face as he hissed, a silent warning in his eyes for me to stop. But I wouldn’t stop, did he think he could scare me with empty words? If he treated me like this, I would be his worst nightmare. And just as he went to grip my other hand to push me down on the bed, I moved faster, right hand going above his head and fingers tangling tightly in his manbun. Mingi’s eyes found mine, and for a second, he looked confused, but then he gasped as I yanked on his hair hard, tilting his head back as I made sure all of my fingers were tightly tangled into his blonde locks, nails pushing against his scalp.

“What the hell, Y/N!” He screamed, voice high pitched as the chains suddenly hitting the floor made a loud noise, making me cringe and whine in pain as they hit my bare toes. That would certainly bruise, and so, with a glare, I looked back at Mingi, who was grabbing my wrist with both hands now, trying to pull my hand away, only failing and making me yank more on his locks, “Hey, stop it!”

I scoffed and pulled his head lower, making Mingi’s back bend backwards as I stepped around him, pulling him forcefully after myself. Mingi was fighting back, but having to crouch down and walk at the same time didn’t allow him much choice, he couldn’t push me off himself. I didn’t know where I was headed, but walking him around the room like this perhaps taught him a lesson, so, I started walking us aimlessly, pulling harder and harder on his hair, Mingi’s whines turning into loud groans and hisses.

“Oh, you’re asking for it, Y/N, when I get my hands on you—”

“What, will you chain me to the bed?” I asked sweetly, abruptly stopping, Mingi crashing into my side. I leaned close to his face, grinning wickedly as I yanked on his hair again, which was surprisingly soft, making him grit his teeth at me, “Will you gag me and taunt me more? Poor little Mingi, his fragile ego hurt by a woman merely stating the truth—”

“You are a bitch.” I gasped and yanked him forward, sinking my other hand into his hair too, our bodies pressed against each other as Mingi struggled to keep up.

“Maybe I am a bitch, but when I get back to my papa, I will continue on living my life like nothing happened, while you’ll have a target on your head that will make you and your crew perish,” I grinned evilly, Mingi’s face twisting with another wave of anger, “I wouldn’t say you got much out of this whole ordeal, Mingi.”

To my surprise, he stopped struggling against me, his grip loose against my wrists, making my eyebrows furrow. I thought I had finally knocked some sense into him, but suddenly his hands moved, and I felt his large palm against the back of my head, long fingers tangled into my hair, silver rings digging into my scalp. My eyes widened when I realized what he was about to do, and a loud gasp left my lips as Mingi finally yanked on my hair, tilting my head back. I yelped loudly, tears springing into my eyes as he used more force than I did on him, the fragile strands pulling my scalp harshly, making it burn.

“How does it feel to get your own treatment, princess?” Mingi’s tone was mocking, but he still hissed when my fingers flexed, “I bet your maids hate your fucking guts, Y/N. You’re horrible—”

“Say something new if you want to actually insult me—” I yelped again as Mingi yanked harder, the corset still tight around my body, not allowing me to bend my back anymore backwards, “Stop it!”

“If you let me go first—”

“Never.” I hissed, making Mingi groan.

“You’re so fucking stubborn—I won’t chain you to the bed, for fuck’s sake, just let me go!” Mingi screamed, voice raw and annoyed, aggressively puffing his chest out into mine.

“You first!” I screamed back, adamant on not letting go first. It would give him the upper hand, I wasn’t stupid! Mingi groaned loudly and suddenly the burn was gone from my scalp, his fingers untangled from my locks, hand gone from my head. As he opened his mouth, I did the same and Mingi hissed, standing up to his full height, glaring daggers at me. My heart seemed to jump into my throat as we stood pressed chest to chest, our breathing rather ragged, jaw gritted and glare sharp, the tall man looming over me.

“You vex me.” Mingi hissed, fisting his palms at his side.

“And you irk me.” I hissed back, looking him in the eyes with a defying look. He just shook his head and stepped back, leaving me rather confused as he walked to his closet, not before kicking the chains to the side, and opened the door. It almost came off and he had to steady it with both hands to stop it from falling down, but suddenly he dug inside and when he pulled his hand back, he turned his head to throw me a glance. And then, clothes were thrown in my face and my eyebrows furrowed as I scrambled to catch the items before they fell, giving Mingi a confused look.

“Change out of your clothes, you stink.” I rolled my eyes before looking down at the foreign clothing items. Were those pants? I’ve never worn such thing before, they were for men…but then again, that red-headed woman up on the deck wore pants as well. Was this the latest trend? Couldn’t be, I never heard the Queen saying anything about it.

“I don’t stink,” I gave Mingi a look as I placed the clothes on the desk, placing my hands on my hips, “However, you do.”

Mingi scoffed, mirroring my stance, “Oh, really? My apologies, princess, but we’ve run out of milk and roses a week ago. I will make sure to pick these items up the next time we dock down, cannot go around smelling like dead fish and sweat, now, can I?”

“At least you’re aware.” I muttered with a smirk, making Mingi close his eyes for a second as he inhaled and exhaled, suddenly looking tired as he opened his eyes.

“I don’t stink.” He snapped and I chuckled, grabbing the white shirt to inspect it. I brought it up to my nose, and was rather taken aback to find it smelling like vanilla. My eyes found Mingi’s and his eyebrows were raised as he stared at me, but I refused to voice my thoughts. How could a pirate smell like vanilla?

“Well,” I snapped, placing the shirt down again, “Will you turn around? I have to change.”

Mingi made to pretend he was thinking, pressing his forefinger into his plump lower lip, his eyebrows furrowing cutely, “Hmm, let me think—no!”

The smirk on his lips made my skin crawl as he shamelessly racked his eyes over my body, making me feel suddenly naked under his darkening gaze despite being fully clothed. I gulped, aware of my cheeks suddenly flushing, but not out of embarrassment. I was flustered and…before I could dwell more on it, I grabbed a book from the table and flung it at Mingi, making him grunt as the book’s spine crashed into his exposed chest.

“Heavens, you’re so infuriating.” He muttered as he rolled his eyes, finally turning his back to me. I smiled in triumph and then quickly went to undo the buttons of the dress at the front, careful with my actions as the dress was valuable and had sentimental value to me. The fabric was soft and fragile and once the last button was undone, I carefully slid the sleeves off my hands, skin covered in goosebumps as the temperature was rather low in Mingi’s atrocious room. I was careful as I finally stepped out of the green dress, folding it in two and placing it onto the back of the chair. I tensed when I heard movement coming from Mingi’s direction, but when I looked, he was still facing me with his back and he seemed to have opened the book as he hummed, probably flipping through the pages. It’s rather peculiar that a pirate is interested in literature. The books on his desk were almost identical to the one’s in my father’s library from the forbidden section, my favorite ones. I quickly unclasped the item that Soojin and Soyeon called the ‘upside-down basket’, the one that made the skirts of my dresses big, princess like. I raised it overhead and placed it onto the ground next to me before pushing my stockings down my legs, glad that my skin would finally stop being itchy. My undergarment was covered by a silk gown that reached mid-thigh and the last thing I had to get rid off before I could wear Mingi’s clothes was the corset. I reached around myself, feeling up my back to find the strings, and then pulled. But nothing happened. I sighed quietly, pulling again and hoping I could untangle it, but nothing happened. The corset was still as tight as ever, my hands couldn’t reach far back, I couldn’t do this on my own. My eyes ventured towards Mingi, but I quickly shook my head at the ridiculous idea. I’d rather die than have Mingi help me…but then again, if I had to wear this corset for much longer, I might just die. My torso felt numb, and it ached as the corset dug into my skin uncomfortably, my breasts also aching from being pushed up for such long time. I sighed again and looked in Mingi’s direction, biting my lower lip. He surely wouldn’t do anything inappropriate if I were to ask him to help, right?

I cleared my throat and shuffled uncomfortably, “Mingi…”

There was no response at all, it seemed like he hadn’t heard me, “Mingi.”

“What?” His tone was snappy, and I licked my lips, looking at the floor.

“I, uh—can you undo my corset?” I asked quietly and glanced up, watching Mingi’s body tense as silence followed for a brief moment.

“Can I what?” He asked bewildered.

“Unlace my corset, Mingi.” I snapped, impatient, “I can’t do it myself; my hands don’t reach that far behind.”

“Oh.” Mingi muttered and he took a deep breath before wordlessly nodding his head. I wasn’t exactly prepared as he turned around, cheeks slightly red as he seemed to be looking at my face only, biting his lower lip nervously as he slowly approached me. I averted my eyes and cleared my throat awkwardly, swirling around as I grabbed my own arms, rubbing at my cold skin, trying to offer myself comfort as I heard Mingi come to a stop behind me. There was a soft thud and I glanced back to see the book placed on the table.

“Alright, I’ll unlace your corset.” His raspy voice was low as it was quiet, and my body tensed when I felt his fingers brush against the exposed skin of my back. I had to remind myself to breathe as I was too hyper focused on every move of Mingi’s, the softness his fingers worked with as he started undoing the knots, gently pulling the strings apart. I licked my lips as his finger brushed against my heated skin, untangling the top two knots, already bringing even the littlest relief to my body as I exhaled harshly.

“Did I hurt you?” Mingi asked quietly, stopping. I quickly shook my head as my fingers dug into the skin of my arms, trying to find a steady breath as my heart was beating faster and faster. My face felt hot and I knew it was probably red.

“No, I’m fine.” I whispered, and Mingi grunted once before I felt his fingers move again, slightly yanking my body backwards as he probably couldn’t untangle a knot that easily. Soyeon and Soojin always tied my corsets tightly and expertly, otherwise I would’ve fired them long ago. I cleared my throat as Mingi started humming quietly, suddenly aware that his body was close to mine as his warmth engulfed mine, luring me in with his vanilla scent, mixed with the sea and gunpowder, which was more prominent now than it was last night. My cheeks flushed even more when I remembered the way my nose had pressed against his exposed collarbone, breathing in deep his scent, finding comfort in it and the way Mingi’s larger body seemed to hold me so securely, making me feel the safest I ever have. I gulped, rather loudly, and felt even more knots come loose as suddenly the pressure was taken off my ribs, allowing me to breathe freely, my lungs finally able to fill with air to the fullest. I gasped quietly, palms balling up into fists as Mingi’s fingers brushed against my clothed back, and it arched subconsciously as my skin erupted in goosebumps. I heard a loud gulp from behind and tried to ignore the way I could hear Mingi breathing, making me shudder involuntarily. He suddenly sniffed loudly as he undid more knots, lower ribs freed too, and I closed my eyes as I exhaled quietly in relief, body no longer straining and aching from the restriction the garment offered. I smiled in content, body relaxing and unaware that I leaned back against Mingi, arms hanging limply next to my body as I relished in the feeling that taking off the corset meant after so many hours of wearing it. However, I flinched when I felt Mingi’s large hands wrap around my waist, firmly gripping me. I froze, unblinking and unbreathing as I waited for his next move, which to my surprise, was to yank the corset apart, strings coming undone, slipping from their bindings. My eyes widened a little and I quickly stood up straight again, confused as to why I was disappointed that Mingi no longer held onto me. I felt Mingi slipping the corset upwards and I raised my arms, accustomed to this due to my maid always helping me, and allowed Mingi to take the corset off. I whirled around, about to thank him and act like nothing had happened, but the look on Mingi’s face was startling for a second. His own cheeks seemed to be flushed and he was biting his lower lip, eyebrows slightly furrowed and eyes darker than their usual color, pupils blown wide. I gulped as I looked at him, pondering my next move as I reached for the corset, muttering a quiet ‘thank you’ as Mingi released the fabric. He didn’t say anything and I felt myself mesmerized, unable to move quite yet as Mingi reached forward, fingers lightly tangling at my sides into the silk fabric of the short gown. The thin strap had slipped off my left shoulder, and as Mingi’s eyes racked over all the skin exposed to him, I finally realized I was standing almost as good as naked in front of him. My eyes widened and I took a big step back, averting my eyes as Mingi coughed, rubbing his nose before his fingers tangled into his hair, undoing his manbun. His hair was messy, but he looked off to the side as he quickly retied the messy bun, caused by me, and cleared his throat.

“Uh, finish up quickly.” He sounded almost breathless as he swiftly turned, offering me privacy once again. I hummed and nodded even if he didn’t see me, settling into motion quickly. I threw the corset onto the bed and grabbed his white shirt, pulling it over my shoulders and almost chuckled at how big it was on me. But I quickly started buttoning it up, making sure that my chest was covered well as I stopped at the last button underneath my chin. The shirt was as long as my gown, they both reached mid-thigh. I grabbed the pants and gave them a distasteful look before slipping my legs into each pant leg, the feeling foreign as my exposed legs were instantly wrapped up in warmth, the feeling not as repulsive as I had imagined it to be. I tucked in the shirt and glared at the end of the pants, pooling around my feet. Despite not being short myself, Mingi was too tall for me to comfortably wear his clothes, but I did appreciate it…even if he probably thought I didn’t. I watched the front of the pants in confusion, wondering if the lace was to lace them up like a corset.

“Uh, how do I lace this up?” I asked in confusion, making Mingi turn around, looking just as confused. His face flashed with amusement as he caught onto what I meant, and he walked close again, a small amused smile on his lips.

“Yeah, like this.” My skin tingled when our fingers brushed against each other and my cheeks instantly flushed, I was glad Mingi was focused on the lace and not my face. He pulled tightly, and I gasped as I was yanked towards him, having to steady myself on his broad shoulders, making Mingi chuckle as he cast me a quick glance. Lacing up these pants was a lot easier and quicker as I watched Mingi demonstrate it, something I would be able to do on my own too from now on. When he was done he patted my waist twice, and I tried to keep my eyes off his face as my heart lurched at the action again, stepping back and crouching down to fix the problem at my feet as I rolled the pants up. Mingi watched me with amusement written all over his face.

“You’re a dwarf.” I heard him say with a short laugh, making me roll my eyes.

“No, you’re a giant.” I said as I stood up straight, hands on my hips, “So, do I look okay? I assume you don’t have a mirror here, so you’ll have to tell me yourself.”

Mingi’s eyes ran up and down my body, taking me in, and I found myself blushing again, but his words were quick to chase away the fluster I felt, “Nah, you’re hideous. Don’t worry, at least the sirens won’t want you.”

“Sirens?” I asked with a pout, eyebrows furrowing, “I thought only mermaids existed.”

“Oh, Jongho will be elated to talk to someone about all of that, come.” And before I could even put up a fight that I didn’t want this Jongho guy talking to me, Mingi was pulling me after himself, fingers intertwining with mine once again.

            Three days have passed since I was taken hostage, and my papa still hadn’t paid up. Did he not love me anymore because I misbehaved and left the ball without his permission? Did he not love his little daughter enough to bring her back to the safety of his mansion? Was Mingi asking for too much? No, that couldn’t have been the case, we are rich. My father could pay however much Mingi asked in exchange for me, so that couldn’t have been it. But if that was true, why was I still here? It made me huff desperately as I twirled the golden coin between my fingers, looking at it intently. These past three days had been quite horrible. There was nothing I could do on this ship, everyone was rude, dirty, and quite smelly. They did the same things every single day, and refused to let me join them, throwing insults such like, ‘I was a spoiled brat who never shut up’ or that ‘I was rude and had no manners’. Those words were bold as they were coming from some nasty old pirates. The only acceptable man on this wrenched ship seemed to be that Jongho guy, who happened to be fascinated with folklore, and seemed rather eager to tell me everything he knew about it. I wasn’t quite interested per se of what he had to say most of times, but it took my mind off the pressing issues at hand. That being that I was bored out of my mind, and that I hadn’t had a normal milk bath in four days, and that the salty air had cracked my skin, drying it out. Every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in the sad of an excuse of a bathroom they had on this ship, I jumped, and once even almost cried, barely believing that my beautiful skin was now burnt around my nose due to the harsh sun I got exposed to daily when I was up on deck. I wasn’t doing well; my thoughts were turning grim as well. I just wanted to be back at my mansion, surrounded by the cool air, the spacious rooms, my books, the nice perfumes wafting through the rooms, the beautiful garden, and my father. I couldn’t live like this anymore. I was supposed to be pampered, not mocked, insulted, and ignored.

And Mingi was making the whole experience even worse, annoying me at any given chance, playing with me, and taunting me. Yesterday, he refused to let me have lunch, stating that ‘I had misbehaved that morning, and now I was being punished for it’. If it weren’t for Taeri, the red-haired girl, then Mingi would’ve locked me in his room, leaving me banging on the door and screaming after him. Despite not liking most of the pirates on this pathetic excuse of a ship, Taeri seemed to be quite enjoyable. She was soft spoken and very nurturing, and she checked in on me every morning, making sure that Mingi didn’t make me uncomfortable. I found that rather generous of her, and quickly begged her to let me be her roommate for as long as I had to stay on this ship, but she nicely let me down, telling me that she was, unfortunately, already sharing a room with Yunho. I found that rather peculiar, but after close observation of the two, I came to the realization that they were in love. I have never felt that emotion, but based on all the books I have read, their romance looked exactly the same like in those beautiful stories. Their eyes were filled with warmth, and Yunho would never stop smiling when Taeri was next to him, and I didn’t fail to notice how protective he was of her as well. Perhaps I was jealous that Taeri managed to find her lover, meanwhile me, a very desirable woman was still waiting for her prince. It was rather sad, but I decided not to dwell more on it while I was on this pirate ship, I would find my prince surely once I get back to my old life.

Currently, Mingi and I were crammed up in his small and ugly room, a floorboard near his bed cracked in, which I have discovered two days ago with disdain as my foot went through the hole, ankle almost getting stuck as I screeched for Mingi to get it out, fearful of all the insects and rats that would touch my skin. But Mingi, like the asshat he was, just stood laughing and making fun of me, walking closer, and mocking me until I broke down in tears, making his eyes widen as he finally crouched down and gingerly pulled my leg out of the hole, muttering something about me being overly dramatic before he left the room, offering me time to change into day wear clothes. I was lucky with Taeri being here, her clothes were almost a perfect fit as she was nice enough to borrow me one of her leather pants and two shirts. However, Mingi refused to let me wear Taeri’s shirts, and hid them on top of his closet, where I couldn’t reach them. He was a menace and he loved tormenting me, so deciding to turn this against him, ignoring every particle in my body screaming at me to act like the lady I was, I went ahead and unbuttoned the top buttons of Mingi’s shirt each morning, leaving my cleavage exposed, the silky gown the only clothing item that covered my breasts. The first time Mingi saw me, he turned red like a tomato, and spluttered on about me being inappropriate as he marched up to me and quickly buttoned the shirt up, giving me a warning look to keep it that way while we were up on deck. But, of course, I didn’t listen to him, and to my utmost disgust, I had a slimy pirate grabbing after me, spluttering disgusting things in my face about my body and what he was going to do to me, until I raised my fist up high and connected it against his wrinkly nose, hearing a loud crack. Mingi was by our side in a moment, reprimanding me for my actions, up until I told him why I had done what I had done, shocked to find Mingi throwing another punch at the old pirate, blood flowing down his face after the second blow to his nose. The Captain had rudely called for us to stop and scramble off, calling for a man named Yeosang, apparently the crew’s doctor. And if I thought today I would have a normal day while Mingi dragged me up on deck in the morning after the both of us got changed, I was extremely wrong. I had pulled my hair in a low bun and was watching Yunho and Taeri spare, eyes following their moves curiously, wondering what it felt like holding a sword. Mingi had abandoned me, apparently having to help Yeosang in carrying some heavy barrels from some chamber under deck, up on deck, both of them sweaty by the time they got up. I was sitting on a barrel, playing with a golden coin I had borrowed from Jongho last night at dinner while he was too busy showing me the drawings of this one supposed Siren that he had met. It was rather hard to believe, I had thought the man was simply crazy, but Seonghwa was there to confirm, that they indeed have captured a Siren not too long ago, but due to some issues with another pirate crew, the Siren escaped.

I had sighed loudly, the wind carrying it away, as my eyes fixated longingly on the shore, which seemed to be even more far away than it was when I had arrived on this ship. Jongho had said that the Navy’s fleet had been scouting the waters, having a hunch that perhaps I had been kidnaped by the pirates, so we had to sail out a little bit further, where they wouldn’t find us. The thought was disheartening, knowing that Lieutenant Kim wouldn’t be able to save me. I had quite quickly grown bored of watching Yunho and Taeri spare, so I jumped off the barrel, and walked towards an opened chest, finding it filled with different sized weapons, some big shotguns in it as well. I leaned over and brushed my fingers against the sharp blade, gripping the handle of the dagger curiously, dropping it in exchange to hold onto the end of a shotgun. I had seen weapons before, my father would hunt every now and then, but I was never allowed to hold one. As my curiosity got the better of me, and nobody was actually paying attention to me, I took the shotgun in my hands and straightened up, surprised by its actual weight. I pursed my lips as I raised it up, narrowing my eyes as I continued to inspect the shotgun, noticing that it was covered in gunpowder. I suddenly realized that Mingi smelled the same, and it made me wonder why that was. Could he be the one who wielded these shotguns? But before I could dwell more on that thought, firm arms suddenly wrapped around my middle, pulling me into a sturdy body, and I gasped loudly as I almost dropped the shotgun.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Mingi’s deep voice whispered into my ear, his lips brushing against the skin just barely, “Might have to up the sum for daddy dearest.”

My heart was beating like crazy, hands slightly shaking from the fright he had given me, but also from the sudden proximity, and body pressing into mine. Mingi didn’t seem to be too bothered by the lack of space between us, and I cleared my throat, hands tightening around the shotgun.

“Maybe I should try and see how this weapon works,” I smirked, turning my head to look up at Mingi, “I choose you to be my target.”

Mingi chuckled, lips pulling into a dashing smile, and for a second I forgot how to breathe. His once long blonde hair was now extremely short and spikey, sticking up in all directions. Two days ago, it came quite as a shock seeing him before dinner as he had walked inside our shared room, muttering about how he didn’t want to risk getting his hair pulled like I had done, therefore, he got rid of his long locks. At first I had thought he was crazy for cutting his beautiful, soft, long hair, but one day later, I realized maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. His already sharp features were even more highlighted now, eyes appearing sharper, his cheekbones high and well-defined, certainly attention grabbing, and his jawline chiseled. It also made his tall nose stand out more, the little mole underneath his eye and close to his jawline only adding to his charm.

“Hmm, I thought you were my target, princess.” Mingi muttered, eyebrows raising as he snapped me out of my thoughts, suddenly aware of how badly my face was burning. And it wasn’t from the sun.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, “I’m hardly a target, love, I could fight you anytime. I thought you had seen how I punched that old fool.”

“Yeah,” Mingi smirked, raising an eyebrow as his arms tightened around my middle, making my breath hitch, “But that’s an old man, not a young one full with strength and life. Just because I let you have your way around, doesn’t mean I’m weaker than you—or that you can overpower me, darling. It’s quite the opposite, actually.”

As I opened my mouth to retort back, I was suddenly very forcefully pushed forward as Mingi veered me slightly to the side so the chest wouldn’t be in the way, and suddenly, I was caged in between the railing and Mingi’s body. My hips dug into the sturdy wood harshly, making me groan as one of Mingi’s hands slowly slipped up my torso, grabbing my jaw harshly. I hissed and tried to yank my head free, but I couldn’t as Mingi wasn’t budging. My heart beat frantically as my grip on the shotgun tightened, trying to focus on what was happening. On what Minig’s real intention was by doing this, trying to find a way out.

“Cat got your tongue now, Y/N?” Mingi whispered, voice low and close to my ear, rather sinister. I gulped, but remained silent, refusing to back down, “I could overthrow you without even lifting a finger, precious, and you wouldn’t even be able to scream for help.”

My eyebrows furrowed as I opened my mouth to do just that, knowing that Taeri was still on deck, but suddenly the hand holding my jaw tightly slipped to my neck and Mingi’s fingers covered by rings suddenly curled around my throat, squeezing just enough to make my body tense as my air was cut off. I started to panic as Mingi just chuckled and watched me struggle against him, his eyes glued to the side of my face. I gripped his left arm with my hand and dug my nails into his skin, hopeful that it would make him release me, but he just chuckled and applied more pressure to my throat, making my eyes widen as I realized I was slowly starting to choke. Caged in, unable to push him off or even move away, I realized I had to find another way to break free. But my brain was losing air and my body had started shaking, I didn’t know what to do. I could only hope someone would notice and finally stop him, but it seemed like nobody cared. Not even Taeri, so, I had to save myself again. And so, as a last-minute desperate thought, I raised my left leg high and brought it down hard on Mingi’s foot, hopefully cracking his toes. He let out a loud howl, instantly releasing me and stepping back, making me double over as I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, heartbeat fast and skin burning. I threw the shotgun on the floor and gripped the railing hard, feeling tears spring to my eyes. The audacity this stupid pirate had, made me beyond furious.

“You might be stronger,” I hissed as I turned to glare at Mingi, “But I’m smarter, you asshat!”

And with that, I had stormed off, tears rolling down my cheeks as I tried to calm my breathing and reassure myself that nothing actually has happened to me, that Mingi was being an idiot and was only trying to piss me off, which he had succeeded in doing. So, hours later, he was paying for it. I hadn’t spoken to him since that incident this morning, and after he finished whatever stupid duties he had on this stupid ship, he had come down to his room. He had paused in the doorway when he saw me sitting at his desk, feet up as I sat low in his chair, playing with the borrowed coin from Jongho. Mingi said nothing, but his eyes slightly narrowed as he walked further inside, coming closer. Despite my heartbeat picking up again, I ignored him, slightly surprised that he left me alone for once. He grabbed a book and very loudly jumped towards his bed, groaning as his large body got tangled in the sheets smelling like vanilla. I glanced at him from the corner of my eyes, and found him leaned against the wall, feet dangling off his bed as he had opened the book, lips sucked in as his eyebrows furrowed. He wore a black tank top today, his muscular biceps on display, a shiny golden forearm bracelet hugging his left bicep tightly. It was a sight that threw me off guard, only to realize that I quite liked the visual it offered. Mingi’s narrow waist was once again highlighted by the thick leather belt tied around it, the black tank top tucked inside his matching leather pants. He had a pearl necklace at the base of his neck, hugging the skin tightly, and another longer one that reached between his pecks with a moonstone as a pendant.

I smirked, an ingenious thought forming in my mind, serving as revenge for what he had done to me this morning. I pushed the chair a little bit further back, making it screech deliciously against the wooden floorboard, quickly averting my eyes when Mingi glanced my way over his book. I crossed my legs over one another as I relocated them towards the edge of the desk, sighing loudly as I slipped down lower in the chair. I flipped the golden coin between my fingers, tapping my nails against it occasionally. I checked to see Mingi’s reaction, but he seemed unbothered so far, so I smirked, and let out another sigh, louder this time. I licked my lips and groaned as I threw my head back, pouting in the process, staring out the small round window. I felt eyes on me for a second, but I ignored Mingi as I continued with another loud sigh. Then, I paused, making sure he was reading again before I started tapping the desk with the heel of my right leg, hitting the edge of it just the way I had wanted. I chose a steady rhythm for it, sighing every so often, putting the next step of my plan into action.

“What is my papa up to right now…” I muttered with a pout, “I wonder why he hadn’t paid up yet…”

I sighed loudly again, hitting the desk rather harshly, the sound louder. There was the flip of the page, Mingi didn’t react—yet, “Is there possibly something wrong?”

I hit my heel against the desk again, “Did something happen to my papa as well? I wouldn’t be surprised if these ugly and stupid pirates somehow got to him too…”

I heard Mingi shuffling on the bed before he cleared his throat, but I just continued acting oblivious as I was pouting, still staring out the window, “Or what if he never got the letter…oh, no…I’m stuck here forever!”

I started sniffing, making quiet crying sounds as Mingi cleared his throat again, eyes set on me with a glare. But it didn’t faze me as I quickly shook my head, taking a deep breath, my heel coming down against the desk rather harshly, “What if…what if he doesn’t love me enough to save me?!”

I sniffed loudly, tapping my leg against the desk louder and more frequently, stare boring into the coin in my hand as Mingi huffed loudly, but didn’t speak up just yet. Fine, then I would try this in a different way, “God, I’ll never see Lieutenant Kim ever again! How I wish I never turned him down! Then I wouldn’t be in this God-awful place, rotting away, my beauty hidden from the world…”

There was a scoff but as my eyes snapped to Mingi, he was looking at his book, his mouth pulled into a sneer. I smirked, tapping the desk lighter now, eyes boring into Mingi’s handsome face, “Oh, the luxuries he had promised me. I should have said yes, he is the perfect match for me. He cares for me so deeply! He would’ve done anything for me—I wouldn’t even be here now with this—irritating, smelly, ugly, and dumb pirate, who’s room is falling apart and smells like rotten fish.”

Mingi’s jaw locked as he licked his lips, eyes narrowing as they quickly snapped up, making me avert mine as I sighed dreamily, eyebrows in a frown. The boat was rocking rather softly today, the waves not as harsh as yesterday, “Oh, and this terrible ship is so awful! Every day I get more and more homesick. I wish that my papa would just—ow!”

I yelped loudly as something hard hit my head, making me bolt up from the chair, eyes wide as I whipped my head around to look at Mingi. He was glaring at me as he had his arms crossed in front of his chest, biceps bulging.

“Just shut up, Y/N, heavens, I can’t listen to your annoying voice for any longer!” He hissed; voice irritated as he glared daggers at me. My disdain turned into amusement as I leaned my hip against his desk, smirking at him.

“Oh, poor little Mingi, bothered by a fragile woman who can’t even defend herself.” I mocked him, pushing my lower lip out in a fake pout, “God forbid he can’t read his stupid fairytale book, or else he’ll turn into a whiney toddler—”

“I’m one fucking second away of gagging you, Y/N.” Mingi hissed, pushing himself off the wall. I rolled my eyes with a snort.

“Your threats had been all empty so far, love.” I smirked, flipping through his book lazily, “You’ll have to do more if you want to scare me into silence.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mingi’s voice dropped and my eyes snapped to him when I heard the bed creaking, slightly widening at the annoyance clear on his face. As he went to stand up, I panicked and did the first thing that came to mind, threw his book at his face. Mingi barely dodged it, eyes widening as he looked offended.

“Hey! Stop throwing my books at me!” He exclaimed, glaring at me as I stormed up to him, towering over his sitting form.

“You started it now!” I hissed and reached around him, grabbing the book off the bed to hit him over the head. Mingi gasped and tried to shield his head at my continuous attacks, making me smirk when he couldn’t swat at my hand to make me stop. It was rather amusing, watching the tall ‘scary’ pirate trying to get away from a smaller woman, but unable to do so. I started laughing as Mingi whined loudly, leaning backwards and moving his torso in funny ways to escape me.

“Stop it!” But I didn’t care to listen to him as I continued laughing, finding the situation amusing, until I felt something soft hitting my side forcefully. I gasped, eyes going wide as I froze, staring down at Mingi. I had placed one knee up on the bed to be able to reach his retreating form, and now it was Mingi smirking at me as he held his pillow in his hands, raising it overhead to hit me with it. The impact left me huffing loudly as I dropped the book on the floor and dived for the only other pillow before Mingi could get his hands on it too and leave me defenseless, twisting my body so that I could hit him with it. It made contact with his face and Mingi groaned as I started giggling, hitting him some more as I got on the bed on both of my knees, amused that Mingi couldn’t hit back as he had to recoil from my constant pillow attacks. But then, he was suddenly straightening up and throwing a menacing glare at me, which made me laugh harder, as he started hitting my side again. My stomach started hurting from laughing too much, but I couldn’t stop as Mingi continued to whine and ask me to stop while I continued hitting his back with the pillow. He wasn’t even getting hurt, so I didn’t understand why he was so whiney about it. It was fun.

He released the pillow with one hand and tried to grab at my waist, but I kept hitting his arm with my pillow, making him huff and puff in irritation. Then suddenly, he threw his pillow to the ground, and as I smirked in victory and raised my arms to hit him over the head with my own, he lunged forward, making me yelp as his body crashed into mine. I dropped the pillow and wrapped my arms around his neck as I felt us falling backwards on his bed, my back hitting the soft sheets soon enough. My chest was raising and falling rapidly, and so was Mingi’s, as his breath hit the side of my neck, sending me into another set of giggles as I stared up at the ceiling amused. Mingi’s hands gripped my waist firmly, his weight crushing me as his lean body melted into mine. My legs fell open on both sides of his hips, and as my giggles finally stopped, I could hear Mingi snickering as well, his warmth engulfing mine, and making my cheeks burn once I realized the position we were in. I had never had a man all over myself, certainly not while lying in bed, with him nestled between my legs and almost laughing into my ear. The scent of vanilla mixed with gunpowder was strong, and I sniffed quietly, unconsciously taking a deeper whiff of Mingi’s familiar scent. I gulped loudly, arms tightening around Mingi’s neck for a second before I slowly withdrew my arms, hands dragging against the skin of his neck. I felt the silver clasp of his pearl choker before my hands continued on tracing his shoulders, until the fell on both sides of my head. Mingi slowly pushed himself up, resting on his elbows as his eyes ran over my face. I gulped again, my stomach flipping weirdly as Mingi shuffled a little, his lower half pressing into mine, making me gasp quietly as Mingi’s eyes bore into mine. I licked my lips, watching as Mingi’s eyes dropped onto them, his own mouth slightly opening as his breathing got heavier. My eyebrows furrowed as he bit his lower lip, head very slowly lowering as he glanced back up in my eyes, my heart beating so fast I could feel it in my neck. But as his hot breath hit my face, I realized that whatever we were doing was unethical and would ruin my purity surely, so I acted on impulse. My left hand raised and I opened my fist, dangling Mingi’s pearl choker between our faces. He suddenly froze, eyebrows furrowing as he looked at the choker bewildered before looking back down at me, a questioning look on his face.

“What?” He muttered quietly, touching his neck with his left hand lightly, as if to make sure that I did indeed take his pearl necklace without him noticing. I chuckled as I smiled at him cheekily, just shrugging as I played with the necklace, admiring it for a second. But my amusement was quickly gone as Mingi gave me a long stare, a smirk slowly blooming on his face as he raised his left hand, a golden hairpin clear as day in his hand. My mouth dropped open as I stared at it, raising my hand to touch my, now nonexistent, bun. When did he pull it out of my hair? And how? Nobody could get it out of my hair without pulling on the strands painfully, not even Soojin or Soyeon.

“How?” I whispered impressed, making Mingi shrug as he smirked proudly.

“I have my ways.” He winked, and then suddenly pushed himself off me, dropping the hairpin on my stomach. He cleared his throat as he got to his feet, ruffling his spikey blonde hair before patting his clothes down, extending his hand out towards me. I placed the necklace in his hand and watched as he quickly clasped it back around his neck.

“I’ll go help Yunho now, don’t wander around, San isn’t in a good mood today.” Mingi instructed as I sat up, twirling the hairpin in my hands.

“Who’s San?” I asked confused, and Mingi paused in the doorway.

“He’s…not someone you want to meet, so, please, stay here.” His tone was the most serious I had heard him use, and I nodded in understanding, “I’ll send Taeri to entertain you.”

“Thank you.” I flashed him a small smile, and he was out the door, leaving me with a frantic beating heart, and a hotness all over my body that I had never felt before. What was Song Mingi doing to me?

            It would seem like today wasn’t out day. Arguments would ensue too often throughout the day, and I could only blame Mingi for it as he always found something to bother me with. If the pathetic scare he tried giving me this morning wasn’t enough, he had went off on a rant right before dinner that I was taking up all of his space, and barely offered him any privacy. He also accused me of stealing a few of his precious jewelry, which I had not done as I had zero wishes to steal anything that belonged to this dumb pirate. And despite seeing said jewelry around Yunho’s wrist and neck during dinner, Mingi made no effort to apologize to me for the accusations he’s made earlier. And if that wasn’t enough to put me in a bad mood, certainly him telling this other girl on the ship, Jung Hana, that I was a nuisance and stuck-up brat, so she shouldn’t even bother talking to me, set me off as I had slammed the silver folk down on the table, whipping my head around as I flashed Mingi a deep glare.

“Would you stop trying to veer everyone away from me?!” I had snapped, voice high pitched, “Maybe I’m not the problem here, Mingi, but you.”

Mingi had snorted, spoon in his mouth as he had taken a bite of his dinner, “Sure, there’s no possible way that a spoiled princess is the problem instead of a humble pirate, who’s trying to simply live his life—”

“A rather pathetic excuse of a life.” I cut him off, unaware of the eyes on the two of us, “And you’re far from being humble, Song Mingi. You always try to bring me down, but you fail to realize that you’re just as horrible, arrogant, and annoying as I am, you asshat. Telling Yeosang yesterday that despite being a doctor for so many years he was quite shit at stitching people up, berating Jongho for having his head in the clouds instead of taking his duties more seriously, laughing at Taeri when she failed to lift that horribly heavy chest filled with weapons, and even telling your own Captain that his decision making had been questionable lately, are certainly out of good intention, right, Mingi? And not because you’re just an arrogant man who thinks highly of himself, certainly not looking down on the people around him?”

Mingi’s jaw had clenched as he gripped the spoon tighter in his hand, knuckles whitening, “You know nothing about me, and I advise you shut up if you don’t want to become shark dinner.”

“Oh, spare me, Mingi.” I hissed, nose flaring, “Unless you mean what you say, stop wasting everyone’s air.”

“Get up!” Mingi’s voice was suddenly deep as it boomed around us, making a few pirates flinch as they weren’t bothered enough to watch the exchange between the two of us, “Get the fuck up, right now!”

“You will not tell me what to do, you filthy—” I gasped as Mingi grabbed my bicep and yanked me up to my feet harshly, making my eyes widen. I pulled on my arm, but his grip tightened as he tried to make me step over the bench we had been sitting on, but I wouldn’t budge as I held onto the table. Somebody cleared their throat, but my eyes were set on Mingi only, my face red from anger as my heart started racing. His eyes had significantly darkened, and his breathing was heavy, eyes narrow slits. Gone was the playful and arrogant Mingi, instead a frightening man stood in his place, probably finally ready to throw me overboard as he had reached his limit.

“And you will learn your lesson tonight, princess.” Mingi hissed, making me tumble almost to the floor as he pulled on my arm harshly, forcing me to step over the bench.

“Song Mingi.” It was clear who’s voice it was, Yunho sounded slightly concerned, “Stop.”

But neither Mingi nor I were paying attention to anyone but the other, “Do you think I don’t hate this as much as you do, Mingi? You ripped me away from my life and forced me to live on this—ship filled with pirates, who would love to do bad things to me—and you expect me to just listen to you and respect you?”

“Have I given you any reasons not to?!” Mingi’s voice raised as he closed the gap between our bodies, his hot breath fanning against my face, “Have I treated you like any of those pirates? Haven’t I been looking out for you?! Haven’t I been keeping you safe?”

“You kidnapped me!” I screamed and tried to push him away, but he didn’t even flinch.

“For your money!” Mingi screamed back, “I demanded nothing else of you when I could’ve! I could’ve done horrible things to you, and I didn’t.”

“And do you want me to bow down, and thank you for that?” I scoffed, sneering at him, “You want me to thank you for acting like a human being with me?”

“Yes, you could fix your attitude starting there.” Mingi snapped, and I bit my lip in frustration, uncomfortable now that I realized everyone was watching us, gaping at us. I didn’t want to do this anymore; I don’t even understand why we had to snap at each other every single time a little inconvenience happened.

“Excuse me if my papa failed to teach me how to apologize, because I will be not apologizing to you when you only insult me all the time.” I tried to yank my arm free again, but Mingi still wasn’t budging. His eyebrows furrowed and he leaned down, looking me in the eyes.

“When have I insulted you?” He chuckled, and I released a deep breath to try and stay level headed.

“Just right now?” I asked with a disbelieving laugh, “You think that I’m stupid and good for nothing, that I don’t respect people, and only use them when I need something from them. You keep saying I’m stuck up and look down on anyone who’s bellow my status—when have I treated you like that?”

“Don’t tell me when you saw me at that stupid ball you didn’t only want to approach me because you thought I was rich?” Mingi scoffed, rolling his eyes as I bit my lower lip, heart hammering in my chest.

“I didn’t—it was one of the factors, but not the main one—” My thoughts were running a mile per hour. Mingi was right, in some way, but he also didn’t know everything. He couldn’t possibly have realized that I stopped caring whether he was rich or not.

“What’s the main one then, huh?” Mingi snapped, cutting me off as I averted my eyes to the floor, cheeks flushing. I didn’t want to say it, not in front of everyone. I was embarrassed, but Mingi’s fingers only tightened around my bicep, and I sighed, swallowing my pride for the first time in my life.

“The same reason for why I trusted you since the moment you made that creepy man go away at the pub. Because you made me feel safe, because despite not knowing me, you looked out for me. Because you never once tried to approach me at the ball, unlike every other desperate man there, and you didn’t even want to stick around at the pub. I know—I know it was probably part of your stupid scheme, but if you wouldn’t have been gentle and nice to me, I would’ve never allowed you to hold me like that while I was drunk and out of it.” I took a deep breath as I felt Mingi’s grip loosen significantly, “The same reason as to why I didn’t throw a tantrum when you wouldn’t sleep on the floor, when you refused to put pillows between us while sleeping. For the same bloody reason, Mingi, why I asked for your help with my corset when I could’ve easily asked Taeri.”

I let out a shuddered breath, feeling Mingi’s hand slowly slip down my arm, covering my skin in goosebumps in its wake, lips slightly trembling from the embarrassment I felt admitting all of that without an ounce of privacy, “I can’t help it that I was raised like this. I can’t help but look at my maids and feel little compassion for them because serving me is their job. And I know I’m mean and vile to them, but I care for them. I always did. They’ve been there for me when nobody else was. I never had friends because my father wouldn’t allow me, but Soyeon and Soojin were there, they played with me and cheered me up. I know I’m horrible, but I always showered them with gifts, and anything that I didn’t need anymore.

“I can’t help the fact that when I look at you I see a simple man, hard-working, but just barely making it through each day, when my father raised me to be able to pinpoint the differences between a poor and a rich man. It’s not my fault that the first thing I look at are your clothing, shoes, and jewelry, to determine your wealth. It’s not my fault that my governess taught me etiquette, and that I was reprimanded every time I would slouch, laugh loudly, or even as little as mumble my words. I never had a mother, she died while giving birth to me. I can’t help the fact that I cling onto whoever gives me even a little bit of affection and care. I was never allowed to do what I wanted; I was never allowed to explore. I’m locked up in my mansion all day, listening to my father and his disgusting old friends, wondering when a prince would finally find me and whisk me away. I’m sorry if you think I’ve been a…bitch to you, but I do not know how to act when I’m around people like you. I only see hierarchy. and the filth that surrounds me here.”

I fell silent for a second, taking a deep breath as Mingi watched me stunned, gripping my wrist almost as if afraid that I would disappear. The silence that stretched on was awkward, even when Seonghwa softly whispered my name from the table, “But it doesn’t mean I’m not open to learning. To forgetting all the prejudice I was raised with. To letting go of society’s norms, to find myself and learn who I really am underneath all the lavish and puff, the huge dresses, and fake tea parties. I was willing to learn, Mingi, but you never gave me a chance. You just…assumed I’m a stupid, stuck-up bitch, and went with it, never failing to remind me of it. You never saw how curiously I watched you each time you were working, discussing the guns with Seonghwa and your Captain. You never paid enough attention to notice the longing stares I would give Yunho and Taeri whenever they were sparring, wanting to learn as well. And you never looked long enough to see the smile on my face each time I would spot my favorite book on your desk, fingers tracing the title, fondly remembering the time I had snuck the book out of my father’s library to read it overnight, getting punished for it the next day because I had taken something from the forbidden section.”

“Y/N…” Mingi sounded breathless as I stepped back, suddenly aware that tears were rolling down my cheeks, even more embarrassed when I glanced towards the table. Hana was cuddled up into Yeosang, who looked sorry, Seonghwa and Taeri mirroring his expression. Hongjoong was eating, looking rather irritated by the commotion, but I didn’t miss the exasperated glare he sent at Mingi. Yunho was glaring at his best friend, arms crossed in front of his chest as he shook his head, and Jongho looked mad as he was glaring at Mingi. I cleared my throat and tried to ignore the rest of the pirates I didn’t know as most seemed amused as I quickly wiped my tears and looked at Seonghwa.

“I’m sorry, my appetite is gone.” I muttered, stepping back from Mingi, and giving him a look when he tried to grab me again, “But dinner was delicious, even better than the one’s at home usually are.”

Seonghwa smiled warmly, nodding his head once, “Wooyoung is our original cook, but he’s still got some weeks until he returns to us. It’s a pity you won’t get to meet him.”

“Yeah, a pity.” I sighed, not knowing whether I was happy or not about it, “I wish you all a good evening, I hope I hadn’t ruined your evening.”

“Y/N!” Mingi called out as I turned and stormed off, almost running into a man out in the hallway as he was about to step inside the kitchen. His already sharp eyes narrowed and I furrowed my eyebrows, my skin covered in chills due to the dangerous smirk on his lips. His eyes traveled over my body and he chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you a treat, princess?” His voice was smooth and as he attempted to step towards me, I held a hand out.

“You must be San, then.” I recalled Mingi advising me to stay away from him, something about him being really dangerous.

“Oh,” He chuckled, making me tense up as he licked his red lips, “and who are you?”

“None of your business,” I snapped, glaring at him when he tried to step closer again, “I’m here with Mingi, either way.”

A defeated look crossed his face for a second, before he hummed, “What a pity, you would’ve made us a lot of money.”

My eyebrows furrowed as I took a step back, unsettled by his words just as much as I was confused, “Of course Mingi would pick you, a noble just like him, but even richer. I bet his mother would be elated if he returned home with you, all of his sins forgotten.”

“Good night.” I snapped, feeling uncomfortable as I didn’t want to find out about who Mingi was by someone else. I wanted him to tell me about himself, but after the argument, I was sure he’d ignore me until my father finally pays up. I stormed off towards Mingi’s room, not waiting for San to say anything else, weirded out by his whole aura and the hunger in his eyes as he watched me.

And the evening passed by fast after that, I had changed into my night gown, borrowed from Hana, and laid in bed, contemplating over everything that’s happened to me so far. I really wanted to go home and forget everything that’s happened, ready to close this chapter and leave it behind me. Perhaps there was a moment when I had considered Mingi to be the prince I have been longing for, but after tonight, I have concluded that the two of us didn’t belong together. We are too different, too prideful and stubborn to ever admit to our faults, to even try to fix our damaged…friendship? I didn’t know what to consider ourselves, but Mingi was the closest thing to a friend I could ever have, with Taeri, and perhaps, Jongho as well. I had been laying in the dark, on my back, when the door opened and Mingi’s tall frame walked further inside the room, closing the door carefully. The floorboards were old and creaky, yet I could hear him being careful as he shuffled towards his closet, taking a peek at me. I quickly closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep, to which Mingi moved even more carefully as he opened his old closet door, gasping when it almost moved off its hinges again. I carefully opened an eye, taking a peek in Mingi’s direction. He had his back to me and both of my eyes snapped open as pulled his black tank top off his body, his broad back exposed to my eyes. My face flushed as I watched him change, until I realized he might want me to offer him some privacy, prompting myself to squeeze my eyes shut. I stopped breathing when I heard him moving around again, only to feel the bed dip next to my body. Mingi’s room was small, and so, his bed wasn’t very spacious for two people, but we somehow made it work to stay far away from each other when sleeping. The blanket shifted for a second and I felt Mingi slip in underneath, softly releasing the breath I had been holding as I shifted, turning my back to him. Mingi sniffed once and didn’t bother to speak up, so I forced myself to keep my eyes shut and just fall asleep. The quicker the next day comes, the better.

But it was easier said than done when my mind was reeling with thoughts, forbidding me from sleeping. I bit my lower lip as I shifted for the nth time, facing Mingi, but never opening my eyes to see him. I could feel his gaze on me, but I didn’t want to actively acknowledge it. I was embarrassed by the scene we had caused in the kitchen, and especially for saying those things to him in front of everyone. That wasn’t how I wanted to pour my heart out to him, to admit that I had started feeling something for him. I couldn’t define what it was, but it was something. And it made me hope that I would be able to leave this place soon, scared that I would fall for the pirate. Nobody’s ever treated me as humanly as him before, teaching me that I wasn’t as special as I once had believed. Perhaps I was privileged, and I had failed to notice that. With a quiet sigh, I turned back onto my back, the old mattress shifting with my movements as a low groan came from Mingi. I almost opened my eyes, but instead decided that now I would fall asleep—except that suddenly there was movement next to me, and suddenly a weight was pressing me down into the bed, making my eyes snap open as Mingi grabbed my arms and pressed them on each side of my head, grip firm. I gaped up at him as he sat on my hips, eyebrows deeply furrowed. It was dark in the room, but the moonlight shone through the little round window, falling on Mingi. The shadows falling on his face made him even more intimidating, and I came to the startling realization, that Mingi’s shirt was completely undone, his torso exposed. Before I could stop myself, my eyes glazed over his well-defined body, toned chest and firm stomach, cheeks flushing as I looked back up in his eyes, throat dry all of a sudden.

“Stop moving so much, I can’t sleep.” Mingi snapped quietly, eyebrows furrowing.

“I can’t sleep.” I muttered, frowning back at him, “Is it necessary to pin me down, Mingi?”

“Well—” He seemed to realize what he had done, cheeks turning darker instantly, but he made no effort to move, “Will you stop, then?”

“Once I fall asleep—”

“I’ll kick you out.” Mingi quickly cut me off, making me roll my eyes. My heartbeat was steadily quickening, a warm feeling overtaking my whole body once again the longer Mingi sat on top of me.

“Kick me out, then, I’ll go sleep in Seonghwa’s room or something.” I scoffed, adding quietly, “Maybe even Jongho’s.”

“No.” Mingi’s tone was serious and his hands slightly tightened around my arms, making me raise an eyebrow at him, “I mean, no, you don’t have to do that when you can sleep here…with me.”

“Not if you kick me out.” I muttered, body softening under Mingi. He gulped and paused for a second, sitting back on his heels as he slowly released my arms, my fingers brushing against his with a small smile. My face was burning, but so was his, so I didn’t pay it much attention. He must feel flustered as well, then.

“I won’t kick you out.” Mingi whispered, looking off to the side. My smile widened as my fingers firmly grasped the sturdy object in my hand now, feeling around the silver ring. It was warm, due to Mingi wearing it all day long, and it was almost a little crooked, as if Mingi had been wearing it for a long time now. I raised my hand and looked at it, but held it in a way Mingi couldn’t see it. My movement caught his attention and he looked back at me, eyebrows slightly furrowing as he pouted, turning his head to try and see what was in my hand.

“Did you know I really liked rubies?” I asked nonchalantly, swiftly slipping the ringer on my ring finger. Of course, it was rather large for me, but I could still play around with it.

“No, you never told me.” Mingi whispered, closely watching me.

“You never asked, about anything for that matter,” I looked up at Mingi, licking my lips, “You never bothered to get to know me, you know?”

As Mingi opened his mouth to say something, I turned my left hand around, watching as it took a few seconds for Mingi to realize what he was staring at. His eyes widened and he went to quickly check his own hand, his ruby ring indeed missing.

“How did you do that?” He asked, sounding slightly disturbed, as he caught my hand in his, “I didn’t even feel it.”

I smiled cheekily, allowing him to slip the ring off my finger to place it back on his middle one, “I’m quite good, aren’t I?”

Mingi chuckled and nodded once, slightly leaning back down, my muscles tensing at the shift of his weight on top of my body, “I think I should be given some credit too; don’t you think?”

My eyes widened as he casually dangled my favorite bracelet in my face, which had been on my right wrist before Mingi had gotten on top of me, “How did you do that?”

“Just like you did.” Mingi chuckled and motioned for me to extend my arm towards him, so I did. He carefully placed the thin bracelet around my wrist and clasped it shut, fingers softly grazing against my skin. I gulped as I looked up in his eyes, an intense look crossing Mingi’s face. My heart started racing again, and I found myself yearning to feel him closer to me, just as close as he had been earlier today after the pillow fight. The thought was alarming, but I couldn’t help but want it more. But to my surprise, Mingi moved off of me, laying back down next to me, his hand brushing mine after he settled underneath the blanket again.

“I owe you an apology, Y/N.” He muttered and as I glanced at him, I found his head turned towards me as he was looking at me with a solemn look on his face, “You were right at dinner, I made no effort to get to know you, to look past your attitude and actually try to see who you truly are. I’ve insulted you countless times and even tried to turn the others against you, I’m sorry.”

I hummed as I turned my head to be able to look at Mingi easier, biting my lower lip for a second, “I’m sorry too, I was horrible with you. I know I’m difficult, but I was scared, and just wanted to go back home. I’ve never been away from the manor like this and everything is just…new. I didn’t know what type of man you were, so I thought remaining cold would push you away, and you’d just leave me alone and return me to my father sooner.”

Mingi chuckled and lightly shook his head, “Nothing you do could veer me away from money.”

I chuckled and nodded; however I felt a little bitter knowing that Mingi only needed me for my money. That perhaps he wasn’t even in the slightest interested in me, just my money. And it was possible that that was the case, “Are you just…really not interested in me?”

It was weird hearing myself sound so small and almost insecure, wanting to understand Mingi’s thought process.

“That’s not it,” Mingi sighed, turning his head to look up at the ceiling, “I see myself in you, you know? That’s why I never bothered to treat you better, because I knew that once I got what I initially wanted, you’d be gone. You’d be back to living your perfect posh life, marrying some rich guy and never once having to worry about anything. And I found myself jealous of you.”

“Jealous?” I asked surprised, turning onto my side to face Mingi, my undivided attention on him.

“Yes,” Mingi whispered as he gulped, taking a deep breath, “I was born and raised in the Sun Rise Kingdom as well, just like you. And it would surprise you, Y/N, but I’m from a rich family. Not as rich as yours, we could never afford ourselves a mansion, but we did bathe in milk thrice a week. And my parents were affluential people in my town, had some ties with the Queen as well, but I was never too invested in the family business to learn more about that.”

My eyes had widened as I looked at Mingi, who’s eyes found mine as he turned his head, a small smile on his lips, “I was raised by a harsh governess, who lectured me too often about my behavior. I was never good enough or smart enough compared to my older brothers, and I was never talented enough. My parents neglected me quite often, my middle brother turned into my main caretaker, basically.”

Unconsciously, my hand moved under the blanket until it found Mingi’s hand, and our fingers intertwined as I squeezed his in reassurance, “Things only started getting worse when they found out I stole from people. Anything I could get my hands on, would end up in my grasp by the end of the night. I knew it was bad, but I couldn’t stop myself. It’s like I wasn’t in control when I was doing these things, it was very humiliating. Especially when the constable caught me and locked me up for a whole week. My parents were very disappointed, and after that, they never treated me the same.”

“Mingi.” I whispered and he smiled sadly, eyes glistening in the moonlight.

“They rarely allowed me to leave the house, but I would sneak out to play with the neighbor’s kids. They didn’t like me much, but I was desperate to do anything to play with someone, and so they would often chase me towards the cliffs, where they would tell me to leave them alone unless I wanted to get in trouble.” Mingi chuckled, but a somber look crossed his features, “My luck ran out one day. I stood too close to the edge and slipped. I don’t remember much from there, just the sharp rocks and the cold water, my lungs burning and eyes stinging.”

“That is horrible.” I whispered as my eyebrows furrowed, and without thinking first, my right hand went and cupped Mingi’s cheek, his skin soft and warm underneath my palm. Mingi’s eyes fluttered closed for a second, before he took a deep breath and opened his eyes again, smiling softly.

“I woke up a week later, on this ship.” He chuckled, amusement written all over his face as he lightly pressed his face more into my palm, nose brushing against my wrist, “I was terrified, everyone looked so scary. I was raised by posh people, surrounded by aristocracy and cleanness all my life. The stench on the ship was horrible and I threw up way too often until I finally got used to it. At first, I begged Captain Kim, Hongjoong’s father, to take me home, but the closer we got towards the shore of the Sun Rise Kingdom, the harder I started realizing that this was the most freedom I had ever felt my whole life. Nobody treated me bad here for not being smart, nobody lectured me for misbehaving, and Captain Kim even seemed concerned over my well-being as he had raised two sons of his own. He was gentle with children. And some of the boys were already here, Yunho took me under his wing almost immediately. It was a foreign feeling having a boy close to my age so friendly and nice to me. He genuinely wanted to be my friend, and I finally had stopped feeling alone. I had realized I didn’t want to return home anymore.”

I chuckled, fingers lightly grazing against Mingi’s cheekbone, “So you stayed and became a pirate? How did you manage, Song Mingi? The once rich boy, now poor and smelly.”

I giggled as Mingi rolled his eyes, “I’m not smelly. But yes, it was hard at the beginning. I had to work to earn my money, and I wasn’t good at anything. Until Captain Kim showed me how to deal with guns, training me to become their best gunner. And I found a family within the crew, although some of them are questionable people, I still consider them my family.”

I smiled as I nodded, a warm feeling settling in my chest. So much made sense now, his gentleness and understanding. He was respectful, and carried himself with grace. He looked nothing like a pirate once out of his silly clothes, and it all made sense now as to why, “But why are you jealous of me?”

Mingi chuckled, and I was startled as he pressed a small kiss into my wrist, looking down as his cheeks suddenly flushed red, “Your father cares about you. He loves you and would do anything to have you back. I never had parents like him. I’ve always felt lonely and weird when I was around my family. Despite my middle brother taking care of me, I knew he wasn’t too fond of me and was only doing it because he felt pity towards me.”

“Just because my father loves me, doesn’t mean I don’t feel lonely.” I whispered, suddenly overcome with emotion. I’ve never opened up to anyone before, “I—I don’t have any friends. I’m alone in the mansion, unless my father is at home. I can’t talk to most servants as they are around my age and my father forbid them from doing so. I only have my two maids, who hate me. And my governess always preached on about me having to remain pretty so that a man would want to marry me. She taught me manners that would appeal to a rich man to take me as his wife. I learned everything else I know on my own, browsing through my mother’s books, which are in the forbidden section of the library. I never got to know her, and yet I miss her every day. I wonder what she would have been like, if she would have treated me like my father or not. If she would’ve locked me up in the mansion like my father does, or would’ve let me discover the world on my own. You taking me here is the most fun I’ve had my whole life, Mingi. I don’t hate it as much as I say I do. Although, the stench does get horrible at times.”

Mingi chuckled as his eyes found mine, and I grinned, “You deal better with it than I did.”

“Because I’m better than you.” I teased and Mingi rolled his eyes, suddenly shifting closer as he turned onto his side too, our bodies facing each other as our knees touched underneath the blanket, our fingers intertwined, “Did you know people who have this urge to take things, to collect them, are called kleptomaniacs?”

Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed and he slowly shook his head no, “Well, I think you might be one.”

“Really?” Mingi asked quietly and I nodded.

“Yes, because I think I am one too.” I grinned as I started playing with Mingi’s ruby ring, his eyes falling on the item, “Because I also take things from people. It started out as a prank at first, back at the mansion. I would take things without people noticing and wait for the servants or my father to start searching for them, wanting to see how long until they realized they weren’t there. But I always got away with it, so I became bold. I started stealing from other people, and I was never caught. I’ve been stealing jewelry and smaller items since I’m ten, Mingi.”

“What?!” Mingi looked alarmed, and I giggled, nodding my head.

“It’s bad, I know.” I shrugged, “But what started out as a joke became a serious issue as I couldn’t stop anymore. I do it without noticing now. I just see something pretty that I would like to have, and the next second I find it in my hands. If my father were to find out, he’d certainly be horrified by his little daughter not being perfect anymore.”

“I think you’re perfect.” My cheeks flushed as Mingi whispered, eyes racking over my face, almost as if searching for something.

“Your compliments feel a lot more sincere than the ones I’ve been getting back home from all the other men.” I muttered, finding myself thinking out loud. Mingi’s fingers tightened against mine, and I looked away embarrassed.

“Because they are sincere.” Mingi’s tone was firm, his voice deep, “I wouldn’t say something I don’t mean.”

I chuckled, raising an eyebrow, “So, I really am a bitch?”

“At times.” My eyes widened at his sincerity, but before I could pull away, Mingi chuckled, “But you’re also quite cool. I never expected a lady like you to punch a man, let alone break his nose.”

“I was mad.” I tried to defend myself as Mingi hummed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I realized I had my hand on his face still, so I quickly pulled it away and noted how calm I felt, wrapped in the vanilla and gunpowder scent.

“I think we’ll get a letter from your father soon.” My eyebrows furrowed at Mingi’s words, something in my stomach suddenly dropping. Why did the thought not feel so inviting anymore? Why did I find myself wanting to spend a little more time with Mingi?

“Oh.” I whispered barely, eyebrows furrowing, “Will you tell me stories of your childhood?”

“Do you want me to?” Mingi asked surprised, and I nodded with a smile, “Alright, so…”

And I closed my eyes to listen more attentively, his eyes too distracting to be looking at Mingi’s face, but I found his deep voice soothing as it lulled me to sleep.

            Waking up in the mornings had always been difficult back home, in my comfortable Queen-sized bed, but here on the ship it seemed to get even more difficult. Perhaps it was the even rocking of the ship, or the warmth, which enveloped my whole body, making me feel content as I would nuzzle further into the silky pillow, Mingi’s vanilla scent strong as I could hear him snoring lightly or groaning in his sleep. But today, the vanilla and gunpowder scent seemed more prominent, the warmth emanating from next to me almost making me feel hot, and instead of the silky pillow, my head was pressed against something harder, firmer, and certainly warmer. I had started to stir upon hearing some loud voices down the hallway, outside the safety of Mingi’s room. I couldn’t understand their words, but a woman and a man were certainly arguing. Yeosang and Hana never seemed like the type to argue, and meanwhile Taeri and Yunho could get riled up by each other, I’ve never actually heard them argue in front of everyone all these days I’ve been here on this ship. A door down the hallway was slammed shut loudly, and I sighed loudly, licking my dry lips as I pressed my cheek a little harder against my pillow. It took a few more minutes to become aware of the weight around my waist, or the way my bare calf was brushing against another clothed leg. Growing suddenly stiff, my eyes snapped open, only for my jaw to fall slack as I was presented with an alarming image.

I was laying all over Mingi, right leg thrown over his hips as it was comfortably slotted between his legs, my right hand intertwined with his left one as Mingi’s fingers would absentmindedly flex around mine. I gasped as I looked down, the blanket hanging low around our hips, the skirt of my nightgown ridden up to my thighs, making my cheeks flush. My heart was hammering against my ribcage, and I couldn’t help but not only feel embarrassed, but…I was suddenly overcome with a fiery need as my fingers tightened against Mingi’s, holding his hand a little firmer. My breathing progressively got harder, and I allowed my eyes to rake over his tan chest, muscles now soft but toned, Mingi’s chest rising and falling evenly as he was still asleep. I couldn’t help but gulp as I found the sight of Mingi completely ravishing, a foreign need in my body urging me on to press a kiss against Mingi’s right pectoral. Mingi sighed softly, and I raised my head slightly to watch as his eyebrows furrowed before he settled back down, seemingly still asleep. I bit my lower lip, eyes fixated on his perfect face as the sunlight poured in through the little window, perfectly falling on his handsome face. Mingi mumbled something, and I froze, eyes widening in fright that I was caught. But his eyes were still closed and he sighed again, his tongue peeking slightly out as he licked his lower lip, gulping before another sigh left his lips. My eyes had been fixated on his plush lips, and I found my heart beating faster as I envisioned what they would’ve felt like pressed against mine, soft and warm, no doubt devouring mine in a feverish kiss. I gulped as shivers ran down my body, stomach clenching, and I realized that I had to get away from Mingi, that I needed fresh air to clear my thoughts. To sort out these weird yearnings of my body towards this pirate, decide whether they were happening because I’ve been spending too much time with him or because, indeed, I had started falling for him.

So, I very slowly tried to peel myself off Mingi, but when I went to move my right leg off his body, suddenly his hand holding mine released my hand and went to my naked knee, grabbing it and holding it flush against his hips. I froze as I bit my lower lip, realizing that this would be harder than I thought initially. I sighed quietly and tried again, but his other arm only tightened around my waist and I was suddenly yanked back into his body, making me fall back against his chest with a loud gasp.

“Stop moving.” Mingi croaked out, his morning voice gravely deep as he groaned. My cheeks flushed instantly as I found my body shivering, something coiling in my lower stomach. I have never felt like this before, having never been this close to a man, never so desperately having to hold myself back from doing something I might regret later.

“Mingi,” I whispered, trying to collect myself, “we have to get up.”

“No, we don’t.” Mingi groaned, and I stiffened when I felt his calloused palm caressing the back of my thigh, reaching just a bit higher, underneath my nightgown. My heart was racing in my chest, right fingers fisting the bedsheet next to Mingi’s torso. Mingi’s breathy voice and closed eyes were a clear enough sign that he hadn’t fully woken up yet, and I tried to ignore the way his fingers dug into my skin around my waist, “It’s too early.”

“I don’t think it is,” I mumbled, turning my head to look towards the window, “The sun is high up in the sky.”

Mingi scoffed, and I felt him shrugging, “So what?”

“Don’t you have duties you have to attend?” I whispered, looking up at him, and I had to stop myself from pressing a kiss against his jaw.

“Nothing too urgent,” Mingi sniffed and then groaned as his fingers flexed against my naked skin, “they can wait a little longer.”

I’ve never in my life before had the urge to straddle someone, and my jaw clenched as I raised my head off Mingi’s chest, staring down at his face intently, “Mingi, I need fresh air. Right now.”

He tsked and only grabbed me harder, hitching my leg higher up on his body, and I gasped as Mingi pulled me on top of himself, large palm pressing against my lower back as he gingerly started massaging me through the light fabric of the nightgown, “What are you doing?”

Perhaps the strain in my voice finally snapped him wide awake, or the fact that our lower bodies were pressed against each other, something pressing against my thigh as I gulped, afraid to move. Mingi’s eyes snapped wide open and he raised his head, looking down at me. He froze as he took me in, no doubt my whole face flushed, and lips red from how much I had been biting them. Mingi’s face reddened instantly, and he averted his eyes, which had started slipping down my neck and chest, the nightgown having slipped a little lower across my chest. It didn’t help that Mingi went to sleep with his own shirt unbuttoned, firm torso on full display as I suddenly pressed my hands against his bare chest, sitting slightly up.

“Fuck.” Mingi hissed as he threw his head back, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he gripped my waist, stabilizing me. I had thought the same thing, but I couldn’t say it out loud as I was a lady, but his hardness was suddenly pressing against me in a rather sensitive spot, making me gasp. Mingi’s fingers tightened around my waist as I shifted subconsciously, the friction foreign but not unpleasant at all, “You have to get off.”

“I’ve been trying to,” I was breathless as Mingi looked at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly, “But you wouldn’t let me.”

He gulped and nodded once, eyebrows furrowing, seemingly in deep thought for a second, “Because I want you.”

My eyes widened at his words, lips parting as I gaped at him, never having heard those words from a man before. I knew what it implied, I had read a romance book once where things took an unexpected turn, but nobody has ever said those things to me up until now. It made my skin tingle, my cheeks flush a darker color as Mingi’s intense eyes stared up into mine, eyebrows slightly furrowing.

“But I’m going home soon,” I whispered, completely at a loss because I found myself wanting him as well, “And I…we can’t.”

“I know.” Mingi gulped, trying to mask his disappointment, but I could hear it still tinge his tone, “Of course I do. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” I cut him off, almost desperately, “I—I think I also—”

The door suddenly slammed open and I jumped as Mingi instinctively pulled me down against himself, bringing the blanket over my body as he hugged me into his body around my middle. I watched with wide eyes and a racing heart as the Captain walked a little further inside the room, arms crossed in front of his chest, giving us a scrutinizing gaze. He looked unimpressed and almost exasperated as he sighed loudly, rolling his eyes for a second, “Your father wrote us a letter. He wants you home today, the money is prepared. The exchange happens at noon, so get up.”

Something dropped in my stomach when I heard those words, and I found my fingers curling into Mingi’s shirt, as if I didn’t want to leave, to let go of him. But wasn’t that what I’ve wanted all this time? To go home? To forget about Mingi and everyone else, and just continue living my life the way I was supposed to? To find a rich husband, marry into a rich family, and raise children of my own? Wasn’t that the plan all along?

“Aye, Captain.” Mingi’s tone lacked any cheeriness or playfulness, and I found myself reluctant to look at him. It sounded like he wasn’t ready to return me to my father just yet. But the Captain grunted once before he stormed out, slamming the door shut behind himself.

Mingi and I moved at the same time, his arms freeing me as I scrambled off him, suddenly aware of what I almost allowed to happen if the Captain wouldn’t have walked in. I was ready to give myself to Mingi, and I didn’t know what to do with that revelation as I stumbled for a second, hissing as I had almost stepped into that wretched hole in the floorboards. This is why I needed to go home. I didn’t belong here; I didn’t belong with Mingi. I was an aristocrat, Mingi was a lowlife. We would never work out our differences. We weren’t right for each other.

I stiffened as I grabbed my clothes, realizing that they weren’t even mine in the first place, and would have to wear the dress I had arrived in. But I didn’t have it in me to put it on myself, not when I haven’t had a milk bath in almost a week. I couldn’t dirty my mother’s dress like that, it had already been damaged, much to my dismay.

“I’ll go change, be back in ten.” Mingi’s voice was small as he got off the bed as well, headed towards his closet.

“Just change in here,” I found myself muttering, turning my back to him as I slipped the nightgown off myself. I knew I just exposed myself to him completely, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care anymore. Everything felt bitter, my mind a mess as I suddenly didn’t know what I wanted anymore, of where I belonged, of who I was. Mingi remained silent and I heard him shuffling around, probably changing too. I quickly wore my short silky gown, and pulled on the low V-neck black t-shirt Mingi had borrowed me yesterday over it, saying that it would be cooler today. I tucked the material inside the leather pants belonging to Taeri, and then quickly put on Mingi’s white shirt, only buttoning it up to my chest as it was covered by a different material underneath. I gazed at my corset longingly, remembering seeing Taeri wear it once like that, over her shirt. So, I grasped at it and sighed, placing it around my torso. It brought little sense of familiarity, of something that I once wore daily not even a week ago. But now it felt weird, still undone yet already constricting, a reminder of who I was, of what I was walking back to.

“Mingi?” I cleared my throat, finding it rather dry all of a sudden. When he hummed, I spoke up quietly, “Could you lace up my corset?”

His intake of breath was sharp, perhaps a reminder that not even six days ago he was the one undoing it, welcoming me inside his life, now about to send me away from it. He hummed without saying a word, and I heard him as he walked closer, taking the lace from my hands as he softly started pulling on them, securing them.

“How tight?” He asked, his voice raspy and low as my jaw clenched.

“Tight.” Was the only thing I said, and gasped lightly when he pulled on the strings harshly, forcing me to brace myself against the chair in front of his desk. My fingers curled around the sturdy wood with each constricting knot, biting my lower lip as my lungs were once again struggling to fill to the brim with air. This is what I was used to, a little reminder of what my life was like before Mingi whisked me away from my monotonous days. Before he made my days more enjoyable, and showed me that there was a life worth living, a life you could enjoy to the fullest.

“Are you alright?” His voice sounded small, and tight, and I hummed as he laced it up fully, tightening the top and doing the last knots to it. I took a deep breath and sighed loudly, palms turning into fists as Mingi gently tapped my waist as a signal that he was done, that I was ready. But I didn’t feel ready, I was far from being ready. I bit my lower lip as my heartbeat picked up again, conflicting thoughts racing in my head as I heard Mingi inhale sharply, prompting me to whirl around.

Our eyes locked, and before I could list all the reasons why this would be wrong, I lurched forward just as Mingi grabbed my cheeks, our lips smashing together. My eyebrows furrowed as I finally felt his plush and soft skin against mine, lips exactly the same way I had imagined them. I’ve never kissed a man before in my life, but it felt right to have Mingi be the first one to do so. My arms quickly wrapped around his neck as I pushed up on my tip toes, leaning my body against Mingi’s as he pulled back for a second, before pressing his lips against mine again, slotting his upper lip between mine as he lightly sucked on my lower lip. Everything felt new, but exhilarating as my cheeks burned, lips pressing against Mingi’s desperately, trying to allow him to lead, to guide me as the feeling was foreign, but oh so good. His warm hands left my cheeks in exchange to grip my waist and the back of my head as his ring clad fingers tangled into my long locks of curly hair, his nose pressing into the warm skin of my cheek as I found myself desperate to feel more. I became aware that I had quickened the once experimental pace Mingi’s lips had set, and was now pressing my lips harder against his, ravaging his mouth as Mingi whined when my fingers subconsciously tangled in his short hair, delicately yanking on the strands. His grip on my waist tightened, and I felt him walking me backwards hurriedly, his lips pressing bruisingly against mine as I was suddenly overwhelmed by the strong scent of vanilla as I tried to inhale through my nose, lungs long burning due to the corset, but due to Mingi stealing my breath away as wll. My left hand slowly slipped down to his jaw to hold onto him as our teeth suddenly clanked together, slightly startling me, but only urging me to chase after Mingi’s lips when he attempted to pull back. My teeth latched onto his lower lip as the back of my legs hit the desk behind me, and I sucked on Mingi’s lower lip as he pushed me down onto the desk, groaning against my mouth as I found myself licking at his lips, wanting even more of him. I didn’t recognize myself for a second, but this is what I’ve wanted, and I was done repressing my wants and needs because they were wrong or not lady like. I wanted Mingi, and I would get what I wanted from now on. Nobody could control me anymore. I was my own person.

I gasped as I felt Mingi’s big hand slip down from my waist towards my thigh, and his calloused hand firmly gripped it as he yanked me lower on his deck, back arching when I felt his lean body pressing against mine, stepping between my legs. My hand let go of his jaw as Mingi instead of holding the back of my head proceeded to tilt my chin up with the steady grip he had on it, and softly, but surely coerced my lips open, mouth parting for him. I sneaked my hand around his narrow waist covered with his leather belt, moaning into his mouth when I felt his tongue just lightly, teasingly, slip past my lips, licking inside my mouth. My body felt alive, skin tingling, and senses heightened as Mingi’s whole being enraptured mine, the only thing being him on my mind as he explored my mouth, liking at my tongue as my legs wrapped around his hips, caging him against myself, and Mingi groaned, his kiss turning feverish. Our tongues danced together, and I normally would’ve been embarrassed by the soft keens leaving my mouth, but this was Mingi, and I knew he wanted me, and I wanted him back just as badly. I didn’t want to ever let go of him; afraid we’d never find our way back to each other. My lungs had started burning as dark spots started appearing behind my closed eyes, and as much as I never wanted to part from his addictive lips, I needed air. So, I softly pulled back, gasping loudly as my chest was rising and falling rapidly, lips parted as I intake small gasps of air. Mingi leaned forward, pressing his forehead against mine, his breathing just as ragged as mine as our breaths tangled together, our pants loud in the quiet room. There was the occasional wave hitting the side of the ship harsher as we tried to regain ourselves, but I found myself clinging tighter and tighter against Mingi, both legs wrapped around his hips and pulling him into myself as my fingers dug into his black silky shirt, silver chains dangling around his neck and chest as he was slightly leaning forward.

“I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time now.” Mingi whispered, voice raspy as he sounded breathless. My eyes slowly fluttered open, and I watched as his eyes were still closed as he looked at ease, almost content as his lips were swollen, even plumper than they usually were.

“I’ve never been kissed before.” I found myself admitting as Mingi slowly opened his eyes, a small smile slipping onto his lips as he cupped my cheek with one hand, pressing a lasting kiss on my forehead first. My heart was hammering in my chest violently, and I flushed even more as he kissed my temple, then my eyes, my cheeks, nose, and the proceeded to plant a lasting kiss against my lips, making me clutch onto the collar of his shirt, refusing to allow him to pull back just yet. Our lips slowly started moving against each other again, and Mingi shuddered when I bit his lower lip again, yearning to remain close to him, wrapped up in his warmth and comforting vanilla scent mixed with gunpowder.

“I couldn’t let you go just like that.” Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed once we pulled just slightly away, our noses brushing against each other. His eyes were casted downwards, and I felt my stomach clenching as I realized what he was implying. Suddenly, there was a desperate need clawing up my chest to never let him go, afraid of what that implied. We barely spent a week together, but I couldn’t imagine my life without him anymore. Even if we fought and teased each other, getting on each other’s nerves, leaving him behind felt…wrong. What if we could work on our differences? What if Mingi could teach me, and guide me towards being a better person? What if I just…left my old life behind to live with this silly pirate? Would my father understand? Would my mother be proud of me up in the Heavens?

“I don’t want to go,” I found myself confessing, Mingi’s eyes snapping open as he stared at me in disbelief. I gulped as I took a deep breath, body slightly trembling, but conviction in my eyes. I have made up my mind, and as I leaned forward, lips brushing against Mingi’s, I felt his body soften into mine, hands cupping my cheeks as I whispered against his lips, “I want you, Mingi.”

            The wind was harsh and cold as it rocked the small boat, the two pirates struggling to row against the big waves. Salt water sloshed inside the wooden boat, and I tried to keep my feet away from the water, but instead, a stronger wave managed to hit the side of the boat, big droplets of water splashing my side, making me gasp loudly as it soaked my attire. Mingi had an amused look on his face as he sat facing me, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up almost to his biceps, straining as he was rowing as well, sweat shinning on his forehead in the beaming sunlight. Mingi had been right, the weather today was colder compared to the other days, and I was grateful that he borrowed me thicker clothes. As I looked over Mingi’s shoulder, my fingers clenched against each other as they were resting in my lap, intertwined, as I had noticed my father pacing up and down the shore. He seemed to be alone, nobody else in sight, and I could only assume that the deal would only proceed if he didn’t bring anyone with himself. My body was tense, and my stomach coiled the closer we got to the shore, eyes traveling to the high hill, falling on the window that I knew was my room. I was so close to returning home, barely minutes away from being in my father’s arms. But as my eyes fell on Mingi, who had turned around and instructed the other three pirates with us to stop rowing, I realized my life would never be the same. I didn’t want to go back to how it once was. Mingi turned in his seat, sharp eyes finding mine.

“Are you ready?” He asked, and I nodded once, making myself smaller as I caught another glimpse of my father, who had stopped pacing, and was now looking our way. My heart was hammering in my chest.

“Proceed with the plan.” Mingi’s firm voice instructed the other three pirates, and I gulped as two got off instantly, their feet barely reaching the sandy ground of the sea. I watched as the third person wearing my mother’s beautiful dress reached his hand out, almost comically elegantly, the two other pirates hauling him out of the boat. To my father, that man looked like it was me, a white veil covering his head to make him unrecognizable. I watched as the three pirates went closer to the shore, the one looking like me staying behind, making almost desperate sounding noises as he seemed to be slightly struggling to swim forward. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I watched his caricature performance, but wondered if that’s how these pirates had been viewing me all this time. As if sensing my doubts, Mingi’s hand reached forward, and he grasped mine tightly, leaning down to look me in the eyes, but still making he was covering me with his broad form from my father’s eyes.

“Are you sure, princess?” His voice was firm, “You can still change your mind, I won’t hold you back.”

“Mingi,” I sighed, intertwining our fingers tightly, “I have made up my mind. I want this. I want you.”

A beaming smile appeared on his face, and I don’t think Mingi had been ever handsomer than he was right now in the sunlight, his adorable front teeth slightly more forward than the rest, his sharp eyes disappearing, and nose scrunching. My stomach clenched and heart stuttered, and I found myself wondering if it was just a matter of time until I realized that I had fallen in love with him the second I had laid my eyes on him. At Mrs. Boo’s ball, when he had knocked that servant with all the delicacies over, leaving nonchalantly as if nothing happened, eating that cherry that had landed on the floor like it didn’t even happen. He was a genuine man, different from all those trying to court me just because I had money. Those men never tried to look past my wealth and beauty, they never actually cared about my thoughts and feelings. Not even Lieutenant Kim. But Mingi saw me,and wasn’t afraid to correct my mistakes, to enlighten me. He listened to me, he was curious about me, and he wanted me just the way I was. I couldn’t help but smile back at him, blinking away the tears that formed in my eyes, blaming it on the harsh sunlight. But my attention was quickly back on the pirates in the water as I heard my father’s desperate cries.

“My little daughter!” The third pirate was still far from reaching my father, but he was still waddling towards him without much struggle, “Oh, my precious Y/N! Are you alright?”

There was no answer, and I could see the worry on my father’s face as he grabbed the smaller chest he had by his leg, eyebrows furrowed. He looked like he had grown older these past days, and suddenly I felt sorry for him.

“Give us what we came here for, old man!” A pirate holding a sword demanded of my father as he finally reached closer to the shore, and I watched as he pushed the chest clumsily towards the pirate, before recoiling as the sword was now pointed at him, “Nobody knows about this, yes?”

“No, no!” My father quickly exclaimed, sounding desperate, making me pout as Mingi chuckled, “I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone—I just want my daughter back!”

“Good.” The pirate chuckled, and started pulling the heavy looking chest further inside the water as the other pirate, who had been paddling just behind, reached him, helping him out with the chest. They both started returning to the boat, moving a lot slower due to the added weight. The third pirate looking like me was still not close enough, but my father could certainly see him better now.

“Oh, dear Lord, thank you for returning my daughter!” I heard him call out as he took a step towards the water, grimacing as his boots got soaked, “Come, Y/N, come, papa is here.”

“Your father is a hilarious man.” Mingi muttered as he watched my father with a snicker, making me throw a glare at him.

“Don’t make fun of him, he’s been very concerned, probably hadn’t slept in days.” I scrutinized him, making Mingi’s smile turn sheepish, “I feel bad for what I’m doing to him, but it’s time I take control of my own life.”

“You can still go back—”

“Mingi,” I snapped, eyes narrowing at the handsome pirate, “I’m starting to think you don’t want me anymore—”

“I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life, Y/N.” Mingi’s words were rushed as his fingers tightened against mine, eyebrows furrowing.

“Good,” I smirked and yanked on our linked hands, making Mingi fall forward as the boat swayed dangerously with his movement, “Because you will never get rid of me now, love.”

“That was the plan, darling.” We chuckled at the same time before Mingi’s lips pressed firmly against mine, salty from the wind, but soft and warm. My eyes fluttered closed as I grabbed his nape, breathing him in, impatient to get back to the ship and learn of everything he had to offer me. But just as Mingi would’ve deepened the kiss, there was a startled shout coming from the shore, and we broke apart, turning to look towards my father. He looked shocked as the pirate had ripped the veil off his head and was laughing loudly, sticking his tongue out at my father before he turned around, and started swimming quickly back towards the boat. The other two pirates had reached us, and Mingi stood to help them place the chest inside the boat, watching as they got in the boat as well, waiting for their mate.

“What is the meaning of this?!” My father screamed at the top of his lungs as he ran inside the cold sea water, waggling his finger towards us, “Where is my daughter you filthy pirates?!”

“You really are his daughter.” Mingi chuckled as he cheered on the third pirate, motioning for him to swim faster, but the dress seemed to be rather constricting.

“Stop it.” I huffed as Mingi just flashed me a cheeky smile, completely amused as he watched my father trying to desperately move closer, but he was afraid of the water. He couldn’t swim, he’d never be able to reach the boat here. That’s the reason why we had stopped here, because I had told Mingi to stop here.

“Where’s my daughter?!” My father screamed again, slapping his hands angrily against the water, “When the Navy fleet finds you, you dirty pirates, you’ll be finished! Finished! You will all perish; you’ll be punished for what you’ve done to my daughter! I will watch your execution with my own eyes, you filthy pirates!”

“He’s not very creative with his words, I must note.” I slapped Mingi’s ass hard, making him yelp and jump, almost tipping the boat over as the other pirates yelped, holding onto the sides of the wooden construction.

“Stop being an asshat!” I snapped, standing up as the third pirate finally reached us, whining about how heavy the dress felt, and that he wanted it off himself. The other two helped him in, and Mingi sat down, the three pirates now starting to row, taking us back to the large ship, to the notorious pirate crew, called Ateez.

“Papa!” I screamed, heart breaking a little upon seeing the shocked and desperate look on my father’s face, “I am completely fine! Papa, they didn’t hurt me!”

“Y/N?!” I heard my father scream back desperately, looking lost.

“Papa, I want this! I want to stay with Mingi!” I screamed back, waving at him happily, “Papa, I’m finally happy! Mingi is going to take me on so many adventures! I promise I will write you letters, papa!”

“Come back here right now, Yoon Y/N!” I heard my father scream at the top of his lungs, now looking furious as the pirates rowed against the currents, taking me further away from my father. I just giggled, and waved some more.

“I promise to return sometime! Look forward to my letters!” I blew a big kiss, beaming towards my father, “Farewell, papa!”

And all he could do was watch me helplessly as I became smaller and smaller the closer we got to the big ship. From this point on, I dictated my own life. I did whatever I wanted to, I behaved however I wanted to, I lived however I wanted to, and loved whoever I wanted to. My eyes fell on Mingi, and he was looking up at me with a proud and warm glint in his eyes, smile dashing and beaming as I finally felt free.

I chuckled, and sat back down, cupping his cheeks as I pressed a kiss against his lips in gratitude as he nuzzled his nose against mine.

“Your adventure, Yoon Y/N, starts right now.”

A/N: I want to thank all of you who stuck through the stories with me, it means so much to me, you wouldn't even understand. Writing is a great passion of mine and I dedicate a huge part of my time to it, they are always little pieces of me as I love what I'm doing. I know this part is extremely long, and I feel slightly bad for it, but if you've reached the end and you're reading this, I just really want to thank you all for your continuous support and love shown through all of my stories, you have no idea how happy you all make me! Tbh, this story is one of my absolute favorite ones from the Black Ocean series, and I know our beloved Y/N here isn't the best at the beginning, but I promise she learns next to Mingi and becomes better in the future. I have planned a spin-off for San's part, no promises when I'll finally commit to it as I have to write my thesis as of now, but I say stay tuned for it if you enjoyed his part, I have zero intentions of romanticizing anything too much as his story is quite heavy.

I want to thank you all again for following through on this journey with me, I will always cherish it, their stories dear to me. I hope you enjoyed everyone's part and that my writing is enough for an enjoyable story, I know I still have a lot to learn to become even better. I'm just blabbering on right now LOL because I don't want this to end *CRIES* but every story comes to an end, and so here I shall close this chapter. I appreciate all and every one of you, thank you again for everything, and check out my masterlist if you'd like to read more of my stories! *kisses*

Masterlist

[inlovewithpandora]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ — Summers Of Pandora ᝰ Day 2 - One Bed

Artists — Neteyam x fem!Omatikaya!reader

Lyrics — You and Neteyam spend the night together on an overnight hunting trip and while you’re trying to sleep the mighty warrior can’t keep his body under control

Music Advisory — nsfw content (18+), porn w/ little plot, aged!up Neteyam, suggestive/allusions to sex, best friends trope, one bed trope ᝰ this fic does contain aged!up character smut so if you don’t like that type of content please don’t interact and continue scrolling!!

Duration — 767 words

Index — pänutìng - promise • ftang - stop

Words From Artist — This is my first writing smut for Neteyam and it was fun writing it! Always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions! I hope you enjoy!!

Current Platforms — event m.list・main m.list・event taglist ・prompt list

“Neteyam, move over. You’re all over me.” The agitation in your voice is clear while you try to scoot over, trying to give yourself more space so you can get comfortable and finally get some rest.

“If you haven’t noticed this bed wasn’t created for two people.” He replies with a groan while trying to keep his body from slipping off the edge of the bed.

“Fine, just turn on your side or something. It’ll give us a little more room.” You whisper through a yawn while flipping on your side, turning your back towards him and pulling the woven blanket that you and Neteyam are sharing over your body.

Neteyam has a feeling that this idea isn’t a good one but he wants to keep you happy and doesn’t want to put up a fight since it’s so late and you both are tired from the hunting trip today. “Uhm, okay.” He turns on his side, the side that’s facing your back, the side that gives him the perfect few of your beautiful ass and round hips. While Neteyam tries to focus on anything other than your body he notices you scooting back, making a low hiss fall from his lips. “W-Wait, y/n.” He says hesitantly while shifting his hips back, hoping you stay still.

“Stop poking me Neteyam, it’s too late at night to be playing around.” You wiggle around a little, trying to find the perfect position and get comfortable.

“I’m not, I pänutìng.” He breathes heavily while placing a hand on your hip, trying to calm your movements down. “ftang moving around so much, you’re making it worse.”

“Making what worse?” You ask in a confused tone, not understanding what Neteyam is talking about. Once you turn around to see face Neteyam you see his face all flushed, his normally blue cheeks gaining a purple hue, making you wonder what that could be about. “Neteyam, how many times do I have to ask you to stop-” You place your hand where you feel the poking in your back, wanting to grab whatever hard thing is giving you discomfort, but what you feel against your palm isn’t what you assumed it was going to be. When you realize it’s Neteyam’s hardened cock in your hand your eyes bulge open, not expecting to feel your best friend's length tonight.

At first you don’t know how to react to what’s going on but you can’t help but feel a sense of warmth spread through your core when it registers that you caused Neteyam to become erect. You’ve always had a crush on him but you never knew he felt the same, now you finally have your answer. Since his feelings are clear and you’ve always fantasized about pleasing Neteyam, why not take this opportunity and give him a nice little handjob and help him achieve the sexual release his body is clearly asking for.

“y/n…” He mutters out while looking down at your hand grasping his cock, feeling it throb the more he thinks about you touching him because he’s always wanted this moment to manifest he just didn’t think this is how it would happen. He doesn’t want to seem weird for enjoying this lovely accident that you both stumbled upon but he can’t help it. “M-Maybe we shouldn’t- you shouldn’t do this…”

“Why not? I just want to help out my best friend, it’s the least I can do after causing it.” Your fingers work their magic to untie the strings that hold his loincloth together and once they unravel you lay eyes on his cock, swollen and veiny with droplets of his pre-cum already making an appearance. Your thumb gently swipes over his leaking tip, teasing his slit before moving your hand downward and slowly stroking his cock, already eliciting sweet groans to fall from his lips. “Just relax, Neteyam. I’ll take care of you.” You whisper softly in his ear before gliding your tongue around the shell of his ear and making your way down his neck and to his jaw, covering each inch of skin you touch in kisses.

In a million eclipses the mighty warrior never thought he would see the day where Eywa would grant his wish to share an intimate moment with you but here you are, giving him a handjob and him crumbling in your hands and succumbing to your pleasures. Now he’s thankful that his father made him come on this overnight hunting trip, this is so much better than being alone in his mauri and jerking off to the thought of you.

Fanbase — @eme1hyst @o-kingston @erenjaegerwifee @Kaydoux @biaaaaaaaa1 @hikotaru @thisaintredwine @lexieeeeeeeei @that-gurl25 @Peanut713521 @anemonelovesfiction @32saucy-minx @rae @bigdikzaddy @laylasbunbunny @merlinbtch @morisim @btsiguess-kpop @sussybaka10 @galactict3a @shima @eyrina-avatar @headsincloud9 @buble787635 @normspellmann @em-x0 @sliqeramx @lexasaurs634 @yetanotherattemptatanaccount @myh3artttt @savagemickey03 @neteyamyawne @neteyamsblog @deadgirlrin

— all rights reserved © INLOVEWITHPANDORA 2024. all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend on tiktok any of the works seen here.

[gracexthoughts]

headstrong

warnings; none really, fluffy, mostly unedited  summary; okay so i combined these two requests (kind of and i may still write another intrusion like fic another time) because King!Dad!Jace immediately infiltrated my mind and would not let go once I saw these  a/n; again, thank you all for the requests, i love them all and am excited to work on them but here is a little short drabble bc i couldn't not write this immediately 

“What?” the Princess Luceara exclaims, her dark violet eyes darting between her mother and father. 

“You are of age, Lucy,” the girl's mother sighs, adjusting in her seat; the weight of her growing stomach causing discomfort. “You must have known this an inevitability.” 

“You told me I could choose!” The princess fires back. Kingsguards had intercepted her on her way to the Dragonpit so she stands in her riding clothes, her light gray hair woven back into braids that hang around her shoulder. Her hair is darker than that of the typical Targaryen, but like her father, her dragon blood proves true as she rides her dragon and argues and commands with the fire of her house in her voice. 

“You may and will. All I’m saying is it's high time we begin the search,” Jacaerys states, watching his daughter. Fathers aren’t meant to have favorites but he adores his eldest, his darling girl, his only daughter. The day she came into the world was one of the most terrifying and beautiful of his life and he adores the woman she is becoming, even though she aggravates him so. 

“You’re a year elder than I was when I met your father,” the Queen says, glancing up at her husband who rests his hand on the back of her chair. 

“You were fortunate. Aunt Baela and Aunt Rhaena were fortunate! Most are not! And yet you are intent to sell me off!” Lucaera cries indignantly. 

“We are not,” Jacaerys yells loudly before stopping himself and lowering his voice, “selling you off. You must marry to secure your reign. It is a fact, irregardless of your gender. My mother did the same, if you recall your histories.” 

The princess’ eyebrow raises as she coldly stares down her father, her gaze defiant and hard. She watches as her father’s face transforms from the soft, if disgruntled, image of her father to the vision of the King. She grits her teeth, knowing this is a battle she will lose, today or in a moon, or a year but she will lose. The inevitability of her fate consumes her hot like dragon breath, choking her and wrapping around like chains. Her hard gaze falters but, ever headstrong, she turns on her heel, her gray curls and blood red coat swaying in her wake as she storms from the King’s chambers. 

Jacaerys sighs, leaning down on the table at the center of the room. The weight of rule weighs heavy on his shoulders but in truth, it's his familial duties he worries of most. Even decades past the Dance of Dragons and in the safety of the Red Keep, his memories haunt him. Every draw of a sword reminds him of battle. Every labor his wife endures sends him into a panic, memories of his mother’s cries echoing through the halls as she birthed his sister still ringing in his ears. He is only pulled from the depths of his memories by his wife’s touch on his shoulder as she comes to stand at his side. 

“She learned that look from you,” Jacaerys states, pushing up off the table to turn to his Queen. 

“She will come around, just as I did,” she says placatingly, reaching up to cup his cheek. 

“It took nearly a year, if I recall correctly. And that was after we met,” the king reminds her, remembering all too well how she shunned him when they first met at seven and ten years of age. She’d give him the same look his daughter leveled at him just moments ago whenever he tried to chip away at her defenses. 

“Well then you better summon suitors to court or send her off on a tour soon,” the queen laughs lightly, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. She sucks in a sharp breath suddenly, her hand rubbing at her bump. 

“How is the little dragon?” Jacaerys asks, his warm hands moving to rest on his wife, wishing he could take her pain from her and bear it himself. 

“Kicking like a goat,” the Queen laughs feebly, leaning into her husband's embrace. “The maesters now believe it's a girl.” 

“So I’m to have another daughter to rain seven hells on my will?” He jests, his amber eyes gazing upon his beloved queen. 

“You speak as if you did not do the same to your mother, and she to her father, and so on,” the queen laughs. “It is the way of eldests and one day, she will have her own child who will refuse to marry and run off to ride on dragonback at the slightest inconvenience.” Jacaerys laughs, a true hearty laugh that is music to his wife’s ears. He shakes his head and pulls him into her, cupping her face as their lips intertwine, their worries momentarily forgotten.

[teymars]

PEARLS OF STEEL ⊛

Pairing: adult!neteyam x fem!metkayina reader ⋆

MDNI - 18+ - SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

warnings- smut, minimal plot, dom!neteyam, fluff, neteyam w piercings, oral (m & f receiving), overstim, some praise, tongue piercing (midline), dick piercing (PA), fingering, degradation (minimal), choking, swearing, no use of y/n, aged-up!neteyam.

plot summary- Neteyam has been courting you as of the last few months, since his family arrived at Awa’atlu. From the beginning, you were aware of his tongue ‘piercing’ which he received shortly before meeting you. The metallic ball never really bothered you, he claimed his brother dared him to get it done- which he couldn’t back down to. Eventually when things get heated, you discover his tongue isn’t the only place decorated by pearls of steel. You also discover the many benefits of these accessories. //

notes: this is my first ever fic here so I am open to constructive criticism, I hope you enjoy!

Divider by: Benkeibear 🤍

There was an undeniable tension lingering in the air that separated you from him. Neteyam sat on the floor of your shared marui, tail twitching as he focused on adorning his usual jewelry silently. Your cerulean-gaze simmered into the deep-blue skin of his back, making him subconsciously shift in unease. “Do you really have to leave so early? I’m sure the-” “Sweetheart, you know I have tasks to get through! I’m sorry but I really gotta get going. We will see each other again at dinner, okay?” Neteyam interrupted in a soft tone.

You pouted at the man as he turned to face you. “Don’t look at me like that, baby.” He practically whispered before standing and coming to crouch in-front of you, a faux seriousness on display. Neteyam’s attempt at looking earnest caused you to break into a smile, which he soon matched. His mouth parted open slightly in a grin, giving you a glimpse of his shiny piercing. “please.” You whispered before leaning in, clasping his lips in a soft kiss.

Neteyam groaned quietly against your lips. Unable to resist the temptation of your advances, he pressed you slowly back onto the sleeping-mat. Soon your mouths parted in practiced unison, allowing your tongues to intertwine in a fight for dominance. The slightly cooler metal of his piercing rubbed smoothly against your tongue, feeling as though it came from every angle. Lust seeped from your core like the sweat between his heated body and yours. Neteyam pulled apart slightly, taking a moment to breathe. “We should-” “no, no please.. Teyam!” This time you were interrupting him, followed by an attempt at interlocking your swollen lips again.

Without a word, the man backed away from the encapsulating heat of your mouth. He began sucking wet kisses along your neck and collarbone, the steel pearl of his tongue grinding softly into your skin. Things typically never escalated this far between you two, although you definitely weren’t complaining. His open-mouthed kisses reached your chest and he paused all movement. “Is this okay, sweetheart?” He whispered in question while gripping a tassel on your woven top. You nodded frantically before arching your back so he could access the knot of your clothing. Within mere moments the top was tossed out of sight and mind, leaving you bare in-front of his increasingly lustful gaze. “So, so beautiful..” he cooed, causing your cheeks to heat up rapidly.

Neteyam began to suck and lick lightly over one of your tits, allowing his piercing to roll against your hard nipple. These actions had you gasping and arching deliciously beneath his towering form. In response to a particularly sensitive lick, you grasped his braids tightly between your fingers and yanked his head. Neteyam glared up at you. “You’re such a brat sometimes, you know? Always so fucking needy.” His smooth voice lowered as his hot breath fanned over your chest. A whine curled from your throat as he continued the same ministration on your tits. “ahhsh, cold!” You seethed, only to be ignored as his focus remained on your body. “You like this, don’t you?” Neteyam accentuated his assumption with continuous rolls of his pierced tongue against your skin, slowly trailing down your torso and past your navel. All you could do was nod frantically at him, trying to contain an itching moan.

“You’re so wet for me already, baby.” He observed as your pheromones penetrated his senses and your loincloth continued to soak up some of your arousal. “Fuck it.” Without further elaboration, he began to untie your loincloth. Only briefly did he gaze into your hazy blues in search of confirmation. Satisfied by your approving glance, your clothing was now completely discarded. Neteyam soon removed his own loincloth for fear his painful erection would ruin it anyways.

The warrior gazed at your slick coated cunt with complete admiration flooding his golden hues. “Shit, look at you all pretty and spread out for me.” He murmured. “Be a good girl, baby. let me take care of you, okay?” Another heat driven nod from you initiated his continuation, as he began to press warm kisses to your inner thighs. “Neteyam? I need you, here..” you gestured. His ears perked at your sudden announcement, his cock throbbing with desire as he registered your words. “You’re such a whore for me, aren’t you?” Neteyam questioned rhetorically. “Be patient.” He cooed, now rubbing circles into your thighs as his chin lowered until his nose pressed into your mound. Neteyam’s tongue shot out briefly in a kitten-lick, testing the waters and gauging your reaction as the tip smoothed over your pulsing clit. You shuddered at the fleeting sensation before being thrown into an ocean of tingling feels. Neteyam proceeded to lick a wet stripe through your folds, up to your clit before sucking down on it lightly. “You taste soo good, holy shit.” He mumbled.

Within seconds your hand had clasped into his braids again, urging him to keep going. The man groaned against your pussy, sending vibrations through your system like a domino effect. It was then that you felt the cold sting of a familiar bead rolling across your aching clit. “Fuck!” You gritted out as jolts of pleasure shot like lightning through your body. This sensation was shortly followed by his long, thick fingers prodding against your entrance. “You’re gonna take my fingers so well, aren’t you, Tìyawn?” Neteyam taunted as he pressed one finger into you firmly, quickly returning his mouth to your clit. He was obsessed with the way your body reacted to his mouth, particularly his piercing. He got to work thrusting his finger slowly into your heat, then adding another. He then curled them tightly into your sweet spot as his piercing inflicted buzz after buzz to your clit.

All these new feelings overwhelmed you quickly, a tight knot formed in your stomach that bubbled and fizzed with energy. “Wait! I think-” Before Neteyam could even process your words, the knot snapped and a shrill moan broke past your lips. Your release flooded around his fingers like a raging river as you clenched onto him hard and convulsions overtook your spent frame. “That’s it, slut. Cum all over my fucking fingers.” Neteyam growled while still proceeding with his thrusts into your drenched cunt. He wasn’t shocked in the slightest by your abrupt release, he only continued to push you past the brink of a second orgasm.

“Teyam, I can’t-”

“Mawey, you will.”

“Please! It’s too much..”

“Ma Yawne, you should have thought about that before getting all needy. Now you can take all that I give you.”

Neteyam’s fingers increased to a bruising pace inside of you, his mouth returning to lick through your folds. He thoroughly enjoyed the flavors of your release on his tongue, drinking it up like he would become severely dehydrated if he stopped. The painful twitching of his cock began to become a problem though as his desperation for release had risen drastically. Despite this, he continued pumping you with vigor until the familiar clenching around his fingers resurfaced. You moaned loudly as a second release shook through your core, falling off the cliff into overstimulation. He groaned happily against you, enjoying his meal. You lay there for a moment, catching your breath and recovering from the sensitivity enough so that you could focus on his next movements.

Slowly, the man removed his fingers from your abused hole and stood tall, gazing down at your fucked-out expression with eyes matching that of a starving Palulukan. He held your eye contact, soundlessly sucking his soaked fingers clean followed by flexing a smirk. Only then did you gain the confidence and strength to look away, partly in embarrassment, just for your stare to fall upon his dick. It stood tall and rigid, matching his skin colour apart from its dark purple tip. You were completely awestruck by his size and beauty. At first, not even noticing the very familiar steel-pearl adorned on his leaking tip. “You have one there too??” You whispered hoarsely, questioning the obvious, while also observing the way beads of precum shimmered on it- as he had never mentioned it before. “Yea I do, that was also part of the dare, I regret it though.” He spoke with a slight grit behind his words, clearly growing impatient despite basking in the light of your curious face gazing almost innocently at him. You cocked a hairless-brow at his words. “It was a stupid bet and I don’t want to be constantly reminded of my foolishness, the tongue piercing isn’t so bad but this one, I plan to get it removed.” He explained, cupping your cheek in his large hand. You simply nodded, trying to understand his issue despite your clouded mind.

His confession soon left an idea coursing through your foggy brain. Smirking, you reached forward and gripped what you could of his shaft between your curled fingers. Neteyam grunted in satisfaction at the new feeling, observing the way your small hand ran up and down his shaft painstakingly slow. His breath completely hitched as your thumb teasingly danced over his tip, pinching against the ball of his piercing in order to collect some of his pre. The man’s hips stuttered forward abruptly, chasing the overwhelming sensation as if he would die without it. “Shit! stop doing that, love.” He spoke slowly in a low tone, sounding more like a threat than a request. You rubbed your aching thighs together, attempting to diminish some nerves. This only made you whimper quietly as the overstimulation came back to the forefront, hitting you with the force of an Akula.

Deciding to ignore any further feelings of doubt and sensitivity, you took his cock and licked a long stripe underneath from base to tip. Neteyam let a moan slip past his lips at the sensation, his veins pulsing beneath your hot tongue. You then curled your wet muscle over his head, sucking at it and flicking the piercing lightly. The most guttural moan escaped his throat as his head lolled backwards in ecstasy, moments later his hand was wrapped tightly in your hair. He lost some control, snapping his hips fast towards your face. You gagged loudly as his cock rammed into the back of your throat harshly, causing tears to form in your murky eyes. “Fuck—shit! I’m sorry..” Neteyam whimpered out as his hips continued fucking into your constricting throat. “So good, sooo fucking tight! Haah!” The man babbled as his thrusts fell into a rhythm, causing you to choke loudly on his length. “I warned you- not to..” He paused. Feeling his piercing rolling into the back of your throat was driving him to the edge, fast. “Eywa, I’m close..”

You attempted to hollow out your cheeks only to be interrupted as he pulls out, giving you a chance to breathe again. Neteyam began fisting his cock eagerly in-front of your face, grunting loudly as he twitched with the need for release. “Where do you want it?” He asked abruptly, though it didn’t take long for you to decide. “I want to swallow it..” You said with mustered confidence, reopening your mouth as his hot release began shooting right onto your tongue. “fuck, fuck, fuuuck! cumming- I’m cumming!” He rambled as his orgasm continued to spill onto your face, into your mouth and drip down your chin. You swallowed eagerly and the sight only increased his satisfaction. After a while, the two of you finally pulled some air back into your lungs. He proceeded to wipe the excess cum from your soft face with a spare cloth.

“damn baby, that was fucking amazing-” Neteyam spoke softly while kneeling down in-front of you again, feeling completely relieved. He then took in your half lidded, completely exhausted face. “Shit! Yawne, I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?” You shook your head, smiling at him before collapsing onto the sleeping-mat. He was content with your response. Wishing to thank you for it all, Neteyam was quick to lean down between your parted legs again. His only intention being to eat you out until he couldn’t feel his tongue anymore. You were far too tired to stop him, let alone mind it.

“Maybe you should keep the piercing after all, hmm?” You whispered, earning a cheeky smile from Neteyam. “Maybe, Paskalin.”

For anybody who wants to know how he got the piercings, ask Norm.

And that’s it, idk if I would ever do a pt.2 but I hope whoever reads this found it enjoyable :)

Edit: thank you so much for the likes, comments, follows and reblogs! I really appreciate it and I’m glad you guys enjoyed my fic, more coming soon! Please feel free to send me suggestions. I LOVE YOU ALL !!🥰💕🤍

[hatsukeii]

think fast / childhood bsf!tsukshima kei x reader

genre(s): childhood best friends x soulmates???? past lives and normal people by sally rooney coded im a sally rooney MEATRIDER!! angsty, gut-wrenching longing, bittersweet / hopeful ending so it's not all bad!! nostalgia is going to carry this fic so hard it's going to be a fun, fun time...

warning(s): eventual smut!! all characters are aged up to 21!!MDNI (at least up until the observatory)!! unprotected sex here remember to wrap it before you tap it!! (sorry kids), female leaning anatomy because smut but pronouns are gn all throughout and honestly you could read it as gn anyways:)) dead dad warning (my dad is NOT dead this was just convenient to kick off the thing), i fw the timeline of the world??? pretend flip phones were still in use in like 2012 or something idk

wc: ~6.3k

tldr; time has a way of reminding Kei of its presence, and its escape. you are the reminder it has been sending to him for six years.

Fate: A power believed to cause and control all events, so that one cannot change or determine the way things will happen. 

It is a sunny afternoon when you step foot into Sendai, Miyagi. A beautiful day of golden warmth beaming onto petals of pink, red, and white, wrapped in coffee-stained newspapers and tied together with a spool of twine. The bouquet lies on browning grass, a contemptible reminder of the time that has passed since your last appearance here, six years ago, and you crouch down to the ground. Now face to face with the engraving of a full name on a slab of polished granite, you hesitate. Your father lived in a language that you can no longer speak, died in a country you no longer call your home. When you whisper blessings and apologies at the gravestone in broken Japanese and slurred syllables, you sound like a stranger. A stranger who sits in a graveyard at noon, with nothing but a bouquet from the nearby florist in hand, and a promise, stuttered out in half-decent Japanese, to return again the next year. 

When a second bouquet falls to the ground behind you, and you turn around, Tsukishima Kei thinks this is what English speakers like you would call fate. He’s a little taller now, and bulkier too, and you have to crane your head higher than you remember just to meet his eyes. You don’t recognise the glasses he dons anymore, the black rectangles from his teenage years swapped out for rounded squares and silver frames. But he has a towel in his hand, a towel that has his initials poorly stitched into the corner with red string. You wonder if the matching one he made you, eleven years ago, is collecting dust somewhere in your dormitory, halfway across the world. 

“You’re back.”

“It’s been a while, Kei.”

You can no longer differentiate Japanese syllables clearly, and your statement jumbles into nonsense in your head. Kei hears the English woven into your accent in the way you roll your tongue like foreigners do, and in the odd intonations that don’t exist in your mother tongue. You don’t even remember your father’s dislike for white flowers. London has truly done a number on you. 

“Why? Why now?”

You bite your nail, a persistent habit that Kei frowns at. He picks up his flowers, and steps towards the gravestone, just close enough for your knee to brush against him for a moment. The bouquet in his hand is wrapped in plastic and filled with red and pink, the white from your own sticking out like a sore thumb when he places his flowers gently on the grass beside yours. He tosses the towel in his hand, opening it up against his palm, and you take it from him. If you cannot get the language right, or the flowers, this is the least you can do. Cobwebs stick to the fabric as you sweep at the granite slab, watching soot and dust fall to the grass. The curves and dips of the gravestone are familiar once again, and you dig the towel into every nook and cranny. You feel Kei’s body shift, before his knee is touching yours and his face is finally level with your peripheral vision. He glances at you, waiting. His knees bounce in anticipation. 

“Never had the chance, college has been a lot.”

Your phone rings as you finish cleaning. The ringtone is familiar, unchanged from when you used to have a flip phone, in fact. Kei hums along to the jingle for the four seconds that the call is left unanswered, before it cuts off into a flurry of English. He catches something about research, and a thesis, his shabby English unable to fill in any more than that. He’s never known you were interested in research, let alone what it is that you’re researching. All he’s known is your aspiration of becoming a librarian when you were six, and his promise to borrow books from you for the museum that he swore he would one day work at. Now, he works at the museum, sorts antique scripts and yellowed books into cabinets and display shelves. He does not borrow books from you. Now, you talk, but nothing makes sense to him.

You end the call, mumbling foreign curses as you shove your phone back into your pocket. Clicking your tongue, you turn to Kei, who stares at the flowers on the ground. He pushes his glasses up when they slide down his nose, and you resist the familiar urge to nag him about buying the right frames for his face. 

“Yeah, college has been mostly phone calls like that.”

He nods, a half-hearted chuckle huffing from his nose. He’s forgotten what it’s like to sit at a graveyard with somebody else, the annual reminder of a lonely death replaced by another this year as you dust off his towel, and drop it onto his thigh. He swipes it from his leg, folding it into quarters and sliding it into his pocket. 

“So you choose to come now, without a word? Not even a heads up? Six years after leaving?” Kei’s voice rises at each question, the same way it did six years ago when you broke the news of leaving Japan to him. This hurts him to ask, that much you can still recognise.

“I would have come sooner if I had the chance. I’ve missed everyone so much.”

You pluck a petal from a white flower in your bouquet, then another, until all that remains is the naked bulb, and scatter them onto the ground beside you. Perhaps the next person that’s been buried under six feet of dirt used to have a liking for them. Kei remains unmoving, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. His knee stops bouncing. 

“How long will you stay for?”

“Today, then Friday and Saturday too. Flight back is Sunday night.”

Six years of waiting, and this is what it amounts to. A weekend and a bit. Despite that, Kei still thinks this must be fate, in all the languages that it exists in. Six years of life, and love, and hurt, all to be condensed into four measly days. Yet as Kei pushes himself off the ground, dusting his trousers off, he still thinks that this unlikely, yet conveniently timed visit must be the answer to his pleas for your return. That this must be some heavenly reward, good karma for visiting your father’s grave annually on your behalf. You watch him turn to leave, and he calls out to you as he walks away from your father’s grave. 

“Everyone’s at Hinata’s old place tomorrow. You should come by if you can.”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Change: to replace (something) with something else, especially something of the same kind that is newer or better; substitute one thing for (another).

All it takes is one coincidental exchange of panicked glances at the first throw up of the night for you and Kei to leave together. Hinata slurs a drunken farewell, tries to embrace you as you slip your sneakers on at the door, and you make a note to yourself that you really do not miss most of the people here, spare for the volleyball team. Kei waits at the door, holding it open for when you finally shake Hinata off of your back, and step through. The night is chilly, the warmth in your skin from the indoor heating system emanating into the midnight air. You kick rocks along the pavement as you walk, scattering pigeons that remain awake and active at this time, and Kei smiles at your antics. You still hate birds, and you still remember the trick he taught you when you were nine for chasing away pigeons that flocked around you for food. 

“Who are you staying with?”

“My mom’s.”

The road leads the two of you to a high school. Kei has not come back to Karasuno since graduation. You squint in the dark, scanning the school, and you don’t recognise the new building that stands in place of the old auditorium. He watches you crouch at the plaque next to the front gate, tracing the letters engraved on it with the pad of your thumb. Some part of him blames Karasuno for being a bad place to you, the other parts blame himself for not being good enough to outweigh it.

“It’s changed.”

“Everything has.”

You rattle the locked entrance, the chain and padlock hitting against cold metal. It won’t open, so you look up through the gap of the gate. Six years ago, on that rooftop, was where you stood over a cold lunch box and emptied convenience store drinks, back against the wire fence, saying to Kei, I’m leaving tomorrow. On that day, you had packed yakisoba for his lunch, and nothing for yourself. He could barely respond to your announcement, only dropping his chopsticks and asking you, why? You told him something along the lines of being an expat, and a better school for what you wanted, all in the fluent Japanese you once spoke. Nothing made sense to him anyways. 

When you turn back to him, his hands are in the pockets of his jacket, and his nose is red from the cold air. You stand beside him, staring aimlessly at Karasuno from outside its barriers. 

“Do you still play volleyball?” 

“Yeah, Sendai Frogs.”

You hum, and then wonder why you only asked tonight, and why you’re surprised. He shrugs, clouds of white puffing from his mouth when he breathes out. He tries to blow a wisp of hair away from his face, and you suddenly realise that his hair has grown too, along with his height. It fails, and he tries again. You reach up to swipe at his bangs, before running your fingers backwards through his hair. It parts itself as you lift your hands from his head, and falls into place neatly. A cold breeze whizzes by, and undoes your work, sending strands of gold into his face once again. You snicker a little.

“You know, you could ask my mom to trim it for you like she used to.”

“Nah, I prefer this.”

It isn’t until you turn to look at him properly that you see how much time has passed. He likes his hair longer these days, the choppy hairdo of his teenage years now nothing but an old preference, and you wonder if he is still a loyal customer of your mother’s salon. When he pulls his hands from his pockets and blows hot air into them, calluses line the bases of his fingers, the blisters of his high school years hardened by trials of time and effort. There are bags under his eyes, eyes that are now a little rounder, and softer too. When he speaks, monotone and tired, you realise his snarkiness has dissipated into general frustration. You stare until his eyes dart to you, and turn away quickly, ashamed. Leaving Karasuno has taken your hand and led you to a purpose that you never knew you were capable of. You wonder what the hell it has done to Tsukishima Kei. 

“It looks good.”

He breathes in sharply, then exhales with a huff, shoulders relaxing as he stuffs his hands back into his pockets. You suddenly realise that your fingers have gone numb from the cold of the night, fingertips tingling like a million frost-bitten needles poking into your skin. You also stuff your hands into your pockets, rubbing your fingers against each other to generate some heat. Then, Kei’s looping his arm around yours, and pulling you away from Karasuno High School. He keeps on his straight path, and you stumble along behind his leaping steps. When you round a corner, the night breeze grows into something less imperturbable, and more vicious, pushing the two of you forward from behind in slashes of cold. The sea is near. 

“Is this the beach we used to go to?”

“You still remember it.”

He drags you down a flight of stairs to Fukanuma Beach, and the misty sea air rushes to your head. When he leads you to the shoreline, you hesitate. The sea has been off limits since the two of you were five, a regulation put in place in remembrance of the Great Sendai Earthquake. An earthquake that saw Kei and yourself hunched beneath the same table in the middle of class, huddled next to each other as you cried for your parents. Now, in your final years of college, as the water slips beneath the soles of his shoes, pushing and receding in layers of aqua and bubbles of white, it seems that time has slipped by just as easily too. Time, that saw the fading of the earthquake’s devastation, despite the loss of thousands, including your father. Time, that frayed the string connecting yourself to Kei as you moved through life halfway across the world from Japan. Time, that passes through you like sand spilling between your fingers on a beach you once thought you knew, but has changed like the unprohibited water that seems to push further up into the shore at each tidal wave. 

“They lifted the ban?”

“A few months ago, yeah.”

You step into the next wave that fizzles into foam, and the water crashes into the toe of your shoes. Crouching, you push mounds of wet sand into a cylinder, flattening the top and pushing divots in equal intervals. Kei joins, moulding shorter ones beside your own and drawing windows into the side. You finish, and he stands, smiling at the creation. You cover the top, afraid he will stomp on it, a trademark of Kei’s whenever you built sandcastles with him in childhood. Instead, he laughs, and walks further into the water. When you get up to join him, the hems of his trousers are soaked, shoes also covered in a sheen of wetness. You hop over the castle, and the next wave that comes sends its foundations crumbling back into the sea. 

“We used to do that. You’d destroy it every time.”

Kei chuckles, and looks back to see the half destroyed castle. Clicking his tongue, he returns to the rubble, and you watch his hands push mounds of sand towards what is left standing. 

“I’d always build a better one for you afterwards though.”

He dusts his hands off when he finishes, and the waves fizzle out just before they hit the two-tiered sandcastle. You sniff, holding your arms close to your chest. When Kei looks up, he feels like the summer of being seven years old again, smiling at you with his missing front tooth when you sniffle and laugh at the improved castle he’s put together for you. Now, it is winter. He only grins with the corners of his lips. You only sniff because it’s cold. 

“Kei.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s really been a while. How have you been?”

He steps over the castle towards you, careful not to break it. Your hair blows in your face from the beach breeze and your eyes squint from the sand that flies into the air, and Kei takes it all in when you’re face to face with him. When he opens his mouth, some selfish part of him thinks about casting his words into shackles of regret, so heavy that they weigh you down and keep you in Japan, in Sendai, on this beach, somewhere close to him.

“Do you want to stay the night? Like you used to?”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Nostalgia: A sentimental longing, or wistful yearning for a return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition.

Kei does not take you to his family house. He leads you up stairs that make no sense, and hallways that stretch on forever, until you finally reach his flat. He wipes his shoes on the doormat, throws his keys into a glass bowl upon entry, and hangs his jacket on a hook mounted to his front door instead of the coathanger that used to stand beside it. You look around, searching for the shells you once collected in a jar for his tenth birthday. When your eyes land on a jar filled with conches and cowries, you let go of a breath you were unaware of holding. They sit on the top of his bookshelf, above textbooks and file organisers. A knot forms in your throat at the realisation that the jar sits alone in its compartment, with nothing beside it. You’ve done the same to the jazz vinyl Kei gifted you at the airport before your departure. You don’t realise that he’s disappeared somewhere as you stare at the shells, until a shirt and a pair of shorts are thrown into your chest. He stands at the entrance to a hallway, donning sweatpants and an old hoodie, one that’s clearly a size too small. The pocket is lousily sewn on, a result of a mishap that occurred when you had borrowed it once. He doesn’t know that you spent the night learning to sew fabric just to fix it.

“Change. It’ll be more comfortable.”

You scurry through the hallway to his bathroom, pulling the shirt and shorts on hastily, before balling up your clothes and returning to the living room. Kei sits at his couch, now bound in leather instead of fabric, and clicks at the television. You join beside him, legs splaying across his own subconsciously. He doesn’t move. He stops at a movie, one you’ve seen hundreds of times before at his old house. It drones on in the background as he watches in silence, his arms now draped over your knees. The first time he watched this movie, it was in his old home, cross-legged on the carpeted ground with you on the couch behind him. Your hands used to press into his shoulders from above, shake them whenever your favourite scenes came on, squeeze them when you laughed until tears rolled from your eyes. Now that his new flat lacks a rug, he’s willing to settle with your legs on his own. Flashing lights illuminate the dark room in sequences that you can still recall perfectly from memory. He watches the movie. You watch him. 

“Have you been doing good, Kei?”

Turning to you, he pushes his glasses up into his hair, leaning further back. You shuffle closer, legs bending as your shoulder digs into the leather couch. A strand of blond falls into his face, and you lift his glasses to tuck it back, before smoothing your hands over his mess of hair, combing and pushing with your fingertips.The words from the television melt into gibberish when he hums in satisfaction, what is unspoken between you two is more glaring than ever.

“I’ve been okay.” He cuts off, then finds himself thinking of what to tell you first, amongst the recollections of life that rush through his head. “Started working at the museum a couple years ago.” He wishes that you still remember the building, where the marble floors squeaked beneath your slippers, and glass panels lined the walls, hiding away treasures and artefacts that have withstood centuries, maybe even eons of erosion and weathering.

You nod, mind filling with the many museum visits you had with him there. He’s always liked the dinosaurs more than the shells. When you breathe out a chuckle, he knows you’re recalling the time he almost pissed himself at a life-sized, moving tyrannosaurus rex model. 

“What about you?”

“Research. I’ve been doing research about…” you sign in the air, searching for the Japanese words that have slipped from your mind. Surrendering, you whip your phone out, searching for a translation. 

“Archaeology?”

“Yeah, that. No more librarian dreams for me. More dinosaurs, though.”

A smile finds its way onto Kei’s face, one that softens his cheeks and flattens his eyes into crescents. He wonders if amongst the silver plaques and digital displays, your work is engraved in there somewhere. If each time he explains something to some bright-eyed child, who scuttles around the museum as you and him once did, he is unknowingly speaking in your language, translated until he can decipher the thoughts that run through your mind in your research, your memories, your dreams too. 

“Maybe it’s in the museum somewhere. I’m willing to bet.”

“I hope it is.”

Your conversation fizzles back into silence, and the characters on the television do too. The two on the screen sit in a field, mere inches apart. The two of you look at each other, your knees now leaned into Kei’s chest and one of his arms draped along the back of the couch. When he pulls his glasses back to his eyes, and studies you all over again, it hits him that you really haven’t changed all that much, even after your six year separation. Six years older, with the exhaustion of a functioning adult, but you still gnaw on your cheeks, and tilt your head as you ask questions. Six years apart, and you are still you, who taught him to build sandcastles, and introduced him to his favourite movie, and fixed his hair whenever it stuck up in stubborn peaks of gold. When you let your eyes close, and drop your head onto his shoulder, you wait for lost time to tick backwards, until you’re on the rooftop with him once again. In this version of time, you blush when you tell him that you’ve chosen to stay in Japan instead. Pushing your head further into the crook of his neck, Kei’s chin reaches over to rest on the top of your crown. The credits of the movie roll in the background, and you mumble into the skin of his pulse. 

“Can you take me there? I’ve missed it.” Your words send vibrations down his spine, sending his head into a frenzy as he pushes his hands against the couch harder. 

“The museum?” It will be closed for the weekend, but Kei nods anyway. He’s sure he can find his way in through the back. Maybe he’ll take you to the fossils again, let you run your fingers along smooth amber and stone engravings. Perhaps he could show you the new exhibitions, ones that you won’t miss this time, as you have for the past six years. For now, he thinks he will let you sleep on his shoulder, listen to your soft snores, tremble at every hot breath that fans onto his neck. 

The credits roll to the end, and come to a stop. Kei removes his arm from the couch to grab the remote from his coffee table. He rewinds the movie to the start.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

思慕 [しぼ, shibo]: yearning; deep longing, especially when accompanied by tenderness or sadness.

On the final night of your stay, you learn that Kei still giggles when he breaks rules, as he drags you through the back entrance of the closed museum. He maneuvers through hallways of antique paintings and repurposed junk, slips into dark stairwells illuminated by the flashlight of his phone, traps your wrist between his fingers and chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he takes you higher, and higher, and higher. You’ve lost count of how many flights of stairs have gone by when he taps his keycard against a sensor by a backdoor, and pushes it open. The museum observatory, once a mess of bamboo scaffolding and green covers, now allows silver moonlight through its glass dome, boasting billions of iridescent stars nestled in a blanket of hazy midnight. A decade of your anticipation has resulted in a circular space, hundreds of plush recliners lining the circumference of the room, and you wonder how many eyes have watched the stars from those seats before you ever had the chance to. When Kei leads you further into the observatory, you step foot onto the north star plastered on the ground in the centre of the room, where nothing but a telescope remains in a ten-foot radius. He takes a spot on the ground, back pressed against the cushioned edge of a seat.

“I figured this is the best spot. Better than any of the seats, actually.” He plants his feet on the ground, bending his knees and spreading them just wide enough for you to sit in between. You cross your legs, wagging them up and down as your hands hold your shins, and he lowers his legs, stretching them out in front of him. Leaning back, your spine hits a spot between his ribs, the same way it did when you were thirteen, and fourteen, and fifteen, staring at stars from the grass of his backyard. You pity the visitors that have yet to discover the simplicity of stargazing from the ground, hands pushed into the ground for stability, dirt and moisture seeping into the fabric of clothing. Pushing further into him, his breathing is heavy against your back, chest rising in rhythmic ups and downs. For what feels like hours, you sit in silence, eyes trained on your fingers that pick and fiddle. At the realisation that you haven’t looked at the stars in years, something bubbles in your stomach, pervasive, relentless. When you finally loll your head backwards to fall on his shoulder, and the tip of Kei’s nose grazes your cheekbone, you wonder how long he has not looked at the stars for as well. 

“Why’d you stop calling?” His sudden question sends a haze rushing into your head.

You swallow thickly. If the passage of time were a sin, you’d burden it with all your explanations. Telling him that now would seem like some lousy excuse.

“It stopped going to your line a year after I left.” You pause, searching for the right words to use amidst the sea of Japanese and English that you must now sort out. “I only stopped trying after another month, the voicemail just said your number was no longer in use.” 

Kei wishes he could dig his fingers into his chest and rip his heart out. If only he hadn’t stupidly broken his phone that night, five years ago during volleyball practice. If only he had checked his pockets before entering the court, just as he has done hundreds of times before. If only he had this, if only he had that, he might just torment himself for the rest of his life. His breath hitches, shoulder freezing rigid. Time does not differentiate between the knowing and oblivious. It slips and leaks beneath the noses of all that it encompasses, and it is but the cautious few that know to grab it, and join in on its journey. He knows now that he is not one of them, not after he’s cursed at the passage of time over and over and over for his own blunder.

“I broke my phone in a game. Got a new one so the number changed as well, fuck me.”

You laugh dryly into the empty observatory. The occasional twinkling of the stars above do nothing to make his explanation any easier. You think you’ll blame it all on doomed fate that you’ve spent five years trying to find somebody that felt the same as Kei did, to no avail. Blame it on cursed luck that you’ve clawed and grabbed at anything familiar enough, archaeology, jazz vinyls, old DVDs of the movie shared between two, all to remind yourself that he too, was once within grasp. You say nothing, because you don’t see a reason to. Instead, you push your head into his neck, drown in the scent of his cologne, ease yourself into his now grown body. You don’t see him wipe a hand across his mouth, then rub his eyes with pinched fingers. 

When Kei decides to speak again, it is what feels like another hour later. He’s readjusted his posture about fifty times by now, arms removed from the ground and draped over your shoulders. The sensation of your hair against his skin is suddenly more prominent than ever when your hands find his own, holding them closer to yourself.

“If I didn’t find you at the grave, would you have looked for me?” His question is heavy, weighing his chest down as the words leave his throat in a hesitant cluster. You turn to look at him, and your eyes linger on his own when you squeeze his hands once, twice, then a third time. 

“I’ve been looking for five years. Nobody else could take me home.” Your heart rushes to your mouth at your confession, and the bob of Kei’s throat does not go unnoticed. One of his hands comes up to hold your shoulder, pushing it towards himself until your body twists, rubbing against his. You let go of him, pressing your fingers into the ground between his legs instead, and he breathes out shakily, his windpipe suddenly cleared of its uncertainty.

“You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes, I am.”

His fingers slide down to grab your wrist, before going numb completely. His unoccupied hand peels itself from the floor and settles on the side of your waist. Your mouth goes dry when Kei breathes, hot and heavy, his eyes travelling to every inch of you. A bout of heat rushes from his chest to his head, and his legs, and his arms too. The air between the two of you is thick, and it sends your head into a feverish blur. The ground collapses beneath your knees as they shift to press into the floor, and you come face to face with Tsukishima Kei, who prefers his hair parted in bangs on the sides of his face, and wears silver frames instead of black ones. Tsukishima Kei, who has been visiting your father’s grave on your behalf for six years, and still plays volleyball even in his adulthood. Tsukishima Kei, whose eyes are finally finished with their ventures across your figure, that is pushed up against him on the ground of an observatory, and is learning whatever he can about you when his fingers tighten around your wrists and he kisses you without a warning. 

Once, at the young, innocent age of seven, Tsukishima Kei kissed you in this museum. You had run a little too fast, stepped on your loose laces and fallen onto the ground face first. You sulked at a bench facing some random painting of melting clocks, red dots scattered across a purple patch right beneath your eye. When he kneeled in front of you to grab your face, and pressed his lips onto the bruise for a fraction of a second, he must have kissed the pain away, mending the leaking capillaries beneath your skin as he separated from your cheeks with a pop. Now, he pulls against your wrists to push himself closer, traps you in the embrace of his legs around the back of your thighs, wheezes and stutters against your lips at the lack of oxygen in his lungs. His head is running in circles instead of straight paths, and everything is spinning. When your hands reach to grab at his shirt, and palm at his chest, he pulls away only to rip his glasses off and toss them to the ground. Beneath the glow of the moon from above, everything but your flushed cheeks and swollen lips is a blur. You take half a breath in, before it is interrupted by Kei’s palms pulling you in by the sides of your neck, and his mouth on yours again. At seven years old, he ripped bruising pain away from your face with a kiss. At twenty-one, he forces his pain, and grief, and regret rushing into your heart by pushing himself against you, fingers tangling themselves into your hair as he kisses you, desperate, almost distressed. Every tug at your lips is a confession left unspoken, every time Kei opens his mouth apologies spill out into you in choked groans and sighs. At the sensation of his hand leaving your neck, your arm searches for him aimlessly, before he’s palming at you through your pants. He swallows your sudden gasp, and your fingers grip his wrist until your knuckles go white. 

“Did you ever like me?” You can do nothing but choke out a question against his lips, one you’ve pondered about, day in and day out, since your departure from Japan.

By the way that Kei nods frantically, you’re certain that this is what six years of separation has amounted to. 

Sparing no time, your fingers tug at the hem of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to release himself from the fabric constraints. He does the same, hands roaming until they find the waistband of your pants to push them down, fingers tugging your underwear to the side with a flick. He grabs you by the waist beneath your shirt, yanks your body towards him until something feels right and he can’t help but let out a trembling sigh into your shoulder. And when you finally begin to sink yourself onto him, agonisingly slow, you wish that you had never left Japan in the first place. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you wish that you could spend the rest of your life in this observatory with Kei, your hands wrapped around the back of his sweat-slicked neck. 

When he pulls you down to push further, more pervasively, you fall into him, head hanging over his shoulder and arms squeezing around his neck. His inexperienced hands rock you back and forth against his hips, pulling a flurry of gasps and moans from your throat. He lets himself learn how you taste when his teeth tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it down to expose your bare shoulder. His lips latch onto your collarbone, biting and sucking a trail of red marks up to the side of your neck. You shudder at his advances, and he studies the way your walls flutter around him, the erratic pulses that draw stars around his head, how your nails dig into his shoulders, and send his mind into a senseless orbit. 

When he pushes and pulls at you a little harder, you whimper his name into his ear, reduced to nothing but a babbling mess that nibbles at his neck and kisses up his jaw feverishly. First friend, first kiss, first love. The notion that this is another first that Tsukishima Kei has brought upon you sends your mind spiralling. He should have been your first prom date, first roommate, first dance too. If only you hadn’t left him first. You push your head off his shoulder, hands moving to hold his face instead. A wave of pleasure washes over you when his palm presses against your stomach, and you hang your head low again, a shaky sigh released from your chest. 

When you look up, there are tears in Kei’s eyes. He rolls his head back onto the plush seat behind him, hands lifting you off himself fully, just to push you back onto him again. You collapse into his body, palms pressing against his heaving chest. 

“I- fuck! I fucking loved you! I still do!” He speaks it into the glass ceiling as one hand reaches for his face. He wipes his palm across his eyes, only for more tears to form. They are uncontrollable, relentless as he turns his head away from you. He isn’t sure how he will live again tomorrow, not when he’s finally come to a reckoning with the pang in his chest at every thought of you. He thinks he could die the second you step onto that flight back to London, ripped away from him once again. The reality that he cannot stay buried inside you for any longer than the next couple of minutes haunts him to no end, the idea of being separated from you a second time unbearable to even imagine. When he turns back to see you, head on his chest and fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, he decides that reality can wait until he’s finished with you. 

“I love you too- shit, Kei! I never stopped!”

You rut against his hips senselessly now, chasing some unfamiliar high as your vision fades to black and you scream his name until your throat goes hoarse. Kei barely gives you time to breathe, before he’s coming undone from right beneath you, shuddering and groaning as you relax against his body and go limp. He holds you against him, one hand pushing your head against his chest and the other wrapped around your back. He tucks your damp hair behind your ears, places kisses along your temple so he can hear the hums of satisfaction that sound from your curled lips. 

“Can you stay forever?” He mumbles into your hair, and you turn to press your ear against his chest. His heart pounds as he pushes his cheek into the crown of your head, and your hands crawl up his chest to wrap around his neck. When he looks up through the glass ceiling, the stars have not moved one bit.

“I’ll find you again, wherever you are.”

Time may slip away from Tsukishima Kei like petals that fall off the buds of flowers, water that seeps beneath the soles of his sneakers, stardust that hovers above the atmosphere. Yet he has learned that it has a way of always coming back to remind him of its presence, and its escape. You are the reminder that it has been sending to him for six years.

author's note:

ERM! never writing nsfw again that's for sure but this piece defs had some stuff that i was very, VERY proud of coming up with!! sorry to my minor moots who probably won't read this in its entirety bc of the big MDNI warning... but I honestly don't know how to feel about this piece as a whole... i was super excited to write it but i think i got a little impatient towards the end esp since im always writing at like 3am LOL but i hope you guys liked it anyways!!! i tried really hard to make the dynamic work and i hope it did!!!!!

also ps they exchange numbers again js a little extra bonus that i didn’t get to put into the actual thing

anyways tags!!

@staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @akaakeis @laughingfcx @writingsofanomnivore @t0rchknight @bailey-reeds @wyrcan @hiraethwa @fiannee @catsoupki @anonymity-222 @wishi-selfships @kuroppiii

ok love u guys thank u for being patient